The Row(36)

One corner of the room is filled with a massive pile of blue plastic rectangles. I don’t have a clue what they’re for, but when Jordan puts Matthew down, he runs straight over and starts putting them together. I realize they make a track and then I see the familiar green tub of race cars nearby. There is a big section of racetrack that is already put together, tucked back on the other side of the kitchen table.

“Wow, that looks like quite a project.” In my head, I try to picture all the pieces of track connected, and it’s quickly obvious that the finished track would take up more than the length of the room.

“Want to help? Jordan helps,” Matthew shouts at an impressive volume without even looking up.

“Thank you, but no. I have zero track-building experience. I would only slow you down.” Matthew considers my response carefully, then goes back to work like he’s decided that I’m probably right.

I remind myself again where I am and—now that I’ve seen it—how badly I would like to be gone from here before Jordan’s dad shows up. I have a feeling he wouldn’t be nearly as welcoming as his racetrack-building kindergartner.

Jordan has his eyes on me and I tilt my head toward the door. “Can we talk somewhere else?”

“Sure. Just give me a second.” He turns to face Matthew. “Sorry Matty-boy. It’s time for bed.”

“But Dad isn’t home yet.” Matthew drops his track pieces into the bucket, his pout clear in his voice even before he turns to face us. When he slowly pivots around, I’m surprised to see tears in his eyes.

“I know. He might not be home until very late, but I promise he’s safe.” Jordan crouches down and pulls his brother in for a hug. The underlying reassurance from his words comes through perfectly. How hard would it be for Matthew to understand his mother being taken away so suddenly when he was so young?

A sudden vivid memory sneaks up on me and steals my breath away. I remember lying alone in bed, afraid to sleep because I was terrified that if I closed my eyes the police would come and take Mama away, too. I’d been in bed asleep when Vega came for Daddy. The commotion woke me up, and I’d watched with tears burning my cheeks as they walked him out in handcuffs. Somehow I felt like if I’d stayed awake I could’ve stopped them. I was small and powerless. Not sleeping was the only thing I could think to do to make sure it didn’t happen to Mama, too. I haven’t slept well since that night.

“We can’t see him. How can you be sure he’s safe?” Matthew’s tiny voice asks.

My soul hurts, both from my own memories and for what Jordan and Matthew have been through. When Jordan sits and pulls Matthew onto his lap and against his chest, the raw pain I see in Jordan’s eyes wrenches my heart. He takes a shaky breath and then puts on a smile. “Tell you what. You go get your favorite blanket and I’ll let you watch cartoons on the couch in the living room while you fall asleep. Okay?”

Matthew sniffles and nods.

As I watch Jordan with his brother, some of the anger I hold toward him starts to melt away. The intense pain of sudden loss is something we share intimately. There are few who can really grasp that. No wonder Jordan seemed to understand me so quickly in a way that others in the past couldn’t. We are very different, but we’re also tied together in strange ways. I glance around the room and am suddenly aware that there are no pictures—anywhere. I see a few conspicuous mounting nails sticking out of a nearby wall. Somehow I doubt they’ve been empty for long.

A memory of the day that Mama took down all our family pictures floats back to the surface. The pictures made me feel like a piece of Daddy was still with us, but then he wasn’t anymore. It was like he’d been ripped away from me again, but this time by someone I loved and trusted. I’ve never told Mama that.

I stand quietly in the corner like a fly on the wall. I try not to feel like I’m intruding on this deeply private scene as I watch Jordan help Matthew gather his things and turn on the TV in a nearby room. Within five minutes, his brother is settled and Jordan comes back to me. He’s rubbing his shoulder with one hand like there is a knot there that will never quite go away.

I think I have a knot in the exact same place.

“He has nightmares if he goes to bed before our dad is home. I don’t usually let him stay up this late, but it isn’t a school night, and I can’t stand to hear him wake up screaming in his room.” He states this simply, like it isn’t the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard.

I hesitate, but something in me wants desperately to reach out to him. “I used to have nightmares like that.”

“Really?” Jordan leans back to sit on the edge of the couch. “About what?”

“I was always afraid. I kept thinking that he might come back and take away my mom, too.” I meet his eyes and although I see sympathy in them, we both let the conversation drop there.

Neither of us wants to bring up the truth that hangs over us: the fact that the monster from my nightmares is the same man that Matthew is so terrified to lose.

“Well, in five minutes he’ll be sleeping peacefully anyway. Do you prefer not to have an audience? We can go outside to talk.”

The desire to leave is only getting stronger and stronger with every passing moment. “I’d rather go outside, but are you sure you can leave the house? What if he needs you? I can always meet you somewhere tomorr—”