I ended up eating dinner with just Killian in one of the unused boys’ bedrooms in the Ransome home. I couldn’t bear sitting around that table acting as if everything were all right. It wasn’t all right. I wasn’t all right.
But now that Jim and Stella had stepped in, things might be all right someday. Even sequestered away in this room, I no longer felt alone. A tiny seed of hope had taken root inside of me. I studied my son, searching his features for any trace of Marek. I found none.
We were sitting on the floor on a towel in the middle of the room, eating pizza and tater tots. It was apparently the go-to meal when Tish had to cook. I could hear muffled conversation through the bedroom door in between Killian’s long-winded discussion of the days’ events. I was so glad he didn’t expect much more than a nod and an exclamation every now and then. I was probably missing out on some vital bonding time, but I was completely wrung out and unable to pretend with him, either.
“Mama, are you sad?” His words came out so clear, I almost laughed. And then I did. I looked down at his bright chubby cheeks and stick-straight blond hair, and laughed. My son. No matter what the results of the DNA test, I’d get to keep him. If the results came back that he wasn’t the father, he technically had no rights to lose, and good riddance, no matter what course of legal action we took from that point. If the results came back positive, I would go after him on grounds of negligence, child endangerment, and various other child-protective-services related accusations. Technically, he could turn those same accusations against me, but I was confident he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with a court hearing. I knew he had no love or affection for Killian—this was all about controlling me. And I was done being controlled by Marek, the Gypsy King.
No more, I thought to myself. I’m home. I’m free. No more.
“No, baby. I’m happy. Come here.” He scrambled to his feet and lurched toward me, knocking my almost empty glass of water over before he threw his arms around my neck and pressed his cheek to mine. I let the spilled water soak into the towel. That was what it was there for, right?
A loud crash from another part of the house made me jump, but I tried to cover my surprise so Killian wouldn’t worry. Voices rose and fell with increasing volume, and I began to worry. I set Killian aside and told him we needed to clean up the spill while we sang a funny song. He burst into a full-voiced rendition of Skinnamarinkydinkydoo, and I giggled as he stumbled over the silly term.
By the time we had our dishes picked up and stacked on a tray near the desk, the water sopped up, and the towel hanging from a hook on the back of the door, it was quiet out there. I hoped they hadn’t been arguing about me, but I had a feeling I’d be the topic of conversation around this house for a while.
The plan was for me to stay at the Ransome house while we took care of the DNA test, just to err on the side of precaution in case Marek changed his mind and came back for me early. Because I had bruises from my encounter with him today, and because, thanks to Stella’s quick thinking, we had a recording of what Jim’s attorney friend said could easily qualify as coercion, the lawyer was pushing through a temporary restraining order against Marek that would prevent him from coming within fifty miles of me. It would take another couple of weeks before I could get to court for a long-term restraining order, but the results of the DNA test would play a major determining factor in how we would proceed from there. A sheriff would serve Marek the papers tomorrow afternoon once the order had been filed in court. I knew the troupe’s next gig was somewhere in Nevada, and if they were going to get to the event in time to setup and shuffle dancers to fill my shoes, they’d have to pack up and leave town within a day or two following the closure of the Southern California Renaissance Faire. Which meant Marek would be gone from our lives in less than a week. Maybe not permanently, but spring was a busy time for those who did the historical reenactment circuits. It would be months before they returned to California, and even then, it would be up north. Regardless, a restraining order would make me sleep better at night, no matter which bed I slept in.
Jim had promised to walk me over to my place to pack stuff up for Killian and me. I didn’t think Marek would be stupid enough to loiter on our street, especially now that I knew what he was driving and could recognize it anywhere. But I felt safer knowing Jim would be with me. I had just turned on the small television in the bedroom to a SpongeBob rerun when a gentle knock sounded and I pulled the door open, expecting to see Jim in the hallway.
It was Jordan. His eyes were red-rimmed and his expression grim. I stepped back instinctively, but he didn’t move.
“Are—are you okay?” I asked, lowering my eyes. I had no clue what he knew or didn’t know, but I prepared myself for the worst.
“My mom sent me to my room a few minutes ago,” he began.
I almost laughed. The statement itself seemed silly, inconsequential, especially in light of the events of my day, and I wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. I tried to anyway. “Yes, well, she sent Killian and me to Eric’s room.”
“She also told me I was not—under any circumstances—allowed to bother you. However, in open defiance of her ridiculous orders, at risk of life and limb and home-cooked meals for the rest of my life, I’m here because I have something to say. Something that can’t wait. I’ve waited too long as it is. Again.” He stood with his feet braced apart, his hands shoved into his pockets, looking like a miserable little boy. “It seems I’m always waiting too long when it comes to you, Savannah Clark.”
