by Lauren Wood
“I haven’t spoken to Chase in two years, Mrs. Campbell,” I said as I pushed myself out of the chair and retrieved my purse from the desk drawer. “And I have no intention of ever doing so again.”
She started to say something, but I told her I had to get home to my sick son and headed for the door.
Chapter 8
Chase
My mom still lived in the same little, cracker box house that I grew up in. My dad passed away six years ago and his life insurance paid it off.
It wasn’t much of a house; two small bedrooms and one bath, a kitchen barely big enough for two people to stand in, but she said the place held a life time of memories for her and she’d never leave it behind.
When I was drafted by the Falcons, I got a hefty signing bonus and a two year deal worth just shy of three million dollars. I offered to buy her a new house, but she refused it all.
She said it was a perfectly good, paid for house and it was just fine for her. She did let me put in new appliances and put on a new roof. Other than that, the place was exactly the same as it was when I grew up there.
It was a good thing. I’d burned through my money like a man on fire. Fast cars, fast boats, big houses, heavy gold chains, Rolex watches, vacations and lots and lots of what the guys in the NFL call “P&P” -- parties and pussy.
What money I had left was spent on doctors and hospitals and rehab. Here I was two years later without a dime to my name.
I had royally fucked up. My life had been on a downward spiral since the morning I got on the plane for Atlanta.
I can still see Mollie standing there, waving goodbye with tears in her pretty eyes.
I could still taste her on my lips, feel her against my skin.
God, I loved that girl. Then everything changed. I got caught up in the NFL machine. It was all about the team. And it was all about ME. I started believing my own press, how great I was and what a bright future I had. I started drinking and partying and fucking a different girl every night, and it didn’t take long for me to convince myself that Mollie was not the girl for me.
Christ, I broke up with her over the phone. How shitty was that?
I remember many nights lying in the hospital bed, in and out of consciousness, high on pain killers and held together with screws and wire like Frankenstein, always dreaming of Mollie.
I imagined her at my bedside, softly whispering in my ear, telling me it would be all right.
I could feel the touch of her hand, the warmth of her lips.
Then I’d open my eyes and she wouldn’t be there.
I had never cried a day in my life before the wreck.
I cried a lot afterward, though not from the pain. I cried because I missed Mollie and knew that I had pissed away my one shot to be with the only girl I would ever love.
Chapter 9
Chase
As the taxi pulled up to the curb in front of my mom’s house, it occurred to me that I hadn’t been home in over a year, since before my wreck. And I hadn’t seen my mom in six or seven months. Maybe that’s why she was so surprised to hear from me last week when I called to ask if I could come home.
“Home?” I could hear the hesitation in her voice. “You mean… here? To Centerville?”
“Yes, mom,” I said with a sigh, hoping I wouldn’t have to beg. “Home, to your house in Centerville. Just until I can figure out what I’m going to do and get back on my feet again.”
She hemmed and hawed for a minute, like she didn’t want me to come home, but finally relented and said I could stay with her for a while.
I was a little shocked at the hesitation in her voice, I mean, she is my mom for Christ sake, but I couldn’t really blame her. I’d been a lousy son. Buying someone a washer and dryer and a new roof does not make you a good son.
She had spent a lot of time at the hospital the first few weeks after my wreck, but she couldn’t stay in Atlanta forever. She worked as a secretary for a local CPA and couldn’t miss work for long.
Once they announced that I would indeed live, and moved me from ICU into a private room, I saw her less and less.
Then she started calling rather than coming, saying that she couldn’t get off work.
Then the calls became less frequent. I know, I could have called her, but to be honest, I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to be left the fuck alone.
I think she knew that and was just giving me the space and time I needed to realize what a shit storm I’d made of my life. Or maybe she was just tired of listening to me whine.
I paid the driver, grabbed my duffel bag from the floor, and stepped out onto the curb. I stood for a moment, letting my eyes go around the front of the little blue house with the black shutters and faded red front door.
When my dad was alive, he kept the place immaculate. My mom was never much for yardwork and it showed. The grass needed cutting and the hedges needed trimming and I imagined the gutters could use a good cleaning.
I wondered if what was left of my right arm would even allow me to do such basic chores. I could use my right hand okay, but I couldn’t lift anything heavy and my range of motion was limited. We’d have to wait and see, I told myself. Just thinking about it made my entire arm ache.
As the taxi pulled away, I slung the duffel over my good shoulder and went up the walk toward the front door.
It was literally like walking into my past.
CHAPTER 10: Chase
My mom saw the taxi pull up, and by the time I was stepping onto the tiny front porch, she had opened the door and was standing with her arms open wide.
I bent down so she could put her arms around my neck and kiss my cheeks. There were big tears in her eyes.
“Oh, son, I’m so glad you’re home,” she said, sniffing back the tears as she held me at arm’s length to look me over. “You’re so thin!”
“I’m not thin, ma,” I said with a tired smile. “I just haven’t been in the gym much lately.”
