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Oh God.
Now, I wanted the man who called himself Jeb to show up just one more time, if only to see what he knew about what my own mother had just told me.
After a long while, I could practically feel the shame, the guilt, and the self-loathing emanating off her like an odor. I imagined all the years she must have tortured herself, the punishment she must have meted out on her own head for decades. Carrying something like that around couldn’t have been good for her health—physical or mental.
“Mom, oh Mom,” I said, knowing she needed reassurance, which was only mine to give. “You couldn’t have possibly known. You couldn’t have had a clue. When he didn’t show up, you must have just thought you’d gotten unlucky with yet another man. I’m sure it didn’t occur to you that he was a predator or something horrible like that.”
“No. It never did.” She relaxed, but only a little. “Of course it never did.” She sat quietly for a while; she was thinking, wringing her hands. “I did try to follow up in the time after Jeb disappeared. Back then, there was no social media, so I had to learn to use the library and I searched property records. There was only one family in the whole area with the odd surname of Sgro and they were down the river, in Wellsville. I went to see them, and found an older woman, Kate, living with her mother in a big old house on the riverfront.” She shook her head. “They knew nothing. Never heard of Chris or Christopher, or whatever. The mother had come over from Sicily as a young girl, for an arranged marriage to a man who would die a few short years later. Most of their people remained in Sicily. It was a dead end. And so was me going around and talking—discreetly—to as many folks as I could.
“He was a ghost, I tell you. No one saw him. Hell, maybe that wasn’t even his real name.”
The exhaustion caught up with me all at once. It was as though it had been hiding in the wings these past few days. Having Mom here and trying to absorb her shocking revelation left me utterly drained. “I need to sleep.”
She nodded. “I understand. I’m worn out too.”
Neither of us made a move to go to our respective bedrooms. I think it was because she wanted to know I didn’t hold her innocent transgression against her.
She said, “Can you ever forgive me, Sammy?” Tears glistened in her eyes.
I stood, and she followed suit. I took her in my arms and whispered. “I already have. I love you.” I meant the words, although to be honest, I hadn’t completely absorbed them. “Now, you need to forgive yourself, okay?”
She pulled back, a sad smile raising the corners of her lips. “Thank you,” came out as little more than a sad whisper.
“We should both get some sleep.”
And this time we did head in the direction of beds and pillows. Just before she went into the guest room, I said, “Things are different now, what with the internet and all. Maybe we can find something out in the morning.”
“Maybe. Wouldn’t that be somethin’?”
I went into my room and closed the door behind me.
The room, lit only by the nightlight I’d plugged into a wall socket, was a dark comfort and a taunt, both at once. Marc should have been there, on the bed, his pillow propping up his head as he read a chapter from whatever book he was engrossed in. John Boyne, maybe?
But the emptiness of the bedroom made me feel both alone and lonely, two very different things. I snapped my fingers to tell Vito to hop up onto the bed. He did and then settled near Marc’s pillow, probably drawn by the lingering scent of him.
I undressed quickly, dropping my clothes to the floor under Vito’s watchful eye. I knew he was waiting for me to get under the covers, so he could burrow beneath the sheet and quilt and curl up next to me. It was routine, and I figured routine was more important than ever for the little guy.
I crawled into bed and waited until his warmth was flush against my own.
Just as I was drifting off, my phone sounded, indicating a text message coming through. I debated on just leaving it until the morning, but then I realized something. I had DO NOT DISTURB mode enabled, which meant other than Marc, Mom, and my boss at work, no one could really get through to me until 7 am.
I sighed, knowing it wasn’t Mom. Unlikely that work would be calling, too. I rolled over and snatched up the infernal thing off the nightstand.
What I saw there at first confused me, because I didn’t recognize the number. How would such a call come through? It was a 773 area code, so at least I knew it was from the northside of Chicago.
Hey, it’s me. I’m so sorry to worry you. I know my absence must be making you crazy and worse, scared. Don’t be. I can’t say much more right now other than I’m okay. And I will be okay. I need some time. To think. To reevaluate. To determine where the rest of my life should go.
Please understand.
Love, M.
I dropped the phone to the bed. I had questions. Since there was a number attached to the text, I tried calling it back.
Nothing. Just an automated voice with a generic, no-name message. Anyone could have sent it, right?
But why would they?
Why would they hint at midlife crises and time to think? Those reflected my thoughts and fears from earlier.