“Do you… want to come in?”
“No. That’s okay. I’m already regretting the possibility of losing the home-cooked meals if Mom catches me talking to you, but at least if I’m out here, I can run. I set foot in there and she happens by? I may get kicked out altogether and be forced to grow up and stop mooching off my parents.” He reached up and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “Geez. I’ve become the creepy old uncle who still lives at home with Mommy.”
“You’re not old,” I said, uncertain how to respond to his rant. “Creepy, maybe, but not old.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I feel much better already.” I could tell he was smiling, but I still couldn’t bring myself to look at him straight on. It got quiet except for the sound of SpongeBob’s psycho laughter coming from the TV behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Killian sitting cross-legged on the floor, completely still for once, his mouth lolling open, his eyes glazing over in wonder, completely enchanted by the oddest collection of under-the-sea friends on television. I wondered how Groot would feel about a sponge competing for my boy’s love. I turned back to Jordan and waited for him to explain his visit.
“Listen, Savannah. I know today has been something like the outer reaches of hell for you.” He must have sensed the panic that rose up in me. What had Jim and Stella told him? “Don’t worry, my parents are staying pretty mum about everything. They’re sold on the notion that it’s up to you to tell me what you want me to know. I didn’t—I didn’t agree with them, and neither did Tish, for that matter, and things got a little crazy out there. I think my mom threw a chair.”
I gaped up at him, unable to picture what he was describing. He laughed outright at my expression, but I caught the slight note of hysteria in it. “Just kidding. I got angry and shoved my chair back too hard. It fell over, and I got sent to my room until I could get a grip.” He shrugged self-deprecatingly. “But, Savannah, I know it started with that phone call this morning and just went downhill from there.” He scrubbed his hand over the top of his head, and then rested it at the back of his neck. The short sleeve of his shirt hiked up a little with the motion, and of their own accord, my eyes traced the pattern of blue veins that crisscrossed his rounded bicep just beneath the pale skin of the underside of his arm.
Everything about him seemed vulnerable to me tonight. Weren’t we a pair?
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to—to protect you from whatever happened. I know you had to face him alone today, and I hate myself for not being there for you. For not being there for you all this time. I wish—I wish I’d just taken the day off and stayed with you today.” I closed my eyes at the husky notes of his regret.
If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. My father’s voice played gently in my head. If turnips were swords, I’d have one by my side. If I had only trusted the love my parents had for me. If I’d stayed home and faced the consequences of my string of stupid decisions that fateful night, none of us would be here now, dealing with the string of stupid decisions I’d made over the last three years. Maybe Jordan wouldn’t have been able to handle the truth back then—I wasn’t sure he could handle it even now—but seeing the unbridled way my father ran to greet me when he saw me, how this family, in whose home I was finding sanctuary, had embraced me and was now fighting tooth and nail for me, the way Jordan still looked at me… In spite of the fact that I’d run away because I was afraid of what they’d think of me—in spite of the fact that I’d become exactly the person I was afraid they’d think I was, my family and friends and their unconditional love had opened my eyes to all the ‘ifs’ and ‘ands’ I so desperately wished I could change.
Why had the journey home taken me so long to make?
But would I ever truly belong here again? Or had I changed too much, especially in light of the fact that they hadn’t changed at all? They had stayed faithful, consistent, and true, while I ran and hid behind a false identity.
“Savannah, I can’t change what happened today. I can’t change what happened three years ago and everything in between, no matter how badly I want to. I can’t change the fact that you didn’t trust me enough to let me help you back then, or that you didn’t trust me to help you enough once you did contact me again.”
His words were like sharp razors against my skin—well-deserved pain and bittersweet pleasure. My eyes prickled as my tears gathered, unbidden, and spilled over. Why was I crying so much these days? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried before coming home, and now I couldn’t seem to stop. Jordan reached out and brushed my cheekbone with his thumb.
“But most importantly, I can’t change the fact that I love you. And I don’t want to change the fact that I love you, so don’t for one second think that anything you do or don’t tell me can make me stop loving you, you understand?” He dipped his head toward me in an attempt to make me look at him. His eyes locked with mine, and he wouldn’t let me turn away. “I think I have loved you since the first time I noticed you perched up in your tree and realized you were there every day, watching and waiting for me to come home.” He laid his hand against my cheek, and I pressed into it, bringing my own up to cover his, holding it there. His fingers brushed the curve of my ear. “Savannah Clark, I have been here every day, watching and waiting for you to come home.”
Jordan leaned forward and kissed me softly, carefully, and I didn’t resist. Then he stepped back, smiled hesitantly, and headed down the hall toward his own room.