by Josie Wright
Ben appears with Archer in his arms in the doorway, giving me a lazy grin. “Damn.” He draws out the word, before adding, “And I already got my hopes up.”
Before I can answer though, he notices the crib in his room.
“You know, I’m too big for that, right.”
I throw my hands up in the air in exasperation.
“What is it with you men and smartass comments? Yes, I know. It’s not for you. Not directly, at least. It’s for Archer, for when you want him to sleep in your room. You shouldn’t always have to come into my room or ask for permission if you want to hold him or be close to him. That way, there is the possibility for him to sleep in here with you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re intruding, like you don’t have the same rights as I do.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Dean retreat with a grin, while I still focus my attention on Ben. He looks at me for a moment, before he sets Archer down in his new crib. “Do you like it, little man?” Ruffling Archer’s curly hair, he stands back up and walks over to me, wrapping me up in his arms. Kissing the top of my head, he clears his throat.
“You don’t want me in your room anymore, babe?”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean, you’re welcome in my room anytime.” Oh, I didn’t just say that. “I mean…to look after Archer. I just thought you might want to have the option to have him around you all night.” I notice his body shaking slightly with laughter at my stuttered explanation. Great, just great.
“So I guess that means you want me to stick around then, huh?”
Well, fuck, I guess I didn’t consider the implications of my actions. I attempt to say something but apparently I have forgotten how to speak as my mouth opens and closes a few times without a word coming out. Now it’s my turn to clear my throat.
“I mean, we have the room here, and you and Archer have found a routine that works for both of you. I thought it’d be easier. But if you want to look for a place of your own, we can figure things out.” I attempt to sound nonchalantly, like the idea of him moving out doesn’t make me ache.
“Thank you. That’s a great idea. I love it. Especially now that you’re starting to wean him it’ll be easier to do. It’s perfect.”
I listen to his words, while inhaling his scent. It’s all man, a bit of sweat from his work mixed with a fresh, woodsy smell. I could stay like that forever, feeling safe and protected in his arms. It feels like coming home.
“You alright down there?” He asks after a few moments, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.
“Yeah, I’m just glad you like it.”
He lets go off me and I have to shake off the sudden feeling of loss, so I focus on him and Archer, watching as he bends over the crib.
“So, little man, what do you think of a sleepover tonight? Sounds good. Yeah, I thought so,” he says when Archer smiles up at him. I laugh, thankful for what I have. Thankful for knowing they are safe and sound. Thankful, I don’t have to go through what Anna is going through.
As I’m about to close the door behind me, Ben’s voice stops me.
“Babe, sooner or later you’ll want me in your room. Trust me.”
Chapter 21
Old Photographs
It’s early in the morning when I wake up, the sun just starting to rise on the horizon. Birds are chirping outside when I make my way downstairs. Judging by the silence in the house, I’m guessing everyone is still asleep. And since Archer is sleeping in Ben’s room, I get to enjoy the peace and quiet of the early morning. I make myself a cup of tea and inhaling the scent of freshly brewed peppermint I sit down at the kitchen counter.
My eyes fall onto yesterday’s newspaper folded up on the counter. I guess Alex or Dean must have left it here. I unfold it, deciding it might not be a bad idea to catch up on current events, but as I skim over articles depicting racism, violence and bigotry, I remember why I don’t read the newspaper. I turn the page and the headline catches my attention. “Tragic Accident Kills Father and Baby.” I’m surprised to find an article about Anna in yesterday’s edition of the newspaper. The accident happened too long ago. But I keep on reading. “Young father with his son on the way to pick up girlfriend from her shopping trip gets hit by a semi-truck. Both occupants die on impact. Benjamin Gibson and his son Archer were driving down….” I can’t read any further than that as everything around me starts to blur. A choked sob escapes my lips. Clutching my hand to my chest, I start shaking my head, not willing to believe what I’m reading. The words and letters start to swim as my eyes fill with tears.
