Crossing the Lines

by S. J. Hooks

  “Coffee would be lovely,” he answers, taking a seat.

  I put the kettle on to boil and take out the jar of instant coffee, spooning some into two mugs, while he watches in silence. It’s an eerily familiar scenario for the two of us.

  “Can you just start talking, please?” I ask over my shoulder, before bringing the coffees to the table.

  “Very well,” he says, giving my chipped mismatched mugs a long look before pulling one of them toward him. “I’d like to discuss the offer I made you last night. It still stands.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. This changes nothing.”

  “Of course it does,” I protest. “It changes everything!”

  “Not for me,” he says firmly.

  “I’m a mom,” I say, wringing my hands.

  He takes a sip of the coffee, not even making a face at the bitter taste of the cheap instant brand, even though I know he’s used to high-quality French roast. “I guess it’s not a complete surprise to me.”

  I stare at him, wide-eyed, shocked by his statement. “It’s not?”

  “You’re very nurturing, very caring.” His gaze travels down my body. “And you have little white stretch marks around your belly button and hips. I just thought maybe you’d been heavier at one point.”

  “I was. When I was pregnant.”

  He looks up at me. “You must have been a child yourself.”

  “It wasn’t planned,” I admit, taking a seat across from him. “I was in high school. Luke was born after I graduated.”

  “Luke,” he says, almost to himself. “He’s a good-looking boy.”

  “He is.”

  “Where is his father?”

  I sigh, pressing the heel of my hand against my forehead where a headache is starting to build. “I don’t know. He’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  I nod.

  “He left you?” Mr. Thorne exclaims. “With a small child to care for?” His eyes flicker and he exhales before looking at me again, realization dawning. “You said you needed the money. That’s why you got into my car in the first place. Why you agreed to do anything I wanted.”

  “Everything I do is for my son,” I say. “But …” No more lies. “I did like it, being with you,” I continue. “You weren’t wrong about me, about what you said last night.”

  He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His eyes are trained on mine. “Why did you run away?”

  I feel more tears pressing behind my eyes and inhale deeply through my nose. “I was scared,” I croak. “I can’t ever be what you want. Don’t you see that?”

  “No,” he says, so very softly. “No, I don’t see that at all, sweet girl.”

  “Mommy! My movies!” Luke wails from the living room. Before I can get up, he comes running into the kitchen, red-faced and teary-eyed. “My movies. They’re gone!”

  I put him on my lap, stroking his hair. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

  “Where’d they go?” he asks.

  I have no idea how to explain this to him, but I have to try. “Someone borrowed them,” I say. “Without asking.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you’re not supposed to do that!” he protests.

  “That’s right. It wasn’t very nice at all.”

  “Will I get them back?”

  “I’ll get you new ones,” I promise. I just don’t know when.

  “This sucks,” he mumbles, sniffing loudly. “I was gonna watch them with Pippa and Piper for the sleepover.”

  “I know.” I sigh. “But you can watch their movies. You liked the one with the snow magic, right?”

  “Yeah,” he admits. “But I like Lightning McQueen better.”

  “I do too,” I whisper. “We’ll get him back.”

  “Okay.” He sniffs. “I finished packing.”

  “Oh, God. The taxi!” The meter must’ve been running for a good ten minutes by now.

  “I sent him off, the driver.”

  I narrow my eyes at Mr. Thorne. “Why?”

  “I’m happy to drive you anywhere. And I needed time with you.”

  I turn to Luke again. “Can you go play for a little while, hon?”

  “Who’s he?” my son asks, now staring unabashedly at Mr. Thorne as he climbs off my lap and walks right over to him. “Who are you?”

  Mr. Thorne stands, hesitantly reaching out his hand. “I’m Mr. Thorne,” he says. “How do you do?”

  Luke giggles. “Do what?”

  “It means hi,” I explain.

  “Oh, hi!” He grabs Mr. Thorne’s hand. “I’m Luke. Do you know my mommy?”

