Chapter Five
As Lindsey and Damien drove toward the outskirts of Chatham, the number of homes and businesses thinned, the trees edging the road became thicker, and Damien became quieter. The only sound in the rented U-Haul cab was the static buzz from the radio that couldn’t find a station. She viewed his profile. He sat straight as an arrow, every inch of hard muscle was taut with stress. His jaw was clenched so hard, his teeth probably ached.
She’d had her doubts about the wager she’d made with him the night before, as she lay in bed with a kickboxing session going on inside her stomach. A million doubts and fears had raced through her mind. She was so close to her due date. What if she couldn’t uphold her end of the bargain? What would her parents think when they found out she’d been sharing a house with a man, when the ink was barely dry on her divorce papers? Most of all, she wondered how she’d survive the typhoon of emotions that crashed over her every time she got close to Damien. Whenever he came near, her pulse hammered and she was immersed in a flood of desire. And man, on a rare occasion when a smile stretched over his lips, the world seemed to wash away around her.
She had to avoid temptation. The baby was number one—always. She bit her lip, and a trickle of guilt filtered through her. Lindsey had been thinking of Damien almost as much as her impending due date—what kind of mother did that make her? No, losing her focus over a handsome face and rugged body just wouldn’t do. She’d do her best to make it a friendly business transaction between friends, nothing more. They’d get in the house, pack up the stuff, and go home. No harm, no foul.
But when they pulled up to the weathered gray shingled house, and his hands gripped the wheel like a life preserver, Lindsey ached to reach out to him.
“We’re here.” His voice was low and gritty. For a moment, he just stared. The steep roof had two dormered windows on either side of a central chimney. She wondered if Damien had looked out of one of those windows as a child, longing for his mother. Lindsey gave him a moment, and then rallied for them both.
“Let’s get in, pack up, and get out. Okay?” She gave him what she hoped was a look of encouragement, and was relieved when he nodded and opened the driver’s side door. Damien carried a stack of flat boxes while she took packing tape, scissors, and permanent markers for labeling. He slid the key into the lock, jimmied it around, and pushed open the door. The inside smelled dank and stale—a yeasty, skunky scent left behind by the empty beer cans that crowded the end table beside a slumped couch. Damien stood, hands against his sides, taking it in.
“You hired a cleaning crew, so we just need to take out the belongings.” She had to keep him focused and distracted.
“I don’t even know where to begin.” He ran a hand over his cropped black hair.
“Let’s try room by room. Should we start upstairs or down?” she asked.
“Upstairs first.” He looked at the stairwell but didn’t move, so she walked ahead of him.
Lindsey took the steps slowly and held on to the railing—it was hard to navigate stairs when she couldn’t see what was under her feet. There were two bedrooms on the upper level, and she chose one at random. Damien needed someone to take the lead. When he walked into the room, she slipped a box from his hands, folded the bottom, and secured it with tape. She repeated the process until they had three boxes ready to be packed.
Damien cleared his throat. “This was my father’s room. We can donate all the clothes.”
“Okay, then.” Lindsey took a box to the closet. Before she opened it, she turned to face him. “Damien, is there anything I should keep?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.” He snapped open one of the cedar drawers. She followed his lead, taking piles of clothes and stuffing the boxes. They moved at a quick clip and were done packing the room much faster than she’d expected. They moved on to the next. This room had baseball posters and a bright blue bedspread. Little League awards scattered the shelf that hung over the headboard. A small desk sat in the corner along with a beanbag chair. Damien’s room. She glanced over at him and her heart burned.
Lindsey could see the memories play over his face. It must be hard, to have no good ones to comfort. Despite her earlier pep talk to keep her hands off, she closed the distance between them, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She had meant for it to be a quick hug, but his arms circled around her and kept her firmly in place. He rested his chin lightly on the top of her head, and she leaned into his hard chest. His heart drummed a steady beat against her cheek. Something in her heart tugged and pulled, when he tightened his embrace and kissed the top of her head. Had she ever wanted someone so much? When the baby pelted her, sending a bolt of pain ricocheting through her rib cage, she pulled back and grimaced.
Damien grabbed her shoulder. “Are you okay?” His eyes were intense as he scanned her face.
She took a deep breath, as the discomfort faded. “I might be growing a sumo wrestler, or a future WWE wrestler in there.” It was good to hear him chuckle, and some of the tension that hung thickly in the air dissipated.
He held his hand just above her belly. “Can I?” he asked, sounding not quite sure of himself.
She nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence. He laid his big palm across her stomach. Lindsey knew the moment he felt the baby wriggle. His face, which was hard from stress, softened. His hand traced the movement of the baby as it rolled and pressed against her side. He lifted his gaze and locked his eyes on hers. Her breath caught and her throat tightened. Something about this intimate moment seemed big and important. Unspoken needs and the movements of the baby hung in the space between them. He broke away abruptly, and her heart shrank.
