The Sins That Bind Us

by Geneva Lee

  “Amie might have invited you here for a lecture, but I didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I know he’s searching for the same answers that I am. In another life, I might have been stupid enough to hope we could find them together. “I just don’t want to see you wind up...”

  “I’m not her,” I cut him off. “Don’t ever insinuate that I’m her.”

  It’s a fucked up thing to say considering, but the truth is I never have been her. I carried her sins when she could not, but I chose the difficult path. The one that led straight uphill, and I climbed it. I chose Max. I chose hard instead of easy. I would choose all these things again.

  “I know that,” Jude is gentle. “I might have a million questions for you, but I don’t doubt who you are. I know your heart, even if I thought it had a different name.”

  “Did you want me to be her?” I spit the question at him. He must have realized early on that I wasn’t, so why had he stuck around? “Why did you stay once you realized?”

  “I didn’t,” he admits, “I just couldn’t stay away from you. I kept running into you.”

  “You kept going to the meetings,” I remind him.

  “I was drawn to them, to you. At first I told myself that I needed to know what happened to her. I debated telling you that I’d known her.”

  “Why didn’t you?” I tighten the towel around me like a comfort blanket.

  “Because you sang the wrong words to my song, and you love Chinese food, and you’re an amazing mother. Believe me, I know you aren’t her. I would never want you to be. I only want you, Sunshine.”

  “You can’t possibly,” I shake my head. “You think you know me, but Max isn’t even my son.” Everything he believes drew him to me is a lie. This perfect man that’s stolen so many pieces of my heart is a lie as well.

  There are some things you can never come back from. Our foundation was built on sinking sand, and everything around us is crumbling.

  “Don’t,” he says softly, and I know he can see it in my eyes. “We don’t have to give up.”

  Don’t we? Maybe it’s what I want to hear. Tomorrow hasn’t come yet. I haven’t had to face what it will bring, or what the truth looks like in the harsh light of day, so tonight I drop the towel. My hand hooks behind me and unfastens my bra. I let it fall away, along with the knowledge that tonight has brought.

  Tomorrow, I’ll pick them both up off the floor.

  Tonight, I bare myself to Jude. When I press my body against his, he resists, but I tangle my fingers in his hair and draw his lips to mine.

  “Show me.” The proposition falls from my lips.

  I don’t know what he thinks comes in the morning, but he accepts my invitation now. His strong hands cup my ass, lifting me from my feet.

  “Take me to bed,” I whisper, “and love me tonight.” As we collapse onto the mattress, he moves over me, his lips trailing from my neck to my ear. “I’ll still love you in the morning.”

  I wish that was true.

  Chapter 24

  When I open my eyes, day light pounds like a war drum at my temples. I drank more than I thought. My arm stretches out, sweeping over the vacant half of the mattress. The only evidence that Jude was here is the tangle of wrinkled sheets that still hold the shape of his body. My bed is empty along with my heart.

  I don’t have the luxury of wasting away or crying. No, I indulged my selfishness last night. This morning I have to begin to make things right. As I dress I imagine what I’ll say to Amie. I need to sit her down, share the whole story, and hope she understands why I did what I did. Max is another story. He won’t understand. Not yet. Someday I’ll tell him everything and ask for his forgiveness. Now that I know Faith is dead, I should have a legal claim to him as next of kin. Since there’s no father listed on the birth certificate, I doubt the courts will be interested in sifting through her mistakes to find him. Even if they did, what man wants responsibility like that dropped on his doorstep?

  First, I’ll talk to Amie, then I’ll find a lawyer. It feels good to have a plan. When I brave leaving my room to face her, I hear cartoons on the television and bacon frying on the stove top. Amie’s door opens before I step into the hallway, and our eyes meet. Apparently Jude didn’t clear out at first light.

  I take a deep breath. “Can I have a minute with him?”

  She nods, for once choosing not to say anything, and goes back inside her room.