  Mr. Thorne glances at me, wide-eyed, and eases his hand back from Luke’s grip. He’s obviously not used to being around kids and if the situation were different, I would probably find their interaction funny.

  “Luke, I need to talk to Mr. Thorne. Can you please go play for a while?”

  “But I already put my toys in the bag,” he complains. “I wanna watch a movie!”

  “You can’t, honey.”

  Luke makes a face that I know all too well; a tantrum is coming unless I do something quickly.

  “Here,” Mr. Thorne says, holding out his phone. “YouTube?”

  Thank God. I pull up a Cars playlist, showing Luke how to press play. “Go watch in your room, okay? We won’t be long.”

  Tantrum forgotten, Luke beams at Mr. Thorne, holding the phone like it’s a treasure. “Thanks!”

  He scampers off, leaving the two of us alone.

  “His movies?” Mr. Thorne asks, sitting back down.

  “The burglar I saw took them,” I say. “I guess to sell them.”

  “You . . . you saw him?” He gives me an incredulous look.

  “He was here when I got home last night. Some creep in a ski mask,” I say, shivering at the memory of the stranger from last night.

  “You could’ve been hurt!” Mr. Thorne throws up his hands, agitated. “Fuck, you could’ve been killed! You can’t stay here anymore, Abigail. This place—” He looks around, scrunching up his nose like he smells something rotten.

  I see red. “I know that! I’m not stupid,” I hiss. “I did the best I could. In case you didn’t notice, I’m fucking broke. My boyfriend left us high and dry and I couldn’t find a job. I starved myself to feed my son. I did the best I could!”

  I’m practically yelling now. “How dare you come into my home and judge me? You have no idea what it’s like to go hungry, to care for a child and feel so desperate you’ll do anything to make sure he doesn’t end up on the street or in the goddamned system! I know this place is a dump, I know that. But it was our home. It’s the only home Luke has ever known, and now we have to leave. And I’m so fucking scared!”

  I draw a shaky breath, choking back a sob. Mr. Thorne stares at me in stunned silence. I’ve never talked to him like that before. I wonder if anyone has.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, realizing all of what I just yelled at him was really directed at my mother.

  I start crying, burying my face in my hands to muffle the sound. Luke can’t see me like this. I’m so scared of everything: of staying here, of leaving here, of Mr. Thorne realizing what a huge mess I am, of the future for me and Luke.

  I feel his hands on me, lifting me up as though I weigh nothing at all, and then the warmth of his body against mine as he sits down with me on his lap, wrapping me up in his arms.

  “Shhh, sweet girl,” he soothes. “It’s all right. It’s all right now. I’ll take care of you. Let me take care of you.”

  I get lost in the feeling of being cared for, of being held, for just a few minutes. I know there are lots of things we need to talk about, but I need this so desperately.

  “Tighter, please,” I hiccup.

  He squeezes me gently and it feels like heaven being cocooned in his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent, my cheek pressed against the soft wool of his coat. After I’ve
calmed down, he wipes away my tears and offers me a handkerchief from his pocket for my runny nose. Finally, I’m able to open up my eyes and look at him.

  “Hi,” I whisper, because I don’t know what else to say. The side of his mouth twitches and the tiny wrinkles in the corners of his eyes appear.

  “Hi.”

  I know what’s coming as he leans down and I welcome it, letting him kiss me with so much tenderness that it almost takes my breath away. Then the mood switches and his lips become demanding. I moan as he takes control, burying his hand in my hair to tilt my head and gain better access to my mouth. It only lasts for a few moments but it’s enough to leave me panting and flushed with my heart pounding wildly.

  “Don’t you see,” he mumbles against my lips, “how good we are together?” He kisses me again. “I want you,” he breathes.

  I feel a twinge of panic. Not here! Not now!

  “We should … talk,” I manage.

  “We should,” he agrees, brushing my hair away from my forehead. “Are you all right now?”

  “Yes. Will you let me up, please?” I mumble. “I can’t concentrate with you this close.” My admission makes me blush, which amuses him.

