Escalation Clause (4 page)

“I hate you.” She said into his tear-soaked shirtfront. “I really hate you.”

He looked up and saw his children, Blake and Sara, standing side by side, as eerily like twins as two people could be. Their arms were crossed, their eyes angry. He stepped back.

“I am sorry, to all of you. I’m here to beg your forgiveness. I love you so much, I…,” he gulped. Sara’s face stayed hard, but Blake’s eyes held something promising. “Son,” he held out a hand. Sara put out her arm to keep her brother from crossing the threshold over to him. “Sara, please.” His voice broke and he dropped into a chair on the small front porch. Blake was at his side instantly. Beth and Sara still stood, staring at him. “One more chance?” He meant it. “That whole bullshit scene you saw, Sara, was just that. Bullshit.”

“She came here you know. To our
house
.” Sara hissed. Her mother tried to shush her. “No. Mom he needs to know.”

“Jesus,” He groaned into his hands.

“Yes, well, she claimed she had your undying love. So, I informed her that you only had undying love for three people,” Beth spit out between clenched teeth, “your children and yourself.”

He looked up, his chest so tight he might have feared a heart attack if he didn’t know better.

She turned and went back inside. Sara followed her. Blake sat across from him. “You fucked it up royally, Dad. You know?”

“Yes, son. I do know.”

Beth reappeared holding glasses of ice water. “I do love you,” she stated matter-of-factly as she handed him one, as if talking about how much she loved lasagna, or watching football. He gripped her hand. Blake walked back inside. Matthew stood, wrapped her in his arms.

“I will never hurt you or the children again. I swear it, Beth. I truly do.”

“Fine.” She pulled out his embrace. “Dinner is at seven, and Blake needs help with his chemistry.” She looked over her shoulder. “You are on probation Matthew Thornton. Indefinitely. Don’t make me spend another night wishing I’d married….”

“Stop. Right there. I know. And you won’t ever have to do that again.” His heart still pounded at the sight of her and at the realization of how close he had come to ruining his entire life.

She scoffed and left him alone on the porch.

Chapter One

The day had a scary edge of unreality, tinged with a distinct blur of dreamlike crazy he could not shake. Jack sat on his patio, watched family and friends mingle around the large yard, murmuring under their breath, nibbling food and sipping drinks. He turned his head slowly, the effort taking so much out of him he was convinced he could hear his neck ligaments creaking.
Sara.
He needed to see her, to make sure she was okay. Well, actually just to lay his aching eyes on her—that was what he needed.

He spotted his friend Rob, slumped in a wheelchair. The man was gaunt after the transplant surgery, which had saved his life. He had defied doctor’s orders to be there, for Blake’s family, he claimed. Rob’s face was haggard, his eyes vacant until Lila appeared and put their son in his lap. He brightened then, and he held the boy close. Jack looked away; the emotion between those particular people at that moment was more than he could bear.

He glimpsed Suzanne, his old friend, and Blake’s one-time girlfriend. She was sitting holding a plate of uneaten food, staring into the middle distance. Craig Robinson had his arm around her, was whispering in her ear. She nodded, bit her lip. Jack saw a tear fall from her red-rimmed eyes. He looked away, the complex intertwining of his immediate world pressing down on him like a giant boulder.

His exhausted gaze rested on Sara’s parents. Matthew Thornton had been, was still, a strong personality. Tall, good-looking in his sixties, his presence compelled attention, kind of like Jack’s own, and probably why his wife’s father made few bones about despising his daughter’s choice in a husband. Any time spent with the retired, estimable Doctor Thornton was a personal exercise in frustration. Today, however, the man sat, shoulders slumped, staring at the ground. His wife, Beth, had not stopped crying for the better part of two weeks best Jack could tell. They were utterly undone; as well they would be. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the train wreck of his in-laws as they mourned the horrible, accidental death of their only son.

He closed his eyes for a split second, then opened them, and met the dark green gaze of his wife. Sara. Mother of his children. The woman he loved beyond life itself. Her gaze was flat, devoid of anything. She held Brandis, their infant son. “Can you…?” she held the boy out. “I need to…,” and she floated away. Her new habit of speaking in half sentences made him nervous. For the first time in his adult life, Jack had no idea what to say or do. There was no way to fix what had brought them all together here, at a memorial for Sara’s beloved brother.

“Sure,” he said to her back. She’d lost weight he mused as he jiggled his son in his arms. He looked down into the boy’s bright blue eyes. Gulping at the intensity of his gaze, he imagined their first little league game, first sand castle, their first visit to Disney World, their first fight over a car, grades, messy rooms, alcohol, girls. Intense panic gripped his chest.

As if sensing his discomfort the baby made a distinctly unhappy noise, then started crying in earnest. Jack looked around. He’d not been around for Katie’s babyhood, thanks to the arms-length arrangement he’d then had with Sara. He was utterly lost when it came to humans this small, even ones he’d helped create. The myriad levels of his helplessness right now could fill a book. And that was not sitting well in his gut.

“Daddy,” Katie sat next to him and held out a bottle. “Mommy said you would need this.” She handed it to him. “I tested it. It’s not too hot.” She kissed him, moved back to her mother’s side and gripped her hand. Jack stared at them and then plugged the baby’s screeching with the thing. He resumed observing his world unraveling around him, helplessness casting a darker pall over his brain. Everyone around him was miserable, and he couldn’t do anything about any of it.

