Текст книги "Follow Me Back"

Автор книги: A. Meredith Walters

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

“It’ll be okay, Aubrey,” Maxx whispered, and I felt his lips on my temple, the soft whisper of his breath as he spoke in my ear. “It’ll be okay.”

I opened my eyes and turned to look at him. Blue eyes burned into mine, and I knew he was right. I leaned in and kissed him, unable to put into words how much his presence meant to me. Maxx Demelo had become my savior.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I said, a little louder than I meant to. I pulled away from Maxx and opened my door, getting out before I could talk myself out of it.

“I’ll get our bags,” Maxx said as I started heading toward the porch. I took in a million details in the seconds it took me to approach the house that had once been my home. My parents had replaced the old, battered porch swing with a small, wrought iron patio set. My mother’s old rosebush on the side of the house had been dug up, and a wooden lattice now stood in its place.

It was obvious my mother was still compulsive about her gardening. Now that the weather was getting warmer, I could see she had been working to get her flower beds in order.

My eyes traveled over the well-worn steps I had climbed countless times. And then I was standing in front of the door, now dark blue and no longer a gleaming white. There were so many changes, yet it still felt the same. The soothing familiarity of home fought to overwhelm the nerves in my belly.

I stood there, staring at the door, not knocking. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, but I couldn’t bring myself to raise my hand to the wood.

“Do you want me to do it?” Maxx asked quietly, dropping our bags on the floor by his feet.

I nodded. This was it. I was home.

chapter

twenty-eight

aubrey

maxx knocked, steady and loud. Then, as though she had been waiting by the door, my mother was suddenly there, standing in the open entryway.

“Aubrey,” she murmured, her voice a hoarse whisper. She was surprised. I hadn’t told her I was coming.

Her face looked so different than I remembered, and she didn’t seem exactly pleased to see me. I started to think this idea of mine was a huge mistake.

“Mom,” I replied, looking up at the woman who had loved me and then thrown me away.

We didn’t move toward each other, but I could feel her gaze as she looked me over, and I wondered how much I was coming up short.

My mother had aged since I had seen her last. Her blond hair was streaked with gray, and her once unlined face was punctuated with wrinkles. Her eyes looked tired and sad, and her shoulders were slightly drooped. She seemed weary and . . . old. It shocked me.

Maxx cleared his throat and thankfully broke the tension. “Hello, Mrs. Duncan. I’m Maxx Demelo, Aubrey’s boyfriend,” he said, holding out his hand.

My mother offered him a polite smile. “Aubrey never mentioned a boyfriend,” she said, and I wanted to roll my eyes.

“Which is crazy, given how often we chat,” I said with icy sarcasm.

Maxx widened his eyes, and my mother’s jaw tightened, though I could have sworn I saw a flash of hurt on her face before she smoothed her expression.

Mom shook Maxx’s hand and then moved aside, waving us inside. “I wasn’t exactly expecting company, so you’ll pardon me if things are a bit of a mess,” she said, sounding slightly flustered. I realized how unfair it was to spring my visit on her, with a boyfriend no less, without giving her time to prepare.

I guess I had worried that if I had actually spoken to my mother again, I would have chickened out. That she would have said something to piss me off, and I would never have made this necessary leap to bridge my past with my present.

I had avoided this town, this house, this woman, for so long, and I was tired of running. If Maxx was making an effort to move beyond his past, then I owed it to him—to us—to do the same.

So I took a moment to breathe in and out, collecting myself, before following my mother into the house. Maxx put a hand on my lower back, and the slight pressure, the smallest reassurance, was all I needed to calm my trembling nerves.

I reached down and laced my fingers through his, finding strength in the man who had always needed me to be his rock. Now he was slowly becoming my foundation.

We stepped together over the threshold, and I stopped, looking around. I almost thought I could hear the echoes of my baby sister’s laughter in the air around me. The memories of a thousand mealtimes and movie nights. Years of holidays and those infinitesimal moments that make up a life. They were everywhere. All around me. Threatening to drown me in the agony and joy of remembrance.

