Chapter Twelve #2
“Okay, that would be great, thank you,” I answer for him.
An idea floats through my head about reviewing the case with our family attorneys to see if they can offer any additional advice. But I don’t want to overstep, so I’ll discuss it with him later.
Saint stands. “Is that all you need from me today, then?”
She also stands and closes the folder. “That’s it for now. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have something to share with you.”
Saint reaches his hand out and shakes her hand.
I do the same, then turn and walk out, and Saint follows.
He stays silent until we get in the waiting car my dad had gotten for us while we’re here.
“Motherfucker!” he yells, slamming a fist into the seat in front of him.
I turn my body toward his. “I know you’re upset, but you can’t take that home. Let’s take a minute to let it absorb so you can think clearly and rationally.”
“Rationally?” he laughs humorlessly. “What I’m thinking right now is anything but rational.”
“I know, that’s why we just need to take a breather.”
“What I want to do is march my ass over to the Harts’ and ask them what the fuck they’re thinking,” he says, looking at me. “These kids have gone through enough the last few weeks, and they want to prolong the misery?”
“I understand. I’m angry on your behalf—and for the kids’, to be honest.”
He covers his face with his hands and presses into his eyes with his palms. “FUCK!”
I reach out and put my hand on his leg. “I think we should talk to my family’s attorneys to see what other options you have. Or any advice they might have to expedite the process.”
He stares straight ahead. “I’ll think about it.”
It’s not a no.
“I just …” He exhales slowly. “I need to wrap my head around this. In my mind, we were moving forward, and this blows that plan to hell.”
“I know, but you can’t look at it that way. They love the kids too. It’s an extremely emotionally charged time for everyone.” I rub my hand on his leg. “We’ll get it figured out.”
The rest of the drive is quiet because there’s nothing left to say right now.
When we get back to Savannah and Chris’s house, the shift in energy is off.
Saint stands in the living room, looking around. Taking it all in.
“This place,” he says quietly.
I move to stand next to him.
“This is their home,” he continues. “Where they were both brought home from the hospital.”
I nod in understanding.
“I know the will says the house should be sold,” he says. “And the assets should be put into a trust for the kids.”
“Yeah.” I’m very familiar with trusts.
He exhales.
“I just don’t feel right about it, Doc.”
“Why?”
“What if they want it someday?” he asks. “What if this matters to them later?”
I take hold of his arm and lean into him.
“They’re really young,” I say gently. “What they’ll remember most won’t be the house.”
He just stands there.
“The memories of their parents is what they’ll value most,” I add. “Not the physical structure.”
He runs a hand over his face.
“I mean, I could just buy it,” he says suddenly. “Keep it for them. I could still put the proceeds in a trust for them, and keep the house.”
“You could,” I say. “But you’ll have to have it maintained and managed. It would tie you here long term.”
He nods slowly.
“And there’s no guarantee they’ll want it,” I say. “So, is this really about them, or you?”
He looks around again, conflict written all over his face. “This fucking sucks.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It really does.”
Because what else can you say?
“Where are the kids?” It dawns on him that they aren’t here.
“Alie said they would take them for an early dinner, so it’s just the two of us.” I pull my phone out of my crossbody. “She hasn’t texted or anything, so I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”
“Okay, right. I forgot.” He nods.
“Come on, let’s go find something to eat.”
I make us some sandwiches, and we sit mostly in silence. I know he has a lot to think about, so I don’t push him to talk about anything more right now.
The kids come home, and we get them ready for bed. Once they’re asleep, I take a quick shower to try to calm my own body down after today. The contesting of the guardianship is definitely a change in events we didn’t see coming.
When I’m done, I find him in the kitchen.
He’s leaning against the counter, looking out into the dark backyard.
I walk over slowly.
“Hey.”
He looks at me just for a second.
“What am I gonna do, Pres?”
“You don’t have to have all the answers today.”
“But I feel like I should.”
“You don’t though.”
“It’s so strange because there are times that I keep thinking she’s going to walk through the door. We stood right here together the last time I was here, watching Chris play with the kids outside. That’s when she asked me to watch them while they took this vacation,” he says.
“I can’t imagine,” I whisper, thinking about how I would feel if it were me with Alie.
“She’s just gone,” he adds.
The reality and finality hit him.
I reach for him and wrap my arms around his waist.
He wraps his arms around me in return and pulls me in tighter.
“I got you,” I say against his chest.
His grip tightens.
“Thank you,” he murmurs into my hair.
The words are soft, but meaningful.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. Then he leans in and kisses me. It’s not desperate or rushed. It’s just real.
Like he needs to feel something other than grief.
For a second, we allow ourselves to exist in something other than loss.
There’s a shift the longer we kiss, and this could easily turn into sex.
And it’s not that I don’t want to give us both that comfort, but I also don’t think that’s what he needs right now.
Actually, maybe it is what he physically needs, but he doesn’t need the emotional complications that will follow. He doesn’t need messy.
I pull back gently. “Not tonight.”
He nods. He doesn’t push or try to convince me.
“Can I hold you?”
I take his hand. “That we can do.”
We’ve been sleeping in the guest room together because sleeping in Savannah and Chris’s room doesn’t feel right. When we get to the room, I turn to him and take his shirt in my hands and remove it. Then I unbutton his jeans and pull them down his legs. He steps out, but doesn’t move otherwise.
When I look up, he’s watching me with something like gratitude, but also desire.
He holds my arms as I stand and pulls me into him.
We stay in the moment for just a minute, then I lead him over to the bed.
I pull back the covers. “Get in.”
He does what I say, and I climb in right after.
We lie there, facing each other, our legs intertwined, our hands still.
He falls asleep, and his breathing slows.
I turn and tuck myself against him, and he automatically wraps an arm around me, tugging me close.
We stay like that, anchored together. Like even in sleep, he doesn’t want to let me go.
So, I don’t move. I stay in his hold until I eventually fall asleep because this is what he needs. And I’m not going anywhere.