Bombora (15 page)

Nate

E
VERYTHING
is broken.

It’s hard to feel otherwise when the cut on my lip scabs over and my jaw bruises a gross purple from Phel’s fist, harsh reminders each time I look in the mirror or see worry written across my brother’s face in response to my injuries. He looks at me like a concerned parent whose kid has fallen in with the wrong crowd, so fraught and tense that I could scream, like I really need another layer of stress added to what I’m already feeling. The pain itself is no big deal, little more than a twinge when I talk or chew, but that isn’t what I mean, not what freaks me out. I feel disaster closing in each time one of Hugh’s sideways glances shows doubt in the lies, suddenly numbering in the double digits, that I’ve been forced to tell. Since I found Phelan living here in Cardiff, they seem to be multiplying with terrifying speed; damned if each one doesn’t hurt more than a hundred of Phel’s punches or a thousand of his kisses.

But what’s the alternative? Do I tell Hugh,
Hey, buddy, sorry for the recent weirdness but—your best friend? I’ve been fucking him this whole time and single-handedly ruined his life, along with my family’s
? I don’t think so. Something tells me Phel wouldn’t be down with this course of action either.

I write off my injuries as an accident with the surfboard—amateur’s misfortune, blah, blah—but aside from feeling like Hugh sees straight through the bullshit, I can’t believe I’m back here. The reason I came to Cardiff is because I was sick of secrets, sick of feeling my whole life was a lie. I’m supposed to be rebuilding, escaping the shit that piled up past the rafters in Ohio, finding a way to set things right with my family—and if I’m lucky, myself. Instead it seems to be happening all over again, like I’m stuck in a budget remake of
Groundhog Day
or some shit.

For days I can think of nothing but Phelan’s mouth, the way it burned into me so hotly my lips felt branded after. I wish I knew why he did that, why he turned so suddenly and took off like the freaking hounds of hell were on his tail. Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled at him. Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed him back or tried to say
I love you
, but even if I regret the method of delivery, I don’t feel guilty for saying what needed to be said. Phel ripped himself free of my life before I could tell him any of that stuff. I guess I didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity a second time, and desperation does funny things to people.

Weirdly enough, I find a strange source of preoccupation in wishing he’d honor my request to talk to Hugh. Knowing Phel, he’ll come around on his own eventually—my brother is difficult to ignore for long, and pretty irresistible once he’s decided he likes having you around, the spoiled brat—but in the meantime I can tell the radio silence is getting to Hugh. Maybe getting to them both. Phel never had many friends to begin with, not even in Chicago, and I think it would be good for both of them to get over this hump and pick up where they left off. Even with the limited amount of time I’ve seen them together, I can tell they fit. They
like
each other, probably even more than Hugh and I would if we weren’t related. Easy friendships like that are hard to find. I won’t say I’m not jealous, because I am, but I’m not so much of an asshole I can’t see how good the friendship is for them both. I want them to have that, but haven’t got a clue how to help. My own life could stand some fixing first.

An answer of a sort comes about a week after the incident at the beach. I’m out walking Callie, watching her run back and forth across the sand after the stick I’ve been throwing, over and over, until my arm starts to hurt. Much like my brother, she is completely inexhaustible—despite the fact that I seem to have taken over her walks, the only time I’ve seen either of them tire is around each other, the pair as well matched as it’s possible for dog and human to be. She seems dismayed I don’t share Hugh’s boundless energy, but humors me as long as I keep throwing the stick. It’s a good specimen, as sticks go, heavy enough not to blow away in the strong coastal winds, but even with a dog of her size, it looks comically huge in her mouth. I’ve taken to throwing it like a javelin to conserve my strength for the next round.

