Sarah handed the photos to Stu one at a time. As they studied the images, her complexion took on a greenish hue, reminding Ian of the murky pond on their property. She gave Stu the last picture, the one Ian guessed was the photo he’d taken right after she’d left the hotel room. His doe caught in the light. His mom burst into tears.
Stu put aside the photos on the floral quilt and tried to soothe her. When she’d quieted, he showed her a handful of folded notepapers. “I found these in your drawer.” He gestured at the vanity table. “Are you communicating with Jackie?”
Sarah shrank away.
“Has she written you back?”
She shook her head.
“Do you know what you want with a bounty hunter? Who are you looking for?”
“I can’t say.” A fresh wave of tears flowed. Her body quaked. She buried her face in her hands.
Stu reached for her. His hand hovered alongside her head, hesitant, before gently resting on her greasy hair. Sarah lowered her hands in her lap. Stu’s thumb drifted over her cheekbone and she flinched.
“Sarah,” he said in a tone one would use for an injured animal.
She turned her head away from his touch, tucking her chin into her shoulder.
“I love you. Let me help you.”
Ian couldn’t watch them anymore. His parents’ exchange gouged a hole in his chest. He pressed his back against the wall and stared at the ceiling, blinking back the burn.
His parents’ mattress creaked and the floorboards groaned. A drawer slid open, then closed. Booted footfalls approached the door, and whispered instructions reached him. Ian flew to his room, landing on his back on the bed. He opened a book, pretending to read when he heard his dad coming down the hallway.
Stu stopped in Ian’s doorway, his shirt wrinkled and untucked, face unshaven. The blazer he wore faded at the elbows. His aftershave smelled stale. He’d arrived home after midnight and hadn’t slept.
He raked a hand through his unkempt hair, a mannerism Ian had picked up from him.
“I’m taking your mother to the hospital.”
Ian sat up, dropped his feet to the floor. “Will she be all right?”
“I’m not sure. I hope so.”
“When’s she gonna get better?” Ian so wanted her to be normal like Marshall’s mom. He had to believe she wouldn’t be like this for the rest of his life. He grew weary and timid from wondering who he’d come home to after school or from hanging with his friends. He hated feeling that way.
Stu tucked his fingers into his front pockets and came into the room. “I don’t know if she can get better. But, let’s talk about yesterday—”
“Why did Jackie go see that man? What does he want with her? What did he do to my mom?” The questions tumbled from Ian. He stood up, his stance rigid. He wanted answers.
“I’m trying to figure that out.”
“You never know what’s going on,” Ian yelled. “You would if you were home more often. I bet if you were here, Jackie wouldn’t have gone to see that man and Mom would be OK.”
“No one can tell your mom what to do when she’s Jackie,” Stu firmly replied. “I’ve tried. Lord knows, I’ve tried.”
“No, you haven’t!”
“Enough!” Stu bellowed. To Ian’s mortification, sobs volleyed from his chest. Why, oh why, did he have to cry in front of his dad? Stu pointed a finger at Ian. “What you did yesterday—”
“I was trying to help her,” Ian defended before his dad could reprimand him. After yesterday’s pay-phone call, he knew it was coming. He’d been expecting it. Ian roughly dragged his sleeves across his eyes. He smacked his chest. “I make sure she’s safe and doesn’t get hurt.” And he’d done a horrible job in that department. He and his mom were both hurting today because Ian had failed to get the keys from Jackie. “It’s my fault she went to see him,” Ian sobbed. “I’ll try harder next time. I know I’m stronger than Jackie so I should be able to stop her next time.”
“That’s not your job.”
“Then do yours!” Ian’s guilt shifted to anger faster than his mom shifted personas, flaming his disappointment in his dad. Stu had failed them.
Stu raised a fist. Ian flinched, but he stood his ground, his muscles so tense he felt the beginnings of a headache.
Stu swore loudly, then lowered his arm. “Do not take that tone with me. That’s your warning.” He showed Ian his fist.
