When We Collide

by A. L. Jackson

  A beautiful man I no longer knew.

  Chapter Nine

  William ~ Present Day

  I followed Blake out the back door and into the frigid air. A cold front had blown in overnight, chasing out the normally mild Mississippi February and freezing everything in its path. I ducked my head to shield myself from the cold lash of wind that whipped at my face. Perfect weather for the sour mood I was in.

  The cardboard box I carried felt as if it weighed fifty pounds rather than ten, and I shifted it to my side and took the back porch steps to the driveway.

  Grim lines formed on Blake’s face when he took the box from me. He placed it in the bed of his truck and slammed the tailgate shut. “Guess that’s all,” he said as he exhaled heavily and stared at the things piled in the bed of his truck.

  Glancing back, I caught our mother watching us from the kitchen window, her hands overlapped and pressed against her chest as if she were trying to hold her heart in. Our eyes met, and my mouth formed into a thin, sympathetic smile. Everything was so hard on her, but this had been the worst. Packing up Lara’s things, sifting through the memories, keeping the few things she couldn’t bear to part with, and setting the rest aside.

  A few moments later, the back screen door slammed shut behind her. The heavy winter coat she wore appeared as if it would swallow her whole.

  “I’ll ride with you.” Mom lifted her face to me, mustering half a smile as she descended the stairs. She brushed an appreciative hand across Blake’s arm as she passed before she went to stand at the passenger side door of my SUV.

  Blake didn’t question it. He just agreed with a bob of his head and climbed into his truck.

  I drew a lump of cold air in through my nose, felt it burn down my throat and expand in my lungs. She’d heard me last night, I was sure. I’d seen it in the way she had regarded me all morning and into the afternoon. Worry had been held in the appraisal of her eyes as she’d steal surreptitious glances from wherever she sat and packed a box, worry in the way she watched me going in and out of her house to load Blake’s truck.

  Sliding into my seat, I started the car and fiddled with the thermostat to turn the heat to high. I shifted the car into reverse and looked over my shoulder to back out of the driveway. This time she didn’t try to hide the intent gaze. She was studying.

  My stomach twisted, tied up all the way to the top of my throat.

  It’d been six days since I’d seen Maggie. Six days since I’d seen the child. Each one had been excruciating. A war had ravaged inside of me, a battle between heart and mind. My heart claimed the child, claimed the girl, while my head screamed at me to run, screamed neither of them were my concern.

  Forcing myself into believing Maggie wasn’t my concern had been the only way I’d survived in California. I couldn’t allow myself to believe there was anything else I could do.

  But seeing her had shattered that belief.

  I’d spent the week holed up in the confines of my room, unable to eat, unable to sleep.

  Last night I had reached the boiling point.

  I’d fought with Kristina. I’d been so tired, verging on deranged from the days spent in my room pacing—contemplating—that I should have known better than to have accepted her call. I should have waited until I’d cleared my mind and decided what I was going to do. But I’d grown so frustrated with the demanding messages and the snide little remarks she used to try to control me, and I’d snapped when my phone lit up with her name again. She’d demanded I be back in California in two days, threatening to fire me if I wasn’t. Anger had burned, spewed as hatred from my mouth. Six years of pent up discontent and resentment were unleashed into the phone. I told her even if I went back to California, it wouldn’t be to her. I was done.

  Hours later, cut free from the life I’d bound myself to for the last six years and drained from the days I’d spent in dread, I finally succumbed to the exhaustion of my body.

  And I’d dreamed. Saw the boy for the first time through new eyes. When I’d awoken, I wept for a child I didn’t know.

  I trained my attention out the windshield, felt my mother’s probing stare.

  “What happened to you, Will?” It spilled as fear from her mouth, abject intuition.

  I found myself wanting to confide in her. Tell her I thought I might be losing my mind. Tell her I was terrified I wasn’t and have to admit the dreams were real. I just didn’t know how.

  So much time had been spent deceiving myself, believing my own lies, it was easy for me to shrug and play it off the way I always had. Locking my face in the same, persuasive expression I used whenever I wanted to get my way, I glanced across at her. “Nothing’s wrong, Mom…I just…had a weird dream. It was nothing.”

  Hurt knit up her brow. “Don’t lie to me.” She turned away and faced forward. “Do you really think I can’t tell that there’s something going on with my own son? That I ever believed you all of a sudden just didn’t care about us anymore?” I felt her gaze fall on me again. “What are you hiding from?”

  I braked for one of the few lights in town, hands gripping the wheel. My mother had always known me so well. Our separation hadn’t changed that. I doubted any amount of time would. On a heavy sigh, I sank back in my seat and rolled my head to look over at her, hoping she’d find in my expression she was right—I’d never stopped caring about them. At the same time, I prayed she could see it on my face that I wasn’t yet ready to tell her why.

  Her face softened and sympathy filled her eyes as she slowly nodded, the silence a declaration as understanding passed between us.

  She fidgeted and looked down, adjusting her purse on her lap into almost the same position it had been. She seemed to struggle to find the right words. “Last night…earlier,” she clarified as if to give me reassurance that she wasn’t pressuring me for answers, but was at least asking for something, “I overhead you on the phone…with…Kristina.”