He jumped when someone touched his arm. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, then giving up when they stayed fixed in place, he looked up. His sister Maureen took the chair next to him. “Can I help you with him?”

He stared at her, then back at his son, who was greedily sucking on the bottle, his small hands clenched in tight fists as if he could will the milk to move faster into his mouth. Jack leaned his aching head back. Mo rubbed his neck.

“Thanks,” he said, keeping his eyes closed. “This is….”

“Honey, I know,” his sister whispered. “You have been through so much.”

“No, no, this isn’t mine.”

“Jack,” She gripped his arm. “You are allowed to grieve. You don’t have to be the anchor all the time you know. He was your family, too.”

He opened his eyes and looked up at the flawless blue sky, pondering the truth of her words. “Here, give me the baby,” she held out her arms, using his own Gordon bossy tone to let him know she was serious.

Jack looked down into his son’s peaceful, sleeping face and felt his heart clench so tight he had to clear his throat to distract himself.
His son. His.
He looked up, seeking Sara but she was sitting with her mother, who appeared to be crying again. As if sensing his gaze, Sara looked up straight into his eyes. The space where her brother had once lived as a crucial piece of her was a visible emptiness—a weird black hole that he could actually see. He sighed. “I didn’t even really like the guy.” He mumbled into Brandis’ head, keeping the boy held tight to his chest.

Maureen resumed rubbing his neck. “Of course you did. He wanted what was best for his sister. So, did you, if I recall.”

Jack chuckled, shifted the baby to his shoulder to pat out a burp or two and shot her a look. “Yeah, okay. Point taken.”

“Well, it’s true. You were no more interested in me and Brandis together than Blake was with you and his sister.”

“Touché.” Jack mumbled, still watching his wife try to comfort her mother. His head pounded.

“Jack, look at me,” Mo demanded.

He let his gaze wander over the clumps of unhappy people scattered around his lawn once more before coming to rest on his sister’s eyes. Their deep blue matched his, as did her no-nonsense demeanor. She put a firm hand on his arm. “You guys have to keep communicating. Don’t let her shut down. Don’t worry, this is equal opportunity nagging. I’m telling her the same thing. You’re too damn much alike. I see both of you looking like the walking dead, not relying on each other like you should. Are you listening to me?”

He nodded, but he hadn’t been. Not really. All he still saw was Sara, crumpled on the floor of the hospital hallway. Then Lila’s wide, dark, shell-shocked stare because he had to be the one to tell her that Blake was dead in a freak car accident and that they would be using his lungs to save Rob’s life. He shut his eyes again, trying to make the giant fucking mess go away.

He startled when Mo plucked the sleeping baby from his arms. He’d never felt so numb, so utterly devoid of anything but the bright clear agony of “what the fuck happens tomorrow when we wake up” in his entire life. He shot Sara another glance making sure she didn’t need anything before he stood. Stretching his arms and back, he grabbed a beer and headed over to sit with Rob whose face held even more misery than Sara’s. He kissed Lila and the baby in her arms then sat and drained the brew in one long gulp.

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we,” he asked, indicating the infant who was currently screeching his fool head off no matter what Lila did to comfort him. She stood and walked away. Jack winced. “Sorry.” He said, helpless yet again. Rob just looked at him, hands gripping his thighs as if trying to keep himself from launching out of the wheelchair.

“No, it’s fine. He’s…she’s…God,” Rob put his head in his hands. Jack sat with his friend, silent and useless for nearly an hour resuming his perusal of the gathered mourners. When his sister looked up at him and winked, he smiled and raised his empty beer bottle, visions of the last time he had been with her at a funeral making him nearly suffocate with frustrated grief.

Chapter Two

Twenty Years Earlier

“Don’t worry about me,” Mo tossed over shoulder at her brother’s angry face. “I’ll be fine. But I am not going to live here, with him,” she pointed at her father. The man in question sat at the kitchen table, a stiff drink in his hand, glaring at her.

“But,” Jack sputtered. “You can’t just leave, Maureen. That’s just dumb.”

“Oh, yeah,” she held back the tears she knew her father expected from her, if only just to spite him. “Watch me.” She shouldered her school backpack and grabbed the suitcase she’d packed the night before. The night he’d stated without hesitation Maureen was fated to become “just like her mother,” so why even try that hard at school. She should find a boy, get knocked up, get married, and get out of his house. Mo had no idea what had happened to get him so worked up, but she’d spent way too much energy trying to cope with his temper. She never knew from one day to the next what he’d say to her and had stopped caring.

She looked back at her father who sat staring straight ahead. “Tell you what,
Dad
,” Mo heard her voice get thin with anger, “I’ll just get out the house now before I bother with the knocking up and marrying. That work for you?” Without waiting for a reply, she slammed the screen door behind her and climbed into her VW Bug. She gripped the steering wheel, wishing she had talked to Jack more before she did this admittedly crazy thing. But, she had to take the step without relying on him for a change. Denise Taylor and her family had told Mo that morning she could stay with them “a while” until “things settled down.” Settling down seemed unlikely, but she’d take it a day at a time at this point. She’d be moving into her University of Michigan dorm in late August anyway. Might as well cut the cord now. Despite the tearful pressure building behind her eyes, she gutted it out, determined to hold back the emotion. She simply would not give her jerk of a father the satisfaction.