As Tears Go By (39 page)

Rolling
the pen between his fingers, he wrote a K on the page, but couldn’t bring
himself to scribble the other man’s name. It was a nice distraction, but that
quickly reality came crashing back and his body seemed to hurt all over again.
No breakup had ever affected him so deeply and he wondered when the pain in his
chest would go away.

Dropping
the pen to the table, he said, “I think I’m gonna go up to bed, Mum. I’m
tired.”

Her
smile faded and in a very soft voice she quietly agreed. “Okay, love. Get
yourself some sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

He
kissed her cheek and took the stairs to his old room.

* * * *

After
Braydon left the kitchen, Maureen quietly cleaned up. As she washed the dishes
her tears silently fell. Seeing her babies hurting always wounded her. And here
there was nothing to do for it. Only time would mend her sweet boy’s heart. She
supposed she should be grateful he’d come home to lick his wounds. Of all her
boys, Braydon was probably the most sensitive. And no matter how old and
stubborn they became, sometimes a man just needed a mum’s love. Well, she had
plenty of that.

As she closed
the cupboard, tucking the last dish away, she draped the worn dishtowel over
the basin of the country sink. Her eyes combed the empty kitchen and a sense of
warmth filled her. This was the heart of their home, a place that had seen many
smiles and tears over the years. Laughter seemed tattooed into the grain of
each log making up the high walls. She was being foolish, getting all
sentimental at this late hour.

Yet, as
she shut off the light she grinned. Pictures of her children scampering over
the bare wood floors filled her memories. Scraped knees and nicked knuckles had
been mended many times right there on the chair by the old phone. They were
getting older—all her babies.

Shaking
her head, she chased away the sentimental twitters tickling her heart and
turned to take the stairs. She had grandbabies to love now and plenty of
them—that being the Lord’s reward for not strangling her own children when they
rightfully deserved it—cheeky jackasses.

“What a
family,” she whispered, smiling in the dark as she stooped to pick up Braydon’s
shoes and tuck them by the wall. She tidied up his trail all the way to the
bedrooms.

Changing
into her nightgown, she paused and stared at her husband. The kitchen may be
the heart of their home, but he was what kept
her own
heart beating when it broke in times like this. He had the love and foresight
to see what their love could create and she leaned on him to share that hope
and foresight with their children. He was one of a kind and he
was—thankfully—hers.

Taking
a moment, she basked in the memories that seemed to be flooding her. With every
passing year, that love for her husband only grew. He was nothing like the
young man he once was. Now his face was creased with laugh lines and his raven
hair was turning dove white at the temples. But there was a time—it seemed only
yesterday—that he was as young and wild as his sons. And she recalled her fair
share of heartbreak, empathizing with exactly what her son was suffering now.

Maureen
climbed into bed trying not to wake Frank, but as his snoring silenced, she
realized he was up. She turned and faced him, not trying to disguise her tears
that would not relent.

His
large palm cupped her jaw, his thumb dragging under her eye. “What is it,
Maureen?”

“He’s
just so heartbroken, Frank,” she whispered. “This lass was different. He truly
loved her.”

“I know
he did.”

“I wish
there was something we could do. These boys of yours have grown into such
stubborn men. They won’t show their hurt, but I know he’s hurting somethin’
fierce right now and all I can do is cry for him.”

Leaning
close, he kissed her nose. “You’ve got enough heart for all of us, love.
Braydon’ll recover from this.”

“It
seems the same thing happens to him over and over again. It wasn’t supposed to
happen with this one. And I know it’s only a matter of time before him and
Colin start brawling.”

“What’s
Colin got to do with this?”

“He
stole Sammy.”

Frank
laughed. “That was years ago.”

“Ah,
but Braydon never let it go, never stopped holdin’ himself in his brother’s
shadow.”

“They
beat the shit out of each other, Maureen. That’s how men let things go.”

“But I
know he’s reliving all that old hurt. He’s thinkin’ this ex-husband of Becca’s
is better than him and he’s always thought Colin was better.”

“They’re
all equally rotten,” he said affectionately. “Tomorrow they’ll go to O’Malley’s
and get him good and drunk and by Sunday he’ll be feeling better again.”

“Oh,
Frank, alcohol can’t fix problems like this.”

“Well,
neither can milk, so I vote for getting him piss drunk and hoping for the
best.”

She
rolled her eyes. “
Eejit
.”

He
pinched her under the covers. “Ya love me though, woman.
Eejit
or not.”

“You’re
a pain in my arse.” But she did love him. He was her rock. “And don’t think
you’re getting’ out of talkin’ to him tomorrow. I don’t mean small talk either.
You talk to him, Frank, because he needs family right now and I don’t want him
getting lost in this heartache.”

“I
know, love. Life’s full of bridges that need burnin’ and bridges meant to be
crossed. It’s not always clear which is which. Braydon’s going to have to make
up his mind before he moves on and that’s gonna take some time. But I’ll talk
to him, let him know he can stay here as long as he needs.”

“Just
promise you’ll sit down with him.”

“I
will. Now get some sleep. I love you.”

“I love
you too.”

* * * *

The
holidays had passed with stunted joy. Kevin joined them for a small Christmas
dinner consisting of ham and traditional sides. He’d lingered as they decorated
the tree before Santa came. But with every passing moment, Becca became more
and more aware that this was not how it was supposed to be. Despite her son’s
joy as they opened presents, every show of happiness on her part was a sad
imitation of cheer.

She
smiled for her son, not wanting him to sense her true feelings. The truth was
she’d never felt so hollow and alone. Though Kevin had been attentive, his
presence grated. He was there for Hunter, she reminded herself regularly.