I hadn’t really given myself a good look in the mirror in a long time. I was six-foot-two, and before the wreck, weighed in at a solid 220; and it was all muscle.
Now, given that I’d lost a lot of muscle mass and walked with a slight limp thanks to my damaged hip, I probably did look smaller to her. She would freak if she saw my withered right arm, slack of muscle and lined with scars from the wreck and the surgeries.
“I’ll fatten you up, don’t you worry,” she said, tugging me through the door. I noticed that she looked up and down the street for a minute, as if she thought someone might be watching, then closed the door and led me into my old bedroom just off the kitchen.
“Nothing’s changed,” she said, stepping aside to let me pass. She had her hands clasped to her chin and was eyeing me warily, as if she thought I might suddenly freak out and run from the room.
“Of course, you have fresh sheets and pillow cases. And there are fresh towels in the bathroom, just like always.”
“Thanks, ma,” I said, dropping my duffel on the single bed that was too small for me when I was a teen. I stood at the foot of the bed with my hands in my pockets and gazed around my old room.
It was the room of a typical teenage jock from Alabama. There were posters of Coach Nick Saban, and several Alabama football players hanging on the walls.
There was a small desk with a lamp with an Alabama shade. The curtains over the window and the comforter on the bed were Alabama crimson and white.
My Centerville football jersey from my last high school game was tacked to the wall, as was the Alabama jersey from the last college game I played.
Mom went to the closet door and pulled it open. “All of your old clothes are still here. Jeans, t-shirts, your Sunday suit for church.”
“Thanks, ma,” I said again, mustering a smile for her. I didn’t tell her that I wasn’t on too good a terms with God at the moment, so I probably wouldn’t be going to church. That would have been an argument I was too tired to have.
“Do you want t
o unpack?” She nodded at the duffel bag.
I shook my head. “Not much in there. Just a few pair of sweats and jeans. I’ll unpack them later.”
She seemed nervous. She wrapped her arms around herself and licked her lips. “So, what are your plans?”
“Plans?” I took a deep breath. I hadn’t even thought about what I’d do next. Since the wreck I’d been taking things one day at a time. Today was no exception.
I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and rubbed a hand over my face. I shrugged at her. “I don’t really have any plans, ma. I thought I’d rest a bit and then maybe drive around. Is dad’s old truck still in the shed out back?”
She hesitated for a second, then came to sit next to me on the bed. She put her arm around my shoulders like she did when I was a little kid and needed comforting.
Softly, she said, “I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to go driving around just yet. Why don’t you take a few days to rest?”
“I’ve been resting for nearly a year, ma,” I said, looking sideways at her. I could see the worry and concern on her face, but I got the feeling it didn’t have anything to do with my injuries or my health. I scooted away and turned to face her.
“Ma, what are you not telling me?” When she didn’t respond, I braced myself for bad news and asked again. “Mom! What are you not telling me?”
Her hands were folded together in her lap. She started kneading her fingers and slowly shook her head. “There’s something you need to know,” she said quietly, her eyes locked on her hands.
A chill ran up my spine. The pins and screws in my arm seemed to tingle, like bolts of lightning were running through them.
“It’s about Mollie Carter,” she said, still refusing to look at me.
I felt my breath catch in my throat. “What about her, ma? What is it? Is Mollie okay? Did she get married?” I raised my voice again. “Mom! Just tell me what it is!”
“She never married,” she said, finally bringing her eyes up to mine. “She teaches third grade at the elementary school.”
I blew out a sigh of relief. A smile cracked across my lips. “That’s it?” I laughed. “Christ, ma, I already knew that.”
“What you don’t know, Chase,” she said, resting a hand on my knee. “Is that Mollie has a son. His name is Tommy.”
* * *
I blinked at her. The words hung in my ears.
She said, “Chase, did you hear me?”
“I heard you, ma,” I said. For some reason, my heart was filled with jealousy and anger. I gritted my teeth. “Who’s the father?”
“Well, I have no idea,” she said quickly. “I haven’t spoken to Mollie since you two broke up.”
“But people talk, ma,” I said, eyeing her warily. There was no bigger town gossip than my mother and the gaggle of church biddies she hung out with. I knew that she knew far more than she was letting on.
“Well, I certainly don’t gossip,” she said, all offended.
“There’s something else,” I said, watching her look away. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Chase, just let it go. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Mollie has a son,” I said to myself. “Imagine that.”
“Yes, imagine that.”
My arm began to ache and I brought up my left hand to give my shoulder and bicep a good rub. I was in constant pain, though most of the time it was no more than a dull ache, just enough to let me know it was there.
I still got headaches, too. Migraines, like the one that was coming on now. The doctors said I would have them the rest of my life; the result of the concussion from the wreck.
My head started pounding. I was seeing little lights flashing in my right eye, like little ghosts dancing around. I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead above my eyebrows.
“Mom, are you telling me that I have a son?” I asked, my eyes still closed.
“What? No, why on earth would you think that?”
