The Road Without You

by H. M. Sholander

  He walks out the door without glancing back in my direction, and I hold the door open, watching until he fades from view and all I’m staring at is an empty driveway.

  I wonder, Am I really going to let this happen? Will I let myself drown in Jax when he’s drowning all on his own?

  As soon as Arya got home, I hightailed it out of the house, snatching my keys out of her hand before she could put them down. I spent the whole day playing what-if and nearly drove myself insane.

  I decided I needed to leave and go to the one place I always felt safe. Home.

  I need to stop worrying and thinking. I need to clear my head.

  I close the car door behind me, tossing my keys in my purse as I step inside the house I grew up in.

  I won’t lie. It doesn’t smell like a bakery or a restaurant with the aroma of food filling the house. My mom’s not a cook—she never has been—and my dad can only cook meat. My entire childhood, we lived off whatever meat Dad felt like grilling and canned vegetables Mom couldn’t ruin.

  I can’t complain though. I was always fed, and there was never a shortage of laughter.

  “I’m home!” I yell, dropping my purse on the carpet next to Dad’s recliner and sliding off my tennis shoes.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Mom says, slipping around the corner, covered in food. Her long blonde hair is pinned back with the same plain silver barrette she has worn for years. She’s never been a flashy woman, wearing tons of jewelry or makeup. She keeps everything simple, which is perfectly her.

  I laugh under my breath as she hugs me tight. “Cooking again?”

  Just because she can’t cook doesn’t mean she doesn’t try. I can’t fault her for wanting to learn, but her food never comes out tasting like anything other than bland, or it’s completely raw.

  “Yes, but I just know it’s horrible. How about we order pizza for dinner?”

  “Sounds good to me,” I answer as we amble into the kitchen that looks like a food fight broke out in it.

  Flour coats the kitchen counter, and several carved-out avocados rest next to the stove. Three cutting boards lay on the kitchen island along with an array of knives, and five slices of lemon have been dropped on the floor.

  How did she make this much of a mess all on her own?

  “Why don’t you order, and I’ll start cleaning up?” I mash my lips together, holding back my laughter.

  Swiping her phone off the counter, she dials the pizza place that she surely has on speed dial, and I get to work on the mountain of dishes scattered around the kitchen.

  I walk across the kitchen to the sink, but I freeze when moisture seeps through one of my socks, something mushy and cold oozing in between my toes. I cringe, wondering what I stepped in, as I slip off my socks and throw them to the side. I wipe my foot clean with a paper towel.

  “Sorry about that, sweetie.” Mom winces, placing her phone on the dining room table.

  “It’s fine, Mom.” I throw the paper towel away and grab the sponge off the counter to clean the unidentified goo off the floor. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s on his way home from work,” she responds, gathering all the dirty dishes and placing them by the sink.

  My dad has always worked too much. I’d say he’s a workaholic, but he never missed a dance recital or school play when I was growing up. He was there for every important event in my life, so I forgave him for those nights he had to work late. He would always make up for it with his bear hugs.

  I grab the lone pan from the stove, grimacing at it. “What were you trying to make?” I ask as green and brown slime drips off the pan and onto my hand.

  “Chicken with a lemon-avocado sauce.” She pushes up the sleeves of her shirt before turning on the sink faucet.

  “Please, never make it again.”

  We both laugh as she clangs dishes together, placing them in the sink that’s filling with soapy water.

  “How’s school going?”

  “It’s okay. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “What about Travis? Is he still bothering you?” she asks, concern lacing her voice.

  When I told my parents Travis and I broke up, I could hear the relief in their voices. As much as they hated Travis, they knew I was hurting over losing him, so they didn’t express their opinions on the matter.

  “Nope. He’s finally taken the hint, and I got Stella back,” I say triumphantly, squaring my shoulders with a satisfied smile.

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m so happy,” she squeals. “I know how much you missed her. Probably as much as we miss having you around the house.”

  “I miss you guys, too.”