  I clear my throat softly as I near the kitchen and he looks over his shoulder. Jude switches off the burner when he sees me, and begins to plate breakfast. Leaning against the doorway, I watch, trying to decide what to say. He carries the plate in to Max. “I know he’s not supposed to eat in there normally,” Jude says as he returns. Chinese Sunday being the only exception to this rule. “But I thought it would be better if ...”

  He doesn’t finish the sentence. My son might not be able to hear the heartbreaking words we both know are coming, but if he was in here he would sense them.

  Jude offers me a plate, and I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Still, you should eat.” But he doesn’t push me any further.

  “Thank you for coming,” I finally say. I don’t want to drag this out or demand to know what he thought he would get out of it. Amie had no idea what was really at stake when she called him for help.

  “I’ll always come,” he says. I know that because I’ve seen him do it.

  Still, knowing how kind his heart is doesn’t mean I can ignore what really brought us together. “I think you should go.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” Jude massages his jaw and the dark stubble he’s yet to shave this morning.

  What if I don’t want you to? I shake my head, erasing the thought. “What do you want? To pretend like none of this ever happened? To go back to calling me by her name? You’re right, we can’t change what happened to us in the past, but those things still happened, and I don’t see how we can look past that. You knew who I was— about my past, about her—and you came into my life and kept that from me.”

  “I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you that I’m sorry for that,” he says.

  “You don’t have to,” I stop him, “I know you are. Just like I’m sorry that I lied to you. I forgive you, and I hope you forgive me, but that doesn’t mean that we can make this right.”

  “Sunshine.” He starts to cross towards me, but I hold up a hand.

  “I need you to go now.”

  He halts in his tracks, his eyes looking to the ceiling as if he’s seeking that higher power we’ve been taught to call to.

  “Just answer one question,” he says finally, “and I’ll leave.”

  I owe him that much.

  “Do you love me?”

  It’s the one question I don’t want to face and the one that I’ll never escape. I nod. It’s answer enough. Jude keeps to his word. He doesn’t speak as he walks past me. Instead he goes into the living room and kneels down next to the couch. I avert my eyes as he begins to sign to Max. I can’t handle watching him say, goodbye. But when I turn back, Max throws his arms around Jude’s neck and holds on until Jude pries him loose. I move to be with Max. I won’t be able to explain to him what’s happening, but I can hold him.

  Jude remains silent as he stands to leave. He pauses to lean down and kiss my forehead. I watch my heart walk out the door without another word. Max’s thin arms lock around my thigh, and I look down into his wide, fearful eyes. Grief pools in the blue oceans of his irises. How can they stay so clear and bright and still reflect so much sadness?

  Pain jabs into my chest like a knife, and I drop to my knees and stare into my little boy’s eyes. I have never seen him in this much pain, but somehow I have seen this pain in these eyes before. I’ve stared into these eyes in a different face.

  I know now that I’ve been blind. Because no matter what I tell myself, this is her son and those are Jude’s eyes.

  I have taken
the ability to breathe for granted my whole life. I know, because I can’t breathe as I knock frantically on Amie’s door. It flies open. She’s only half-dressed and I don’t care.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks as I push my way into the room.

  I’m not entirely sure where to begin. That doesn’t stop me from flopping down on her bed and letting the whole story spill out. Amie doesn’t speak as I confess. She just grabs a pillow and listens. When I finish her face is blank. I can’t tell what she’s thinking.

  “So, let me get this straight,” she begins slowly as she processes through everything I’ve just revealed. “You kidnapped your sister’s child.”

  I open my mouth but she shakes her head.

  “I’m not judging. I just can’t think of a better term,” she adds quickly. “You took him to protect him because she was on drugs.”

  “Yes,” I admit. The weight that usually rests on my chest feels a little lighter. It doesn’t sound so terrible coming from her.

  “And she never came looking for him?” Amie asks.

