I feel Nathan’s stare move to me. “Talk if you got something to say, man. This shit’s too fucked up for you to be standing there just staring at me.”
He shifts awkwardly, and I have a sick feeling I know what he wants to ask me. “Do they have any leads yet?”
“No.” My answer is cold and hard, deprived of emotions. My focus remains straight, but, in my peripheral vision, Nathan shakes his head, flicks his cigarette then turns to leave.
“You loved her.” My words stop him dead in his tracks, but he makes no effort to face me. I couldn’t look me in the eye either if I were him. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that Cain?”
“I know.”
“You made her life hell.”
“I know.”
I circle him so we’re standing toe to toe and he has no other choice than to look at me. “Don’t come here anymore. She wouldn’t want you here leaving pity flowers.”
He opens his mouth to speak then shuts it tight, pressing his lips into a thin white line.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it? You thought you were King Shit in high school. Last I heard, you flunked out of college and your daddy had to give you a job with his firm running errands.” I laugh then flick the cigarette at the pathway. “Yeah, the news of your joke of a life travelled far from home. You’re pathetic.”
“You think I don’t know all of that? You think I’m proud of anything I’ve ever done or how I treated Sawyer? I spent my entire life trying to make my goddamn father happy. He would have disowned me if he’d found out I was in love with a Matthews. Nothing I ever did was good enough for him, so, eventually, I stopped even trying. I never forgot her though. And now it’s too late to make everything I did right.”
“Even if you groveled on your knees, she would have never loved someone like you.”
“She did. She loved someone like me.”
“That’s your problem. You don’t even see the difference between you and Lachlan. Stop coming here, and stop bringing flowers. I don’t even want you to think about her anymore. You don’t get to feel better for what you’ve done. None of us get redemption.”
FIVE
Sloane
I watch him.
Not in a creepy way, more in admiration. Lately, though, I watch him with a different sense of curiosity and interest. Almost as though I’m seeing him with fresh eyes. Perhaps I am because this person, the one I’m currently watching, sure isn’t the man I married, or even the guy I fell in love with as a teen.
I’ve never been closed off from Owen before. He never once kept me in the dark with anything going on with him or any thoughts crossing his mind.
He was open. That was us.
This new us scares me to my core. Owen keeps secrets from me. Vanishes in the middle of the night when he thinks I’m asleep and doesn’t come back for hours. My mind drifts toward explanations, but I don’t let the worry takeover. I can’t think too deeply about what he might be doing when he’s away from me. I’m already falling apart, and, more than anything, I wish my husband could comfort me, piece me back together. I need to be able to lean on him, and I know that’s asking a lot considering he is battling his own demons, too. But aren’t the fundamentals of marriage about being there for each other in good times and bad? In sickness and health? Until death do us part?
For the last two weeks, since we left the police station after further questioning, I’ve been researching a lot about post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD as they refer to it. I’ve made sure to have dinner on the table to keep to routine, I’ve given him space but made myself available should he want to talk about what happened, or anything at all. I’ve played soft, comforting music in the house to try to relax our environment. I’m doing everything I can think of to help him, but each day I feel him pulling away little by little. He’s teetering on the edge. I can’t lose Owen, too.
I just wish he would have a conversation with me over coffee like we used to. I wish I knew the thoughts running through his scrambled mind. Even the dark ones. No matter how terrifying his feelings, they can’t compete with what I’ve made up in the absence of the truth.
Instead of asking or prying, I just sit. And I watch.
The gracefulness with which he moves across our kitchen comes to him with such ease. Owen has always been naturally comfortable in his own skin. Even with the scars on his face and neck, he still owns every room his walks into. His assertiveness and confidence is what attracted me to him. Well, that and his movie-perfect body and looks. Not that I would know anything about his body anymore. He hasn’t touched me since the day we came home from the funeral when he lost it because he thought I didn’t want him. He couldn’t have been further from the truth. That day was the first day he held me and kissed me. Petrified to move, fearful of causing him pain, I froze. How can he think I wouldn’t want him? He’s all I ever wanted.
