Preston's Honor

by Mia Sheridan

  My belly had been slightly rounded with early pregnancy, and I’d still had dreams in my heart. I’d still had hope that things would be okay.

  I’d stood in front of the gallery of family photos in the upstairs hallway and was drawn to each one, intrigued by the people, what they were wearing, the stories their expressions told, how the farm had changed from one generation to the next.

  The Sawyers were solid, stoic-looking people who wore practical clothes and even more practical expressions. Camille Sawyer, whose picture graced a spot near the bannister, was the exception. She brought glamour to the wall with her coiffed, golden hair, red pouty lips, and seductive eyes. And though her boys were both tall and strong, and at least one of them looked into the lens with the dispassionate Sawyer stare his ancestors had perfected, their mother had bestowed upon them a level of physical beauty the generations before them didn’t possess.

  Looking at the photos told me that the hardy, tenacious-looking Sawyer men of the past had worked the land, but this house spoke to me of the women who had loved them—women who themselves were sturdy but also graceful, with strong backbones and gentle hearts. I wanted to be one of those women. For Preston. For the life that grew in my womb, tiny butterfly wings of promise.

  Sadness threatened to overcome me and I moved my mind quickly from that time. That was before. This was now and it was reality—not fanciful hopes, not wishes or dreams of happiness that had never materialized. Just contempt.

  I turned around to face Preston and his eyes widened slightly as if I’d caught him unaware. For one heartbeat, I thought I saw pain in his eyes, but then the shutters came down and I wondered if I’d only imagined it. Or maybe it was simply my own pain reflected back at me.

  I clasped my hands in front of my body, waiting for him to instruct me on what to do.

  He paused, his brow furrowing momentarily before he raised his hand, gesturing to the family room on the right. “Do you want to wait in there for a minute? I’ll go get him.”

  I nodded, my heart squeezing at his formal, stilted demeanor. It was as if I was some door-to-door salesperson and he was leaving me for a moment to fetch his checkbook, rather than our son. Our son. Still, I knew it would be better if I let Preston make the calls here. “Sure.”

  I walked into the family room and heard his feet on the wooden stairs as he went up to Hudson’s nursery. I sat down on the couch and put my hands between my knees. The temperature in the house was comfortable, but I was cold with nerves.

  I heard Preston moving around upstairs, heard quiet murmurings as if he was waking Hudson from a nap. I wondered if his nursery still looked the same, wondered if he’d kept the gray and white décor I’d done the room in as I waited for the baby to arrive, not knowing if I’d accent it with blue or pink. Flashes of that time filled me with a heavy anguish, not just because of the memory of my own deep loneliness, but of the helplessness of seeing deep grief in Preston’s eyes, day after day after day, and not knowing how to ease it for him, knowing that if anything, the very sight of me compounded his stress.

  I shook myself slightly. I couldn’t do this now. Not now. The sound of footsteps descending the stairs snapped me completely from the painful thoughts, and I held my breath as Preston came into view, holding our son. My breath released in a loud whoosh of sound and I stood, unable to keep myself from going to him.

  Preston had only taken a couple of steps into the room, and he stopped as I approached them, my eyes homed in on the little boy in his arms. My breath caught and I swallowed down the lump in my throat, my heart simultaneously squeezing in pain at how much he’d grown and soaring with joy at seeing him again. How I’d missed him. I smiled and it felt shaky, and though I didn’t want to cry in front of the baby and possibly scare him, I couldn’t manage to stop my lips from quivering.

  Hudson eyed me with sleepy interest before putting his head on his father’s shoulder and smiling sweetly. I let out a very small laugh. “Hi, there.” My first words to the boy I’d yearned for every day for six months. “You have four teeth,” I said with wonder.

  “The first one came in right after you left. He gave me a hell of a time over it.”

  My eyes moved to Preston and lingered momentarily on his face, but I couldn’t read the thoughts behind his eyes or if his words had been meant with anger and blame or not, so I moved my gaze back to Hudson. “They’re perfect. He’s perfect.”