  I grab the disinfecting wipes out from under the kitchen sink and start scrubbing the counters. Mom rinses the soapy water off the dishes and puts them in the dishwasher.

  I asked her once why she washed the dishes before she put them in the dishwasher. She told me she didn’t have a dishwasher when she was younger and had to hand wash everything. Now she can’t break the habit.

  “Did someone order pizza?” Dad hollers from the front door. He strides into the kitchen, appraising the mess, and all he does is chuckle under his breath. “I see why you needed pizza.” He sets the two boxes of pizza down on the counter before embracing me with one of his famous bear hugs. “What do you say we eat and clean this mess up later?”

  Gathering around the kitchen island, we eat pizza straight from the box, not bothering with plates. We laugh, reminiscing about my childhood. Mom sniffles, remembering when I broke my arm after falling off the monkey bars at school, and Dad howls, recalling the terrible fashion sense I had in elementary school.

  This, all of us laughing, is everything. I couldn’t ask for two better people to call parents.

  Jax

  I step through the door of the house I’ve come to loathe. If it wasn’t for Sam, I’m not sure I ever would come back here. Then again, if she wasn’t around, would my parents still be together?

  I shut the door, staring blankly into the vacant and unusually quiet house. I walk through the living room, thinking how the silence is such a stark contrast to when I came home to Mom throwing stuff out the window.

  One thing I’ve never understood is why two people would stay together when they are so clearly miserable. People get divorced every day, so why would you force your children to suffer by staying in a toxic relationship?

  Sam is only learning that love should hurt and is often volatile. My parents are doing more harm than good by existing in the same house. How they haven’t torn each other to shreds yet, I have no idea.

  Short, choppy footsteps run across the floor upstairs, and before I can make it to the staircase, Sam comes running downstairs, wearing nothing but a floppy hat and a long necklace with her underwear.

  “Where are your clothes?” I ask, laughing under my breath.

  She swings back and forth with her hands clasped in front of her. “I don’t know,” she singsongs.

  I crouch down, balancing on the balls of my feet. “Go put some on, and we can go see Walker.”

  Her face lights up as she bounces on her toes. “Walker!” She turns to run up the stairs but stops, looking back at me. “Can we get a pumpkin? Mommy and Daddy haven’t gotten me one.”

  My jaw tightens, but I keep a smile on my face as Sam watches me from the stairs.

  Of course they haven’t because they don’t bother to give her all the things normal kids have—birthday parties, day trips, holiday celebrations. It’s like they’ve completely forgotten how to act like adults, too consumed with their own issues rather than making sure Sam gets everything she warrants.

  I stand, blood rushing down my legs to my feet. “Absolutely. We can even carve it”—she beams—“but you have to get moving.”

  She turns and rushes up the stairs and down the hall to her room.

  I head toward the couch and plop on the cushion, leaning my head back and staring at the ceiling. Maybe I can talk to my parents, tell them they need to get their shit to
gether. But will that do any good? I’ve tried before, and they’ve insisted they would go to therapy because they wanted to stay together for Sam. But this is no life to lead, no example to set for my little Munchkin.

  “What are you doing today?”

  I whip my head in the direction of my dad, who sits down on the couch opposite me. “Gonna take Sam to see Walker.”

  He nods. “Don’t have her out too late. She has pre-school tomorrow.”

  My eyes widen at his words. Maybe he’s not that bad. Maybe I’m so blinded by my own hatred for the situation that I miss the good in my parents. “Where’s Mom?”

  He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “No idea.”

  “What are you guys doing?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?” His brows furrow.

  I wonder when he got so much older. His hair used to be black, but now, it’s mostly gray. Wrinkles line his face, and he appears more tired now than when Sam was a baby, crying through the night.

  “You and Mom.” I scoot to the edge of the couch, drawing myself closer to him. “Sam deserves more than two parents who fight all the time. Don’t you think it would be better for her to have parents who are happily separated than miserable together?”

  He lets out a deep sigh, placing his hands on either side of his head. “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s not.”