Owen fills a travel mug with coffee, adding a bit of milk. He traps steam with the lid then shuffles through the small wicker basket on the counter, looking for his keys.
I finger the ring of a chain and rattle the keys in the air. “Looking for these?” I smirk when he looks my way, but he doesn’t reciprocate my friendliness.
“Thanks.” He takes the keys, his mug, my heart, and walks toward the front door.
I swivel on the bar stool in the kitchen and watch him some more. “Will you be home for dinner tonight? I was thinking of closing the shop early to—”
“No, probably not.” He opens the door and then he’s gone. The thud of the closing door echoes in the quietness of the house, making me jump.
“Okay… Love you, too. Have a good day.”
“Knock, knock,” I announce as I enter the front door of Sawyer’s home. Well…Lachlan’s home…temporary home. The house next door.
I peek in the living room and find Noah sprawled out, belly down, on the beige carpet in front of the television, watching The Lorax. Memories of him watching that same movie with Sawyer nearly every night before bed brings tears to my eyes.
Boxes piled on top of each other, some with their flaps open, surround Noah. Pictures have been taken down and lean against walls. My stomach turns as my gaze roams the room, taking a mental inventory of what’s already gone.
Pushing my feelings aside, I sit beside to my nephew. I kiss his head then we both watch his movie in silence for a few minutes.
“Where’s your dad, buddy?” It feels strange to refer to Lachlan as dad. Noah found out about his biological father the day following his mother’s death. Lachlan, my parents, and I brought him outside for some fresh air and explained what we could to him. No one mentioned the details at the time because it didn’t seem to matter. I don’t really know if Lachlan has brought it up since then.
Since Noah’s still not speaking, it’s safe to assume Lachlan hasn’t had to field any questions yet. He hasn’t even called him Dad.
Sawyer wanted to wait for the right time to tell Noah about Lachlan being his father. I guess I understand why you’re not supposed to put things off to tomorrow that you can do today. She never got to tell her son about Lachlan. Noah will never hear her side of their epic love story from her mouth.
Noah sits up on bent knees, pointing upstairs to let me know where Lachlan is. It pains me I haven’t heard this boy’s sweet voice in weeks.
I brush back his hair, kiss his forehead, and leave him to watch his movie in peace.
Closing my eyes as I walk past Sawyer’s bedroom, I head to Noah’s room—the only one with the door open and light on.
Lachlan peeks up as I enter. “Hey, Sloane. I didn’t hear you come in.”
Some of Noah’s clothes lay folded in neat piles on top of his bed. Lachlan’s putting his laundry away. How different his life must be from only a few short months ago.
“I was quiet. Wasn’t sure if the little guy would be in bed or not, and I didn’t want to wake him. He’s still watching The Lorax though.”
Lachlan chuckles, grabbing a pile
of shirts from the bed to put away. “He really likes that movie.”
“He really does.” I pass him a few pairs of pants and sit on Noah’s small twin bed. “I’m not mad at you. I don’t know if you think I am or not, but I wanted to make sure you knew I’m not. If you did think I was mad I mean…”
Lachlan drops down next to me on the bed, staring at his hands in his lap. “Thank you. For making sure I knew. It wasn’t my intention to upset you—”
“I know.” I hate he thought I was mad or, even worse, if I made him feel like he wasn’t doing what’s best for Noah. “You’re doing really well, Lach. You’re a good dad. He’s really lucky to have you.”
He releases a huge breath then sucks in a ragged one. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear those words today.”
I smile, resting my head on his shoulder. He kisses my hair, and it’s the most precious feeling. It makes me realize how much I need a friend right now and how, sometimes, we find companionship in the most unlikely of places.