I wake up, terror coursing through my veins. My hands are clenched around the comforter, and tears are streaming down my face. It was just a dream. Calm down, just a bad dream. I tell myself this over and over again until it finally starts to sink in. But then I realize how quiet it is in the room. Too quiet. I don’t hear Archer’s tiny breaths that usually keep me company through the night. I dash out of the bed to the crib, scared of what awaits me, only to find it empty. Just then it dawns on me he’s staying in Ben’s room tonight.
I change into a camisole that isn’t drenched with sweat and climb back into bed, my nerves completely shot. My heart aches for Anna and what she’s going through. Her story has affected me more than I thought, reducing me to an emotional mess.
After staring at the ceiling for what seems like hours, I finally fall back asleep only to have the same dream repeat itself. Once more, I wake up with a pounding heart and tears streaming down my face. It takes me a few minutes to separate dream and reality.
I refuse to fall asleep again; afraid this nightmare will come back. I kick back the comforter and get out of bed and into the bathroom. I splash some cold water into my face, trying to wash away the lingering unease the dream has caused.
I shuffle downstairs, making sure there are no newspapers laying around on the kitchen counter, before I make myself a cup of tea and grab some photo albums of Archer. Looking through them, I can’t help but smile. He looked like a little monkey when he was born, dark hair nearly all over his face. Only two days after his birth, the hair disappeared, leaving a chubby cheeked face behind. I keep staring at the photo, thanking the universe for being this lucky.
A couple pages in, I hear someone on the stairs. I turn around and see it’s Ben in nothing more than sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a baby phone in his hand. I will my eyes back to the photo album and away from his junk as he walks over.
“What are you doing up?” He plops down on the couch next to me.
“Couldn’t sleep. Kept on waking up listening for Archer, nearly getting a heart attack before I realized he’s in your room. It’s going to take a while for me to get used to.” I don’t mention Anna, not only because of the confidentiality I’m obligated to, but also because I don’t want to think about it anymore.
“So you’re looking through photo albums?”
“Yeah, want to join me?”
“Sure, sleep is for losers.”
I smile. “Why are you up then?”
He pokes me in the side, making me squeal.
“Heard you shuffle down here; thought I make sure you’re okay.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” I hope he doesn’t see how much his concern for me affects me; how my heart is turning into a gooey mess. I know I shouldn’t let him in, not with the secrets, not with the phone calls, but it’s a damn battle that my head seems to be losing.
I open the album back up to the monkey picture of Archer.
“He’s got all that hair from you.” I playfully nudge Ben in the ribs with my elbow.
“Hell no, you think I forgot your hairy toes?”
I groan in exasperation. I mean, seriously, after all the time he still remembers that. Dave pointed it out when I was thirteen and they made fun of me all summer, calling me a hobbit or a monkey because not only were my toes hairy, but I could pick up things with my feet with ease. I’ve shaved my toes ever since.
“Oh, shut up.”
“Will do, little hobbit.” He’s sitting so close that I can feel his body shaking with the laughter he’s trying to suppress. I can’t help but laugh along, even if it’s at my own expense.
There are pictures of Archer’s birth, not close-up-right-where-the-action-was pictures, but pictures of me and him once he was out. I’d wanted that moment documented and it wasn’t hard to find photography students for this job.
“Was it bad?” Ben’s looking at the picture with a mix of awe and embarrassment.
“The birth?”
“Hmmm....”
“Oh yeah. I mean, I tried meditation, aromatherapy, and all that. And sure, it calmed me down and helped me relax. But when you’re trying to squeeze a melon through a keyhole, it’s going to hurt no matter what. And the bullshit they tell you about forgetting it once the kid is there....oh no, I still know very well what happened. But looking at Archer, it was worth it.”
Ben chuckles at my diplomatic answer before he gets more serious.
“Sorry I wasn’t there to support you.”
