by Abby Brooks
She nods and reaches for her seatbelt and we walk into Charlie’s building, me between them, one arm around her waist, the other around his shoulders. The building is decrepit. Dirty. Crumbling down around the tenants. I hate leaving Charlie here. I feel his shoulders slump as we draw closer to his front door. At first I think it’s just the weight of coming home, but then I see something taped to the door.
“She ain’t here,” he says, his voice thick.
I pull the note from the door and stare down at a big duffle bag, half full, leaning against the wall. I look at Charlie, my instincts going absolutely crazy. Something is way the fuck wrong. Sensing my tension, Chelsea moves in closer to me as I open the note. I can barely read the chicken scratch on the paper, partly the fault of the near unintelligible handwriting and broken spelling, but mostly because of the rage boiling beneath the surface. Red. Hot. Blinding.
I can’t keep him no more. He ain’t good for me and god knows I’m no good for him. I know you’ll help him.
I turn the note over and hand it to Chelsea, who reads it with ever-widening eyes. I jiggle the handle. It’s locked, of course, and I know without a doubt that Charlie’s mom is never coming back. I look down at him, his wide eyes trained on me. I slam my fist into the door and both Chelsea and Charlie jump.
“Sorry,” I say, throat raw. What am I supposed to do? Show this boy the note from his mother that says she doesn’t want him? The note she didn’t even write to him? No I love you’s. No apologies. No admission of her decision having anything to do with making his life better. Just three little lines and a disappearance.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Charlie nudges the duffle bag with his foot. “Always said she’d do it.” His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t cry.
I swoop up the bag and put my hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Come on,” I say, turning him away from the door. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The car ride home is quiet. Max turns on the radio to fill the void, but it seems inappropriate somehow. The happy pop songs filling the car while the boy in the backseat just got abandoned by his mother. I am hollowed out. Gutted. I can’t even begin to imagine how Charlie must feel. I’m terrified by all the unanswered questions about what happens next. What’s going to happen to him? Where’s he going to go? How’s he going to come out of this with his sanity intact? I mean, what kind of woman would walk away from her own child?
We pull into Max’s driveway and silently slide out of the car and walk up to his front door. To any passersby, we’d look like a family arriving home, hands laden with leftovers, tired from the day. Instead, Charlie and I are refuges, brought together by Max and his wonderful ability to take care of those in need. I can’t go home and Charlie no longer has a home and thank God for Max Santoro.
He swings open the front door and flips on the lights, revealing a living room decorated for my birthday. Balloons and streamers hang from the ceiling. Glitter and confetti litter just about every surface, and sitting on his dinner table is a whole pile of presents wrapped in pink zebra-striped paper, decorated in bows. There’s a cake. And flowers. And a card, propped against the vase. Reagan comes barreling around the corner, her tail wagging maniacally, tongue lolling out the side of the mouth. She dissolves in front of Max, and then heads straight to Charlie, practically knocking the boy over in her excitement.
Max turns to me sheepishly. “Happy birthday, sweet girl.” He smiles, though it’s sad. Apologetic and worried.
Charlie crouches down to hug the wiggling Reagan. “What’s going to happen to me now?” he asks.
“Right now you’re going to go into the guest room and unpack. There’s a dresser in there for you to put your things in. Consider the room yours. Put things where you want them. After you’re settled, come on downstairs and we’ll wish this woman a happy birthday.”
“But after that?” Charlie’s face is pinched. “What about after that?”
Max drops a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ve got me in your corner, little man. You can trust me to make sure that it’s all going to be okay.”
Charlie takes a long breath, his eyes trained on Max. He nods once, grabs the duffle bag that is way too small to hold much of anything and heads upstairs, following Max’s directions to the guest room.
“Maybe it’s better to skip the whole birthday party thing,” I say. “Sweet as it is. I don’t think I’ve had a celebration this big in my whole life.” I lean into Max, needing to be close to him.
