Easy Reunion

by Jerald, Tracey

  “All except one time,” I say grimly.

  He agrees. “Except that one time.”

  There’s silence between us. “If I were her, I’d be holding back too—waiting to see if you’ve changed.” I start to squawk, and Cade holds up his hand. “Man, I know you weren’t like that, but think about it from her point of view. She thinks you flipped on her. She doesn’t understand why.” His emphasis on the last word finally penetrates.

  “You mean I explain why I hurt her without…”

  He finishes my thought. “Going into the details about everything that happened to you? Yeah.” Grunting, he grabs his drink and tosses it back. “Though if this goes the distance, I suspect you’ll end up telling her everything.”

  I shake my head emphatically, not at the idea of Kelsey and me, but at the thought of baring my soul that way. Cade gives me a half-amused, half-sardonic grin.

  “We’ll see. Now, what’s your plan?”

  “Talk to Lisa. Convince her to help me get in the same room as Kelsey.”

  Standing, Cade tosses a wad of cash on the table. “Then let’s go find your sister.”

  * * *

  When we get back to my house, Lisa’s car is gone. “Come on in and hang out for a while. You can catch me up on what’s been going on with you.”

  He shrugs. “Not much.”

  I walk over to the fridge and pull out a couple of beers. After I hand one over, we make our way into the living room. “You still with…” But I’m stuck on the name. Cade flies through women like they’re diapers on a newborn baby.

  Before I can even try to think of the name, Lisa’s voice floats out from the kitchen, “Don’t strain yourself, Ry. You work your brain hard enough at the office.” Cade’s eyes flare at the sound of Lisa’s voice, but he doesn’t say anything to the blatant smackdown. Instead, he calmly lifts the bottle to his lips and sucks back some of the dark ale. She pokes her head in briefly to smile at me. But the look she gives him would filet his skin off if it were possible. She sniffs as if she’s smelled something terrible before turning her eyes back on me.

  Cade’s words from the pub crawl insidiously through my brain. No one should have the kind of pain we’ve lived with in their heads. But how long have I been locked in my own that I haven’t been able to see what’s staring me right in the face? The way Cade and Lisa circle each other with one holding a chair and the other a whip, it’s so obvious she’s holding him at a distance to avoid being hurt.

  After tonight’s conversation, I feel like an idiot for just now seeing what’s been in front of me for years. Like me, Cade’s been so wary around someone he cares for—my sister—because it’s a lot harder to expose your ghosts to someone who matters.

  A reason as similar as the one that keeps me screwing up my chances with Kelsey time and time again? Complete and utter fear?

  “Hey, Lisa,” I call out. Footsteps pause in the hall. “Come here for a moment.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Cade hisses as my sister makes her way back into the room.

  “The same thing you just did for me a few hours ago,” I mutter to him as I stand and pick up my beer. Walking to where Lisa braces herself in the entrance of the family room, I pass a hand over her dark hair before tipping her face up to meet mine. “Maybe you both should just work things out,” I tell her softly. “I’ll be in my study trying to figure out a way to get Kelsey to talk to me.”

  It takes a moment for my comment to penetrate. When it does, her small frame goes rigid. Her eyes go immediately to Cade, whose head is dropped beneath slumped shoulders. It’s a defeated posture I know well as I’ve recently sat for hours in precisely the same position wondering if the darkness that’s surrounding me will ever lift.

  Brushing a kiss on the top of my sister’s head, I head down the hall.

  Along the way, I hear my name called. Without turning, I call back to her, “I wouldn’t leave Cade alone, Lisa. He might leave.”

  “You realize you just gave me the okay to go after your best friend?” She sounds like she’s questioning my sanity.

  I turn around and lean against the wall. Crossing my arms and my ankles, I give my sister a one-sided smile. “I can think of no one else in the world who I’d trust your heart with. And I can think of no one else who can find his.” Pushing off the wall, I walk back in her direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Cade staring at us both like we’re insane. “He’s the best man I know, and you’re…you. I’m just sorry I had my head up my ass so long I didn’t see it before now.” Sincerity rings through my voice.