“You didn’t know. And actually, I’m okay with it. The miracle of giving birth is not sexy in the least.”
“I still would have loved to be there.”
I pat his thigh. “We can’t change the past, Ben. You’re here now. That’s important.”
We flip through the pages, Ben asking questions and me telling him stories about Archer’s first nine months. That is until we get to the Halloween pictures.
“You didn’t?!?!” Ben’s tone is slightly accusative.
“What? He looks totally cute.”
“You dressed him up as a Minion? Seriously?” He makes a pained noise and follows it up by a similarly pained look.
“Oh, come on. Look at him. He looked totally adorable.” Not to mention I love the Despicable Me movies, so it was a no-brainer to dress Archer as a minion for Halloween.
“A Minion? It’s just as well I’m here now to protect him from your escapades.”
I look away sheepishly, trying to hide a smile.
“What’s with the smile?”
“Nothing. Just.....next Halloween I want to dress him up as a purple Minion.” I give Ben a pleading look.
“Hell no! Not happening. Our son will need therapy at this rate.”
“Well, by then I’ll be qualified, so we won’t have to spend any money on it.”
We’re interrupted by Archer’s tiny voice coming through the baby monitor, alerting us that he’s awake and requesting our attention.
Ben gets up to go upstairs, but not before turning around and pointing his finger at me.
“This discussion is far from over.”
I just stick out my tongue at him, laughing when he walks up the stairs shaking his head, mumbling “a Minion” repeatedly with an exasperated sigh.
Chapter 22
The Call
When I get home that day, everyone is already sitting at the table, talking and having fun.
“Hey! Now we just have to wait for Ben to get back and we can have dinner.” Alex waves at me.
“Where is he?”
“Needed to go out and repair some old lady’s window. It jammed and it’s cold. So she called him up. It looks like Mrs. Walsh is passing his number around.”
“Well, that’s good for him.” I look at Viv and before she has fully opened her mouth, I preempt what she was surely going to say. “And yes, that’s because he’s good with his hands.”
As fate wants it, this is the moment when Ben steps through the door.
“You talkin’ about me, babe?”
I want to wipe the smug grin of his face. He’s enjoying teasing me way too much.
“No, about my gynecologist,” I shoot back, smiling to myself for coming up with that. Being around him has dampened my snark lately, usually leaving me speechless instead of throwing witty comebacks around. So I’m happy to see I’ve still got it.
Viv nearly spits her drink over her plate laughing, attempting to high five me between coughs, while Ben only glares at me. I guess he didn’t consider my comeback that funny.
Just when we’re about to dig into our food the phone rings. Apparently, no one else seems to hear it, since they all start shoveling food in their mouths.
“Oh no, no problem. I’ll get it. Lazy fuckers,” I mumble, walking to the phone, picking it up.
“Hi, Frankie speaking.”
“Hello Frankie, it’s Judith. How are you?”
I’m speechless for a second. Ben’s mom is calling and I have no idea how to behave. The last time I mentioned her, he took off into the woods. With her on the phone now, I have no idea what his reaction will be. Will I have to hunt him down in Canada?
“Umm....good, thank you. You?” My voice is anything but strong and confident, not knowing if I’m about to enter a minefield or not.
“I’m good, Frankie. It’s great to speak to you. But is Ben there?”
My voice sounds downright pathetic when I only mutter an “uh huh.”
Swallowing down the anxiety I’m feeling, I speak up loud enough to be heard over the animated chatter of my friends.
“Ben. It’s for you.” He looks up at me, cocking his eyebrow as if to ask, who it is.
“It’s your mom.”
For a second, he sits completely still except for the tic in his jaw. Without a word he gets up and in a few big strides crosses the living room to where I’m standing. The others have suddenly become really quiet.
Ben is mere inches from me, when he yanks the phone out of my hand. I’m expecting him to talk to his mom, maybe yell at her, call her names—instead he seems calm. Too calm. You know, the way it is out at the sea before a storm rolls in. His body is tense, his jaw clenched. I’m waiting for him to put the phone to his ear, instead he just presses the “end” button and puts the phone back down.
