by Jean Oram
The hitch that had been tightening her shoulders loosened its grip, and her hands almost unclenched.
“I’m a good listener,” he coaxed.
“Is that because of your grandmother?”
“She trained me in many notable ways.”
“Fine. You want to know?”
“Yes.” He started driving toward home, figuring it would be easier for her to open up if his attention was split between her and the road.
“I can’t stand the fact that I aided them unwittingly. People trusted us.”
He made a supportive sound, encouraging her to keep talking.
“I thought I was doing a good thing. I brought in good bands and ensured that our club maintained a good reputation. We cared about our patrons and our neighborhood. We had breathalyzers, and free rides home for those in need. We were a responsible nightclub.”
He made another supportive sound.
“People trusted us. And I thought we were good people, but we weren’t.” Her hands flew up in the air. “I feel so…so…”
“Betrayed?”
She let out a shaky sigh, her shoulders collapsing. “And taken advantage of.”
“At least they weren’t off murdering people,” he joked. “You know, whacking people in the back room.”
Her face collapsed, and he could tell she was wondering if something like that had indeed occurred.
“Typically, that stuff only happens in movies,” he said quickly.
She shook her head. “I’m sure it happens, but hopefully it didn’t at the club.” There was a resignation in her voice, a sorrow he couldn’t quite understand.
“It happens here. All over the world.” And more often than the average person realized. Maybe that was the reason for Catherine’s distress. She was an average person and it made sense that discovering how she’d been assisting in creating a front to mask illegal activities would weigh heavily on her. “Sometimes people do bad things. All we can do is try and put more good out into the world.”
He glanced her way, and found her eyes damp and full of gratitude.
He pulled into the garage a moment later, the dim light filtering in around them.
“I’m glad I found you,” she said.
She leaned across the console between them, lightly planting a kiss on his cheek that broke a small piece of him. He wasn’t sure what it was, only that it was one he had used to protect himself, to shelter himself from feeling the things that were slowly spilling out in regards to the woman across from him, his wife.
9
Catherine wasn’t sure what to do. Xavier wouldn’t settle and she was so tired she felt like she was quickly becoming a sleep-deprived zombie due to several nights of restlessness. Xavier’s sniffles and sneezes, which had caused the ladies to postpone Catherine’s baby-and-bridal shower, had swelled into a barking cough. It was startling, so much sound coming from such a small body, and the only thing that seemed to help was to hold him against her shoulder and pace the room.
Was he feverish? How had she not thought to pick up a baby thermometer? She’d thought to get hair dye to touch up her roots, but not a thermometer? What kind of mother was she?
The furnace kicked on and her bedroom grew stuffy and warm. Xavier’s coughing seemed to grow worse and she opened the door, stepping into the cool, dark hallway. She continued to pace with him, knowing he was too small for cough medicine, but unsure what she could do to make him comfortable.
Maybe she could use the accounting laptop downstairs and do a quick online search to see if there was reason to worry, or if there was something she could do to help him.
No, she’d just freak herself out, like she had when she’d researched oddities in her pregnancy. Things that had been normal, but that quick searches had made sound fatal.
This was just a cough. A really nasty cough.
He felt so frail, so small and helpless. So vulnerable. How much could a small boy handle?
None of her friends back home were mothers, and she tried to think if she’d overheard women talking about what to do to calm a baby’s cough.
She decided it was worth the risk of freaking herself out with an online search, on the off chance she could find something helpful.
Catherine tiptoed past Zach’s bedroom, the door of which was closed even though it was only eleven. He’d been out late with Logan a lot lately, the two of them keeping odd hours, often working evenings or even in the middle of the night if someone’s security system went off.
Catherine yawned. She’d been in a deep sleep before Xavier’s cough had woken her, and now felt dazed and groggy, at the edge of reason, where a sense of sanity and emotional stability were hard to come by.
After heading to the basement, she fired up the laptop, continuing to bounce Xavier on her shoulder.
She sat in her chair, trying to type with one hand while keeping him comforted. He arched his back, nearly tumbling out of her hold. She curved him into the cradle of her left arm and began typing again, but he struggled and squirmed.
She stood, righting him once more. “What’s wrong, little buddy? What can your mum do for you?”
Xavier began crying, his cough worsening again. She paced, concerned with how the more he cried, the worse his coughing got.
A light flicked on at the basement stairs and feet padded down the steps.
“I’m sorry if we woke you,” Catherine said, when Zach appeared, wearing nothing more than a pair of plaid boxer shorts.
“Sounds like Xavier needs to stop smoking. He’s got quite the cough,” Zach said casually, seemingly unaffected by the racking sounds coming from her poor son. Zach ran a hand over his bare midsection, and if she hadn’t been so distraught, Catherine would have taken a moment to memorize the way he looked, from his tousled hair to his broad shoulders and chest, which tapered down to a slim waist and flat stomach. The man was eye candy.
“I don’t know what to do for his cough,” she said, her voice trembling. “I wanted to search online, but every time I stop walking his cough gets worse. He’s so uncomfortable.”
