Fleeting Moments(33)

I think about this through my entire shift at work, and when night falls, I grab the newspaper on the way out the door, waving to everyone. I’m going to visit my parents tonight, then . . . well . . . then I don’t know. I walk down the road to a Mexican restaurant and order my usual tacos, then I sit outside and wait while they’re being made. I flip open the paper and my heart skips a beat.

Local baseball stadium to open Saturday for its first game since the horrific incident where so many lives were lost.

My heart lodges in my throat, and my fingers tremble as I read and re-read the article. It’s opening up tomorrow for the first time since the attack. I know I should go—I want to go, I need to go—but the idea of walking back in there scares me in a way I don’t even want to think about. Will they come back? Does this mean it’s over and they won’t attack again? Or does it mean they’ll try to because they didn’t win?

I pull out my phone and text Heath.

L – The baseball stadium is opening tomorrow.

He replies fairly quickly, which eases some of the fear lodged in my chest.

H – I know, honey.

L – You didn’t tell me.

H – That’s because I knew you’d try and go, and I don’t want you there.

I exit out of the messages with an angry push of the button. He didn’t tell me because, as always, I’m kept out of everything, and he wants me to be hidden away from it all. I had the right to know. I have the right to go. He can’t stop me from doing that—he won’t stop me from doing that. Facing fear is the only way to move on from it—even I know that.

I want to move on.

My phone rings. I ignore it and shove it back in my purse, heading inside to collect my dinner before getting in my car and heading over to my parents’ house. I’ve eaten my tacos messily by the time I arrive, and spend ten minutes in their driveway wiping myself clean before going in. If I’ve eaten, my mom won’t freak out and attempt to make me something. I know they’ll have finished their dinner already, and I didn’t tell them I was coming, which is sure to end in a frantic scrambling to stuff me full of food.

“Lucy, sweetheart, we weren’t expecting you!” Dad says the second I step through the front door. He’s on the couch, watching his usual football, and Mom is in the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes.

“Just thought I’d pop in and say hello after my shift.”

“Have you eaten?” Mom asks, wiping her hands on a towel before coming over and embracing me.

“I’ve eaten.” I smile.

“Hi baby,” Dad says, snatching me from my mom’s arms and pulling me into his. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too, Dad. Sorry I haven’t been by. Things have been hectic.”

He practically drags me over to the couch and pulls me down beside him. “What’s been going on?”

I pat his hand. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

“Have you spoken to Gerard?” Mom asks, sitting on the other side of me, giving me her sad eyes.

“Yes, Mom.”

“And nothing has changed?”

“No.”

She opens her mouth to say something but my dad cuts her off. “He didn’t do right by our Lucy. He should have stood by her, and he chose not to.”

“He was confused,” Mom tries, but it’s weak.

“He was her husband. End of story,” Dad says in his firm tone, then he looks back to me. “Is everything going smoothly?”

“It’s going as well as it can go,” I admit. “His sister isn’t helping situations.”

“That woman is awful,” Mom scoffs. “I never liked her.”

“No, me either.” I sigh. “But she’s on Gerard’s tail everywhere he goes, so I’ve been unable to speak to him alone. Ending this is the right thing, I’m sure of that, but we loved each other, and I don’t want it to be awful between us.”

“Have you told him that, love?” Dad asks.

“I have, but things are complicated. Plus, he just keeps getting angry and demanding I get help.”

“Have you thought of speaking to someone?” Mom says carefully.

I give her a look. “Yes, Mom. I finally booked myself in to see someone next week, but honestly, I’m doing okay.”

“The nightmares?” Dad asks.

I shrug. “Some nights it’s fine—others it isn’t.”

“And the . . . man.”

Dad shoots Mom a look, and my heart breaks at the expressions on their faces. The concern. The worry.

“I’ve let that go,” I say, and it pains me to do it because I so badly wish they knew that Heath was a real thing.

“I’m happy to hear that. Let’s get you some tea!” Mom leaps up and rushes into the kitchen.

My dad squeezes my hand.

I squeeze back and we sit in silence. My phone is vibrating in my purse, and I decide I had better answer it, otherwise I’m not going to have a pleasant night with my family. “I’m just going to see who keeps calling.”

I stand and disappear into the office at the front of the house and pull out the phone just as the screen flashes with Heath’s name again.

“Hello,” I mumble.