A Missing Heart (17 page)

“I’m going to this rehab place for a while,” she says, taking a second to look at each of us. “AJ, will you be able to handle Gavin on your own?” I could say so much in response to this question, but it isn’t necessary.

“We’ll be okay. What’s important is that you get well so we can continue our lives peacefully,” I tell her, trying to convince myself that this will be the outcome.

The forced smile disappears from Tori’s mouth, and she swallows against what sounds like a dry throat.

With no response from Tori, her mom chimes in with, “AJ has quite the support system. You know you can always count on us too, AJ.”

After a day from hell, I head home, alone, without my wife, to an empty house. Hunter has taken Gavin home with him and I am sitting at my kitchen table in front of a chocolate cupcake resting on a small dessert plate. Despite everything horrible that occurred today, I need a brief timeout for my little girl.

I carefully place a candle in the center of the cupcake, light it, and make a wish. “Happy Birthday, kiddo. Your dad loves you—I hope you know that. I wish you were here. I wish I could hug you. I wish I could see what is probably the most beautiful smile in the world. I wish I could see how much you must look like your mom.” I blow the candle out and lean back into my chair, feeling the heaviness in my heart weigh me down just a little more.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Thirteen. I have a teenage daughter and it sounds almost impossible, seeing as your mom and I were teenagers when you were born. How have so many years passed since the day I held you in my arms—the first and last day I held you in my arms—the day I handed you over to two strangers that I hope have given you the life you deserve. 4,745, little girl—that’s how many days it has been. I miss you more today than I have the last 4,745 days because every day that passes feels like I’ve walked another mile away from you.

WAKING UP TO
the one-year anniversary of one of the worst days in my life is preventing me from opening my eyes. Is she thinking about it too—the night she tried to end her life? Whenever we mention anything about last year, I’m afraid of setting her off and triggering another breakdown. I don’t think I was responsible for what happened that day, but I never did get more information out of her…nothing other than some old memories popping in and out of her head, causing her turmoil. We live with secrets—she with hers and me with mine. Though, my secret seems small compared to the Pandora’s box she keeps hidden within the confines of her mind.

“Good morning,” she says with a hoarseness to her voice. “Can I make you something for breakfast before you leave for the day?”

“Mmm, I think I might love some French toast if you’re up to it,” I tell her as I open my eyes slowly. A sense of relief fills me to see her calm and “normal” demeanor upon waking up today.

“You got it. Gavin seems to love French toast too.”

“I’ve noticed that,” I tell her, trying to act as normal, as normal can be here. “What are your plans today?” The words coming from my mouth feel like the same words I uttered last year on this day. Everything started so normal, then it erupted into an earth-shattering event.

“I’m meeting my mom for lunch, and I have a few errands to run. I was going to clean out a couple of the closets if I have time, but we’ll see.” I’ve noticed that she constantly plans to keep busy. She rarely sits down to turn on the TV or the computer. She has been this way since she was released from rehab. There’s nothing wrong with it, but sometimes it stresses me out at night when she can’t sit down and relax. Although I’d rather endure life like that rather than the alternative, I suppose. “Why do you look so nervous?”

I pinch my lips and shake my head. “I’m not,” I lie.

“I know what today is, AJ. Let’s just not focus on it, okay?”

“Okay,” I agree, placing my hands up in defense.

Moving through the motions of eating breakfast and getting ready for work, I say very little. I typically say very little. I’m scared to say too much. It’s as if I’m stuck in this spinning wheel of emotions, and every day things feel a little more claustrophobic. The person I was two years ago seems like a distant memory of an acquaintance I once knew. It’s making me question what I’ve done to myself, while trying my hardest to be a dam in front of a waterfall—one that’s continuously flowing over the unbreakable barrier. The constant thoughts make me feel scared of drowning in the middle of my surroundings.

I take my lunch from the fridge, grab my coat, kiss Gavin goodbye, and leave without another word. This is our routine. We never expected our pasts to be such an integral part of our present and futures, or we would have known that someday we’d eventually have to stop talking.

Almost the moment the cold air hits my face, the tension in my shoulders, chest, and head lessens. I can breathe a little easier and a twinge of happiness finds me. I often remind myself of Hunter and the way he was during the years after Ellie died. With the general mood in the house, it feels like someone did die.

The job site is a little farther into town than our normal locations, but it’s a three-thousand-square-foot house needing hardwoods in every room. Since it’s just Hunt and I, we’ve been at it all week. Normally, Hunter is at the jobs before I am since he has to get the girls to the bus stop at a sickeningly early hour in the day but this morning, his truck isn’t in the driveway when I pull in. He must be running late today. Weird.

I hop out of the truck and bring my tools in to set up, and as always, Mom is calling me. She waits until I leave the house most mornings and takes the time to check in and see how I’m coping.
Coping
. That’s what she refers to my living situation as now. I’m just coping with the aftermath of a mental disaster.

