When We Collide

by A. L. Jackson

  The fatigue that had chased me for months hit me in waves, and I sank deeper, fell further.

  Drifted.

  Desperation pushed William forward.

  Howling wind cut through the trees, beat against his chest as he plodded through the deserted playground. Squalls swept low as they rushed over his body, opposing every arduous step. Swings flapped and rocked, metal scraping metal, shrill and high.

  Laughter came from what sounded like every direction. Confusion ignited his fear.

  In the middle of the grounds, William fell to a standstill. Ramming his hands against his ears, he squeezed his eyes closed and screamed for it to stop. The sound was devoured by the driving wind. With his hands urgent against his ears, William spun in a circle while his world spun faster. The child’s laughter coiled in ribbons around his body. Wept against his skin.

  The boy screamed, begged, and cried into the night.

  William dropped to his knees.

  I flailed in the small bed, my legs twisted in the blankets. The room spun as I lurched to sitting in my fight for consciousness.

  No. This was supposed to stop when I got back home. It had to stop.

  I wheezed as I sucked desperately for any air I could find. The wailing was still just as clear. The sound slipped through the thin walls, ripped and agonized.

  Not the child.

  I shoved my panic aside and stilled to listen to the torment coming from the next room.

  “Shit,” I whispered as I untangled myself from the blankets and climbed from bed, quiet as I crept out the door.

  A lamp shone bright from Blake’s old room, slicing into the darkness of the hall.

  From the doorway, I watched my mother falling apart over my aunt’s lifeless body. My father held her from behind, promising against her ear it would be all right, that Lara was at peace, while my mother clutched her sister’s hand and begged her not to leave.

  I turned away and pressed my back against the wall. I slid down onto the cold hardwood floor and buried my face in my hands. Wetness seeped from my eyes.

  Fifty-seven years old.

  Life was hardly fair.

  Chapter Six

  William ~ Present Day

  On Friday afternoon, I hung back near the far wall of my parents’ living room. I had one hand shoved deep in the pants pocket of my black suit while I tugged at the charcoal-gray tie that felt much too tight around my neck with the other. Even though it was the middle of February, the Mississippi days stayed mild, almost warm, and the temperature had escalated to a near smothering level in the crowded room.

  Sinking deeper into the recesses, I did my best to hide along the outskirts of the mass of people packed wall-to-wall. They were gathered for Aunt Lara’s reception.

  It’d been three days since she’d passed. Two hours since we’d laid her in the ground.

  I pushed a breath from my lungs and roamed my eyes over the people conversing in muted whispers. I was not immune to the sadness weighing down the room. Mine only added to it, though I found myself wishing I were alone, in a quiet place with my thoughts, with my memories of her.

  In a town this size, most everyone had known Lara, and it seemed all had come to pay their respects.

  Most would eventually make their way over to me to welcome me home and tell me they were sorry for my loss. Almost all of those wishes seemed genuine, though a few clearly believed I was only there out of obligation. I could read the questions evident on their faces, the wonder at my disappearance, the disappointment in my abandonment, and the surprise that I had returned. I knew what I appeared, shallow and pretentious, and I doubted hiding in the shadows was doing anything to change their opinion of me.

  But even if being here was excruciating, obligation was not the case.

  One of the worst parts of the whole thing was every time the door opened, I couldn’t stop my attention from being drawn in that direction, couldn’t stave off the surge of apprehension that surfaced when I thought of seeing her again. I hated even more the twinge of letdown I felt when she didn’t come.

  Over the last three days, I’d realized I needed the very thing I’d run from for all these years.

  Just to catch a glimpse of her. To know she was okay.

  God knew I didn’t dare ask about her.

  I looked down at my feet when the screen door slammed closed once more behind an elderly couple who lived across the street.

  Why was I torturing myself this way?

  The only person who possibly looked more uncomfortable than me was my father. Peter Marsch stood tall and burly, his dark suit ill-fitted and tight. He could never be considered a social man, but there was no doubt he loved his family and was devoted to his wife. I watched as he leaned against the wall. His only concern was my mother, keen to her every move. Ready whenever she needed him.

  I sighed and shifted in discomfort.

  I’d forgotten that about my father. How he’d always been our protector, our provider. I could see Blake had inherited that strong streak of protectiveness. If I paid close enough attention, I could feel it simmering deep within myself, as well.

  Overwhelmed by it all, I slipped behind the crowd and quietly mounted the stairs to steal a moment for myself. In the solace of my room, I discarded my coat and tie, undid the top two buttons of my stiff white dress shirt, and rolled up the sleeves. I breathed out in relief when I sank onto the edge of the bed.

  All I needed was a minute to clear my head. I was just so damned tired. So mixed up. I had no idea what I was going to do, where I was going to go, or how long I would stay.

  Standing from the bed, I scrubbed my palms over my face and sucked in a deep breath to pull myself back together.

  When I stepped from my room, I was assaulted by the smells of a southern kitchen—comforting and warm—and the hushed voices that rose and married from below, my family and the people I had once considered friends. I slowed as I approached the photos displayed on the wall in the hallway, pausing to linger and study the collage of my past and the many family pictures where I’d been absent. There was just too much of it I had missed. I could fight it, but somehow I knew it was here I would always belong.

