Chapter 7
Celine
The day before the first day of school always filled me with jitters.
On top of that, I had so much to get done. Ellie was angstier than usual and headed to the combined junior high and high school across the street from the elementary where Julian and Maggie and I would be.
It hurt my heart, making her bounce around during what were really tough years to be a girl. In another universe, she would be painting her nails and chatting with friends about how the first day of seventh grade might go.
Instead, she was the new kid. Again.
The kid from a broken home. The kid whose dad was in jail.
With that thought bouncing around in my head, I emptied the dryer and carried the basket of fresh laundry up the stairs.
I felt much more at ease with where Maggie was at. She loved school and was too busy finishing her summer reading list to really get anxious about starting in a new school.
Then there was Julian. Stella—Ms. Stone—had sent a detailed visual schedule, as promised, and we’d been reviewing it every day since.
She’d also sent photos of the school staff, and Julian had memorized all their names. And more than once, he’d counted the number of steps between his classroom and mine and knew exactly how long it would take to get to me.
In the past, his separation anxiety had gotten so intense that he couldn’t bear not being in the same room as me. Sometimes he’d even have to sit close enough to touch me while building with Legos or looking at a book.
After we finally escaped his father, Julian’s therapists said it would get better over time. After a few attempted escapes from class in kindergarten, he settled in and eventually found a lot of comfort in the routine that came with the school day.
Once I’d folded the clean clothes, I shuffled across the hall into Julian’s room.
“I have pants and PJs,” I called out. “Can you put them in your drawers?” My little guy liked having tasks to complete and Ellie had used my fancy label maker to label his drawers.
She’d even made a daily checklist and mounted it next to his door.
Inside the quiet room, I turned in a circle. “Julian?”
All I found was a half-built Lego car on the floor.
Terror rushed through my veins, fast and relentless.
“Girls,” I shouted, dropping the clean laundry onto the floor. “Do you know where Julian is?”
I darted from room to room, wildly searching. Ellie joined me, sweeping through the house, calling his name.
“He’s probably hiding,” she said, though she was rigid with tension just like I was.
He wasn’t on the second floor or anywhere downstairs, and he wasn’t in the driveway.
After I’d checked the small back yard, muscle memory took over, and I ran down the hill, calling out his name.
Dread swamped me. Not again.
How could I have lost him again?
As I ran, my thoughts spiraled. Why did I think living here was a good idea? This place was a death trap. Nothing but machinery, water, and roads traveled by monstrous trucks. Not to mention the bear everyone kept talking about like it was the towns goddamn mascot.
Where the road forked, I headed toward the main barn. Julian liked to tinker, so odds were he’d go there first.
I picked up speed, jumping over a small fence and cutting through a field, rushing straight for the open door and the large dog happily trotting around just outside it.
“Julian.” I launched myself over the threshold, braced to find an accident or disaster or injury.
Instead I found Julian sitting on a barrel, sorting wrenches by size and explaining Sponge Bob Square Pants to Josh, who was crouched nearby, fixing a grease-covered machine.
My eyes blurred and my heart pounded in my ears, my nervous system not quite caught up to my brain.
He was safe. He was perfectly safe.
Calm, focused, and engaged. Probably learning something, for Christ’s sake.
I, on the other hand, was cracking into pieces, panting and sweating. Wild with rage and frustration and, somehow, relief.
The worst hadn’t happened.
Yet my body still hadn’t received that message. No, its reaction only escalated. My fingertips prickled and my lungs burned as I gasped for breath.
“You couldn’t bother to tell me he was here?” I shouted at Josh as I darted to Julian and gathered him in my arms.
“Mom,” my little boy complained, fighting my hold, his focus drifting to the wrenches and their individual compartments in the tool chest.
“You can’t leave without permission,” I murmured to him. Then I zeroed in on Josh with such fury I was sure lasers were shooting from my eyes. “You have my number. You could have called.”
“He’s only been here a couple of minutes. I told him I’d walk him back to the cottage,” Josh said, his nostrils flaring. “You’ll have to excuse me for delaying three or four minutes. I’ve got my head in an engine.”
The anger continued to roil inside me. Logically, I understood that this wasn’t actually his fault, but I couldn’t temper the emotions or control the words coming out of my mouth. “You know he’s a flight risk,” I said, my voice shaking slightly.