It was the same house but different. The furniture was all as I remembered, though it looked as if the walls had received a fresh coat of paint sometime recently. But the atmosphere was what had changed. It felt . . . empty.

The heart, the love, the center of this home had disappeared. It was a shell of the happy place I remembered as a child. It had been buried in the ground with my sister.

I hated it.

It seemed wrong that three years later, we were still imprisoned by our grief that had almost destroyed us. I looked at my mother, and she was straightening the cloth runner on the dining room table. She looked edgy and uneasy with my being here, even though she had requested that I come.

For the first time since my sister’s death, I allowed myself to let go, just a tiny bit, of the anger and resentment that had taken up a painful residence inside me. I was tired of being the emotionally disconnected, righteously furious woman who felt wronged by her parents and betrayed by a sister who had hidden secrets that had ultimately killed her. Holding on to that was exhausting.

Maxx still held my hand tightly in his. His eyes scanned the space I had once inhabited, and he appeared to be taking it all in, though his face revealed nothing.

I wondered what he was thinking. Did this conjure memories of his own family? Would this trigger something dark inside of him?

Before I could start to panic at that thought, my mother finished her fretting and turned back to us. “I really wish you had told me you were coming. I haven’t even made up your room.” She inclined her head toward Maxx. “I hope you’re comfortable with sleeping on the couch. Aubrey’s father and I aren’t those liberal parents that are okay with their daughter sharing a bed with a man while unmarried.” I covered my snicker with a cough. I found my mother’s stern words humorous. It felt good to laugh instead of becoming angry at her blatantly judgmental tone.

Maxx cleared his throat and gave me a sideways look before turning back to my mother and her pursed lips. “Yes, ma’am. I would never expect that. The couch is fine.”

My mother nodded her head into the living room. “You can leave your stuff in there.” Then her eyes flickered to me and the hard set of her mouth softened slightly. “Aubrey, let me take you up to your room.”

“I know where my room is, Mom,” I pointed out, not sure I was ready to be alone with her.

There it was again, that flash of hurt that was there and gone before I could be sure I had seen it at all. She looked as though she wanted to say something. I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect. In the last few years, our interactions were few and fraught with tension and unresolved bitterness. But right now, while those feelings were still there, it seemed they were being smothered by something else.

Tentative hope.

“Okay, then. Well, I’ll go put some coffee on. Come down after you drop your things in your room.” Then she was gone, and I took my bag from Maxx, who seemed unsure as to what to do. I knew I was putting him in an extremely awkward position. It was unfair of me to lean on him like this when he was only just learning how to cope with his own issues.

But I needed him. I needed to be able to rely on him.

Maybe I was testing him. Testing us. Testing the strength of this new relationship we were foraging for ourselves. I wanted to see if we’d shatter or whether we could survive the weight of the baggage of both of us.

Looking into his eyes, I wasn’t entirely sure where we’d end up. Broken and bleeding, or strong and together. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked. It was on the tip of my tongue to say no. To go it alone, as I’d forced myself to for a long time now.

“Okay,” I said, my voice cracking slightly.

We climbed the stairs, and I could smell the brewing coffee wafting from the kitchen. A smell that should have been comforting and familiar, but seemed lost in the deafening silence of the house around me.

Once I reached the landing I started to head down the hallway and hesitated the barest of seconds as I passed a room with the door closed.

“Jayme’s room?” Maxx asked, picking up on my unspoken panic.

I nodded and continued forward. I pushed open the door leading to the room I had slept in for the first eighteen years of my life and was sucked through a time warp.

I looked around in complete wonder as I took in all the ways the space hadn’t changed. I had truly believed that by now my parents would have boxed up my stuff and put it in the attic. Maybe turned the room into an office or used it for storage. Given the less than civil relationship we had endured, I hardly expected them to hold on to anything that was mine.

