Then He Came Back (Love From Austin Book 2)

by Chris Campillo

  She blew out breaths, like she remembered from Lamaze class all those years ago, to ease the ache in her chest. The tears kept coming, but she was able to hold back the sobs. A small victory, but her team needed one. What was wrong with her? God, she’d written her mom off years ago. How could the woman have any effect on her? Her mother wasn’t worthy of getting anything out of her—anger, hurt or tears. The fact that she got all three pissed her off royally. She wanted to run after her and yell at her, to tell her all the ways she’d failed as a mother and a human being.

  But she wouldn’t waste any more of her precious energy on Peggy Brinkley. She sat Lily aside, grabbed the package and card, and headed straight for the trash. There was nothing that her mother could say, do, or give that would change the way she felt. Too bad she’d already taken out the trash. She could’ve mixed the parcels in with her coffee grounds and yogurt cartons. Instead, the package lay at the bottom of the clean bag with no distractions, calling to her. Dammit, she was curious, which pissed her off.

  She knew her mother had sent her and Wes things over the years, but from the beginning she’d told Mimi to get rid of them. Knowing Mimi, they were saved somewhere, but she never asked about them. What would her mother hand deliver? The reason was probably in the note, but because her mother had asked her, she refused to read it. But she could live with herself if she only opened the package.

  Grabbing it out of the trash, she tore off the card and threw it back in. She carried the package as if it were full of nuclear waste to the living room and sat on the couch. Her heart was racing over a freakin’ present. Come on, you wuss. She dried her clammy hands on her jeans, took a deep breath, then tore into it. Baby blue flannel was embroidered with yellow ducks. She ran her hand over the stitching. Dede. She’d had that stuffed yellow duck all through her childhood. She hadn’t thought about that worn-out rag of a toy for years. Once, after Wes was born, she’d considered asking her mom to send it to her so she could give it to Wes, but she didn’t have it in her to beg, or worse yet, find out they’d thrown it out with all her other stuff.

  The stitching was done by hand, definitely not machine, but it did look a lot like that duck of hers. The knot in her chest just got tighter. She should throw it in the trash, but instead, she unfolded the quilt. It was about three feet by three feet, yellow ducks placed throughout. It was the kind of quilt you’d lay a baby on. She dropped it, and that’s when she noticed the other side.

  Oh, God. Bright patches were pieced together. There was no set pattern to the materials. No particular colors. This handmade quilt was crafted from remnants of her childhood clothes. The bright orange with tiny lines of green and white were from the Easter dress she’d worn the year her parents had taken her to get her picture with the Easter Bunny. Her dad had kept that picture on his dresser for years.

  She gasped, then laughed. She’d forgotten about that red shirt. How old was she that summer? She’d worn that top with the sparkling white and blue stars every chance she got. Her mom had insisted on washing it between wears, so it was faded, but there were still a few bits of glitter on the stars. The other patches became blurry as tears burned her eyes. “Oh, Mom.”

  Weeping, she worked her fingers over each square, letting herself recall the memories. And they were good ones. Her mother had created something that was beautiful, even now, after all that had torn them apart. She looked at the blue side. Had it been for Wes? Grasping it close to her chest, she ran to the kitchen and dug the note out of the trash can. She rushed back to the couch, knowing she’d need to be sitting for whatever was in the card.

  Laying the quilt over her shoulder, she opened the envelope. You got your wish, Mother. Seeing the familiar handwriting, her heart started jumping again. She tucked her knees in, needing the comfort, and dove in.

  Dear Susan,

  Thank you for reading this note. I’m so grateful for this chance to “speak” to you. I’ve wanted to talk to you so many times. Every day, really. For years, Laura said you weren’t ready, and I respected that. But after hearing about Trey coming back and Wes moving out, I couldn’t stay away. When I told Laura of my plans to come to Austin, she said you still wouldn’t be ready, but I decided to make that call myself. Maybe the difference is that I’m finally ready to face your rejection head on. Maybe it’s because I think you could use my help.

