“No, not now. In general. I feel like I’m waiting for everything or anything to happen. I’m going crazy. I’ve washed my kitchen floor three times this week and it’s only Tuesday.” She knew she was talking too loud and her arms were waving around but it was either that or throw herself at him. He ran a hand through his hair and her stomach tightened. She wanted her hands in his hair, on his jaw that hadn’t been shaved in a few days.
“Frankie, look.”
“No. You look,” she interrupted, stomping toward him and shoving a finger at his chest. He arched a brow but she was too busy channeling all of her uncertainty into being mad at him to be warmed by his amusement. “What the hell is going on, Ryan? Are you mad at me? We’ve barely seen each other. I’m not normally clingy, I mean, I love spending time together, but I’m okay with some space and you doing, you know, guy things or whatever. But something is off and I’ve been trying to ignore it and I just can’t anymore. What is wrong?”
She’d learned so many things coming to Minnesota. She’d learned how strong she really was, how much her family meant to her, and how much having her own family one day mattered. She’d learned that your car doors can actually freeze shut and that there were towns without one single McDonald’s. She’d learned that she wasn’t a fool for dumping Robert because “it just wasn’t there.” Because when she’d found Ryan, she’d realized what it was. It was him. And not finding him would have been like leaving out the most important part of a movie, the part that tied everything together. As she stood in front of him, the walls feeling too close, the air feeling too heavy, she learned that a heart could be broken without any words being exchanged. It could be broken with just a look. A look that clearly said Frankie’s part in his life had been left on the cutting room floor.
“Why?” The word was whispered but his eyes widened like she’d slapped him.
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head and pulled her jacket tighter around herself. She backed up, still shaking her head. Or maybe it was all of her shaking.
“That is not an answer. Are you getting back together with your ex-wife?” She had to know. The look of disgust and shock on his face was a start.
“Fuck no. Never. No.” He ran his hands through his hair, frustration etched in every line on his face.
“Then why?”
“It’s too much. I care about you—”
Her look silenced him. What a petty thing to say after what they’d shared. “You care? So much you’re done? I guess we have different definitions of that word.” And so many others, she thought, grateful she hadn’t said what she’d been feeling for so long; at least she’d kept a piece of herself. Anger and hurt battled in her stomach, spreading to her chest. “You want this over, fine. But I deserve a goddamn explanation, Ryan. You ought to be man enough to give me that.”
Her words were low and hard and sounded foreign. His jaw tightened, at odds with the sadness in his eyes. If she could have focused just on his eyes instead of on the way his words and his body were wrecking her, she might have seen the depth of that sadness and dug deeper.
“I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I do care about you. And I know it’s not enough. I told you I couldn’t give you enough. You hate me all you want, I deserve that. I thought I could handle all of this, but it’s too much. I don’t want the ready-made family you’re working toward. Hell Frankie, I was just figuring us out and you want these three messed-up kids full time and I can’t…I just can’t. I’m hardly anyone’s role model. If you don’t believe me, read the fucking news.”
She stared at him but the Ryan she’d known was gone. The shell of him, the man he likely was in Los Angeles, stood in front of her, a vacant stranger. She tried to pull in a deep breath, to soothe herself, calm herself, but she couldn’t get it all the way in. The emotion coming back up her throat from the pit of her stomach was blocking her airway. Her eyes blurred but she kept them narrowed on him as she walked toward him. She tilted her head back and didn’t try to stop the tears when she spoke.
“You’re a coward.”
His eyes closed for one brief second and he rocked back on his heels. Opening the door, she didn’t let herself look back. Another thing she’d learned by coming to Minnesota: how to move forward.
Chapter 39
“Get up,” Chloe said. She sat carefully on the side of Frankie’s bed.
“No.” Chloe lay down beside her, wrapping an arm around the bundle of blankets Frankie had crawled under. There was one tiny strand of light poking through the crack in the curtains. Frankie watched dust dance, tumbling freely in and out of the strand. Light. Dark. Here. Gone.