“Or what?” Ian challenged. “You’ll hit me? You’ll ground me? I’m stuck here already. You’re never home. I take care of her because you don’t.” He took a step forward. He might be only twelve, but he was taller than his mom. Stronger and faster, too. He’d been exercising a lot lately, running on the school’s track team. He could do one hundred sit-ups and almost fifty push-ups. In another couple of years, he might be as tall as his dad. Maybe taller. “I know she won’t admit it, but Mom wants me to take pictures. She asks to see them all the time. I know she wants me to help because she can’t rely on you. You don’t care about her.”
His dad saw red. His cheeks turned purple and he raised his fist again. Ian braced for the blow. He deserved it. He’d been pushing his dad’s temper, testing them both. He couldn’t help it. Yesterday had scared him. He’d been fighting that fear all night. What if Clancy had physically hurt his mom? Or worse, murdered her?
Stu shook out his hand and put some distance between him and Ian. He locked his hands behind his neck and circled the room before coming to a stop in front of the closet on the opposite side of the room from Ian.
“I care about your mother. More than you can imagine,” he said quietly, his tone carrying a note of anguish.
“No, you don’t.” Ian shook his head as he spoke the words. “You’re always leaving us, and when you’re home, you spend the whole time in the basement. You don’t want to be with us. You hide now when Jackie’s around.”
“Because she doesn’t want me around.” He swore. “Ian, just—”
“My pictures will help Mom keep Jackie away.” He hiccupped. Tears dampened his face, dropped off his chin. “Then, maybe . . . maybe you’ll stay home with us.”
Ian roughly wiped his face. He hated crying. He gritted his teeth and tightened his fists, focusing on his anger to staunch the flow. Movement in the doorway yanked his attention. “Mom?”
“Hi, Ian.” She smiled and went straight to the corner where Ian kept the plastic bin of LEGOs. She dragged the bin to the center of the room. It scraped across the wood floor. She sank to her knees and removed the lid. “Do you want to build a starship with me?”
“What are you doing, Sarah?” Stu looked down in horror at his wife. “We have to go to the hospital.”
Sarah scooped a handful of bricks and spread them out on the floor. “Maybe you can build a space station and I’ll do the starship. Is that something you want to do, Ian?”
Stu’s face turned white. He gripped Sarah under her shoulder and lifted her off the floor. “Sarah, we have to go.”
“No.” She twisted from his grasp and scooted out of reach. “I want to play with Ian.”
“Sarah.” Stu reached for her again. She smacked away his hand.
“That’s not Mom. It’s Billy.” Ian had told his dad about Billy, but Stu hadn’t met Sarah’s newest alternate personality, or what the doctors referred to as alters, yet.
Stu visibly swallowed. He dragged a hand down his mouth and chin, unsure of what to do. Ian hadn’t seen his dad look this uncomfortable. He watched Sarah separate the bricks by size and color. His eyes sheened. He lowered until eye level with Billy. “Sarah, the doctor is waiting for us.” He spoke calmly and slowly.
Billy shook his head.
“How about you bring some LEGOs with you?” Stu negotiated. “You can play with them on the drive over.”
Billy pushed a brick with a fingertip, considering the request, then finally nodded. “I want to make two starships.” Billy scooped LEGOs onto his skirt, then stood, holding the skirt hem in a makeshift buc
ket.
“Go wait for me at the car,” Stu instructed. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I want a juice box.”
Stu looked at the floor. “I’ll get you a juice box.”
Billy smiled and left the room.
Stu remained in his crouched position until Ian heard Billy go out the front door. His dad slowly stood, knees cracking. He roughly cleared his throat and walked to the door, where he stopped and turned back to Ian.
“So, that was Billy?”
Ian nodded.
“I think it best you understand that Jackie will never go away.”
“Don’t say that.” Ian shook his head. “You lie. Mom will get better.”
“I don’t think she can. Billy isn’t another person inside your mom. Neither is Jackie. They are your mom.”