  Yes, you’ve always had Laura. I thank God every day you and Wes have had her. I know that hasn’t changed, but now she’s having to look after you and Wes separately, along with Trey. I figured now, more than ever, you needed someone just in your corner. I guess that’s the upside to having a mother who has made bad choices. She can never judge you. I wasn’t there for you before, but I’m here now.

  Laura knows where I’m staying and how to reach me. I will stay out of your hair and away from Wes as long as you want, but I hope you will call me. There’s so much I want to say to you. Please call.

  P.S. I made this quilt for Wes while you were pregnant, still planning the adoption. I wanted him to have something of yours that he could take with him to his new family. Fortunately, you made the right choice. At that time, I feared you might destroy anything I sent you. And selfishly, I’ve kept it all these years as a way of having a part of Wes and you. I want you to have it now. I know it’s no longer useful, but I hope it will remind you of better times.

  I love you, Susan. Please call.

  She read the letter three more times. Maybe her heart had taken too many blows, because instead of feeling hope for a new chance with her mother, she got angry. Did her mother think she could be some kind of hero now that Sue was facing another crisis? That a quilt of old clothes and a note would undo all her neglect? “My hell isn’t your get out of jail card, mother.”

  She crushed the letter and wrapping paper into a ball, then wadded up the quilt, and took off for the kitchen. She threw the paper in the trash, but when she went to toss the quilt, she stopped. She couldn’t do it. The ducks and swatches of material were from a special time. Something good. Her mom had even intended something good with it. She wouldn’t trash that. But she couldn’t deal with it either. She stuck it in the cabinet over her fridge and walked away, ready to forget all about her mother and her intentions.

  Chapter 19

  Lily licked at her ever-expanding bare spot. Sue paced the living room, picking at her nail polish. She checked the clock. Only nine thirty? Good Lord, how much more could they take before her kitten looked like a damn sphynx cat and she’d chipped off all the “Take-No-Hostage Red”?

  Wes had finally agreed to talk to her. If she made one wrong move, he might never forgive her. Running over everything she wanted to say, she hadn’t slept a wink the night before. At five thirty, she’d decided to quit trying and got up for the day. Now she was sure she’d have an aneurysm before ten, when he was supposed to arrive. Would he care enough to call 9-1-1 if he walked in and found her passed out on the floor?

  She jumped when the phone rang and ran to grab it. When she picked up the receiver, she checked the number, then collapsed on the couch. “Thank God, it’s you.”

  Trey laughed. “That’s one hell of a greeting.”

  “Not funny. I thought it was Wes calling to . . . Did he call you? Oh God, has he changed—”

  “No, Sue. I was just calling to wish you luck and tell you to breathe.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice, and it lifted some of the weight off her chest. “I’m breathing, my heart’s racing, but I’m breathing.”

  “Stop drinking coffee.”

  “I’m not.” She pushed aside the steaming cup on the side table.

  “Sure.”

  “Look, caffeine is the least of my concerns. Tell me exactly what he said to you yesterday.”

  “I repeated it three times last night. All you need to remember is that he’s coming to talk. That’s all that matters.”

  “Easy for you to say. Wes thinks you can part the Red Sea, but I’ve ruined the course of his
world. I’m not sure what I can say to change that.”

  “Just tell him the truth, why you did what you did.”

  She rubbed Lily’s head, maybe squeezed it, because the cat nipped at her, then jumped off the couch. Flecks of “Take-No-Hostage” flew through the air. “What if that isn’t enough?”

  “Quit thinking this to death. He’s hurt and mad, and as much as he’ll deny it right now, he loves you. And he knows you love him. Focus on that.”

  There was that. No matter what had happened, surely Wes knew she loved him. “You’re right.” She took a deep breath and let it out.

  “There you go. Take about four more of those and you’ll feel better. And no more coffee.”

  “All right, all right.” She took her cup into the kitchen and pitched the French Roast down the sink. She glanced up at a picture on the counter of her and Wes in Port Aransas the year before. He had a sheepish smile. He’d been embarrassed when she’d asked a stranger to take the picture, but he’d still hung his arm around her shoulders. Dear Lord, please help me get him back.