They had been clutching madly to the threads of their dead daughter’s life, so I figured they wouldn’t have enough room for what was left of mine.

I was completely wrong.

“It’s the same,” I mused, turning in a circle, taking in every detail of the room I had forgotten about.

“You had a serious thing for pink, huh?” Maxx asked, fingering the frilly drapes covered in pink polka dots.

“I was a different person,” I said softly, walking to my dresser and picking up a framed photograph.

It was the picture of Jayme and me after she had given me the silver cuff bracelet. My sister’s arm was flung around my neck, and we wore identical toothy grins.

I ran my finger along the smooth and dust-free glass, wishing I could touch my sister’s face one more time.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said the two of you looked alike,” Maxx said, looking over my shoulder at the photo.

I glanced back at him and smiled. “Yeah, but she was prettier.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, Aubrey,” Maxx murmured, placing a soft kiss to the side of my neck before resting his chin on my shoulder, his arms wrapping around my middle. I pressed back against him, appreciating his solid warmth.

“You guys look happy,” Maxx observed.

“We were.” I put the picture down and turned in Maxx’s arms, twining my wrists around his neck. “Thank you for being here. I don’t think I could have done this on my own,” I whispered.

“You don’t ever have to thank me. I’m glad to be here for you. You’ve been my rock for so damn long, it’s about time I returned the favor.” I reached up on my tiptoes and touched my lips to his.

He clutched me tightly and opened his mouth under mine. Our tongues stroked and teased as we deepened the kiss. It was so easy to get lost in Maxx. Even here, in the middle of my childhood bedroom with my mother just downstairs.

Maxx’s fingers wove through my hair, and I pressed myself against the length of him, wishing I could disappear inside of him.

“Whoa, hang on a sec,” Maxx said breathlessly, pulling back. His face was flushed, and his eyes were bright. “I don’t think getting you naked would endear me to your parents. And if you don’t stop right now, that’s exactly what will happen,” he warned lightly.

I smiled. “Okay, later though.” I kissed him one last time before taking a step back.

“We should go back downstairs, I guess,” I said, feeling the heaviness in my chest return.

“Yeah, we should,” Maxx agreed, giving my hand a squeeze.

My dad had come home in the few minutes I had been upstairs, and I wondered whether my mother had called him.

Dad looked as though he had aged twenty years. His hair had turned completely gray, and his face was lined and tired. Gone was the strong, always smiling man of my youth.

“Hi, Dad,” I said in a small voice. Dealing with my dad had in some ways been harder than dealing with my mother.

Maybe because the disapproval and shame were absent from him. From my dad, there was nothing.

After Jayme had died, he had retreated from me completely, and it was as though, for him, I no longer existed.

And that hurt, perhaps more than my mother’s coldness.

“Aubrey,” he said, with a gentleness I hadn’t heard in years. And then he did the most surprising thing. He walked across the kitchen and enfolded me in a tobacco-scented hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said quietly into my hair. It had been so long since I had been hugged by my father. And I had missed it. A lot.

I felt like crying, but wouldn’t. Not now.

I pulled back, putting some distance between myself and the man who had raised me. “Still smoking that pipe, I see,” I commented, trying to smile but finding that my mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

My dad’s smile was just as rusty. “Busted.”

“I keep telling him to quit. To try one of those e-smokers, but you know how stubborn he is,” my mom spoke up, fixing several cups of coffee.

I wanted to argue that I didn’t know how stubborn he was. Not anymore. The truth was that these people in front of me had become strangers.

Maxx came forward and held out his hand. “Hello, Mr. Duncan, I’m Maxx Demelo. Nice to meet you, sir,” he said politely.

My father looked surprised to see him but shook his hand. “And you are?” my father prompted, his brows furrowing.

I grabbed Maxx’s hand and pulled him close. “He’s my boyfriend,” I answered.

My dad’s smile slipped, and a silence rose between us.

I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say or do.

