Page 61 of Hold

“I know,” she snapped. That anyone but she could put her younger son to bed was ludicrous. But Benji hadn’t even thought to ask her to come until after Gabe had done all the fun stuff. She went up to him in a bad mood, but the sight of him all snuggled in his Star Wars sheets and comforter, his Darth Vader nightlight gleaming through the darkness—how the hell that made him feel safer, she had no idea—took away her crankiness.

“Good night, big guy,” she said, enveloping him in her arms.

“You smell like wine.” His voice was buried in her hair.

“You smell like ice cream.” She nuzzled his neck. “Love you, Benji boy.”

“’Ou too.”

As always, he waited until she was almost out of the door before speaking again. “Mommy?”

Uh-oh, it was a Mommy question. When it was Mom, he wasn’t as bothered about the answer. “Yeah, babe.”

“Can Dad come back tomorrow?”

Thea sighed and went back into the room, closing the door. She sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over her son, and said, “Benji, I don’t know how long your dad is going to be here.”

“He said for always he’s going to be here!” A dark head on his pillow, his eyes were wide, half-fearful, half-trusting.

“And I really want that to be true. I’ll promise you this, Benji: I’m going to make sure your father stays in your life from now on. Whether he’s in this country or not.”

“Heis!”

“Yes.” For now, anyway. “He loves you, big guy. Don’t doubt that, okay? We’ll help him find ways to show it.”

She wasn’t going to swear to more than that. She kissed Benji again and told him to close his eyes. He did. The rush of painful, exhilarating love that often came over her when she looked at him was more powerful today because the source of so much of his pain was waiting for her downstairs. She stroked his cheek that had the birthmark, smiled at him, and left.

Her steps felt as heavy as Jake’s as she walked down the stairs.Where’s that glass of wine?In the living room, with Gabe.

He was on the couch, looking relaxed; one arm was on the back of the couch and the other held another glass of wine. Hers was on the coffee table.

She could sit next to him, though he took up a fair amount of space and the couch was hardly bigger than a love seat. She could sit in one of the armchairs, but then she’d have to look at him, and she didn’t want to. The sun had sunk behind the trees, and the room was dim enough that he’d turned on a couple of lamps, one of which he sat under.

“Will you sit for a glass of wine before I go?” he said.

If she sat on the couch, she could look in front of her, not at his eyes, illuminated as they were by the lamplight. She squeezed herself into her corner, throwing cushions from behind her into the chair across the room.

There were a few moments of silence. Thea held her wineglass to her, a paltry protection from him.

“Does Benji fall asleep fast?” he said.

“Pretty fast.” Then her eyes narrowed and, breaking her own rule, she looked at him. Scowled at him, really. “Why? What do you think is going to happen?”

“Nothing!” He held up both hands. “Jaysus, Thea, nothing, of course. I just want to talk. Or, I want you to talk.”

She snorted in disbelief. “Oh no, you don’t.”

“I do, pet. I deserve it; I know I do. And if you don’t tell me all of it, we can’t get beyond it.”

“God, Gabe! Have you been to a therapist or something?”

“Well…” He looked abashed. “You know when I… got home—”

“When you abandoned us, you mean?” She couldn’t help it. Her voice was harsh and cold and she was glad of it.

“Yes.” He lowered his head. “Yes, that. So when I got home, you know I didn’t have any money—”

“Neither did I, Gabriel.”

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