“What the fuck am I going to do?” I asked, in hopes she had the answer.
“I guess that’s for you to decide,” she replied, stroking her fingers through my hair.
“What do you think I should do?” I wrapped my arms around her waist, holding on tight to the only anchor I’d ever known.
“Well,” she went on, pressing her chin to the top of my head, “if you really want my opinion …”
“I do.”
“Then, I think you should take all that pent-up anger and frustration that you’re no longer wasting on us, and put it toward the real battle,” she said, hugging me tighter.
I sighed exhaustedly. “It’s too late. They’ve already signed the papers,” I told her, shaking my head and still unable to believe that this was happening. “I just don’t fucking get it. He’s been doing so well these past couple of months. Why the fuck would they still think this needs to happen?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted in a hushed tone that reverberated in my ear. “But it’s not too late, Blake. It’s never too late, as long as you’re still able to fight. And Jake is worth fighting for.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“AUDREY, YOU DON’T need to be here,” I muttered in the radiologist’s waiting room. “I’m fine. Go shopping with your mother.”
“I’ll go shopping with my mom later,” she insisted, wrapping her arms around mine. “Besides, I like getting to spend more time with you.”
“You already spend a lot of time with me.”
“And yet, it never feels like enough,” she replied sweetly, before kissing my cheek.
I grumbled a reply as I heard my name being called. Picking my head up, I answered, “Yeah?”
The technician approached with a kind smile. He probably looked like that all damn day. Always smiling, through the good and the bad, delivering some optimism even in the crappiest of times. I could never survive in a job like this. I’m too real, too bitter.
“You sprained it, but there’s no break,” he said with a goodhearted nod. “Keep it wrapped up and use it sparingly. You can take some ibuprofen if the pain and swelling gets bad.”
“Got it,” I replied, nodding. “Thanks a lot.”
“Of course.” He turned his smile from me to Audrey and added, “Tell Ann I said hi, all right?”
Audrey grinned sweetly as she pulled her purse onto a shoulder. “Oh, I will. Have a great day, Jeff.”
“You, too,” Jeff said and turned toward the door from which he came. Then, with a look over his shoulder, he pointed a finger at me. “Oh! And no more punching refrigerators!”
I forced a chuckle, lifted my bandaged hand and replied sardonically, “Learned my lesson, Jeff. Thanks.”
We left the radiology building and stepped into a cold late-November morning. Audrey hugged my arm to her side and asked what I was going to do for the rest of the day while she hit the stores with Ann. I shrugged as I unlocked my car and replied, “I don’t know. Might go home and get some shit done.”
“What kind of shit?” she asked, climbing in.
“Well, someone’s been a bit of a distraction,” I shot her with a wink and she blushed, “so I’m a little behind on cleaning and laundry. Should probably do some of that.”
“You want me to come over and help?”
I narrowed my eyes as I started the car. “I’ve been cleaning and doing laundry for a long time. I really don’t need any help.”
“Yeah, I know,” she replied innocently. “I just didn’t know if you’d like the company, or um …”
I glanced at her with accusing eyes. “You’re afraid I’m gonna drink all the booze and really fuck up my hands.”
Audrey grimaced apologetically. “I’m sorry. I just know you’re hurting and I’m worried about you being alone.”
I’ve never been one to open up about my emotions. Hell, that was why I’d started receiving therapy from Dr. Travetti in the first place. To get it out and have an outlet. But Audrey was changing that. With her, I felt I could be open and honest, and so I replied, “It feels good to be worried about for once, but I’m fine. I swear.”
“Okay,” she said, almost satisfied, and I started the car.
***
The house suddenly felt hollow thinking there’d be no chance of Jake living here full-time. I never noticed that before, during the weekends when I considered the time away from him as a welcomed reprieve. But now, as I realized our regular time together was running out, the silence came to me as a scream before dying as a pathetic whimper in the pit of my chest.
I dulled the noisy quiet by keeping busy. I vacuumed the living room, swept the kitchen floor, and dusted the shelves. I loaded the washer and managed to fold some of Jake’s clean clothes with my busted hand. Two hours of chores flew by without too much thinking, but once there was nothing left to do and I sat down on the couch, the eerie hush came for me again.
Our pictures were everywhere—the drawing of the two of us and the photographs on the mantle. Jake’s puzzles were stacked on a shelf beside the TV, and his DVDs were on a shelf below that. Coloring books, board games, and buckets and buckets of Legos cluttered another set of shelves, and as I looked at all these things, I wondered how empty my house would be once it was all gone. How despairingly sad. How pointless.
This house had always been with Jake in mind, and without him in it, what was its purpose? It was home, but only together, in whatever capacity that meant. Without him, it would be a tomb.
“I can’t let them do it,” I said to no one. “I can’t let them fucking do it.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I grabbed my phone and dialed my father’s number. He was the more reasonable one. I could talk to him, apologize for my outburst last night and discuss things like an adult, like a man. And by the time he answered, the determination was buzzing through my veins.
“Blake,” he said curtly.
“Hey, Dad.”
He didn’t respond, probably thinking I was calling for Round Two, so I hastily added, “I’m not gonna fight with you.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.” His tone was just as flat as before.
Nobody said this battle was going to be easy, I told myself as I let loose a strained breath. “So, I’m sorry about last night. Mom caught me off-guard. I just wish she’d told me soon—”
“Your mother and I don’t have to tell you anything.”
My jaw gritted at the verbal blade held to my throat. “I know that. That’s why I’m apologizing—”
“You should be apologizing to your mother, not me. You really upset her last night.”
“Fine,” I replied, struggling to keep my cool. “Is she around? Put her on.”
“Let me see if she’ll talk to you.”
I forced my sardonic chuckle to remain locked in my chest as my father asked my mother if she had it in her to speak to me. I heard her reply but couldn’t make out the words, then Dad replied, “I don’t know what he wants.” They spoke about me like I was the last person they’d ever want to hear from. Like talking to me was a painful chore, like I was worth nothing and my existence was a burden.