Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
"Has your father done anything wrong?" At Liam's look, she adds, "Context, Liam."
He huffs, petulantly. "No."
"Then there are better ways to express our feelings," Wendy says, stepping closer to him and laying her hands on his shoulders.
At her touch, his shoulders drop even more, and the angry look melts away.
I stare in awe as my wife talks through this with our son, just another example of how disconnected I feel from them. I might as well be watching from another country.
"I know it's hard to let him earn that trust because you're hurt. I know you're scared of it happening again—"
"—I'm not scared," Liam says, petulantly, but Wendy just gives him a dry look.
"You said you would try. For you. I'm starting to trust your father again. I believe in him. I want that for you, and he's the one who has to earn that trust, but Liam—he wants to try if you want to give him that chance."
"Liam," I say gently, both my wife and son looking at me now.
Wendy's eyes are hopeful, Liam's face looks guarded, but... there's something else there in his eyes under the anger—hurt.
The defensiveness, the anger, all of it is coming from a place of true hurt. He's trying so hard to be brave, to not show the pain I put there, the hurt I caused. This is my doing. This has to be me who undoes it.
"I am so sorry."
"Liam's not being cruel to be cruel," Dr. Wilson tells me. "He's terrified."
"Of me?"
That's the thing about mental health: while I was struggling, I never considered how my neglect and distance would affect Wendy and the boys. I was just in constant self-preservation mode.
The thought of my son being afraid of me makes me sick.
"Not that you're going to hurt him physically," Dr. Wilson soothes, seeing my expression. "But that you're just going to withdraw again."
I shake my head firmly. "I won't."
"I know that. Wendy is starting to believe that, too, from what you've told me, but your children—they don't have the capacity or experience for this. That's why it's up to the adult to make the repair."
Liam eyes me warily.
"I am sorry for distancing myself. I am sorry for hurting you and your brother.
I know you don't trust me, and I know my words don't mean much right now, but.
.. I need you to know that I'm not going anywhere.
I won't leave again. I promise. I love you, and your mom, and your brother so much. .. and I am so sorry, son."
Liam's hard expression flickers, and for a moment, I'm not looking at my teenager; I'm looking at my five-year-old little boy, crying and scared because he had a nightmare.
He called for me, and I came running, checking every crevice of his bedroom for scary monsters, then lying down next to him until he fell back asleep.
This time, I'm the monster, I'm the thing that scares him.
No, my fear is the monster, and I need to protect him from it.
He swallows hard before he breaks eye contact and glances over at Wendy, who holds out her hand.
"Give me your phone," Wendy says, her voice firm. Liam frowns, "Text Birdie first, tell her you won't have your phone this weekend."
Liam's eyes widen, "What? Mama—"
"Want to go for a week?"
Sighing, he taps his phone a couple of times, then locks it and hands it to his mother.
"What if I need to call you?"
"Your father can call me, or your grandparents when they get back," Wendy sighs, sliding the phone into her back pocket.
She walks over to Noah and lifts his headphones off his ears, murmuring something low that I can't catch, and he nods his head, smiling at her.
Finally, she straightens and faces me.
And she smiles.
"Hi."
This woman.
Affection swells like a wave inside of me, washing over me from head to toe. Her defense of me while still caring for our son's feelings.
She could have walked in here and assumed the same thing Liam did, but... she trusted me.
"Hi," I reply softly, returning her smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were bringing them here. My dad said you were dropping them off, I assumed at the house."
"Yeah, he said to bring them here, I think... well, I think he knew what he was doing," she says, giving me a wry smile.
I return it, shaking my head, because yeah—my dad knew what he was doing. He could have told her to just bring them to the house, but my dad also discovered some things when he was working here while I was away.
Namely, that no one here knows really anything about me or my family.
He forced my hand, and I'll thank him for it the next time I see him.
"Thank you for bringing them here."
Wendy nods.
From here I can see Aubree back at the front desk. She's staring intently at the calendar on the computer, phone to her ear, and no doubt trying to distract herself with work.
