~ J.R.R. Tolkien
The coffee goes cold while I wait for Liam to arrive. My stomach churns and my mind spins like it did all night. Should I tell him I might be in love with him, and that even though I know I’m far from perfect, I want to be there for him and Olive? Or tell him I can’t do this, and we should back away for everyone’s sake?
Now that his truck is pulling up, I still have no idea what to do. I just know the thought of pulling away from them feels like a loss I can’t face right now, not when I finally feel strong again. But it’s not about me, is it? Because the last thing they need is a woman who’s barely hanging on asking them to keep her from falling.
My hand trembles slightly as I turn the doorknob. He’s coming up the front steps, his hands jammed into the front pockets of his jeans.
I give him a small wave. “How is she this morning?”
Walking past me into the house, he shrugs. “She was all right until we got about a block from school. Then she had a bit of a cry.”
My stomach rolls as I close the door. “I’m sorry. It must have been so hard to drop her off there.”
He nods. “Parenting is the shits sometimes.”
We walk to the kitchen and I pour him a coffee, then top mine up. We both know we need to talk and we both know it’s going to be now.
Once we’re seated at the table, I start. “I just want to say how sorry I am, Liam. I don’t know what came over me. I was just overcome by this … this fierce protectiveness.”
I glance up at him, and his face is so serious I can’t stand it. Instead, I stare down at my hands. “I really messed up, didn’t I?”
“I appreciate what you were trying to do, Abby. I know your heart was in the right place, but good Lord, you really went after that little Mercedes and her mom.” He shakes his head, then starts laughing. “I know I shouldn’t find it funny, but the look on your face when you were yelling about being the G.D. babysitter …”
I let a chuckle escape, relief flooding my veins. “Like that’s supposed to scare anyone. Ooh, not the babysitter!”
When the moment passes, Liam says, “And that little brat had it coming.”
Good, yes, let’s focus on what Mercedes did wrong. So much easier. “She did, didn’t she?” Then the image of Olive walking out of the school, her face stained with tears pops into my mind. “Olive shouldn’t have to put up with that shit. She’s been through enough.”
He nods, running his finger over the handle of the white mug.
“Do you think they’ll be extra awful to her today?”
Shrugging, he says, “Maybe, I don’t know. That’s the worst part of being a parent. You can’t fix these things, you can’t change the world, and you can’t shield your child from it, no matter how much you wish you could.”
“There’s always homeschooling.” I say it like it’s a joke, but at this moment, I’d be willing to pull her out of school and become her full-time teacher.
Walt hops up on Liam’s lap and he scratches under his chin. “But what happens after? Keep hiding them away their entire lives?”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head. “They have to learn to fight their battles, and when they lose, how to get back up.” Anger crosses over his face, then disappears. “The truth about parenting that nobody tells you is you spend most of it just feeling helpless.”
Well, that’s that, then. I don’t do helpless, so this is going to have to be the start of a slow goodbye. I’ll find them some amazing, strong woman who can handle all of it with poise. Someone who knows how to sew and can whip up a batch of chocolate cookies in under ten minutes.
He continues on, and I’m not sure who he’s talking to at this point. “What kids really need is someone to hold them when they cry, and to help them pick themselves back up when they fall. And the whole fucking time you have to pretend it’ll be all right.” He’s using both hands to pet Walt in long strokes over his ears and chest. “You tell them to get back out there and do their best, even though you know the game is rigged.”
“That all sounds horrible to me.”
Liam makes a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a cry. “It is.” Then he laughs. “It’s fucking shitty.”
Reaching out, I take his hand and squeeze it. “And doing it alone must be so much harder.”
He looks up at me, his eyes searching mine, and I’m sure he’s wondering if that was an offer.
I pull my hand away and tuck it under my leg. “I’m sure Sarah would have known exactly what to do yesterday.”
“Sarah would’ve done a lot worse than you,” he says.
