When We Collide (5 page)

Suffocated by her lingering presence, I pulled the
covers tight over my body, buried myself in the pile of sheets and
blankets to protect myself from the cold seeping in through the
cracks of the old, drafty house. Gusts of wind knocked at the
windows and clattered the panes. Forcing my eyes closed, I
struggled to shut off my head full of memories. Just for one night,
I needed to rest. I’d face everything else tomorrow.

The fatigue that had chased me for months hit me in
waves, and I sank deeper, fell further.

Drifted.

Desperation pushed William forward.

Howling wind cut through the trees, beat against his
chest as he plodded through the deserted playground. Squalls swept
low as they rushed over his body, opposing every arduous step.
Swings flapped and rocked, metal scraping metal, shrill and
high.

Laughter came from what sounded like every
direction. Confusion ignited his fear.

In the middle of the grounds, William fell to a
standstill. Ramming his hands against his ears, he squeezed his
eyes closed and screamed for it to stop. The sound was devoured by
the driving wind. With his hands urgent against his ears, William
spun in a circle while his world spun faster. The child’s laughter
coiled in ribbons around his body. Wept against his skin.

The boy screamed, begged, and cried into the
night.

William dropped to his knees.

I flailed in the small bed, my legs twisted in the
blankets. The room spun as I lurched to sitting in my fight for
consciousness.

No
. This was supposed to stop when I got back
home. It
had
to stop.

I wheezed as I sucked desperately for any air I
could find. The wailing was still just as clear. The sound slipped
through the thin walls, ripped and agonized.

Not the child.

I shoved my panic aside and stilled to listen to the
torment coming from the next room.

“Shit,” I whispered as I untangled myself from the
blankets and climbed from bed, quiet as I crept out the door.

A lamp shone bright from Blake’s old room, slicing
into the darkness of the hall.

From the doorway, I watched my mother falling apart
over my aunt’s lifeless body. My father held her from behind,
promising against her ear it would be all right, that Lara was at
peace, while my mother clutched her sister’s hand and begged her
not to leave.

I turned away and pressed my back against the wall.
I slid down onto the cold hardwood floor and buried my face in my
hands. Wetness seeped from my eyes.

Fifty-seven years old.

Life was hardly fair.

William ~ Present Day

On Friday afternoon, I hung back near the far wall
of my parents’ living room. I had one hand shoved deep in the pants
pocket of my black suit while I tugged at the charcoal-gray tie
that felt much too tight around my neck with the other. Even though
it was the middle of February, the Mississippi days stayed mild,
almost warm, and the temperature had escalated to a near smothering
level in the crowded room.

Sinking deeper into the recesses, I did my best to
hide along the outskirts of the mass of people packed wall-to-wall.
They were gathered for Aunt Lara’s reception.

It’d been three days since she’d passed. Two hours
since we’d laid her in the ground.

I pushed a breath from my lungs and roamed my eyes
over the people conversing in muted whispers. I was not immune to
the sadness weighing down the room. Mine only added to it, though I
found myself wishing I were alone, in a quiet place with my
thoughts, with my memories of her.

In a town this size, most everyone had known Lara,
and it seemed all had come to pay their respects.

Most would eventually make their way over to me to
welcome me home and tell me they were sorry for my loss. Almost all
of those wishes seemed genuine, though a few clearly believed I was
only there out of obligation. I could read the questions evident on
their faces, the wonder at my disappearance, the disappointment in
my abandonment, and the surprise that I had returned. I knew what I
appeared, shallow and pretentious, and I doubted hiding in the
shadows was doing anything to change their opinion of me.

But even if being here was excruciating, obligation
was not the case.

One of the worst parts of the whole thing was every
time the door opened, I couldn’t stop my attention from being drawn
in that direction, couldn’t stave off the surge of apprehension
that surfaced when I thought of seeing
her
again. I hated
even more the twinge of letdown I felt when she didn’t come.

Over the last three days, I’d realized I needed the
very thing I’d run from for all these years.

Just to catch a glimpse of her. To know she was
okay.

God knew I didn’t dare ask about her.

I looked down at my feet when the screen door
slammed closed once more behind an elderly couple who lived across
the street.

Why was I torturing myself this way?

The only person who possibly looked more
uncomfortable than me was my father. Peter Marsch stood tall and
burly, his dark suit ill-fitted and tight. He could never be
considered a social man, but there was no doubt he loved his family
and was devoted to his wife. I watched as he leaned against the
wall. His only concern was my mother, keen to her every move. Ready
whenever she needed him.

I sighed and shifted in discomfort.

I’d forgotten that about my father. How he’d always
been our protector, our provider. I could see Blake had inherited
that strong streak of protectiveness. If I paid close enough
attention, I could feel it simmering deep within myself, as
well.

Overwhelmed by it all, I slipped behind the crowd
and quietly mounted the stairs to steal a moment for myself. In the
solace of my room, I discarded my coat and tie, undid the top two
buttons of my stiff white dress shirt, and rolled up the sleeves. I
breathed out in relief when I sank onto the edge of the bed.

All I needed was a minute to clear my head. I was
just so damned tired. So mixed up. I had no idea what I was going
to do, where I was going to go, or how long I would stay.

Standing from the bed, I scrubbed my palms over my
face and sucked in a deep breath to pull myself back together.

When I stepped from my room, I was assaulted by the
smells of a southern kitchen—comforting and warm—and the hushed
voices that rose and married from below, my family and the people I
had once considered friends. I slowed as I approached the photos
displayed on the wall in the hallway, pausing to linger and study
the collage of my past and the many family pictures where I’d been
absent. There was just too much of it I had missed. I could fight
it, but somehow I knew it was here I would always belong.