“Honey, it’s been four days.”
She felt Chloe’s hand smooth her hair back from her forehead, her breath against Frankie’s neck.
“Two and a half.”
“Frankie, it’s Saturday.”
“But I didn’t crawl into bed until Wednesday night.”
“Because you got pie-eyed drunk and stayed on the couch.”
Frankie shrugged Chloe’s arm off of her and cocooned herself deeper into the blankets. She avoided putting the blankets over her face because she hadn’t brushed her teeth and really, she should have.
“Go away, Chloe.”
Chloe nestled in and Frankie fell asleep, tears soaking her pillow. When she awoke a little while later, Chloe was gone and so was the shard of light. Unable to stand, she gingerly sat up, tested her ability to stay upright without wavering, and padded to her shower. As she watched the water and soap swirl down the drain, she wished life were like that; she wished she could wash the ache away like the dirt. She’d watch it circle the drain and think, Wow, that was bad. Then she’d feel clean and whole again. Her tears merged with the water, making their own splash on the porcelain. When she came into the kitchen, Chloe was making a pot of soup. It smelled like garlic and tomatoes, which Frankie’s stomach clearly approved of, as it rumbled loudly.
“Hungry?”
Frankie nodded. She sat at the counter, her limbs heavy. The emptiness of her belly trumped the emptiness of her chest so she resisted going back to bed.
“Thanks, Chloe.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” She set a bowl of soup in front of Frankie and passed her a spoon.
“It’s a little late for that.” Frankie swallowed the soup, grateful it could slide past the constant lump in her throat.
“Are you at the ice-cream stage yet? I really want you to be at that stage,” Chloe said, leaning against the counter, blowing on her own soup.
“Maybe. If I’m not, we can always do it twice.”
They finished their soup in silence but Frankie congratulated herself on at least eating. And being clean.
“I’ll get that,” Frankie said when Chloe began squirting soap in the sink.
Chloe gave her a weak smile and said she’d go get every flavor of ice cream available. Frankie tried not to mix tears with the dishwater but her efforts were futile. She didn’t know that her entire body could feel heavy, but it did, which made it easier to crawl back into bed. She was staring at nothing when the doorbell rang a short while later.
“I gave you a key, Chloe.” The words came out rough and raw but she got up and shuffled to the door. Yanking it open, reminding herself she couldn’t be irritated when Chloe was the only sure thing in her life right now, she came face to face with Leslie.
“Hi. I tried to call. I left a couple of messages. Is now a bad time?” Leslie frowned, taking in Frankie’s disheveled appearance. Good thing she hadn’t come an hour ago, Frankie thought.
“Uh. I’m just under the weather. It’s been a rough week,” Frankie said, her post-crying voice working to her advantage. She moved aside so Leslie could come in and barely resisted the urge to smooth her hair or run back and throw on something that wasn’t pajamas.
“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s definitely the time of year for it though. If you’re going to have kids around, you’ll need to build
up that immune system,” Leslie said. Frankie’s heart bounced, testing itself out to see if she could still feel hope.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No. Do you mind if we sit down?”
They moved into the living room, Frankie hanging onto Leslie’s words like a rope. She sat across from her, keeping her hands and feet still. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” Frankie said, tucking her hair behind her ears. At least it was washed.
“Don’t be. Honestly, we all get sick. Frankie, I wanted to be the one to come by because I feel like...I hope we’re friends and I thought it would be easier,” Leslie said, settling her purse on the floor by her feet. Her gaze was direct and Frankie could see the regret in it. The hope that had filled her chest fizzled, deflated like a popped balloon.
“The boys aren’t coming back.” The words hurt to say, like each one had little razors attached as they came out of her mouth.