CHAPTER 19
IAN
Aimee faces me from the opposite side of our room. Rain pelts the glass door to the patio behind me. A single lamp casts a golden glow in one corner. The rest of the room sits in a shroud of shadows.
I watch her warily, my stomach queasy. I’ll never forget the way she looked at me in the lobby. She’d laughed off Reese’s comment. She thought it was a joke. Office humor, however sick it might have been. She’d glanced between us, and Reese groaned an apology. She held up both hands in a deflecting manner. “I thought you would’ve known.”
Aimee looked at me. “Ian?”
I briefly closed my eyes, then forced myself to meet her gaze.
Her face drained of color. Her eyes told me everything. I’d lied to her. I’d betrayed her. I wasn’t the man she thought I was.
I was no better than James.
That’s when I acted. I got into Reese’s face. “You and me, we’re done with this assignment.”
“I’m not on contract with you,” she spat, appalled. As if I had the nerve to tell her what to do. At that moment, I was capable of more than ordering her around. I could strangle her.
“Then I’m off the assignment. Without my pictures, your article will be canned.”
“You can’t do that. You’re on contract, too. You break it and you’ll never have the chance to publish with them again.”
I shouldered my pack and grabbed Aimee’s roller case. “Come with me,” I said. “Please.” I was desperate.
I’m still desperate. I don’t want to lose her.
She stands just inside the hotel room’s door, cheeks void of color, mouth parted, and arms resting listlessly at her sides. She’s quiet, too quiet. I can handle her anger, when her Irish gets riled and she’s lobbing sock balls at me. I understand that Aimee. But this stunned, silent version? She confuses me. She scares me.
Will she leave me like she left James?
“Say something,” I beg.
“I don’t think I should.”
“Then let me explain.”
She shows me her palm. “Not yet. I need a moment.” She goes to her roller case, lifts the luggage onto the rack, and unzips it.
Thank God. She’s not leaving. Yet.
My knees buckle. I back up, leaning my weight on the table. I roughly run both hands through my hair and lock my fingers around the back of my head.
Aimee digs through her case and removes her toiletries bag. “I’ve been up for twenty-four hours. I’m exhausted. I can barely think straight. I’m going to . . .” She glances at the door, then the patio slider, and back to the bathroom. “I’m going to go in there.” She points at the bathroom, then lets her arm flop against her side.
My joined hands slip to the back of my neck. “Do you know how long you’ll be?”
“As long as it takes to figure out what I walked into.”
“There’s nothing between Reese and me.”
Aimee glowers.
“OK.” I nod. “I’ll wait.” I’d wait forever.
She walks into the bathroom and quietly shuts the door.
I listen for the shower, for the faucet to run, the toilet to flush. Anything to tell me she isn’t in there silently crying. I picture her sitting on the closed toilet, elbows on knees, face in her cupped hands, her shoulders quaking. My heart splinters because I’ve probably broken hers.
My stomach clenches and makes a gurgling noise. I feel pressure at the base of my throat. The faucet runs in the bathroom and I blow out a long, even breath, relieved she’s doing something other than sobbing. I shiver. Pushing away from the table, I cross the room to the thermostat and turn on the heat. My damp clothes are stiff and uncomfortable. They stick to my skin. Shedding my jacket, I proceed to strip. I’m down to my boxer briefs and stepping from my pants when the bathroom door opens. I look up from my hunched position.
Aimee’s eyes narrow and I slowly straighten. Her gaze drops. “Sex isn’t going to solve this.”
“I wasn’t . . . I’m not . . . ,” I groan, exasperated, and kick aside my pants. I thrust a hand at the dirty clothes pile. “They’re wet. I’m just changing.” I put on jeans and a shirt, my torso shivering, skin clammy. I slide my arms into a hoodie and zip it to my chin.
Aimee frowns. “Are you feeling OK?”
“No,” I snap, shoving my fists into the front pockets. “I’m standing on the edge of Half Dome wondering when you’re going to shove me off.” Lord knows I deserve it. “Would you please listen to me? I want to explain.”