  “No. She sent Jude that postcard so she must have known we were here.” It’s the part of the story I can’t figure out either. The postcard is proof that Faith knew where I had taken Max, but she never came for him. Somehow the police had known to deliver news of her death to my grandmother. I’d spent the last four years waiting for her to show up on my doorstep wanting another chance, dreading that inevitability the whole time.

  “It sounds like she was as selfish as you thought she was,” Amie adds.

  “But maybe she wasn’t,” I say, recalling a macabre proverb. “Maybe it’s like in the Bible, when the two women bring the baby to Solomon.”

  Amie blows a stream of air from pursed lips. “I don’t think I know that one.”

  “He tells them that since he doesn’t know which one is lying, he’ll be fair and cut the baby in half. Then they can each have him.”

  “Don’t,” Amie stops me. “Do not make her a martyr now.”

  I ignore her. “The true mother let the baby go. That’s how he knew.”

  “That didn’t mean she was his birth mother, honey. The true mother loved the child more than herself. She was going to sacrifice everything to be certain he was safe,” she corrects me.

  “So you don’t think I’m crazy?” I whisper.

  “Oh, I know you’re crazy,” Amie teases, but we both know it will take a lot more than a joke to lighten the mood. “Maybe I’m crazy for not thinking you’re crazy. You know what, we need to stop using the word crazy. You did what you had to do. Anyone could see that, Jude included.”

  I grab a pillow and bury my face into it for a minute to ward off the panic attack his name elicits.

  “He lied to me,” I remind her when I finally reemerge.

  “And you lied to him. I’m not saying you two don’t need serious couple’s counseling, but anyone can see that man loves you and Max.”

  “How do I tell him?” I ask her. Amie might have faith that we can work things out but I’m not so stupid. Our sins bind us together. They don’t set us free.

  “You just tell him.”

  “He has a legal right to him and I don’t. What if he takes him away?” There’s other doubts creeping in, too. I keep them to myself. Like what if he’s in love with her and I’m a stand-in? What if I’m a cheap replacement for girl he lost?

  Amie rolls her eyes and tosses the pillow she’s been clutching at my head. “He’s not going to do that. You know him better than to think that.”

  “Do I? Because as it turns out, I don’t really know anything about him,” I say.

  “You know, the important stuff. Don’t try to convince yourself otherwise.”

  Chapter 25

  Jude keeps his distance which gives me the space I need to focus on coming to terms with my grief and my guilt. At Amie’s insistence I agree to go to a therapist where I learn how to say words that scare me.

  Co-dependence.

  Rape.

  Grace.

  I wasted years trying to accept Faith’s past. Now I need to accept my own and reclaim my life.

  It’s a little bit trickier to explain that to the rest of the world. Amie starts to call me Grace and the staff at the World’s End follows her lead without question. It’s strange to hear my name on other people’s lips. I take comfort that to Max I’m still just Mom. That name grounds me even in the chaos of mourning.

  Dr. Allen tells me my name isn’t important because that’s the identity that was given to me. What matters is who I choose to be. But she still makes me take out the shoe box I’ve kept tucked in the back of my closet and bring it in for a session where she gently encourages me to unpack my past.

  “How does this make you feel?” she asks as she passes me my driver’s license.

  I run my finger over the name Grace Kane. It’s not even expired yet.

  “I’m not sure,” I admit. “I feel like I should feel more than I do.”

  “You’re still numb. That will change with time and we’ll work through things as they come.” She encourages me to share more and I find myself at a new support group. This time for survivors of rape.

  It’s funny, I’ve spent all of this time going to meetings and learning how to accept my flaws. I gave them over to Higher Powers and I took things one day at a time when what I really needed was to hear that it wasn’t my fault. I’d chosen to cling to shame and guilt. I’ve allowed it to define me and to overshadow who I was. It takes several meetings for this to sink in. I cry when I realize it’s the truth. Learning to accept the event that shaped so much of my past means accepting the twisted reality I’ve created for myself.

