Page 94 of Love Always

“You know, I think Kevin’s just twisted up inside because he can’t have you and you’re going to end up with more money than he is. He’s a fucking—oops—sorry—sociopath.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“You’re filing that second restraining order tomorrow. Audrey agrees.” He pauses. “Are they coming to Thanksgiving?”

I reach around to hold my son’s smooth little hand. “Yes.”

΅

Three days later it’s Thanksgiving. The Inn is decked out with fairy lights, gourds, dried bittersweet, and floating candles. Finn closed the dining room and only rented a few rooms to visitors here to visit their families, so we have the whole place to ourselves for a sixteen-person feast. Except, I see Bryce talking to Chloe and afterward, two more place settings are laid out.

Chloe, Claire, and I cooked the basics: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes. Travis made a large flat of baked three-cheese mac’n’cheese which nearly stopped Mateus’s heart. Devon didn’t cook, but she brought excellent wines and some top shelf bourbon. Mateus brought his mother’s cranberry relish. Emily and Ralph brought two pies. Finn made a cheesecake, Bryce made beer, his first try at homebrew and it was dark and cold. Mateus was impressed. Nic brought two kinds of homemade rolls. Lindy from the store did end up having to dine with us when an ice storm knocked out Logan airport, so she showed up empty handed and embarrassed. Millie, of the miniature horses, brought the most amazing roasted yams. And the Pratchetts came with a tort that was Kenny’s favorite.

We’ve all just sat down, chairs shuffling, when there’s a knock on the door. Bryce jumps up and he looks anxious. He casts a glance to Mateus and then nods to me as if I need to do something. I reach and take Mateus’s hand under the table.

In a few seconds, two people I’ve never seen before walk in and stand awkwardly in the entryway to the dining hall. Bryce has his hand on the woman’s shoulder. She’s short, wizened, with graying hair and beautiful dark eyes. Her husband is slightly taller and holds a cowboy hat in his hands. His skin is leathery and his hands beaten by weather and the hundreds of horses he’s trained.

Mateus can’t move. He just sits, his mouth slightly open.

And then his mother, seeing her cranberry dish on the table bursts into tears. Once they recover from being in the middle of a giant group of mostly gringos they don’t know, they engage. There is a lot of introductions and repeating of names. It is fun seeing his father, Bob or Roberto, playing cards with Finn and Nic. Rosario reads to Cory, and ends up chatting with Audrey and Andy.

Mateus is in shock, I think, for the entire evening. Bryce beams. I don’t know what he did to make this happen for Mateus, but after dinner I pull him aside and with tears in my eyes, I give him a kiss on each of his scraggly cheeks.

Thanksgiving this year, for the first time in a very long time, feels roomy and warm and big enough to hold everyone.

Chapter Twenty

Mateus

We’re walking together on the beach, it’s early spring and Cory runs ahead. I stayed with him this morning while Laurel went for a long run on the beach. Watching her is bittersweet. I so love seeing her move, feeling the heat of her body afterwards, but there’s also a longing to do it myself. But there’s the gym, my weights and the chin-up bar and I put all to good use.

I’ve been splitting my time between Portland and Echo Bay which gets confusing but it’s manageable. I don’t want Laurel to feel she has to uproot Cory—he’s making real progress in school and so is Ms. Kram.

Kevin Barr was served a restraining order and his father is probably breathing down his neck every day which is fine by me. Either way, Laurel and I agree, we’ll take it. I hope I never meet Oliver Raymond Barr. And, though Laurel still gets a few odd looks in town, most people realize what she did—what she had to do, and she even received a letter from the governor, thanking her for her assistance.

There’s a worm in my brain that tells me we have not seen the last of Kevin or his father, but for right now, they are absent from the lives of the Russo's.

Work is going well, and I’ve picked up some contracts for the company as a profiler for the Portland and Rockland police departments and I was on loan to Orono for a week last month.

My parents stayed four days. I think that’s the longest they’ve ever been away from the ranch. Dad took some time to warm up—I reminded him he cut his own brother off for nearly two decades because he was late to a dinner.

“No, no. It was years of being late. To everything,” he tried to explain, out on the back porch that first night. “But this? I’ve missed my son.”

Later that night, my mother explained what happened. Bryce had contacted them. He sent them the news story and an email that filled in the blanks about not just what happened but the last ten years of my life. According to Mom, Bryce did not sugar coat anything and tore them one. I kissed her while she grew teary and I told her Bryce is a firm believer in tough love. She said she was glad I had such loyal friends in my life.

At the airport, I managed to sit with them until their plane arrived and they were so proud to have me at their side. “He’s part of security,” they said to everyone and anyone they could corral.

Only once did my mother break down. It was Monday morning, the day they were leaving, and I walked across from Laurel and Devon’s apartment to The Inn to have breakfast with them. Laurel was getting Cory on the bus. I parked myself in the library reading, waiting for them to come down. My mother arrived, looking a little lost, and I marveled at how beautifully she had aged. I patted a spot on the sofa next to me.

“I am not ready to go,” she said. She clutched a tissue in her hand. I put an arm around her and kissed her on her cheek. Shalimar. She still wore it. My father gave her a bottle every year.

Sitting down next to me on the sofa she asked, “Can I see?” in Spanish. She patted my leg.

I pulled up my pants. She laid her hand on my thigh and ran it to my knee. Then further to where my leg ended. “I’m sorry it’s gone.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry you were in so much pain. I wasn’t there.”