Zach took Xavier, propping the baby upright against his bare chest. “What’s got you down, little guy?” He bounced the boy and walked, saying to Catherine, “You can go back to sleep if you want. I can watch him for a while.”
“What if there’s something wrong with him? Should I take him to a doctor?”
“It sounds like croup.”
“Croup? What’s that?” Catherine asked. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.
“Does he have a fever?” Zach asked.
“I don’t know.”
He touched Xavier’s cheek and forehead with the back of his hand. The boy gave a massive cough, struggling to catch enough wind at the end.
“Let’s try and open those airways,” Zach said to him. The baby let out a small whimper, as though agreeing to his suggestion.
Zach climbed the stairs two at a time, flicking on lights as he went. He tugged a blanket off the living room couch as he passed through to the patio, wrapping it around his shoulders as well as Xavier before pulling on the tall, clunky boots he kept at the patio door. As he stepped into the backyard, a plume of warm air created a cloud around him before he slid the glass door closed.
“You’re going to freeze!” Catherine exclaimed from her side of the glass. Xavier wasn’t wearing a hat and was sick, so being out in the sub-zero temperature was crazy. And Zach wasn’t wearing anything more than underwear and boots. That blanket wasn’t going to keep them warm enough.
Zach snugged the blanket around Xavier, rocking back and forth in the weak glow of light coming through the glass. His bare knees stuck out between the bottom of the blanket and the top of his boots.
Catherine fretted, unsure what to do. Taking a sick baby out in the freezing night didn’t seem like a smart solution, but Zach had been so confident she hadn’t spoken up. Finally, she summoned the courage to go outside and claim her child, certain both males had to be sport
ing frostbite by now.
She slid the door open and Zach, with a peaceful expression, peeled the blanket away from Xavier’s face for a second. The boy’s mouth, which had been tight only minutes ago, was slack, his body melting into Zach’s.
Catherine lunged forward, worried that Xavier was no longer breathing. But there were little puffs of air forming clouds in front of his face as the cold air nipped closer, his chest moving without labor.
It was a miracle. How was it even possible?
She looked up at Zach, who gave a tender smile. “The cool air helps sooth the swelling in his airways.”
“How do you know this?”
“I used to babysit,” he said simply. “Sometimes a warm, steamy bathroom helps, too.”
Catherine shivered in the cold, not quite ready to go back inside and leave them. Zach held out an arm, his fingers clutching a corner of the blanket as though he was a child making a superhero cape out of bedding. And as Catherine curved under his wing, she thought that maybe he truly was a little bit of a superhero.
Zach settled Catherine on the couch with the blanket once Xavier’s breathing was steady enough that he felt he could safely bring the baby back indoors. He and Xavier had been sheltered on the porch, the blanket creating a cocoon, so he could watch the stars while the cold air performed a speedy miracle on Xavier’s croup. It was one of those indescribable nights where the air was soft and cool, not the typical knifing cold that sank its teeth into your skin as soon as you dared expose any.
Holding the small, warm infant against his chest had felt right even with the cold nipping gingerly at Zach’s exposed legs. Snuggling Catherine in their cocoon had felt right, too. She belonged in his arms, and together the three of them made a family.
And when the two of them had begun first humming the Dean Martin song, then outright singing I’ve Gotta Be Me to Xavier, he’d felt as though his heart was going to burst.
Now that Xavier was settled in his swing, still breathing comfortably, Catherine, who had been wound tight with worry, was now sliding down the spiral into exhaustion.
Zach adjusted the blanket, ensuring it was covering her feet, just as she sat up, taking in the sleeping Xavier. “What if his chin drops while he’s sleeping and he can’t breathe?”
The boy was no longer a newborn, but a three-month-old who was strong enough to move his head around as needed, but Zach understood Catherine’s worry, how the croup scare had taken her for a ride.
“Sleeping sitting up will help keep his chest clear,” he said, knowing she already knew all this, but needed to hear it again, needed the reassurance. “He’ll be more comfortable. And the swing is designed to keep sleeping babies safe.”
Catherine eased back into the cushions again, burrowing into their plumpness. But moments later she was swinging her legs over the side of the couch.
“I don’t think I should sleep,” she said.
“Then we’ll both stay up and watch the news.” He picked up the remote and turned on the TV, then muted the news station. “That always keeps me awake,” he said without humor. All those horrible things going on in the world. He knew that what the reporters had unearthed was only the beginning, topsoil covering the bedrock.
Catherine yawned and Zach figured it wouldn’t be long before sleep overtook her, whether she was willing or not.
“Do you want me to get your pillow?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? I’ll stay up if you want to catch up on your sleep. He’s okay now. I’ve got this.”
“Are you certain?” Catherine asked. She was sinking back into the cushions again.
“I’m sure.”
She gave a small smile and yawned. “Okay.”
“Unless,” he said mischievously, “you’d prefer that I tuck you into your bed? I could put the swing in there and we could spoon while watching Xavier sleep.”