God, I want to ask him what’s this is about. I want to figure out what happened with his mom that he can’t even talk to her. But the vibes he’s sending off tell me that it’s better to postpone those questions to another time. Ten, fifteen years might be more convenient. Bringing it up now won’t achieve anything, so I remain quiet, just looking at him.
“Let’s eat,” he grinds out, waiting for me to make my way back to the table.
The rest of dinner is awkward and feels forced. Ben is violently stabbing the food with his fork, and I’m tempted to tell him that it’s already dead. But it doesn’t seem like he’s in the mood for any kind of conversation or joke. He’s not making eye contact with any of us. The only one that seems to get any reaction out of him is Archer. I notice Dean glancing my way occasionally—either to make sure I’m alright or that I’m not stirring up any trouble. I like to fix things, people, and situations. Just letting something fester isn’t my style. My approach is more of the bulldozer kind. But even I can tell when it’s not a good idea to push.
As soon as Ben’s done with his plate, he gets up, and after putting it in the dishwasher, kisses Archer on the head.
“I’m off to bed.” With that, he strides from the room, the anger emanating from his every pore.
I look at my watch to find that it’s only 7 p.m. Archer keeps staring at where Ben disappeared, so I ruffle his hair. “Sorry little man, it’s only you and your momma tonight.”
While getting Archer ready for bed, Dean comes in, making himself comfortable on my bed.
“You alright?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
All it takes is a withering glare from Dean to know he knows I’m trying to bullshit him.
“I don’t know. I want to be fine with it, but Ben is keeping secrets and it’s nothing small or insignificant. For fuck’s sake, he’s refusing to talk to his mother. They’ve always been close. Something happened and it’s still affecting him. He doesn’t want to talk about it or let me in, but I don’t know how to deal with it. Is it something big? Is it something that will have an effect on Archer in any way, shape, or form? He isn’t letting me in an
d he doesn’t seem to trust me. This in return, doesn’t help me to trust him. It’s like walking on egg shells at times and it sucks. I want to push him, I want to demand answers, but I’m too scared that it will send him running again. And I know it’s weak and pathetic, but I don’t want him to leave—and not just because of Archer.” I barely took a breath, rushing those words out before they suffocate me.
By the time I spoke the last word, I’ve changed Archer into his jammies, setting him down on the floor. I plop myself down on the bed. Dean scoots over to me, putting his arm around me. Sighing, I lay my head on his shoulder.
“You’re not pathetic or weak. You’re human. And you have those pesky human feelings for him—the good and the bad ones. I agree that you have a right to know, that to gain your trust he should open up. But I also think it doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow. Tell me this: Is he good to you? Is he a good father to Archer? Has he given you any reason whatsoever to doubt that he is in this one hundred percent?”
“No, he hasn’t. And yes, he’s the perfect dad to Archer. And he’s sweet, and thoughtful, and incredibly infuriating toward me.” A small smile tugs at my lips.
“Well, then I’d say give him time. It’s not even been two weeks, and those resembled a tornado. Whatever he’s been dealing with, it surely isn’t easier with everything he’s now confronted with.” I want to speak up, but Dean shushes me. “I’m not taking his side, but I’m trying to take it into account as well. In two weeks, he’s become a father, lives with four other people in a different state, and is confronted with his feelings for you on a daily basis. Maybe he just needs to feel safe in this new role before he can open up. Give him some time. Let things settle down a bit. You can still drive him crazy with your questions later.”
I think about his words for a moment before I take a deep breath.
“But don’t you think I have a right to know? He just left, didn’t call, didn’t write. Didn’t say ‘I’m sorry I made you feel like a cheap fuck.’” Swallowing, I try to suppress the familiar feelings of rejection, anger, and humiliation.