11. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Abby
D allas’s childhood bedroom is exactly what I expected although it is larger than I pictured. The dark blue walls are covered in sports posters. The floors are clear of clutter just like his room at the apartment. I’ve learned that Dallas is the clean freak between him and Logan. A twin bed is pushed against the far wall. A nightstand and dresser match the deep brown stained bed set, each positioned around the room on separate walls. A small desk sits under the large window across from where I stand just inside the doorway. Baseballs, basketballs, footballs, and soccer balls cover the bedspread in a repeating pattern. The pillowcases match. A single stuffed bear, wearing a Twins shirt, sits in front of his pillow.
“A bit cliché, don’t you think?” I ask, grinning back at him.
He leans against the door frame, hands in his pockets, watching me inspect the room. “I was a very trendy kid when I was younger, thank you very much.”
On his desk is a picture of Dallas when he was a young boy and his dad who didn't have any graying hair yet. Dallas holds a bat over his shoulder while his dad crouches next to him. The front of Dallas's uniform reads "Tee Ball Team C" while Dr. Kraus's shirt reads "Coach" over his left shoulder. As unhappy as Dallas has been with his father lately, it's sweet to see a happy picture of them together.
I pivot back toward Dallas. A picture is tucked into the corner of the long skinny mirror that hangs near the door frame. Three kids stand in a backyard in their swimsuits, a sprinkler spraying wildly behind them. One is Dallas, one is Rose, and I’m assuming the other is Cole. There’s no denying the three are related. They’re younger, likely no older than fifteen.
“How old were you?” I ask, looking up.
He stares at the picture with a nostalgic smile. “That was Rose’s and Cole's twelfth birthday, so I would have been thirteen. Cole had gotten that sprinkler as a present that year. He was more excited about the super-soaker water guns it came with, and we ended up having a water fight for hours. We came in more pruned than a shriveled grape.” He pauses. “I wish you could have met him. You two would have loved each other. He’d be able to keep up with your wit far better than I can.”
I smile at that, trying to imagine his personality compared to Dallas’s. Something crosses Dallas’s face. I can’t tell if it’s sadness, anger, or maybe both, but his face falls flat, a little melancholy. I tilt my head. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just … remembering.”
A hug feels like the only right thing to comfort him in this. He hugs me back tightly, and we stay there for a while, breathing in each other's scent, sharing body heat, sharing a heartbeat.
We’re pulled from this blissful moment when Trisha calls up the stairs, “Dinner’s ready.”
Rose isn’t home yet when we make our way down the stairs, but Trisha says she will be soon and that we shouldn’t wait up for her. I pass through the living room where a large, white brick fireplace sits nestled between two tall windows.
A family portrait that looks only a year or two old is mounted on the brick. I walk up to it to see the whole family, including Cole, in some semblance of matching clothes. Dallas looks almost the same. His hair is a bit shorter in the picture than I’ve seen it. Rose’s hair is long and a shade lighter than Dallas’s from the highlights. It’s easy to see how alike everyone looks in this picture. They all have the same nose. And everyone looks so happy in comparison to the mess they’re sitting in now.
“That was two years ago,” Trisha says from the archway into the kitchen. She fold her hands in front of her.
I offer a smile. “It’s a good picture,” I say, a little unsure of what to say to her.
“He would have liked you,” she says, taking a few steps into the room.
I look at Dallas, who’s smiling softly. “That’s what Dallas said, too.”
There’s a moment of awkward silence while the three of us stare at the picture and I let my eyes wander the room. The tall ceilings are slatted in a light-stained wood and a large fan hangs from the vaulted center.
You wouldn’t guess it from the outside, but the inside of the house gives off heavy cabin vibes. I wouldn’t have pegged this family to enjoy that sort of décor, but now that I’m standing here, I think it makes sense.
Dr. Kraus once told me that for him, writing is like an escape, that it lets you live a life separate from your own. I latched on to that idea wholeheartedly. With Trisha being an attorney, I think wanting somewhere cozy to come home to after the sterility of the walls of the courthouse would be welcoming. Compared to the house I grew up in, this one is bigger but still feels just as homey.
“Well,” Dallas says, clapping his hands together once and pulling everyone out of the awkward silence. “Dinner?”
