Almost a Family

by Stephanie Bond

  She turned his words over in her mind, separating emotion from fact. “Forgive me, Bailey, for not jumping into your arms.” She heard the pain clearly in her own voice. “But it’s hard to erase the past with a few nice words, even if they are sincere.” Withdrawing her hands, she pushed herself up from the couch and walked over to the window.

  For a few seconds the only sound was muffled noise coming from the TV. Her miniature grandfather clock chimed the half hour, then she heard Bailey shift on the couch and rise to his feet. His footsteps made a whooshing sound as he walked across the rug to stand behind her.

  “Just tell me there’s hope, Ginny,” he said, his voice cracking.

  She bit her bottom lip and clasped her hands together, then turned to face him. “I can’t do that to myself, Bailey,” she whispered. She raised her chin, realizing she’d just admitted she still had feelings for him. “I won’t do that to myself.”

  Pressing his lips together, he nodded sadly, glancing at the floor. Then he placed his hands on his hips, inhaled deeply, and said, “Well, I guess I’d better be going.”

  She followed him to the front door, her chest tight, her nerves frazzled. Bailey turned and gave her a small smile. “I’m going to make my standard offer to stay.”

  Her pulse vaulted with the knowledge that she was getting much too used to Bailey’s company, especially in light of the words they’d just exchanged. “Then I guess I’ll make my standard reply of ‘thanks anyway.’ “

  He nodded and smiled tightly, then caught her gaze. His eyes darkened and he stepped toward her. When she realized he meant to kiss her, Ginny pulled back. Bailey stopped, his face inches from hers. She watched his eyes move over her face, regret imprinted in their blue depths. He lowered his mouth to sweep a kiss across her cheek, then walked out the door.

  *

  The next couple of days found Ginny and Chad at a stalemate. He didn’t talk, and she didn’t cave. She offered to take him to the pool, but he refused to move, just played video games for hours on end. She mentioned the zoo and going out to eat, but he wouldn’t budge. In fact, he’d hardly made eye contact with her since the night of the shoplifting incident. Bailey came by in the late afternoons to help wallpaper and paint, plus arrange the new bedroom furniture. Around him, Chad acted excited about his room, only to slip back into a funk when Bailey left.

  It seemed that Bailey, too, was not his usual flirty self. Unfailingly cordial, he kept his distance during his evening visits, staying busy but seeming to go out of his way to avoid all physical contact with Ginny. In the beginning she was grateful not to have to keep up her guard, but near the end of the evenings, she found she missed his playful banter. And even though he was noticeably exhausted after lifting and bending for hours, he didn’t ask to spend the night, an action that bothered her more than it should have.

  By Thursday morning she’d had enough of Chad’s cold shoulder. She put on her running shoes, retrieved his new basketball from his room, and trotted down the stairs to find him in his standard position, prostrate in front of the television. She reached over and clicked it off, only to be assaulted with loud protests.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’re going to the park.”

  He scowled. “I don’t want to go.”

  “I didn’t ask you if you wanted to go, I said we’re going.”

  “You can’t make me,” he challenged.

  “I’d planned on bribing you with money,” she said bluntly.

  “What?”

  “A game of horse. If you win, I’ll give you twenty dollars.”

  He looked suspicious, but at least she had his interest. “What if you win?”

  She shrugged. “If I win, you have to wash my car. That’s the best deal you’ll get all day.”

  He frowned and reached for the remote. “What do you know about basketball?”

  “I know that when it comes to shooting, women players top the men.”

  Chad lifted one eyebrow. “Can you really shoot?”

  She smiled. “Bailey practically lived in the gym when we were in college. I rebounded for him, so I picked up a few pointers.”

  He still looked skeptical, but pulled himself up to a seated position.

  She took it as a good sign and nodded toward the door. “Put on your new shoes.”

  After much huffing and sighing, he dragged himself up the stairs, but when he came back down wearing baggy shorts and the spanking new shoes, he had a decided bounce in his step. He leapt up to smack the door frame, grabbed the ball from her hands, launched over the steps, and zigzagged as he dribbled down the driveway.

