Chapter 38 #2
Emma was at the corner desk, pretending to be working on homework but getting sidetracked by the ridiculousness on the TV.
Kyle and Jake were sitting on the couch, each on their own end.
The distance between them felt vast. Jake, once the lifeblood of the four youngest, now wanted nothing to do with his siblings, Kyle included.
It was devastating to watch, but Jake wasn’t the boy who’d been taken from us.
I honestly had no idea who he was anymore.
He barely talked, but when he did, there was a disconnect, as if his mind was still back in that predator’s basement.
Michelle and I were concerned enough about his overall mental state that we moved Kyle into Keith’s room to keep him safe.
I looked at Jake. He was so damaged, so lost inside his own suffering.
When the FBI told us what Ray Davis had done to him, I didn’t take it well.
While Jake was missing, I knew he was probably being abused, and that was hard enough.
But hearing the details of what my boy had been forced to survive tore me apart.
Anger consumed me, and dark, vindictive thoughts took hold, until all I wanted was to take my son’s place and kill the man all over again.
Michelle put a stop to that. This wasn’t about me, she said.
And it wasn’t about Ray Davis. It was about Jake and what it would take to bring him back to life.
So, whenever I felt the urge to put my fist through a wall thinking about that man, I forced my focus back where it belonged: on what Jake needed, and on what came next.
For now, Jake didn’t need much. Food, if it was put in front of him. Space. Quiet. Mostly he didn’t ask for anything at all.
Except for the hoodie.
He’d been wearing it the day of the kidnapping. He’d started asking for it in his hospital bed. His voice barely worked back then. When he tried to speak, nothing came out. But he’d made it clear—he wanted that hoodie, and no amount of dissuading could change his mind.
It took nearly a month to get it out of police evidence.
Forms, signatures, and a lecture about procedure I barely registered.
The sweatshirt was filthy, as if the story of his captivity was embedded in the cloth.
Michelle washed it immediately. Twice. Whatever had soaked into the fabric didn’t stand a chance.
Jake had watched the entire cycle through the glass, like he was guarding something fragile. After that, he wore it every day.
I stood in the doorway longer than I meant to, watching him fiddle with the string.
He didn’t look at it; he didn’t need to.
His fingers moved like they’d memorized the work—knot, tighten, pause, undo.
At first, we thought it was just busywork.
Then we saw the pattern: when a knot didn’t sit right, he started over from the beginning. Always silent, controlled, and focused.
The others laughed at something on “iCarly,” and despite Jake’s eyes being on the screen, he didn’t react.
He just continued to knot and unknot the drawstring.
It was odd. But it was also… better. Before the hoodie, Jake hadn’t been able to tolerate noise.
Couldn’t sit still in a room like this with his siblings.
Now he was here. Present, in his own way, anchored to something I didn’t understand but wasn’t about to interfere with.
I cleared my throat. “Hello, freeloaders. Your father has returned.”
“Hi, Dad!” Emma said. “Did you make us any money?”
“Not much, but they do want me to come back tomorrow, which feels like a win.”
Grace and Quinn rushed over to hug me. Kyle acknowledged me with a single wave. Jake’s hands paused, but they didn’t let go of the drawstring.
“Jake. I see you graduated to ‘iCarly.’ Nice.”
He nodded once but didn’t look up. The knot came undone, and he started again. I crossed the room and rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t lean in either. But the string moved faster for a second before settling back into its rhythm.
I noticed that.
Taking in the fraying ends, I marked the way his jaw stayed set even in stillness, and I wondered how this hoodie string had come to be his security blanket during his long captivity.
It broke my heart, but it also gave me the slightest measure of peace knowing that at least he’d had something in the darkness.
I left the room without saying anything else, carrying with me the certainty that one day, when Jake was ready, he would tell me what the hoodie meant. Until then, I’d let him tie and untie his way back to us, one silent knot at a time.
I found Michelle in the bedroom sitting on the edge of the bed, her long legs crossed and wearing a dress that accentuated her curves. Her makeup was fresh, and her shiny brown hair was done up in big, bouncy curls.
I came to a skidding halt. “Wow.”
She smiled and stood.
“You got a hot date or something?” I asked, looking around for a suitor.
“Something like that,” she said, walking toward me and wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Do I know him? Is he worthy?”
She kissed me, and not like the drive-by kind either. No, this one was swathed in promise.
“He’s very worthy.”
I dropped my bag and wrapped an arm around her waist, already hard for this foreplay.
“And I thought the best part of my day was when someone thanked me for my service like I’d just come back from war, and all I’d done was survive a loose wiener dog.”