Their kitchen table is large and made of thick, heavy wood. A floral runner lines the length of the table, dangling slightly on either side. Four off-white placemats sit next to each other at one end. A hot pot of spaghetti noodles sits separate from the meat and sauce combination in another pan. A wooden bowl of Caesar salad takes residence by the noodles, and a smaller bowl of mixed veggies steams farthest away from where I sit.
Dallas and I sit next to each other in front of two placemats. Trisha sits opposite Dallas, leaving the one across from me for Rose.
“This all smells amazing.” It’s the only small talk I can come up with. I’d rather keep the conversation away from legal stuff today, but I’m sure we’ll make our way around to it at some point.
“Thank you,” Trisha beams. “I’m glad you two could stay. It feels good to cook more than a single or double-serve meal.”
“I’ll always take the free food,” Dallas chimes in.
That gets a laugh from everyone, including Rose, who walks in at the same moment.
“Why do you think I still live at home?” Rose jokes, setting her things down on the kitchen counter before joining us at the table. She takes the last open seat across from me and grabs the already open bottle of wine from the table. The cork pops out easily and she pours herself a healthy glass.
Trisha laughs and offers me the scoop for the noodles. “Guests first.”
I take the scoop from her and gather my plate together. The food is good. The small talk flows easily. They mostly talk about Rose’s job and Dallas’s games. It’s easy to tune out from my life. It also feels weird to truly enjoy a family meal. But I can’t help but wonder if they think about the two people missing from the table.
I picture Dr. Kraus sitting next to Trisha at the head of the table and Cole sitting next to Rose. They’d laugh and chat about whatever happened throughout their days. Dr. Kraus would surely comment on Dallas’s baseball games. And I’d like to think I could join in on the fun, the banter. It could be easy with everyone. But it’s not. It won’t be the same. It’ll only be the four of us. And if we ever have dinner with Dr. Kraus, it’ll be the same.
“So, Abby,” Trisha starts, pulling me from my thoughts.
Here we go. I sit up a little straighter, focusing on my food again.
“How has the summer been for you? Aside from … certain things.” She shovels a bite of food into her mouth, likely trying to prevent herself from saying anything more.
“Oh, uh, it’s been good. I’ve been able to focus on my writing a lot lately. Did Dallas tell you I was nominated for an award through the LAO?”
“He did. I’m so proud of you. That’s a big accomplishment. When did you say the ceremony was?”
“Just under a week out.”
“Well, I wish you all the luck,” Trisha says, taking another bite.
I nod my appreciation, practically scarfing down my food so I don’t have to talk as much. The rest of dinner runs by quickly, and as we are about to leave, Trisha stops me at the door. Dallas pauses on the sidewalk out front. “Abby, I want to check in with you. See how you’ve been feeling. I didn’t want to bring it up at dinner. I wanted to keep that a peaceful place. But I couldn’t let you leave without asking.”
There it is. “I, uh, I’m doing okay. Been keeping myself busy, so that’s helped.”
“Good. Would you be up for meeting me sometime this week? I’ve got more details to share with you.”
“Of course.”
We finish saying our goodbyes, and I’m thankful for the bike ride home to keep my mind from racing with all the ideas she might have to share with me at our next meeting.
We chose to meet the day after Dallas’s next game. They won, making for an exciting day and night. But now, all that excitement has been pushed to the sidelines. Trisha sits to my left, Dallas to my right, and the large binder she slid in front of me is daunting.
“So, the protective order is in effect for the duration of the case. We will file for a permanent one at the end. How does that sit with you?” She leans forward, resting her elbows on the conference room table.
“I feel a little better about it, but I don’t know that a piece of paper is going to keep Sam away from me.” I sit on my hands to still them.
“Like I said last time, Dallas is here for you. You can call the police as often as you need to. You still have Officer Olivia Putnam’s number, right? She’s always available for you to call as well. Plus, no one can find Sam right now. So, he likely skipped town. He’s been served all the appropriate paperwork, so if he doesn’t show up to court on the scheduled dates, we win automatically.”
“Remind me again when the first court date is?”
“In two weeks. It’s just the initial meeting so that everyone can get on the same page about things, and we can set the actual court date for the trial.”
