A Missing Heart

by Shari J. Ryan

  Today was number ten. I don’t know who to call but I think we need help.

  Today was number twenty. We’ve run out of food and it smells in here.

  Today was number twenty-four. I’m going to find help.

  I feel less enlightened now than I did before, as I crumple each piece of paper back up and toss it into the box. Every kid does weird things. Maybe she was grounded for a couple of weeks. This discovery, although mysterious, is no help at all.

  I place the box back into the closet and slam the door shut, realizing a second too late that I shouldn’t be slamming doors in a house with a sleeping baby.

  I freeze for a minute, hoping Gavin didn’t hear the noise. No such luck, though. Crap. Gavin’s up, and he’s definitely feeling that pain in his ear now. Shit, shit, shit.

  Just as I kick the door one last time, my phone buzzes on the bed. It’s Mom. I forgot she was coming over with the prescription for Gavin. I’ve forgotten everything in the last thirty minutes.

  With a couple of deep breaths, in and out, doing my best to calm the redness that’s likely splotched across my tell-all face, I leave my bedroom, walk past my screaming baby’s door, and head downstairs to greet Mom.

  “Coming,” I shout, even though she didn’t ring the bell.

  I need to take one last breath before I let her in, but none of the breaths I’ve taken in the past few seconds have done anything to ease my anger and frustration. I open the door and let it fly wide as I make my way back upstairs and into Gavin’s room to pick him up. “AJ?” Mom calls from the front door.

  “Tori isn’t home; you can come in,” I shout back, in between hushes to Gavin.

  Mom meets me in the hallway outside of Gavin’s bedroom. “Oh, my poor grandbaby,” she coos.

  “Holy cow, your grandson has a load in his pants,” I say, getting a whiff of something rotten. “Give me a sec while I dispose of whatever crawled into his diaper.”

  Mom laughs, a knowing little chuckle reminding me that she’s been here, and she’s done this. “Honey, I think you dropped a note or something out here. Want me to throw it away?”

  “A note?” I question. “I don’t have any notes.”

  Dear God, this is bad. I’ve been proud of myself for keeping my dad guts where they belong whenever I get puked on, shit on, drooled on, and peed on. I definitely get peed on at least twice a day even though I try to be faster than Gavin’s skill at hosing me down during the exact second the diaper is removed—he usually wins. I haven’t found a good method to stop the madness yet, so I’ve come to terms with his inhumane behavior, and I have convinced myself it is a normal part of life. “Being peed on should never be a normal part of life. Right, little dude?” I ask Gavin.

  “What does, ‘Today was the last day. Maybe, tomorrow we’ll be safe,’ mean?”

  “Mom, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I pull up Gavin’s little jogging pants and scoop him into my arms.

  As I walk out of Gavin’s bedroom, I see exactly what she’s talking about. One of those damn pink pieces of paper somehow escaped out into the hallway. I take it from her hand and crumple it back up. “I have no idea what this is, nor do I want to know,” I tell her.

  “It looks like a child’s handwriting,” Mom says.

  “I know. The notes sort of fell from a box in the closet—one I was ‘cleaning out’,” I explain, using air quotes.

  “Oh,” Mom says. With everything she’s been through in the past seven years with Hunter and losing his wife, she’s learned not to ask as many questions as she used to. Mom and I have a different relationship than she and Hunter, though. Hunter is a private person and I’m not. I tell her everything and anything she wants to know because frankly, I don’t really care if she knows. I’ve always told her everything—well, almost everything besides the whole having a baby at seventeen, thing. Whatever the case, if she judges me, it’s usually because I deserve it, and I’ve come to terms with that.

  “Tori left here a few minutes ago, telling me she needed to go talk to her therapist. It’s a little weird, but not as weird as her having a complete meltdown on the side of the highway while we were heading home from the hospital.”

  “On the side of a highway?” Mom repeats, concern lacing each word.

  “Yeah, it’s exactly how I’m making it sound. She had no clue what she was doing, and then she apologized when she got back into the car.”