“A true warrior.” She laughed. “Happy anniversary, Iron Maiden.”
My face fell. I dropped my arm and backed up. “Dammit. Oh, my god, Michelle, I forgot. I…”
Stepping closer, she reached for my hand, giving my wedding ring a small twist.
“You don’t have to remember one date, Scott. Not when you show up every day for me.”
I drew in a sharp breath, still pissed at myself for forgetting but deflecting with humor. “So does that mean I don’t need to buy you a birthday gift?”
“Easy there. Let’s not get carried away,” she said. “Now go shower. You’re taking me to dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Like out there?” I pointed to the window, where the parent-shaming reporters were gathered. “In the wild?”
“Yes. Go. Before I change my mind.”
I wasn’t sure what surprised me more: that it was our anniversary or that Michelle wanted to go out to dinner.
She didn’t leave the house these days unless she absolutely had to.
School drop-offs, pickups, Jake’s doctor appointments…
anything else felt like tempting fate. But the kids had two hours of Nickelodeon programming lined up, so it was now or never.
We drove less than a mile to a pay-at-the-counter Mexican place wedged between a nail salon and a dry cleaner.
The kind of spot with laminated menus and a soda machine where the Diet Coke was always flat.
Michelle had chosen it because it was close.
Because if she craned her neck just right, she could see the cross street from the main road.
We sat in a booth near the window and ate with our fingers. And once we were bursting at the seams from melted cheese, Michelle said, “Do you ever wonder if this is just… it now?”
She didn’t look at me when she said it, like the question wasn’t meant to be answered. But it was too raw to ignore.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“This.” She gestured vaguely at the table. At the half-eaten basket of chips and salsa. At us. “The careful planning. The short distances. The constant waiting for the next bad thing.” She finally looked up. “Do you think our lives will ever look normal again?”
My mind went straight to Jake, to the way he knotted and unknotted the drawstring of his hoodie, and I wondered how many knots it would take for him to feel safe again.
How many it would take for all of us to feel safe again.
The truth was, I didn’t know if our lives would ever return to something that resembled normal, or if this was simply the shape of our future now.
But Michelle was working so hard to bring the light back, and she didn’t need my doubt. She needed my faith.
I reached across the table and took her hand. “Yeah,” I said. “I do.”
She searched my face. “You sound very sure.”
“I’m choosing to be,” I admitted. “But I can picture it, Michelle. You and me, graying around the temples, sitting by a pool somewhere tropical. Sipping margaritas. Living the dream.”
Her lips twitched, just barely.
“Our kids will be happy and healthy,” I went on. “They’ll have lives and partners and maybe even kids of their own.”
“Even Jake?” she whispered, the hope in her voice almost unbearable.
“Even Jake.” I squeezed her hand tighter. “And we’ll look back on this moment and think, We did it. We made this happen. We parented the shit out of our kids and somehow turned them into pretty cool adults.”
Her eyes filled, but she didn’t look away.
“You really believe that?” she asked.
“I have to,” I said. “It’s how I survive.”
She held my gaze like she was committing the words to memory. “Okay,” she said softly. “Then I believe it too. Because you’ve never let me down.”
“Except for the time I stole money out of your emergency fund.”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes smiling. “Except for then.”
Our hands stayed clasped as we stared into each other’s eyes.
“I love you,” I mouthed.
“I love you, too,” she said. “There’s no one I’d rather suffer with than you.”
“Goddamn,” I said, grinning. “You’re a romantic.”
“Speaking of that… I have a gift for you.”
I pulled back, my shoulders bumping the booth. My wife was practically a hermit these days and had still somehow managed to both remember our anniversary and commemorate it.
“A gift?” I groaned. “You’re killing me, woman.”
Michelle ignored me and reached into her purse to pull out a small brown paper bag. She dipped her hand inside and produced a package of Red Vines.
Okay. This was a gift I could get behind.
“Gimme,” I said, swiping it from her before she could change her mind. I tore it open and shoved an entire licorice rope into my mouth.
“My favorite anniversary gift ever,” I said around the chew.
She laughed with no hesitation this time. Then she reached back into the bag.
“And for me?” she teased.
“Don’t do it.” I lunged for the bag. “Keep your Twizzlers away from my perfect anniversary.”
She dodged me and hid it behind her back. We both laughed. Then she pulled out another pack of Red Vines, tore it open, and popped one into her mouth.
I stared at her. “What happened to your lifelong vow never to convert?”
She met my eyes.
“Turns out,” she said, “I love you more than Twizzlers.”