Young Truths (Young Series) (43 page)

Rolling onto my right side, I find Samantha fas
t asleep. I reach out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear without waking her. The last several days are mostly a blur in my mind, but the one thing I do remember is Samantha being there at every turn taking care of me, trying to get me to talk to her. I want to wake her up right now and show her how much I appreciate her putting up with me this week, but I imagine she’s probably exhausted. Besides, she’s sleeping so peacefully and adorably that waking her would be a crime against humanity.

Carefully, I slide out of bed and reach for my robe. Something on my nightstand catches my attention
and I reach for it, finding a couple pieces of folded paper resting against the lamp. I hold them up to the sliver of light coming through the bedroom curtains and read a few lines. The only things I can make out sum up to the same thing: Olivia is my biological daughter.

“Damn right she is,” I mutter under my breath, sliding the paternity results into the pocket of my robe.

Out in the hallway, all is quiet. Not that I really expected anything different; it has to be two or three in the morning. I move first to Tyler’s room, smiling fondly as I cover him with the blankets he’s managed to kick off in his sleep. Next I go check on Olivia. For a few minutes, I just lean on the end of her crib and watch her sleep. Her arms are thrown above her on the mattress, her head turned towards me. I need to snap out of whatever funk I’m in, if for no other reason than my family needs me. Samantha is doing her best, I know that, but she shouldn’t have to carry us all on her own. I’d love to just flip a switch and go back to normal. To forget about everything that’s happened outside our home. I wish it were that easy.

The longer I’m coherent, the more everything comes rushing back. Anytime my eyes close, I imagine my father in his shed, lying in a pool of blood, a smoking gun at his side. Logically, I know I’m not responsible for his death. He and I have had fights in the past, epic fights that nearly led to him disowning me, and he never went to these lengths. Did he do it because of the cancer? Maybe he just didn’t want to go through the pain and suffering that was to come. I’d even believe he did it to spare the rest of us seeing him like that if I didn’t hate him so much for what his suicide will have done to my mother and the rest of my family. Selfish dick...

Still, I feel as though it’s at least partly my fault; that I exacerbated the situation with the things I said to him that day. That guilt won’t go away so easily.

Sighing, I lean over the crib bars and press a kiss to Olivia’s head, and leave the room. A door at the end of the hallway catches my eye. That door would have been transformed into an office for me and as far as I can remember, it hasn’t been closed throughout all the time we’ve been here. I cautiously open the door and find someone has moved a bed into the room. And unless I’m very much mistaken, that’s my mother underneath the blankets. Watching her sleep, I have a very faint recollection of Samantha mentioni
ng that my mother wanted stay with us for a while, to be closer to the kids. I don’t know why she’d pick us when her other three children all have their own, and none of my sisters is to blame for our father’s death. It is a comfort to see her here, though; it means she probably doesn’t hate me.

Somehow I find myself downstairs, sitting on the couch in front of my cell phone. I have several days of missed calls, text messages, and emails, most of which I ignore. The one that catches my attention is a text message from an unknown sender with a picture attachment. Normally I would run something like this through a virus scanner before opening it, but apparently I’m feeling a bit reckless. There is no text along with the photo and when it downloads, I nearly drop my phone. Part of me had already figured out what the photo is suggesting while the rest of me thought it was just a bit too much of a coincidental connection. This proves it, though.

“Fuck,” I growl, tossing my phone back onto the coffee table. I want to leave right now, track these people down and destroy them before they destroy my family even more than they have. I can’t, though; I know that much. If I’m not here in the morning, Samantha will panic and I won’t put her through that. Besides, there is still more I have to figure out. This thing is so huge and tangled and complicated that charging in like a lunatic would only get me killed. The text message is days old which means it can sit for a couple more hours until the sun rises. Right now the best thing for me is to be back in bed with my wife curled up in my arms.

