Page 42 of Twisted Trust
My thoughts don’t calm even as we reach the penthouse and I don’t have the heart to wake her. Neither Maeve nor Scott stirs when Chip and I ease them from the car, and they remain sound asleep as I carry Maeve and Chip carries Scott toward the elevator. Maeve rests in my arm with aching familiarity and it doesn’t ease even as we sweep all the way up to the penthouse.
The ache in my chest doesn’t ease until Maeve is asleep in my bed with Scott next to her and I’m able to step away from her warmth and her scent.
Too many conflicting emotions clash in my chest, and I try to drown them with a strong glass of bourbon.
It doesn’t help.
I made this choice. It may be the worst decision I’ve made to date.
Or… it could be the best.
11
MAEVE
“Mommy?”
Something stirs within my chest, a weight that coils and uncoils while trying to drag me back to the land of consciousness.
“Mommy!”
Scott’s voice is like a shot of adrenaline to my heart and my eyes snap open to the face of my four-year-old floating above me, softly illuminated by the orange glow from the bedside lamp. My arms immediately circle him and pull him close.
“Mommy!” Scott whines, pushing his small fists against my shoulder. “I have to go!”
“Go?” Sitting up slowly, I briefly glance around the room. This bed is almost double the size of the one back at my apartment and the sheets are so soft that they barely feel like there’s any weight to them. An ornate wardrobe hugs one corner next to a large window where thick, red drapes close out the world. A white door sits ajar directly across from the bed where I glimpse the shine of a mirror, and to my left is another door firmly closed.
Where am I? Levi’s place? It must be, although I don’t remember getting out of the car. Fighting a yawn, my attention returns to my son as he squirms in my arms and yawns so widely I can see all the way down his throat.
“What is it, baby?”
“I gotta go!” he says insistently, and one hand disappears between his legs just as it clicks.
“Okay, sweetie, let’s go find the bathroom. Come on.” Luckily, he shares the same desire to be close to me and doesn’t fight me when I slide from the bed and scoop him up into my arms. As I suspected, the ajar door leads to an intimidatingly large en-suite bathroom. It might be the same size as my living room, which is rather ridiculous to think about. A large bathtub hugs one wall, a walk-in shower rests in the far corner next to the sink and mirror, and adjacent to that is the toilet.
As soon as Scott spots it, he wriggles out of my arms and hurries toward it with tired, wobbling steps. “Where are we?” he asks, rubbing tiredly at his eye.
“We’re staying with a friend,” I say gently, lifting the toilet seat and then helping Scott up to sit comfortably.
“Uncle Cameron?” As I stand, he clings to my hand with both hands, so I return to a crouched state in front of him and gently pat his cheek.
“No, a different friend.”
“Oh… ‘kay.” He yawns again, just as wide as before, then focuses on doing his business. My attention drifts around the bathroom, from the gold taps to the shell-shaped washbowl and the shimmering aqua tiles that appear to move like the ripples of waves every time I blink.
That has to be because I’m exhausted, right?
After Scott finishes, I scoop him up onto my hip and together we wash our hands in the fancy sink. As the soap suds run from his fingers, his head starts to droop and all budding thoughts ofasking him what happened to Uncle Cameron fade for later. He’s clearly still so exhausted, and I’d much rather he sleep.
“I like it,” Scott says, leaning closer to the tap and swishing his hand back and forth under the warm water. “Can we get these at… at home?”
He turns his rosy face to me and grins, and in an instant, all my stress momentarily melts away. After everything he’s been through, he still has a smile for me. I can’t word the fear that grips me almost constantly that his time away from me will make him feel abandoned, or worse. So many online blogs and books tell me not to stress about these things and that kids won’t start remembering stuff until they’re five, but I don’t believe it.
The harder I try to succeed, the harder I fail. In the space of ten days, Scott has witnessed me being attacked in the car park and then whatever horrors he saw with Cameron. Cupping his face, I kiss his warm forehead and pull him close. “I love you, Scotty. You know, that don’t you?”
“I love you too, Mommy,” Scott replies with another yawn. As I carry him back through to the bedroom, he grows heavier in my arms. Now that he doesn’t need to pee anymore, it seems sleep is loudly calling him and he doesn’t have the strength to resist. He’s asleep before his head touches the pillow, and I tuck him in neatly, then sit on the edge of the bed beside him.
I’m awake now. Nothing wakes me up faster than a cry from Scott, and now that I know I’m in a strange place, I’m on the defensive.