  I rubbed my forehead, turned away for a beat before I accelerated through the light when it turned green.

  As if the entire neighborhood hadn’t heard our screaming match.

  Sighing, I turned left into the parking lot of the donation center. I eased my car into an open space, put it in park, and turned to face my mother.

  “It’s over with Kristina. I told her last night I wasn’t going back.” I paused before I gathered enough courage to continue. “I’m staying here…in Mississippi.” I swallowed over the fear my decision elicited. It was a decision that had been cemented in those bleak hours I’d spent being tormented last night. In them, I’d accepted leaving was no longer an option, but I had no clue what staying would mean.

  “Is that what you really want?” she asked, her eyes wide, as if she were more concerned with the answer on my face than with my actual words.

  Biting at the inside of my lower lip, I nodded.

  “It is.” Confirming it was easier than I’d expected.

  “Good,” she said. The sudden disdain in her voice caught me by surprise. “I hated her, you know, keeping you from where you belonged…hated that you chose it.” She opened the door, ranting mostly to herself as she stepped out, “I never taught my boys to run from their troubles.”

  ~

  That night, we all filed into the pizza parlor, thankful to get out of the cold. Mom grinned at me as she pulled out a chair and sat down, patting my leg. I shifted further down the table to make room for her and my dad.

  “Who else is as hungry as I am?” she asked as she unfolded her reading glasses and situated them low on her nose.

  Donating Lara’s things had proven therapeutic for her, as if a small burden had been lifted because she’d accomplished something that had been so important to her sister. Ever since I could remember, Aunt Lara had volunteered at the center. The temporary shelter and second-hand store had been something she’d forever held close to her heart. She’d dragged me along on more than one occasion, even though as a child I’d protested, thinking she was wasting my time
when I could have been riding my bike and hanging out with my friends. She’d said she wanted me to learn to be compassionate and one day I’d understand.

  Maybe it had been a waste of my time. Any compassion that had been instilled in me over those long summer days had only made me bitter, because still, I didn’t understand why some people made the choices they did.

  Blake rearranged the chairs around the table and dragged a highchair over for Olivia. Every few seconds, he’d cast glances toward the entrance of the pizza parlor to see if his family had arrived.

  The place hadn’t changed in all the years I’d been gone. This had been our regular high school hangout. All my friends and I would come here for pizza before we ended up piling in trucks and cars to head out to our secluded field or to whatever party was happening. Red-backed booths still lined the walls, and the tables sitting in the middle were surrounded by the same generic red-cushioned chairs I associated with just about every crappy restaurant I’d ever stepped foot in. Lance still shouted “order up” every time he slid a pizza through the kitchen window, and I couldn’t help but be surprised that I recognized only one of the two waitresses who were working that night.

  The front door chimed and Grace entered. She held Olivia in one arm and Emma’s hand with the other.

  “Oh good, the girls are here,” Mom said as she glanced up at the door over her menu.

  They were all bundled up in jackets and knit hats, their cheeks rosy-red from winter’s bite. Grace snaked her way through the restaurant and over to the table, her smile only for Blake as they approached. He was already standing, waiting as if unwilling to waste even a second of this life with them, kissed her and hugged his girls, said he’d missed them.

  I snubbed the shame that worked to wind itself around my heart every time I saw Blake’s kids. If I was going to be around, it was about time I got over it.

  While Blake and Grace fought with Olivia’s flailing feet to get her buckled into the highchair, Emma attempted to crawl onto the empty chair to my right. Lying on her belly, she grunted and struggled to lift her knee to the cushion to push herself up.

  “Need help?” I asked, fumbling awkwardly as I reached out to help her, extending my hand for her to use as leverage. I was almost surprised she accepted it. Emma popped up on both her knees, and I pushed her chair in until her stomach touched the table, smiling at the cute little girl who smiled shyly up at me.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Thanks, Will,” Blake said over the howling of his youngest as he snapped her belt in place. “This one gives us fits every time we try to put her into a highchair.”

  I had to restrain the threat of disconcerted laughter when Olivia screeched her dissatisfaction and raked her hand across the table in front of her, sending the coloring page and crayons Blake had set down in front of her scattering across the floor. Blake seemed unfazed when he picked them up and set them in front of her, kneeling to get in her line of vision. “If you do it again, Olivia, you’re not going to be allowed to have them back.”

  Peeking over at my mother and father, I gathered this was common as they continued to look over the menu. Mom glanced up every couple of seconds to discuss with Grace what kind of pizza they wanted to order.

  Emma leaned with her forearms against the table so she could see around me, shouting her preferences above the loud cries of her sister. “I want cheese, Gramma!”

  Mom smiled and reached around me to touch her hand. “Anything you want, sweetheart. How about you, Will? What are you in the mood for?”

  I glanced at Emma with a knowing smile, then back to Mom. “Cheese is good with me.”

  I felt as if I’d been thrown into a chaotic new world. It was disorienting, being in the midst of such easy affection, how much patience was extended without giving it a second thought. Had I been eating with Kristina, not that she’d ever have stooped low enough to come to a place like this, she would have been complaining about just how rude some people were.