“I saw the boxes. For the move.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that. If it’s okay, I’m going to need some help moving, if you have time. Maybe even use Owen’s truck for some stuff. There’s something else, too. I umm…I’m not sure what to take with us to the new house, for Noah’s sake. I’m sure there are some belongings you’d like to keep of hers. And Owen, too.”
“Of course I’ll help you. I only have one thing to request that needs to stay.”
“What’s that?”
“The treehouse. I need Noah to want to come back.”
“I can do that. But you know what? He’d want to come back here even if I took the whole thing. How is everything next door at The Matthews’ anyway? I haven’t seen much of Owen in a few weeks.”
“He’s….” Although I need a friend to talk everything through with, I just don’t know if that friend can be Lachlan. He might be too close to this. On the other hand, he’s the only other person who knows exactly what I’m going through. For the most part anyway. “He’s gone a lot. Like, he just leaves the house for hours and I don’t know where he goes, but it’s usually in the middle of the night. He barely speaks, and when he does, he has this cold, hard, edgy tone I’ve never heard before. It feels like I’m living with a stranger to be honest. I don’t know what to say to reach inside of his head, and every night that passes feels like I’m suffocating.”
“Shit. None of that sounds good.”
I peek at Lachlan, and he looks so exhausted, like he’s holding the weight of the world. Crap, I shouldn’t have let myself word-vomit so much on him. Now I feel guilty for laying all my drama on the table when Lachlan is dealing with so much himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload my issues on you. I just don’t know what to do.”
“I asked because I wanted to know. It’s a strange situation we’ve all landed in, but you and Owen are family to Noah and he’s my son. That means you’re family to me, too. I’m no BFF replacement, but I want you to be able to talk to me. If you need a friend.”
I wipe a tear away with the back on my hand and quickly turn my face so Lachlan doesn’t see I’m becoming emotional. “Did you just say BFF?” A very small laugh escapes me, and he smiles. “Thanks for the offer. I guess we’re all just a little lost right now.”
“That we are. To be honest, most days I’m so busy with Noah I don’t have time to dive too deeply into my thoughts until he goes to bed at night. By that time, I’m too exhausted to think clearly anyway which is probably a good thing. I’m scared of what I’ll feel when everything finally settles. It still doesn’t seem real, and it’s been nearly a month. I just wish Noah would talk to me. He doesn’t say anything at all, except for when he cries out in the night. He still doesn’t have coherent speech. His doctor says he’s fine, physically, I mean. It just scares the shit out of me.”
“Noah went through something no little boy should ever have to go through. We don’t even know the extent of what he saw before you found him. We’re lucky he’s handling everything as well as he has. As much as I miss the sound of his sweet, squeaky voice, he’ll talk when he’s ready.”
Lachlan gets off the bed and picks up a few dinky cars on the floor, tossing them into a blue bin in Noah’s toy organizer.
“I hope you’re right. My aunt and uncle have been calling me these past few weeks. They know what happened with Sawyer and that I’m staying here with Noah. They want to meet him. They also want my forgiveness for what they did to Sawyer and me. Aunt Claire even offered to help me raise him.”
“Whoa, that’s big. They really want to meet Noah?”
“Yeah, they do. The thing is I know what they did to Sawyer. They lied to me. For years. I mean, what they did is unforgivable. I don’t really know if I could ever trust them again. How can I rely on people I don’t have faith in? Their betrayal runs so deep. Did Sawyer ever tell you about my aunt’s offer?”
“She told me. There weren’t many secrets between us. At least I don’t think there were. So, what are you going to do? Are you going to forgive them and let Noah meet his great aunt and uncle?”
“I’m not sure really. Noah could use all the family he can be around right now. Even if that means putting my hatred aside. It’s just really hard.”
Rising from the bed, I walk the few feet to Noah’s nightstand and stare at the framed photo of the four of us—me, Sawyer, Owen, and Noah—in the backyard. I remember when my mom took that picture last year on Mother’s Day.
