by Kim Bailey
It reminds me a little of when Hunter was a newborn. When he slept for too long I’d get paranoid, fearing that maybe he’d stopped breathing. It’s embarrassing to admit the number of times I woke him, just to make sure he was still alive.
Starring at my father in his sleep, I listen intently for the sound of his breath, watching for the rise and fall of his chest. Paranoia tempts me to wake him, except his monitor shows me that he’s breathing. I’m not actually insane enough to disturb him. That would mean I’d have to face him again.
Although, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
He’s not going to last much longer. All I can do now is find peace and acceptance with it. With him. I need to make amends. I have no idea how to do that, or if it’s even possible, but dammit I want to try. Seeing how he’s taken care of the house, knowing how good things were before losing my mom and sister – there’s got to be something salvageable. Doesn’t there? Hopefully it’s not too late.
If I could reconcile with my dad, then I could send for Hunter.
My father and my son should meet each other at least once in this lifetime. Shouldn’t they? My decisions have had such a large impact on both of them.
I’ve probably done my kid a huge disservice by keeping him away from my home town. He’s never experienced life outside of the crazy, busy rat-race of Toronto. He’s never seen the glory of the forests that surround this place. He’s never gone to a real farmer’s market. He’s never spent the day outdoors in the snow, playing in a wide open field. He’s never spent a lazy Sunday on the couch, watching old movies and laughing with his entire family. He’ll probably never get to experience that, and most of that’s my fault. I’ve robbed my child of what could have been the best moments of his childhood.
But would any of those moments actually have happened, even if I’d stayed?
I’m feeling so torn. Part of me wants to run back to what I’ve known for the past decade, never to look back on this blip in the road. A much larger part of me recognizes that reaction as nothing more than fear. Fear of the other part of me that’s entertaining the idea of staying here, the idea of making a new life for me and my son.
The urge to return home to Toronto is actually starting to lose some of its luster.
North Bay has a firm hold on my heart. The nostalgia, the longing, and the loss were easy to ignore when I wasn’t immersed in it. The longer I’m here, the harder it becomes to maintain the lie. I actually do miss this place.
Of course, Eric is here. My body objects to the thought of leaving him. I’m not ready for that. Not yet, anyway. We’ve just begun getting to know each other.
Maybe it’s purely circumstance and we’ll find that we don’t have anything more than a forced connection, built on need and fear. Perhaps this magnetic draw that I’m feeling toward him is solely a byproduct of my sleep deprivation. Maybe his sadness and stress over Caleb has created a mental instability that makes Eric believe he likes me, when actually, I was just in the right place at the right time. Maybe under normal circumstances we’d bore the crap out of each other.
Maybe, but I hope not.
Waking up this morning, snuggled up against Eric, everything felt so perfect.
Everything.
Especially the sex. Nothing I’ve experienced before has ever come close to how amazing it is with him. Hell, even the kiss we shared in Caleb’s hospital room was hotter than most of my previous experiences. He is pure ecstasy.
He makes it easy to consider staying. The reasons why I shouldn’t, why I can’t, fade when I’m with him.
He makes the bad things easy to forget.
Deep in thought, I’m completely unprepared when Dylan strides into my father’s hospital room, like he belongs here. Like he owns the goddamn place.
“Hiya, princess. You’re looking good this evening,” he greets, cocky as always.
“What are you doing here?” If I wasn’t speaking in a hushed tone as not to wake my father, I’d be yelling dramatically at him. Really, what the hell is he doing here? Didn’t we just have a conversation about feelings, and my lack of them?
“I thought it would be good of me to come check in and see how you’re holding up,” he says calmly, like this is just par for the course. “How’s he doing?”
“I don’t know. Fine I guess. He’s been sleeping all day. But really Dylan, what are you doing here?”
