Fix My Feet When They're Stumblin'

Chapter 77

    "Ron!"

    At the sound of his name, the drummer stopped so suddenly as he rounded the corner into the kitchen that he nearly lost his balance. Frantically, Ronnie scrabbled for purchase on the slippery tile with his crutches before his wife's hands latched securely onto his hips, steadying him. He took a deep, calming breath and offered Olivia a smile of thanks, wobbly despite his best efforts.

     "Sorry!" Tana hurried around the island toward them, her face paper white. "I didn't mean - oh, you could've gotten hurt! I-I didn't mean to scare you, Ronnie. Sit, sit."

     She ushered them toward the breakfast nook and turned away, busying herself serving up eggs from the stove and popping bread in the toaster. Ronnie watched her, noting the uncharacteristic tremble in her hands and the chalky tone of her skin.

    He looked to Livvie, who raised a sympathetic, pointed eyebrow at him - she'd noticed, too. "Be nice," she whispered. "That woman is going through hell."

    "I am nice," he hissed back, affronted, but Olivia's skeptical expression cowed him, reminding him of his many missteps while attempting to confront his friend's struggling wife, dim echoes of her defensive ferocity filling his ears, a fervid cornered beast: 'I'm really fucking sorry I'm not living up to your standards, Ron, but I'm trying!'

    "Tana, how is Brandon?" Ronnie asked innocently as she buttered their toast, her back to them. Immediately, her shoulders tensed and the drummer's heart skipped a beat. He began instinctively bracing himself for bad news...but how much worse could it even get?

    "Asleep," she said stiffly, carrying their plates over and setting them on the table, hovering awkwardly beside the nook instead of taking a seat herself. Ronnie nearly laughed at the non-answer, but Tana sucked in a deep breath and continued before he could.

    "I, um - " She was unable to meet his eyes, swallowing heavily and scrutinizing her shifting feet as she searched for words. "I owe you an apology, Ronnie. A big one. You've been trying to tell me, and I wasn't...well, maybe I didn't want to listen."

    Ronnie raised an eyebrow, utterly stupified. "Huh?"

    "Brandon," Tana explained, her voice catching on his name. "You told me. You tried to help us, you tried to tell me again and again. That he wasn't going to do well here, that - that being here would hurt him. I just didn't listen. And you were right, it did hurt him. I hurt him. I'm so sorry. You were just looking out for him, and I was so wrapped up in my own head that I couldn't - I should have been protecting him, too...well, I thought I was. But I should've listened to you. It's the biggest mistake of my life, I...God, I feel like I've been torturing him, making him come home."

    She opened her mouth and closed it again, her eyes shining. "He's miserable here, Ronnie," she whispered, glancing toward the doorway as if afraid someone might be listening. "Last night...he said it's not living, his life now. It's d-d-dying. He s-said the kids are waiting for their 'real dad' to come b-back - "

    She paused, her hand clapped over her mouth, choking on a sob. "And he...he told me I could keep him here and he'd forget we ever talked about it - he thinks of himself like a goddamn goldfish, Ron! No self-esteem, he doesn't understand it's not his fucking fault, he's just - but...he said if I kept him here he'd only get worse, not - not better...at home."

    Ouch. Ronnie winced inwardly as Tana scrubbed at her face, coming away with pink, irritated skin and damp fingers. "He is their real dad - and how he could ever think in a million years that I would ever just - just ignore him admitting something like that and move on with my happy little life and let him forget, like he's some kind of p-prisoner? He's just not...he's not well."