No Matter What

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “What do you mean, gone?” Molly asked. “You mean he hasn’t made it home yet?”

  “No, I mean he’s packed and taken off.” A sound tore its way from his throat. “He didn’t take everything, but he’s got his laptop. I had some money in the checkbook on my desk, too. He helped himself.”

  “But…where would he go?”

  “I don’t know.” Nothing new in that, he realized dismally. All the gains he and Trevor had made, erased.

  “He must have called a friend.”

  “I don’t know,” Richard repeated.

  “Did he have enough money to buy a bus ticket to California?”

  “I don’t know,” he said again. She was trying to help. Don’t yell at her. Closing his eyes, he tried to think. “He’d probably hitch, anyway. Goddamn it. But I don’t think he’d head for California. He’s not even speaking to his mother.”

  “No, but he must have friends.”

  “Yeah. He’s making some here, too.” He could start calling around…

  “Who all live with parents.”

  “You’ve tried his cell phone?”

  “Turned off. I left a message.” A clumsy one. He should have rehearsed what he wanted to say, but hadn’t had the foresight to do that. He thought he’d said the right things, though.

  Uh-huh. Saying the right things had gotten him so far with Trevor up until now.

  “I’m so sorry, Richard. This is my fault,” Molly said unhappily.

  That arrested his attention. “Your fault how?”

  “I shouldn’t have invited you over.”

  “I shouldn’t have made a move on you. If it’s anybody’s, it’s my fault.”

  “We could argue about it all night, you know.”

  He let loose a ragged laugh. “Yeah. How’d it go with Cait?”

  “Not as terribly as I expected. I apologized for being dishonest with her, but not for dating you.”

  Dating wasn’t exactly the word for what the kids had caught them—almost—doing, but he’d go along with it.

  “Good for you.”

  “I told her that we wanted to focus on her and Trevor, but…but we’d fallen in love without planning to.”

  “Can you plan to fall in love?” Richard asked, amused despite the worry churning in his gut.

  “You know what I mean,” Molly scolded.

  “Yeah. I know.” God, God. What do I do now?

  “Richard?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Do you want me to ask Cait if she has any idea where Trevor would have gone?”

  He blinked. “Good idea. Otherwise…damn. I don’t know where to start.”

  “You know, he probably went to a friend’s to cool off.”

  “Would he have packed as much as he could carry if that’s all he had in mind?”

  They went back and forth a few more times, but, truth was, neither of them had any insight into his son’s current, convoluted thinking. Who knew what was eating at Trevor? Richard suspected that he’d walked in on some strange man “doing” his mom—but why had that triggered rage at his father, too?

  Molly called back twenty minutes later to say that Cait would make a few phone calls and was going to “think about it.”

  “Tell her thanks,” Richard said.

  He called Bree and told her Trevor had taken off, and if he contacted her would she please let him know. She said she would. He tried eventually to go to bed, but sleep eluded him. His eyes were gritty come morning, his movements slow and heavy, foreboding hanging heavy over him.

  He went into the office where he pretended to be working on the computer. There was no way in hell he’d actually accomplish anything or could manage real human interaction.

  He phoned Molly midmorning. When she took the call, the first thing she said was, “No word?”

  “Nothing. I assume you’d have let me know if he’d showed up for class.”

  “He’s absent.” She hesitated. “Cait’s talking to some of his friends.”

  “Will the coach throw him off the team if he doesn’t show for practice this afternoon?” One of those unpleasant thoughts that had come to him during the night.

  “No. He won’t be happy, but all Trevor will get is a warning. He may get benched for the Friday game, though.”

  “He deserves to be,” Richard said grimly.

  “Missing practice is one thing, though. If he doesn’t show for the game…”

  Richard swore. “I can’t believe he’s throwing his future away because he discovered his father isn’t a monk.” Regretting the way his voice had risen, he glanced at his closed office door. It wouldn’t shock him if his receptionist, Jeanne, had her ear to the other side. She did like to gossip.