“I just finished up my shift. I thought you and I could talk a little.” He hesitates, like he’s gauging my response. Obviously, there’s more he wants to say, but he just shrugs his shoulders and stares at me, instead. It’s like he’s daring me to say something first.
“You want to talk again?”
“Yeah. Jamie, I was hoping we could continue our conversation from the other day.”
He’s been in the room for all of thirty seconds but already I’ve had enough. Talking isn’t something that he and I have ever done successfully. Even when we were a couple, we didn’t do it well. With things as strained as they’ve been between us, I’m surprised he’s willing to try again so soon. Me, on the other hand, I’m not so sure how much effort I’m willing to give.
“I wanted to let you know that you’re right,” Dylan continues, “I should be taking more responsibility for Hunter. I want to. I just … I’ve been afraid. I don’t know what I’m doing. I wasn’t prepared to be a dad.”
“Well, welcome to parenthood, Dylan. Do you think I had the first clue what the hell I was doing? Do you really think I was prepared? What kind of shitty excuse is that?”
Dylan glances over to my sleeping father. He’s probably worried that my raised voice is going to wake him up. He’s probably worried about what my dad will think of our conversation.
“You’re right, princess. I have no excuse.”
“Will you please stop calling me that! I’m not your princess. I never was, and I never will be.”
“Calm down, would you?” He looks and sounds exasperated – like dealing with me might be equal to dealing with a difficult child. “It’s just a stupid nickname. You might not like it but you’re still a princess in my mind. I’ve always thought of you that way. You can’t force me to think differently.” If only it were that easy. “But I will try to respect your feelings about it. Doesn’t mean that I like it, though. Just another reminder that you’re too good for me. Too good for a name that I gave you.”
“Please, Dylan. You really need to give it a rest.”
“No. Listen, Jamie. I mean it. I’m not deserving of someone like you. I’ve been an asshole, and I know it. I can accept that. I’m worried that I’m not good enough for our son, either. But I want to move forward. I want to do the right thing now. I want to earn the right to have him call me dad.”
“Well it’s about goddamn time,” my father drawls sleepily.
“Dad! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. We’ll take this conversation out to the hall.”
“No you will not,” dad asserts, “You think I don’t have a right to know what’s going on? This is my grandson you’re talking about. You’re my daughter - like it or not.”
“Mr. Hartley, I guess I owe you an apology as well. I realize that I need to step up. I’ve been disrespectful to you and to your daughter. I hope you can accept that I plan to make up for that.”
“You gonna start helping her out more?”
“Yes sir, if she’ll let me.”
“You gonna do more than visiting a few times a year and sending a cheque once a month? You gonna actually get involved with your son?”
“Yes sir. That’s what I want.”
I can’t believe these two men are discussing this like I’m not even here. Like I’m some incapable heroine in need of rescue. Like either of them have any business making any kind of decisions on my behalf. I’ve done everything in life without either one of them, what the hell gives them the right to start giving a shit now? And how the hell does my father know about what’s been going between me and Dylan?
I have to take a deep breath to remind myself, this is what I’ve wanted from them both, from the beginning. The fact that they’re having this conversation should give me hope, they may actually care after all.
Is it odd to be angry and hopeful at the same time?
“What do you say, Jamie?” My dad asks me quietly, “You gonna give him a chance to make things right?”
Why does this whole scene suddenly feel very orchestrated?
“With Hunter, yes.” I turn to look at Dylan. “I would never hold you back from your son. You know that. But Hunter needs to be top priority. Not your own feelings. He barely knows you. It’s going to take time.”
“What about with you, James. You gonna let him make things right with you?” I’m not sure how my father became the facilitator here but I don’t like it. I’ve never wanted to disappoint him, even now, after every shitty thing he’s put me through. Still, I can’t get the idea out of my mind that this whole thing is some sort of set-up.
But how, and why the fuck?
Instead of answering the incredibly invasive and awkward question, I throw back a string of my own. “How did you know that Dylan sends me a cheque every month? And how do you know how often he visits? And who gave you the pictures of Hunter that you have in your living room?”
