Here Without You (Between the Lines #4) Paperback

by Tammara Webber

  Brooke: K

  Two hours later on the dot, my phone rings. Brooke.

  ‘Hey. So he’s going to stay at Kathryn’s with you overnight? Will the fact that I’m not there be a problem?’

  ‘No,’ she answers. ‘I explained that I’m not working right now, but you are, and that if we get him, we intend to trade off projects. That one of us will always be with him.’ Brooke always did think fast on her feet. ‘Reid?’ A new hesitation creeps into her voice. ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘About River? Yeah. I’m sure.’ I don’t have to ask if she is.

  She releases an audible breath at my answer – as though she’s still expecting me to back out any minute. It’s so difficult for her to count on anyone. To trust when someone says they’ll be there for her. With our history, it’s a damned miracle for her to have confidence in anything I promise. I can’t blame her for asking.

  ‘Wendy is having surgery two weeks from Monday, so that’s when the overnights in LA will take place. One of the little boys she’s been keeping will be moving to a new foster home, and the other is moving towards a family reunification that might be too early. She couldn’t say much about either one, but it sounded like she was freaking out over both of them. I think we’ve suddenly become the best-case scenario.’

  That seems like a wrong sort of thing to feel fortunate about, but I’m a dick, so I’ll take it. ‘Yay for other people fucking up?’

  She laughs shortly. ‘I guess. Will you be back in LA by then?’

  ‘Yeah. We’re wrapping up here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Probably fourteen, fifteen days left, and we’ll be doing the studio sections next, at Universal. I should be back in town right before he arrives.’

  ‘And you’ll have the home study and parenting course stuff by then?’ she presses.

  I roll my eyes, but tell myself she’s just making sure of essential details. No need to snap back. I set my jaw. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay.’ She takes a deep breath and launches into part two of this call. ‘I think it’s time to call Rowena.’ I curse and start to object – again – but she barrels on. ‘I know you have a preconceived perception of her after last spring – but, Reid, she’s our best shot at maintaining any control over how this news breaks. The public will want photos of our child. You know they will.’

  She’s right – River is going to be top photo-stalker material. The only way to neutralize that is to provide the pics ourselves. With a jolt of comprehension, I realize I’ve got to trust her. And this Rowena person. Ugh. My opposition dissolves unsaid.

  ‘What did you mean before, when you said you’d be in California now if you could?’ she asks, undoubtedly to change the subject before I can build a case against her sycophantic paparazza.

  ‘Dori. She stopped talking to me about a week ago.’

  ‘A week? What happened?’

  ‘I have no idea. That’s a major component of the “stopped talking to me” bit.’

  ‘Don’t be an asshat. Did you two have a fight? Did you do something stupid like screw some girl who took photos of your naked backside and leaked it online?’

  I would take exception if that exact thing hadn’t transpired a couple of years ago.

  ‘No fight. No girls. The photos of you and me in Austin are all over, of course, though she hasn’t said a thing about them. But she knows about River. I guess she just decided she couldn’t deal.’

  ‘That sucks. She should know not to pay attention to the crap online … although it’s occasionally true. If she can’t handle it, though, maybe you’re better off without her.’

  I couldn’t have asked for a better time to film a withdrawn, brooding character. My Darcy role was a bit brooding, but he was mostly sarcastic and arrogant.

  With the amount of time I spend alone – either in my trailer or walking at a barely visible distance from the huddle of trailers and sets, I think my co-stars have decided I’m one of those method actors who insists on remaining in character on and off-screen. I’ve caught insinuations that indicate as much, but I’ve no need to artificially immerse myself in the moody temperament of my current character.

  I get him. Jesus Christ, do I get him.

  And though I’m certainly drawing on my personal thoughts and emotions during filming to portray him (aka actual method acting) I’m not drawing on painful experiences from my past. All I have to do is conjure Dori, and the agony blazes through me, on cue.

  BROOKE

  It’s been six days since I’ve seen him.