Wendy follows my gaze, and I don't like the insecure look crossing her face.
"She's pretty."
Wendy's words click in my brain, and then I suddenly view Aubree's actions with context that I was clearly missing.
That specific look that she would give me, laughing a little too loud when I thought she was just bubbly, smiling and lingering, and buying me sandwiches and asking if I needed her for anything.
Oh, fuck...
"She's not you."
Wendy blinks, and I step toward her.
"There is no one but you. There will never be anyone but you," I whisper, meeting her eyes and holding. "Always."
"You said so, and—" Wendy closes her eyes and sighs softly. "I trust you, Atlas."
"Thank you," I choke out. "Thank you, baby."
Her trust in me is so precious and fragile right now. I picture cradling it gently and protecting it with everything in me.
Her trust. My sons' trust. I'll rebuild it all, brick by brick.
Starting now.
"I want to introduce you to my employees."
Wendy’s face drops slightly.
"I assumed they don't know about us," Wendy says, her voice hesitant in a way that makes me want to kick my own ass. She peers at me, "Was it because of..."
"Yeah," I nod, knowing she's referring to the nightmares, my mental illness, my choices.
"Okay," Wendy's face twists in hurt that I can feel in my own chest. "Okay. Well... better late than never."
I blink in surprise at her words.
More understanding than I deserve. I should have been shouting from the rooftops in pride about this woman. I realize now that it wasn't that my love was weaker than my fear of losing her; my fear was just louder.
My love for Wendy and my kids is immense; there isn't a scale that can accurately measure how much they mean to me.
So, now it's time to start showing that, because that's how I can drown out the fear.
Not by hiding, but by expressing.
At Wendy's prompting, Noah puts his headphones around his neck and puts his tablet in his bag. She swings her purse over her shoulder and takes Noah's hand as I lead them, Liam trudging up the back, out to the front desk.
"Aubree," I say, and the blonde tenses, glancing at the phone as if she's willing it to ring. It doesn't. She turns fully toward us, still a little pale. "This is Wendy, my wife."
"Hi, Aubree," Wendy smiles, holding out her hand.
Aubree stares at it for a long moment, like it's a trick, before she weakly shakes it. "Hi... M-Mrs. Durant... sorry about... yeah..."
"Just Wendy," my wife corrects her with a small smile that Aubree returns after a moment of hesitation.
"This is my son, Noah," I say, nodding to the boy who's peeking at Aubree from behind Wendy. Aubree smiles softly at him and waves, Noah shyly waving back before hiding his face in Wendy's side. "And... this is Liam."
My wife then glances at my son, who's standing next to her with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Liam," she hisses low, and he sighs, closing his eyes for three seconds.
He's regulating himself, I realize. When he opens his eyes, he nods with an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry," Liam says, his voice sounding remorseful.
Wendy's lips curve in a small, proud smile, and I feel the coil in my gut loosen slightly.
"No—I'm sorry—I didn't—" Aubree shakes her head, stumbling over her words.
"You didn't know," Wendy assures her, and Aubree's face relaxes a bit, seeing that Wendy is not mad.
"Hey, Aubree, why don't you start the weekend early?" I say, and her eyes widen at that. "We'll still pay you for the full day."
"Thank you," she says, sounding relieved. She grabs her purse and swings it over her shoulder, glancing back at Wendy. "I really am so—"
"It's alright," Wendy says, glancing back over to me, clearly saying that it was up to me to tell people that I'm married.
I glance down at the tattoo on my ring finger. The roman numerals have faded, and they’re usually not visible through the grease and oil on my hands every day. I never have my shirt off, either, so people can't question who Wendy is that's tattooed across my chest.
Aubree nods at Wendy before walking right out the front door to her car.
The guys at their bays are discreetly trying to watch the drama, and I know that they're next. Gesturing them towards us, they share a glance before walking over and stepping through the door.
