A Long Way Home

by Becky Doughty

  The strangest sensation flooded over me, making my breath catch and my feet stumble. I headed toward an empty chair sitting outside one of the patient rooms and lowered myself into it. My head felt a little like it was floating and I lifted my hands to my cheeks to hold it in place, just in case it decided to drift away to bounce around on the white cork-tiled ceiling panels.

  Nothing to fear.

  I glanced down the hallway and watched Jordan disappear around the bend. He was lurching along like Quasimodo, my son hanging upside down over his shoulder. Above the hustle and bustle of staff, visitors, and equipment beeping and humming, I could hear Killian’s shrieks of laughter.

  It felt scary not to be afraid. It felt wrong not to be afraid.

  Now was my chance to call Marek.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A nurse gave me directions to a pay phone out in the main corridor and I hurried that way, not wanting to cross paths with Jordan. Fortunately, the bank of vending machines he’d taken Killian to was at the opposite end of the hospital wing, right next to one of the staff break rooms, so I was fairly confident I could get out and back in again without his knowledge.

  By the time I reached the pay phone, my palms were sweating and my armpits tingled, dread and fear warring with the new sensations I’d just experienced in the hall. I kept repeating to myself “I am not afraid, I am not afraid,” repeatedly in my head, but it didn’t matter. I was almost incapacitated by the surge of anxiety wrapping swampy tendrils around my body, my legs. I felt like I was sludging through quicksand, sinking with every step.

  “He can’t hurt you, Savannah,” I muttered aloud. “He’s performing seventy miles away today. And he doesn’t know where you are.”

  I stood in front of the pay phone, my hand resting on the handset, and took several deep, calming breaths. I knew I was pushing it already and had to hurry, but I didn’t want Marek to hear the trepidation in my voice. I wanted him to know he could rail at me all he wanted, but I was staying as long as Mom and Dad needed me. I didn’t let myself think about what would happen after that, but I’d at least let him believe I would come back.

  With fingers shaking so badly I had to hang up after hitting the wrong buttons twice, I dialed Marek’s number and brought the handset to my ear. The phone rang… twice… three times, and then four. The sound of lute and hand drum music began playing in my ear. “You have reached the voice mail of Marek the Gypsy King!” He emphasized the word king.

  I listened to the rest of his message and left one of my own, relieved beyond measure not to have to speak to him, and frustrated at the slight quaver in my voice. But I kept it short and to the point. I apologized again for letting him down, and I promised to try calling this evening after the Faire closed down. I hung up before I could say something stupid, like, “I miss you.” I didn’t miss him, but I knew I needed him to believe I did.

  Returning the handset to the cradle, I wiped my palms against my skirt and hurried back the way I’d come. I paused just outside Mom’s room to catch my breath, and then slipped inside.

  My father sat in a chair pulled up close to the bed, his arms folded on the bed, his head on his crossed forearms. His face was turned away, so I couldn’t tell if he was sleeping or not. Mom’s good hand rested on his head. As I watched, I saw her fingers move over his short hair in a caress. Even in such a sterile environment, the connection was intimate and tender, and I cleared my throat softly, feeling like an intruder.

  Dad straightened and turned to look at me. Once again, I was struck by how much he’d aged since I’d last seen him. His expression was heavy, like he’d been deep in thought, maybe even in prayer, and when he saw me, it didn’t clear right away. I was fairly certain he’d been thinking about Killian and me.

  “Come in, Savvy-girl. Come say ‘hi’ to your mother. She was asking about you.” He rose and beckoned me over, offering his chair to me. I approached the bed quickly, even though Mom still hadn’t opened her eyes. The swelling around her eyes had gone down considerably, but the bruising had darkened to deep shades of burgundy and blue, almost black in some places, and I could tell by her stillness that she must be in a lot of pain. I did my best not to look at the screws of the halo drilled through her forehead into her skull—every time I even thought of what the surgery had entailed, my stomach roiled.