  The same gray eyes I have reflect back at me. “I’m not sure your mom would survive without me.”

  I ran a hand through my hair and grip the back of my neck. “What does that mean?”

  His lips press in a firm line before he speaks, “Look, neither of us has said anything to you because you have enough going on.”

  Like taking care of your daughter.

  He glances at the stairs before meeting my eyes. “Your mom was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. We’ve been dealing with it the best we can, but she refuses to take her meds because of how out of touch they make her feel.”

  Bipolar? Why didn’t they tell me any of this before?

  “Is that why you fight?” My brows crease as I look at my dad, a guy who seems defeated with his sad eyes and head hanging low.

  “Recently, yeah.” He nods. “I try to calm her down, but we both end up yelling at each other. I’m not proud of my actions, but I need her to get help. Otherwise…” He trails off, and I wonder if he’ll finally put us all out of our misery and end their marriage.

  I swallow, my throat feeling tight. That’s a shitty thing to think—that he should leave his wife when she needs help—but it doesn’t make it any less true.

  Sam needs a parent, so if he has to leave Mom to make that happen, then so be it.

  “I’m not sure if either of you will survive with each other,” I say as Sam comes rushing in the living room, effectively ending our conversation.

  “Walker. I wanna see Walker.” She tugs on my hand, attempting to yank me from the couch.

  I stand and haul her off her feet, throwing her over my shoulder. She breaks out in a fit of giggles, the sound innocent and sweet.

  “Say bye to Dad,” I tell her, turning around so she can lift her head to see him.

  “Bye, Daddy,” she says between her laughter.

  “Bye, sweetheart.” He moves off the couch, reaching his hand out to tousle her hair. “Have fun.”

  Maneuvering around the couch, I head to the front door and throw it open.

  “Put me down,” Sam says, wiggling against my shoulder, her feet kicking at my chest.

  I close the door behind me, keeping my arm firmly wrapped around her back so she doesn’t wind up on the concrete from all her squirming.

  “I can’t. The ground is lava. If I put you down, it’ll burn your feet.”

  She gasps. “What ’bout you?” she asks, sounding worried. “Won’t you burn up?”

  “Nope, I’m superhuman.” I head down the driveway to my truck.

  “Like Superman?”

  I chuckle, remembering the conversation I had with Raegan when I told her I was a superhero. “Yep, I’m here to protect you against the lava.”

  Her hands grip my back, fisting my shirt. “Don’t let me go.”

  I won’t.

  I never will.

  Sam runs around the pumpkin patch, and Walker trails behind her, staying with her as she weaves through the pumpkins.

  I search for one big enough for me to carve while Sam touches every pumpkin she can. I watch her pick up a fistful of hay from next to one of the pumpkins and put it in Walker’s fur.

  I find a pumpkin that weighs less than eight pounds and one that’s two pounds, so Sam can carry it around, showing it off after she decorates it. On the way here, she told me she wanted to paint her pumpkin instead of carving it. I decided to get two because I know she’ll change her mind.

  I tow the two pumpkins to my truck after paying, keeping an eye on Sam and Walker as they chase each other around the pumpkin patch. I let down the tailgate and slide the pumpkins in before closing it.

  Sam and Walker come barreling toward me. She attaches herself to my leg, and Walker jumps up on me, wanting just as much attention as the small human at my side.

  I rub Sam’s head. “Let’s get going, so we can decorate the pumpkins before I have to take you home.”

  “Do you have glue and glitter?” she asks, gazing up at me from under long lashes, her freckles prominent in the sun.

  “No, Munchkin, I don’t.” I haul her up in my arms as Walker sits at my feet, panting, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

  “How am I supposed to decorate my pumpkin? I need glitter.” She pouts.

  My eyes scan the pumpkin patch of their own accord, and when they land on her, I know why my gaze drifted from Sam.

  Raegan is standing in the checkout line, struggling to hold her pumpkin, while Arya talks her ear off as she holds a rambunctious Stella in her arms.

