“I overstepped,” I say quietly.
Sky looks at Matt and arches a brow. He gives her a subtle nod. “Is this about one little secret?” She points to her belly.
I shake my head. “I don’t care that she’s pregnant.” Well, I care because I kind of wish the kid were mine. But that’s the only reason.
“Who’s pregnant?” Seth asks as he comes into the room and takes out a bottle of water.
Matt grins at him. “As long as it’s not you, I don’t care.”
Seth rolls his eyes and walks back to the living room.
“So it wasn’t about the surrogacy…” Sky prods.
I shake my head. “It’s about something else. And I kind of stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong. But she really needed for it to be done.”
“Maybe she wanted it done on her own schedule,” Sky says softly.
“Now she’s mad at me, and I don’t even know where she went.”
Matt jerks a spatula toward the door. “Go see if you can fix it. We’ll let Hayley play with Sky’s belly for a while.”
Sky grins and shakes her head. “Something about twins,” she says.
I get up and push my chair in. “I won’t be gone too long,” I say. “You sure you don’t mind?” Like they need another kid.
“What’s one more?” Sky says. She waves a breezy hand around. “After a while, you just stop counting them. One of them will scream when they want something. Or when someone is bleeding. It all works out.”
“Mine’s blond,” I say. “She’ll stick out in your crowd.” For now at least.
“Oh, good to know. Maybe we’ll feed that one.” Sky looks at Matt and nods. “Look for the one with yellow hair. Feed it. We got this.” She claps her hands together like she’s coaching a team.
I laugh. They’re just too damn cute together.
I kiss Hayley, show her Sky’s belly, and take a minute to feel for double kicks myself, and then I leave. I go by the shop, but Friday’s not there. I go to the apartment, but she’s not there, either. I stop in her doorway and look around her room, startled at the lack of her things on the dresser. She did have makeup and other oddities there, but now there’s nothing. I go to the closet and open the door. Her suitcase is gone. I slam my fist against the wall, feeling like someone just kicked me in the gut.
She’s gone. Completely and totally gone.
I call all my brothers, and no one has seen her. I call all their girlfriends and wives, and they haven’t seen her. I call Garrett and Cody, and they haven’t seen her, either, but now they’re worried. So are my brothers. They want to go out looking for her, each of us taking a different part of the city. But there’s one thing I know for sure. She won’t turn up until she wants to be found. No doubt about it.
Friday
I roll my suitcase right into the cemetery. I know it’s weird and I don’t know where I’m going after this, but I couldn’t wait one more minute to come here. I know he’s here, but I don’t know where. I have to stop at the office, which is a little building surrounded by flowers. I open the door and step inside. It’s cool in there, which is nice. A lady looks from me to my suitcase and back. “I’m sorry, but you can’t move in if you’re still breathing, and you’re definitely still breathing,” she says. She snaps her gum at me, and I like her immediately.
“I need to find a grave, and I’m not sure where to look.” I step nervously from side to side and have to force myself to stand still when I realize it.
She goes to her computer. “Do you have a name?”
I nod. The name is sitting there, right on the tip of my tongue.
“Do you want to tell me what it is?” She waits.
“His name is Travis Conway.” That’s the first time I have said that name in a really long time.
“Are you a relative?”
“Does it matter?”
She smiles. “No, I was just being nosy.”
She jots something down and walks over to me. She pulls out a map and draws lines and arrows around the cemetery so that I can find the plot. “If you have any trouble, just let me know.”
“Thanks.”
“You can leave that here if you want.” She looks at my suitcase.
I unzip it and take out my shoebox. “You sure you don’t mind?”
She pulls it behind her desk and I feel like it’ll be safe. I walk out of the office with my shoebox under my arm and the map in my other hand. I open it up and follow the arrows. It’s actually a pretty long walk, and then I realize that he had a state-funded funeral, so he’s in a crowded section. He doesn’t even have a headstone. He has a little piece of weathered plastic poking into the ground with stick-on letters.
I walk over and sit down beside his little piece of poor plastic. “Hey, Trav,” I say softly. The wind blows and lifts my hair, and I close my eyes. He had this thing he would do when times were good: he would walk behind me and lift my hair and place a tender kiss on the nape of my neck. It was sweet and kind and made me feel so loved.
It’s easy to think that he’s letting me know he’s still here, but it’s probably just the wind. I know that. It’s the most basic human need—self-comfort. I want to think he’s there and safe. So I do.
“I brought something to show you,” I say. I open my box and take out the pictures I have looked at so fondly through the years. My heart clenches as I shuffle through them, looking at them like I have never seen them before. “He’s so beautiful,” I whisper, and my voice cracks. “We did something so right, Trav.” I look toward the sky and wait. Then the wind picks up my hair again, and this time the hair on my arms stands up.
“I met him today. I didn’t even know it was going to happen. I went to the park with my boyfriend, and he had orchestrated this whole meet-and-greet with our son. My boyfriend’s name is Paul, and he’s pretty fabulous. He has a daughter and a family he loves more than anything.” I take a breath. “Anyway,” I say, “I met our son today. And he looks a lot like you. I can see your smile in him and your sense of humor. He snorts when he laughs kind of like you did.”