Her smile widened despite her attempts to rein it in. “While that sounds tempting…”
Zach had moved to sit in the armchair, and glanced up to see if she’d fallen asleep midsentence. Her attention was on the news, her jaw slack, a deep crease between her brows.
He slowly turned to face the television, afraid of what he might see, what kind of memories it might trigger.
It was just the same old type of story he always shut off, this one about the Davies gang over in Britain. He was tired of swallowing how agents came into a situation, did their work, then left, sometimes causing an aftermath that harmed innocent civilians. In this situation, the rumor from Logan was that their acquaintance Whitman, an MI6 agent, had infiltrated the outer ring of the family gang and been responsible for one of the biggest and fastest convictions of organized crime in the history of the UK. Good on him. Unfortunately, a few days after the convictions, their estranged daughter had gone missing, days after her rumored boyfriend, died in a suspicious-sounding car crash. Her death was assumed. A casualty in the name of the greater good.
But Zach couldn’t swallow it any longer. He’d seen one photo of her. She’d been a lean, dark-haired, good-looking woman, sporting sunglasses, a floppy sunhat and a giant smile. She was like Catherine—so much potential. So much life in that smile. But while he’d been powerless to help the Davies daughter, he wasn’t powerless to help Catherine.
Zach almost looked away from the TV when he caught the story’s caption. One of the gang’s most lethal members, Jerry Davies, had broken out of jail. How had that happened?
He rubbed his jaw, wondering what the gang had planned. Undoubtedly, there were still a lot of willing associates out on the loose, eager to help a family who, despite being behind bars, likely still wielded a fair amount of power in the crime community.
Remembering Catherine’s reaction, he turned to her. She was lying back on the couch, as stiff as a three-day-old corpse. Her eyes were closed and she looked as though she was fighting an internal pain that ran deep.
“You all right?”
She opened her eyes, and flashed a smile so fake it wouldn’t fool a blind person. “Just tired.” She closed them again, and Zach went over and tucked the blanket around once more, his concern growing.
Tears formed between her lashes, and she whispered, “That’s not the world I want to raise Xavier in.”
“You won’t,” Zach assured her.
He reminded himself that her reaction was normal. That in real life people got upset by the news. They weren’t trained to hide it like he and his buddies were. Expressed emotion didn’t have to mean anything from an overtired mother. It didn’t have to mean that she was hiding something criminal or that she was a woman on the run.
“It’s just the media network creating a fuss for ratings. The story’s happening a world away,” he said gently.
“A world away,” Catherine repeated, as though needing the reassurance.
“Nothing’s going to touch us here in Blueberry Springs. I promise.”
Catherine was on edge, and since she knew Zach had noticed, she tried to pass her jumpiness off as simple concern over Xavier. She desperately wanted to believe Zach’s words that nothing would touch her here. That she was safe. That what was happening a world away would stay there, far away from her.
Still feeling antsy, she peeked around the edge of the curtain covering the front window. She was getting paranoid, and felt as though she was being watched. Had felt that way for several days. She dropped the curtain and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering as she turned from the window.
She was living a new life, far away from her old one. There was no reason for anyone to come after her even if they found a trail that led them here. She had nothing for them, wasn’t to blame, and hoped they knew it.
She needed to act normal or she was going to ruin things between her and Zach.
But her family’s associates could easily believe that she’d been an insider, an informant. She’d made her thoughts about their lifestyle clear over the years, and the fact that she’d been bro
ught in only to be released so quickly could be construed as suspicious. What if Jerry had escaped jail because he was motivated by the urge to issue payback? Her cousin had come by his nickname—Bucket—honestly, as everyone who’d crossed him kicked the bucket soon after.
What if… No. Don’t think about Bucket. Don’t think about Simon. Don’t think about what might have happened to have caused his accident or why.
Focus on this life. Today. Xavier. What you have.
And in some ways, she had everything. Xavier was on the mend, thanks to Zach and his willingness to stand out in the late November cold in nothing but boxers and a blanket, her son against his chest as he cared for him like a father.
Catherine felt a warm swelling in her own chest when she thought about Zach and all he was willing to do for her and her son.
This right here was what mattered. This right here was what she needed to focus on, not the ghosts from her past.
10
Catherine still felt as though her past was following her, haunting her, making her a liar. It wasn’t a new feeling, but she was tired of it. Tired of believing her cousin Bucket was coming for payback. Tired of watching the shadows. Tired of worrying what others thought.
It was time to hold her head high and own it, quit cowering. She was a world away. She’d done a fine job of erasing her steps. All she had to do was continue to avoid the limelight and social media in case Bucket was indeed searching for her, and everything would be fine. She wouldn’t have to dart off in the night, making use of her diaper bag’s emergency on-the-run items. She wouldn’t have to leave Zach in order to protect him from her past.
She was safe here and Xavier was thriving. Plus she also had a handsome man sleeping on the living room couch, with her son stretched across his chest.
Placing the grocery bags down gently inside the door, she bounded into the living room, then paused, unsure what she should do to the sleeping guys.