  “I appreciate . . . Trey . . . thanks for making this happen.”

  “No problem. I want Wes to be happy . . . I want you to be happy, Sue.”

  Her chest tightened. Was it his kind words or the tender voice she remembered from all those years ago? Thinking about it only constricted her lungs more, so she shook herself out of it. “I want that, too. Guess we’ll find out if that’s possible soon enough.”

  “It’ll work out. Just remember to breathe. I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay.”

  She hung up, sorry to break the connection. Strangely enough, in the last four days, she’d found herself looking forward to Trey’s calls. He’d kept her apprised of Wes, how he was doing, if he’d talked about her. All the things she was dying to know.

  But Trey had asked about her as well. She’d told him about her mom’s surprise attack—and that’s what it was. She hadn’t intended to, but during one of their calls, she let it out, needing a sounding board. Thank God, he didn’t judge her decision to keep all ties severed. In fact, he always ended their conversations with encouragement and assurance that Wes would forgive her. It was still hard to fathom that he was working on her behalf. She’d expected him to take advantage of the situation, to drive her and Wes further apart. Sad to admit, she probably would’ve. But on the contrary, he’d taken it upon himself to negotiate a peace treaty.

  This new—hell, what would you call it?—relationship with the man evolved every day. They’d moved from foes to civil partners, and now it was starting to feel like friendship. Her feelings for the man were disconcerting to say the least, but she couldn’t worry about that now.

  Now she needed to focus on Wes. She put her cup in the dishwasher and looked around for anything else she could tidy. Come to find out, nervousness and misery seemed to turn her into a clean freak. Shit. Running over to the table, she grabbed the quilt. She should just throw it away. Inevitably, she’d pull it out of the cabinet every day and stare at it, a kaleidoscope of emotions swamping her each time. She stuffed it back in its hiding space, determined to ignore it until she could pack it up for storage.

  She heard a car door shut and raced to the window. It was Wes, and he didn’t look happy. He’s here. That’s what matters. She took a cleansing breath just as he walked in.

  “Hi, honey.”

  “Hey,” he said, briefly glancing at her.

  She headed toward him, ready to grab him and hug him, but stopped herself short. His stance was proof that he was in no mood for a Hallmark moment.

  Lily didn’t seem to notice. She trotted up and rubbed herself against his legs until he picked her up. “Hey, girl.” He rubbed his nose against her soft head. “Missed you.”

  How pathetic to be jealous of a cat. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  He didn’t say a word, just kept petting the cat.

  “Do you want something to eat? Some scrambled eggs?” He loved her scrambled eggs, the only food she prepared from scratch that was fit to eat.

  “No thanks.” He set the cat down and stared at her. “The only reason I’m here is because Trey insisted I come.”

  Damn. That hurt, but it was bullshit. She knew her boy. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to be. He at least cared enough to be curious. But if that’s how he wanted to play it, so be it. “Whatever the reason, it’s good we can finally talk.”

  He didn’t respond but moved into the living room and sat on the couch. She sat on the other end, pulling up one knee, needing something to hold on to. How strange to be this awkward around her boy. Watching him, she hoped he’d give her some sign, a smile maybe, but he wouldn’t even face her, so she jumped right in.

  “I want to explain what—”

  “What?” He turned on her with angry eyes. “Why you kept me away from my dad? Why you let me think he didn’t care about me all those years? How are you going to justify that?”

  Despite all the humble explanations she’d considered throughout the night, she realized she’d never make progress if she didn’t break through this attitude. “Are you going to listen to what I have to say or have you already made up your mind? Because if you have, there’s no sense in wasting our time.”

  She held her breath, putting on her best poker face. Please, please, please don’t call my bluff.

  Finally, he mumbled, “I’m listening.”

  Thank you, God.

  “I kept Trey out of your life . . . the choices I made were for you. I sent him away because I didn’t want him to hurt you.”