I drag my finger down the edge of the plastic sign and wish it didn’t have to be this way.
“I’m sorry I never came when you died. I read about it in the paper. I don’t even know if you were in pain or if it just happened and, poof, you were gone. I guess that’s a good thing. They say the truth is better than not knowing, but sometimes I think not knowing trumps it. It lets you believe what you want. And I choose to believe you’re at peace. Does that make me naive? It probably does. But I don’t care. No matter what, you’re not here anymore, and that’s just a tragedy all by itself.”
The wind stirs again my hair lifts.
I throw up my hands and sniffle. “I get it!” I cry. “You’re here!” My eyes fill with tears, and they finally spill over. It’s a shoulder-shaking, can’t-catch-my-breath cry, and it goes on way longer than I should let it. But I can’t seem to stop. It’s just too hard.
When my tears are spent, I touch the little homemade sign again and think about everything he needs to know.
“Our son’s name is Jacob, and he has a great mom and dad. Her name is Jill, and I don’t even know what his dad’s name is yet. Jacob’s artistic and he plays sports and he likes music.” I point to my forehead as though he can see me. “And he has your cowlick! Oh my gosh, it was so fucking adorable. You have no idea how beautiful he is.”
I wait a beat and take in the beautiful day and the people milling around.
“I just wanted to tell you that he’s okay. That’s all. I thought you deserved to know. No matter what happened with us, he was yours, too, and you didn’t get any say about what happened to him, because after a while, I couldn’t find you.” I point to my chest and then thump it hard with my fist. “I did the best I could. I really did. I did everything I knew how to do! I wanted him to be taken care of. I didn’t even know where my next meal was going to come from most days, and I couldn’t do that to him. I know you might
not like my choice, but I had to make one, and I had to make one that was in his best interest. I wanted him. But I wanted him to be safe more. Does that make sense?” I talk to him like he’s here with me. It’s stupid, I know, but I need for him to fucking be here so much that I’ll set aside everything else. I’ll chuck my pride. I’ll throw all of it away because I need for him to hear me. More than anyone else, I need for Travis to hear me.
“I love him,” I say. “And I know you love him, too. They want me to come back and see him another day, and I’m going to do that. They’re even willing to tell him who I am and let him know me as the woman who gave birth to him. I still can’t get over that part. They’re good people. And he’s happy.”
I stop because I don’t know what else to say.
“He’s happy, Travis. He’s happy and healthy, and we made something so wonderful. He will go on to do brilliant things. And I just wanted to tell you that. That’s all.” I get up and dust off the butt of my jeans.
I stare down at Travis’s final resting place, and a weird sense of peace envelops me. My hair lifts again, and this time, I swear that I feel his lips touch the nape of my neck. The hair on my arms stands and a shiver slides up my spine, but it’s a good feeling.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the wind.
I go back to the office to get my suitcase, and the girl behind the desk chirps, “Did you find what you were looking for?”
I nod. I found that and more. “What would it take for me to get a gravestone for him?” I ask.
She snaps her gum. “Just stone and brass?”
I shrug. “Something nice.”
“About two thousand.” She looks closely at me. I reach into my purse and pull out my checkbook. I did just win five thousand dollars, after all. Jacob might want to come here one day to visit, and I don’t want him to see that crappy sign. And Travis, all by himself with no thought to Jacob, deserves better.
She slaps an order form in front of me. “I can fill out the dates. Just put your information and what you want it to say.”
I think about it for no more than a second. I write the words, “Beloved father and friend.” Because that’s what he was. He was beloved. By me, most of all. He was valuable. We all have intrinsic value, just because we exist, don’t we? I like to think so.
I write the check and hand her the order form. “Please let me know when it arrives?”
She nods, and I roll my suitcase out the door and down the sidewalk.
“Friday,” I hear someone say. I look up and find Henry walking out the same gate as me.
Henry is a friend of the Reeds’. He was the doorman in Emily’s building, and his wife had a stroke. Not long after he met Logan and Emily, all the Reed boys went and moved his furniture so he could bring his wife home from the rest home. She died last year, and he was left alone. He has children and grandchildren, and his granddaughter Faith is expecting his first great grandchild. Through it all, Henry never wavered. He grieved, but his faith never faltered.
“Henry,” I say. I lift my arms and hug him, because you just have to hug Henry when you see him. “What are you doing here?”
“I was just visiting my Nan,” he says. He looks at my suitcase with a curious eye. “What about you?”
“Unfinished business,” I say.
He takes the handle of my suitcase and starts to pull it down the street.
“What are you doing, Henry?” I ask. I race to catch up with him.
He looks back at me over his shoulder. “It looks like you have a good story to tell, and I just happen to love a good story.”
“But,” I sputter.
“I’m a lonely old man,” he says. “Humor me.”
“Henry,” I protest.
“I have an empty house and a lot of time.” He puts his free arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to him. “Make me happy and come have tea with me.”
“Just tea?” I ask.
“Oh, the tea is for in the morning. Tonight, we’ll have popcorn and a movie.” His eyes twinkle. “I’ll let you sit in the massage chair Faith got me for Christmas.”
