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Adam didn’t look away. “It’s okay to let other people take care of you, you know.”
Michael laughed without any real humor to it. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Hmm. Well, at least now I know where Nick gets it.”
That pissed Michael off. “You think I should let other people ‘take care of us’? You think that would help? Let me tell you what happens when I try. When my parents died, they had people working for them. Good guys, I thought, who offered to help me figure out the business. Good guys who stole almost ten thousand dollars before I realized what was going on. Or how about when Nick and Gabriel were twelve and they snuck out of the house to be stupid, and they got caught. I asked a neighbor to come sit with Chris since it was the middle of the night. She was real helpful. She reported it to DFS. Told them my brothers were running wild. There are all kinds of people trying to help, but it always seems like they’re really just waiting around for me to f**k up.”
“I’m not waiting for you to f**k up.” Adam paused. “Just because you can’t trust everyone doesn’t mean you can’t trust anyone.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know.” Adam stood and moved toward the door. “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Michael turned to snap at him, because he couldn’t take any more emotion or uncertainty, and “helpful” commentary from a veritable stranger wasn’t all that welcome.
But Adam was already through the door, softly latching it behind him, leaving Michael sitting on the concrete, alone with his worries.
Hannah lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to slow her thoughts. She’d choked down a cup of coffee on the way home from the firehouse, knowing she’d have to be alert enough to get James to school, but now she was paying the price.
Some days her life was almost too surreal for examination. Six hours ago, she’d been performing CPR between burning houses during an earthquake. One hour ago, she’d been holding James close, inhaling his ever-present scent of sugar cookies and boy sweat, tickling him until he cried, “Mommy!” and collapsed in giggles on the front steps of his elementary school.
Then he’d gone through the double doors, and she’d walked back to her car, enduring the judgmental stares from the other mothers, most of whom were ten years older than she was.
When she’d been seventeen with an infant, she’d expected the stares. They validated a feeling she’d walked around with every day: shame.
Now, she wanted to scream at them all. I’m a good mother, too.
Some days she felt interminably lonely. Any friends she’d had in high school were finishing college now, looking at internships and getting ready to start their adult lives. Hannah had started her adult life five years ago, and she couldn’t relate to young women whose biggest dilemmas were how to get their first credit card or how to deal with a roommate who had loud sex at all hours of the night. But she also didn’t fit in with women whose days revolved around yoga class or desk jobs or picking up their husband’s dry-cleaning. She felt squarely smashed in between life cycles, trapped by a mistake of her own making.
A mistake she wouldn’t change for anything in the world.
She loved her son.
He just didn’t cure the loneliness.
Hannah picked up her phone and checked for a text from Michael. Nothing. He still hadn’t responded. Should she call? He was probably asleep by now.
She sent another text.
When you have a moment, please let me know you’re okay.
She clicked off the screen and set the phone on her nightstand, not expecting a response.
The phone rang almost immediately, and she snatched it up. “Hello?”
“Hey.” Michael. He sounded exhausted. His voice hadn’t lost the roughness.
“Hey. Did I wake you?”
A low sound, almost a laugh. “No.”
“Are you staying in a hotel?”
“No. Adam’s place. At least for the day. The guys needed to sleep.”
“Nick’s boyfriend? Are they all crashed on the floor?”
“Nah, he left. They’ve taken over all the furniture.”