This morning, I woke to a strange sensation. There was a pair of strong arms wrapped around my middle, breathing on my neck, and a warm body behind me. It was strange because I haven’t woken like that in nearly a week and I have no idea what changed from last night when Matthew was curled up on the very edge of his side of the bed to this morning. I certainly liked it and hope to recreate the circumstances tonight. When I managed to get out of his arms, something I was very reluctant to do, I found him sleeping peacefully for the first time all week. His brow wasn’t furrowed from bad dreams; he didn’t seem horribly sad anymore. He was actually resting. I probably could have watched him sleep for hours, but I knew there was too much on my schedule to do so today.

Diane was already in the kitchen with Tyler and Olivia, feeding them breakfast. The night after Paul’s funeral, she called to check in on us, see how Matthew was doing since he seemed so off at the church. She
then tentatively offered to stay with us, to help me with him and the kids. Of course I couldn’t turn her down and I realized when she arrived that what she really needed was to keep herself occupied. While she was staying with Claire, everybody was doing everything for her, so all she had was time to think, and that wasn’t doing her any favors. She needed to take care of someone else rather than them taking care of her. There are still moments when I catch her freezing in the middle of whatever she’s doing as though she’s completely lost and can’t remember what she was doing. We’ve had several conversations after the kids have gone to bed and I once again tried and failed to coax Matthew out of bed, mostly about anything that had nothing to do with Paul. I told her more about my time in Omaha with Tom, which led to a discussion of the paternity test. Until that point the only other people aware of it were Claire, Danny, and Marcus. I was a little concerned about how she’d react to knowing there was a question about who Olivia’s father was, but she told me the same thing everyone else did: Just one look at my daughter would tell anybody Matthew is her daddy.

She’s very optimistic about Matthew snapping out of his depression once he works through things in his head and has urged me over and over to just be patient. I’m trying my best to take her advice, but as the days go on, I miss him more
, and the temptation to go home and shake him back to reality becomes stronger. I’ve even scheduled an appointment for him with Dr. Morris, who he hasn’t seen in months due to a hundred different scheduling conflicts and his assertion that he’s just fine and doesn’t need to see a therapist anymore. So much for that theory.

I suddenly recall as I open the doors for the bookstore that I’ve made plans to have dinner with Mark this evening
. I haven’t really thought about it much since he called earlier in the week and just like then, I’m not sure it’s the best idea. At the very least, it could be seen as me leading him on; at the worst... Well, I’m not sure I want to go down that road even mentally. I’ve still got several hours to decide what to do and to weigh the pros and cons. Topping the cons list is ‘Matthew will kill me’ if I have dinner with Mark after I told him I’d keep my distance. That should be enough for me to cancel altogether, though a very tiny part of me is slightly bitter that my husband hasn’t paid me the slightest bit of attention in days and while that shouldn’t make a difference, especially knowing what he’s going through right now, apparently I’m feeling rebellious.

I turn back towards the counter, then stop, spinning around to look down the street to the abandoned shop front of what used to be Frank Marone’s East Coast Travel agency. As far as I know, nobody’s bought the place since Frank left town, but now I can see shadows of people inside through the heavily tinted windows. Matthew told me the FBI had removed a number of illegal items from the building—guns, drugs, money. I haven’t paid any attention to it in months, but I hope whoever is looking to buy it can get over the stigma Frank left behind when he fled town and turn it into a successful business.

Shrugging, I go back to my day, already looking forward to getting home this evening to be with my family.

The next time I wake up, it’s because a very familiar laughter coming from somewhere in the apartment. I glance at the clock, wincing when I see it’s late in the afternoon, which means I’ve missed yet another day with my children and wife. It amazes me that I’ve spent so much time sleeping lately, but I’m still so exhausted.

After a quick shower, I head downstairs where I find Tyler on the floor in front of the TV doing his homework and my mother on the couch holding Olivia while she explains some mathematical theory to him. They glance up when the stairs creak to announce my presence. Immediately, Tyler abandons his homework and charges me. I bend down and grab him by the waist, tossing him over my shoulder, which elicits another laugh from him.

“We were wondering if you’d show your face sometime soon,” my mother says, the concern in her eyes belying her light tone.