  Indecision flickers across her face before she blurts out, “Stop texting Kelsey tonight. Promise me.”

  My brows lower in a V. “But Lisa, I’m…”

  “I’ll bring you to the center tomorrow. I think you need to hear what she has to say, Ry.” Placing her hand on my bicep, she squeezes it. “You need to hear what it was like from her, not from your own perspective. Maybe then you can find the right words to say.”

  “When did you become so wise?” I ask her.

  Her head turns, and she locks gazes with Cade. “Right around the same time I realized that a broken engagement was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  Cade lets out a quiet, “Damn.”

  I smile. “You said it yourself, buddy. If this goes the distance…”

  “Fuck you, Perrault.”

  Lisa, quick as a whip, advises him helpfully, “Wrong Perrault to make that offer to.”

  Cade groans, but it’s filled with laughter and something I haven’t heard from him in years.

  Hope.

  “Good night, kids. Keep the noise down,” I call out as I make my way toward my bedroom instead of my study.

  “Night, Ry,” Lisa calls back.

  “Night, buddy.”

  With a grin, I enter my suite, wondering if Cade’s going to be here tomorrow when Lisa and I leave for the center. For both their sakes, I hope so. It’d be nice if the hands on the clock of love stopped standing still for one member of this family.

  Chapter 20

  Kelsey

  “Words have the power to come back and haunt a person long after you’ve forgotten about saying them. Think about your favorite song; what kind of emotion does it make you feel?”

  “Happy,” one of the center kids calls out.

  “Ready to dance,” another yells.

  “You’re always ready to do that,” one hollers. The room laughs.

  “My favorite songs are the ones my nana sings. They’re kinda sad even though they’re pretty,” a little girl pipes up. The room goes quiet at her words.

  “Some of the best songs do that,” I assure her. Her brown eyes brighten as I get close enough while I’m walking around the room to lay a hand gently on her shoulder. “But what if the song made you sad? Would you want to replay it over and over in your head? Unable to not hear the words?”

  The chorus of “No’s” is overwhelming. “Then end the cycle right now. Because the words you say to each other matter. I can hear the words that were said to me when I was your age in my head just as clearly as if one of you said them to me.”

  I make my way back up to the table in the front of the room where I agreed to do an impromptu signing for these kids. “I was humiliated. I tried to stay under the radar. I was physically assaulted. And guess what? Right now, even overhearing one harsh comment, I, too, can be transported back to my nightmare called high school. Is that what you want to be known as? Mean? A bully?”

  I pick up the first of Pilar’s stories. “You asked me how I started writing the Pilar Martell series. I had to purge what was still wounding me, what still had the power to control me. I wanted to make it so the people who hurt me didn’t have the power to when I ran into them again, and I was sure I would.”

  Taking a deep breath, I meet Angel’s eyes. She nods, even as she swipes her fingers under her lashes. “You become who and what you are not only because of the things that happen ar
ound you, but because of things done to you. So, learn from what’s happened to me and become a better person, a better friend, a better human. Be the voice for people who can’t.” I stop talking to take the pulse of the room.

  And that’s when I spot Ry leaning against the wall with an expression of awe mixed with pain.

  Who the hell agreed to let him in here? I think furiously. But I know it must have been Lisa trying to mend the breach between us I still wasn’t sure how to handle.

  Because like I just told these kids, words hurt. And when they’re said by the man who managed to lay inroads to your heart, they leave you with no obligation to be kind, no duty to be polite, and no responsibility to care for anyone’s emotions but your own.

  Pretending as if Ry is nothing more than one of the motivational posters tacked up on the wall, I return my attention to the reason I’m even standing in the room baring my soul to begin with—the kids of Le Cadeau. Some of them are smiling, some have expressions of mild distress on their face, but one—the boy from yesterday—looks like I simultaneously shot him even as I pumped his heart full of life-saving blood. It’s hurt and pain, war and peace. It’s like looking into a mirror.