“That was something else. I’ve never felt a baby kick before.” His voice was unsteady and strained. He wasn’t as immune to her as he pretended to be. She could hear the heavy longing in his tone. The space he’d created gave her time to regain her composure and she taped together two new boxes.
Needing some distance from him, she slid over one of the boxes. “If you don’t mind, I’ll do the hall closet, and then move downstairs.”
“Okay,” he said with his gaze still fastened on her. “Be careful on those stairs.”
Once she was out of his sight, she released the breath she’d been holding. Damien’s face had filled with awe when he had felt the baby move—the way a man should look when he feels his baby kick for the first time. Except Damien wasn’t the father. The baby’s real father wouldn’t relinquish full parental rights to Lindsey, but still wanted to start “fresh” with his assistant. He’d made it clear that she and the baby weren’t part of his future. At the moment, it seemed like her life was a jumbled mess and Damien wasn’t making it easy to stay focused. She gave herself a few more moments, and then started on the closet.
*
When Damien joined Lindsey downstairs, he found her humming by the kitchen sink. She reached both arms up to the cabinet and arched her back slightly to pull down a copper pot. The tips of her hair tumbled to the small of her back. He’d like to run his fingers through it. He imagined that hair flowing over his pillow like morning sun streaming through the window. He’d move over her slowly and her creamy bare skin would be like silk against his. She’d sigh his name and tangle her arms around his neck. Damien shook his head. He had to get his shit together.
He jumped toward her when the stack of bowls above her teetered at the edge of the shelf. Damien shifted his arms above Lindsey’s head to steady the dishes, pinning her gently against the laminate. He glanced down at her. Was it his imagination, or did a hunger steal over her features? The look disappeared as fast as it had come. There was no desire in her eyes now, and she angled her body, spun under his arms, and slipped the wooden cutting board she was holding into the box.
“That was a close one. I didn’t realize packing was such perilous work.” She flashed him a grin that made his body stir. They tackled the basement together next. He stood on a step ladder to reach things on the built-in shelving and passed them down to Lindsey where she wrapped and stowed them in boxes. There wasn’t much to pack, but they made a good team all the same.
At noon, he went to get them subs. She insisted on staying to finish the hall closet. Damien called in the order before he started the rental truck—chicken salad for her, Italian for him—lunchtime was pure insanity during tourist season. As he navigated the familiar roads, he realized he’d barely succumbed to the hard memories of his childhood all day. Except for the initial sights and smells of the house after so many years, he’d really only thought of one thing while they were there—Lindsey. That was a problem he’d have to explore at a later time, but for now he was stronger with her by his side, helping to shoulder the work of packing away memories. No matter how bad, they were his. The final act of tucking things into boxes was like a final farewell to the boy he’d once been and the life he’d once lived.
When he returned to the house with lunch, she greeted him at the door.
“Boy am I glad to see you. Packing works up an appetite.” She took the two bottles of water he was holding to the kitchen table.
“Sure does.” He unwrapped one of the subs, saw it was his and gave her the other. “Didn’t think I was going to make it out of town alive,” he said between bites. “Tourists are animals around mealtime.”
“Try a pregnant woman.” She laughed. “I was ready to start chewing on the side of the table.”
They ate quietly for a few minutes—an easy, comfortable quiet.
“How are you holding up?” she asked after a while.
“It’s been easier having you here,” he said over the top of his sub. “I guess I was a little surprised to see my bedroom still intact. When I decided to enlist, my father said if I left, there wouldn’t be a place for me when I returned.” What if the glassy look in his father’s eyes when he left hadn’t only been from the alcohol?
“His way of asking you to stay,” she said hitting the nail on the head.
“It wasn’t about wanting me here, though.” Damien drained his water and crumpled the plastic bottle in his hand. “He didn’t want me to leave like my mother did.”
“Did he save any of her things?” Lindsey asked and rested a hand over her belly.
“The day she left, he started a bonfire in the backyard. He was drunk and wild with rage, and he started chucking her things into it left and right.” He had cried, screamed, and pulled at his father’s leg. He had tossed away what was left of his mother, when Damien had wanted to hold on like his life depended on it.
His heart hardened against the memory. If he didn’t think of it objectively, it would break him. “I was clinging onto one of her old shirts. It smelled like her, and I wanted to keep it. He ripped it from me and threw it into the fire.” His jaw tightened. That was the moment he knew his life would never be the same.
“Oh, Damien. I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine the hurt…” Her eyes misted and she reached across the table for his hand.