Leslie sat up straighter and gave Frankie a moment. “Sue and Nelson would like to transition out of being an emergency care home. Their own son is Miles’s age and they’d like more consistency. They’ve been caring for children for several years, Frankie, and the boys are a very good fit for their family.”
Frankie nodded too fast, her eyes wide to ward off tears. It was painful to hold them open. She bit her lip to counteract the pressure building in her chest. Leslie sighed and continued.
“The good news is that you have been approved to provide care. In fact, we think you’ll be an excellent caregiver. I’m saying this as your friend, not a government employee, but this is just a case of bad timing, Frankie. I really believe that the boys would have been put in your care if Sue and Nel hadn’t decided this.”
When Frankie kept nodding, breathing through her nose with her eyes fixed on the wall, Leslie came to sit next to Frankie. She hesitated only a second and then wrapped her arms around her and even though she didn’t want to, Frankie accepted the comfort.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. But this is part of it. You’ll get attached and then they leave. It’s a lousy initiation but this is what it’s like.”
Frankie patted Leslie’s arm and sat back. “Thank you for coming to tell me. Will I…do you think…can I see the boys?” The last word cracked into two syllables.
“I thought you might ask that. Sue said she would love if you stayed part of their lives. She’d be a great person for you to get to know, kind of like a mentor. She’s been doing this a long time. She was worried about this hurting you.”
“Do the boys know?”
“Sue and Nelson are telling them tonight. You have their number. Take a few days and then call and make arrangements to see them.”
There was nothing more to say and Frankie couldn’t find the energy to fill the space with idle chitchat. Leslie put her hand on Frankie’s and squeezed before letting herself out. She sat on her couch, unmoving, afraid that if she moved, she would feel, and if she felt anything, it would hurt and it might not stop. When Chloe came in twenty minutes later, Frankie’s back was beginning to ache, but still, she didn’t move, except to breathe, which was a chore in itself.
“Okay, for a small town, I have to commend the ice cream selection,” Chloe called as she slammed the door behind her, heading straight for the kitchen.
Frankie listened to the freezer open, items being jostled around as her friend tried to find space. “Seven kinds. That’s more than—oh shit. What happened?” Chloe was at her side instantly, her arms holding Frankie tight. The movement sent a pulse up Frankie’s spine, spreading the ache throughout her back.
“The boys are staying where they are.”
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”
“I got approved to be a foster parent, but not for them.”
Chloe rocked back and forth and Frankie let her body sway. Frankie told Chloe what Leslie had said, adding that as long as the boys were happy, that was what mattered. And it was. Frankie wanted them to be happy. Chloe sat back and brushed Frankie’s hair out of her eyes.
“What are you going to do?”
“About what?” Frankie turned her head to meet Chloe’s soft gaze.
“Are you going to say yes if they ask you to have another foster child here?”
“I don’t know. I started this because I accidently fell in love with the boys.”
“I’m so sorry. This has been an entirely lousy week for you.”
Frankie continued to sit even after Chloe stood up.
“How about some ice cream?”
She heard Chloe’s false cheer and wanted to take it, jump all over it, and pretend everything was okay. “No. Thanks anyway.”
Chloe kneeled down so they were eye level and rested her hands on Frankie’s lap. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. I’m just going to sit here until it stops hurting.”
Chloe’s lips firmed into a hard line and she took a seat beside Frankie again. Neither of them asked the unspoken question on Frankie’s mind: What it if never stopped?
Chapter 40
Ryan would cut off a nut before admitting that every time he landed in LA, the opening lines to Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the USA” popped into his head. He’d accidently been humming once, years back, and the guys had said nothing until they got on the team bus and started singing it when he got on. He smiled at the memory. No team bus today. He’d booked a last-minute flight when Daniel had phoned to say he had some paperwork to send over regarding the foundation. He needed a break from pretending he was all right. Moving through the gates at LAX, he waited at the baggage claim. His brother was meeting him.