  Catching Angel’s gaze, I flick my eyes over to the boy. She gives an almost imperceptible nod, understanding my concerns. “Okay, everyone!” I clap my hands together. “Normally there are people who handle this for me, but what I need you all to do is to line up…”

  The sudden scraping of chairs overpowers my voice until Morgan lets out a sharp whistle. “Keep calm until Kee’s done talking,” she orders.

  “Right, as I was saying. If you all line up, I’ll be happy to sign the books I have here.” I gesture behind me. “Ms. Morgan’s going to take pictures to keep around the center. With her approval, I was hoping we could name it after the title for the next book I plan on writing for Pilar. I just finished Humility and sent that one off to the publisher last week. My next one, I plan on calling Strength. That is, if you all approve?” The murmur of excitement causes the same emotion to swell up inside me as well.

  There’s not going to be another chance where someone takes away my self-worth. The last chance for that happened at Audubon Park. I may not ever be up to Ry’s standards, but that’s because I’m better than that.

  I’m up to my own.

  Moving around to the back of the table, I pick up the first book, open it to the title page, and look up into the smiling face of the anxious girl in front of me. “Hi, sweetheart. What’s your name.”

  “Clara,” the adorable girl who’s missing a front tooth lisps.

  “Can you spell that for me?” After she does, I carefully pen her name in the book in print so she can read it. “How old are you, Clara?”

  “I’m six.”

  “So, this book may be old for you now. I want to make sure you have an adult’s permission before you read it,” I caution.

  She nods her head. “Nana reads your books. She said I could get one, but I’m not allowed to read beyond the dead…deadi…what’s that word?”

  My heart melts. “Dedication. Do you know what that means?”

  She shakes her head.

  I explain. “When authors write a book, they often give a special thank-you to the person who supported them while they wrote it. Did your Nana tell you who this one’s dedicated to?” At the shake of Clara’s head, I tip mine over to my best friend. “To two people. One is Ms. Angel. She’s my bestest friend in the whole world.”

  Clara’s eyes get round. “Would she sign it too?”

  I laugh and hand Clara a pen. “I bet she would if you ask her.”

  “Not until we get your picture,” Morgan interrupts. “Clara, why don’t you go behind the table with Ms. Kee.”

  Clara comes behind the table and wraps her thin arms around me. “Ms. Kee, can I ask a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is that your real name? Nana said she didn’t think it was.”

  I swallow a lump in my throat. “No, sweetheart. It isn’t.” I won’t lie though it would have been easier.

  “Why not? If you wrote this book, why’s your real name not on it?” Ah, the beautiful simplicity of childhood before reality spoils it.

  “Because, sweetheart, sometimes people can not be nice, so you have to come up with a special name to protect yourself,” I try to explain simply.

  The little boy next in line says boldly, “I like it. It reminds me of the name King Kong.” He lets out a roar to the delight of the other kids, who laugh.

  My eyes drift to Ry, who’s still against the back wall. He’s as pale as the white wall behind him. “Yes, I guess it does kind of remind you of King Kong.” Turning my attention back to Morgan and Clara, I say, “Now smile and say ‘strength’!”

  We both do before she scrambles off. Soon, I’m onto the next boy, the one who thought my pen name was cool.

  Damn right it is.

  * * *

  An hour later, the last child approaches. It’s the boy I saw in the audience earlier. I don’t hesitate before standing and walking around the table. I hold out my hand. “I’m Kee. I noticed you in the audience.”

  He mumbles something. I bend down, not letting go of his hand. “Darlin’, I’m sorry. If it’s just me because it’s been so loud in here, I’ll apologize. But I didn’t catch your name.”

  Lifting his head, I see he has one blue eye and one brown; the brown appears to have either a faint birthmark surrounding it or a bruise. More clearly, though still softly, he says, “I’m Max.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Max,” I say sincerely.