My phone trills from the pocket of my cargo shorts as a crab or some other sea critter lures Callie into the surf. With one eye on the dog and the other on the caller ID, I almost drop the phone when I see Emilia’s name flash across the screen. For a moment my mind whirrs like a turntable with no record on it, around and around while nothing plays. We haven’t spoken in weeks, my wife and I, not since I announced I wanted a divorce. Although I’ve tried to call Liam plenty of times, needing to hear his voice as desperately as I want to see his face, Emilia has managed to intercept every call, making it perfectly clear she doesn’t want me talking to our son while the divorce proceedings are still being worked out. Does she think I’m gonna brainwash him or something? I’m sure I could push legal action over that, but the thought of dragging Liam even further into this mess makes me sadder than anything. I’ve already disrupted his life. Am I supposed to make him miserable too?

I plop down onto the sand when my knees start to feel a bit wobbly. Hands shaking, I answer the call. “Hello?”

“Dad?” Speak of the devil. The sound of that small, uncertain voice makes my heart clench so hard in my chest that I wince, fighting the knee-jerk urge to either drop the phone again or slam it shut in surprise, like I’m being punk’d in the cruelest way possible.

Thankfully, I do neither of these things, though I do take a moment to compose myself, easing the shakiness out of my voice as I reply, “Liam? Is that you?”

“Yeah.” Anticipating my question, he explains, “She went to the store. I know I’m not supposed to be calling you, but… I miss you a lot, Dad. Mom won’t tell me anything about what’s going on or why you won’t come home.”

So much for small talk. The sheer confusion in his voice makes my chest hurt more than if he’d accused me of abandonment. He wouldn’t be wrong, not really, but the thought of him alone, ignorant of why his home is in tatters, makes me angry and so, so guilty I can’t be there to make it better. Add to this the knowledge it’s my fault to begin with, and a watery grave starts to look pretty damn attractive.

Thing is, I have no idea what to say. Emilia and I aren’t getting divorced because we can’t stand each other—in fact, my opinion of her is pretty hard to beat. She’s protective, is all, the same way I’d be if our roles were reversed, and it’s not like there’s a road map for this one, at least not a good one. It would probably be a lot easier to take a page straight out of the annals of divorce court and say something disparaging, but I hate when couples turn ugly. The last thing I want is to say something out of line, make Emilia look like the bad person. She isn’t. I am. Liam deserves to know that.

But first things first. The phone might prevent me from giving my son the hug he so obviously needs, but I can still reassure him he’s not alone in feeling, well… alone. “I miss you too, kid,” I say gently. “I’ve been thinking about you every day I’m out here. Sorry I can’t be there right now.”

“Where are you? When are you coming back?”

“California. I took a drive out here to spend some time with your Uncle Hugh.” Realizing I’m putting off the inevitable, I take another deep breath and shift the phone to rest between my ear and shoulder so my hands are free. Needing something to hold on to, I push all ten fingers into the soft, beautiful sand, warm and silky between my knuckles, digging in deep until my bones ache from the pressure. “As it stands, I don’t know when I’ll be back, Liam. If I had it my way I’d be there now, but there’s some stuff I gotta work out with your mom before I can do that.” There’s an awkward pause. “How much has she told you?”

I hear Liam’s guilty, conflicted sigh. “I asked her if you guys are getting a divorce, since my friend Matt says it’s normal for dads to take off when parents split up.” By the time Liam has reached the end of his sentence, I can’t decide who I want to punch more—myself, or Matt. “Mom started crying when I said that, but she didn’t deny it.” Now I kind of want to smack Liam too, because seriously? Sometimes my kid acts like his sensitivity chip short-circuited in the bath. I know for a fact Emilia and I raised him not to go saying shit like that, even when angry, but I guess it’s not like we planned for this eventuality. He might be entitled to a free pass right now, but not if he’s going to start upsetting everyone in the process, or heeding bullshit at school he knows better than to listen to.

“Hey, hey,” I reassure him, gently chastising, “no one said anything about me not coming back, okay? This isn’t a permanent thing, believe me. Your uncle and I would kill each other eventually.”