  She smiled to herself, feeling her heavy heart lift a fraction. It was just a walk to the park, but it was something.

  The sun shone high and gloriously white in a cloudless sky. They passed other people on the sidewalk, mothers with strollers, groups of kids.

  “You know,” she said carefully between his pronounced dribbling, “school starts in a few weeks.”

  “So?” The sullen tone had returned.

  “So, I was wondering if you’d like me to arrange a visit before the first day, you know���so you can check things out.”

  He shrugged, bouncing the ball between his legs. “Whatever.”

  She took that as a yes. “You’ll have to tell me what kind of supplies you’ll need. This will be a first for me.”

  He stopped dribbling and angled his head at her, then tried to spin the ball on his finger. “Are you going to be one of those mothers who hang around a lot and do the PTA stuff?”

  Momentarily shocked at his acknowledgment, she stammered. “I���I honestly don’t know.” She swallowed and took a gamble. “What kind of mother was Lois?”

  He jerked his head up and stared at her with wide blue eyes. She kept her expression passive, her gait casual. The ball hit the pavement one, two, three times before he said, “She was a great mom.”

  She nodded. “I’m sure she was. Did the two of you do things together?”

  Bounce, bounce. “Sometimes, before she got sick.”

  She felt a pang of sympathy for her son. “That must have been really hard on you.”

  Bounce, twirl, bounce. “Not as hard as it was on her.” He looked up at her. “She cried a lot.”

  “From the pain?”

  Chad stopped, bent over, and retied his shoe. “Yeah, and she worried about me.” Bounce, bounce.

  “I know how she felt,” Virginia said softly. “I worried a lot about you too.”

  He tossed the ball in the air and caught it, then tossed it up again. Looking ahead, his face split in a grin. “Wow! Four goals, with nets and everything!” He was off like a shot toward the nearly vacant courts. Virginia sighed and jogged after him.

  His driving layup was impressive as he pivoted, dodging imaginary defenders. By the time she caught up with him, he’d taken several shots, making more than he missed.

  “You’re pretty good,” she said breathlessly. “You’ll have to go easy on me���I haven’t played in years.”

  “Here.” He bounced her the dark orange ball. She took a minute to adjust to the weight and feel of the nubby surface, dribbling tentatively.

  “You dribble like a girl,” he scoffed.

  She stepped behind the free throw line, aimed, and let the ball fly. It passed through the goal so cleanly, the net barely moved. Chad’s mouth dropped open, and she laughed out loud. “I shoot like a girl too.”

  They decided to play a hybrid version of horse, earning letters to spell the word by making baskets at different spots on the court. After marking the shot areas on the court with a piece of scavenged chalk, they agreed on two practice games. Chad won the first game convincingly, and Virginia won the second game by a nose. By the time the third game rolled around, they were laughing and sweating.

  “Ready?” Chad asked, poised for his first shot.

  Virginia nodded. “Ready.”

  He made the H shot handily, then stalled out. “How’d you
meet Bailey?” he asked after she’d missed her first shot.

  “In college,” she said. “He liked my car.”

  He shot and missed. “Yeah, he showed me all of his cars at the farm.”

  She made two baskets and moved up to R before missing again.

  He made his O shot, then missed. “You two going to get back together?” he asked.

  Virginia missed badly. “What makes you think that?”

  Chad chased the loose ball, then made the shot and moved on to S, where he missed again. “He likes you.”

  She made the basket and moved to S. “How can you tell?”

  His shot swished in and he moved to E. “He makes googly eyes at you when you’re not looking.” He missed, then bounced the ball to her.

  Her stomach churned, and it had nothing to do with the pressure of the game. “Well, unfortunately, there’s more to marriage than googly eyes.” She made the basket and moved to E, then missed.

  “You don’t like him?” He missed.

  “It’s not that simple.” She missed.

  “I know people who hate each other and still stay married.” He missed.