  “Good to know I’ve still got it,” he jokes.

  “I don’t think there was ever any question of that,” I reply as he slowly helps me to my feet.

  Taking a seat across from him, I fold up the used handkerchief and draw a deep breath, trying to center myself.

  “So,” I say.

  “So,” he says. “There was the matter of my proposition.”

  “Right.” I sit up straighter, folding my hands on the table. It looks like we’re getting down to business.

  “I want you and Luke to come live with me,” he says. “Clearly, you’re not safe here and that’s unacceptable.”

  “But—”

  “Please, let me finish,” he says, holding up his hand.

  Reluctantly, I nod my head.

  “You’ll have your own rooms downstairs and I’ll take the top floor. I’ll pay you handsomely, Abigail, and I mean it when I say you won’t have to worry about money anymore.” He gives me an expectant look.

  That’s it? I’m not ungrateful for Mr. Thorne’s offer, far from it. But it’s clear that he hasn’t thought this through, which I can’t blame him for. After all, he had all of thirty seconds from the time he saw me and Luke downstairs to the moment he knocked on my door.

  “It’s a very good offer,” I tell him. “But I just don’t see how it would ever work.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My son can’t ever know what happens between you and me. No one can. Ever.”

  “Agreed.”

  “But with Luke around, I wouldn’t be able to do the things I did for you before,” I clarify. “The, um, dressing up and having … sex … everywhere.”

  “When is his bedtime?” Mr. Thorne asks.

  “Seven-thirty, sometimes eight.”

  He nods. “All right. How about we say our time will be from nine ’til midnight, then? Provided I’m at home, of course. On the nights I’m out of town, you’re free to do whatever you like. Before nine, I won’t intrude on your time with your son.”

  “That … might work,” I say, a bit stunned to actually be considering this.

  “And there are always the days,” he continues. “I can work from home a few days a week, if I’d like more time with you on your own. We’ll see how it goes.”

  “During the day? What about Luke?”

  “You don’t want him in school? Or is it preschool at his age?”

  “Pre-K,” I whisper. “I haven’t been able to afford it.”

  “Oh, I’ll take care of that,” Mr. Thorne says, like it’s no big deal. “There are some good places around. My neighbor’s son goes to preschool just down the street. You could probably enroll him there if you want. It’s up to you.”

  Just like that, as though he has no idea what this means to me, how huge this is. To him, it’s just a phone call and a check in the mail, but to me, this is a dream come true: a nice place to live; a chance for Luke to make friends, to have what other kids have, and to learn from actual teachers. It’s everything.

  “M-Mr. Thorne,” I sob, clutching his handkerchief. “I … I—”

  “Please, no more of that,” he scolds gently.

  “I’m s-sorry,” I cry. “This is really overwhelming.”

  He gets up and I watch as he finds a glass in the cupboard, pours me some water, and places it in front of me, telling me to drink. I drain it, wiping my eyes afterward.

  “Look,” he says. “Why don’t you and your son come spend the weekend at my house? See what it’s like. No strings, no expectations.”

  “Like a trial run?”

  He smiles. “Exactly. I’ll be working quite a bit, so you’ll pretty much have the place to yourself. Then, on Sunday, you can tell me what you want to do.”

  “There’s just one more thing,” I say, remembering why I ran from him last night. It feels like ages ago.

  He nods.

  “What you said about me being naturally submissive … it might be true, I don’t know. But you can’t order me around in front of Luke, or say anything sexual in nature. I don’t ever want him to see me like that. It has to be completely professional between us when he’s around.” I lean forward. “Promise me.”

  He leans forward too, a severe expression on his face.

  “Abigail, I wouldn’t do that. I promise.”

  “Why are you doing all of this for me, for us?”

  “Because I want you,” he says simply. “And I want you happy.”

  He holds my gaze, not wavering at all.

  “O-okay,” I stutter, although I’m not at all clear how this fits into our relationship being strictly professional. I want to make him happy too, though.

