His stomach churning, he stood, covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Finish eating,” he whispered to Max before walking into the living room. “Is that what you talked with him about?”
“No. I wanted to run it by you first.”
Thank God for small favors. She had no business saying anything to Max about visiting before she had Eddie’s permission.
“Is next weekend a good time for you?” she asked.
There was no good time. After Lena’s visits, Max always acted out. Fighting at school. Being disrespectful and angry at home.
How could it be anything other than a disruption? Lena had taken off when their son was two, claiming she couldn’t handle the responsibility of having a child, wanting to climb the career ladder more than to be a mother. She’d moved to Chicago and had been on the fast track with her job ever since. Until she got sick.
And now she wanted to see Max next week.
What choice did he have? She was his mother. She had a right to see him. Max had a right to have his mother in his life, even if it was on a temporary basis.
“Yeah, that works for me.”
“Great,” she said, sounding so relieved, guilt pricked him. He pushed it aside. “Maybe one night,” she continued, “he could stay with me at the hotel.”
He didn’t want to fight her but he had to protect his son. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s only one night, Eddie,” she said, sounding small. “I really want to spend time with him. He’s my son, too.”
“He is your son,” he agreed, though it killed him to do so, “but you haven’t seen him in months. It’s confusing for him to have you pop in and out of his life.”
“Now that I’m better, I can see him more often. Can’t we work something out?”
She sounded sincere. But actions spoke louder than words and he needed to make sure this wasn’t some whim brought on by her illness. “If your visit with him goes well, the next time you come to town Max can spend one night with you.”
“I know I haven’t been a big part of Max’s life up until now,” she said softly. “But I want to change that. Are you going to let me? Or fight me?”
Her words, the subtle threat of them, blew through him. Chilled him to the bone. “Goodbye, Lena.”
He clicked the phone off, imagined how satisfying it would be to wing it across the room. Instead, he set it carefully on the coffee table and headed to the kitchen. To his son.
Are you going to let me? Or fight me?
He was going to let her. Was going to let her see Max, be a bigger part of his life. Partly because it was the right thing to do. Because he felt sorry for what she’d gone through with her cancer diagnosis. Because he truly was glad she was going to be okay.
But mostly because if he fought her, he was terrified he’d lose.
* * *
TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY-FIVE DAYS.
She hated mornings the most.
Actually, Joan thought, keeping her eyes shut as she lay under the heavy comforter on her bed, she hated every single waking moment of each day. But mornings were, by far, the worst. Because each day there was a moment, just as she awoke, when everything was fine. When she forgot, for the briefest of seconds, that her life had been changed forever.
Each day there were a precious few seconds when she was happy.
And then it all came rushing over her. The pain. The crushing grief. The sense of hopelessness. Of despair.
Her son was gone.
She didn’t know what to do. Wasn’t sure she could go on. She didn’t want to die.
She just...didn’t want to live.
Everything inside of her stilled and she held her breath as if she’d uttered her guiltiest secret aloud. Waited for the repercussions, the anger and denial, but none were forthcoming. Not from her husband, who slept next to her. Not from the universe or the God she used to believe in.
Not from herself.
How could she deny what was in her heart? The truth she faced each day. That she kept hidden from everyone. She wasn’t okay.
Wasn’t sure she’d ever be okay again.
But she’d keep pretending she was.
Everyone told her to take as much time as she needed, but even if she lived forever she’d never get over losing Beau. Her only child.
She was supposed to learn how to live without him. How? He’d been her shining light, her main focus and the best thing that had ever happened to her for so long... How could she possibly go on when he’d been so senselessly taken from this world?
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. It was the injustice of having him ripped from this world that kept her going. The sense that if she gave up, she’d somehow be letting the monster who’d taken Beau’s life win. She had to at least pretend she was getting better. That she was handling her loss with grace and dignity.
When all she really wanted was to curl up into a ball in some dark corner and never come out.
She didn’t have that luxury. She had to be there for Harper and Cassidy. Had to be a pillar of strength for those around her. She would not be pitied, would not be looked down upon or thought of as weak.
She’d keep right on pretending she was strong.
Steve shifted, rolled over so that his body pressed against her back, his morning erection solid and warm against the cleft of her rear. A year ago she would have snuggled closer to him, would have lifted his arm and wound it around her waist, led his hand to cup her breast. They would have made love slowly. Sweetly. Or they would have come together wildly. Passion driving them both higher and higher.
Six months ago she would have kept her breathing even and pretended to be sound asleep. Or she would have stiffened and edged away, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t touch her.
This morning she remained still. Kept her body relaxed as he rubbed against her, his hand gripping her hip, his breathing growing ragged. He rolled her gently onto her back—he was nothing but gentle, her husband, the man she’d fallen in love with years after thinking she’d never find love again.
They’d gotten married the summer Beau turned thirteen, had said their vows in a small, private ceremony in Steve’s backyard with Beau giving Joan away. Steve’s son and daughter—sixteen and eighteen respectively—had stood up for him.
It had been such a beautiful beginning. Such a lovely promise to what could have been a long and joyful life together.
But now that life was empty. She was empty. And so alone.
All she could do was hold on to the shell of their marriage. Of herself.
Steve shucked his boxers, slid her underwear down, then lifted the hem of her nightgown. There were no tender words between them. No smiles or laughter like there used to be. He didn’t kiss her, had stopped trying to get her to respond—to his kisses, his touch—months ago.
But she wouldn’t deny him. Not when she knew sex was a basic human function. Not when he’d been so good to her, helping her keep up her facade in front of everyone else.
She could pretend with everyone else but not with Steve. It shamed her. Humiliated her. But he was the only one who knew the truth. She was broken. Forever shattered.
He slid inside of her and she bit her lower lip, grimaced. She wasn’t prepared for him but after a few strokes, her body responded the way nature intended. He grabbed her hips, pressed his face into the side