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My cruel words and his shocked face were burned into my memory. I had to apologize for what I’d said. At the time, I was so hurt and angry. Betrayed that he’d never told me he was that little boy in the police station. That he had come to my birthday every year. That he’d kept my Yoda plushy. But Vic didn’t deserve to be accused of something so horrific. Something he fought against with every part of his being.
What had I done? I swallowed back the sob.
I pretended I was okay. Going through the movements of living for Jackson’s sake, but that’s all they were. Movements. Vacant and empty.
Jackson settled Waffles on the bed and reached over and placed his finger on the tattoo of his name on my wrist. When I’d first shown it to him, he couldn’t stop touching it and grinning.
“It’s permanent,” he said.
“That’s right. It means I’ll love you forever, Jackson. And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”
He looked at me. “Then you can tattoo Vic’s name on your other wrist, so he will be forever, too, and he has to come back, and you won’t be sad anymore.”
Oh God. Tears pooled in my eyes, and I bit the inside of my cheeks so hard, I tasted blood. I loved Jackson more than words could ever express. He was in my soul. My every breath.
Jackson didn’t wait for a response, but then I didn’t have one because I was trying not to cry. He climbed off the bed. “I’m going to put Waffles away now.”
I sat up and glanced at my cell on the nightstand. I don’t know how many times I’d picked it up to text Vic again, but I never did because I knew him. I knew he’d never miss a text. He wasn’t careless or forgetful. He’d read it, and if he had wanted to respond, he would’ve.
“Okay, little man. I’ll be down in a minute to make you some breakfast.” I had to think about what we were going to do. Where we’d live because we couldn’t stay at Hettie’s. Yesterday, Ethan suggested we stay at his cottage on the lake, and as peaceful as that sounded right now, I didn’t want to take Jackson away from his friends, and Hettie, and the others. Besides, I really loved playing at Zero Crow.
Jackson stood beside the bed. “It’s okay, you don’t have to. You can be sad longer if you want. Uncle Ethan is making me waffles.”
My chest squeezed. Uncle. “Yum, waffles.”
Jackson grinned. “We’re going to fill all the holes with syrup and whip cream and make pictures.”
Ethan and I used to do that with Mom. I either did a music note or a horse, and Ethan did a hockey stick or a puck. “What are you going to make?” I asked.
“Aquaman. And the syrup is going to be the ocean.” Of course he would do Aquaman. He carefully shifted Waffles to one hand and opened the door. He turned to look at me. “I can do one for you, too, Mom. I can do a guitar.”
The thought of eating syrupy waffles made my stomach lurch. “That would be perfect, sweetie. I’ll come down in a bit.”
The bedroom door shut behind him, and I reached for my cell on the nightstand. There was a text from Brin, letting me know Calico would cover my Wednesday and Thursday shifts and, if I wanted, Garret would take my Friday-night gig. I guessed Addie or Hettie had told her I needed a few days off.
There was a text from Jaeg asking if I needed anything. And strangely, one from Saint that said, “You now have my number.”
None from Vic.
I tossed the sheets aside and climbed out of bed. Then I got dressed, brushed my teeth, and went downstairs for picture waffles.
Macayla
Sunlight flooded the room as Hettie ripped open the velvet curtains. I dragged the covers over my head to block it out, along with the glaring truth that I still hadn’t heard from Vic.
Five days had passed, and it felt like a lifetime. I wondered how I’d lived for twenty-four years without him. In some ways, I guessed I actually hadn’t. Because he’d always been there. In the shadows.
I peeked open one eye to see Hettie striding across the room, wearing a bright blue, 1950’s poodle skirt with a shiny black belt and a white blouse.
She turned to face the bed, her hands on her hips. “If Vic saw you right now, he’d be furious with me for letting you wallow for so long. Come on. Up we go. We’re going bowling.”
My heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name.
“Let’s go,” Hettie said. “Get your ass out of bed. Come on. Hop in the shower and then come downstairs for something to eat before we go. Jackson is jumping up and down like a kangaroo with a mouse in its pouch.”
I snorted. It was Friday, and Jackson had a PD Day today, and I guessed that was why he was excited. I was going into work tonight for my gig because I wanted to play. No. I needed to play music. Jackson had been the one to show me that when he brought me my guitar yesterday after school. We sat on my bed, and he listened to me play, and afterward I showed him where to place his fingers to play a few chords, just like my mom had taught me at his age.
The yellow-and-white sunflower duvet was tugged off me, jerking me from my thoughts. “You’ve had long enough to feel sorry for yourself. Up.”