  “I don’t understand.” Mom sweeps her hand up the side of her face and walks slowly down the stairs and into the living room. “It’s like something happened at some point in the past year. She is not the girl you first met, and I feel so confused about it. I just wish we could help her.”

  “You’re telling me,” I agree, following her to the couch. This is why I tend to be open with my mom. She gets things. She gets me and doesn’t judge.

  “What are you going to do?” she asks.

  I hand her Gavin and she hands me the prescription she’s been holding in her left hand. “What am I supposed to do?” My last marriage ended because…well…neither of us were exactly 100 percent honest with each other, but it was mostly due to the fact that the woman had my balls sealed in a glass jar that she perched on her nightstand, ready for use when she needed them. I don’t think divorce is always the answer, and I was willing to try and make my last marriage work, until I found out about her infidelity and resulting impending love child. That was pretty much the clincher for a divorce. My life in a nutshell—I live in a nutshell, surrounded by bad nuts, at least where romantic relationships are concerned. Regardless of knowing that some marriages are just never meant to be, I’m willing to do what I have to with Tori, seeing as we have a son together—one whose life I’d like to avoid destroying. Plus, I don’t want to be divorced for a second time in two years, which I realize is a bad reason not to get divorced but it’s a legitimate reason for me to want to avoid it.

  “So, she’s seeking help. That’s a good thing. We all need a little help sometimes,” Mom spits out after a long pause.

  “Yeah, I actually wasn’t aware of this until today, so I know nothing about this person or why she evidently goes to see this therapist twice a week.”

  “Twice a week?” Mom asks through a nervous laugh. “Sweetie, most people don’t seek help like that multiple times a week unless there is something truly amiss.” Mom places her hand over her mouth in thought. “Oh, I feel awful. She must be going through something horrible.”

  “I’m well aware.” I can’t stand that she’s hidden this little fact very nicely, along with everything else she’s hiding.

  “I’m sure you have, but I have to check…have you asked her about it?”

  “Of course I have, but getting information from Tori is as easy as cracking some governmental code on a computer that no one knows exists. So, yeah.”

  “Well, it must be something truly awful, then. Poor thing,” Mom says, rocking Gavin gently in her arms. “Maybe you should try asking her in a different way. Tell her how much it hurts you to watch your wife in pain. Be honest.”

  “Ma, spare me of your ‘Mom-Card’ right now. I’ve been nothing but honest, and I’ve basically begged her to tell me what’s going on.”

  She presses her lips firmly together and raises her eyebrows, letting me know she still owns the ‘Mom-Card,’ but will keep her thoughts to herself for the moment. “The directions are on the bottle, the pharmacist said,” she explains, nodding toward the prescription she just handed me.

  I take the bottle out of the bag and read the label. I’ve never given Gavin medication before, and I’m now reading the possible side-effects. Jesus. No wonder some parents are anti-antibiotics. This caution paper is basically telling me he can end up back in the hospital from this shit. “This is a little scary,” I say.

  “Don’t read the warnings,” Mom says. “Every antibiotic says the same thing. He’ll be just fine.”

  I fall back onto the couch
next to Mom and use the little syringe thing that came with the antibiotics. Gavin looks puzzled, then takes it like a champ and even looks like he might like the taste too. He hasn’t had anything but breast milk and formula, so I can understand the confusion there.

  “Okay, you’re on your way to recovery, little man.” Gavin gives me his little side smile, as if he knows what I’m talking about.

  “You are a good dad, AJ. I’m not going to lie…I had my fears and doubts.”

  I recoil at her remark. “Thanks a lot, Ma.”

  “Grammy is losing her mind in her old age,” I say in a cooing voice to Gavin.

  Mom stands up and smooths out her pant legs. “AJ. Don’t be a tool.”

  “A tool? Did you just call me, your son, a tool? Where did you even learn that word? Are you taking some hip-hop street slang for grannies class?”

  Rather than laugh at my joke, she leans over and pinches my cheek as hard as she can, like a that’s going to leave a mark kind of pinch. “You’ve always been such a special boy, AJ,” she laughs. “I better get home to start dinner for your father.”

