“Sometimes I wish I’d known him then,” I admit. “I hate thinking that he felt so alone.”
Robert tilts his head into his palm, listening to me with a warm grin—an almost proud expression. “Joanna would have loved you, you know. You have her same… care. I can tell life has not been easy or always kind to you, but you haven’t let it turn you hard. Not like a stone. You became like water. You move with it all. You’re soft… but powerful.”
I immediately have to blink away tears, shaking my head. “Oh,” I say, sniffling. “That’s, um…”
“The odd musings of a drunk Frenchman, oui.”
“No, I mean… That’s very kind. Thank you. From what Bo has said, Joanna was a fantastic person. I certainly admire her taste in music,” I say, offering a piece of levity.
“What has Bo said about his mother?”
I wince, hoping I don’t make Bo sound cold or uncaring. But I don’t want to lie either. “Not a lot, honestly. Just… how you two met. How much you both miss her. The music, and—”
“How she passed?” Robert interrupts.
No, I say silently, shaking my head.
He hums, nodding softly. “Joanna struggled the way a lot of artists do. Her feelings often felt too big to hold on to. Too out of control. But it made her great. Passionate about her music.” He licks his lips, leaning back on the couch. “When we decided to have children, we’d already been together for eight years. We had this nice little apartment in Toronto. We played music together every day, and we had so much happiness. Joy and laughter and… I thought the best was yet to come.”
Robert chokes up and immediately reaches for his throat. I do the same without thinking. My heart starts pounding in my chest, waiting on every word.
“Back then, there was no real word for the way Joanna seemed to lose herself during pregnancy. She became… like a ghost. I tried to help. I tried to get her help, but…” Robert sighs, shaking his head at the ceiling. “It was all too much for her. She left a note, saying that she was sorry. That she loved us. That she couldn’t explain why she couldn’t stay, and… she took her own life. Bo was only twelve weeks old.”
I inhale sharply, covering my mouth as my lips quiver. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I… I had no idea. I’m so—”
“I wish every day that I could have helped her more.”
“I’m sure you did everything you possibly could have.” I rest my hand on his knee.
He pats my hand twice with his, and I notice it’s shaking. He then brings it to his chin, rubbing it back and forth. “A few summers after she passed, Robbie was still small—just turned five—and I left him with Joanna’s sister for a week. I had a show to play outside of Canada, and I thought…” His voice trails off as he takes a deep breath in. “The horrid woman told him what happened. Told him the truth about how Joanna passed. And… I’ve felt that, ever since then, Robbie’s held on to a responsibility. That he feels partially to blame. I regret that too.”
My jaw shakes, then loosens as my tears threaten to pour, thinking of that little boy who’s grown into the man I know. The realisation as to why every step of this pregnancy has held such weight to Bo. My feelings, my housing, my finances, my health. All because of what happened to his mother. Because of that guilt he feels.
I wish he’d told me, but I understand why he didn’t, or couldn’t. It’s unimaginable, that level of pain.
“When he called to tell me about the baby… about you… I think he felt like he’d been given another chance, almost. I tried to talk to him about it. Tried to tell him that it was not his burden, but mine. But it’s hard to do. Robbie would always rather worry about someone else than himself. He’s always been that way.”
“I… I’m okay, though,” I say, because part of me thinks Robert needs to hear it too. “I didn’t need him to—”
“Yes,” he agrees. “I think he thought at first that he had to keep you close for your sake. To not have history repeat itself. But now? Now is different. I think he needs you.”
“Bo’s… Bo is… He’s wonderful.”
“He is,” Robert agrees. “But he has a soft heart, like his mother. Like you. You must be gentle with each other, okay?”
A soft heart like his father, it seems, as well.
“Yes,” I agree, my voice barely audible.
“Good…” Robert sighs, standing up slowly. “I fear I’ve ruined the evening now, with all my sad ramblings.”
“Oh, no… No, you—”
“I miss her today, especially. Thirty birthdays for our boy. She should be here.”
“Maybe she is? In a way we can’t see?”
“Perhaps,” Robert says, swaying as he places a hand on the back of the couch to steady himself. “Thank you for tonight, Win. But more importantly, for giving Robbie a reason to celebrate again.”
“Good night,” I say, looking over my shoulder as Robert walks around the back of the couch toward Bo’s bedroom.
And I wipe my eyes, determined to go find Bo and hold him for as long as he’ll let me.
CHAPTER 30
When Bo comes in after his shower, he’s wearing his usual beige hoodie and black shorts combination, as well as his glasses under freshly washed, towel-dried hair. He finds me sitting up in bed, waiting for him, wearing a white crewneck sweater and black bicycle shorts.
“Hey,” he whispers, looking over at me as he places his prosthesis next to my dresser. “I thought you might be asleep by now.”
“Hi,” I say, “I wanted to talk to you first…”
“Everything okay?” he asks, lowering to the edge of the bed, his back facing me. I watch as he takes off his glasses and places them on the bedside table next to his phone.
I take a trembling breath in and dive toward him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my head between his shoulder blades.
“Hey,” he says gently, his neck turned as far as he can over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I answer, my voice muffled by his sweater. “I just needed to hug you.”
“Okay,” he says, placing his hand on mine over his ribs. “Let me lie down, and then we can both get in on this.”
I nod, pulling away.
Bo twists and lowers himself until he’s flat on his back, then gestures for me to come snuggle into his side with an outstretched arm. Instead, I crawl over top of him, straddling his hips and burrowing my face into his chest.
“Win…” Bo says as his large hands spread across my shoulders, rubbing up and down my back. “Talk to me, honey. What’s going on? Did something happen?”
“When you went to shower, your dad and I talked for a little bit.”
“Did he say something to upset you?”
“No…” I say, turning my head out to the side. I wipe my face with the sleeve of my sweater and sniff back tears. “But he told me about your mom.” My voice pitches up, near breaking. “About how she passed, and… Bo, I’m so sorry.”