  “It hasn’t even been a day yet,” Molly said gently. “Don’t write him off so quick.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” He managed a wry smile. “Thanks, Molly.”

  After hanging up, he wished he’d ended the call by saying “I love you.” He knew this wasn’t the time to have that talk with her, the one where he found out whether she was thinking about a future with him. But he wished they’d already had it. He’d like to know they were a solid team, instead of being torn in different directions by their respective kids. He felt pretty confident that Caitlyn had not given her mom a thumbs-up and said, “You go, Mom.” She was used to having her mother to herself, to being the center of attention, and no way would she like losing the spotlight. Especially when she was in the middle of the performance of her life.

  And I’m being a jackass, he thought, but couldn’t take it back. In her own way, Cait was being gutsy. Is she spoiled, or am I jealous because Cait does hold center stage in Molly’s eyes? Lousy thought.

  Hell, being thirty-seven didn’t guarantee complete maturity.

  The rest of the day was hellish, the night more so. He left another message on Trevor’s phone. This time all he said was, “I love you, and I wasn’t open with you. That was wrong.”

  What he was thinking was, You’re still my little boy. Ten fingers, ten toes. Please come home.

  * * *

  SPRAWLED ON THE BEANBAG chair, Trevor was tempted to delete his father’s voice mail without hearing what he had to say, but in the end he couldn’t resist listening. After the second one, he muttered some words.

  Cait had left two messages, too. Hers was the last one.

  “You’re a jerk for running out on me. How come I had to talk to them and you didn’t? It wasn’t your mother that was half-naked.”

  He snorted. You want to bet? Been there, done that.

  “I wish you’d call me.” Now she sounded sad. “We’re all really scared, Trevor. Even your dad. You promised…” She broke off. He could hear the deep breath she drew. “Just…will you call me, at least?”

  Shit. Hell. Damn. He thought some other words, too, then groaned and hit Send. He had promised to stick with her through this.

  She answered on the first ring. “Trevor?” It came out shocked.

  “Yeah, it’s me. You guilted me into calling.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  She sniffed. “Maybe.”

  He found he was smiling, and was glad he was alone. The guys whose apartment he was crashing at were all out. Two of them had classes at the community college and the third, Alonzo, worked at a gym. It was actually Alonzo whom Trevor knew; he’d graduated from West Fork and had been hanging out with some of his teammates who were still seniors. He’d been surprised when Trevor showed up asking if he could stay for a day or two, but had been cool with it.

  “You okay?” Trevor asked.

  “Yeah. Mom and I talked, and…wow, I so wish I hadn’t found out about your dad like that, but she really likes him. I mean, he’s an okay guy, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” Trevor’s mouth twisted. “I’m still mixed-up about him, but…yeah.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in Everett. You know Alonzo Baker? I’
m at his place.”

  “Oh. Um, I hear Coach Bowman is really steamed.”

  He winced.

  “I wish you’d come home.”

  “Uh.” He hadn’t made up his mind until right then, but…shit, what were his choices? “I guess I will.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I meant to keep going to L.A., but that was stupid.” He paused. “Have you seen my dad?”

  “No, but he and Mom keep talking. He’s totally panicked.”

  Part of him thought, Good, but he was also embarrassed. He’d acted like a little kid, completely uncool. And it wasn’t because he’d thought his father never got any, although probably that’s what they all believed. It was because… He shifted uneasily.

  “How will you get home?” Cait asked practically.

  “I can either wait until Alonzo can bring me or go out and hitch.”

  “There’s probably a bus.”

  Maybe, but he didn’t want to try to figure that out. He didn’t say anything.

  “I wish I had a license. But I know your dad would come and get you.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Trevor said.

  “Okay.” She was quiet for a moment, then said in a rush, “I’m glad you called. I was really freaked.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry the way I ditched you.”

  “You should be.” That was more tart. More her.

