Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
ECHO
February 2015
I t’s pitch black when we pull into town. My hand trembles as I pull the envelope out of my purse that contains the key Dustin sent me last month.
Echo,
If you need a safe space, come home.
Love, D
He even engraved D + E on the key itself. I’ve kept it tucked away in a hidden pocket in my purse since I received it. I couldn’t chance Brian ever finding it. I just experienced what finding less does.
“Let me help, Ma,” Dylan says, turning the flashlight of his phone on.
“Thanks, son.”
I go to slide the key in but hear it unlock from the inside before it swings open. Dustin stands in the doorway, wide-eyed and shirtless. The tenseness in his body evaporates as soon as we lock eyes.
“I’m sorry to just show up,” I stutter, looking at the ground.
He pulls me inside, turns the entryway light on, and inspects my face. Besides my running mascara, I’m sure the handprint is still evident. Along with the bruises where he grabbed my arm with such force I was pulled backward to the ground.
Dustin’s face turns every shade of red before he storms off to the back of the house. I pull Dylan farther inside as we stand and wait for his return. He comes back fully clothed, and dread instantly washes over me.
“This is your safe place. Make yourself at home. I’ll be back,” Dustin says, grabbing his keys.
“Wait. Wait. You don’t have to do anything. Dylan slugged him with a baseball bat,” I plead. Possibly just making the situation go from bad to worse. He slows down enough to finally realize I’m not alone. I watch as he looks at our son. A sense of pride and emotion washes over him before he compartmentalizes it to the back and anger regains control at the realization that his son was also in harm’s way. I try to stop him as he walks past us, but not even a freight train could slow him down from his new mission.
I tense up, anticipating the slam of the screen door. It never happens. He must’ve put new doors on. Then I do a three-sixty and realize we aren’t standing on carpet but wood floors. He really has completely revamped this house. “Was that my dad?” Dylan asks.
I look down, offering a weak smile. “Yeah, that’s him,” I say, ruffling his hair.
“He’s pretty badass,” he says with awe.
I laugh, not having the energy to correct his language.
“Like a real-life G.I. Joe.”
“Yeah, I’d have to agree. But this isn’t at all how I wanted you to meet him.”
“Life isn’t a script, Ma. You’re going to have to let things take their course,” Dylan replies with a long yawn that follows.
“You need rest. Go pick out a bed, Goldilocks.”
He takes off like a kid on an Easter egg hunt. “Whoa, cool. Ma, come look,” he hollers from down the hall. I round the corner, and tears fill the brims of my lids as I take in the bedroom. It’s baseball themed and I have no doubt that it was designed for the boy tucked in the bed.
“Looks like it was made just for you, huh?” I sit down next to where he’s lying. He nods as his eyes fight to stay open. I grab his uncovered hand and run my free hand through his hair. “I love you more than anything, Dylan Ryan Adams. Thank you for protecting me today.”
“I will always protect you, Ma,” he mumbles.
Part of me wants to mold myself against my son and tightly hold him. I want to protect him from the ugliness of the world. But I’ve done a shit job of doing so. I failed him as a mother. I compromised the very essence of motherhood—to protect your child at all costs. I let love, loyalty, a lifelong friendship, the feeling of obligation like I owed Brian my life cloud my judgment. And who paid the cost? All of us.
Thirteen years ago, I fell in love with a boy and our love caused a war zone. And the casualties just keep piling up.
A light tap at the door brings me back to my current reality.
“Echo, it’s me.”
I slowly stand, careful not to wake Dylan, and stare down at him a beat longer than I should.
“I’ll do better,” I vow.
I turn around to see Lynsie in the doorway. All the emotion I’ve been holding in begins to fester as my chest heaves, beckoning me to release it all. I quickly make my way out of the room, pulling the door shut before I lose it.
“Oh, no. Echo.” Her voice cracks as she takes me in. She pulls me against her. Wrapping an arm around my head, she cradles it against her. Uncontrollable sobs flow from within me as we slide to the ground, Lynsie never losing her hold on me.
“He was getting better.” I pull back, pleading with her eyes. “He was getting help. I never would’ve stayed if I thought he would turn violent.” I look down, shaking my head as more sobs erupt. “Never. I never would have.”
“Shhh,” Lynsie coos, pulling me back against her. One hand rubs my back, while the other massages my head. Both motions relax me, calming my erratic body movements as I try to regain normal breathing. This brings me back to when I did the same for her. And that reality sobers me right up. Why am I having a pity party? I’m alive and so are all the people I love—even Brian.
“I’m okay,” I say through sniffles, peeling myself away from her. Lynsie cautiously lifts my face, tilting it to the side, and winces at the sight. I’m sure I’m a sight for sore eyes.
“Is that a handprint?” She seethes.
“Yeah, he slapped me.”
“What the hell, Echo?” A mixture of emotions crosses her face as she releases her hold on me.
“I’m okay,” I say again, hoping she believes me. Hoping I believe myself.
“Why do you always do that?” She holds my gaze. “You don’t always have to be so tough. It’s okay to not be okay.”
“I just can’t find it within myself to have a pity party when people have been through far more traumatic things.”
Lynsie looks down and fidgets with her nails before releasing a sigh. “Trauma is trauma. No one event is greater than the other. You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel. Don’t try to confine it.”
I nod, acknowledging her words. I hear what she’s saying, but I’m not convinced it applies to me.
We make our way into the dimly lit living room, and I drop onto the new sectional as exhaustion settles in.