Wincing at the empty promise, because who the hell knows what
this
is, I attempt to man up for real and tell it straight, talk to Liam like an equal and not a little kid. He deserves that much, not that I blame Emilia for trying to buy herself some time or not knowing what to say. Hell, it’s possible I’m about to screw the pooch myself, if my guess is wrong; I tend to overestimate people a lot, myself most of all.

“Listen, Liam,” I begin. “I’m not gonna lie and tell you this isn’t happening, because you’re old enough to understand relationships don’t always work out. People get divorced when the problems pile up too high, even if they still love one another. Your mom and I—we still care about each other a lot, but we’ve got issues that aren’t going to fix themselves, no matter how we go about trying to find a solution. The reason I left is because we both needed some time to accept that it’s over.” Breathless from saying so much all at once, I sigh, pausing to find out whether Liam is following along. I clench my hands a bit harder into the sand like it’s an impromptu stress ball. “Believe me when I say it has nothing to do with you. If I didn’t think it would make your life a living hell, I’d be there right now trying to patch things up. You know that, right?”

From the silence on the other end of the line, I know Liam is trying his best to parse what I’ve told him before he lets himself get angry. A fast temper is a trait we both share, but Liam has enough of his mother’s patience to make up for it. He’s been working through meltdowns on his own since the age of five. Maybe he’ll go off on his own later and rip something to shreds, but I can count on him to stay civilized until that point. Just in case, though, I prompt, “Liam?”

Finally I hear his voice emerge, small and tightly controlled. I almost don’t hear it over the crashing surf where Callie continues to play, oblivious. “Are you going to go live in another house?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, meaning,
Probably
.

He grunts angrily. “So what makes you think my life isn’t going to suck from now on anyway?”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy for any of us, buddy,” I sigh. “You’re right: it’ll probably suck like crazy for a while, but it’d be worse if you had to listen to your mom and I fight all the time. Remember what happened with your cousin Nick?” I ask, referring to Emilia’s sister’s kid. “He had to come stay with us before your aunt and uncle split up, ’cause the arguing was so bad. You know how much it used to upset him. Eventually we’ll find a way to live with the decision and help you live with it too. I know I speak for your mom when I say you’re our main priority, making you happy.”

“I’d be happy if you just stopped being stupid and got back together!” There it is, that first shout, the sound of tears harsh in his voice. My own eyes sting in sympathetic response, and even Callie looks up from where she’s digging in the wet sand, like she senses a change in the air. She starts to trot back toward me, making me swipe at my eyes in embarrassment before I remember she’s just a dog, and not much in the habit of judging grown men who cry in public.

“We can’t do that, Liam,” I tell him firmly.

He makes a frustrated noise like a wounded animal. I see Callie’s ears perk at the sound as she crawls forward on her belly, knowing someone is upset and trying not to be intrusive. She’s a good dog, and I’m kind of glad she’s here, so I won’t have to sit on the beach and cry by myself. A stupid friggin’ thought if there ever was one, but there it is.

“Why not?” he demands. “What’s such a big deal that you had to go all the way to California and leave us here, huh? If you still love Mom, you should be able to come back and
be here
. If you were around, you’d find a way to fix stuff again. I know it.”

Biting my lip, I stare down into Callie’s worried brown eyes—what I assume is worry, anyway—and stay silent for a long minute, trying, and failing, not to picture Liam crying over the phone. I don’t know what decides me in the end, but I realize I’ve made up my mind about what to say next even before my brain can catch up with my mouth. “Liam, can I tell you something secret?”

“Is it bad?” He sounds so afraid. My poor, terrified kid. I am officially the worst goddamn father on the planet.

“It’s….” I hesitate again. “No, it’s not bad. But it’s a lot of information, so I need you to listen closely and tell me if there’s something you don’t understand, all right? It’s okay if you don’t, so don’t feel embarrassed if you have to ask a few questions.”