40. CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 40
ETHAN
J ust like the other two times I’ve taken Ari to visit my mom, she’s quiet on the drive over. I hate when she reverts back to the shy girl she was growing up. It makes me think she’s retracting back into her shell where it’s safe.
And she should know by now she’s safe with me.
I give Ari’s thigh a squeeze as we pull onto my mom’s street. “You know she loves you, right?”
Ari looks up at me, eyebrows raised. “Does she, though?”
“Yes. She has to, because she knows how much I love you, and if she has anything but fond feelings toward you it will be trouble. She at least has to love you by default.”
“Oh, wonderful.”
I give her leg another squeeze. “I don’t get what’s up with you two. You seemed to get along fine when we were kids.”
Ari just shakes her head. “Nothing. You’re right. I guess it’s just weird after all these years.”
We enter the house to find my mom in the kitchen, stirring something on the stovetop. “Hey, guys!” Setting a wooden spoon down on the counter and coming toward us, she stretches her arms out wide.
“Hey, Mom.” I gather her in a hug before she turns and embraces Ari.
“Hi, Mrs. Walker,” Ari says quietly.
“Oh, how many times have I told you to call me Connie?”
“Sorry.” Ari blushes. “Habit.”
Mom seems to ogle over Ari for a minute, then catches herself. “Gosh, I still can’t believe how you’ve grown up.” She looks over at me. “Both of you.”
Ari shuffles her feet and I put an arm around her shoulder. “Yes, Mom, you’ve said that every time you’ve seen Ari.”
“I’m just admiring your girlfriend. Is that a crime?”
“Nope. I admire her all the time.”
Ari shuffles her feet, clearly uncomfortable. “Is there anything I can help you with, Mrs. Wal— I mean Connie?”
“Yes, actually, do you mind chopping up some lettuce for salad?” Mom heads over to the fridge.
“That, I can do.”
I watch the two of them fall into conversation as they work and decide this is a good time to check on a few things outside. Coming up behind Ari and placing my hands on her hips, my lips find her temple. “Mind if I step outside quickly?” She shakes her head in response, never breaking conversation with my mom. I reach over her to grab a slice of red pepper and toss it into my mouth, and Ari gives me a playful elbow in the stomach.
Chuckling as I walk away, I don’t miss my mom’s grin.
I end up taking longer outside than intended, sprinkling salt down on the sidewalk and scraping some of the ice off the driveway, which involved moving both my vehicle and my mom’s. Returning inside, I head right to the bathroom to wash my hands, and hear Mom and Ari laughing about something in the kitchen, which makes me smile.
The conversation dies down for a moment, and I hear my mom clear her throat. “I need to apologize, Ari. For that day—”
“No,” Ari interrupts her. “You don’t.”
My interest piqued, I quietly cross the living room and stand outside the kitchen, just out of view.
“Yes, I do. When I asked you to leave Ethan alone all those years ago, I thought I was doing the right thing—for both of you. If I had been able to see several years down the road and how good you two would be together, I would have never said those things. And after the attack, in the hospital with Ethan’s broken hand, I just couldn’t think straight. I’m so sorry.”
“What are you talking about?” I barge into the kitchen. “What did you say to Ari? What do you mean you asked her to stay away?”
Mom looks up at me, startled. Her eyes dart between me and Ari. “Oh, Ethan … I was foolish.”
“What did you say?”
“Ethan,” Ari tries to interject, but I cut her off.
“Did she tell you to go to foster care? Is that why you left without so much as a goodbye?” I ask Ari. Her non-response is all I need. I turn to my mom, and her guilty eyes confirm as much.
“Jesus, Mom! Do you have any idea how much that killed me?” I bring a fist to my chest. “And how much more shit Ari endured because of that?”
“Ethan,” Ari reaches for me at the same time my mom starts to cry.
“I’m sorry,” Mom rushes out. “But Axel had just attacked both of you and we were scared and—”
“Dad knew, too?”
“We just wanted you safe.” Mom takes a deep breath and looks between the two of us again. “But I see now that we should have sought to keep both of you safe. And we failed you.” Mom settles her eyes on Ari and reaches for her hands, but I pull her out of reach.
“No.” I turn to drag Ari out of the kitchen—and out of the house. “Come on, we’re leaving.”
“No.” The protest comes from Ari, who gives a quick jerk of her hand and pulls it from my grasp.
I turn and look at her. “What? Ari, I’m not going to sit here and let my mom make excuses for all the time and heartbreak she cost us. Let’s go.”
I reach for her hand again, but she takes a step back and crosses her arms over her chest. “Ethan, I’m not leaving here like this.”
“It’s OK,” Mom says sadly. “I understand.”
“No,” Ari says again.
“Yes,” I grit out. “Let’s go.” I extend my hand toward Ari, but she just looks at it.
She takes a deep breath, glaring at me. “Did it ever occur to you that I just might have something I’d like to say to your mother?”
Shocked, I drop my hand. “Actually, it didn’t. But, please, by all means, let her have it.” Now I cross my arms over my chest, and stand with my legs wide, glaring down my nose at my mother.
