Page 67 of When I'm Gone
Luke dropped the fancy paper; sweat was running down his back. The closet suddenly felt too small, like the walls were pressing in on him, ready to crush him. Leaving everything he’d been working on, Luke scrambled out of the enclosed space, suffocated by the weight of his new knowledge—thiswas Natalie’s secret.
That time in the shed, where they fumbled through the steps of lovemaking while Luke tried to forget his losses in their passion and Natalie tried to comfort him with it—not only was it their first time together but it was also his first time ever. Did they make a baby in that moment of desperation? It was hard to fathom but explained a lot—Andy, Maranatha House, those pictures, her secrets, and definitely why Terry still hated him for knocking up her fourteen-year-old daughter. And Ms. Stephani from Maranatha House, she’d kept a detailed scrapbook about his secret daughter’s disappearance, death investigation, and the court case surrounding it. He’dknownthat woman had more information than she’d let on.
Luke tried to remember the dark-haired girl from the fuzzy newspaper picture. Did she look like May? He hadn’t taken a second glance at the smiling girl in the picture, hadn’t looked to see what his first child even looked like. He might not know what it felt like when Mallory kicked inside Natalie’s stomach or what color her eyes were when she was born, but he could at least try to make out the shape of her smile, the texture of her hair. Luke dashed across the worn patch of carpet flattened by the door and retrieved the scrapbook.
Settling back down into his spot by the bed, he flipped through the pages again. This time slowly, deliberately. When he got to the first picture of Mallory, he held it out at arm’s length. She looked a lot like Will when he was little, darker features, with Natalie’s bright eyes. Why did he have to add this beautiful little girl to the list of people he’d lost in his life? Why hadn’t Natalie let him mournwithher instead of leaving him to learn of their daughter on his own? And one question this discovery didn’t answer was who Neal, professor or pastor, really was.
CHAPTER 28
“Daddy,” Clayton whispered, pulling at Luke’s eyelid. “Daaaaddy,” he sang. “Daddy. It’s my birthday! Wake up! Wakeup!”
Luke squinted up at the face of a smiling four-year-old. Well, almost four-year-old.
“Sorry, bud, not today. Your birthday is Friday.” Luke tugged up two of Clayton’s fingers, wondering how they were already sticky. “Two. That’s two more days.”
“Oh man!” Clayton flopped on the bed. If he were a cartoon character, “Oh man!” would be his new catchphrase. “It will never get here.”
“Two more sleeps, that’s it. Don’t worry; it will be here before you know it.” Luke rubbed the top of Clayton’s spiky hair. He wrapped his arms around his back and slung him over in a tackle/bear hug combo. When he held his kids in his arms, Luke could feel how much they’d grown in the past six weeks. It was bittersweet to see their faces; he’d missed them more than he could even realize, but every change he noticed reminded him that he never got to see Mallory grow up.
He thought back to getting that first glimpse of his kids at the airport. Terry had taken it upon herself to cut both May’s and Clayton’s hair while they were in Florida. Clayton’s was buzzed so short that his white-blond stubble made him look bald. May’s hair was bobbed above her bronzed shoulders; the long strand of hair she usually nibbled on was gone. Occasionally she’d grab for it when she got nervous, like when they first stepped into the family greeting area after landing. Luke watched as May passed the security guard, tugged at the hair near her ear like she was urging it to grow.
Terry had dressed the kids in nice clothes for the airplane, as though they were flying in the 1950s, when dressing up on a plane had been the norm. The boys, tan and handsome, looked a little silly in their button-up shirts and dress slacks, surrounded by casual passengers wearing yoga pants and jeans.
But not May. She looked like a flower in the middle of a garden choked with weeds. Her hair was smooth for once, even after a long flight, the blue flowers on her dress flapping with each step. His eyes burned when she glanced up and caught him staring at her. A bright smile spilled across her face. She dropped the worn Disney princess duffel she’d had slung over one shoulder and went into a full sprint before jumping into his arms.
He never should’ve let them go for so long. The house needed children.
“Show me how big you are,” Luke said, encouraging Clayton. “You go get yourself dressed, and then we can see what Terry is making that smells so yummy.” Luke sniffed the air. He hadn’t planned on Terry’s extended visit, not sure if he was ready to confront her about the secret she’d shared with Natalie. Then again, maybe she didn’t know that Natalie’s baby was Mallory Witling. If she didn’t know her first grandchild was dead, Luke did not want to be the one to tell her. He was starting to understand why Natalie found secrets easier than the truth.