Jordan and Jason are identical twins in their early twenties, hired six months ago and already two of our best mechanics. They’re able to tag-team to get big jobs done fast.
Their identical blue eyes shift back and forth between my wife and me.
"Hey, boss," Jordan says, a bemused grin on his face.
Straightening my spine and puffing out my chest, I speak with pure love and pride as I say, "This is my wife, Wendy. And my sons, Liam and Noah."
They blink in unison.
"Oh," Jason says, eyes wide and glancing back and forth between us. "We didn’t—"
"It's nice to meet you," Jordan says, cutting off Jason and holding out his hand for Wendy.
He goes to pull it back, realizing that he's got grease and oil on it, but my wife just reaches out and takes it, getting her own hands dirty to be kind.
She shakes his hand before holding hers out to Jason, who shakes it with a small smile.
Bryce is on the far bay, completely focused on his task—and we've learned that he's someone who gets easily distracted, so when he's in the zone, leave him be.
He still raises a hand to wave hello.
"I'm Jordan."
"Jason."
"And that's Bryce," I tell Wendy.
"It's nice to meet you, too," Wendy smiles at them. "Twins?"
"How could you tell?" They ask in unison, breaking the tension. Even Liam smiles at that.
The guys then lock onto Noah, shyly peeking from his Mama's side.
They crouch simultaneously to get to his eye level and smile.
"What's up, little man?"
"Cool backpack."
"How old are you?"
"You gonna be a mechanic like your dad?"
"Yeah, you gonna be our boss one day?"
Noah giggles at the barrage of questions and shakes his head.
"No, I'm going to be a famous artist!"
"Sick!" They exclaim dramatically, holding out their hands for him to high-five, which Noah does.
"Do you wanna see?" Noah asks excitedly now, taking his sketchbook out of his bag. I watch as Noah shows the twins his sketches, explaining his creative process in great detail, and the twins listen intently, ask questions, and my son lights up from the interaction.
Liam's smiling at it too, and Jordan pulls him into the conversation, asking about basketball.
"Atlas," Wendy calls, and I turn, seeing her nod toward the office, which I follow her back into.
"He won't have any distractions," Wendy says, holding up Liam's cellphone and placing it in her purse. "I would try to talk to him this weekend. Don't rush him, he's like you, he won't react well to that."
The words click in my head. Everyone's always told us how much Liam is my mini-me, how he looks just like me, how he acts like me.
He's just like me, so I should approach him as I would want to be approached—on common ground.
"I will. Thank you."
Wendy nods before her eyes scan me from head to toe. "How are you doing? Any nightmares last night?"
The question and the answer make me grin. "No."
"Good, I'm happy to hear that," she says, smiling, before it. "You know you can always call me if you have them."
"I know, but I need to be able to work through them on my own sometimes."
"Yeah, but—" Wendy pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing. "You're not alone, Atlas."
I swallow hard. Then again, trying to clear my throat clogged with emotion.
"Thank you."
I'm not alone. I have Wendy. I have my parents.
I have my family. I'm not alone. I'm safe.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Repeat.
Wendy clears her throat, the emotion becoming a little too heavy to stand in.
"The boys have their bags, but if they need anything, just call me, and I can run it over. I'm gonna go say goodbye to them," she says, before turning toward the door.
"Wendy," I say, and she faces me, eyebrow raised in question.
With shaky hands, I open my desk drawer, the bottom one that holds my entire world.
One by one, I take the photos and place them around the room.
Our wedding photo, Wendy pregnant with Liam, both of us cradling her belly as I kiss her. Wendy holding baby Liam, smiling at the camera. Me with Noah on my shoulders and Liam mid-laugh at the beach. A photo of Wendy and me at the overlook in front of the setting sun. And so many more.
I place them on my desk, on the shelves, on any flat surface I can, just as they had been before.
When I'm done and satisfied that my family's faces are displayed loud and proud
Wendy's face softens as she looks at each one. I feel it all the way to my bones when she smiles.
"That's better."