“Hey, Mom, I’m just walking inside of this gigantic cluster—”

“AJ,” she says abruptly.

“I didn’t say it, Ma,” I laugh. She loathes my cussing. I have to let it all out when Gavin isn’t in earshot, but she still can’t deal with it. I explained it’s just a form of release but it still doesn’t fly.

“It’s not that,” she says. Listening to her speak, I realize something is going on.

“Is everyone and everything okay?”

“Yes, everyone is…well, maybe you should be the judge of that,” she continues.

“What are you talking about?” I drop my toolbox down by the front door as I dig around for the spare key I have in my pocket. “What’s going on, Mom?” She tends to be a little over dramatic, and I’ve become accustomed to her long, drawn out explanations for Hunter’s daughter having a sore throat or Dad’s back going out. She always makes it sound like someone is on their deathbed, but there’s a different inflection in her voice this time, and I can’t put my finger on what it could possibly be.

“We had a visitor this morning,” she begins, talking softly into the phone. I look down at my watch, verifying that it’s only nine. What visitor would be stopping by before nine?

“A visitor? Like a delivery guy?” I laugh. “Mom, what’s going on? Spit it out.”

“Hunter’s here now. Maybe…can you put that job on hold for a few hours?”

“What? Why is Hunter there?” What the hell is going on?

“I called him,” she says.

“Mom, you’re starting to worry me. Can you give me something to go on here, please?”

I hear the receiver of the phone rustle against something, and I’m quick to realize it’s the phone being passed over to someone. “AJ,” Hunter says. “Get on over here for a bit. We’re ahead of the schedule with that house anyway, so we have some time to spare.”

“What is going on, man?” I demand with anger. “What’s with the guessing games?”

“We’re not going to get into this over the phone.” I hang up on Hunter, because now I’m getting pissed. I pick my toolbox back up, carry it over, chuck it into the bed of my truck and hit the road, going way faster than I should. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what would be so important that I need to leave the job, or for the fact that they won’t tell me what’s going on over the phone.

It’s a good twenty minutes before I make it to Mom and Dad’s, and I find a white BMW X6 in the driveway, situated in front of Hunter’s truck. We don’t know anyone with a vehicle that expensive. It must be a salesman or something; although, I’m not sure what would be so important about that.

I get out of the truck, letting the door slam behind me as I make my way up to the front door. Letting myself in, I walk through the foyer and into the family room where I hear—happy voices.

When I round the corner, it takes less than a minute to piece everything together—who I’m looking at.

Everyone is staring at me, and I’m confused, but at the same time, I’m not confused. “Wha— Uh, oh, oh my God. Holy—wow…Cammy?” The name feels unfamiliar leaving the tip of my tongue. I have tried my hardest to forget about her. I have tried my hardest not to mention her name or wonder what she’s doing, who she’s with, if she is happy, and if she thinks about me as much as I think about her.
Damn, she’s fucking gorgeous.
She was beautiful and hot, every dude’s living dream, when we were in high school, but now she’s like some elite goddess. Maybe that’s not the right phrase, but I don’t know if I have the words in my vocabulary to describe what she looks like. The golden brown waves she once had now have streaks of burgundy tones. Her lips are covered in red, her lashes are darker than black, which match her dress pants that contrast with the stark white shirt she’s wearing. Heels. Cammy never wore heels. But the ones she has on now must be at least four inches high.

She stands up, showcasing her perfectly toned and slim body, then offers a hesitant grin. “AJ,” she says softly.

“Wow.”
Wow, as in, you look like a million bucks and I have torn jeans, a white shirt that I might have shrunk in the wash last week, and a hairstyle that needed a haircut three weeks ago.
“Yeah, I look like ass,” I laugh.

She shakes her head, and her smile grows wider. “That’s not what I was going to say,” she replies, through a gentle laugh.

“And we’re going to give you two some time to catch up,” Hunter says, pulling Mom off the couch. He needs to be pulling Dad up too, because he’s sitting there, happier than a pig in mud, with his arms crossed over his chest and his left leg draped over his right. Dad lives for this shit. I don’t know why he doesn’t plant his butt down in front of the TV and watch soaps with Mom all day. At least that way, he’d get his fill of drama.

It takes a minute for the three of them to clear out of the room, leaving Cammy and I standing toe to toe.

“It’s been a long time,” I tell her.

“You look, geez, you filled out,” she says through nervous laughter.

“Yeah, I work out,” I joke, curling my bicep. I’m fooling around, but she’s biting down on her bottom lip. Okay, she shouldn’t do that.
Please, stop doing that
. How has it been so long, and at the same time it feels like no time has passed.

“I’m sorry I cut things off cold turkey,” she says, referring to our conversation before I left for Cancun. When I returned, I knew I had made a huge mistake and realized I wasn’t ready to give up the fight. She was, though. Cammy never answered another one of my calls again. “I had to, or it would have made things really hard.”