  After she was gone, he wondered if she’d tell her mom who’d tell his dad where he was and that he was thinking of coming home. Probably, he concluded. He stared down at the blank screen on his phone.

  What was he waiting for? He knew what he was going to do. So do it, all right? His hand shook a little as he scrolled to his father’s last call and pushed Send.

  * * *

  THE HOUSE WAS A TYPICAL student-crash-house dump a few blocks from the community college in north Everett. Richard had taken a year’s worth of classes here to get the basics covered on his way to his own four-year degree. Finding the place hadn’t been a problem.

  He’d coasted to a stop at the curb and set the brake when the front door opened and Trevor came out, duffel slung over one shoulder, the strap for his laptop case over the other. He loped across the lawn and opened the passenger door.

  “Hey.”

  Richard nodded.

  His kid shoved his possessions behind the seat, then got in and slammed the door.

  They hadn’t said much on the phone.

  I shouldn’t have taken off like that.

  No, you shouldn’t.

  Richard’s offer to pick him up had been accepted. Now what?

  “We need to talk,” he said finally.

  “Here?”

  “You hungry?”

  Trevor agreed that he was. Of course. Richard remembered at that age his own enormous capacity for food—and he hadn’t still been growing.

  He’d passed a Subway on the way, and drove back to it. Once they had their sandwiches, they sat in a booth off to one side.

  Richard decided to quit messing around and get down to brass tacks. “What happened with your mother?”

  Trevor had started to unwrap his sandwich, but he stopped. One of his hands curled into a fist. For a minute Richard thought he wasn’t going to answer, but finally he met his father’s eyes.

  “She was still married to Davis, and I walked in on her naked. With this guy.” His voice cracked on the last. “He’s an assistant coach at my high school. Way younger than Mom. Like, twenty-five?”

  Damn you, Alexa. “She met him at your games.” Richard didn’t even make it a question.

  Trevor twitched. “Yeah.”

  “That’s it?”

  “No, that’s not it!” Trevor’s voice rose to a roar. Heads turned on the other side of the restaurant. Even though his eyes were wild, he noticed and subsided. “She gave me this whole spiel about how Davis doesn’t care about her anymore, and she’s lonely.” He spat that out. “And I said was she serious about Coach Magnoni and she said she didn’t know. She didn’t know,” he repeated in bewilderment and anger. “She was ruining her marriage and everything else, and she didn’t know.”

  Richard looked down at his own sandwich, untouched. How could he begin to explain Alexa’s behavior while still preserving her in her son’s eyes? Was that even possible?

  But Trevor didn’t wait for him. “I figured out it wasn’t the first time. A couple months before I came home and this other guy was just leaving. Mom looked, I don’t know, rattled, because I wasn’t supposed to be home yet. I thought, weird, and let it go. I asked her and she didn’t want to admit it but she finally did. So then I asked if she’d been screwing Davis while she was still married to Scott and she didn’t exactly say yes but I could tell she was.” He stared at Richard, the betrayal he was feeling stark in his dark eyes. “That’s what happened to you, too, isn’t it? Mom screwed around on you.”

  He’d lied, if only by omission, enough to this boy who was becoming a man. Who was only eight months younger than Richard had been when his girlfriend told him she was pregnant.

  “That’s what happened,” he said.

  “She’s a slut!”

  “Trevor…”

  “Why did you let her have me and Bree?” The hurt roughened Trevor’s voice. “When you knew?”

  So that’s what this had all been about. Richard wished he’d figured it out sooner. Forced a discussion.

  “Because she was a good mother,” he said heavily. “She is a good mother. Did you ever have the slightest doubt about that?”

  “Yeah, when I walked in and saw my coach humping her!”

  Now Richard winced.

  “And then you…” Trevor broke off.

  “I’m sorry about that. Sorrier than I can tell you. But it is not the same thing.” He made sure Trev saw how serious he was. “Neither Molly nor I are married. Although I hope we will be.”