  She shifts the pumpkin in her arms, but the weight must be too much for her because it falls to the ground and cracks open.

  “Jax,” Sam says, shaking my shoulder, “she broke the pumpkin.” She points at a flustered Raegan, who is attempting to pick up the broken pieces.

  “I see that.” I watch Raegan move to the register with an apologetic look on her face.

  Arya laughs, and Raegan slaps her on the arm, shutting her up. Those two are a mess.

  After paying for their broken pumpkin, Raegan throws it away in the nearby trash can and heads to the parking lot, empty-handed.

  “I wanna make my pumpkin pretty. Can we go?” Sam whines in my arms, bouncing around. The girl can’t sit still to save her life.

  “What do you say we buy that girl a pumpkin since hers broke?” I nod my head in Raegan’s direction. “I’ll let you pick it out.”

  “Okay.”

  I walk up to the curb next to my truck and place her on her feet in the grass. She runs back to the pumpkin patch with Walker on her heels.

  Shoving my hands in my jacket pockets, I walk five feet down the parking lot, drawing closer to the girl I wish I could spend every minute of every day with.

  I stop next to her car that’s parked in the same row as my truck. I make sure to keep an eye on Sam as I examine Raegan before she notices me.

  She’s wearing my sweatshirt. The one I gave her at the lake when I stole her away from Nathan. I smirk, loving the fact that she’s in my sweatshirt instead of her own.

  Her blonde hair is in messy waves, half-wet, like she stepped out of the shower and didn’t bother to do anything with it. Her face is clear of makeup, including the red lipstick I’ve grown so accustomed to seeing painted on her lips. Right now, her face is natural, and I love it, seeing her instead of what she hides herself behind.

  “Jax?” Raegan asks, pulling the sleeves of my sweatshirt over her fists. “What are you doing here?”

  I bring my eyes to hers, letting myself drown in the crystal-blue sea. “Same thing you are.” I clear my throat. “Except I’m leaving with a pum
pkin, unlike you.”

  She pushes her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t see any I liked.”

  I glance over at the pumpkin patch where Sam is lying in the hay next to Walker instead of picking out a pumpkin. There are close to a hundred pumpkins left.

  All I say is, “You’re too picky.”

  “She’s lying. She broke the one she bought,” Arya states, throwing Raegan under the bus.

  “Arya!” she scolds, glowering at her friend.

  Arya shrugs, looking at Raegan, as she absentmindedly scratches Stella’s head. “It’s true.”

  “Jax, Jax, Jax,” Sam calls, running as fast as she can toward me, carrying a pumpkin in her arms. “I got one.”

  Walker comes running up behind Sam and barrels into Arya’s legs. I assume he sees Stella as he barks and runs in circles around Arya.

  Good thing this parking lot isn’t busy.

  Raegan squats down, calming Walker by rubbing behind his ears.

  The attendant at the register keeps an eye on us, making sure I won’t try to make off with a free pumpkin.

  “Let’s go pay for it first, okay?”

  “Don’t you wanna ask if she likes it?” she says to me as she steps off the curb and walks toward Raegan. “How is this one?”

  Raegan looks down at my sister, her eyes flitting between me and Sam.

  Raegan taps her finger on her chin, pretending to appraise the pumpkin in Sam’s arms. “It’s perfect.”

  Sam beams, walking toward me and holding the pumpkin out for me to take. “Now, you can buy it for her.”

  I internally groan and want to slap my hand against my forehead, but I refrain as I take my hands out of my pockets and place the pumpkin under my arm.

  Raegan stands back up, and Walker starts barking all over again.

  Arya puts Stella on the asphalt, and Walker sniffs Stella’s face. The little black dog backs away from him, but when that doesn’t work, she runs between his legs, small enough to fit under his body.

  “A dog!” Sam yells, holding her hands out as she runs toward Stella.

  “Careful,” I tell her, not wanting her to squeeze Stella the way she does Walker.

  Stella runs out from under Walker and straight to Sam, licking her hands.