  I sigh loudly to acknowledge the sarcasm in her statement. “Thank you for bringing the prescription by.”

  “Of course, honey,” she says with a warm smile. “Oh, will you be at breakfast on Sunday morning?”

  “I’ll do my best.” That’s what I say every week when she asks me.

  “That answer doesn’t work on me anymore,” she says, pulling her purse over her shoulder. “It would be really nice to have everyone at our family breakfast. It’s been months since you’ve shown up.” Four to be exact.

  “I get what you’re puttin’ out there,” I tell her.

  “Ya dig?” she responds.

  “Oh God. Seriously, who are you? And what are you watching on TV?”

  She leaves in a fit of laughter, and it’s nice to see Mom less concerned with everyone’s lives and more concerned with her evident midlife crisis. Unfortunately, it seems as though I’m experiencing a midlife crisis a few years too early right now also. My entire twenties have been like a midlife crisis.

  Given the time I had since Mom left until now—dinnertime—with no word from Tori, I decide to straighten up the house a bit. The last thing I want to do is get into anything with her tonight. That is, if she actually comes home. With all of these firsts, I wouldn’t put that first by her right this second.

  I don’t know how Hunter did this for so long—the single dad thing. I love this kid with all my heart, but the whole crying, eating, and pooping thing gets old after the tenth round in a day. I’m wiped out, I need a break, and I can already tell Gavin is ready for a party tonight. I realize I should have been there more for Hunter when Olive was this age. I had no idea what he was going through beyond his heartache. I offered to help him whenever I could, but I wasn’t as there for him as I could have been. I suck. The only thing I want right now is for Hunter to barge in, throw me a beer, and keep me company while I figure out how to save my life from spinning down the drain.

  The sun is gone, the street lights are out, and there are finally headlights pulling into the driveway. I’m pretty sure it’s Tori, but I would be happier if I got my wish and it was Hunter. The lights aren’t from a truck, though.

  It takes a few minutes before the front door opens, and when it does, it’s quiet, slow, and cautious. She must not realize I’m sitting five feet away on the couch.

  “Oh my God, you scared me,” she says, startled, when she does notice me.

  “I scared you? I’m sitting here quietly watching TV alone on a Monday night while my wife is doing God knows what.” Yup, I wasn’t going to go there, but I did, and I don’t think I even care right now.

  “You knew where I was, AJ,” she explains.

  I stand up, needing space, because even the five-foot distance between us doesn’t feel like enough right now. “I knew where you were? Yeah, four hours ago when you told me you were running to your therapist.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Your therapist. T, how dumb do you think I am?”

  She looks at me with question in her eyes. “What are you talking about? Or what are you inferring, rather?”

  “Hmm, let’s see here.” I scratch at my chin for a second and narrow my eyes as I look past her and up to the ceiling. “My wife tells me she can’t do ‘this’ anymore. Whatever the hell ‘this’ is. She has a mental breakdown on the side of the road, then runs off to a therapist for four hours and comes home with glossy eyes. You think I’m brand new, Tori? You think I don’t know how this game works?”

  Tori’s cheeks brighten, and a red tinge creeps along the side of her cheeks and wraps around the back of her ears. “Are you accusing me of having an affair?”

  “Do I have to accuse you or will you just admit it to me and save all the extra work of me prying it out of you.” What other explanation is there? She’s been acting crazy since Gavin was born, she’s running off to her therapist twice a week, random tantrums on the side of the road…yeah, I guess that one does point to an affair…secrets, more secrets, and just…screw this.

  “You have no fucking idea what you’re saying.”

  “Keep your voice down,” I tell her. “Gavin just fell asleep an hour ago. Not like you’d need to know that since we both know you won’t be the one getting up with him in the middle of the night.”

  “You’re a prick,” she snarls at me. “Do you know how many times a day I have to pump breast milk?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it would depend on how many calories you’re trying to burn in a day. That’s the reason you’re doing it, remember? You told me that the day he was born, when all you cared about was the loose skin on your stomach.”