  Kathryn has been the voice of reason at every turn. ‘Don’t overwhelm him with things, Brooke,’ she says, when I want to buy him every Lego set I can find online. We choose a half-dozen, and put four of them away for later. It takes me almost an hour to narrow to a couple of plush animals – a teddy, of course, and a floppy-eared puppy (to compensate for the fact that Kathryn urges me not to buy him the real thing).

  One wall of his room at Kathryn’s has been painted green – his favourite colour, according to Wendy. His room at my condo will include lots of green – I’ve hired a trompe l’oeil artist to paint a roadway with colourful cars and background scenery all the way around at eye level. The ceiling will be baby blue, with fluffy clouds scattered from one corner to the other. His closets will be painted with chalkboard paint, so he can draw all over them.

  It appears that I can’t help but overdo.

  I worry over this, too, but Kathryn laughs and shakes her head. ‘This is you, Brooke. Just try to pull back a little. Remember, what he needs is your love. That’s why poverty-stricken parents can still do a wonderful job of raising a child.’

  What she doesn’t say: That’s why wealthy parents often fail at it. They substitute things for affection.

  ‘I’ll remember.’

  One thing we agree on is half-filling his built-in bookcase with books – dozens of picture books – favourites from my childhood, and anything new that catches my eye. Their spines are multi-hued and inviting when we line them up on the shelves – a miniature library. Wendy says River likes to be read to before bed, and I wonder to myself if he’d like to be read to on the flat rock by the creek, in the middle of the day, for no reason.

  I buy Matchbox cars and a track with a double loop in the middle that Reid assures me every boy ever born would like, and authentic-looking construction trucks that will look even more realistic with their working parts encrusted with dirt.

  I choose a green toothbrush and three kinds of toothpaste. A nightlight shaped like a racing car that switches on and off. A pair of galoshes in John Deere green, even though the forecast calls for a cool, sunny day.

  River’s caseworker is picking him up from Wendy’s after his afternoon nap, and bringing him here. Kris has been here several times during the home study, so she’s already familiar with the place. She and Kathryn hit it off immediately – lucky for me. It took Kris longer to warm to me, but that’s the upshot of being a woman and having a blunt personality.

  Sometimes people just don’t like me. Go figure.

  Glenn is planning a barbecue for dinner. He’s one of those guys with the manly black canvas apron boasting, Licensed to GRILL! and all the long-handled accessories you can shake a stick at. On the way home from work last night, he stocked up on supplies: sirloin patties and beef hot dogs, buns, pickles, sweet relish and shoestring potatoes.

  Kathryn’s charged me with assembling a fruit salad to keep me occupied (read: I’m driving her up the wall with my anxious patrolling around the house). One minute I’m happy and ridiculously domestic, and the next I’m positive someone will call to tell me they’ve made a mistake. I never should have been considered to be River’s mother. It was a court error – haha, so sorry.

  When the phone rings, my hands jerk reflexively from the task of chopping the heads off strawberries, and I feel the sharp sting of the blade cutting through layers of skin.

  ‘Ouchgoddammit! I mean – darn it!’ In a matter of seconds, my index finger d
evelops a streaming red gash.

  ‘Maybe handing you a paring knife wasn’t the best decision …’ Kathryn observes, turning to grab first-aid supplies from the pantry while I cleanse the cut and press a paper towel to it to stop the bleeding.

  Glenn snags the phone on the third ring. ‘Y’ello?’ His expression appears concerned, which makes my heart flip over – until he says, ‘And it’s only making that noise when you’re coming to a stop, but not when you’re idling? Uh-huh. Do the noise one more time for me.’

  I’m an idiot. This call is on the landline, not my cell. And it’s obviously Kelley or Kylie with some sort of car trouble, rather than the State of Texas calling to stamp out my delusions of motherhood.

  ‘Let’s see that grisly wound.’ Kathryn takes my hand and examines the cut. Light green eyes sparkling, she says, ‘I think we’ll be able to save the finger. Let’s bandage that up and then give you something less disaster-prone to do while we wait.’

  As though I’m six again, my stepmother seats me on the corner barstool, applies ointment to the gash and covers it with a neon-pink bandage.