I nod, taking the information in stride. Dallas leans forward, too, watching me. “Okay,” is all I can come up with. I don’t know what else to say about most of this. It has eased my mind a little knowing someone else is taking care of all this for me. If I were the one trying to organize everything, I think I would be in over my head.
And then it dawns on me. “I’m still not required to be there, right? That hasn’t changed?”
She tips her head to the side and says, “Not legally. Only if you want to be. But being there might help you process everything.” She pauses, closes the binder, and settles her hands in her lap. “Have you thought about therapy? I think it would be a good idea to talk to someone about all of this.”
I shake my head. No. Not therapy. Not right now. My head is too messy for me to talk to yet another person about this shit show. Trisha doesn’t press either subject further. If Sam’s not there, sure, I could probably go into the courtroom. If he is, I don’t think I could handle seeing him again. Flashes of the last time I saw him flood my memory, and I blink them away while she keeps talking.
There’s more paperwork and legal mumbo jumbo before we head home, and I try to mentally prepare for the coming court date. It’s after the LAO awards ceremony so that’ll be a good way to relax before the big day.
Big day. More like shitty day.
After dinner and some downtime, Dallas and I head to bed. I’m fully ready for sleep to take me right here, right now, but it seems Dallas has other ideas tonight.
“I want to play a game. Get your mind off things,” he says, smirking at me from where he tosses his clothes in the hamper.
“A game?” I ask unamused as I pull the covers up to my chin.
“A game. An easy one. And we don’t even have to get out of bed for it.” He climbs in next to me and props himself up on an elbow to face me. My cheeks heat a moment before he explains. “Truth or drink. But no drinking this time.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s not really a game then.”
“Sure, it is. I’ll get to watch you squirm when you have to answer my questions.”
I give a large nod, my brows raising with the movement. “Ah, so it’s a game for you. I see.” I can’t help but smile. “So, what exactly do I get out of it, then?”
“You’ll get to ask questions, too. Promise.”
I sit up and tuck my feet under me. “Fine. I start though.” A wide grin spreads across his face, and he mimics my position. I take a moment to think about which question to start with. “Complete honesty?”
“One-hundred percent.”
“Deal.” The question comes easily. “First question. Why did you help me at that first party? I can’t imagine you’d help every drunken college girl like that.”
He thinks for a moment. “Well, I did feel really bad that you spilled your whole drink on yourself.”
I feign offense. “That I spilled my drink?” I raise a brow, waiting for him to catch on.
He holds both hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. I spilled the drink on you. But seriously. I helped because I felt bad. And when I recognized who you were, I told myself I needed to at least try to get to know you. Even if we only stayed friends. That day at the bike meet when we ran into each other?” He waits for my acknowledgment. When I nod, he continues. “I was kicking myself for not getting your name.”
My heart leaps as he tells me all of this. I feel my cheeks heat. “Well, I’m glad things worked out the way they did, even if it was a little messy.” I think that’s the first time I’ve thought about it that way, and I think I believe the words. I likely wouldn’t have gotten to know Dallas if things hadn’t played out the way they did. I most likely would have crawled right back to Sam like I have every other time. But not this time. I’m stronger this time. With Dallas, I have the support system I didn’t know I needed.
He gives me a sweet smile. “Me, too.” He pauses. “Okay. My turn.” His eyes roam my body briefly. “I want to know about all your tattoos. Lord knows I’ve seen them all, but I’ve never asked about them.”
“All of them?” I ask, thinking about how long that might take.
“Every last one of them.”
“We’ll be here for hours if I explain all of them.” We won’t, but it may take a while. He shrugs and settles into his spot further. I sigh. “Honestly, most of them I just really liked. There’s not much of a story.”
He turns up his nose. “Don’t care. Now, go.”
I roll my eyes but look myself over to decide where to start. I point to the one that wraps around my left thigh. “This one is gorgeous. I had originally asked for a snake or something similar and my artist thought a serpent might be more fun. Plus, it’s a bit more fantastical since I read so much fantasy.” I pull my right leg up to point out the mandala on my foot. “This one I just thought was cute.”