  My eyes drank him in greedily from those four tiny teeth to his thick head of dark hair, his eyes—my eyes—thickly lashed and that strange green color I’d always seen staring back at me from the mirror. Eyes I’d almost felt guilty for giving him, as if I’d unwittingly passed on the most unlovable part of myself. But there was nothing unlovable about the baby boy who had been placed in my arms, and unlike my mother who had used my eyes to strengthen her antipathy, the sight of them staring from my baby boy’s face made me feel fiercely protective of him.

  Other than his eyes and his dark hair, he was the spitting image of his father—and his uncle. I had had that thought as I’d sat rocking him in the chair in his nursery once but I hadn’t shared it with Preston. I didn’t know if it would be comforting or if it would poke at his grief, so I’d kept it to myself. Had he thought the same thing and never said it to me? We’d both been grieving . . . and yet we’d both been so alone. So painfully alone.

  I wanted to ask if I could hold Hudson but I felt strange and insecure doing so. I was his mother, but I didn’t think I had that right. Not after leaving him, and definitely not from the scowl on Preston’s face. I thought I would be prepared for the way that would hurt when he was right in front of me, but I hadn’t. Not really. I took what I could. I ran my finger over his silken cheek and he giggled, batting at me, his grin increasing. Ah, he reminded me of Cole so much when he did that. He’d always been such a smiley baby, easy to laugh, a sweet, little flirt. I smiled back at him, joy filling my heart to know that hadn’t changed. To know me leaving hadn’t stolen the innocent, unabashed sweetness of his personality.

  How long had he remembered me? The nights those little teeth were budding, was he crying for his mama? The ache that resided permanently in my chest throbbed.

  “Where have you been, Lia?” Preston asked softly and my eyes flew to his. His jaw ticked once, but other than that, I saw no evidence of emotion.

  I looked away from him, back to Hudson, pressing my lips together.

  “We have to talk. You do realize that. I want to know why you’re back.”

  What he meant of course was that he wanted to know what my intentions were as far as our son was concerned. “I . . . yes, of course.” I paused, gathering what strength I could muster. “I’ve . . . been at my aunt’s house in Texas.”

  I glanced up at Preston’s face and he was staring at me with a stormy sort of confusion as if my answer had surprised him, and not in a good way. “Texas? That’s over a thousand miles away. You drove yourself all the way to Texas?”

  I smoothed a hand over Hudson’s hair. He was looking back and forth between the two of us, his eyes wide, obviously having felt his father’s mood. At my touch, he reached up and caught my hand in his, and smiled again, showcasing those four tiny teeth. I took a deep breath. I saw Preston’s chest rise and fall as if he’d done the same thing. “Yes, I did.”

  “You have a son, Lia. A woman alone in a car that’s practically falling apart on a road trip of that distance? Did it enter your mind that anything could have happened to you? Goddamn it,” he practically growled, “it wasn’t safe.”

  “Neither was this house.” In a different way, but dangerous nonetheless. Dangerous to my heart. My soul. I’d tried. I’d tried to bring some light into a household filled with overwhelming grief, sadness, and anger. Just as my mother had looked at me with disdain and contempt, Preston’s mother had done the same. I’d gone from one cold tomb to another. This place had been just as toxic for me, and I’d been suffocating beneath the animosity. I remembered wondering if I
’d ever be wanted? Ever be warmly accepted into a home.

  Preston stilled again at my statement, his jaw tense, but the anger seemed to have faded from his eyes, leaving a weary hostility in his expression. “You couldn’t have told me where you were going? When you’d be back?”

  I paused for a second. “No, because I didn’t know.” That was partly true. I hadn’t known when I’d be back, but the reason I hadn’t told him where I’d be was because I worried he’d come after me or ask me to return. And I hadn’t been strong enough to tell him to let me go, especially if he persisted. I would have come back and things would have continued as they had been, and I couldn’t have survived it. It was a selfish thing to do and I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t make a different choice now. I’d done what I thought I had to do to regain a small piece of myself, to heal, to be a better mother.