He stood to his full height. My first instinct was to take a step back. He was quite a large man. But I only lifted my chin.
“He wandered in here. I engaged him so he didn’t take off again. As soon as I could safely complete my task, I’d have walked him home. He knew that and was waiting for me.”
The words sounded rational coming out of his mouth, yet they only made me angrier.
“This place is a death trap,” I growled, kicking a piece of wood lying near my foot.
“It’s a working farm,” he said, his tone low. “There are dangers, sure. But I do a damn good job minimizing any risk. A city girl like you might have some romantic idea of farming, but I guarantee it’s nowhere close to the reality.”
“I am not a city girl,” I spat, my free hand on my hip—the other still on Julian. That was a low fucking blow. “I am from rural Maine, North Woods, sir. My father was a logger, and I learned how to dodge moose on the road while I still had my learner’s permit. Do not patronize me.”
He grunted. “Then understand the danger and parent appropriately.”
A red curtain dropped over my vision. Did this man seriously just judge my parenting? On autopilot, my body ran through the self-defense training I’d taken. One swift kick in the balls, and I’d have him on the ground.
“Mom,” Julian said softly.
His sweet voice brought me back to earth and immediately doused the aggression building inside me. I was not the type of person who got into fights, verbal or otherwise. We’d moved here for peace and tranquility. And the only way to achieve them was to get far away from Josh Lawrence.
“Julian.” I kneeled next to him.
He bristled, but he didn’t move or complain.
“TTG,” I said softly.
His eyes widened and his little body stiffened.
It was our family code, when something was wrong or we needed to exit an uncomfortable situation quickly, one of us uttered the code and we all moved.
Blinking, he stood and gave Josh a random thumbs-up. Then he scurried toward the exit.
I followed, refusing to look back at that asshole.
I trudged back up the hill while, at my side, Julian chattered happily about his new friend Wayne and how the beard guy let him help with tools.
This should have brought me nothing but joy. I’d waited so long for him to speak. He’d endured early intervention and therapy, and I’d endured so much worry. He was three years old the first time he said “Mama.”
It was one of the happiest moments of my life.
Although it took him a long time to start talking, once he hit that milestone, the words didn’t slow. His stream-of-consciousness observations were a normal part of our days.
Seeing the world through his eyes was a special gift, and I would always cherish it.
But I couldn’t even bring myself to listen to his storytelling. My ears were ringing too loudly and anger, mostly at myself and the situation, simmered inside me.
Had I been kidding myself?
Maybe I couldn’t do this.
Shit, I couldn’t even fold laundry while keeping an eye on Julian.
I was a fucking failure.
With every step, my feet grew heavier.
“Can I have some cooking popcorn?” Julian asked as we climbed the porch steps. “I’m hungry.” He loved popcorn and I’d bought a fancy machine and organic corn kernels, but he always preferred the microwave kind, which he called his cooking popcorn.
A long breath escaped me, my shoulders finally deflating. “Can we talk about what just happened first?”
Head lowered, he focused on his hands. I rubbed and squeezed his shoulders firmly. Light touches could make him uncomfortable, so when I needed his attention, I had to apply some pressure.
“You can’t just leave the house, bud.”
His shoulders sagged, but he didn’t look up.
“This is a very cool place.” I kept my tone even, willing myself to remain calm. “I know there are all kinds of exciting things to see. But you can’t wander off and not tell me.”
He nodded.
“I love you,” I said, squeezing his shoulders again. “All I want is to keep you safe.”
He threw his arms around my hips and squeezed me tight. “S-sorry.” He sniffled. “I just wanted to see the dog. I really like him. I think we could be friends.”
I nearly staggered back. That admission hit me square in the chest.
“He seems like a very nice dog. But I have to take you to see him.”
“But you were busy. You were doing that thing where you argue with yourself.”
For the first time since I stepped into his room, a thread of lightness wove through me. I almost let out a laugh. My kids loved to call me on my shortcomings, and they absolutely pointed out when I was having spirited debates in my own head.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I murmured.
He tilted his head back, his focus fixed on my shirt. “Are you worried about Dad?”
A wave of anguish hit me, and I kneeled and pulled him into my arms.
“No. I’m not worried about Dad at all. He’s in jail, where he belongs. He’s not a kind man. He’s sick.”
“Will jail make him better?”