  She glares at me for a long minute, probably trying her best to launch a rebuttal, but everything I just said was the truth, the truth spoken from her very own lips. “You are such a prick.” You just said that.

  “A prick, or a damn good dad that you are lucky to have for our son?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m ready for this fight, and I’m raging right now.

  “Ha,” she laughs. “I’m sooooo lucky. Thanks for knocking me up, AJ. Thanks for saying this was all such a great fucking idea, AJ. Thanks for not giving two shits about what I want, AJ.”

  I grab my plastic cup from the coffee table, left over from dinner, and squeeze the life out of it, hearing it crackle and snap all around. I toss it past her, watching as it hits the wall and bounces back. Just like me, always fucking bouncing back. I’m like a goddamn Solo cup. Fucking awesome. “Screw you. Just screw, fucking, you.”

  “Yeah, no thanks. Did that one too many times,” she seethes, pausing as she stares me in the eyes, until I understand the meaning behind her terrible words.

  “Do you even love him, Tori?” Because, Jesus, you get to be with our son. Today is my daughter’s birthday and I don’t know where the hell she is right now, but I haven’t stopped loving her since the day she was born and yet, I haven’t seen her since then. Love isn’t optional when you put a child on this earth, it should be instinctual. It should be instant. It should be relentless and incredible. It should never have to be pondered.

  “What kind of question is that?” she snaps at me, dropping her purse to the ground. Her precious Louis Vuitton purse that must never make contact with a speck of dirt is lying on the floor, right where we all wipe our feet when we walk into the house. Hell has frozen over here, folks!

  “It’s a question you should be able to answer without asking me what kind of question it is.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TWELVE YEARS AGO

  “OKAY SON, THE car is packed up. Are you ready to leave the nest?” Dad asks, with a fake grin stretched across his quivering lips. He’s standing in the doorframe of my nearly empty bedroom. Except for the comforter, my desk, bureau, and every poster, trophy, and medal I have hanging from the wall, my room screams kid at college.

&nb
sp; Three months ago, I considered giving it all up at the chance of running off somewhere with Cammy, but we were both too scared to do it. Maybe it was partially the adult breaking through our teenage souls as we prepare for whatever the next adventure is in life. Of course, we promised to find a way to see each other whenever possible, for which neither of us have an actual plan in order to make that work, but it felt less painful to say it, rather than goodbye forever.

  She’s been gone, in D.C. for more than six weeks now, and every day since then I have been struggling to find a way to make this work. We’ve kept up with the phone calls and texts, but at the same time, there’s something missing too. It would be so much easier to convince myself this will all work out, but part of me wants to endure the pain now so I can go to school and start fresh without pain. Not like it’s that easy, though.

  “I’m ready,” I tell him.

  “Your mom can’t say the same,” he says. Walking into my room, Dad sits down on the bed and pulls me down next to him. “You’re her baby. Always will be.” He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees, holding his fists beneath his chin. “I’m not going to lie, kid, I’m having a hard time with this too. Our house is going feel so empty with you both gone at school. At least when Hunter left, we still had you to torture.” He nudges his shoulder into mine, “But now it’s just going to be your mother nagging at me all the time.”

  “That’s the real reason you don’t want me to leave, isn’t it?” I joke.

  “Yes, it is.” He looks over at me with a raised brow and places his arm around my shoulders. “I just don’t know when this all happened. It seems like yesterday that you were coloring on the wall with a Sharpie.”

  “And until you paint that wall, you will always have that memory,” I say, grinning proudly.

  “I haven’t painted it for a reason, Son.”

  “I’m less than two hours away. I’m going to come home and visit, you know?”

  “Of course you will, but I don’t want you to worry about us. I want you to experience everything college has to offer. Live your life as if you almost didn’t get the chance to live this life.” Our eyes are locked in a stare down without words in between. I want to think his words have a different meaning than the way I’m absorbing them, but what else could he mean by that?