“You love your baby already. It’s all over your face when you feel it kick. I hear you singing lullabies at night, and it’s in your voice. It makes me wonder how she walked away from her son. Her only child.” He hadn’t thought about being abandoned in so long, and was taken off guard at the intensity of the anger burning inside him.
“It wasn’t you, Damien. You know that, right?” She searched his face and lifted a hand to his cheek. “There’s no reason she could have possibly had, that would bring you comfort, but her own demons drove her to leave, not you.”
“Her smile never really reached her eyes. Somedays she’d lock herself in her room and would cry in the dark for hours. Then she’d reappear the next day, over-the-top excited, talking a mile a minute, and spin me around until we both fell onto the floor dizzy and laughing.” He pushed away from the table and started clearing the remnants of lunch. Lindsey’s chair scraped against the floor, and she came over to him. For the second time that day, he accepted her embrace and let himself lean on someone else for just a little bit.
“You’re going to be a terrific mother, Lindsey,” he murmured into her hair. Her scent, something warm and cozy like vanilla and cinnamon, tickled his senses. “You already are.”
“And someday, when the time’s right, you’ll be a wonderful father.” When he scoffed, she added, “You’re not like your parents, Damien. Don’t let life pass you by because you’re afraid of being wired like them.” She locked eyes with him, and fierceness filled her face. “You’re not.” She pressed her lips quickly to his, and just as fast moved away.
They worked side by side for the rest of the afternoon, sealing items in bubble wrap, packing boxes, and chatting about lighter topics. Soon all the boxes were stacked in the U-Haul and there was only one place left to tackle. They walked outside to his father’s work area. Damien had never been allowed into the shed that stood feet from the house. The red door was rotted and paint flaked off, revealing the plywood underneath. His heart beat faster when he stood face-to-face with the door, like his father might pop out and tan his hide for getting too close.
He turned the knob but the door wouldn’t budge. Damien used his shoulder to force it open and fell through the threshold when it gave way.
“Careful,” he warned Lindsey. “I’ve never been in here, so I’m not sure if the floorboards are steady, or if there are any surprises.” She heeded his advice and stepped in gingerly, testing the wood planks before choosing a spot to stand.
A weak stream of sunlight filtered through the dirty windows, offering just enough light to see the disarray of the room. The walls of the small space were lined with hanging tools, a fishing pole, and lures. The workspace was cluttered with more beer cans, an orange toolbox, and remnants of an unfinished project. Damien was surprised to see a safe on the bottom shelf of the workbench. He tried a few combinations, his birthdate, his father’s birthdate, but the lock stayed securely clamped shut. His breath quickened when he thought of another date. His fingers carefully spun a new combination into the lock: the day his mother left. The lock clicked and released. Now that he could see what was inside, he didn’t want to look. Whatever his father stowed away in a safe wasn’t meant for his eyes. He looked back at Lindsey and she stood there patiently. She seemed to understand he wanted her presence, but let him have the moment in quiet.
Releasing a breath, he opened the safe. The plastic bag inside made his heart thump faster. Through the clear bag, he could see a swatch of pink that frayed into a burnt mess. The shirt Damien had wanted to keep when his mother left. He lifted it gingerly out, and for a moment just stared. His father must have pulled it out of the fire when Damien ran inside. Maybe part of him had cared after all.
A hard lump formed in Damien’s throat. He reached back into the safe and pulled out framed photographs that disappeared the day she left. He picked one up, in hands that shook, and the smiling faces of his mother, father, and baby Damien looked back. Lindsey had crept up behind him and gently kneaded his tight shoulders. He reached back into the dark safe and trailed his fingers around the edges. His hand brushed over a piece of paper and he grasped it. It was a crayon drawing of three stick figures, signed with a wobbly signature.
“I can’t believe he kept this stuff. I thought he hated her for leaving and hated me more because somehow it was my fault,” Damien said after a while. “He would tell me that from time to time—if I was better, smarter, she would have stayed.”
“He was in pain,” Lindsey said softly. “And lashed out at a small defenseless boy to ease the hurt.”
“I’ve had enough for one day. Let’s get out of here.” He was grateful when she didn’t pry, and on the ride home left him to his own thoughts. Occasionally, she reached over to brush a hand over his shoulder to comfort. She had an instinctive and intimate awareness of his moods. He was alarmed by how much he wanted her, but more so, he was terrified of the affection that spread through him every time she was near. They meshed so well together—always had. In the back of his mind though, he’d always see his father’s face the day his mother backed out of the driveway and never returned. It had crushed him, broke him, and turned him into someone hard and cold. That look was the reason Damien had distanced himself from Lindsey after their first youthful kiss. One brush of lips in a dark closet made him aware that she had the power to irreversibly untwine him—body, mind, and soul.