  “Excuse me, sir. Is there a potty up here? I gotta go real bad and somebody’s in the one down there.”

  The same timid voice that had haunted my nights for months hit me from behind, but may as well have been a kick directly to the stomach. It knocked the air from me, turned me inside out as awareness flowed through my consciousness.

  I was frozen, facing the wall, trying to talk myself down, trying to wake myself up.

  But I wasn’t asleep.

  Slowly I turned around.

  The child stood bouncing at the top of the stairs, holding onto the wooden railing with one hand while he had the other covering the spot where his legs were crossed and pressed together. Dark blond hair fell to the nape of the little boy’s neck, brushing just above his bright brown eyes. Those eyes were wide and almost fearful when they locked with my shocked gaze.

  The little boy from my dreams.

  Through the daze, I lifted my hand and pointed toward the door sitting halfway open beside my room. With a look of relief, the boy rushed past me and into the bathroom, flipping on the light switch before he slammed the door shut.

  I stood there, staring at the closed door as realization tumbled through me.

  Gripped and gutted me.

  For a moment I was empty—numb—before feeling came swooping back down in a fusion of anger.

  My hands curled into painful fists as my vision clouded, my mind reeling as it tried to reject what was unfolding in front of me.

  The toilet flushed and water ran. I braced myself when I heard the slide of the lock and the turn of the knob.

  Peering out through a crack in the door, the boy averted his eyes to his feet when he saw me still standing there. He squeezed out and headed back for the stairs with his attention trained on the ground in front of him, peeking once behind him
.

  I took two steps forward so I could see over the low parapet wall, watching the child go, knowing exactly where he would end up. My eyes raced ahead of him, searching through the crowd.

  It didn’t matter that I was prepared, that I already knew who I’d find.

  It destroyed me all the same.

  I struggled against the crushing weight on my chest as I watched her press a dish into my mother’s hands. Her entire body shook and she forced a smile across her distressed face. She was fidgeting, her gaze darting in nervous tics around the room. Distinct relief took over her face when the boy suddenly snuggled up to her side. She cast another cautious glance around the room, wringing her hands as she nodded away at whatever my mother was saying. Gesturing toward the door, she appeared to apologize, then she ducked her head and hurried with the child toward the front door.

  The screen door clanged shut behind them.

  Anger burned beneath my skin, and I was moving before I could stop myself, my feet pounding as I ran down the stairs. At the landing, I slowed to weave through the guests huddled in groups, muttering tight apologies as I pushed and squeezed my way through.

  I jerked the door open and flew out of the house and across the porch. I took the steps two at a time and ran down the stone path toward the street.

  It was to the left that I saw her making her way down the sidewalk, holding the child who was obviously too large for her to carry. Her head was hung low, as if she could hide herself. Her long black skirt swished around her legs, and her black dress flats clacked on the concrete as she bustled away, her pace just shy of a jog.

  Auburn hair fell in long waves down her back, pinned beneath the boy’s arms where he held her tight around her neck. Bewildered brown eyes stared back at me, the child regarding me with confusion over his mother’s shoulder.

  I knew she felt me following. I could feel her tension, the swells of apprehension that grew, then broke and rippled across my flesh. Quickening my pace, I matched her, step for step. Her running only fueled the anger that threatened to spin me out of control. When she increased her speed, I did the same. A hundred feet ahead, she suddenly darted across the street, stopping to wrench the sliding door open to an old blue mini-van parked on the other side. She maneuvered the child around to set him inside and slammed the door shut.

  She fumbled with the driver-side door handle. Her hands visibly shook as she struggled to jerk it open.

  I was right behind her. I grabbed her upper arm to stop her from climbing inside when she swung the door open.

  “You’re not going anywhere until you explain this to me.” My words dropped out in a low hiss.

  Led by the motion of my hand, she spun around in a submissive cower, her free arm drawn to shield her face. To deflect the blow.

  Her reaction stung as it cut a path from my palm and up my arm, spreading out over my consciousness.

  I slowly drew my hand back.

  “Maggie,” I whispered, the name unspoken for so many years.

  A small cry pressed from her mouth, and she shrank further against the inside of the door.

  I lowered my head, searching for her face beneath the feeble attempt she’d made at protecting herself.

  “God…Maggie…” I tried to keep my voice soft, but couldn’t conceal how much it hurt she’d reacted to me that way or how much I hated those who’d bred it. My pulse thudded with a swell protectiveness. Still, after so much time, all I wanted was to protect her.

  She flinched when I reached for her again, her expression nearing terrified when I tugged her arm away from her face.

  “You know I’d never touch you like that.” Never. It didn’t matter what she’d done or how angry I was.

  Though she straightened, her body still sagged, her spirit beaten and broken.

  “I know,” she finally said, so low I could barely hear. She sniffled and hung her head in what appeared humiliation, holding herself across her middle as she raised her face just enough to meet with mine. Eyes, the warmest of brown, met with my intense gaze. They were steeped in a pain that seemed to verge on fear and still held in them every single thing that I had run from.