“No way.” Max wraps an arm around me, sensing my need for security. “You deserve celebrating and he needs the distraction. I just need to take a few of those presents off the table so we can open them later. In private.”
He lets me go and grabs three presents off the table and puts them in a cabinet in the kitchen.
“Seriously though,” I say when he comes back. “What are you going to do?”
Max leans on the wall. Arms crossed across his chest. “I’m going to give her the weekend in case she changes her mind.”
“Changes her mind?” I’m appalled. “Is that even possible? And if it is, how can he just go back to someone who’s willing to walk out on him like that?”
“She’s his mom.” Max shrugs. “But you better believe that if she comes back for him, I’ll do everything in my power to handle it. For now, he’ll stay here.”
“And later?”
“I don’t know. He won’t go into the system, that’s for sure. I won’t let that happen to him.”
There’s a ferocity in his voice. Determination. Frustration. Something darker that scares me a little. His face is pinched and I can see the tension thrumming through his body. He hides it as Charlie comes down, bringing out a huge smile and kind eyes.
“So, how’s it look up there?”
“That’s a real big bed.” Charlie almost looks excited and giggles a little as Reagan goes crazy in front of him.
“Yep. And it’s yours for as long as you need it. How about clothes and stuff? You all set?”
Charlie scowls and shakes his head. “Only thing in the bag is my baby blanket, that jacket you bought me, and a couple shirts.”
Max takes a minute to digest that information. “Okay, then. A shopping trip it is.” He waggles his eyebrows at me. “But first. Presents.” He points at an overstuffed armchair in the corner. “Sit, sweet girl. Right there in best seat in the house.”
“We really don’t have to make a big deal about this.” I’m kind of frozen by the attention. I mean, even if it weren’t for all the craziness of today, I wouldn’t know how to handle all this, but combine it with dead mice on my doorstep, a slightly tense family get together, and abandoned children, and all of this is starting to feel a little absurd.
“Nonsense, right Charlie? Did you even know it was her birthday?”
Charlie frowns. “Nope.”
“And shouldn’t everyone feel special on their birthday?”
“Yep.”
“So why don’t you help her get her butt in that chair and pick out a present.”
Somehow, despite the gravity of the day, Max gets us all laughing and smiling. I’m surrounded in wrapping paper and boxes, gifts that prove just how much he pays attention to me. A purse I’ve been eyeing but never would have bought myself, a pair of earrings and matching necklace that are mesmerizingly beautiful, and a massive bag of my favorite jelly beans.
Charlie’s eyes light up. “I love jelly beans.”
“Me too,” I say, tearing into the bag. “Have you ever had this kind?”
“I don’t think so. They good?”
“You have no idea.” I pour out a handful for him and show him the back of the bag. “They’ve got a list of flavors back here. You can eat them one at a time, or you can mix and match to create your own flavors.”
Max lights the candles on my cake and the boys sing me happy birthday. I’m not sure why, but it brings tears to my eyes. Is it the combination of Max’s deep baritone
and Charlie’s sweet, off-key exuberance? Is it the fact that I haven’t blown out candles since I was too little to remember? Is it just the tension and emotion of the day coming through in the worst possible way? I make a wish for Charlie. Happiness and health and all the things he needs to grow into the best possible version of himself.
Somehow, despite being full to bursting and slightly sick from an influx of jellybeans, we manage to eat our cake.
“Come on, then,” says Max as we groan over our poor, too-full bellies. “Let’s head out and get this boy set up.” We pile back in car and Max head to Target. This time, the pop music feels more appropriate. Whatever dark cloud that had settled over us has dissipated, obliterated by laughter, good company, and the constant and consistent effort of Max to keep things light and easy.
