When We Collide (12 page)

I wasn’t even sure Maggie felt the same. She was the
one who’d pushed me away.

Yet, in some way, I had too. I had left her standing
there, sobbing as she’d cried out my name. Given up on her. Maybe
when she'd needed me most. Her words had ripped me apart, and I’d
sworn then I was done. I’d promised myself I’d no longer allow her
that control over me, the anguish I’d endured just to have a small
token of her love.

I had turned my back on her and walked away.

“You ready?” Blake called as he opened the door, a
burst of winter thrust its way inside.

Pulling on my hand, Emma grinned up at me and said,
“C’mon, Uncle.”

As painful as it was, I walked away from her
again.

But I promised myself this time it wouldn’t be for
good.

On the sidewalk, Grace called for Emma and reached
out to take her hand, and they raced across the parking lot to the
warmth of their car.

I trailed behind, falling to a standstill when the
small square window came into view. Pressed to the glass was the
boy’s face framed by the palms of his hands, his short breaths
fogging up the window.

Jonathan
.

My son.

I allowed myself the smallest smile. Huge brown eyes
blinked back at me, pure and innocent. In my mind, I heard his
footsteps echo in the forest.

Startled, I jumped at the hand on my arm, felt like
a fool when I looked down at my mother’s concerned face.

“Are you okay?” she asked as she followed my gaze to
the window, blatantly worried when she looked back.

Nodding, I whispered, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

I’d never told a greater lie. I was the farthest
place from okay.

She frowned, hesitating when she pulled away. “All
right then…I’m just…I’m going to tell the girls goodnight.”

I stuttered out a sigh of relief when she turned and
tread across the lot to Grace’s black mini-van to say goodnight to
the girls.

“Night, Will,” Grace called from her door as she
hiked herself up into her seat. It seemed forced, but it was the
first thing she’d said to me since I returned.

“Night,” I said, so low she probably could never
have heard.

She started the engine. Headlights cut across the
parking lot and then she drove away.

Mom and Dad headed toward my car, and I looked at
Blake who stood by his truck, watching me intently, the levity from
earlier somehow replaced, as if he sensed my despair.

“You okay, man?” The same troubled question asked by
our mother, though this time I couldn’t find an answer.

Instead, I approached him, each purposed footstep
pounding in my ears. I fisted my hands deep into the pockets of my
coat as if it would somehow give me courage. I began speaking
before I even reached my brother, almost shouting as I advanced.
“You know what you offered the other day...about the
guesthouse?”

I’d made the decision to stay, now it was time to
make good on it. I wasn’t going anywhere.

Blake's face shifted to understanding. “Sure, I
remember.”

I stopped in front of him. “Does it still
stand?”

Skeptical relief bubbled out from Blake’s mouth.
“You’re really staying?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Blake grinned. “Of course it still stands.”

William ~ Present Day

I peered out the living room window and watched the
gentle sway of barren trees give way to plundering squalls.
Branches thrashed and raked against the eves. Moonlight spilled in
from above, slanting across the deserted road, melded with billows
of rising dust to create a thick, milky haze.

Chills crawled up my spine and raised the fine hairs
at the back of my neck. I had to turn away. It reminded me too much
of the scene that had been haunting my dreams for months. At
moments like these, fear prevailed, an ominous cloud that had me
questioning how it was possible to be connected like this to a
child I didn’t know, because the rational side of me knew it was
impossible
.

Exhaling aloud, I took two steps toward the middle
of the dim room. My feet faltered when I realized I wasn’t
alone.

Mom stood on the first step of the staircase,
twisted toward me, as if she’d been on her way up and had only just
noticed me there. We’d gotten back from the pizza place a few hours
earlier, and I’d thought she’d already gone to bed.

She hesitated, looked me in the eye. “We’re all
going to be okay. You know that, don’t you?” she said, a merciful
encouragement, far from ignorant that something was tearing me
apart.

I shook my head as I allowed the waves of
hopelessness to ripple across my face, showed my mother just a
little bit more.

No.

I didn’t know that we were all going to be all
right. I knew the goal, but I had no idea how I was going to get
there.