  Preston stared at me for several long moments and his shoulders seemed to sag minutely as the fight went out of his eyes. He glanced down at Hudson and said softly, “We can talk about this later. When we’re alone.”

  I nodded.

  Hudson spotted something on the floor and lifted his head, reaching his arms toward it, indicating he wanted to be put down. Preston walked him over to a toy box I hadn’t noticed and set him down on the floor. He knelt up and plucked a toy out of the box and then sat down to play with it.

  I could have watched him all day, just noting all the things he’d accomplished since I’d seen him last, all the ways he’d changed.

  “Do you want to sit down?” I turned and Preston had his arm out toward the couch.

  “Sure.” I sat down and turned my attention back to Hudson who was kneeling back up at the toy box, removing toys one by one.

  “He’ll take them all out and then decide what he wants to play with.” Preston still seemed tense, but he was obviously trying to turn this visit back toward the baby, and I appreciated that.

  “It’s good to see all your options right in front of you, I guess.” I turned to Preston with a small smile on my face and he blinked and looked away.

  “Yeah.” He brought his hand up and massaged the back of his neck, the moment strangely awkward all of a sudden. I guessed it was too soon to try for a relaxed demeanor.

  “I can watch him . . . I mean, if you have some other things to get to.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  We sat in silence for ten more minutes just watching Hudson play and then Preston stood. “It’s almost time for his morning snack. I’m going to have to cut this short.”

  “Oh.” Surprise and disappointment jolted through me at what was obviously a dismissal, and a sudden one at that. I’d hoped he might give me longer than this. But I was still grateful he’d given me any time at all, so I wasn’t going to push it. I no longer had that right.

  “I could, uh, watch him here tomorrow if you have to work. We could talk later in the day—maybe dinner?” I held my breath.

  “I hired a girl to watch Hudson here while I work.”

  “Oh. I . . . I didn’t know.”

  “How could you?” The words came out harsh and I understood the resentment behind them. He hates me.

  I let out a breath, deciding to sidestep that completely for now. I couldn’t know. I had no idea what had happened in this house since I’d left. I wanted to, though. I wanted to know if Preston was doing any better, I wanted to know if it was allowed to mention Cole’s name, I wanted to know if the sounds of muffled tears still echoed through the house at night. I had been surprised to find him in the diner eating dinner the other night and wondered how much he was getting out now, after a year of barely leaving this house. “Will you let me know when you’re ready to talk?”

  His jaw ticked but he nodded. “How do I get hold of you?”

  “Oh, I’ll have to call you. Or you can use my mother’s landline.”

  He stared at me for a moment, and I saw some emotion slip through that blank façade he kept up so well, but too briefly for me to name it. He let out a breath. “Your cell phone is up in my room. I’ll get it for you.”

  “You kept paying my cell phone bill?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I have no idea why,” he mumbled almost as if to himself.

  Hudson crawled over to Preston, looking up at me on his way and grinning that four-toothed grin. “Dada,” he said and I sucked in a breath at the sound of the word, of his sweet voice. To me it was his first word because it was the only one I’d ever heard, and I worked to keep the tears at bay.

  If Preston noticed my emotion, he didn’t comment. He bent down and picked his son up easily, settling him on his waist. “Hey, buddy. Hungry?”

  Hudson babbled something I couldn’t understand. “Okay. We’ll get you some apple juice,” Preston murmured and emotion welled up in me again. I didn’t know if Hudson’s babbles indicated he’d wanted juice or if Preston had merely known he would by the time. I did understand that Hudson must have at least a few sounds and baby gestures that Preston understood and which I would be clueless about.

  But I now knew he liked apple juice. I wondered what else he liked, wondered what Preston would give him for a snack and later, for lunch and dinner, felt almost desperate to know what he was eating these days—what were his favorites? Was he good about eating his fruits and vegetables? Of course he must be. Preston would make sure of that.