“Excuse me, sir. Is there a potty up here? I gotta
go real bad and somebody’s in the one down there.”

The same timid voice that had haunted my nights for
months hit me from behind, but may as well have been a kick
directly to the stomach. It knocked the air from me, turned me
inside out as awareness flowed through my consciousness.

I was frozen, facing the wall, trying to talk myself
down, trying to wake myself up.

But I wasn’t asleep.

Slowly I turned around.

The child stood bouncing at the top of the stairs,
holding onto the wooden railing with one hand while he had the
other covering the spot where his legs were crossed and pressed
together. Dark blond hair fell to the nape of the little boy’s
neck, brushing just above his bright brown eyes. Those eyes were
wide and almost fearful when they locked with my shocked gaze.

The little boy from my dreams.

Through the daze, I lifted my hand and pointed
toward the door sitting halfway open beside my room. With a look of
relief, the boy rushed past me and into the bathroom, flipping on
the light switch before he slammed the door shut.

I stood there, staring at the closed door as
realization tumbled through me.

Gripped and gutted me.

For a moment I was empty—numb—before feeling came
swooping back down in a fusion of anger.

My hands curled into painful fists as my vision
clouded, my mind reeling as it tried to reject what was unfolding
in front of me.

The toilet flushed and water ran. I braced myself
when I heard the slide of the lock and the turn of the knob.

Peering out through a crack in the door, the boy
averted his eyes to his feet when he saw me still standing there.
He squeezed out and headed back for the stairs with his attention
trained on the ground in front of him, peeking once behind him.

I took two steps forward so I could see over the low
parapet wall, watching the child go, knowing exactly where he would
end up. My eyes raced ahead of him, searching through the
crowd.

It didn’t matter that I was prepared, that I already
knew who I’d find.

It destroyed me all the same.

I struggled against the crushing weight on my chest
as I watched
her
press a dish into my mother’s hands. Her
entire body shook and she forced a smile across her distressed
face. She was fidgeting, her gaze darting in nervous tics around
the room. Distinct relief took over her face when the boy suddenly
snuggled up to her side. She cast another cautious glance around
the room, wringing her hands as she nodded away at whatever my
mother was saying. Gesturing toward the door, she appeared to
apologize, then she ducked her head and hurried with the child
toward the front door.

The screen door clanged shut behind them.

Anger burned beneath my skin, and I was moving
before I could stop myself, my feet pounding as I ran down the
stairs. At the landing, I slowed to weave through the guests
huddled in groups, muttering tight apologies as I pushed and
squeezed my way through.

I jerked the door open and flew out of the house and
across the porch. I took the steps two at a time and ran down the
stone path toward the street.

It was to the left that I saw her making her way
down the sidewalk, holding the child who was obviously too large
for her to carry. Her head was hung low, as if she could hide
herself. Her long black skirt swished around her legs, and her
black dress flats clacked on the concrete as she bustled away, her
pace just shy of a jog.

Auburn hair fell in long waves down her back, pinned
beneath the boy’s arms where he held her tight around her neck.
Bewildered brown eyes stared back at me, the child regarding me
with confusion over his mother’s shoulder.

I knew she felt me following. I could feel her
tension, the swells of apprehension that grew, then broke and
rippled across my flesh. Quickening my pace, I matched her, step
for step. Her running only fueled the anger that threatened to spin
me out of control. When she increased her speed, I did the same. A
hundred feet ahead, she suddenly darted across the street, stopping
to wrench the sliding door open to an old blue mini-van parked on
the other side. She maneuvered the child around to set him inside
and slammed the door shut.

She fumbled with the driver-side door handle. Her
hands visibly shook as she struggled to jerk it open.

I was right behind her. I grabbed her upper arm to
stop her from climbing inside when she swung the door open.

“You’re not going anywhere until you explain
this
to me.” My words dropped out in a low hiss.

Led by the motion of my hand, she spun around in a
submissive cower, her free arm drawn to shield her face. To deflect
the blow.

Her reaction stung as it cut a path from my palm and
up my arm, spreading out over my consciousness.

I slowly drew my hand back.

“Maggie,” I whispered, the name unspoken for so many
years.

A small cry pressed from her mouth, and she shrank
further against the inside of the door.

I lowered my head, searching for her face beneath
the feeble attempt she’d made at protecting herself.

“God…Maggie…” I tried to keep my voice soft, but
couldn’t conceal how much it hurt she’d reacted to me that way or
how much I hated those who’d bred it. My pulse thudded with a swell
protectiveness. Still, after so much time, all I wanted was to
protect her.

She flinched when I reached for her again, her
expression nearing terrified when I tugged her arm away from her
face.

“You know I’d
never
touch you like that.”
Never. It didn’t matter what she’d done or how angry I was.

Though she straightened, her body still sagged, her
spirit beaten and broken.

“I know,” she finally said, so low I could barely
hear. She sniffled and hung her head in what appeared humiliation,
holding herself across her middle as she raised her face just
enough to meet with mine. Eyes, the warmest of brown, met with my
intense gaze. They were steeped in a pain that seemed to verge on
fear and still held in them every single thing that I had run
from.

And her face.

She was so beautiful—still. Maybe more so. But she
was so different than the young girl I remembered. All traces of
innocence had been erased. It its place was a woman who had borne
too much. I saw it. Knew it.

Need tensed my muscles.

Shit
.

I had to look away to reclaim the reason I had
chased her out here in the first place. I took a step back to put
some space between us. Closing my eyes, I tried to keep my voice
steady. It came out a plea.

“Tell me that’s not my son.”

Maggie whimpered. With the sound, I looked to see
her slump over herself, pressing her hand over her mouth before she
visibly steeled herself. I watched as she fought for an impassive
expression, and she rigidly looked me in the eye.