  He shrugs as if indifferent, but I see a light flush cover his neck. A neck with small skin tags on it, I notice. “Tell me, Max, what do you like to do?” I ask casually while reaching for the last of every book.

  He greedily takes in the stack I’m accumulating in front of me. “I love to read. Like, a lot.”

  “What grade are you in?”

  “I’ll…I’ll…”

  “Take your time,” I say softly.

  He rushes out. “I’ll be going into ninth grade in the fall, ma’am.”

  “Kee,” I correct him. “Or Ms. Kee. I’m going to be around the center quite a bit.”

  “But no one wants to be around me ’cause I’m too ugly,” he blurts out. “Even my momma left ’cause I have a face that would break a mirror.” And a tear I’m sure he’d rather die than surrender slides out of one of his unusual eyes.

  And when that happens, my heart shatters into a million pieces. How did I think I could be healed by writing a bunch of words when there are children who need to see there are people who will stand behind the things they say?

  “Max, why don’t you join me over here?” I cajole softly.

  Slowly, the teen shuffles around the table, his whole body strung tight in anticipation of another rejection. In his hands, there’s a dog-eared copy of Betrayal—the first book I ever wrote. “What was your favorite part of the story?” I ask him, nodding at the book in his hand.

  “The first time Pilar stands up for herself,” he answers without hesitation. Then, in a moment I know I’ll never forget, he begins to quote me to me, “I hope the time I spend enduring this is guiding me toward something. Otherwise…”

  I join in. “What’s the point of the struggle? The suffering? Is there a life beyond this pain?” Without thinking, I reach out to grip Max’s free hand.

  He shudders as if touch is a foreign concept to him.

  “There is.” Tears clog my voice as I speak to the young teen who’s hurting in ways I know intimately. “I found the way to the other side.”

  “Can you show me how?”

  I shake my head. “But I can talk with you about the tools I learned to get me through.”

  “You’d do that for me?” he asks in disbelief.

  “Absolutely,” I say firmly. “I wish I had a place like Le Cadeau to come to when I was your age. Who knows if it would have made a difference?” I
squeeze his hand, then begin to loosen my grip. But suddenly his tightens with such a strength, my eyes fly up to his.

  “Do you know what Le Cadeau means?”

  I nod. “The gift. All of you are, you know. Not just to Ms. Morgan or Ms. Angel, but to people you haven’t met yet.”

  “I’m not sure if I believe that,” he says starkly. He tugs his hand away and pushes his straggly hair away from his face.

  “You will when you’re ready to.” I let that sink in for a moment before I reach for the pen. “Do you want me to sign your book, Max?”

  He nods and hands it over. I touch the worn cover reverently, knowing this is a beloved treasure while I think of the right things to say to a boy who needs to feel worthy and to give him the strength to go on to his tomorrows where there might not be people to help cushion the pain of his struggles and celebrate his triumphs. With gentle care, I flip to the title page. And I write.

  This isn’t a quick note. I take my time writing a message to a boy whose soul touched mine in a place where in a perfect world no one should ever meet—on the hunting ground for bullies. I know we’re strangers, but we’re not when it comes to the hurts of our hearts. When I’m done, my not-so-perfect penmanship has covered the front and back of two pages. I blow lightly on them before I turn to hand him his precious treasure. Then, I turn to the stack in front of me and begin writing. When I’m done, each book has a quick message of encouragement.

  There’s an awestruck look on his face. I bite my lip to hold the tears at bay. “Let go of the words they throw at you. Don’t keep them inside. Don’t let them eat at your soul, and you’ll be just fine, Max.” Sliding the books in his direction, I stand and wait for his reaction.

  His lips tremble before he picks up the books, turns, and walks away. He gets halfway across the room before he stops. “Ms. Kee?”

  “Yes?”

  “How long did it take before the words they said to you didn’t matter?”

  They’ll always matter. I don’t say that aloud. Instead, I say, “They started to matter less when I began to write.” I nod to the books in his hands.