  Each day I take a new step. I put the driver’s license in my wallet and remove hers. I contact the lawyer. I change my name on my bills. It’s amazing how all these little actions combine and build until Grace Kane isn’t someone who vanished. She lives and breathes. She loves and hopes. She becomes me.

  Little steps turn into big steps. After weeks of research and appointments, I find myself in the waiting room of the Seattle Children’s Hospital.

  “Sit down,” Amie orders me.

  I drop into the chair next to her. I didn’t even realize I was pacing.

  “He’s going to be fine,” she says.

  “I know that,” I say, but I don’t really mean it. Rationally, I know she’s right. Unfortunately, my paranoid, maternal side can’t be reasoned with so easily.

  “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” Amie says as she pages through a magazine before she tosses it onto the table. There’s no point to pretending we can focus on anything other than what’s going on behind the operating room doors. “I can’t believe you said ‘yes’.”

  “I didn’t,” I admit.

  “I know, insurance did,” she says dryly.

  That’s only partially true. Insurance had reversed their opinion on Max receiving cochlear implants but that wasn’t what had finally convinced me to proceed.

  “Max chose,” I tell her. “At that last appointment, the doctor asked him if he wanted the implants so that he could hear. He didn’t even hesitate when he signed ‘yes.’”

  “So that’s what made you finally change your mind.” Amie lounges back, stretching her legs in front of her.

  I don’t tell her that Jude had a lot to do with my change of heart, mostly because his name is off-limits. Another of my rules, and I can’t be the one to break it. Deep down, I can’t ignore that he was the one who encouraged me to pursue the possibility.

  “Why don’t you call him?” Amie breaks into my thoughts.

  “I’m sorry. What?” I ask flustered.

  “Jude. That’s right I said his name.” She glares, challenging me to reprimand her. “He still exists. He’s still in town. You can’t change either fact.”

  “Believe me, I know. Dr. Allen says it’s time that I tell him.”

  Amie nods, chewing on her lower lip. She’s wanted me to tell Jude the trut
h about Max for weeks but she’s done an admirable job of keeping her opinion to herself.

  “Are you going to?” she asks.

  “I suppose since it’s doctors orders.” Neither of us laugh at the joke. “What if he won’t talk to me or he files for custody or…”

  “You are going to drive yourself insane with what ifs. Sometimes you have to stop fantasizing about the situation and face it.”

  “You’re probably right,” I say begrudgingly.

  “Tell that to my agent,” she says, granting a reprieve from the topic. We pass the rest of the time that Max is in surgery with discussions about her audition for Playing With Fire, a new reality cooking show.

  I’m not at all surprised that she’s made it to the last round of casting. “I don’t know how I’ll live without you if you’re gone for six weeks.”

  “You guys could come with me.”

  “Sure,” I lie. Los Angeles is the last place I want to go, but I’m learning that it’s okay to spare someone’s feelings with a white lie. Another tidbit I picked up on in therapy.

  The doors to the OR open and the lead surgeon walks out tugging the mask from his face.

  “Ms. Kane?” he calls.

  Standing up, I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. Amie grabs my hand as we wait a short eternity for him to approach.

  “The surgery went really well. Max is in recovery. He’s not awake quite yet but would you like to come back and sit with him?” Swallowing the tears, aching in my throat, I nod.

  Amie squeezes my hand and lets go. “I’ll be out here.”

  “You can see him as soon as we move him to his room,” the surgeon informs her.

  Inside the recovery room, machines beep softly under the dimmed lights. Max looks so small in the giant hospital bed with his eyes still closed. They’ve shaved the hair around the implant site, and it’s strange to see the tubes and transmitters above his ears.

  “He’ll be able to go home tomorrow,” the surgeon says, “and in a couple of weeks after he heals up, we’ll be able to turn them on.”