I continue pointing out all the small tattoos that litter my body, including the quote on my rib cage. He asks how badly that one hurt. I tell him it was the most painful of all of them, but it’s fitting for the meaning behind it. I finally move on to the last one, the biggest one.
“This one,” I say, pulling the collar of my shirt down where the stem of leaves pours over from my back, “is just pretty, but it blends into the memorial tattoo I got for my dad.” I lift the back of my shirt and turn around for him to see it better. It’s the number four in the same font as a jersey. He traces the number with his hand. It sends a shiver across my skin.
When he pulls away, I turn around and he’s smiling far bigger than I expected. “How did I never make that connection? I remember you said he played baseball, too, but my brain didn’t connect the two, I guess.” He stops and starts to shift away from me but glances over his shoulder. “I’m number four, too.”
“I know.” I smile back. “I think it was fate.”
He takes a deep breath as if he’s about to reveal some huge secret no one knows. “Did you know …” he starts and then gets up from the bed, the tail end of his word hanging in the air. He moves to his closet and pulls out a box from the top shelf. When he lifts the top, I see a few trinkets, but he pulls something out from underneath them. He lets the fabric unfold to reveal the front of a shirt. It’s a jersey, but not a baseball jersey. Based on the design, my best guess is soccer.
My brows twist together as I try to process what he’s trying to say without words.
He sees my confusion and starts explaining. “Cole played soccer.” He turns the jersey around to reveal the back where the number four sits in a bold white color. “He was also number four.”
My mouth drops open as I start putting the pieces together. My tongue ties in so many knots that I can hardly form a coherent sentence. How is this possible? Dallas neatly folds up the jersey, places it back in the box, returns it to the closet, and then rejoins me on the bed.
“My jersey wasn’t always the number four. I used to be thirty-two. That’s just what they assigned me. But when he died last year, changing my number was one of the first things I did to remember him, to keep him alive if only for the rest of my college career.”
I stumble over my words. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Weird coincidence, huh?” He folds his hands in his lap as I process. I nod and then shake my head as if that’ll reset my brain. “Okay. Your turn,” he says, seeming to move on from the last jaw-dropping revelation.
I adjust myself to sit crisscross and contemplate my next question, completely unsure of how to follow up on the previous conversation. “Oh, I know. You said you had three siblings. But I’ve only heard of Rose and Cole. Who's the fourth?”
Dallas takes a deep breath. “After Rose and Cole were born, my mom got pregnant again. They were super excited. But she miscarried. I don’t know how far along she was. But I guess that tattoo is my way of honoring her and the baby.”
I reach for his arm to see it again. Four triangles inked into his skin on the back of his arm. He turns and lifts his arm to give me a better view. “I think that’s a beautiful tribute.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “Thanks.” We both return to our positions, and Dallas says, “Okay. One more. But this next question feels very out of place after yours.”
We both chuckle. “Just go for it.”
His eyes narrow as his smile grows. It’s playful. “What’s your middle name?”
I’m caught off guard. I had expected something sexual. “That’s your question?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. I don’t know how we haven’t discussed this yet, but that’s something I should know, being your boyfriend and all.”
I giggle. “Fair point. It’s Lauren. Not sure why. I think my parents just liked the way it sounded.”
“Abigail Lauren Cooper,” he says, playing with the sound of it. “I like it. It flows well.”
“What’s yours?”
He huffs, jaw clenching tightly. “It’s Charles.”
His dad’s name. That’s got to hit differently now. “Oh,” I say.
“Yeah. Not so fun anymore, huh?” He chews the inside of his lip.
I tilt my head to find his eyes. When he meets mine, he looks a little pained. “I don’t think you need to be ashamed of it. You can make it mean whatever you want. Pretend they gave it to you because of Charles Manson.”
His smile returns, if only a little dimmed. "I'm not sure that's any better. Didn't he kill a bunch of people?"
"Kind of, but that's not the point. He was also a great musician."
Dallas chuckles enough to lighten my spirits. “You’re right,” he says and places his forehead to mine. "Thank you."
We settle into bed under the covers, clinging to each other like it’s the end of the world. If it were, I would be just fine going out like this, with Dallas by my side, his body heat warming me, his scent enveloping me.
We’re in our own little world in here. And I think, at this moment, and going forward, I could survive this life with him.