“Jesus Christ, child!” He attempts a yell, but ends up in a coughing fit instead.
Dylan answers for him, “He knows all about it because I tell him.”
Well I guess that explains a heck of a lot.
“So, you two have been conspiring behind my back? What did you think, Dylan - you’d cozy up to dad so he could help convince me to go back to you?”
“You really are impossibly paranoid and defensive, aren’t you?” Dylan accuses. “I kept in touch because he’s your father and I figured, since you weren’t talking to him, someone should. The man raised you. He deserves to know what’s going on with you and his grandkid. I didn’t think it would hurt for him to have some pictures and a few little stories about your life.”
Stories about my life? From a man who drops in on it only when the mood strikes? I don’t know if it’s arrogance or idiocy, but I’m aghast at the lengths Dylan has gone to, behind my back.
“You still didn’t answer my question, James,” my dad prompts. I can’t remember what he’d asked. “Are you gonna let Dylan make things right with you?”
Hell no.
Instead of allowing me to answer for myself, Dylan speaks up again, “Doing the right thing for our son is all that Jamie wants from me, Mr. Hartley. She’s determined that she and I aren’t going to have a relationship beyond Hunter. Well, not beyond friendship, anyway.”
“Jamie?” My dad looks to me like I’ve broken some cardinal rule that I don’t know about. “You not going to give Dylan a second chance? Don’t you think your boy should have a real family?”
“Dad,” I say with an exasperated sigh, “Dylan and I have already discussed this. What Hunter needs is two strong parents who love him. Us being together will not make things better. God, if anything it would just make things worse.”
“James,” dad tries taking on a stern tone.
Dylan cuts him short, “Mr. Hartley, Jamie’s got a point. She and I don’t love each other. That’s not a good way to raise a kid, trust me - that’s the type of home I was raised in - and it sucked.” Hearing Dylan admit that he doesn’t love me feels surprisingly good. I’d been holding on to fears that I’d damaged him beyond repair. Maybe some of what I’ve said has sunk in, finally.
“Besides,” he continues, “Jamie has a new man. I met him the other day. Seems like a good guy. But don’t worry, I’m still going to run a background check on him to make sure he’s safe to have around Hunter. I plan to be very thorough.”
“New guy? How come I don’t know about this new guy?” dad coughs out, looking at Dylan accusingly. “And if he’s such a good guy, where is he?”
Shit. This is what lying gets you. How the hell am I supposed to dig my way out of this, without giving away my dishonesty? Now, I feel like the asshole.
Shit. I am the asshole.
I’ve lied to everyone, including myself, and now I’m stuck explaining all of it to my dying father.
What would Eric think if he was here right now? What would he do? What would he expect me to do? Honesty is probably best. I just need the strength to say it.
“He’s here.”
I’m interrupted by the ringing of my cell phone, Hunter’s number lighting up my screen. Checking the time, I realize it’s much later than his normal check-in. I’ve been so caught up in everything here, I completely missed the fact that my son hasn’t called or texted.
“Hello?” I answer anxiously.
“Mom?” Hunter sounds stressed.
“Hey bud, I was just sort of talking about you. What’s up?”
“Mom, something’s happened and I need you to come get me.”
Panic and fear invade my every molecule. “What? Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“Jackson’s parents want to talk to you. They want me to leave but I wanted to talk to you first. I didn’t do anything wrong, it’s a misunderstanding. I just wanted you to know that first. Trust me ok?”
“Of course, bud. I always trust you. Why don’t you put them on the phone? I’ll sort everything out, don’t worry.”
I’m outraged and petrified. What the hell could my kid possibly have done to warrant getting kicked out? Are they just sick of looking after him? Or did his smart mouth come out to play and actually get him in trouble?
When Jackson’s mother comes on the line, I’m immediately defensive.
