Heather stood in the driveway with her arms crossed, staring in the direction the boys had gone. Since Jaxon’s return, she had been reluctant to leave him alone. She had dropped in his room night and day at the hospital. And since he had been home, she had been taking vacation days to be near, but had decided to go back to work that night and trust he would be okay. Sure, Connor would be around much of the time she wasn’t, but he had been with him back on that fateful day too.
That was the problem. It wasn’t fair—she knew it wasn’t fair—but a small part of her had always struggled with the fact that Connor had left Jaxon alone that day. What an awful thing to think. Her eldest had been all of nine years old. Nine.
But he was still as carefree as ever, easygoing, devil-may-care, doing what fit him. It could happen again. They could get separated riding bikes. Or Connor could run into some friends, some older guys who didn’t want to hang around a damaged sixteen-year-old.
Stop it.
“Well, I better be going.” Harold jangled his car keys in his hands and turned toward his car.
“Wait.” She didn’t want to be alone. When he turned back, she asked, “Why don’t you join us for dinner?”
Harold looked stunned and stuttered a reply. “I’d like that. I mean, if you want me here.”
“As much as it scares me for him to leave the house, you’re right about the bicycle. He needs the exercise as he rebuilds his strength. And he needs to play like a kid should.” She turned and squeezed his elbow. “And he needs his dad around some. Both of them do. So maybe a family dinner sometimes would be good.”
He smiled and nodded. “Excellent. I’ll run to Abe’s Market and get what you need. Just give me a list, ’cause I’m a little rusty in the non-frozen-dinner department.”
“It’s not like I don’t have a zillion casseroles in there.”
“Ugh. I’ll go grab some burgers and grill them up.”
She smiled. “Okay. I’ve got some baked beans. Maybe I’ll make my potato salad.”
Harold smacked his lips and made her laugh. After his car disappeared around the corner, she went back into the house and turned the TV and Xbox off, silencing the incessant music of the video game the boys had been playing before Harold had arrived. She picked up their drink glasses, wiped up water rings, and gathered chip bags. Long experience told her the snacks wouldn’t dampen their appetites, at least if Connor’s teenage years were any sign of Jaxon’s. As skinny as her youngest was, he needed to eat.
She rinsed the dishes in the sink and stacked them in the drainer to dry. She walked back across the den and looked out the window, telling herself to relax and not worry that they hadn’t reappeared. There was plenty of time before sundown and dinner. They were together. She needed to trust that Connor would keep him safe.
She straightened up the rest of the room before pausing, realizing she wasn’t cleaning the house for herself. She wanted the house to look neat for Harold’s return. After all those years of being disappointed and angry with him and his failings, she surprised herself, knowing she still had feelings for him. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she whispered then laughed. But still, she thought as she walked past a mirror, some clean clothes won’t hurt.
She walked down the hall to her room to change but paused at the boys’ room and pushed open the door. Connor’s side of the room held the typical festive teenage decorations—posters, comic books, and games—but Jaxon’s remained mostly bare. They had replaced his cartoonish bedspread with a simple gray cover from the consignment store. His first morning waking in the house, he had tried to straighten the bed, but it had been a jumbled mess. Connor had shown him how, an amusing event since her eldest rarely bothered to make his own bed.
Some new clothes—well, new to him clothes, donations gathered by a local church as the word of his return crept out—hung in the closet. A set of Harry Potter books—also a donation—lined the bookshelf. He had already read the first couple, as enamored with the story as any other normal teenager. She was worried they would be too dark with the children of the series under constant threat, but he found them entertaining and fun. She had promised to take him to the local library and get a card so he could check out more books. He was as voracious a reader as he had been at six. It was the one thing that hadn’t changed about him, a comforting similarity contrasting with all of his changes.
On the desk corner nearest his bed sat the third book in the Potter series, a bookmark marking the halfway point of the book. She shuddered at the title, The Prisoner of Azkaban, but Jaxon hadn’t been bothered at all. Instead, he enjoyed escaping into the story. She accepted anything that gave him that relief.
Holding the book in her hand, she sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. If the boys had grown up together, they probably would have been arguing for their own space, for rooms of their own. Just weeks before, Connor had been talking about his need to save enough money and find some roommates so he could afford to rent an apartment or trailer to call his own. Much to her relief, that talk had disappeared. It would come back. She wasn’t naive, and she wanted him to go out on his own, to find his own life. She just wasn’t in a hurry for it.
Jaxon was home. Soon enough, the room would become more decorated, messier, and more homelike. He would settle in and become increasingly normal. And sooner or later, they would argue about something. He was a teenager, after all.
They’d have to figure out school. Since he barely had seen the inside of a classroom, she didn’t have a clue how it would work. But he was smart. He loved reading and had taught himself so many words through the games he and Kevin had played with the dictionary. Anything beyond basic math, however, eluded him. He needed tutors and private instruction, but she couldn’t afford that. Teachers had already been in touch, volunteering their time, but it bothered her not to pay people.
But the town had rallied. Her church had come through with the clothes and books. Her hairdresser had come to the hospital and cut his hair for free. Her coworkers at the hospital had even raised a collection, giving her a wad of cash to get him whatever he needed. They didn’t make any more money than she did but had been ridiculously generous, just like they always were when a coworker got sick or had a death in the family or any other trial of life.
And everywhere she went in town, people would stop her and ask how he was doing. How could they help? Casseroles? Cut the grass? Drive him to doctor’s appointments?
She ran her hand along his pillow, breathing deeply to inhale his scent. Yes, she was embarrassed to need the handouts, but she did need them. Her son needed them. He needed every break, every gift he could get, to make up for all the horrible things that had happened.
With the pillow squeezed against her chest, she looked over at Connor’s bed. Since the return, he’d been acting like the man she wanted him to be. He had never appeared to be in a rush to grow up. Even getting a steady job had been a big deal. She had to trust him to look after Jaxon. After everything that had happened, he wouldn’t be careless.
Her ex-husband was trying so hard to be a father. Her friends, neighbors, and even strangers in town were being so generous and kind.
For the first time in over a decade, since before Harold started having all of his issues when Jaxon was still an infant, she felt like all the pieces were falling into place, all because her youngest son was home, sleeping in his own bed every night.
The room blurred as tears of happiness filled her eyes. After years of struggle, life was finally smiling at her.
She had to admit, that scared her. Life had a way of throwing curve balls.