Page 40 of Rock the Cradle of Love
He plays board games with them and sends them on scavenger hunts. He cycles them through lunch and arranges buddies for swimming in the swimming hole. He pays Mr. Hinkley a thousand bucks to stock up his old ice cream truck and bring it out to the farm. They play street hockey and tag and Red Rover, Red Rover. They make s’mores and catch fireflies. He wears them out so well, all their mothers offer to pay him to be their babysitter for the summer.
But he’s distracted most of the time, trying to remember the argument with Noah. What he’d said, what Noah had said.
The comments come back to him in fits and starts. His drinking binge hadn’t helped, nor does the chaos of having two dozen kids tearing around and talking to him all day.
He opted not to call Noah after all the trouble he’d gone to, to replace his phone. When Suze asked if he’d contacted Noah, Taylor had lied and said yes. He’d also chosen to not listen to Noah’s voicemail or read his texts. If Taylor did that, he might not give the whole issue as thorough a thinking-through as it apparently needed if the universe had put in so much effort to make it happen.
He’d gone so far as to power the phone off. Much easier to avoid temptation of listening to voicemails or answering a call from Noah. If Noah called again. Which Taylor had no doubt he’d done. Guilt about that settled on his shoulders, but he wanted to make absolutely sure he had his head on straight and his thoughts in order when they finally have that conversation.
The one thing Taylor remembers saying for sure is that he was okay with not having sex if Noah didn’t want to. He meant it then and after a short deliberation with himself, he can say with 100% certainty he means it now. There’s no question. He loves Noah and Noah’s more important than getting off. It’s not like Taylor and Rosie haven’t been on intimate terms in the past. They can be again. Compared to everything else he’ll get, sex is the least of it.
Of course, any of this only matters if he and Noah are still in a relationship. Taylor’s got no idea. Noah was upset to begin with. After three days of silence, Taylor may already be history. And he wouldn’t blame Noah.
Time to find out. With trembling fingers, he powers up his phone again.
There’s only a couple of texts but several missed calls from Noah, as expected. Taylor’s afraid to listen to the voicemails, but he cues them up. Avoiding them won’t change the contents.
“Taylor, it’s me. I…I got a notice about a hearing in regards to Emma. It’s Friday. I thought you’d want to know. Anyway…I’m leaving for Ten Rigs in the morning. I know we need to talk about us, too. Call me. Please…”
Taylor pinches the bridge of his nose. Fuck. He’s relieved and worried at the same time. Noah sounds more than nervous. He sounds really worried. He loves Emma so much, and he’ll be devastated if they—whoever ‘they’ are—decide he doesn’t get to keep her.
And, God, Taylor fucked up. Not just with Noah in the first place, but in leaving town. He should have listened to his gut. He should be there with Noah. For Noah. Or caring for Emma. Or whatever’s going to help Noah the most. God, but he’s here now and the funeral’s Friday and the hearing’s Friday andfuck.
Closing his eyes, he presses play on Noah’s second voicemail.
“Listen, Taylor…I don’t know what I did to make you mad. Whatever it was, I’m sorry, okay? This is new to me. Please call me so we can talk.”
Taylor’s a stupid son of a bitch. What had he been thinking? Tears sting his eyes. It’s fucking one a.m. Should he call and wake Noah up or does he wait until morning?
There’s one last message. Left only a few hours ago. Taylor goes cold all over. He knows what it’s going to say.
“Um, I don’t know where you are. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t understand why you haven’t called. I’ve been waiting three days, Taylor, and I can’t wait anymore. I just… I know this is a shitty way to do this. I told you that we could talk about anything, but you didn’t give me a chance to address your concerns. And now you’ve disappeared off the face of the earth.”There’s only breathing for moment and then Noah continues.“And I can’t work that way, Taylor. Not being the way I am. I’m sorry…”
Taylor throws his phone across the room. It bangs loudly against Peter’s desk and thumps to the floor, but he could give a rat’s ass about the noise right now. His throat closes up tight and he can’t breathe. His eyes sting and his nose burns. He fucked up the best thing he ever had.
It hurts worse than he expected, even suspecting, knowing it was coming. There’s a vice around his chest.
Taylor rolls off the bed, landing on his hands and knees before wobbling to his feet. He scoops up his phone and shoves it into his pocket and then creeps down to the kitchen to search for something alcoholic. It’s a bad idea. A really bad one. It’s what led him to this situation in the first place, but he can’t bring himself to care. His sister and brother-in-law aren’t big drinkers, but there’s gotta be something he can drown his sorrows in.
The light over the stove is enough to see by as he opens and closes cupboards in search of something, anything, but they are frustratingly free of an alcohol-based numbing agent. Surely, they’ve got something stashed somewhere. His snort is automatic when he finds a large box of Frosted Flakes in the back of an upper cabinet. It’s not forty proof, but if this is what he’s reduced to, he’ll take it. A quick check of the fridge shows a half gallon of chocolate milk. It’ll do.
He and Suzan used to share this secret snack over late nights watching horror flicks. The overly sweet flavors and the fond memories are only somewhat comforting.
A quiet shuffle sounds from the doorway just after he shovels a large bite into his mouth. Suzan’s standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “I thought I heard someone rummaging around down here. Found my stash, I see.”
Taylor pushes out the chair next to him with a foot. The last couple of days have been crazy busy getting ready for the funeral and juggling all the family that’s come to town. They never did have that talk, not that there’s much to talk about now. She gets a bowl and dishes up. Her quiet presence is soothing though. He misses the camaraderie of his siblings, Suze especially. They were always partners in crime. Silence reigns while they eat, only the sounds of the stove clock and night insects interrupting the quiet. And it’s too much.
Taylor pushes his bowl away and covers his face with his hands. His cheeks are hot and his throat is tight again. It’s all he can do to choke down the food in his mouth. He scrunches his eyes against the tears. What has he done?
Suzan’s spoon clanks against the ceramic of her bowl. “Christ, Taylor, what’s wrong?” She’s on her knees next to him, one hand on his leg, the other hand rubbing at his shoulder.
He breathes hard for a few moments, trying to get himself under control. “I fucked up. Noah called it off.”
“He broke up with you over the phone?”
Taylor shakes his head. “Voicemail.”
“What the hell?”
