ask what she means. I know. I’m sad too—so sad that I literally can’t wrap my head around one more night without my son. One more night without my baby in this house. It seems impossible. I set the cup down and tip my head back against the couch cushion.
“I’m so tired. I feel like I’m drowning.”
“I know. I know you do.” I sense there’s more Crystal wants to say but doesn’t. “Did Jake say what’s going to happen now?”
“It wasn’t Jake that was doing most of the talking. It was Toby. He said his men are on it, but I feel like he still doesn’t believe me.” My jaw hardens. “But I’m going to make sure whoever did this sees the inside of a jail cell, I can tell you that.” I roll my head her way. “You know, I never pressed charges against the guy who killed Chris. But this time? There will be consequences.” My voice trembles.
Crystal’s arm is around me. “Hey, don’t think about any of that now. Let’s get you up to bed. How does that sound?”
I prepare to protest, but suddenly, my own bed is the only place I can bear to be. She guides me through the hall and up the stairs. The wood whines under our feet. At the landing, there’s no comforting whoosh of Jackson’s noise machine down the hall, no baby sounds echoing on a monitor.
“I can’t live without him, Crystal. I can’t.” I mean every word. I’ve been able to survive so much else, but I cannot live without my son. I know it as fiercely as I’ve ever known anything. If he does not come back, I will die.
“I know.” She doesn’t try to talk me out of it. In my bedroom, she draws the shades and pulls back the comforter. “Do you want me to stay with you?”
I nod and crawl into bed. My eyes close, drift open, and close again. Crystal sits behind me and strokes my hair, just like she did earlier today. Was that today? That feels like years ago. I wait for her to say something, to tell me some story of perseverance or resilience, but she doesn’t. Instead, she lets me sit with my thoughts. We stay like that for quite some time, until I fall asleep.
43
BEC
A sharp knock on the front door wakes me.
My mouth is dry. My eyes flutter open. “Crystal?” I feel around on the bed, but she’s not there. I rub a hand over my face and wait. There it is again, knuckles on hard wood. “Coming,” I mumble to no one. Downstairs, the doorknob jiggles impatiently. A week ago, I would have been hiding in my closet. Now, I don’t care. If I’m not protecting Jackson, then what does it matter?
I take the first step.
I’m not Chris’s wife.
Another step.
I’m not my mother’s daughter.
A few more in socked feet. I strangle the banister, not wanting to repeat my fall.
I’m not Jackson’s mother.
At the landing, I unlock the door. Crystal must have locked it for me on her way out. I open it.
“Hey. Did I wake you?”
I turn away from Jake and walk down the hallway. I’m suddenly overcome with those early days when I was losing my sight. I’d stand at the end of hallways, capsized with fear about smacking face-first into a wall. That happened more times than I could count. It was like flipping the lights out in a room you’d been in a thousand times, and then suddenly, you were uncertain about everything.
Now, I’m certain of my steps and uncertain of everything else.
I stop in the kitchen. It’s amazing how many hours of my life I’ve spent memorizing angles, so I don’t make a fool of myself. So that I am capable. I use my affinity for math to calculate risk, and yet, look at where it’s gotten me. I’m not like everyone else. I never was.
I fold my arms across my aching chest. “What’s going on?”
“Alert is issued. Fielding calls.”
I wait for more. “You know, I’m so sick of this babying act, Jake. I’m so sick of being treated like a fragile flower that will wither and die. I can handle the hard stuff, because it’s my life. And regardless of what anyone believes, I was right.”
“You were right.”
A stab of longing hits me just below the heart. “Did they take him?”