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But I at least had the option of walking away from the chaos and burying my life in work. Tyler, my precious son, my own flesh and blood, was left to deal.
Any ounce of happiness lingering around the corners of my life prior to that day slunk away in shame after it.
Chapter 20
Hollie
Tapping my foot in front of the large picture window in the front room, I check the time on my phone. They should be home any minute.
Um, John’s house, that is.
More than an hour ago, Jacob climbed into the passenger seat of John’s Yukon and rode away, my car’s battery situated on an old towel in back. On the driveway, hood up, my ugly car looks like a yawning beast. An old, decrepit one whose time is almost up.
And there’s another shoe to eventually drop.
I wander to the center of the living area and peruse the lone bookcase in the room. The few items on the shelf are arbitrarily placed, not for decoration as much as for storage, finders of a convenient horizontal surface for random items to assemble themselves. A pile of restaurant receipts. Bills. Loose change. A pocket knife. A dusty, cinnamon-scented jar candle I can’t for the life of me imagine John buying, much less burning.
On the bottom shelf there’s a leather Bible set atop a spiral notebook. John’s name is embossed on the black cover. I’d take it presence as a sign of spiritual interest, but the inch of dust indicates the opposite.
I return to the window. John’s shiny black vehicle rolls onto the blacktop, and the guys get out. Jacob leans against the driver’s side while John disappears into the garage, returning with some kind of tool. He hunches over the engine compartment of my car, staring into it. He says something to Jacob, who then gets a brand new battery from the rear of the SUV.
I love my son with my whole heart, but my eyes won’t let John go. No matter what he does or what he wears, his presence commands attention. Respect. Doesn’t demand—it simply is who he is. The sagging, faded jeans topped with a loose t-shirt over sculpted arms can’t detract from the distinguished air and aura of responsibility.
I wonder when he acquired it. According to yesterday’s tale, he wasn’t always this way.
I tap theJat my throat. Maybe there’s yet hope for my unsettled son.
John hands Jacob a wrench, points, and speaks. Jacob fits the tool onto something in the black hole and begins cranking. Spreading his hands along the front of the engine compartment, John watches, calmly directing and occasionally speaking. My heart weeps for my son without a father.
This father without his son.
Ugh. I bat at my eyes. Two nights of thin sleep are catching up to me.
If I weren’t horribly exhausted, I’d go out there and learn how to do the job myself. John won’t be around the next time this happens.
Who knows? Jacob might not either.Lord, please let him be in college and not in jail.
I press my hands to my cheeks. The last couple days have been eventful enough to almost make me forget the reason Jacob and I inflicted ourselves on John in the first place. I pace away, my knuckles crimping. Can I just stay here forever in this cocoon of safety and play pretend?
My car and both of the guys are gone when I return to the window. A test drive? Is that necessary for a battery issue?
Presumably, they’re close by and will be back any moment. In the kitchen, I open the pantry door. The least I can do is find something to fill stomachs when then return.
It’s nearly noon. Normally at this time on a Sunday, I’d be either frying up grilled cheese sandwiches for Jacob and me after church or I’d be serving them at Charlie’s. My glance returns to the dusty Bible. Where does John spend his Sunday morning when we’re not here to disrupt his routine?
I shut the empty pantry. What does he eat, anyway?
I settle onto the sofa and try to read on my phone.
Finally, the front door opens. Jacob follows John inside, sipping from a large cup and holding a big fast-food bag. John’s strong hands are wrapped around two lidded coffee cups.
He hands me one with a greasy thumbprint on it. “This is yours. I wasn’t sure what you’d want. Jacob said you like sweet stuff and chocolate, so I took a guess.” He removes his wallet and keys from his jeans. They clank onto the table.
I sniff the steam wafting from the small opening.Mm. “You didn’t have to do that.”
His rich brown eyes frown at me. “You’re welcome, Hollie.”
The cup warms my hands, and I grin. “Thank you, John.”