  He snorted and shook his head. “So you think keeping me fatherless all these years was in my best interest?” His voice cracked. “I was seven. Did you really think I didn’t notice that everyone had their dads around except me? That I was the pathetic kid who always had to bring his uncle?”

  “Your Uncle Luke was better to you than half of those fathers were to their own sons. He was there for every one of your events. Some of those kids’ dads never showed.”

  Wes jumped up. “You don’t get it. My dad wanted to be in my life. You took that away!” He walked right up to her. “Do you have any idea how it feels to think you’re not wanted, not even thought about?” He pointed his finger down to her face. “You did that to me!”

  His eyes burned into hers. His pain, camouflaged in fury, nearly took her out. If she hadn’t been seated, she would’ve dropped.

  “Honey, I never knew you felt that way. The few times you asked about your father, you seemed okay with the fact he wasn’t a part of our family.” She shook her head, hot tears filling her eyes. “God, Wes. It makes me sick to think you’ve been hurting all these years. I never wanted that. I would never intentionally let you suffer. You’ve got to know that. I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry.”

  “Oh.” He threw his hands up. “That fixes everything.”

  She grabbed his arm. “I know it doesn’t . . . I wish—”

  He jerked free. “We could have been together for ten years. Ten years! How can you live with that?”

  She stood up, face-to-face with him. “I’ll tell you how. Because it could’ve gone a whole other way. You were seven, not seventeen. You would’ve clung to him like white on rice. Hell, look how you worship him now.” He rolled his eyes, but then looked away. He couldn’t prove her wrong.

  “All I knew was that the man who had walked out on us when we’d needed him the most thought he was ready to play Daddy. How could I’ve trusted that he’d stay around the second time? And if he had walked, how would you’ve survived that? You were just a boy. It would’ve killed you to have him reject you. Trust me, I know. No matter how shitty your parents are, it hurts when they turn their backs on you.”

  She grabbed his chin. “I made that choice to protect you. I never wanted you to feel that kind of pain. I wasn’t going to risk it. Not where you were concerned.”

  “You took a crapshoot.” He pushed her away. “It could’ve just a
s easily gone the other way. It would’ve. He’s a good guy. He’s sorry, and he’s trying to make things right.”

  He’d definitely made up his mind. She was the witch who’d cursed them all. So much for seventeen years of trying to do the right thing.

  She went back to the couch and sagged into it. She didn’t know what else she could say. Maybe with time, when some of his anger faded, he’d reconsider. Today wouldn’t be the grand healing, but at least all the cards were on the table. “Do you have any other questions?” He wouldn’t face her, but he moved back to the other side of the sofa. “Wes, I’m not going to keep anything from you . . . not anymore. Just ask.”

  “Mimi told me about your parents.”

  Just great. Did she tell him Mommy Dearest was in town? “What did she say?”

  He rubbed his palms on his jeans. “Basically that they kicked you to the curb because you got pregnant, then made you choose between keeping me and moving back home.” He turned to her, but there was no longer anger in his eyes. There was a sadness mixed with guilt. She’d trained herself to bury the pain of their betrayal. Hell, she’d just held another funeral after Peggy’s visit. But to hear her son so blatantly describe it and see how it hurt him cut her to the core. She couldn’t revisit those demons, not now. No, today, she could only focus on her boy.

  “That about covers it.” She leaned toward her son, fighting every instinct she had to grab his hand. “But you need to know, Wes, I have never regretted my decision. Not once. Mimi gave me the freedom to make the right choice. I will forever be grateful to her for that. My parents, they were the ones who suffered. Not me.”

  “You told me we lived with Mimi because she didn’t work. That she could help take care of me because your mom was sick. When I asked about meeting them, you said you’d had a big fight.” He studied her suspiciously. “Why did you lie?”

  She let out a weak laugh and shook her head. “I guess that depends on how you look at it. As a mother, I can tell you that anyone who’d desert their own child is sick. And we had had a fight, many fights.”