  “Well, I don’t hate your father, but we couldn’t live together.” She missed.

  “Don’t you want more kids?” Mercifully, his shot fell in and saved her from answering the very question she’d been asking herself for years. Chad whooped around the court holding his two fingers high in the victory symbol. “You owe me twenty bucks,” he crowed.

  She held up her hand for a high-five. “I’ll pay you when we get back. I guess I’m stuck washing my own car.”

  He worked his mouth, spinning the ball on his palm. “I’ll help you,” he said simply, then pivoted off and drove away from her for a layup.

  She had a feeling they’d just turned a corner in their relationship, but she knew better than to make a big deal of his offer. “Great,” she said. “Let’s get something to drink.”

  They walked home sipping lemonade from a concession stand, then sat on the small shaded stoop until they’d both cooled off. She could tell Chad had something on his mind by the faraway look in his eye. He was so handsome, her heart squeezed with pride. Her hand itched to smooth his hair or erase the smudge on his cheek. Instead she watched the pedestrian traffic and waited for him to talk.

  “Do you have any pictures of me when I was little?” he finally asked.

  Stunned, she nodded. “A few. Would you like to see than?”

  He shrugged. “Whatever.”

  She stood and entered the house, her heart pounding. He followed her as she climbed the stairs to her office and withdrew the album from the closet. When she turned around, Chad was studying the framed shot of her holding him.

  “Is this you and me?”

  “Yes. Bailey took it before we left the hospital on the day we drove you home to Shenoway.”

  “You mean you lived on the farm?”

  She nodded. “For a while.” Laying the album on the desk, she opened the book and angled it so he could see the photos. She pointed out significant events and items. “This is your first bath… your favorite teddy bear.” Tears rose to clog her throat, but she swallowed them.

  “You and Bailey look funny,” he said, laughing at their hairstyles.

  She smiled too. “We were very young.”

  He turned a couple of pages, then frowned when the pictures ended. “Is that all?”

  “You were only two months old when”���she scrambled for the right words���“when you disappeared.” Then a thought struck her. “I do have one more picture.” She reached up to touch the flat locket hanging beneath her shirt. She pulled it over her head and, with trembling fingers, opened the case.

  Chad studied the picture and the locket with a grave expression. “It’s pretty,” he said, sounding enchanted. “Did Bailey give it to you?”

  She nodded. “On the day we were married.”

  “Do you wear it all the time?”

  “Most of the time, yes.”

  He studied the picture carefully, then handed the locket back to her. Suddenly his expression changed, as if he’d had enough heavy stuff. “I thought you wanted to wash your car.”

  Virginia nodded. “I’ll get the bucket and meet you out front.” She carried the locket to her room and laid it on her dresser.

  Minutes later they were sudsing her car in small sections, and rinsing before the soap dried in the hot sun. Virginia had the water hose, and when Chad turned his back, she couldn’t resist giving him a squirt.

  “Ughh!” He lifted his arms and arched his back, then spun around and dove for the hose. She squealed and ran the other way, trying to keep the hose from him, but dousing them both in the process.

  After several minutes of water war, Virginia surrendered and they called a truce, both of them soaked and laughing. She tingled all over, trying to remember when she’d had so much fun. They made quick work of the rest of the car, and were towel-drying it when a package truck pulled up.

  Virginia realized the boxes being removed were packing cartons. “It’s all your stuff that was shipped,” she told Chad. “Now you can finish setting up your room.”

  He jumped up and down enthusiastically, pitching in to help carry the eight boxes into the house and up to his bedroom, then ripped open the lids. “My model collection! I don’t think any of them broke,” he said, the excitement clear in his voice. He pulled them out carefully, one by one, then set them on a reserved shelf on his new bookcase. Stereo cube, speakers, comic books, sports equipment, games, clothes, and miscellaneous items came out of the boxes. Little by little, the bare spaces in his room were filled with toys, his newly papered walls cluttered with posters.

