25. Claire
CHAPTER 25
CLAIRE
I hadn’t seen Blake much since our fight. I hadn’t expected to. That was him to a tee. He’d drawn into himself like a snail in his shell, and I’d tried to convince myself that suited me fine. But I’d thought for a minute, when he’d caught me at work, he might try to fight for us. For Oli, at least. Then I’d let loose on him and he’d shut down, like he did every time. That was what hurt the most, that he’d backed down so easy. I’d have screamed and clawed to keep him and Oli. Even if I knew the effort was doomed.
I didn’t want to call him when I got beeped for a shift, but his leave would be up in only five days. Oli deserved all the dad time he could get.
Blake must’ve been close, because he came right over. Oli ran out to hug him, and I followed behind.
“I’ll be late,” I said. “But Mom should be home for dinner. You can leave Oli with her after you eat.”
Blake disengaged Oli, who was climbing his leg. “Actually, I was thinking, could I stay? Could we talk?”
I pursed my lips. I knew what this was. Blake wanted to say goodbye, this time without yelling. As if that took the sting out of him walking out.
“I might not be home till after midnight.”
“That’s fine,” said Blake. “I don’t mind waiting up.”
I minded, a lot, but I was too tired to argue. And at least once we did this, it would be done. I could stop lying awake dreaming he’d change, and somehow he’d fight for us, and we’d be a family. “All right,” I said. “But wait in the guest house. I don’t want to wake Oli, or my parents.”
That night at work, I got “the face” three times. I couldn’t focus. I kept screwing up. I asked a patient with stomach pain to show me his feet, and the one with the broken foot, I handled all wrong. He kicked out with his good foot when I tried to examine him, and I lost it and snapped at him, and I got “the face.” I got it again when I misread a chart note, and for the third time when I made a kid cry.
“You have to talk to them.” Muller snatched the kid’s chart. “You can’t just drop your stethoscope down a two-year-old’s back. They feel that cold metal, they’re going to cry.”
“I know,” I said.
“Then, you need to do better. You can’t have a bad night. However bad you feel, that kid feels worse, and it’s your job to help him. Not make him cry.” She swept out of the room and I followed, ashamed. I’d got “the face” before, but this was far worse. Muller was angry. Angry at me. Worse, I deserved it. I’d had Blake in my head all through my shift, but no amount of obsessing would change what was coming. I wouldn’t cry, I promised myself. Whatever he said to me, however it hurt, I’d smile at him blandly and then let him go. No point in fighting, if he wouldn’t fight by my side.
I cleared my head with an effort and went on with my shift, and somehow I made it through to the end.
“Get some rest,” said Muller. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I took my time with my charts, putting off going home, but in the end, hunger and exhaustion won out. I texted Blake to let him know not to wait. We’d talk tomorrow, or the day after that. Tonight, all I wanted was food, and then bed. He wrote back NO PROBLEM , and I sighed with relief. But when I rolled up the drive, the lights were on in the guesthouse.
I scowled. “What the hell?”
Blake stepped out on the porch. He had his jacket on — good. He was leaving.
“Sorry,” he said, as I rolled down my window. “I’m going, I swear, but I left you some food. The pie was still baking, so?—”
“That’s okay.”
“Your plate’s in the fridge, but I just put it in. You can nuke it a minute and it should be fine.”
I grunted my thanks, too tired for good manners. Blake held the door for me as I hurried inside. I peeled off my coat and shuffled through to the kitchen, and a delicious smell greeted me. Hot apple pie. My first instinct was to lunge for it, forget the main course. But the pots on the draining board were stacked up high. Whatever Blake had left for me had taken some effort. It felt kind of rude to skip to dessert.
I set my bag on the table and went for the fridge, and took one look inside, and sprinted back for the door. Blake was already pulling away, and I ran after him, shouting his name.
“Blake, wait! Wait! Blake!”
He didn’t hear me. I ran faster. I caught up to his car when he slowed for the gate.
“ Blake! ”
He leaned out. “Huh? Something wrong?”
I bent over, panting, my hands on my knees. “You— You made?—”
Blake’s door swung open. “You all right?”
“Just out of breath.” I straightened up. “You made everything. Corn. Potatoes. Your special garlic bread, with the cheese in the crust. All— all my favorites.” I coughed, out of breath. Blake steadied me with a hand on my arm.
“I thought you’d be hungry. Did I mess up?”
I shook my head no, still catching my breath.
“You should go in,” said Blake. “It’s freezing out here.”
I nodded. “I know. Would you… come in with me?”
Blake’s brows shot up. “You don’t want me to go?”
“Not yet. I want…” I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but I did know one thing: I couldn’t let Blake drive off so easy. Maybe he didn’t know how to fight, but I sure as hell did, and our family was worth it. I took his hand and gripped it in mine. “Come in and eat with me.”
“Sure. Just a second.” Blake leaned into the front seat and came out with a bag. He held it up, smiling. “I’d packed mine to go.”