  ‘Reid told me that you’re my role model, instead of Sharla,’ I say, and her worried gaze flashes to mine. ‘I must have known that, deep down, for years. But I never really acknowledged it. I always thought who I was – who I’d become – came down to blood, but that’s just not true. I don’t know who I’d be without you. Which seems pretty damned unfair, given the fact that my existence ruined your life.’

  Pressing a kiss to my forehead, she sighs. ‘Oh, honey – take a look around. Does my life look ruined to you? I have three very beautiful, talented daughters, a loving –’ We hear Glenn outside, preparing the patio cooking area and belting out his own version of an eighties pop song, in which grills are crazy about sharp-dressed men. ‘– slightly insane husband, and I’m preparing to become a grandmother twice in the next few months! I have a wonderful life, Brooke, and I’m happy you’re part of it.’

  When the doorbell chimes, I freeze in place. I can’t breathe.

  ‘Go and answer the door, honey,’ Kathryn urges, slipping outside with Glenn so River won’t be overwhelmed with new faces, everyone hovering, before he even gets in the door.

  I walk to the door, shaking, and pull it open, hoping my smile looks friendly instead of panic-stricken. There he stands, gripping Kris’s hand as securely as I’d held Reid’s on Wendy’s front porch just a week ago. Next to him is a miniature rolling case shaped like a rather squared-off frog. Green, of course. He makes no move to enter, and his unsmiling expression doesn’t waver.

  According to Wendy, River is forty inches tall and weighs thirty-four pounds, putting him in the sixteenth centile for both height and weight. The medical consensus: nutritional deprivation for some portion of his first few years; with proper nourishment, he may be able to make up for some of it. In our pre-visit call last night, she notified me about his food hoarding, and the psychological causes of it. ‘Also, he sometimes experiences nightmares – and occasionally, night terrors. Most nights, now, he sleeps just fine. But these are a possibility since he’ll be in an unfamiliar environment.’

  I calmly accepted everything Wendy said, asking pertinent questions and taking meticulous notes, and when I got off the phone, I walked to the creek, sat on my rock and cried until my throat was raw.

  I squat down to his level and fix a careful smile on my face. I’m an actor. I can do this.

  Years ago, I found a skittish litter of kittens living under Glenn’s tool shed. They were lightning-fast balls of fluff, and I wanted to hold one of them more than life itself. So I sat in the grass all afternoon, as close to motionless as I could manage, cooing and sweet-talking as though I was the safest girl who ever lived.

  Moderating my voice in that same way, I speak to my son, to whom I am still a stranger.

  ‘Hello, River. I’m glad you’ve come to visit. Would you like to come inside?’

  Like those kittens, his dark blue eyes regard me warily, assessing whether I can be trusted. An eternity passes before he nods, once.

  Standing, I welcome Kris as well and offer to take River’s case. His soft little fingers brush mine as he passes the handle to me, and I turn and lead the way through the living room and down the wide hallways, biting my lip.

  ‘Your room is right next to mine. Here we are.’

  Pausing in the doorway, he angles his head and scans the room – eyes moving deliberately over each individual object. I place his case on the bed and wait. When his gaze reaches me, he doesn’t skip past. I’m given the same careful regard as everything else. The thing that finally lures him into the room is the golden-coated stuffed puppy. Drifting closer, he comes to the opposite side of the twin bed, chewing his bottom lip. Kris remains in the doorway.

  ‘I think that puppy needs to be held.’ My voice is still whisper-soft. ‘Know why?’

  His eyes flick to mine.

  ‘Because we’re having hot dogs for dinner, so he’s a little worried.’

  One eyebrow quirks up, and I suppress a gasp – for the beat of two seconds, he is Reid, and I know in that moment that he’s going to be fine. I’ve never known anyone as stubborn and indomitable as this child’s father … unless it’s his mother. He’s survived the hand he was dealt because he’s tough as nails, as small and breakable as he appears.