We descend on Target like locusts, buzzing through department after department, filling our cart overfull with anything and everything Charlie could ever need. Clothes. Shoes. Underwear. Socks. A toothbrush and his very own towel. Books. Some toys. The entire Harry Potter series on Blu-ray. And as if that isn’t enough, Max plops a brand new Xbox One in there, along with a slew of games that seem to interest both boy and men equally.
Charlie is overjoyed. I’d guess he’s never seen a shopping trip quite like this. His exuberance makes me smile. But Max’s exuberance? The fact that he’s got an entire wardrobe’s worth of clothes in the cart rather than just enough to get through the weekend? It worries me. Is he just caught up in the day? Trying to make Charlie feel better? Is this Max’s need to protect and provide coming through, or is this a sign that he’s thinking more long term about Charlie?
Not that that’s a bad thing. Clearly, Max is good for Charlie. But if there’s a chance that the boy’s mother might be coming back into the picture, is it safe for Max to be opening his heart like this? Is he setting himself up for the worst kind of disappointment? And even if she doesn’t come back, can Max really keep Charlie out of the system? I mean, I don’t have the foggiest idea how any of this works, but eventually, Max is going to have to report this to someone. I mean, the boy has to go to school. Maybe he has family out there who will be looking for him. I’m afraid Max is setting himself for one hell of a painful let down.
I don’t say anything though. Not now. Not yet. Not in front of Charlie. Not when there’s so much still up in the air. And who knows? Maybe, it’ll all work out in the end. For now, Charlie is smiling, and that’s something. And I’m falling ever more in love with the man who would take in a boy and spend a fortune on his happiness, if even only for a weekend.
We get back to Max’s and carry bag after bag of stuff into the house. Charlie bounds up the stairs, eager to get all his stuff unpacked and organized, Reagan hot on his heels. I collapse onto the couch and grab my bag of jellybeans, not at all hungry, but in need of something to do with my hands.
“Thanks for being so cool about this,” says Max, that furrowed line between his brows deepening. “This was supposed to be your day and everything.”
I’m a little shocked that he would even think an apology is necessary. “Of course. I mean, this is a pretty big deal. And honestly, I’m pretty impressed with the way you’re handling it. Someone else might have marched Charlie right to the police station and let someone else deal with it. Hell, imagine if you hadn’t walked him into the building.”
Max closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I know. I haven’t been able to get that thought out of my head.”
Charlie’s gone for longer than we expect and after a good half hour, we head upstairs and find him curled up in a tight little ball on the bed. Clothes still on. Bed still made. Baby blanket from his mom clutched in his hands. All the clothes and toys and books are unopened and still in the bags on the floor. His face looks puffy, his eyes red, like maybe he’d been crying up here. Alone. Probably scared out of his mind. Max sighs and gently lifts him up while I pull down the covers. We tuck the boy into bed and he whimpers as we smooth the covers into place, his sweet face tightening with worry.
We turn off the light, but leave the door open just in case he gets scared at night, and head into Max’s room. We dress for bed and curl up into each other. His body pressed against mine is the most welcome thing ever. I haven’t had time to process the mouse at my doorstep. There’s just been too much today for that to matter in the least. But now that the lights are off and sleep is supposed to come and rescue me from the day, it’s all I can think about. Why was it there and what does it mean and how will I ever feel safe in my home again?
Chapter Twenty-Six
I wait until Chelsea is asleep before I untangle myself from her and climb out of bed. There’s no way I’m sleeping tonight. My mind is not going to turn off, that’s for sure. If I’m not worrying about Charlie, then I’m worrying about Chelsea. And if I’m not worrying about either of them, then I’m worrying about myself. These people need my protection. But I’m not sure I’m ready to have my house filled with an instant family. I love them both, no doubt in my mind about that. But … what?
But I don’t want to give up my privacy. And what happens on my dark days? The days I’m not strong enough to keep myself from sinking down into the depths of maddening memories? I can’t hold them up when I’m not strong enough to keep myself afloat. And for all my bravado about not letting Charlie get put into the system, how the fuck do I think I’m going to keep that from happening?