  We walked into the foyer and Preston turned toward the stairs, telling me he’d be right back. I waited by the front door, holding my hands together in front of me, feeling sad and awkward, longing for more time with Hudson but knowing I had no bargaining power whatsoever. I was at Preston’s mercy because my actions had put me in this position.

  Preston came back down the stairs still holding Hudson and handed me the cell phone he’d bought me when I’d moved in with him. I took it from his outstretched hand, our fingers brushing. He jerked his hand away, and I blinked up at him. He looked tense and angry and I wondered if it was because of the phone, or because there was still a physical spark between us. After what I’d done, we both knew it could never be more than that. I was too emotionally overwhelmed by the visit with Hudson to dwell on it.

  “Thank you,” I murmured. “I’ll start paying the bill as soon as I get a job.” I would pay him back for the months he paid it while I was gone, too, but we could talk about that when we got together without the baby. I would have to make arrangements to pay him back for my mother’s rent, too. I sighed inwardly. I had been hoping we could talk about all of those things today, but apparently, Preston wasn’t ready.

  I guessed I could use the remainder of the day to begin job hunting. My first stop would be IHOP. They were always short of waitresses. Hopefully they needed one now and would give me my old job back.

  “I’ll be in touch. We can set up a time then to figure out . . . what’s best for Hudson.”

  What’s best for Hudson. I wasn’t sure what that meant to Preston, but I knew we needed to talk. I wanted to figure it out as much as he did. I needed to be near my son again. “Yes. Please.” I glanced at Hudson. “Please call me soon.” I sounded like I was begging and it made me feel ashamed, so I cleared my throat and took Hudson’s small hand in mine. “Bye, baby boy. I’ll see you soon okay? Ma—”

  “Bye, Lia,” Preston cut in.

  My eyes shot to his and he was looking at me warily. He’d cut me off before I could refer to myself as “mama.” My heart squeezed painfully but I managed a tremulous smile. “Bye.”

  I turned and pulled the front door open, letting myself out. I heard the door close behind me and then walked as quickly as possible to my car, pulling away, and getting halfway down the road before I allowed the tears to fall.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Preston

  Hudson picked up a piece of ravioli and stuck it in his mouth, gumming it happily. He caught my eye and grinned and I smiled back, but inside, my heart was still beating too fast, and I felt like I hadn’t quite caught my breath since L
ia had walked in the door.

  I hadn’t been prepared for what was so glaringly obvious on her face as she gazed at our son: raw love. Her blatant, helpless pain knotted my insides. The way she’d stared so longingly at Hudson had gutted and confused me. It made one thing very clear—she hadn’t left because she didn’t love Hudson. She’d left because she hadn’t loved me.

  I let out a shuddery breath, running my hand through my hair. Christ. I knew I hadn’t made it easy for her, but to leave that way with no note, not a word, nothing. Hadn’t she realized what it would do after I’d just lost my father and my brother and was barely hanging on? Why hadn’t she known that losing her would tear the last piece of my heart to shreds?

  She’d wanted to hold Hudson. Her hands had fluttered toward him, but she’d forcefully pressed them against her hips as if she needed to ground them somewhere to keep from reaching for him. I hadn’t made it any easier on her by offering and she obviously hadn’t felt secure enough to ask to hold her own baby. Whom she’d left. And so we’d stood awkwardly watching the baby I’d put inside her in a moment of lust and love and lost control on the kitchen table across the foyer.

  My body still tightened with need when I thought of that night. My heart still broke for the tragedy, the grief, the tears, and the silence that followed. And yet, despite the unceasing misery, there had been that one joy-filled moment when the sweet, high wail of my newborn son had broken through the despair, even if only for a moment.

  I glanced at Hudson who was happily making a mess of the food on his tray and smiled softly. He was done and I should take him out of the chair and wash him up, but he was content to play with his food, and I needed the time to collect myself.

  I looked away, gazing out of the window. The funny thing was—not that there was anything remotely funny about it—Lia leaving had actually been the catalyst that brought me back from the emotional brink I’d been teetering on.