Page 16 of Dying to Meet You

Even mentioning it can start the nightmares up again. The grisly scene is still vivid in my mind. The biggest failure of my life. Souls lost weighing down my heart. I tell myself we were set up to lose, the tip came in too late on purpose, but it makes no difference. It changes nothing.

This new threat has me scared.

No one could waterboard that information out of me.

There isn’t time or space to let fear settle in my mind. The note Eden shared with me was one more reason leaving for LA felt like a bad idea. All eyes need to be on Eden and the kids. If history has schooled me about anything, it’s distractions come with purpose. The trial subpoena happened to have an inaccurate date and there is nothing but problems trying to rectify it.

I don’t trust it. My gut feeling is we’re being closed in on.

My thoughts are interrupted by a knock at my office door. “Got a minute for coffee and a rant about my nippledick joke of a boss?” my brother-in-law asks as he plunks down in a chair. My sister jokes that her husband, my best friend, likes me more than her, but we just understand each other better. He gives no fucks about expectations placed on him (not unlike Blaine), and I have a strong sense of duty bound by loyalty.

“That’s a wild place to start.”

“I can never get you on the phone anymore, your whole family is too busy to get together, and frankly I miss you taking part in our Saturday scrimmages. Showing those little fuckers how it’s done.” He coaches hockey in addition to teaching earth science.

Ten minutes fly by while I listen to a long-winded story about the stipulations placed on his job; before he gets serious. “Eden okay?”

“Yeah?” Knowing he isn’t one to be sensitive about nuances doesn’t make me feel sure about my response.

“Here’s the thing,” he starts while cracking his knuckles, which he does when nervous. “I was getting gas the other day, and she pulled in. We talked a bit, then I was behind her the whole stretch of county route eighteen on my way to work until she turned off for Cobbleskill Parkway going to Horizon Wellness Center. I saw a blacked-out SUV pull behind me after the gas station. Rode my tail the whole way to that turn off and followed behind her. I wouldn’t think much of it, but I’m pulling into work when she calls me. She was kind of out of breathless, asking if I saw that SUV and if I got a plate number.”

Fuck.

“Did you?” She never mentioned any of this to me.

“No, I didn’t think to look at it. I asked if she was okay, but she played it off. She’s not much of a liar, though. She sounded kinda freaked out.”

Unlike my wife, I’ve had to get comfortable with telling lies. “Probably wanted to report the driver for tailgating or bad driving conduct. I wouldn’t worry about it.” I smile like it’s no big deal, but my mind races. Is she being followed?

Walking him back out to the lobby, he starts in about wanting to see me on the ice. “Bring the kids so they can practice skating.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“You know me, I don’t go down without a fight.”

“Ah, the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat,” I quip while shaking my head at him. “Maybe I can make it work when I get back from LA.”

“...you said to not to,” Wes says to Blaine when I enter the kitchen where he’s spinning on a kitchen stool.

“That’s right.” He leans back against the counter with his arms crossed. “Do I need to tell you that, honey? You know the goats don’t belong inside.” Hearing me come in, Blaine turns to look at me. “We had goats chewing on the curtains in the living room. It’s been a fun day.” Sounding exasperated, Blaine rolls his eyes.

“Daddy M!” Wes hops down, running and diving at my legs. Zach peeks around the corner to wave at me.

Pulling him up into my arms, I notice he’s gotten into my ties again. One is tied around a belt loop of his pants, another around one of his upper arms. “How was school today?”

Zach pipes up, “I throwed up.”

That’s our household. No day passes quietly or without hiccups, not that I mind. I’d never give any of it up. Blaine cleans the stair step Zach lost his after-school snack on while I usher him to his room. The entire way Weston comforts him. “It’ll be okay. Do you want Roscoe to keep you company?” That’s the teddy bear he’s had since he was a baby. That bear has been passed around the family when Wes wants to make someone feel better. He’s a damn sweet kid. Babbling starts to come from Warner’s room while he wakes up from his nap. Wes shouts to him, “Be right there, bubba!” This wakes up the baby. Zeb’s cries set off a more urgent sounding holler from Warner. Four kids all vying for attention.

Crap.

Blaine rushes into Zach’s room. “Now all hell has broken loose.” I could remind him about his language, but we lost that battle years ago.

The last time Zachariah got sick, a month after they were in our care, he was terrified we’d be angry at him. His bio mom convinced both him and Zinnea the devil was trying to unleash through them causing their sickness. The only way to fend the evil off was to further abuse them. It’s heartbreaking what they had to endure.

“Wes, buddy…” Blaine redirects when he sees he’s dragging the step stool from the utility closet out. Halfway down the hall he informs Daddy B he’s helping with Zeb.

We manage to get everything under control. Zach is in bed asleep with a temperature, Wes is vacuuming a rug downstairs, Zeb is fed a bottle, and Warner’s being carried around by me, a chunky fist gripping my hair. In those twenty minutes of activity my worries about Eden having a stalker keep running through my mind.

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