  “Now, where am I driving the two of you today?”

  “My friend Jo’s, if you don’t mind? I just need a few minutes to pack some stuff.”

  “Take your time,” he says, reaching for his coffee. “And see if you can get my phone back for me.” He flashes me a smile that makes the inside of my chest flutter.

  “Yes, Sir,” I murmur, noticing how my choice of words changes his expression from playful to something else entirely.

  “Good girl,” he whispers, straightening himself in the chair.

  The look in his eyes makes my fatigued body come alive; my heartbeat increases and a secret thrill rushes through me. He wants me. He really does want me in his life, this beautiful man. Even after he saw where I come from, even knowing that I’m a mother, he still wants to continue our arrangement.

  I find Luke in his room and tell him we’re leaving in a few minutes. “Mr. Thorne needs his phone back,” I add, holding out my hand.

  “Aww,” he grumbles. “Okay.”

  I take the phone and close down the browser, staring in surprise at the background picture. It’s me, in a beautiful black party dress. The picture he took of me the night of his birthday.

  He didn’t just keep it; he made sure he’d see it all the time.

  My chest flutters again.

  “Hon, how would you like to go on a little vacation with me this weekend?” I ask Luke.

  “What’s a vacation, Mommy?” he asks. “Something good?”

  “I think it could be,” I answer, feeling cautiously hopeful. “I think it could be good.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  It’s a strange realization that my whole life can fit into two bags, one for me and one for Luke. I look around the apartment and realize I don’t need to take anything else. It’s just stuff. What matters is that Luke and I are going to a safe place.

  “We’re all packed,” I tell Mr. Thorne, who’s still in the kitchen. He smiles and takes the heavy bags from me, hoisting them over his shoulder with ease.

  “After you,” he says like a perfect gentleman, following me out.

  Leaving the apartment unlocke
d isn’t ideal, but I don’t have much choice in the matter. I shut the door tightly, hoping nobody will realize they can walk right in. As we walk down the hallway, I pause in front of Mrs. Watt’s apartment, slipping the note I’ve written underneath her door. I probably should knock, knowing she’s always home, but I can’t explain Mr. Thorne to her. In the note, I tell her about the break-in, urging her to be careful and also asking her to notify the building manager. I also give her Jo’s address in case the manager needs to reach me to change the lock, although I won’t be holding my breath on that one.

  Once outside, we follow Mr. Thorne down the street to where his car is parked. It’s really nice—a BMW, I think. Black and sleek. Definitely expensive. I remember the only time I’ve been in it, the first night we met, and marvel at how different everything is now.

  “Nice ride,” I comment, for lack of anything better to say.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Thorne says, putting our bags in the trunk. He looks at Luke. “Do you like cars?” he asks, a bit hesitantly.

  “Uh-huh.” Luke nods. “Too bad yours isn’t red. That would’ve been cool.” He climbs into the backseat, leaving Mr. Thorne speechless.

  “Sorry,” I say. “He, uh, tells it like it is.”

  Mr. Thorne doesn’t say anything, but I swear his eyes light up with humor for a second. I join Luke in the backseat and make sure he’s safely buckled up before putting on my own seatbelt. I give Mr. Thorne the address, which he puts into his GPS, and we’re off.

  It’s a short ride to Jo and Thomas’ place, and the only one talking in the car is Luke. He tells Mr. Thorne about Piper and Pippa, as though he’s supposed to know who they are. To his credit, Mr. Thorne smiles and nods along with Luke’s prattling like he’s totally interested in why Piper is cooler than Pippa because she likes Lego better than Barbie, but Pippa is fine with watching Mater’s Tall Tales so she’s okay too, even though she kicked him in her sleep that one time.

  Mr. Thorne is lucky and finds a spot right outside. Before I’ve unbuckled Luke, he’s holding the door open for us, even offering me a hand as I step out into the cold autumn air.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, holding on to him for a second longer than necessary.

  He unloads our bags as I help Luke out, but I’m surprised to see him still carrying them when I turn around.