The day
after Christmas she’d discovered the gifts on her porch. There was no card, but
she knew the beautiful snow globes were from Braydon. He’d been there without
her knowing and that was when the truth became unarguably clear. If Kevin was
present, Braydon would be absent, plain and simple.

Kevin’s
attitude had been more patient than she thought possible, yet undertones of a
personal reconciliation were an ongoing obstacle. Becca continuously rebuffed
his attempts to get closer. She’d allow him as much time as he desired with
their son, but her heart was strictly off limits.

He’d
pledged he was a changed man. However, comments about her unmatched,
serviceable dishes and other lackluster parts of her world spoke of his
lingering desire for a fancier life. Braydon would have never commented on such
things. No matter how much Kevin attested to wanting a life with them, his
grumbling told a different story. It seemed a sacrifice for
him
to be there and it shouldn’t have
been. Not when Becca sacrificed her own happiness in order to allow him the
opportunity.

On New
Year’s Eve, Kevin showed up with champagne and high hopes, but Becca wasn’t in
the celebratory mood. The person she’d hoped to ring in the New Year with was
gone. She sent Kevin home before midnight and welcomed the coming year alone.
Everything inside of her begged for action, yet she was so depleted, so broken
down by shame and fear, she couldn’t seem to make herself move.

Her
last conversation with Braydon replayed in her mind on an hourly basis. The
last time they were together was the end. She could no longer dredge up the
courage to face him, fearful she’d only disappoint him once more. Still, the
words of their last phone call played in her mind like the echoes of a distant
bell she’d never see in person.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he
said quietly.

Her heart sank. “Braydon—”

“Tell me you changed your mind,
Becca. This sitting in neutral is killing me.”

Her
eyes drifted to her son. He’d been building a train track with Kevin.
Everything about the scene should have made her happy.

“Please, just give me a little
more time.”

He was silent for a long time.
“I love you, Becca, but time isn’t going to change anything. I think you’ve
made up your mind.” His voice sounded so depleted. “I don’t want to keep doing
this. We’re getting nowhere. Please don’t call me again unless you’ve changed
your mind.”

Several
times she considered calling again, craving the sound of his voice, the
closeness they once shared, but her compassion for him forbade it. Every
selfish attempt to drag out their goodbye was hurting him. She didn’t want to
cause him any more pain, regretting that which she’d already inflicted.

After
too many empty days and lonely nights, the silence finally broke her. She
needed to see him, needed to hear his voice, look into his eyes and confess
she’d screwed everything up. She didn’t have the answers, but the turn her life
had taken could not be the solution she’d hoped for. She loved her son, would
do anything for him, but denying her own happiness was killing her.

She’d
gone to his apartment after work to talk, but it was empty. Removing her key
from the ring, she placed it on the counter and wept the entire way home. Becca
waited until Hunter fell asleep that night to truly break down. Braydon was
gone.

She was
done making excuses borne of fear, and sadly, she’d hesitated too long, the
realization that she
needed
to be
with him coming too late. Despite all her efforts to do the right thing,
provide the most organic environment for her son, she couldn’t ignore her
desire—no
need—
to have Braydon in her
life. But she had vacillated and now, she wasn’t sure she could fix any of
this. She had no one to blame but herself.

Yes,
Kevin had been more helpful and was doing more with Hunter, which was great,
but he was still Kevin. There were parts of him she simply couldn’t abide. And
why should she have to? Their personal relationship was over. All that was left
were echoes of lost hope in the shadows of her heart that now belonged to
someone else.

Her love went to those that deserved it—Hunter and
Braydon—which was where her loyalty belonged as well. It took her some time to
process the finality of such an epiphany, but once she embraced her choice, all
the weight that had been bogging her down seemed to ease. Clarity had been
contaminated by past doubts—and her own stupidity. But she was done denying
herself the happiness she deserved for obligations she’d met twice over.

It was time to put
herself
first,
something a lot easier said than done. She just hoped it wasn’t too late.

She
considered calling him, but the sound of his voicemail when he didn’t answer
would be like having a layer of flesh ripped off, gutting her with the
confirmation he was finished with her. Though she was ready to make a move, she
wasn’t sure how to proceed. She’d botched so much already. Everything was
fragile.

Wandering
through the dark house, she grabbed a box of tissues and collapsed onto the
couch. So lost in her sobs, she didn’t hear the door open.

“Rebecca?”
With her name came the acute sense of distress.

“Kevin?”
The man had impeccable timing. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

“I
wanted to see you.”

Her
body shuddered. It was becoming excruciatingly difficult to fake happiness at
his presence, which was becoming more and more intrusive, treading on moments
that had nothing to do with their son.
 
Quickly collecting the crumpled tissues littered all over the sofa, she
stood and swallowed back her erupting emotions. “You should call first.”

“Call
before I come to my house?” The sterile hatred she associated with his
narcissism was magnified every time he laid claim to her house as though it
still belonged to him. Her hand stilled over the trashcan, tissues soaked with
tears for Braydon falling in with the rubbish. Pivoting slowly, she faced her
ex-
husband.

He
sifted through the mail—
her mail—
sitting on the counter. Every gnawing
thought overshadowed by the pressure of the last few weeks collided as her
patience snapped with piercing clarity. “That’s it.”

“That’s
it?” He placed the mail back on the counter and frowned in confusion.

“Yes!”
she snapped, at her wit’s end. She collected her mail and stashed it in a
drawer. “That. Is. It. This is
my
house. You can’t just barge in here
whenever you feel like it.”