“Hello, Jamie. I’m so sorry about this.”
“It’s fine Vanessa, please just tell me what’s going on.”
“Ron and I feel just awful about the situation, truly. We do realize that it’s terrible timing. But we had a lengthy discussion with the boys and then Ron and I spoke privately, after. We have decided that it would be best if Hunter didn’t stay with us any longer. It’s unfortunate that it had to come to this, but we simply can’t tolerate this kind of behavior.”
Maybe it’s her sickly sweet voice, or perhaps it’s her holier-than-thou attitude, but I’m so irritated by her derisive tone that I want to drive the three and a half hours back to Toronto just to shove that stick she has wedged up her ass, all the way to her brain. This woman has always looked down her nose at me but I’ve overlooked it because our kids are inseparable. Her insincere reluctance and fake empathy make my stomach turn.
“Just tell me what happened,” I say politely through gritted teeth, barely containing the rage boiling inside of me.
“Well, it seems that Hunter has a problem with stealing.”
“Pardon me?” I force out, clearly not deaf, just totally enraged.
“I know it’s shocking, Jamie but the police brought our boys home after school today. Hunter got caught shoplifting from the variety store on the corner. It’s quite disheartening. Poor Jackson got accused as well.”
“Okay, wait a minute …” I’m barely maintaining my control. “Let me get this straight. First of all, you’re telling me that both of our children were picked up for shoplifting but you believe it was all Hunter’s fault. And second, the police brought them home after school, but you didn’t call me right away? Instead, you decided to have almost two hours of conversation before informing me?”
“Well, when you put it that way, I could see why you might be a touch upset. But really, Jamie, we wouldn’t have agreed to keep your child in our home had we known he was so untrustworthy.”
Assholes! I trusted these people with my kid. I knew it was a mistake. I knew it, and I ignored my instincts. Now look at things. I should have known that trusting someone would end up this way. It always ends up this way. Trust has always screwed me in the end.
Trying hard to keep my contempt to a minimum, I spit out, “Vanessa, it would be my utmost pleasure to release you of your
caretaker duty to my child. He will be collected this evening, as quickly as possible. This I assure you.”
“Thank you, Jamie. I hope you can understand why we’re uncomfortable having him here, after something like this.”
“Oh yes, Vanessa. I completely understand. I’m also very uncomfortable in this situation. Especially knowing that my son has to spend the next four hours or more in your home. Yes, very uncomfortable indeed.” I can’t help the sarcasm. It just slips out. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to speak to someone with some common sense and reasoning ability. Could you put my son back on the phone, please?”
Oh shit. Even my sugary sweet tone can’t hide the shot I just took at her.
Sure enough, Vanessa’s squawk of indignation makes it clear that she definitely picked up on my barb. Why can’t I ever learn to just control myself?
When Hunter comes back on the line he’s whispering, “Mom, what did you say to her? I think you made her cry.”
“It doesn’t matter. We have a problem to solve. She’ll have to deal with her hurt feelings on her own.”
“Okay. Well, she’s gone to search through my bag to make sure I’m not stealing anything. What should I do now?”
Hunter sounds like he’s handling this better than I am. He’s calm and direct. He sounds like a mature, responsible person, seeking advice on how to handle a bad situation.
Me, on the other hand? I sound like I’m ready to start a fight, like an immature idiot.
I just can’t believe that my poor son has been put in this situation because of my terrible judgment. I’ve been on Dylan’s case about his parenting, yet I’m the one who’s poor decision making put our child at risk.
“Is that my grandson?” My father speaks up, “Jamie give me the phone.”
Shit. Do I look as bad as I sound? From the way my dad and Dylan are both eyeing me, you’d think I was a panicked mess. I can’t imagine how they’d have reacted to my mini-breakdown in Eric’s truck. In comparison to that, I feel almost calm. Still, my struggle to maintain composure must be evident.
“It’s okay, dad,” I whisper.