“God, William, what—” She stopped herself as if
remembering our interaction from this afternoon, visibly backed
away without moving an inch. “I’m here for you...whatever you need.
Just...when you’re ready.” Then she spun and headed up the
stairs.

“Night, Ma,” I murmured just loud enough for her to
hear. I hadn’t called her that in years. It was an affection I’d
reserved for those many times she’d come to my rescue as a child,
when she’d soothed me and loved me and made me a better person.
Right then, I almost remembered how it’d felt to be that boy.

She stilled, holding onto the railing. Her movements
were measured when she turned around to face me. Her mouth twisted
up in an affected smile. “Goodnight, Will.”

I didn’t move while I watched her mount the
stairs.

Running a hand through my hair, I plodded over to
the couch and lowered myself onto the cushions. I scratched at the
weathered upholstery and thought of how I’d sat in this very spot
when my life had been upended.

William ~ May, Six Years Earlier

The morning after the bonfire, I lay in my bed,
rubbing my eyes with the back of my hands. It'd been no use. No
matter how hard I'd tried to forget about her, she had consumed
every second of the night. Every second I'd spent awake, my eyes
squeezed closed as if I could force myself to sleep, she had been
there. When I finally had found sleep, she'd hunted me there as
well. I shouldn't have been surprised when I'd awoken to a picture
of her face.

It wasn't so much the memories I couldn't escape,
but what had been born from them. I had no idea what I was feeling,
but what I did know was I’d never felt this way before.

Sure. I'd dated. Even liked a couple of the girls
all right.

But never once had I felt an inkling of what had
been kindled in me last night—a feeling I couldn’t grasp—something
that hurt and felt perfect at the same time.

Groaning, I shrugged out of my covers and sat up in
bed.

This was so messed up.

Yawning and scratching at my bare chest, I wandered
out of my room and into the hall. I stopped to peek in my brother’s
room. Blake was sprawled, face-down, across his bed. All of his
blankets were pushed to the floor, one foot hanging off the side,
his back rising and falling with each deep, slumbered breath.

I didn’t know if I was actually growing up or the
events of last night had changed me so drastically they’d left me
without the urge to retaliate for yesterday morning, but I turned
and let my brother be.

Hauling myself downstairs, I mumbled a weary, “Good
Morning,” to my mother as I shuffled into the kitchen.

“Morning?” She continued to whip whatever was inside
the large, silver bowl she held braced against her middle. “It’s
passed one o’clock.” She smirked in that all-knowing, motherly way.
“Rough night?” she asked as she turned to pour the contents of the
bowl into the waiting pan on the counter.

I made my way to the refrigerator and grabbed a
carton of orange juice. “Something like that,” I mumbled as I
poured myself a large glass.

Rough. Yes. Should I feel ashamed it was kind of
amazing too? Just that small passage of time when my spirit had
sought to know hers. When this girl had tugged something loose
inside of me. I shook myself from the thought. I really didn’t know
how I was supposed to feel.

When I looked up, Mom was watching me. I ducked my
head and shifted my feet, feeling exposed. Her expression was soft.
I felt like a twelve-year-old boy with his first crush, who didn’t
quite know what to do with the butterflies assailing his stomach.
But I was a 21-year-old man, and it was so much more complicated
than that.

I had never been one to fall for the whole
love
at first sight
bit, and I never believed that one day I’d see a
girl and know she was the one. I was reticent to allow my thoughts
to veer in that direction now. I’d only seen her once, and I’d not
even spoken with her. It was ridiculous to entertain that type of
notion.

But what did I feel?

I tried to swallow some of the fullness in my
throat, to rid myself of the lump of emotion that had been stuck
there since last night.

Whatever I felt, I knew it was permanent.

~

On Tuesday, I sat on the couch while the television
droned. To me, each station seemed the same as I clicked aimlessly
through the channels. No matter how hard I tried to fight it and
alternatively tried to ignore it, I couldn’t force down the
restlessness clipping through my nerves. Today, I resolved to stay
in and stop being such a creep.

I glanced behind me when I heard the soft thud of
feet coming downstairs. A laundry basket was balanced at my
mother’s side.

