Page 15 of Stay With Me

Mom and I sit quietly for a few more minutes, sipping our cider and watching a small herd of deer grazing at the edge of the wooded part of their yard. They scatter when the slamming of the metal screen door behind us startles them. I glance over my shoulder and see my father.

“Charles, what are you doing here?” He doesn’t even bother to say hello.

“Just helping Mom clean up the leaves.” My eyes remain on the woods when I answer him.

“I suppose you couldn’t do it the man’s way and you brought your fancy leaf blower here, huh?”

I don’t respond to him since I know from experience it just makes him worse. And Mom will be the one here to deal with him when I leave.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue just like when you were a kid?” He chuckles, like he thinks he’s funny, and takes a swig of the beer he brought out with him. Mom’s eyes dart back and forth at my father and me.

A memory flashes through my mind, one that invades my thoughts more often than I’d like to admit.

Clinging to Mom’s pant leg, I try not to cry because it’ll make him yell more. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.

“I said tell me why you’re so late, Marianne! It doesn’t take that long to pick him up from school. What were you doing? Who were you talking to?”

“Charles, please. I was just slow today. I swear I didn’t linger.”

I know it’s my fault he’s yelling at her. I was the last kid out of the classroom today. I should have been faster.

“If you won’t tell me the truth, maybe he will. If he can get his fucking words out, that is. Tell me, Charles, who was your mom talking to after school that made you guys so late?”

I glimpse up at my dad. “N-n-no one. I-I was l-l-late.” I’m shaking against my mom’s leg, and she puts her hand on my back to soothe me.

“Jesus, Marianne. When’s he gonna learn to talk right, huh? You give me one kid and he’s fucking stupid.”

“Charles, please. He’s only six.”

I stand. “Nope, Dad. Just gotta go. I have to stop at a friend’s before I head home.” I walk toward the house to put my glass in the sink and grab my truck keys from the counter. Mom follows me in but, fortunately, my dad stays outside to finish his beer.

“Bye, Mom. I’ll see you soon, okay?” I pull her into a bear hug and hold her tight.

“Goodbye, honey. Thanks again for everything. You’re a wonderful son.”

I pull back and look her in the eye. “Mom, you know if you ever have enough of this, you can come stay with me, right?”

A sad smile crosses her face. “I know. But I’m fine, Charlie. He doesn’t hurt me anymore…”

“He might not lay a hand on you, but fists aren’t the only way to hurt someone. Words can hurt, too.” I glimpse my dad walking to the house through the window. “Just remember, you always have a place with me if you need it.”

I pull her in for one more quick squeeze, then head out the back door, passing my father on the way out without acknowledging him. I hate that I have the man’s blood running through my veins and pray I never become like him. I’ll do just about anything to avoid that.

* * *

EMILY

The sizzling of the chicken I’m pan searing and the mouthwatering aroma from the homemade garlic bread cooking in the oven relaxes me. Creating delicious food has always been something that brings me joy. I won’t lie to myself—I’ve been sad since the break-up with Teddy. He’s been in my life for so long. But I also feel sad because I realize that I had tamped down parts of my personality over the years to make room for his. And I hate I let that happen—that it snuck up on me.

A sharp knock on the door followed by Charlie’s voice breaks through my downward thought spiral.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

“I’m in the kitchen,” I call out. Butterflies take flight in my stomach, and it strikes me I’m excited to see Charlie.

A few seconds later, he walks into the kitchen looking ruggedly handsome in worn jeans and a white T-shirt, with an unbuttoned flannel over the top. His dark hair is a bit mussed and sticking up at the crown of his head, but it only makes him look more attractive. Seeing Charlie always cheers me up, and not just because he’s eye candy—which I’m not sure he realizes he is.

I’m not naïve. Charlie has stopped over more in the last eight weeks when Trina’s not here than is normal for him. I suspect he does it as a favor for Trina to check in on me when she’s working one of her twenty-four-hour shifts at the fire station. Still, I really enjoy spending time with him, and I always feel better—happier—after I see him.

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