The door clicked shut behind Hannah, and his knees gave out, dropping him down to the bed, not a stitch of clothing on. With his pounding head clutched in his hands, he shouted a vile curse into the silent room that smelled like her, a fishhook impaling his gullet and ripping downward, all the way to his belly. He needed her back in his arms so badly, his entire body shook in bereavement.
But as terribly as he wanted her back, Fox didn’t know how to do it the right way. He had no earthly clue how to make his head healthy for her. For them.
He only knew one thing. The answers weren’t in this empty apartment, and the lack of Hannah’s presence mocked him everywhere. In his bedroom where they’d spent nights wrapped around each other, the kitchen where he’d fed her soup and ice cream, the living room where she’d cried over her father. As quickly as he could, he dragged his jeans and T-shirt back on, grabbed his car keys, and left.
*
The change of scenery didn’t help.
It wasn’t the apartment Hannah was haunting so beautifully.
It was him.
Didn’t matter how hard he applied the gas pedal, she came with him, as if her mussed dirty-blond head was resting on his shoulder, her fingers lazily playing with the radio. The image struck so deep, he had to breathe through it.
Fox had no idea where he was going. No clue at all.
Not until he pulled up outside his mother’s apartment.
He cut the engine and sat there dumbfounded. Why here?
And had he really been driving a full two hours?
Charlene had sold his childhood home a long time ago and bought a condo in what amounted to a retirement complex. His mother grew up next door to the old folks’ home where her parents worked, and she’d always been most comfortable around the blue-haired crowd, hence her living situation and job as a bingo caller. Fox’s father had always made fun of her for that, telling her she would get old before her time, but Fox didn’t see it that way. Charlene just stuck to what she knew.
Fox stared through the windshield at the complex, the empty pool visible through the side gate. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d been here. A birthday or two. Christmas morning. He’d have come more often if he didn’t know it was difficult for his mother to look at him.
On top of tonight’s catastrophe, did he really want to see his mother and encounter the flinch? Maybe he did. Maybe he’d come here to punish himself for hurting Hannah. For making her cry. For failing to be the man she stubbornly believed him to be.
Take some time and think.
Because next time you tell me good-bye, I’ll believe you.
Did that mean she didn’t believe him tonight?
Did she know he wouldn’t have made it a day without texting her? Did she know he’d melt at the sight of her for the rest of his life, every single time she visited Westport? Did she suspect he’d fly to LA and beg for forgiveness?
He probably would have done all those things.
But he’d still be the same person, with all the same hang-ups.
And he didn’t want them anymore.
Admitting that to himself untangled the fishing line in his gut, gave him the impetus to climb out of the car. All the apartments were identical, so he had to double-check his mother’s address in his phone contacts. Then he was standing in front of her door, fist poised to knock, when Charlene opened it.
Winced at the sight of him.
Fox took it on the chin, like he always did. Smiled. Leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Hey, Ma.”
She folded her arms behind his neck, squeezing him tight. “Well! Caroline from 1A called and said there was a handsome man lurking in the parking lot, and I was going to inspect. Turns out it was my son!”
Fox attempted a chuckle, but his throat only sounded like a garbage disposal. God, he felt like he’d been run over, the aches and pains stemming from the middle of his chest. “Next time, don’t go check it out yourself. Call the police.”
“Oh, I was just going to look through Caroline’s binoculars and have a gab about it. Don’t worry about me, boy. I’m indestructible.” She stepped back and looked at him. “Not sure I can say the same for you. Never seen you look so green around the gills.”
“Yeah.” Finally, she took his elbow and ushered him inside, pointing him toward the small dining-room table, where he took a seat. The round piece of furniture was painted powder blue, covered in knickknacks, but the misshapen frog ashtray was what caught his attention. “Did I make this?”
“Sure did. Ceramics class your sophomore year of high school. Coffee?”