“You’re going to have to get off that couch,” she
called as she disappeared into the small laundry room tucked away
beneath the stairs, reappearing a few seconds later. “We have a
housekeeper coming today.”

“What...did you win the lottery and not tell me or
something?” I quirked a sarcastic, teasing brow at my mom.

She rolled her eyes and gave me a good-natured swat
on the knee as she passed.

“Don’t you wish.” She shuffled through the living
room, picking up the shirt and shoes Blake had left discarded on
the floor the night before. “Your Aunt Lara has been helping out a
family in town and one of the girls is looking to make some money
for the summer. Figured it’d give me a little break. Lord knows you
boys don’t pick up after yourselves around here.” She shook Blake’s
wadded up shirt in my face. “What is it with you two, anyway?” She
turned away, mumbling, “Poor Grace is going to have to break that
boy if he gets lucky enough to get a ring on her finger.”

I pushed to my feet and stretched. “Sorry, Mom. What
do you want done before she gets here?”

Mom waved a hand around the room. “I just want to
get all the little stuff picked up. She’s not going to know where
anything goes, and I don’t want to overwhelm her the first day
she’s here.”

Gathering the dishes I’d left to dry out on the
coffee table, I wandered into the kitchen and rinsed them in the
sink. I placed them in the dishwasher and switched it to start. I
had to admit, it was pretty pathetic Mom had to ask me to pick up
after myself. It was so easy to get lazy when I came home. I set
about to help her, worked through the kitchen to put away anything
that appeared out of place, and wiped down the mess Blake had
spilled on the counter before he’d rushed out to meet Grace. What a
slob, I thought just as the doorbell rang.

I paused to listen as my mother moved across the
living room, unlatching the lock to open the door.

“Oh, hello, dear,” I heard her say in welcome.

My heart faltered for a beat and then took off in a
sprint when a shy, “Thanks for having me, Mrs. Marsch,” was offered
in return.

My footsteps were almost silent as I stole across
the kitchen floor to the archway. I froze when I saw her.

Fidgeting, Maggie lifted her head just enough to
meet my mother’s face. Her posture was guarded in apprehension.

“Of course…” Mom’s words were muffled, like water
lapping at my ears. My focus was entirely on Maggie, this girl who
had taken me hostage, body, mind, and spirit. “We’re thrilled to
have you. Come on inside.”

In the last four days, I’d seen her much more than I
should have, only because I’d watched, searched, waited. It had
made me sick, nauseated—weak with a want and a worry I didn’t
understand.

She’d known I was watching, too. Welcomed it, even.
The way her body seemed to recognize mine, the subtle quiver of
expectant nerves that traveled between us whenever I got brave
enough to brush passed her—once on the sidewalk and once more when
I followed her into the grocery store. Maybe I was imagining it
all, because in all those times, she’d never once looked up.

Until now.

Slowly she raised her eyes to find mine, as if
drawn. Wide brown eyes stared back at me. They seemed to be caught
in the same stupor I’d been lost in for the last four days.

My heart stuttered again, and I knew I wasn’t
imagining this connection. She felt it too.

In this small town, I probably shouldn’t have been
surprised she was here, standing in my living room. There were only
a handful of families who would have sought the help of the shelter
where Aunt Lara volunteered her time. But I couldn’t help but think
that this was some twist of fate, that she belonged here, and this
was all supposed to be.

Mom’s attention flashed to me, her eyes wide as if
trying to convey a message, then she whipped her attention back to
Maggie and gestured in my direction. “Maggie, do you know my son,
William? He’s home from college for the summer.”

Maggie stared across the space at me. She slowly
shook her head. “No,” she whispered, though her face spoke a
different answer.

For the first time, I was given the opportunity to
really look at her. Her cheekbones were high and defined, though
the slight fullness of her cheeks and her tiny nose somehow made
her appear innocent. The slender slope of her neck seemed almost a
contradiction to the sweetness of her face, the smooth, creamy skin
exposed in the gentle swoop of her dark blue tee. But it was those
sad, knowing eyes that threatened to steal my sanity.