I raise my brow at him.
“Oh, fine, I’ll sit in it.” He waves a hand like he’s swatting the idea away.
“Henry,” I say softly. “I can take care of myself.”
“Never doubted it,” he says sternly. “I’m a lonely old man. Come and keep me company for a day or two.”
“Are you sure?” I watch his face closely to be sure he’s one-hundred-percent certain he wants me to go with him. What stares back at me is that he does. Wholeheartedly. He wants me.
“I want to hear everything,” he says. “I adore a good love story.”
I snort. “What about a bad love story?”
He looks sad all of a sudden. “There’s no such thing,” he says. Then he grins. “I’ll let you pick the movie.”
I go with Henry, because there’s really no place I’d rather be right now.
Suddenly he turns to me and says, “Do I need to go and bash Paul’s head in? He didn’t do anything stupid, did he?”
I laugh. “No. I just needed some time.”
“Time is the only thing we can’t grow more of,” he says, his gaze wistful. “Just keep that in mind.”
I will. I really, really will.
Paul
It’s the middle of the night, and I can’t sleep. Friday has been gone for five days. Sure, I know where she is. Henry called me. But he also warned me that he would bash my head in with a baseball bat if I dared to even knock on his door. He’s a sweet old man, but I think he was serious.
I know Friday has talked to Emily and Reagan, and she had lunch with Matt one day this week. But none of them would tell me what happened or what was said. They’re all fucking traitors in my book.
Friday hasn’t even been to work all week. I have no idea what she’s doing, but she’s not talking to me, that’s for damn sure. I deserve it. I know I do. I should have talked to her instead of taking the choice out of her hands. She’s a fucking adult. I should have waited for her to say she was ready. She had opened up to me about her kid and my fucking heart soared and I knew she had a problem. I thought I could solve it. But I should have let her do it herself. She has every right to be mad. I just hope she settles it soon because I miss her like crazy.
Not having her in my shop every day makes me feel like somebody has stolen my heart right out of chest. She’s not flitting around, charming people, or drawing anything beautiful that makes my customers smile.
She’s just gone.
I pull out my phone and text her really quickly.
Me: Hayley has a recital tomorrow. She wants to know if you’re coming.
I wait with my fingers poised over the phone.
Nothing. I get nothing.
I lay it down on the bed and pound my fist into my pillow, jamming it into a ball beneath my head.
Suddenly, my phone dings, and I reach for it like I’m an addict reaching for a fix.
Her: Don’t use Hayley as collateral.
Me: I’ll use anything I can.
Quiet. No response.
Me: Please forgive me. Come back home.
Her: I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Me: I think it’s the best idea I’ve ever had.
Her: What time is her recital?
Yes! Thank God!
Me: Seven. Will you come?
Her: I’ll come. But only because Hayley asked me to.
I take a deep breath because I suddenly can. I feel like the belt that was wrapped around my chest just loosened.
Me: I’ll take you however I can get you.
She doesn’t send more messages and my eyelids are getting heavy, so I send one last message.
Me: I’ve been taking care of people my whole life. My job was to solve everyone’s problems and make sure that everything was okay. You weren’t my responsibility, and I should have realized that. I want you to be my equal, not someone I have to take care of
. I promise not to do that again. And when I make a promise, I mean it. I’ll talk to you and listen when you talk. I won’t always do what you want. But I’ll try not to steamroll you again.
She’s not going to reply. I knew that before I sent the message. I tuck my phone under my pillow, just in case she does, and I close my eyes. I dream about her red lips and that perfect smile. And for the first time all week, I don’t wake up grasping for something I don’t have.
Friday
Henry keeps strange hours. It’s two in the morning, and he’s down in his shop working on clocks. Faith was here until around midnight working with him until her husband, Daniel, came to take her home.
I skip down the stairs and stop at the bottom. Henry has spread out pieces of a clock, and the tiny gears are all over the table in front of him.
He grins at me and shakes his head. “My Nan used to skip down those stairs just like that. She brought me coffee and snacks because I sometimes got so engrossed in my work I forgot to eat.”
“What are you working on?” I ask, handing him a cup of coffee.
He takes a sip and smiles at me over the rim. “Thanks,” he says. His eyes twinkle. He motions to what’s in front of him. “This clock is not cooperating,” he says. “It’s a stubborn bastard, but I refuse to let it win.” He laughs and picks up a tiny gear and shows it to me. “Do you see that? Sometimes it’s the smallest things that can set off a whole slew of symptoms. You have to dig really deep to find it, and you almost have to dismantle the whole thing. But if you’re willing to dig deep enough, you’ll almost always get there.”
He starts to put the clock back together. He’s wearing thick magnifying glasses that make his eyes look huge.
I sit down beside him and pick my feet up, spinning my chair in a circle like a child. He shakes his head. “Faithy used to do that when she was little. She still does, when she’s in a quirky mood. It’s usually a signal that she wants to talk.”
I lean forward, rest my elbow on the counter, and put my chin on my upturned palm. “What do you miss the most, Henry?” I ask softly.