“I’m going to get a wet rag.” Lynsie offers a weak smile. I must look like absolute shit. I hear a drawer in the kitchen slide open and shut. I’m about to yell that I don’t know where the wash rags are when she comes walking back with a wet one in her hand. She sits beside me, asking, “Do you mind?” before carefully wiping off my face. The gesture is so gentle and loving I almost break down again. “There. All better,” she says as she finishes up.
Lynsie asks if I want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it, but I’m willing to. I let my head fall back against the soft cushion and close my eyes, taking my mind back to how it all started. Then go back even further.
“Well, like I said, he was getting better. After I went back home the last time I was here, I told him to get help, or I was walking. He agreed and has been attending therapy ever since. He even weaned himself from the pills and quit drinking. Things were good. Well.” I pause. “Good enough.”
“What do you mean by that?” The couch shifts and I open my eyes, seeing Lynsie angle her body in my direction before bending her legs criss-cross applesauce. I do the same, facing her, and she grabs my hands, holding them between us.
“Things were good in the sense that Brian was doing better. But I wasn’t happy. I was content. Which I realize is what I’ve been most of my life.”
“Do you think the two of you only worked so well because he was gone for a majority of the marriage?” She asks the question I’ve asked myself many times.
I finally answer it.
“Yes.” I let out a shaky breath. “I do think that’s why we’ve managed to stay married. I do love him as a friend and for what he did for me, but that’s the extent of the emotional attachment.”
“Then you were essentially just trying to get him back on his feet before figuring out what to do?”
I nod. “I couldn’t leave him when he needed me the most. And I also didn’t want to get into a situation where I was running back and forth between him and Dustin. Just because I’ve felt lost ever since Dustin reappeared, I didn’t want to drag either of them into it. So I shut that part off to deal with the situation at hand. I told myself I’d get Brian better and then figure out where to go from there.”
“But something happened?” Lynsie swirls circles on the tops of my hands, keeping me calm.
I close my eyes, visualizing how mad Brian was. A shiver runs down my spine as I begin telling Lynsie what led to this point.
“Brian,” I hollered. “Are you ready? We need to leave.” I was so excited to finally not be sitting at one of Dylan’s games alone. Everyone else had their significant other, yet I was always solo. In the span we’d been married, I could count on one hand how many games he’d attended. Little did I know we wouldn’t be making it to the game after all.
He didn’t reply, so I headed down the hallway toward our room to see what the holdup was. Out of the corner of my eye, something caught my attention as I passed Dylan’s room. I slowly backed up, peeking through the opening. Brian had found my box.
“What are you doing?” I pushed the door open and charged toward him. I grabbed the old jersey and softball he tossed on the bed and attempted to yank the letters out of his hands.
“What is this…some kind of a shrine?” He let out a maniacal laugh and I became transfixed with his deep brown eyes. There was darkness to them I had not seen before.
“Memories,” I muttered. I could see him yelling but couldn’t hear what was being said. It felt as if my subconscious was separating itself from my body. Then, without warning, someone cranked up the volume and it all became too loud.
“That shit in your hands is memories. These letters from y’all playing pen pal are not memories.”
“Then what are they?” I asked, feeling fight and flight, deciding which needed to suit up.
“After everything I’ve done for you.” He took a step toward me. “I took you and that bastard son of yours in.” Another step. “I, not this guy”—he waved the letters in his hands—“have been the one raising him and you wouldn’t even give him my last name.”
I laughed, catching him off guard. “You’ve raised him? All you have been in Dylan’s life is a backdrop. I’ve been a married single mother for the last thirteen years. I never gave him your last name because you”—I point a finger at him—“haven’t earned that privilege.”
I should have expected it, but my guard was down. Before I could deflect, his hand slammed against my face with the loudest slap I’d ever heard. I dropped the items in my hands as I instinctively reached for my face. Heat, as if his hand was molten lava, engulfed the side of my face. I expected his demeanor to change, that it in that moment it would’ve clicked what he had done, but that didn’t happen. I turned to run, but his hand wrapped around my bicep like a vice, pulling me back with such force I fell to the ground. In horror, I stared up at the man hovering over me, wondering what his next move would be. And what mine would be.
Before I had time to react, a loud crack sound filled the room. Brian fell to the ground with a thud, half groaning, half crying as he held his knee.
“Don’t you ever touch my mom again,” Dylan yelled, holding the metal bat up in the air like he was going to make it rain metal all over Brian.
I jumped to my feet and put my hand on the bat to keep him from swinging. “That’s enough, son.” I smiled, reassuring him. Dylan backed up but kept his grip tight on his bat as a precaution.
“Then I quickly grabbed all the items to Dustin’s shrine, and we got the hell out of Dodge. And that’s how we ended up here.” I glance up at Lynsie, half expecting her to be asleep with how quiet she’s been. She sniffles, wiping away a stray tear.
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” She leans in, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“It’s—”
“No.” She pulls away just enough to rest her forehead against mine. “It’s not okay.”
THE BUZZING OF my phone awakens me. The buzzing ends before I can get up and I decide against moving. I almost drift back asleep before the buzzing starts again. This time it’s louder and doesn’t stop. Lynsie stirs and I realize her phone is going off too and I begin to wonder if we’re under some type of weather warning. We look at each other, both still half asleep, then grab our phones off the table.
Seeing his name on my phone screen has me wanting to do anything but answer. I’d rather chuck my phone than talk to him. But something must be wrong for us both to be receiving calls at this hour. My mind goes to Dustin. And without hesitation, I hit the green button.
“Brian, what?—”
“Echo, something happened.” That’s not Brian’s voice on the other end of the line. It’s Dustin.