Page 90 of Average Joe

Shoulders rising and falling on a deep inhale and exhale, she studied me, then stepped aside, pushed the door open wide and gestured for me to enter. I didn’t hesitate. I was in. Her last wall breached.

The home was small and cozy. The entryway took me into an open space with a living room to the right and a dining room to the left. A long countertop separated the eating area and outdated kitchen. Straight ahead, a hallway led to the rest of the house.

There was no rhyme or reason to the color scheme. The furniture didn’t match, as if she’d collected different pieces over the years and made them fit. One wall was painted beige, another a soft green, and the hallway was some shade of reddish brown.

What caught my eye, what made my guts knot, were the pictures hanging on her walls. Sticking with the hodgepodge theme, none of the frames matched, but the subject was the same: a boy as a baby, a toddler, an awkward kid, and a punk-ass teen.

“Who is he?”

Marley uncrossed her arms and dragged a finger down one of the photos. He wore baseball gear and a familiar smile. “This is my son, Dylan.”

My vision blurred, and the air left my lungs. Dizzy, I stumbled back a step, and after I could see straight and breathe right, I replied, “Your son?”

Of all the things I’d expected her to say,“son”was not one of them.

“You have a kid?” Ginger wiggled in my arms. I set her down, and she sniffed around, ignoring Bruce’s attempts at getting her attention.

Marley nodded, gnawing her bottom lip.

“Where is he?”

“I haven’t seen him since his eighteenth birthday.”

“Military?”

“No.”

“Wait.” I scratched at the tingle on my forehead. “You have an adult son?” I’d never considered her age. “You’re too young.”

“I got knocked up when I was fifteen. And before you judge, I know”—Marley threw up her hands—“Daddy issues. Looking for love in all the wrong places. In my case, that’s true.”

“I’m not judging. Took me by surprise, that’s all.” I stepped close, but she backed away. “Hey.” I needed her to know we had another thing in common. “My mom was sixteen when she had me.”

Her worried expression softened.

“Why did you wait this long to tell me?”

“It’s hard to discuss. I mean, if my only child wants nothing to do with me, why would any man? There has to be something seriously wrong with me, right?”

There was no right or wrong answer. None that would ease the pain. “Why haven’t you seen him?”

Marley started to speak but stopped, her lip quivering. Seconds passed while she gained her composure. “On his eighteenth birthday, he said goodbye and left for school. Never came home. I was terrified. I called his phone, called the police, all of his friends. That night, I found a note on his bed, said he’d moved out and he’d contact me when he was ready to talk.”

“That’s fucked up. You tried to find—”

Marley held up a hand, stopping my question. “I don’t want to talk about Dylan. My father abandoned me. Dylan’s dad and parents wanted nothing to do with us. Every guy I dated left the second things got real, like temper tantrums, dirty diapers, or anything to do with parenting. Not one of those men hurt me the way my son did. Dylan hurt me so deep I can’t find words to describe the pain.”

Marley drew a breath, leaned back against the wall. “So, yes, I’m bitter. Yes, I’m hesitant to open myself up to rejection again. I’m not hung up over one guy. I’ve been battered and bruised by every important man in my life since I was a child.”

Damn. There weren’t words. No words. I thought of my mom. The sacrifices she’d made. The love she’d given. Had I been appreciative enough? Had I thanked her enough? Sure, we’d fought, and I’d rebelled. But never had I considered turning my back on that beautiful woman.

What could I say? Not a goddamn thing. Instead, I wrapped my arms around Marley and squeezed. I held her until her taut muscles relaxed and her arms looped around my waist. I hugged her until she snuggled closer, her breaths slowed, and she whispered, “I’m not in the mood for sex tonight.”

Sure, Little Joe was disappointed, but truth be told, she’d already given what I came for—answers. A piece of herself that hurt her to share.

Arms still around her, I walked her to the couch and eased her into the cushions. Bracing her head, I leaned down to drop a kiss on the worry wrinkles between her brows. “I’ll be right back.” I kissed her nose, then grabbed her remote off the coffee table and laid it in her lap. “Find a good movie. I need to go put the cannelloni away. You want beer or wine?”

Blinking up at me, she said, “I’d love a cup of herbal tea. Do you still have Alice’s stash?”

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