  “Hi, Mom.” I picked up her good hand and held it in both of mine. She squeezed my fingers firmly, acknowledging my presence, and I swallowed hard against the lump that rose in my throat. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

  “Mmm.”

  Her lips didn’t move, but the sound was still sweet to my ears. I lowered myself into the chair Dad had vacated and lifted my eyes to meet his where he stood beside me, gazing down at her. “How is she doing?”

  “She’s not very comfortable, which is making it hard to sleep, but she’s letting us know she’s doing all right.”

  “I thought they fixed her pain meds.”

  “Yeah, we’d hoped. It’s been up and down all morning, though. But I know you being here has really lifted her spirits.”

  Mom squeezed my fingers in confirmation.

  I paused for a moment, looking down at her hand in mine, and then asked Dad, “Killian?”

  He shook his head, his smile sweet and a little sad. “Saving that for later. Something to look forward to.”

  I nodded in agreement, glad for the reprieve. And glad that there wasn’t any pressing reason to have Killian come meet his grandmother in case things went downhill all of a sudden. He really didn’t need to see her like this. Or for her to meet him and not be able to open her eyes to even look at him.

  A peaceful silence settled over the room. I could feel my father’s presence close by, and it both comforted and disarmed me at the same time. I felt compelled to tell him something about my life, but this wasn’t the time or place. I was sure he felt the chasm of not knowing between us, but to my surprise and relief, he was doing everything he could to make me feel welcome, even while he was enduring this trauma with Mom.

  As though reading my mind, he spoke softly into the stillness in the room, the background music of gadgets and conversation outside the room fading, making way for his words. “Last night, I thought I’d lost you both.”

  I closed my eyes, willing back the tears that made the bridge of my nose tingle and my eyes burn. When Dad laid a hand on my shoulder, I held my breath.

  “But instead, this tragedy brought you both back to me.”

  Mom’s fingers tightened around mine.

  “I might have been able to wait until you were ready to come home, Savvy, but apparently, your mom was through waiting.” He reached out and touched her chin with his other hand, practically the only part of her face that wasn’t scratched, stitched, bruised, or swollen. “My stubborn girls,” he chided both of us.

  Half an hour later, I left the room after making sure Dad had everything he needed for the day. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere too far, but I needed to check on Killian and give Jordan an update he could pass on to his parents, who promised to come if they were needed in any way.

  Before locating the boys, I asked the nurse who’d told me about the phones if there was a park nearby. I was pleasantly surprised when she told me the hospital had a small play zone right on site. “It was put in for people just like you who come to visit our patients and need a place to stretch their legs and let their kiddies run the wild out of their systems, at least temporarily.”

  I didn’t have a phone, so I wandered around a bit, looking and listening, certain I’d recognize Killian’s funny voice if he was anywhere near. Finally, I gave up and headed out to the pay phone I’d used earlier. I dialed Jordan’s number and almost hung up the phone when he didn’t answer until the fourth ring.

  “Sorry,” he said when he realized it was me. “I didn’t recognize the number, and I didn’t want to get distracted while I was responsible for Killer, here.” I could hear Killian shouting something
over and over again.

  “Where are you?” I asked, my voice a little shrill. I wasn’t worried, just uncertain about the reception I’d get from him after how we parted ways. But his ready response indicated he was at least willing to call a truce.

  “We found this awesome little playground while we were exploring. Killer is keeping me hopping over here. Where are you?” I let him give me the directions, even though the nurse’s instructions were much easier to follow.

  “I’ll be there shortly,” I said, not bothering to hold back the smile on my face. I kind of liked the visual of Jordan sharing playtime with my son.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I sat on a bench nearby and watched Jordan follow along behind Killian, complying with his every command to push, catch, and watch. I was exhausted just sitting on the sidelines. When they finally joined me on the bench for a sip from the bottles of water I’d grabbed from the vending machines on my way down, I could tell they were both thoroughly enjoying themselves. Jordan was so at ease around my little boy in a way not even Killian’s own father was.

