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I climb onto a stool at the kitchen island. “Luca’s brother and sister paid me a visit. I can’t go into a lot of detail, but all of that with Luca was a set up.”
My mother’s eyes widen in shock. “Oh, I knew it. Are they able to get him out of jail?”
“He’s already out.” I again thank the heavens above. The thought of what might’ve happened if he’d stayed there longer makes me cringe.
My mother gives me a blank stare.
“What?”
“Well then, where is he?”
“What do you mean? Home, probably.”
Her arms fall by her sides. “Jilly. Why isn’t he here with you?”
“Because, Mom. It’s not safe. The same people who set him up could track his whereabouts. He doesn’t want anything happening to us.”
Her face falls.
“Trust me. I’m so torn up about it.” My words quiver on my tongue as the emotions I’ve forced down all day wrap themselves around me like a wool sweater. “On one hand, I’m relieved he’s out and everything they said about him was wrong. But I feel guilty for judging him.” I leave out how awful I was with the messages I sent. “And now I’m brokenhearted that we can’t be together because it’s just not safe.”
My mother walks around the island and takes both of my arms in her hands. “Do you remember what I told you not long after Dillon died? You’d just had Truitt and were feeling so overwhelmed.”
“You said I needed to have faith. Be strong, do the right thing by my children, and have faith that everything will work out, in time.”
She nods. “Yes. I believe it as much today as I did back then.”
“Okay.”
“That doesn’t sound very optimistic.”
I give her a frustrated scowl.
“Jilly bean, you need to keep that pretty head up and believe good things are coming your way. If you keep focusing on all the negatives, you’ll continue to get more of the same.”
“Is this part of some sort of new age self-help conference you and your cronies are about to attend?”
She chuckles as she walks back over to the sink. “No. But now that you say that, I’ll have to do some research. I think a trip somewhere warm where we can all get our Zen on would be just the ticket.”
I come out of the bathroom, having showered and changed, and the sight of my empty bed causes me to stop short. There’s no little starfish in my bed. I immediately panic and run to Caleb’s room, wondering if he fell asleep on the floor playing with his Matchbox cars.
As I make it to his door, I crack it open wide enough to see him fast asleep in his bed. What kind of magician is my mother that she accomplished this? Is he feeling okay? I come closer to lay my hand against his forehead to check to see if he’s warm when I notice what he’s wearing.
Pulling his blanket down, I find he’s wearing an undershirt similar in length to the one of Dillon’s he used to wear. But I’m painfully aware there’s nothing of his father’s left here after I took those items to the donation box. I reach out, rubbing the material between my fingers. Hmm. This doesn’t feel like anything of his. Dillon only wore regulation Army issued apparel or clothing he purchased from the PX. The military retailer waslike a tax-free Walmart with everything from clothes to diapers to groceries. But I would’ve recognized this.
Out of the blue, a vision of Luca pulling the shirt over his head and hurling it into the corner of the guest room the night we slept together comes into view. But how had Caleb found it? Had he moved the furniture around during their fort building upstairs and spotted it?
I slump down onto my knees beside Caleb’s bed, running my fingers through his light brown curls. He looks so peaceful curled up in Luca’s shirt. Nothing like the restless sleeps of late.
Turning, I rest my head against his mattress.How do I do this?I want to keep all of us safe, but keeping our distance from a man who has taken up residence in our hearts seems equally as unhealthy. There has to be another answer.
Pushing myself up, I start to make my way back to my room when I hear crying. Rushing to Myla’s room, I see her body quaking under her covers.
“Baby, don’t cry. Did you have another nightmare?” Gazing down at my watch, it’s barely ten o’clock. It seems far too early for that. I move her damp hair away from her tear-streaked face before rubbing her back. She wasn’t screaming this time. There’s a little improvement, I guess.
Myla rolls over and sits up, clinging tightly to me.
“Honey, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”
