Killian’s sleep was short-lived.
Mom was awake when I slipped into her room, and although I wouldn’t call it a smile, one side of her mouth hitched up a little when she saw me. “Hi, honey,” she croaked, her jaws not moving.
I lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “Hi, Mom.” I wanted to tell her she looked good, better at least, but she didn’t. She looked awful. The bruising around her eyes had darkened and spread, discoloring her whole face. What I could see of her neck above the vest that anchored the halo framework was puffy and mottled with bruises, too. The swollen fingers poking out of the cast on her left hand didn’t look like they belonged to my petite mother, either. Her hair was a wild disarray of curls, but at least it didn’t look too dirty. Knowing Mom, she’d washed it fresh Friday night or Saturday morning so it would be easy to work with for church. “One day dirty,” she always told me. “That’s when hair is on its best behavior.” Although, in my opinion, there was nothing better than the squeaky clean of a fresh wash. I supposed that could have something to do with the fact that my hair didn’t get washed nearly as often as I would have liked, living in the camper. I did my best to keep it clean, but there was good reason for my up-does and braids.
“She looks great, doesn’t she, Savvy?” Dad asked from the other side of her bed. I looked up at him and bit back the snort. Had he read my mind?
“Awful,” Mom interjected, her mouth barely moving so her words slurred together. “You don’t have to lie to me, Ronnie.” Her eyes shifted back and forth between us, her inability to move her head making me tense. I had to stop thinking about it.
“You don’t look great, Mom. Not gonna lie.” The three of us had once been a tight little bunch, but Mom and I shared this unique dry humor that often had Dad shaking his head in consternation, completely out of the loop. Mom and I could say one off-the-wall thing and a whole nonsensical conversation would ensue, ending with both of us giggling uncontrollably. Poor Dad couldn’t keep up, and he was too guileless to make stuff up on the spot the way we did. But as easy as our relationship had been, I’d never really shared deeper things with either of them. Spiritually, I could talk about anything, maybe because there was a detached, intellectual aspect of it I could wrap my head around, but my thoughts and feelings about myself, about boys, about life in general, especially if they teetered on—or over—the edge of what we believed was right or wrong, I kept those to myself.
I didn’t really have any close friends, either. People often said it was probably because I was home schooled, but honestly, I just wasn’t good at making friends. Small talk didn’t come easily to me, and I wasn’t good at casual relationships. If a friendship somehow made it past the first round with me—which was rarer than rare—we were friends for life, for better or worse. I had heard the gossip that I was thought to be really intense. I’d had a friend in fifth grade that I would have taken a bullet for even at the tender age of ten, but I think her mother thought I was obsessive about our friendship and started finding reasons to keep us apart. Mom never acknowledged it when I asked her, but I noticed a change in their relationship at church that year, too. And when Rachel and her family didn’t come back to church after a family summer trip, no one in our home mentioned their absence except to say they hadn’t heard from the family, and even that, only when I asked. I didn’t know how to do things halfway.
So when I chose to love Jordan Ransome, it was forever.
And that was probably why, when I considered how much my pregnancy would hurt those whom I loved, I ran. I would have done anything to spare them the heartache of what I’d done and what I’d become.
But looking at the two people whom I’d tried to protect, seeing beyond Mom’s recent injuries to the gray in her hair that wasn’t there before, the bones of her wrist I held in my hands practically pushing through the thin layer of skin that covered them… I looked over at Dad’s old man hand where it rested on Mom’s white cast. He was somehow diminished, it seemed, thinner, smaller than I remembered him, and I didn’t think the weary lines around his eyes were new since Mom’s accident.
I hadn’t protected them at all.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, and I met my father’s eyes across the bed as my own spilled over with hot tears of shame and regret. He was on his feet and around the end of the bed so quickly that I was still letting out my breath when he pulled me out of my chair and into his arms. “I’m sorry I left—I ran away.” My words were muffled against his chest, but I didn’t care. I stayed there, held gently to my father’s heart, until my tears slowed. “I just wish…” I began, but Dad set me away from him and shook his head.
“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. If turnips were swords, I’d have one by my side.”
I sniffed and finished the old Scottish nursery rhyme along with him. He’d said it so many times in my life that I used to think it was straight out of the Bible.
“If ‘ifs’ and ‘ands’ were pots and pans, there would be no need for tinker’s hands.”
He leaned forward and kissed my forehead, and then gestured to the chair. “Sit.” He pulled his around from the other side of the bed so he could sit beside me. “I wish things were different, too, Savvy, but we can’t change what’s already happened. We can, however, look back and see if there are ways to make sure it doesn’t happen again. And that’s what we’ll do, okay? Together. You, me, and Mom.” I wondered if he left out Killian because my son wasn’t old enough to understand, or because Mom still didn’t know she had a grandson. “For now, you’re here, and that’s the most important thing, next to getting Mom well and home with us. We have time. We’ll work through this. I promise, okay?”
I nodded and gave Mom a watery smile when she lifted her hand to pat my cheek.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt.” A nurse I didn’t recognize pushed open the door, and my ears perked up. “There’s a young man out here who really wants to see his mommy,” she said, smiling gently at me. I could hear Killian’s sobs from where I sat. I jumped up, pushing my chair back, and then froze, my eyes wide as I looked at Dad for help. Mom.
“I’ll talk to Mom,” he said, standing too and giving me a quick hug. “You take that little man home with you and get some rest. Tomorrow will come soon enough for all of us.”
I squeezed Mom’s hand. “I love you, Mom.” And then I hurried from the room.