We headed back in and unpacked our food. I heated mine up and took my place at the table. Blake watched at I took my first bite of potatoes, delicious and buttery as only he made them.
“Taste okay?”
“Yeah. They’re amazing.” I swallowed past a sudden lump in my throat. “Listen, I wanted?—”
“I needed to?—”
We laughed, stiff and awkward, as we both talked at once.
“You first,” said Blake.
“No, you go ahead.”
Blake straightened up. He set down his fork. “I don’t know if Sam said anything, or if you heard from Joelle, but he read me the riot act the other day in the park.”
I frowned. This was news to me. “Sam? In the park?”
Blake looked embarrassed. “I was sulking, I guess. After our fight. And Sam came and found me, and he set me straight on some things.”
I gulped water, my throat gone dry. “Set you straight on what?”
Blake stood, then sat down again. He took a deep breath. “All my life, I’ve had this idea—” He stopped talking abruptly and scrubbed at his face. I’d never seen him look small before, but he did in that moment, his shoulders bunched up, drawn in on himself.
“Blake? You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He thrust his chest out, as though in defiance. “I didn’t want my parents to go, the night they died. I’d just got this new tricycle, and I wanted to ride it. But I wasn’t allowed, if they weren’t home. So I screamed and screamed, and my mom got mad, and the last thing she said to me was ‘that’s it. No TV.’ Then she told the sitter to put me to bed, and she walked out, and I never saw her again.”
I felt my heart break for him. “Oh, God. That’s awful.”
Blake stared at his hands like he hadn’t heard me. “I don’t remember much of them, of Mom and Dad. But I remember I screamed at them, and they never came back. I know it wasn’t their fault. They went off the road. But then my grandpa came, and I couldn’t stop crying, and I thought that was why — I know now, it wasn’t. He was old. Sick. He couldn’t take on a kid. But I thought it was my crying, why he wouldn’t take me. And every time after that, when I’d get in a home, it felt like the rule was, one strike, you’re out.”
“You don’t still think that, do you?”
Blake looked down, shamefaced. “Kind of, I do. But Sam came and told me, that’s not how it works. Or it’s not how it’s meant to work, one fight and done. We’re supposed to be able to get mad at each other. To be wrong, as long as we’re willing to fix it.”
I held my breath, half-hopeful, half-terrified. Was this the part where he offered to stay? Or was he about to admit he was broken, too stuck in his past to give me a future?
“I’m not leaving,” he said. “Or I am, for a while. I have to go back to Munich to wrap things up there. But I interviewed two days ago for that fellowship, and I heard this morning, they want me. I’m in.”
I shook my head, unsure I’d heard right. “You’re in, so… you’re taking it? You’re moving home?”
“Yes. I accepted it. I’m coming home.” Blake rounded the table in two quick, jerky steps. He dropped down to one knee and took both my hands. “I know I’ve messed up with you, and I’ve messed up with Oli. I’ve run off twice now, when I should’ve fought. But I’m not running now. Whether you’ll have me or not, you and Oli are family, and I need to be here for you however I can.”
I couldn’t wrap my head around what I was hearing. It sounded like all my dreams were coming true, but I’d thought that before, only to have the rug ripped out. “What are you saying?”
Blake hitched a ragged breath and squeezed my hands tighter. “I’ve missed so much, running off like I did. Cutting off everyone from my old life. I could’ve transferred back sooner, seen Oli’s first step. Been there for his birthdays. Been his dad. But those years are gone, and I want… I want…” Blake’s eyes were burning, bright with passion. “When I’m with you and Oli, I feel like I’m home. I feel like we’re family. I’ve never had that before. I don’t know if you’ll ever trust me again, but I’ll never stop trying, if it takes the rest of my life, to prove how I love you, and I love Oli.”
I bit my lip. Was I dreaming? Asleep at the wheel? Was this how I died, caught up in a dream?
“I understand if you don’t want to make any big changes. We can take it at your pace, figure out?—”
“Will you be home for Christmas?”
Blake’s smile widened. “Yes. I’m flying out early on Christmas Eve. If you need help stuffing stockings?—”
“Yes. Yes. Come here.” I pulled Blake up toward me and flung my arms around him, and buried my face in his broad shoulder. He still smelled of baking, of warm apple pie. “I’m really not dreaming? You’re coming home?”
“Yeah, home for Christmas.”
“I love you too.”
Blake crushed me to him till my ribs creaked. Till I had to pull free so I could breathe.
“This was all I wanted,” I said, when I’d caught my breath. “For you to fight for us. To know you would.”
“I always will.” Blake rested his head on our joined hands. “Whatever it takes, I’ll show you every day, nothing matters to me more than our family.”
I hooked two fingers under his chin, tilted his head up, and kissed him long and deep. If this was a dream, it was the most vivid I’d had, Blake’s hair in my face, his lips cracked from the cold. He tasted of cinnamon, warm and sweet.
“I love you.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “I’ll never let you doubt it. Never again.”