Do I think I’m going to adopt him? Because a single man, a goddamned police officer who works weird hours and puts his life in jeopardy every time he goes to work, that’s not the kind of home they’re going to want to put Charlie in. I pace my living room, my fists tight, my jaw tighter. But fuck. I can’t let him go to just anyone. I can’t abandon him, not after his own mother did.
And then there’s Chelsea and that dead mouse on her doorstep. My instincts are raging on that one. It’s got crazy stalker written all over it. And if the guy is off center enough to kill a mouse and leave it like some deranged gift, then he’s crazy enough to do just about anything. And so, she can’t go home. Not until I find the guy and know she’s safe. But how can I do that when I’ve got to deal with the Charlie thing? When I don’t have enough evidence to really get an official case started?
So, what? I’m just going to keep these two people here in my house forever? Never mind that he has to go to school and she has to go to work and I am not equipped for this. I continue to pace, muttering to myself, careful to stay quiet, but Reagan hears me anyway. She comes barreling out of Charlie’s room, her tags jingling abrasively in the silence of the house. I unclip her collar so she doesn’t wake Charlie and Chelsea and head into the kitchen for a beer.
What I need is a plan. I need to set a course. Know where I’m going, why I’m going in that direction, and how I’m going to get there. I grab a pen and paper, sit down at the table, and start writing. At some point, I switch from beer to coffee and as the sun peeks through the slats in my blinds, I’m starting to feel like I have a decent course of action laid out for us. There are still a ton of unanswered questions and a lot of uncertainty, but at least I know how I want to proceed. At least I can see a way to get from where we are to where I want to get us.
Never mind the fact that I’m wholly uncertain as to whether I actually want to be where I plan on taking us. That actual decision has been taken right out of my hands. There are several truths operating here. One, I’m in love with Chelsea and will not do anything to put her in danger. Taking her home will put her in danger, at least until I can be certain that the stalker threat is neutralized.
And two, I will fight to keep Charlie safe and sane. If I am the one thing he’s had to look forward to, then I will continue to be the kind of guy who earns statements like that. I will not let this kid down. I will not abandon him when he needs me most.
Today will be all about distraction. I’ll take them out. Spend some more money, it’s not like I need to worry about running out. Grandma saw to that. Tomorrow, we
’ll go back to Charlie’s apartment. See if I can get the landlord to give us any information, maybe get a clue as to whether his mom might be back or not. We’ll drive by Chelsea’s house after that. I can check around to make sure that everything is as it should be and she can grab all the stuff she needs for an extended stay at my house and then we’ll talk about moving her in permanently. It’s fast. Drastic. But necessary.
I have to work on Sunday, and while I’m there I’ll look into what I need to do to get some sort of custody of Charlie. I’m in no way ready to be a full-time parent, but, who really ever is? And as much as my stomach churns with the thought of it, I couldn’t respect myself if I just let the kid go.
Feeling better about things, I close my notebook and start pulling stuff out of the fridge for breakfast. It’s going to be a long day without sleep, but I’ve been here before and I know how to handle myself. Besides, today isn’t about me. It’s about taking care of the people who need me.
“What do you mean, you think she split?” The landlord at Charlie’s apartment isn’t exactly happy to see us. He rakes a hand through his thinning hair and hikes up his pants. “She still owes me the last two months’ rent.”
I’ve already explained the situation to him once, but I go ahead and explain it again. Calm and cool and collected. Today, I intend to catch my flies with honey, rather than the vinegar that’s actually coursing through my veins.
“If you could just let us into the apartment, maybe we could see if she happened to leave any of the boy’s stuff,” I say, wrapping my arm around Charlie’s shoulder as he hangs his head in shame. He’s been hard to read. Spent most of Friday smiling and silent and then fell asleep on top of his covers again, still dressed in his clothes, curled around his baby blanket like the night before.