  We made easy small talk while Killian entertained himself for a while. We simply steered clear of the argument we’d had earlier in the hallway, saving it for another time. It was pleasant, peaceful, and so relaxing.

  Jordan pulled out his phone and checked the time. “Why don’t we head back home for lunch? Come eat at our place. The whole gang comes for Sunday lunch. You can meet Ben and his wife, Marilyn. Their son—we call him LB for Little Ben—is pretty close to Killer’s age. They can tear up the house together. Mom will love it.”

  I was shaking my head before he even finished. “I don’t know, Jordan. I don’t think I’m ready to… be socialized yet.”

  Jordan laughed aloud as he stood and headed over to collect Killian. “You make it sound like you were adopted by wolves,” he called over his shoulder.

  I cocked an eyebrow at his back and almost laughed myself, not because it was funny, but because it was frighteningly close to the truth. “Maybe not wolves, but Faire folk could be considered a unique species all our own,” I parried when he came back, Killian in tow.

  “Listen, Savannah.” He stood before me, serious for a moment. “In case you didn’t know, our moms are pretty close these days, and I don’t think a conversation passes between them where you’re not mentioned. I won’t lie. My family may ask some direct questions, but it won’t be out of malice. And you don’t have to answer any of them if you don’t want. We’ll all understand. Even I will.” He sat down beside me again and reached for my hand with his free one, ignoring Killian, who was tugging on his other one. “I’m sorry I said what I did back there. Forgive me?”

  I nodded and looked down at my sun-browned fingers wrapped around his square palm. “I know… I know I need to explain to people at some point, but I think I owe it to my folks to start with them. Which means it may take some time, because of Mom. I’m here to help if I can, not to unload more burdens on them.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “I understand.” He said the words slowly, almost like a sigh, and I looked up at him. His eyes, dark brown and spike-lashed, seemed so sad.

  “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I know I owe it to you, too. You’ve been so patient—”

  “No, stop, Savannah.” He squeezed my hand hard. “You don’t owe me anything, okay? Yes, I’m glad you’re home, and I do really want to know why you left the way you did. But I can wait until you’re ready. I promise.” His voice was earnest, and he leaned a little closer to me. “But will you promise not to run again? If you need to leave, I’ll understand.” He straightened and then shook his head. “No, I won’t understand. But if you feel like you need to leave again anyway, please don’t just disappear.”

  As I thought about what he was asking me, I could find no hidden agenda, no double entendre, and no manipulation in his request at all. I nodded, keeping my eyes locked with his, hoping he would believe me. “I promise.”

  Jordan stared at my face a few more seconds, and then said, “Thank you.” He stood and picked up Killian, lifting him over his head to perch on his shoulders. “Let’s get ready to go home, little buddy. Are you hungry?”

  We made our way back to the fourth floor, and I left the boys reading together. Poking my head into Mom’s room, I found it crowded with several people, presumably from church, if their Sunday duds were any indication. They stood in a half-circle around the foot of Mom’s bed, hands clasped and heads bowed as one of the women in the group prayed in a soft voice. I ducked back out before anyone could notice me. Not ready for that.

  I stopped by the nurses’ station and asked if there were any updates on Mom’s condition. Natalie, the nurse assigned to her today, informed me the doctor had just been in to check on her and was quite impressed with how well she was doing. “We seem to have finally figured out a pain management plan that works for her, too. She’s been resting better for the last hour or so.”

  As I walked away, I had to smile. I’d been visiting with her about an hour ago.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Lunch with the Ransome family was everything and more than I remembered. When Ben walked through the door with his Little Ben in tow, Killian’s eyes grew wide with excitement.

  “Boy! Look, Mama! Boy!” He grabbed my skirt and tugged hard enough that the elastic waist slid halfway down my hip before I grabbed it. Mortified, I glanced around the room quickly, but only Tish seemed to have noticed. She shot me a sympathetic grin.