Ari turns to face her. “Connie. You listen to me.” She pauses, and my eyebrows shoot up at her assertiveness. My mom looks at her feet, and then back up at Ari. “Don’t you ever apologize for protecting your son.”
Mom draws her head back in shock, and I squint at Ari as she takes three steps over to Mom and takes her hands. “I always wished I had parents that would protect me the way you protected Ethan.”
Mom’s lower lip trembles. “But we should have looked out for you, too, sweetheart. Just because you weren’t our daughter doesn’t mean you weren’t our responsibility. We were adults. You were just a kid. We knew what was happening.”
Ari shakes her head. “No. You had to put your son first. And after Axel hurt him”—Ari looks over at me, then back at Mom—“I’m glad you did.”
My mom pulls her in for a hug, and I throw my hands up in the air. “That’s it?” Ari turns her head, still wrapped in my mom’s arms, and frowns at me. “You’re just going to forgive her? Just like that?”
Ari nods. “Yep.”
“After she forced me to move away, and I didn’t see you for, like, seven years?”
“You mean after you completed a stint with the Army and had college paid for? And ended up with a nice little nut to buy a house and the skills to land a good job?”
My mom releases Air, then smiles and points at her. “Oh, she’s good.”
“If she hadn’t torn us apart, we could be married with a dozen babies by now!” I spread my arms wide.
“Uh, let me just stop you right there, cowboy.” Ari holds a finger up, and my mom stifles a laugh. “A dozen?”
I hike my shoulders. “I like kids.”
We all fall silent for a beat before my mom claps her hands together. “Well, this spaghetti and meatballs isn’t going to disappear on its own.”
“I’m starved.” Ari heads to the table and pulls out a chair.
“Are, um … are you guys still staying?” Mom looks between me and Ari.
“I am,” Ari answers, plopping down and placing her napkin on her lap. She hooks a thumb in my direction. “I don’t know about his big lug, but I’m sure he’ll at least take a doggie bag.”
Exasperated, I walk over and take a seat next to Ari, spreading my own napkin over my lap. “You’re really OK with this?”
She looks into my eyes. “Just promise me you’ll be as forgiving with me if I ever disappoint you in the future.”
I tilt my head at her. “Red, you could never disappoint me.”
***
Work this week has been busy. We have a special section coming out with the weekend edition, which means I have more ads to create and pages to design. And, of course, the salespeople are telling me their clients have last-minute tweaks to their ads, and no one in the newsroom is able to get me their copy on time.
I’ve been coming in early and staying late to get the extra work done, and it’s getting on my nerves. Ari has been substitute teaching every day, so she leaves in the morning, and since I work until press time, sometimes we are just ships passing in the night. I feel bad knowing she has dinner alone sometimes, but she often meets up with Sophie or Fonz, or goes to the Millers’ house.
“EJ, what’s the ETA on that spread about the revitalization?” my boss, Cherise, calls from the doorway of my office.
“Give me about an hour?” I swivel in my chair to face her.
“Make it forty-five minutes. Have you gotten the artwork for the story about the new playground construction yet?”
I wince. The answer is no, Monty hasn’t gotten his photos to me yet. But I hate to throw him under the bus. “Uh, no. But I think I saw—”
“Monty!” Cherice storms away from my door and heads into the bullpen.
Sorry, Monty. You’re on your own.
Deciding I’m going to need some caffeine to make it through this day, I grab my hoodie and head out of my office, stopping at Lizzie’s desk. “I’m getting a cappuccino next door, want anything?”
She swivels around in her chair. “You know, you are so much more talkative these days. There was a time that I didn’t even know if you were back there, holed up in your little lair. Now you’re just a Chatty Cathy.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” I push away from her cubicle.
“Wait!” She calls. “I want one of those cinnamon scones.”
“Ooh, you getting coffee?” Monty asks as he approaches me. “I’ll take a half-caff, light and sweet. You owe me for siccing Cherise on me.”
“I didn’t sic Cherise on you, she attacked all on her own.”
“If you’re taking orders …” the other reporter starts in.
“I’m not.”
“Oh, don’t be such a fuddy duddy,” Dee says as she walks back from the front office. “Here, I’ll write down everyone’s orders.”
I run a hand down my face. “Life was easier when I stuck to myself.”
As Dee makes a grocery list of orders I need to pick up from the coffee shop, I look over Lizzie’s shoulder at her computer screen. She’s got the county database open, and it looks like she’s doing some sort of land search. “What are you working on?”
“Oh, just trying to find the true identity of a campaign donor for a new candidate who threw his hat in the race for mayor.” She rolls a pen between her fingers.
“Say, can you look up anyone on the city and county records websites?”
Lizzie purses her lips. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how much info you have on them.”
“Do you have to have a name?”
“Not all the time.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Why do you ask?”
Dee finishes making the coffee list for me, folds up the paper, sticks it in my hoodie pocket and pats it. “Don’t screw up the soymilk latte. I’m lactose intolerant and I have a date tonight,” she says before sauntering back up to her desk.
I turn back to Lizzie. “Do you think you could help me find someone?”
“Sure. What have you got?”