  We ordered, and once the pizza was served, the table settled into quiet conversation. I tried not to let it bother me that Grace had not said one thing to me since I’d been back. She was still questioning my reasons for being there, and I couldn’t blame her.

  At the tug of my sleeve, I looked to my right.

  “Look it, Uncle William.” Holding up her coloring sheet, Emma showed me what she’d drawn, pointing with her chubby little finger as she traced the rainbow connecting her house to her gramma and grampa’s house. She was grinning, animated, no question excited to be holding my attention. She looked up at me for approval, and for the first time since I’d come home, I didn’t feel like a complete outsider.

  I smiled down at my niece, thinking this was where I’d start, begin again, a second chance at knowing my family. “This is really beau…”

  I stilled, contending with the overwhelming desire I had to look up from the drawing when I felt the shift in my world. A rush of freezing cold air singed my cheeks when the door was opened, mixed with the undeniable flame of her presence. The shocking intensity of her eyes pinned me in place as the bell chimed again when the door closed.

  My mind clouded, and again, I cursed this little town. This was why I’d left in the first place, unable to face it, but unable to look away as I gave in and stole a glimpse at the three who’d walked through the door. Maggie’s eyes locked with mine for the briefest second, but it might as well have been an eternity.

  During that time, my anger was suspended. I couldn’t remember that I’d been betrayed or that she’d lied.

  All I could think of was how much I’d missed her—wanted her.

  It flooded me in desire and warmth, the memory of how perfect this girl had felt in my arms. How I’d been her sanctuary and she’d been my everything.

  She dropped her gaze and broke the spell, the moment passing just as quickly as it had come, sending reality crashing down over me. With it came the smoldering resentment that had stolen the last six years of my life.

  Troy led her by the hand. She kept her head down and her hair fell around her face—hiding. It was the same fucking unbearable scene I’d had to witness time and time again through that summer. The rage it derived, the stabbing pain it’d caused as I had to sit and pretend that her heart didn’t belong to me.

  Only now it was worse.

  A child clung to her leg, timid and scared. Hiding.

  I dug my fingers into the table, held myself back while fury exploded, completely leveling the walls I’d constructed to keep her out.

  He was exactly like his mother.

  Except he was mine.

  The little voice that had me lying to myself all week was gone—the one that had tried to convince me there was no possible way that child could be mine. It was silenced in those wide brown eyes that seemed to be drawn my way by an unknown recognition. The boy stumbled along behind his mother who trained her attention on the ground. Over his shoulder, the child strained to maintain eye contact with me as he was steered across the floor.

  I almost expected him to call out to me, to giggle and run.

  And I’d chase him, helpless to do anything else, because I recognized him too.

  Led to a booth toward the front of the restaurant, the boy climbed in first, moving far enough inside to be cut from my view. Maggie scooted in next to him. Troy slid into the opposite side, facing away, concealed by the high-backed booth, apparently unaware of my presence.

  Thank God.

  I wasn’t sure I could control myself if Troy were in my line of sight for the entire night. I doubted Troy could control himself, either.

  I could feel her spirit pulsing against me, wrapping and coiling around my being while she tried to withdraw from me at the same time. I knew then Maggie couldn’t escape me any more than I could escape her.

  She hazarded me another fleeting glance, another plea. Let it go. I saw it as another lie. I minutely shook my head. It felt like an a
pology.

  There was no chance I’d simply let it go. All I’d ever wanted to do was protect her, and she’d never let me.

  Protecting her was no longer a choice. Whatever I had to do, I would.

  I realized my mother was whispering. Her voice was low and directed at Blake. “…Always has been a nice girl…Did you see she stopped by Lara’s reception…Jonathan is such a sweet little boy…”

  Blake nodded as he ate. “Yeah, I noticed her when she was heading out.”

  I wanted to scream as my attention darted between them, shake them, demand to know if they saw even a hint of what I’d recognized. My father fed Olivia small pieces of his pizza, paying little attention to the conversation happening around him.

  It was obvious none of them had any clue.

  Grace continued with her distinct aversion to my presence, ducking her head to deflect my eye when I tried to search her face, her movements jerky when she suddenly pushed away from the table to set Olivia free. She somehow both grumbled and cooed at her child about the mess she had made, wiped a dampened napkin over Olivia’s face that was smeared with pizza sauce.

  Every one of them was unaware of what the child across the room meant, how he was tied to them, bound by an unseen connection.

  I swept my gaze back to Maggie’s table. God, part of me wanted to hate her. Blame her.

  Tentatively she raised her head as if she felt everything I did. She looked at me beneath her veil of hair and risked meeting my eyes. Exposed herself and all of her vulnerability, the agony in her face, the shame.

  I lost myself there, ended up back where we’d begun.

  It didn't matter if I wanted to hate her. I could only hate the choices she'd made. Maybe the choices I'd made as well.

  Never once in all those years had I thought maybe, just maybe, I could have changed her decision. That I could have made a difference. I couldn't help but question it now. Had I stayed, would things have been different?