The warm air kisses our skin as we take turns going down the slide. Since Noah’s birthday, we’ve spent almost every day back here. My parents are visiting from Woodsview, and it’s been one of those days where the weather is perfect, the food is tasty, the laughs are contagious and you just don’t want this moment to come to an end because you know, you just know, these days are limited.
People, in general, are always so busy and caught up in their own lives, doing their own thing, that they seldom have these perfect days. I think we’re only granted so many of them before our time is up altogether. So, today we’re enjoying it.
“Okay guys, why don’t you stand over there in front of the tree. That way I can get almost the entire yard in the background,” Mom shouts as she removes her camera from its protective case—a retirement gift my father gave her. She’s turning into quite the photographer. It seems creativity runs in our blood.
“Owen, get off the swing already and get over here.”
He jumps off when he’s at the highest in the air and lands superhero-style on the ground. Noah cheers and runs toward him.
“Owen, I swear to god, if Noah tries to copy that, I’m going to hurt you.” Sawyer swats at her brother and scoops Noah into her arms.
I chuckle, knowing the boy probably will try it because he always imitates everything his uncle does.
“Noah, don’t do what I do, okay, buddy?”
“K, Uncle O.”
“Picture! Get together!”
Owen takes Noah from Sawyer and lifts him onto his shoulders, ruffling Sawyer’s hair. She playfully slaps him and smiles up at her son. I step to Owen’s side, and he places his arm around me.
One more year, I think to myself.
One more year and I’m going to marry the love of my life.
One more year and everything will be perfect. Just like today is perfect.
I blink away the emotion filling me, and the tears evaporate behind my lids. “You should take Noah to see your family. You’re right, he does need to be around people who will love him. As much as he can get. He still has perfect days left.”
Revamped has been closed for longer than I initially intended following the wedding, so it only seems right I go in and open tomorrow morning. I’m not very useful sitting around the house anyway.
Sawyer offered to tend to the store while Owen and I went on our honeymoon. The all-expenses paid trip to Mexico my parents gave us for our wedding gift. My parents couldn’t get a refund on the tri
p, so I convinced them to go instead of us. They haven’t vacationed anywhere since my father joined her in retirement a few months ago. My mother was adamant she would never use my honeymoon as she wouldn’t be able to enjoy it, but I hated the thought of them wasting all that money. I told them it would make me feel better if they went. There’s pretty much nothing my parents wouldn’t do to make me happy, so they went to Mexico for a week. I’m lucky in the parental department. I have really great ones. They’ll return in two days, and I can’t wait for them to be home. I’ve missed talking to my mother every day.
Owen flicks off the bathroom light and comes into our bedroom, wearing only pajama bottoms. The scars alongside his face, neck, and shoulder seem to be lightening, only a bit noticeable now. I can’t begin to image what runs through his head when he looks at himself in the mirror, but I know when I look at him, I still see the man I fell in love with. The one that turns me on with a lift of the corner of his mouth. Or just the sight of his bare skin.
“So, I’m thinking of opening Revamped tomorrow. Return to normal hours.”
Owen swallows one of his sleeping pills with water, his eyes never leaving mine. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, it’s been closed a lot longer than we thought it would be, and you’re still not back to work yet. We could use the money. I don’t want to dip into our savings account or use what’s left of the wedding money if we don’t have to.” A good portion of the wedding money went toward Sawyer’s funeral. My parents tried to pay for it. Sawyer was always like a second daughter to them. Owen insisted we pay for it ourselves. I had to respect his wishes, so I didn’t argue.
He lets out a dry chuckle and grabs a pillow from the bed. “Whatever. Do what you want.”
I sit up, confused. “Wait, where are you going?”
“To sleep in the spare room. It’s more comfortable in there.” Owen walks across the hallway, enters the spare room that’s only ever been used by my parents when they come to visit, and kicks the door closed.
Edges of Gone (The Gone Series Book 2) Page 4