“Then what are you saying?” I asked. My voice had dropped to a whisper. Every word rammed into my temples like a blacksmith hammering iron. I started thinking that coming home had been a huge mistake.
“I’m not saying anything,” she said softly, getting up and quickly moving to the door.
“I think there’s a lot you’re not saying,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her.
She huffed at me and said, “Mollie has moved on, Chase, and you should, too.”
Chapter 11
Mollie
I stopped by the corner market for bread and milk, picked Tommy up from daycare, and made it home to find an old blue Chevy truck parked in front of my mom’s house. Tommy and I were living with mom until I could get my school loans paid down and save enough for a down payment on a home of our own.
My heart leapt into my throat because I recognized the truck immediately. It was Chase’s dad’s old truck. Chase used to pick me up in the thing every Friday and Saturday night to go parking at the lake.
It was a rattle trap even back then, with a worn bench seat covered by an old blanket, no seat belts, no heat or air, barely any brakes, and side mirrors that were held on with duct tape.
The best thing about it was its long bed where Chase would spread out sleeping bags and we’d lie naked under the stars, exploring each other’s bodies and talking about our future.
I loved that old truck and every time I saw it coming I knew I was in for the ride of my life. But that was years ago. Now, it was like seeing a ghost.
I shut off the car and sat staring at the truck. Chase was not behind the wheel. My pulse started to race. He wasn’t in the truck and he wasn’t in the yard. That meant that he was probably inside with my mom.
“Oh shit,” I said as I hurriedly pulled Tommy out of his car seat and grabbed the bag of groceries.
Tommy squealed when I scooped him up and he clung on to me like a little chimp. He smiled and waved his hands in excitement, as if he knew something exciting was about to happen.
I wasn’t so sure it would be exciting. It would depend on the version of Chase who was waiting inside.
* * *
My mom met me at the door. She had a look of stunned silence on her face. She took Tommy out of my arms and leaned in to whisper at me.
“He’s in the kitchen. I’m going to take Tommy upstairs until you’re ready.”
“Ready for what, mom?” I asked with a frown.
She blinked at me. “You know.” When I gave her a blank stare she put an edge to her voice. “You have to tell him, Mollie Marie. He has a right to know.”
“He has no rights at all,” I said, closing the door and pushing her toward the stairs. “You just take Tommy upstairs and let me handle it.”
She started to say something more, but I pushed her again and she went up the stairs.
When I turned, Chase was standing in the kitchen door with a big smile on his face.
Chapter 12
Mollie
“Hello, Mollie,” he said, taking a step closer with his arms spread.
“Stop,” I said, holding up a hand and taking a step back. If he thought he could just waltz back into my life with kisses and hugs, he was sorely mistaken and I told him so.
He immediately stopped moving toward me and let his arms drop to his sides. His right arm went down slower than his left. I saw him wince in pain.
“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his right arm with his left hand. I could tell he was in pain, but he forced the smile again. “I should have called. I mean, I just wanted to, well… It’s good do see you again.”
I bit my tongue. It was all I could do not to say the same words back to him.
To say that I almost peed in my pants when I saw him standing there would be an understatement. I’d seen Chase on TV a few times over the last couple of years, but the last time I looked into those amazing blue eyes was when we kissed goodbye at the airport.
And now here he was, standing in my mom’s house, giving me a smile like
nothing happened. He looked like a shell of the boy I once knew. The dirty blond hair and smile was still there, but he looked smaller, thinner. There was no bluster and the confidence he’d always oozed was gone. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
I waited until I heard my mom closed the bedroom door upstairs, then pushed past him to go into the kitchen.
Chase followed me without a word. He leaned against the counter to watch me put the bread and milk away. After a moment of awkward silence, he asked, “How have you been?”
“I’ve been fine,” I said, not bothering to hide the tone of anger in my voice.” I leaned against the fridge and crossed my arms over my chest. “Why are you here, Chase?”
“I just wanted to see you,” he said, shrugging with his left shoulder. “I hear you’re teaching school now.”
“Yes.”
“Third grade.” He smiled again. “That’s good. I know that’s all you’ve ever wanted to do.”
“Yes.”
“Your mom seems good,” he said. He was still smiling, like his face was frozen. “My mom’s good.”
I didn’t give a shit how Chase’s mom was and he knew it. She had never liked me and I hadn’t even spoken to her in two years. Still, I said, “Good.”
“I hear you have a son,” he said, his mood turning serious. He rubbed his arm and stared the pictures of Tommy mom and I had taped to the front of the fridge.
I moved to stand between him and the photos, hoping that cutting off his view would cut off his questioning. It did not.
“Tommy,” he said. “Your mom says he’s almost a year and a half now.”
“Sixteen months,” I said without thinking. I took a deep breath and asked the question that I really didn’t want him to answer. “Why are you here, Chase?”
“I needed to see you again, Mollie,” he said, bringing his blue eyes up to mine. “To apologize for what I did. I don’t expect you to understand or forgive me. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“Fine, you’ve said it.” I folded my arms over my breasts and let my eyebrows go up. “Is that it?”