  That set Trevor back. Dark thoughts flickered through his eyes. “You really want…?” he finally asked, hesitating to put it into words.

  “I do,” Richard said firmly.

  “Wow.”

  “Why wow? Well, except I know you and Molly didn’t get off to a very good start....”

  “You think?” Trevor sneered.

  Richard raised his eyebrows. “Whose fault was that?”

  “Mine. Isn’t everything my fault?” Sarcasm mixed with grief in a murky brew.

  “No.” For the first time Richard let himself relax. He leaned back in the booth and smiled. “You don’t have that big an ego. Of course it’s not. Some of it is your mother’s fault. Some your idiot assistant coach’s. Some mine,” he admitted.

  “I hate her,” Trevor mumbled, and Richard understood he wasn’t talking about Molly.

  He told his son some of what he’d figured out about Alexa. “She keeps thinking a man will fill all her needs, and it isn’t possible. So when he fails her, she starts looking again. I didn’t understand it then, and I still don’t. But I hold with my belief that she was a damn good mother.”

  “Didn’t you want us?” Hurt made Trevor sound like the little boy he wasn’t anymore.

  “More than anything on earth. But after your mother and I split up, I was expecting to get sent to Iraq.”

  “You did,” Trevor said slowly. “Not that much later, right?”

  Richard nodded. “Less than a year later. If I hadn’t had that hanging over me, I might have asked at least for joint custody. But I didn’t see how I could.” He took a drink of his bottled water. “By the time I got back, she’d remarried. You guys seemed happy. Settled. I was damn near a stranger to Bree at that point, and even you and I had to get reacquainted. And I had the possibility of another tour to contend with.” He shrugged. “When she moved you to California, I felt like a giant sinkhole had opened in the middle of my life. I fell in it every time I so much as thought about you. But you two were doing well. When I saw you, you seemed happy. You both got good grades. Scott was okay with you. I didn’t see wha
t I could do.”

  Trevor was nodding. “I guess I can see that.” He grimaced. “And then came Davis.”

  “And then came Davis.”

  “He was okay. But…wouldn’t you think it would have hit him that if Mom would sleep with him when she was married to someone else, she’d do it again?”

  “He might have thought they really fell in love. She probably told him what a big mistake the marriage to Scott had been.”

  “I’m glad she didn’t have more kids.”

  Richard winced. “There are plenty of modern families like that. Half brothers and sisters from several different fathers. Or mothers.”

  Trevor’s eyes widened. “You and Ms. Callahan—Molly—aren’t going to have a baby, are you?”

  He groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “No. No, she’s not pregnant. And no, I can’t imagine. I think we’re both done with the child rearing years.”

  Trevor expelled a rush of air with a whoosh. “Man, that would have been too much.”

  Richard let himself smile crookedly. “Because I was such a lousy father?”

  His son grinned. “You got it.”

  In concert, they reached for their sandwiches.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WHAT DID YOU BUY A pregnant teenage girl for Christmas?

  Molly had started her shopping, of course. Despite the recent turmoil, she wasn’t that disorganized. She’d bought gift certificates, books, DVDs, all online. Cait had suggested a CD for Trevor, which took care of shopping for him. She’d even bought a book for Richard, an inadequate gift but the only one she could think of.

  But her own daughter was different. So far, everything Molly had bought for Cait was impersonal. And, darn it, she was down to only two weeks before Christmas, so she’d decided to brave the crowds and hit the mall.

  Molly drifted through Nordstrom, undecided. Not clothes, that was for sure. While Cait would need maternity clothes in the not-too-distant future, those wouldn’t exactly be fun for a teenager. Thrift stores? Maybe. Molly thought about dusting off the sewing machine she so rarely used. This whole thing was hard enough on a kid Cait’s age without her being stuck in completely untrendy clothes for four months or more. Was it possible to replicate current teen styles with a belly panel?