“Let’s take our coffees into the living room,” my mother interjected, waving her hand toward the hallway. She handed me a steaming mug, and this time my smile came without effort.

“You kept it,” I mused, holding it up to see the faded blue writing. Maxx peered over my shoulder.

“That’s pretty funny,” he chuckled, indicating the OCD mug Jayme had given me all those years ago.

“Yeah, it is,” I said in agreement.

“Are you coming?” my mother asked, already in the hallway.

Maxx cleared his throat. “If it’s okay with you, I need to run to the store and grab some things I forgot to bring.” I frowned at him.

He met my eyes. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, and I felt a momentary panic at the thought of being left alone with my parents. Maxx was my buffer! He couldn’t leave!

“Of course. There’s a Target just off the highway,” my mom offered.

“I saw it as we came into town, I think I can get there.” Maxx smiled. My parents went on to the living room, and I rounded on my boyfriend.

“You can’t leave me here with them! What the hell, Maxx?” I demanded in an angry whisper.

Maxx kissed my forehead. “You need to talk to them . . . alone. Give yourself this time with your parents, Aubrey. Trust me when I say if you don’t you’ll regret it.” His eyes were filled with pain, and I knew he was thinking of his own parents, whom he’d never be able to talk to again.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Do this for yourself.” He buried his nose in my hair and held me tightly for a moment before pulling away.

“Can I have your keys?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“Don’t drive over twenty-five miles an hour and make sure you brake for all stop signs,” I instructed, dropping the keys into his hands.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of your baby,” he laughed.

He kissed me one last time and gave me a slight push toward the living room. “Now go and talk to your parents.”

“We were cleaning out Jayme’s room and we’ve put some things aside that we thought you’d like to have,” my mother said after I joined them in the living room.

I felt awkward and uncomfortable sitting on the same sofa that had been there since I was a kid. The frayed arms had worn over the years.

My mom passed me a shoebox, which I took gingerly.

“It took us a long time to sort through her things. We had been putting it off, neither of us willing to do it,” my dad said, taking a sip of his coffee. After his initial hug, he now seemed almost reserved.

I took the lid off the box and looked down into the random treasures from my sister’s room that my parents had collected. I pulled out a ratty, pale pink teddy bear that sat on top. Why in the world would my parents give me Mr. Swizzle? My sister had slept with this ugly thing until she went to high school. And I suspected she hid him under her pillow after that, still holding him while she slept.

“Uh . . . thanks?” I held the bear in my hand, not sure what else to say.

My mother let out a tense laugh. “You don’t remember, do you?” she asked. I frowned.

“I don’t remember what?”

My parents exchanged a wistful look, and my mom shook her head. “Of course you wouldn’t. You were so young. But you picked that out for Jayme when she was a baby, just before we brought her home from the hospital. Your dad took you shopping for a welcome-home gift for her, and you insisted on Mr. Swizzle. Jayme slept with it every night after you gave it to her. When she was in her crib, we’d put it in the corner and she’d stop crying. It worked every single time,” my mother told me, and I stared down at the worn stuffed animal in my hands.

“How did I not know that I was the one to pick it out?” I asked incredulously.

“It’s yours now. I think she’d want you to have it.” Mom wiped at her eyes, and I knew she was getting weepy.

I put the bear down, and my fingers began to hesitantly sift through the remaining items in the box. I realized that my parents had carefully chosen things that they knew would be meaningful to me.

I saw the coral necklace I had helped her pick out when we went to the beach one summer during middle school. We had argued over that particular necklace, but in the end I had let Jayme have it because she was my sister and I loved her more than a stupid piece of jewelry. Jayme had worn it all summer.

I found an old spiral notebook with a ripped cover, and I realized it was our “secret club” notebook. I thumbed through the pages to find my childlike scrawl and Jayme’s crude drawings as we detailed our secret missions and important secrets we didn’t want anyone else to know.

My mother leaned over me and reached into the box. “Do you remember this?” she asked, pulling something out and putting it in my hand.