At least it was warm here and he could look out his window without checking for signs of life at Frankie’s. He could get in a car without wondering if the boys were being dropped off that day. He was far away enough that her scent shouldn’t haunt him and his heart shouldn’t squeeze painfully. Maybe there was nowhere far enough for that. He’d been married for a year, gone through a bitter divorce, and never felt the sense of loss he did when he thought of Frankie. He felt like his insides were being pulverized with a hammer. Nothing fit. Nothing felt right.
His large duffel bag came down the conveyer and he picked it up, shouldered it, and headed toward the exit. Outside, the sun greeted him like a long-lost friend. His skin prickled as though waking up and remembering the heat. He tipped his head up, closed his eyes, and breathed in the exhaust and sunscreen, LA’s signature scents. He walked toward the passenger pick-up, his eyes scanning for his brother’s car. Finding it immediately, he tossed his bag in the back and climbed into the cab.
“Welcome home, Watts,” Max said, his aviators slipping down his nose to show his amusement.
“Blow me,” Ryan replied.
Max laughed loud and hard as he pulled into traffic. “I’m not Watts anyway. I’d be Keith. Too many women to choose from.”
Ryan shook his head and put on his own shades, grateful no one else was in the truck with them. Bad enough to have a brother know your deep and dirty secrets, Ryan didn’t need anyone else knowing that as a teen, he’d loved the movie Some Kind of Wonderful, hard. Every time Ryan had broken up with a woman, Max took to calling him Watts, the character that pined away for the person they loved. Granted, Watts was a girl, but Max said it fit. The first time he’d said it was after Penny Manciotti dumped him in tenth grade. Ryan had punched Max in the face.
“Too many but only one that’s grabbed you by the balls and heart at the same time,” Max commented, turning up the radio. Vintage Zeppelin filled the space between them and Ryan felt exhaustion crushing him. Everything was crushing him. He laid his head back on the headrest, listening to the music and his brother humming along. When they pulled up to Max and Shay’s three-bedroom bungalow in Brentwood, Ryan smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. Shay was painting the trim on the porch a vibrant yellow. It suited the dark green house and the woman.
“She ever let you pretend to be the man?” Ryan laughed when his brother flipped hi
m off.
Shay turned, her wicked curls flying over her shoulder from the motion. She gave a shout of joy, rushed to him, and threw her arms around him. Max was a lucky son of a bitch. Shay was a sexy, curvy Italian woman who did everything with purpose. He’d never seen his brother so happy. More than anyone other than his mother and Frankie, he wanted that for Max.
“Ciao. I missed you,” she said, kissing both of his cheeks. The scent of her shampoo mingled with the smell of the paint when he hugged her. He’d been looking at the back of her and then at her face and so it wasn’t until his body was pressed to hers that he felt her stomach. He stepped back, his hands on her shoulders, and looked down to the slight, but noticeable bump under her shirt. He looked over at Max, who’d grabbed his duffel and was walking toward them with a Cheshire smile.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Ryan hugged Shay again, gently, elation pushing the last of his fatigue away. Max dropped the bag when Ryan moved in for a bear hug.
“I was just about to phone you when you phoned and said you were coming out. We wanted to wait until she was three months to tell anyone,” Max said, grinning as he spoke. His happiness radiated in every word.
“This is awesome. I cannot believe you are going to be someone’s dad. I mean, Shay, you’ll be a fantastic mom, but this guy? You sure you want him around? I’m better with kids,” Ryan said, making Shay laugh and give him another hug.
“I think I’ll keep him,” she answered, kissing Max, her eyes locking with his, making Ryan’s stomach leap with how much he missed Frankie.
Shay went inside to pour some water and Ryan picked up his bag and clapped his brother on the back. As they walked in behind Shay, he kept his voice low. “I thought you weren’t sure about kids,” Ryan said, looking at Max to gauge his answer. Max shrugged.
“It’s amazing how what you want can change when you meet the right one.”
Caught Looking Page 24