  For that matter, Tish seemed to notice everything about me. The girl wouldn’t stop watching me. Every time I looked at her, she was already looking at me. I didn’t sense any ill feelings coming off her, but I felt like it was more than just normal curiosity. I was being weighed and measured by Jordan’s sister, and I was more worried about what might come out of her mouth than of anyone else in that room.

  Jordan introduced Killian and me to Ben and his wife, Marilyn, and their two children, six-year-old Gina and two-year-old LB, and Killian latched onto both their hands and dragged them over to the pile of blocks he, Sebastian, and Tish had been playing with before they showed up. Gina started ordering the whole little group around, including Sebastian and Tish, calling them all “my little poopdeck swabbers” in a very motherly tone, and I covered my smile with my hand, charmed by how quickly Killian was embraced into this little fold.

  I’d met Ben the summer before I left, but I could tell by the way he nodded and smiled when I said so that he didn’t remember. But he knew who I was, even if he didn’t recognize me. He held my hand in both of his and said in a quiet, sincere way, “It’s really good to have you home again. I’m sorry to hear about your mother. How’s she doing?”

  “Thank you,” I murmured back, humbled and a little taken aback by the genuine kindness everyone offered me. He squeezed my hand and let go, reminding me of Jordan. “Her doctor says she’s doing really well, considering the trauma she went through, but I think it’s going to be slow-going.”

  Ben nodded, and Marilyn spoke up. “I hear she’s got to wear one of those halo things. Do you know how long?”

  I shuddered involuntarily, and Marilyn put her hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, no. It’s fine. It’s just… well, it still kinda freaks me out. The whole screws-in-the-side-of-the-head-so-she-can’t-move thing. I’m claustrophobic and even thinking about not being able to turn my head for that long makes me a little panicked. The nurse said it will probably be eight weeks.” It felt good to talk about my mom, especially after the doctor’s positive report.

  “Wait!” Mrs. Ransome called from the kitchen where she was doing some last minute fixings with Mr. Ransome’s help. She’d shooed me out before I even had a chance to offer to help. “Don’t say anything I don’t want to miss. Tell us how she’s doing when we’re all at the table together so you don’t have to repeat yourself a thousand times.”

  “Might not be great fodde
r for dinner conversation, Mom,” Jordan called out from beside me. “Screws in the skull and stuff.”

  “Yeah,” Ben agreed. “I don’t want Gina getting any ideas. LB’s not big enough to get away if she decides to play Dr. Frankenstein on him.”

  I grinned, appreciating the relaxed camaraderie of this family who seemed to do life so effortlessly. Everything about them felt so—so… normal. And I hadn’t known normal for a long time. I didn’t know how to act, or how not to act, truth be told. With Marek, I was either performing for a crowd as Savah, the Gypsy Girl, or performing for Marek’s many moods, hoping the act I chose at any given moment was the right one for the mood he was in. I even performed for Jordan in my emails to him and for my parents in the vague cards I sent them, telling them all I was well, happy, and didn’t want to be found.

  I hadn’t been well for a long time. Or happy. And sitting here in this too-loud family room surrounded by people who weren’t acting or performing, but who really cared about each other and those around them, I realized I really did want to be found.

  I’d been home less than twenty-four hours… and I never wanted to leave again.

  I looked back at Killian, who was staring at Gina with round, adoring eyes, and I thought my heart would burst with longing to have this for him. To have a little normalcy in his life. To have a real toilet to potty train on—one that was in the same place every day. To play with blocks on the floor of a house built on a solid foundation—in more ways than one—and to go to sleep and wake up in the same city, on the same street, in the same bed, every night. To get to know his grandparents, who, from what I could tell, had no intention of keeping him at a distance because of the circumstances under which he’d been born. Had I really thought they might? It seemed almost silly now, standing in the face of evidence against the idea, but Marek had assured me that no one in the “real world” understood people like us, that we were social outcasts and the only ones we could really count on to care were others like us. Like him, in my case.