“I knew she took it! That sneaky brat!” I gasped through a choked laugh. Lying in my palm was the silver locket on a chain my grandmother had given me for Christmas when I was ten. Jayme had pouted all day because she had wanted one, too.

Then two days later it had mysteriously disappeared, and I never saw it again. I had accused Jayme, but she denied it and I had gotten into trouble for insisting my sister was the culprit.

My mother shook her head. “I guess we owe you an apology for not believing you.” She smiled.

“I told you guys she took it! Where was it?” I asked, holding up the locket and attaching it around my neck.

“It was in a box at the back of her closet. I’m guessing she hid it and completely forgot about it. There were old Pokémon cards and chains made from Tootsie Pop wrappers as well,” my dad said.

“I can’t believe her. If she were here, I’d shake her silly,” I muttered. Our conversation died down, and we sat in heavy silence.

I put the lid back on the box and set it down at my feet. “Thanks for this. I appreciate it,” I said sincerely, surprised that they would think to do this for me, given our relationship the last few years.

“Aubrey, I know things have been hard since Jayme died—” my mother began.

“That’s a bit of an understatement, don’t you think?” I threw back at them, not able to keep the vicious spite out of my voice.

My mom bit down on her bottom lip and closed her eyes.

“What your mom is trying to say is we’ve been unfair to you. We haven’t been the parents that you needed us to be. It’s inexcusable and wrong. After Jayme died, we shut down, and in the process we lost not one but both of our daughters,” my dad said, leaning forward.

My eyes began to burn with unshed tears. How long had I thought about them with only resentment and bitterness at emotionally abandoning me when I needed them most?

“You hurt me, badly,” I whispered, staring down at my hands.

I startled at my mother’s hand touching mine. “We know. We were in so much pain, and it was easier to blame you than to accept our own culpability in what happened to Jayme.” I felt the first tears escape down my cheek, and I hurriedly wiped them away.

“But you weren’t wrong. I should have told you what was going on with Jayme. I should have done more to save her.” My voice was broken, and I could barely hear myself over the thudding of my heart.

My dad came to sit beside me, and my mother gripped my hand tightly between hers.

“That’s where we failed you, Aubrey. Because you were a child, too. We should never have put that sort of responsibility on you,” my father said firmly.

“But—” I began, but my mother cut me off.

“No! We were the parents. Not you. We should have seen what was going on with our daughter. That was our responsibility. And it was our guilt and shame that made it impossible for us to see how we were treating the only child we had left. I’m sorry, Aubrey.”

I let out a choked sob and couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.

“Why now? Where did this sudden realization come from?” I demanded, feeling my tears mix with years of anger.

“We were in the kitchen drinking our coffee one Saturday morning and made the decision to go through Jayme’s things. Neither one of us had been able to do it in all the years since she had been gone. But something clicked that Saturday, and we grabbed a few bags and went up to her room,” my dad stated.

“Going through her things brought up the hurt and pain all over again. And as we cried and laughed with each new discovery of who our daughter had been, we realized that we weren’t just missing Jayme, we were missing you, too,” my dad finished softly.

“Then we heard from your school about your suspension from the counseling program, and we knew that all of it was our fault. That we hadn’t been the parents we should have been. That we allowed you to go off to school only months after losing your sister, alone in your grief. We should have helped you, but we didn’t, and we will never be able to forgive ourselves.” My mom’s words were punctuated with her muffled sobs, and we cried together. My mother and me. And our mutual tears began to heal the brokenness inside of me.

Tentatively, my mother wrapped her arm around me, and I let her hug me, unable to hold on to the anger I had felt for so long. I needed this. I needed to feel the love that only my parents had ever been able to give me.

I had been defined by my grief and regret for years. They had weighed me down and pulled me under. It was time to let some of that go.

My dad’s arms came up to encircle both my mother and me, and I felt warm from the inside out.

They held me for a long time, my mother and me continuing to cry and my dad holding us both.