  And her face.

  She was so beautiful—still. Maybe more so. But she was so different than the young girl I remembered. All traces of innocence had been erased. It its place was a woman who had borne too much. I saw it. Knew it.

  Need tensed my muscles.

  Shit.

  I had to look away to reclaim the reason I had chased her out here in the first place. I took a step back to put some space between us. Closing my eyes, I tried to keep my voice steady. It came out a plea.

  “Tell me that’s not my son.”

  Maggie whimpered. With the sound, I looked to see her slump over herself, pressing her hand over her mouth before she visibly steeled herself. I watched as she fought for an impassive expression, and she rigidly looked me in the eye.

  She shook her head. “No, William, he’s not.”

  I suppressed the urge to scream, to call her the liar I knew she was, contained the impulse to put my fist through the closest inanimate object.

  Her attention flitted between the house and me, acute anxiety firing in each jerky movement. I glanced behind me to the few people who idled on my parents’ porch. None of them even seemed to notice we were there. I turned back to level my eyes at the girl who once again had shaken my world.

  “After everything, Maggie, you’re going to stand there and lie to me?” I wanted the words to reflect my anger. Instead my voice cracked. “Tell me the truth. You owe me that.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and tears escaped from the corners and slid down her face. She twisted her hands in the hem of her black sweater.

  I pushed aside the familiar desire to comfort her. I had to take another step back when she laid the full force of her brown eyes on me again.

  “Please…William, you have to believe me,” she begged. “He’s not—”

  My eyes blurred, burning with the betrayal. “How could you do this to me, Maggie?”

  How? How was any of it possible? The presence of the child hidden away in the van next to me was nearly insufferable. A new weight that had been added to my shoulders.

  The innate need to protect her hit me again. Doubled.

  She jumped when a screen door slammed shut at the house beside us, the sudden fear that had worried her face twisting into shame.

  “I have to go,” she said, tripping over herself as she turned to climb into the driver’s seat. She was shaking so uncontrollably she didn’t seem to have proper function of her limbs.

  “Damn it, Maggie. You can’t just…” I reached for her again. I had to stop her, make her talk to me.

  She slapped my hand away, her expression desperate as she retreated into herself.

  “You have to let it go. Please.” Her eyes were pleading, filled with a silent communication she knew I only I could understand.

  I stepped back in disbelief, shocked she would actually suggest that I could, and she took the opportunity to shut the door in my face.

  Stuttering, the old engine sprang to life.

  I stood in the middle of the street, watching her go, clueless what I was supposed to do now.

  As misled as I’d always believed her to be, I would never have imagined she could have betrayed me this way.

  She’d been good—to a fault.

  I knew first-hand how far that goodness would go, how far she’d go to deceive herself into believing something was right when it was so obviously wrong.

  Chapter Seven

  William ~ Present Day

  There’d be no sleep tonight, I was sure. There were only memories and anger and betrayal that I didn’t know how to deal with. So many questions consumed me, ate at me, twisted me up with dread. My mind raced while my heart felt as if it might shut down. Through the walls, I heard my mother weeping quietly in her room. Deep strains of my father’s voice murmured comfort, though I couldn’t make out wh
at he said. The day had taken its toll, had left her spent. Thank God she knew nothing about what had transpired this afternoon, but that in itself added to my questions. How had no one else noticed? How had no one else seen?

  But my family didn’t know that over the summer six years ago my life was rocked—permanently changed. They didn’t know that one night had me inexplicably drawn to a girl I didn’t even know. I’d stood up for her without understanding why and then spent the next three months falling for her. They had no idea that one day I’d finally had enough, that I’d fought for her and, like a fool, had believed she was mine.

  William ~ May, Six Years Earlier

  I plodded up the back steps of my parents’ house, a duffle bag slung over my shoulder. Fatigue slowed my feet, but I was excited to be home, so much so I had driven almost straight through. I hadn’t seen my family since Christmas break.

  Turning the key to the lock, I tiptoed into the kitchen of the darkened house, careful not to wake the rest of my family since it was close to three in the morning. A small light burned over the stove and another cast a faint glow from the base of the staircase when I walked through the archway and into the living room. A blanket lay twisted and discarded in a pile on the couch and a coffee cup with a tea bag sat half empty on the coffee table.

  I felt a smile pull at the side of my mouth. I’d bet a million bucks my mother had waited up for me as long as she could before she’d given up and gone to bed.

  Quieting my footsteps, I lumbered up the stairs. My parents’ bedroom door was cracked open an inch, and I paused to peek inside. My mom and dad slept curled and wrapped together, my father’s typical hard exterior erased in the deep abyss of sleep.

  My smile from downstairs grew.

  I quietly moved on from their room into my own. My bed had been turned down, waiting in welcome. Peeling my clothes off down to my boxers, I dropped them to the floor, then gave into the fatigue that had chased me for miles as I fell onto my childhood bed, thinking how great it was to finally be home.