  Only one box remained, smaller than the others, and Chad seemed reluctant to open it.

  “What’s in this one?” Virginia asked.

  He frowned and bit his lip. “Some things my mom gave me, pictures and stuff.”

  She inhaled and exhaled quietly, not sure she was ready to see the face of the woman who had stolen her child, who had cheated her out of seeing her son grow up. Today especially had shown her how much she’d missed. “Go ahead and open it,” she said finally.

  Gingerly he tore the strapping tape and folded back the top flaps, reaching in to pull out a handful of pictures. “I don’t remember all of these,” he said. “I was too little, but she wrote on the backs so I’d know when I grew up.”

  Virginia withdrew one photo with a shaky hand. Lois Green smiled back at her, her pale features unremarkable but pleasant, her eyes shiny. Chad was an adorable, laughing toddler standing on a table bent over a cake, and she held him by the waist… as if she had given birth to him, as if she had every right to pose for a picture with him, as if she were his mother. She turned over the photo. Chad’s second birthday with Mom.

  Tears of frustration welled in Virginia’s eyes, and she tried mightily to blink them away. Hurt ballooned anew in her chest, smothering her. This woman had taken everything. Because of her, Virginia’s life had been devoid of her child’s love. Eight years of her life, of her son’s life, she could never recapture.

  She stood up and clutched her burning chest, watching the picture spiral to the floor.

  “Are you okay?” Chad asked, concern in his voice.

  “I’m sorry,” she said weakly, swiping at her tears. “I just can’t… I can’t look at these.”

  She turned and stumbled from the room and down the hall into her own bedroom, where she dropped onto the padded bench seat of her vanity and tried to harness her emotions. But one look in the mirror at her own hurt, and the dam burst. All she could see was the glassy-eyed expression of the woman who’d ruthlessly uprooted her life. “I… hate… her… I… hate… her,” she said over and over, punctuating her anger by pounding her fist harder and harder onto the cold marble vanity top.

  In the mirror she saw a movement behind her and drew a shuddering breath when she saw Chad standing in the open doorway, tears strea
ming down his face. His eyes met hers, then he shot off. His feet pounded down the hall, then came the teeth-jarring slam of his bedroom door.

  Chapter 9

  Virginia knocked softly on Chad’s closed bedroom door. “Chad, I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

  She pressed her ear against the door and thought she heard him sniffling. Closing her eyes, she sagged her shoulder against the door. I’ve done it now. She quietly turned the knob, but met the lock’s resistance. Knocking again, she said, “Chad, please let me in.”

  “Go away.” His voice sounded muffled.

  “I need to explain some things to you.” When she heard him rise from the bed and cross to the door, relief flooded her limbs. She stepped back from the door and wiped her cheeks. Then she heard a swishing sound and felt something hit the toes of her shoes. Defeat washed over her as she stared down at his Keep Out sign.

  The doorbell rang, startling her. She expelled a frustrated sigh, then headed for the stairs. At the top step her foot hit something solid, sending it airborne. Her heart froze as she watched Chad’s handheld Nintendo bounce from step to step before landing on the wood floor with a terrible crash that left it in at least three pieces. His most cherished item… Lois’s last Christmas gift to him.

  She stood paralyzed, staring down at the mess, her hands covering her mouth. How could she ever make it up to him?

  He must have heard the noise, because suddenly he was standing beside her.

  “Chad���” she began, reaching for his arm.

  “My Nintendo!” he cried, then ran down the stairs. He turned a tear-stained face up to her. “Why’d you do it?” he yelled.

  Somewhere in the distance Virginia heard the doorbell ring again. She started down the steps slowly. “I’m so sorry���it was an accident.”

  “No, it wasn’t!” he yelled, crying harder. “I heard you! I heard you say you hated my mother���you threw it down the stairs because she gave it to me!”

  She shook her head and raised her hands, beseeching him. “No, it was on the floor. I accidentally kicked it���”

  “You did it on purpose!” he shouted, his face red. “I’ll get you back!”