Sitting beside her on the couch, I lean over and kiss her cheek, then release Tyler. “Sorry,” I tell her softly, smoothing the hair on my daughter’s head. “If I’d known you were here...”

She raises a perfect, pale eyebrow. “Matthew, I’ve been here for days and this is the first time I’ve seen you outside that bedroom,” she admonishes. “We’ve been worried about you.”

I sigh, running a hand through my still wet hair. “I know. Like I said, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, but I just couldn’t...” I trail off, knowing no matter what excuse I come up with, it won’t be enough to make up for my behavior. “I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” she says, her eyes turning sad for a moment and in that moment I feel like the biggest asshole in the world. My mother is suffering from the loss of her husband and here I am, sulking in my bedroom because I’m a little sad and upset and confused.

The moment is broken when Tyler decides he’s hungry. Glancing around, I suddenly realize I haven’t yet seen my wife. “Where’s Samantha?” I ask, already heading to the fridge to get the phone number for pizza delivery.

“Working late,” my mother responds. “She called about an hour ago to say she’d be home in time to put the kids to bed.”

Sighing in slight disappointment, and wondering if she’s actually trying to avoid dealing with me for a few hours, I place our dinner order and return to sit beside my mother, happily taking my daughter. She grins at me, curling into my lap. I press my lips to the top of her head, breathing in her comforting baby scent as Bandit jumps up beside us, licking my cheek. “Apparently everyone has missed me,” I grumble, wiping the dog drool from my face.

After dinner, Samantha still isn’t home. I’ve sent her a few text messages and expected her to reply immediately, but so far I’ve gotten nothing back. I wonder if she’s as angry with me as everyone else seems to be.

“Don’t be stupid,” my mother chides. I realize I’ve spoken out loud. “Matthew, no one is angry with you.”

I huff. “Spoken to Claire recently?” I ask. “Because the last time I spoke to her, she beat the crap out of me and said—” I manage to stop myself before I actually replay my sister’s accusations. “She made it clear that I really messed up and I should have handled certain things a little differently.”

“I have spoken with her, actually,” she replies. “And I know what she said to you. In turn, she knows how I feel about it. Give her time. Claire has always been such a passionate girl, you know that. She gets upset and reacts without thinking, not bothering to be concerned about how those actions affect others.”

“So it doesn’t matter to you that everything she said was true?” I ask. “Mom, if I hadn’t—”

“Stop it,” she interrupts harshly. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for somebody else’s actions. I know you think that whatever conversation you had with your father was partly responsible for his death; you couldn’t be more wrong, Matthew.”

I stare at her in shock, unable to remember the last time she snapped and glared at me like this. “Then why would he...”

“Because he was a selfish, cruel man,” she answers. “Because he didn’t care about how the rest of us would react, only about setting his own conscience at peace. Samantha said you kn
ew about his cancer. Well, let me tell you something you don’t know. He refused all treatments. He had a few, then decided it was a waste of his time. He made that decision without consulting me. His wife. Oh, we fought about it often. There were times I thought about leaving him to die in misery. I couldn’t, of course. After every fight, he tried to make it up to me in some way. I told him the way to make things up to me was to make them up to his family—to you and Claire and Samantha. And he did. I don’t want you thinking his sudden change of behavior was all because of me; he did the work; he made the effort. All I did was nudge a little. The rest was genuine Paul. And I know he’s done enough damage over the years that the last few months might not make a difference—”

“That’s not it,” I say tiredly. “Mom, I know he tried and I do appreciate the changes he made, particularly when it comes to Samantha. I can’t tell you how much of a relief it’s been to actually see her enjoy spending tim
e with not only you, but him as well. She hasn’t been dreading family dinners and having panic attacks at the very thought of being in the same room with him. That meant everything to me, it really did. But when you say things to me like he decided not to go through with his treatments without discussing it with you...
That’s
the father I remember. Not worrying about how anything affects you or me or my sisters. Not caring about the rest of us. Honestly, Claire and I have been wondering for years why you never...” Again, I catch myself before speaking without thinking.