Aimee slowly shakes her head and returns her toiletries to her case. She zips up the luggage.
My heart knocks into my ribs. “Are you leaving?”
She turns around. “I’m not sure yet.”
I close my eyes. “Don’t go.”
“Do you see what I meant the other day when we drove back from Nadia’s? How I feel you’ve glossed over your history with Reese? It’s like you were holding something back. Is she the reason you left in such a hurry?”
“No! I had no idea she’d be here, let alone assigned to the story. She was waiting for me when I checked in.”
“It’s true, then, you were married.”
My shoulders drop. “Yes. For nine hours.”
“Nine—what?”
I cross the room to her. Only inches of air divide us. “It was a stupid decision during a drunken night full of them. You’ve got to believe me.” I lift my hands to her face, but I don’t touch her. My palms hover over her cheeks, hands trembling. “It meant nothing. She means nothing.”
“It doesn’t matter what it means. You should have told me.”
“You’re right.” My arms fall to my sides. I back up a step. “You’re right. I should have and that’s my mistake.”
“We’ve talked a little about your relationship with Reese. Why didn’t you ever mention you were married?” She searches my face and it takes me a moment to answer. A very long moment.
“Before I met you,” I begin, “I’d lost everyone important in my life. For years it was just me and my camera and the next destination. Then I saw you that night at the gallery. You were so beautiful in your black dress with your curls framing your face.” I touch her hair. “I saw in you what I had felt for years after my mother left. I was alone and totally out of sorts with my place in life. I felt like I had no purpose and that made for one reckless teenager,” I rasp, thinking of those hellish years. “But you smiled at me, and you let me buy you a cupcake, and I fell for you. I fell so hard for you. And for the first time in a very long time, I felt something important in here.” I press a hand to my chest.
“When you’d left James and came back to me, I should have told you, but I didn’t want to give you a reason to not want to be with me. Those nine hours with Reese are inconsequential to a lifetime with you. Those hours are an embarrassment. I didn’t believe you’d take my feelings for you seriously—take me seriously—had you known. Bottom line? I was scared. I was afraid you’d leave me, too.”
Aimee is quiet, her gaze turning inward. She’s processing, kneading my words until she’s molded them into a shape she can comprehend. Her lips pinch. She sharply exhales throug
h her nose and lifts her chin. I recognize the look. “You’re angry.”
“Yes, but not because you didn’t tell me Reese was your wife.”
“For only nine hours.”
Aimee’s gaze broils and I clamp my mouth shut.
“No, I’m not angry,” she corrects. “I’m disappointed you thought so little of me. That you thought a nine-hour marriage would scare me away. You should have told me.”
“Yes, I should have, and I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”
“That makes three now,” she whispers.
“Three what?” I frown, confused.
“Three times someone important to me has kept something important from me because they think I can’t handle it. James about his brother Phil. Nadia about how she’s working and flirting with Thomas.”
“Nadia’s what?” I say with an unbelieving shake of my head.
“And you about your nine-hour marriage. I don’t have a fragile temperament, Ian. I’m not a withering flower.”
“You’re right, you’re absolutely right. You’re a tree, with strong roots.” I nod continually as I speak. “You can stand up to any sort of wind that tries to blow you down.” I move my arms around for emphasis.
“Oh my God.” She scrapes her hair back in frustration.
“Sorry, was that too much?” My mouth quirks.
She buries her face in her hands and cry-laughs. “This isn’t funny.”
I gently prod her hands away and dip my head to look up in her face, my own expression serious. I stroke her cheek. “You’re right. It’s not funny. I can’t apologize enough for not telling you.”
“I love you, Ian. I’m not going to leave you. But we are going to talk about this.”
I briefly close my eyes, letting her words sink in, then cup her cheeks and rest my forehead against hers, amazed at how incredibly understanding she is. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
She nods and moves away. “Good. You can start by pouring me a glass of wine.” She points at the complimentary bottle of Tempranillo on the bureau. “Then you’re going to tell me how you got yourself hitched to Reese’s Pieces.”
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