Patchwork Paradise(53)

Everyone had forgotten, including me. I tried to ignore the hollow anxiety gnawing at my gut.

“That was before the sudden-baby moment. I understand, Thomas. Seriously, don’t feel bad about it.” I knew I couldn’t come first, and I’d have to be okay with that or we’d have no future.

I turned away, but Thomas tugged at my arm. He looked into my eyes for a long moment and winced a little. “But I do. I’m really sorry I forgot.” He rubbed his thumbs over my cheekbones, and I swallowed hard. “I don’t want you to go through that alone.”

“You’ll be there when I get home, won’t you?” I asked. Thomas said nothing, just put his arms around me, and I buried my face against his chest. He smelled so good, so familiar, I couldn’t even pinpoint exactly what he smelled of. He was . . . Thomas.

“Of course I will be,” he said.

Milo made an impatient noise, and we resumed our walk.

“If he wakes up more than once tonight, I can change him,” I told Thomas. “You have to work too tomorrow. We should split the awake time.”

“You don’t have to do that. And besides, as long as he only wakes up once, I can deal with it.”

“I’m going to leave my door open regardless,” I said, and flushed when I realized that sounded like an invitation. Thomas didn’t bat an eye though, so we clearly weren’t in that stage of our budding relationship yet.

Secretly, I hoped it wouldn’t take too long.



It took forever. By Wednesday we still hadn’t had the chance to do more than kiss each other quickly and surreptitiously on the mouth. For supposedly sleeping fourteen hours a day, babies were awake a hell of a lot. Between work, baby, more work, more baby, a quiet minute here and there with Thomas, and my mom keeping us company, I suddenly found myself sitting in the stuffy courthouse before I felt ready for it. I’d barely slept the night before, thanks to Milo waking up four times for unfathomable reasons, and I didn’t feel too confident about being there.

Because the whole thing had been caught on CCTV, I hadn’t had to do more than sign a statement, but I did not look forward to being in the same room as the killer for however long. For some reason, I’d imagined the place would be packed, but apart from me there were a few journalist types and other bored-looking people who could have been waiting their turn for all the interest they showed.

The guy’s name was Kurt Boons, alleged meth addict, and the minute he walked in, I went tense all over. My knee began to bounce, my heart slammed, and my clothes became glued to my skin with cold, nauseous sweat. I sat there for an hour and a half, unable to hear a thing the judge said because of the blood roaring in my ears.

Kurt had trouble sitting still. I could only see his back, but he was fidgeting restlessly the whole time. A few times his lawyer leaned across and said something to him, and then Kurt would remain motionless for a little while, but before long he’d start up again.

I wondered what he was thinking. I wondered if he regretted taking a life. If he even remembered. I wondered if he ever thought of the consequences, the gaping hole the murder he committed had left behind.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed out. Someone tried to stop me at the door, but I tore myself free and reached the bathroom just before I lost my lunch.

I’m sorry, Sam, I thought. I can’t do this.

Who did it benefit anyway? Not Sam, that was for sure. I didn’t want to exact any revenge on this guy. It wouldn’t bring Sam back. They caught the killer. Hopefully whatever punishment he received would prevent him from causing this amount of grief to anyone else. That was all I cared about.

I washed my face and patted it dry with paper towels, ready to go home. For a split second I wished I were going back to an empty house, if only for an hour or so, to soothe this thumping headache.

As I aimed for the door, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Another email from Stan. My heart fluttered anxiously in my throat as I opened it up.

Oliver,

They declined our offers of forty and forty-five percent. Are you still ready and able to go ahead with the buy-out at fifty?

Regards,

Stan

I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall, too defeated to stand on my own. What would Sam say if he knew what my relationship with his parents had become? Shouldn’t I have tried harder to remain on good terms with them?

For a split second I wanted to email Stan back, tell him to let them have it. I was exhausted. But I thought of Milo and Thomas in that beautiful house, how maybe, just maybe, the three of us could turn it into the home of a warm, loving family someday, as it was meant to be. I knew I couldn’t let go yet.

I’ll pay the fifty percent, I emailed back, then gathered my strength and went outside.

The courthouse was a gorgeous building on the south side of Antwerp, and I adored the design. It always reminded me a little of the Sydney Opera House, although in this case the sharp peaks represented sails as a nod toward the international harbor. Regardless, when I stepped outside, it felt like I was escaping the bowels of the darkest dungeon.

I could’ve taken a tram home, but the day was bright and warm, so I walked instead. It did me good to be alone with nothing but my own thoughts, and when I finally opened my front door, the house was quiet.

I found Mom in the backyard, reading a book.

“Oh, hello. How did it go?” She took one look at my face and stood up to hug me hard. “Tell me you don’t have to go back. Don’t go back, Oliver. This isn’t helping anyone.”