Funny thing, Terry never asked if she could stay. She proclaimed her new departure date, went to the ticket counter, and made her new reservations, all without consulting Luke. He wondered if the real reason she stayed was because she couldn’t bear to let the kids go. Or maybe she couldn’t bear to let them go to him.
“I know! I’ll wear my pirate shirt!” Clayton wiggled across the half-slept-on bed.
“That’s fine,” Luke shouted after him, even though this would be the third day in a row for that shirt. He’d let Terry deal with it. “Make sure to put on new undies.” Clayton slammed the bedroom door behind him, muffling Luke’s last request.
He listened to the staccato of Clayton’s footsteps fading into the other room. When Clayton’s door clicked shut, Luke let out a breath, the smile melting from his face. It was easier when he was alone—no one to pretend for. At least there was one reason to be happy Terry stayed—he couldn’t let himself go when she was around. So now it was only in his bedroom and occasionally in the car when Luke could indulge his craziness. Like how he drove past Annie’s house every day, looking for lights, watching for signs of movement, estimating the amount of time since the grass had been cut.
Today, while he was at work, Terry was going to take Clayton in for a doctor’s appointment, giving May the opportunity she’d been waiting for—Jessie time. They hadn’t seen Jessie since the day before the kids left. Six weeks was a long time to not see someone after seeing them daily for six months.
Luke hefted himself out of bed. His shins yelled at him, still angry from the run he’d forced on himself the day before. He’d never been much of a runner, just the mile at school and the bases when he played on the softball team at work. He’d always kept in shape with the punching bag in the basement and a set of weights, but he’d felt jittery lately, uncomfortable in his own skin. Though hitting something had always been enough of a release, now it seemed to compound his anger rather than release it. Then one night while he was working out, hitting the bag rhythmically, Luke remembered how free Annie looked when she ran. He wanted to feel free. Apparently a precursor to feeling free was feeling sore for a few weeks first.
Luke tugged at his boxers, loose from the running or maybe because he hadn’t eaten well or much when the kids were away. His clothes were starting to sag on his body. Limping across the room, he headed for his closet before remembering it was empty. It still felt wrong to go into that place, so he’d made a pile of clothes in the corner by a window. Most were clean despite being creased with wrinkles. On the top of the pile was the pair of slacks he’d worn to work the day before, belt still threaded through the loops, only wrinkled down one leg. They would have to do.
A hesitant knock came from the front door before Jessie walked through it like she belonged there. It had taken her a few months to be willing to barge into their house unannounced, but Luke had insisted she do away with the formality of knocking. He’d been trying to get her to call him Luke instead of Mr. Richardson for the same amount of time, but with fewer results.
“Hey, Jessie, come on in.” Luke was bent over his workbag, making sure he had all the proposals he’d brought home to review. May must not have heard the door, or else she would’ve been up in Jessie’s face before she got two feet past the threshold. “It is so good to see you again. I hope you had a nice summer.” He stood up and got a good look at her.
She was wearing a dark-blueMama Mia!T-shirtcinched at the waist, with a navy skirt covered in white polka dots and a pair of white flats. In all her time babysitting, Luke had never seen the same shirt twice. It almost made him tempted to go to a show.
She’d left her backpack at home today, and it was strange to see her without it. Instead, she wore a purse about the size of a note card slung over one shoulder. She looked tired and her face was a little puffy, and compared to his suntanned children, her skin was as pale as if it was the middle of winter, not the end of summer. Her clothes looked the same, but there wassomethingoff. Luke stood, hands full of proposals in plastic covers, but too preoccupied with this new version of Jessie to keep reviewing them.
“Summer was boring, as always.” She laughed weakly.
“Did you take in any good shows? I heardThe Lion Kingwas in Chicago last month. Did you go?”
Jessie removed her shoes, using her toes to slip them off. “Nope, not this time.”
“What? I thought you never missed a chance to see the hottest shows from Broadway.” Luke loved to tease Jessie about her obsession with pretty much anything Broadway. “Do you need a raise? I’d gladly donate to any travel fund.”
