Page 133 of Switch!
“Wait,” I say, thinking of a last-minute concern. “How do we explain why you’re with Patrick? We need a cover story.”
Trixie turns to face me, looking surprised. “You’re right!” Her brow creases in thought before a wicked glint appears in her eye. “Can I be your girlfriend?”
“You’re half my age, so no.”
She shrugs. “Have it your way. We’ll just have to improvise.”
Before I can stop her, she rings the bell. The door opens and an older and stouter version of Patrick is standing there. A pot belly presses against the man’s thin sweater. Terrence always wears those. Only the thickness changes, depending on the season. His short hair is whiter than when Patrick saw him last, but there’s no mistaking the love in those brown eyes when he steps forward to give me a hug.
“Son!” Terrance says, voice strained with emotion. “I can’t believe it’s really you!” He takes a step back to examine me, grinning at what he sees. “You look good. Come inside. Wait until your mother…” He shakes his head, unable to continue. Terrance puts an arm around me and is ushering me toward the door when he notices that we aren’t alone. “Who’s this?”
“Trixie,” she answers. “I’m his friend.”
“You’re just as welcome,” Terrance says as we enter the house. “Come on in. Ruth! You’ll never guess who’s here!”
I’m assaulted by a heady mix of sensory input as Patrick’s body reacts to a lifetime of associations, all of them good. This is his home—the place where he always felt safe and loved. The apartment in Tacoma had stopped feeling that way once Laura and Serena were gone. That would be impossible here, this house too full of good memories. When I see a tall thin woman coming down the stairs, emotion rises up in me so strongly that a croak escapes from my mouth.
Ruth stops her descent, staring at me in disbelief, a hand pressed against her chest. Then she hurries down the rest of the stairs while reaching for me, a stream of concerns and adorations pouring from her lips.
“Are you okay? My sweet baby! I was so worried. Why don’t you ever answer my calls? I thought you might be— Don’t ever make me go that long again! You look better than when I last saw you. Oh my precious little darling!”
She clutches me to her, but apparently that’s not enough, because she keeps pulling on the back of my shirt, like no amount of closeness will suffice. A few tears slip from my eyes, partially because of the emotional display, but mostly because I miss my own mother. I just didn’t realize how much until now.
“Did you fly in today?” Terrence asks.
“Sure did!” Trixie answers for us. I’m grateful because I haven’t pulled it together enough to speak.
“You must be hungry,” Ruth says, releasing me at last. “I have a pot roast that I was about to check on. I bet it’s just about ready.” She stops to consider me longer, her expression puzzled when she looks at Trixie and back to me again. “Will you be staying the night?”
“If you don’t mind,” I say.
Ruth’s face lights up. “Of course not!” Her eyes dart to Trixie. “Separate rooms or…”
“Separate is perfect,” Trixie says, flashing her a smile. “I’m happy to sleep on the couch, if you don’t have the space.”
“We just need to put on fresh sheets,” Ruth replies.
“On it,” Terrence says, but before he goes upstairs, he takes my hand with a squeeze. “It’s good you’re here, son.”
“Thanks,” I manage, my throat feeling tight. I’m a little envious of the relationship Patrick has with his father. Mine was never so forthcoming with his feelings. I turn to Ruth, whose eyes are shining as she watches this exchange. “Should I help you in the kitchen, Mom?”
“No, no, no,” she says, shaking her head. “There’s nothing left to do but set the table. Let me take care of the rest. Why don’t you and um…”
“Trixie,” I say helpfully.
“Trixie! What a lovely name. Why don’t you both get freshened up? I know what a long flight it is. Make yourselves comfortable. Both of you.”
After a few more pleasantries, we’re left to our own devices. Trixie and I take turns using the restroom. I let her go first, and once I’ve finished, I find her standing in the living room. I feel momentarily disoriented. I’ve been here before. The black box version anyway. The only notable difference is that the Christmas tree and decorations are gone. That, and the television is a newer model.
“Still you?” Trixie whispers after sidling up to me.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Weird. I thought Patrick would resurface as soon as we got here. Sort of like he did when I broke into the spare room.”
“Same here,” I admit, although I’m not entirely surprised that he’s a no-show. Ever since our conversation by the pool, I haven’t heard from him. I don’t think he intends to come back. Not willingly.
“What if he hates this?” Trixie asks. “I’d have mixed feelings if someone kidnapped me in my sleep and I woke up in my parents’ house.”