  I quirk a brow back at him. ‘We’re going to eat outside. You can bring him along if you want. He doesn’t have a name yet. I was thinking about calling him Hot Dog, but maybe that’s why he’s worried about what’s for dinner.’

  His mouth twists on one side this time, his eyes shifting back to the puppy.

  ‘Kris, would you like to stay for dinner?’ I offer.

  She shakes her head, smiling. ‘I think you’ve got this. Let me know if you need me – you have my numbers?’

  I nod. ‘Programmed into every phone we’ve got, and your card is on the fridge.’

  ‘Awesome.’ She turns her smile to him. ‘Goodnight, River. I’ll see you tomorrow after lunch, okay?’

  When I turn back, he has the puppy clutched to his chest. He looks at me one more time before nodding to her, giving her permission to leave him here with me. Alone.

  26

  RIVER

  Brooke is pretty. Her hair looks soft, and I like her smile. Kathryn is nice, and even Glenn is nice. He’s way, way bigger than Harry, but he doesn’t scare me. He shows me how he makes broccoli taste better by sticking the tree part into a bowl of cheese.

  I didn’t know cheese could come in a bowl. I like it.

  Brooke and Kathryn don’t eat the cheese, but Glenn does and I do. I try my potato sticks and my hot dog in it too. (The food hot dog, not the puppy Hot Dog.) I try dipping a berry in it, but that isn’t very good.

  After we eat, I pick up my empty plate. One of my chores at Wendy’s house is to help clear the table. Kathryn smiles and says, ‘Thank you, River.’ She shows me where to put it in the kitchen.

  Brooke asks if I want to walk to the creek and we go back outside. There is no fence around their house. I can only see one other house and it is far away.

  Brooke makes me step around a big ant pile out in the grass, but the ants are all running around carrying things and I want to look. She says it’s okay to watch the ants if I don’t get too close. There are so many ants that I can’t count that high.

  ‘If you get too close, they think you’re a big monster, and they all bite you to make you run away,’ she says. ‘See, one bit me last week.’ She shows me a red spot on her ankle.

  I don’t want to make those ants scared.

  She has a real creek in her back yard. There are trees on both sides of it. We climb on to a big rock and sit near the edge. I can see down into the water. There’s sand and rocks at the bottom. I don’t see any fish, but there are bugs buzzing around on top of the water and we hear a frog.

  ‘This is my favourite place in the world,’ Brooke says.

  My favourite pla
ce used to be Mama’s closet. It was dark all the time and Harry never found me there. This rock is better, I think.

  Brooke makes her sweater like a pillow and lies on her back. She says, ‘I like watching the clouds go by through the trees.’

  I make my jacket a pillow and lie down too. She points to a cloud and says it looks like a squirrel. I think it looks like Hot Dog. I hold him up above me so I can see him next to the cloud.

  ‘You’re right. That cloud does look more like Hot Dog,’ she says.

  I have a bad dream after bedtime. When I wake up, Brooke is sitting next to me instead of Wendy. I want Wendy. I want Wendy. I want Wendy.

  ‘I’m sorry you’re scared and in a new place,’ Brooke says. ‘I know how that feels.’

  She rubs my head a little, like Wendy does when I have a bad dream. Wendy had to cut my hair really short because Sean got lice and he gave them to me. I like bugs, but I didn’t like those bugs. They itched.

  Brooke says it’s a little dark in here, and she goes to open the curtain wide. ‘Is this better?’ she asks, and I nod. There are lots and lots of stars in the sky, and we can see the moon.

  ‘Would you like me to sing you a song? I don’t know very many, but I know a couple that my daddy used to sing to me when I was a little girl and I had bad dreams.’

  I nod again and she picks me up. She sits in the big chair next to the window and sings Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. That’s a song Wendy sings to me sometimes. I hear her heart go thump, thump under my ear. The stars twinkle in the sky, like they’re listening to her too.

  BROOKE

  Usually, prospective adoptive parents meet the kids at a fast-food place or a park, before they do overnights. But that’s not an option for us. I can’t be seen in public with River yet, or we risk alerting the gossip rags to his existence, and the rumours will go nuts.