That October Night

CHAPTER 7 - Without Thinking

"We are more than the worst thing that's happened to us." — Unknown

       "RAY, GET UP," the voice from my dream repeated sounding closer as it persisted with a poke to my side each time.

I heard the voice again and this time I was certain that this wasn't a dream. My mind was willing but my body was betraying me. I wasn't a morning person and my eyelids were way too droopy to cooperate. The more I chose not to respond the harder the poking got until I couldn't resist any longer. With one eye open I gripped the end of the broom before it poked me again.

It was my mother, already all dressed for work. She had kept her distance, because the last time she woke me up from my sleep I attacked her. It was when I was having another nightmare.

I glanced at the clock on my nightstand that said 6 AM and then back at Mom. My heart softened. I wasn't sure why in that moment.

"Hi, Mom," I yawned as I stretched.

"Hi, my baby. Finally, you're awake. Your father wants to talk to you. I would but I'm running late."

Mom looked tired but she was all smiles this morning. That was a good thing because the worry lines on her forehead and the dark circles under her eyes were all gone. No how-are-you's were asked and for that I was grateful.

"Can't I sleep for at least ten more minutes, please?"

Mom chuckled, giving me the kind of hug and cheek kisses I hadn't gotten in a while. I sighed into it. Secretly wishing things were back to the way they were.

"I love you okay. Don't you ever forget that." She checked her watch. "Oh — I left breakfast in the oven."

The moment breakfast slipped out of her mouth my smile tightened.

She kissed my forehead one more time and floated out of the room happier than she entered. On her way out Dad gave her morning kisses and I heard her squeal of laughter as she made her way down the stairs.

"How's my baby girl?" Dad grinned, ruffling my bird's nest of hair.

"She's a work in progress," I stated honestly, wiping the trail of drool from my cheek.

His expression turned careful. "Romona offered Raymond to help with the painting. He's the only one available." He paused. "But I wanted to ask you first. Is that okay? Chris may be away for a bit longer."

I knew Raymond. I'd been to his house for weeks.

Long enough to know that Romona and her husband raised good children. That his name came up in every room whether he was there or not.

But that was his space. His house. His family's orbit.

Him coming into mine was different.
I didn't know what to do with different right now.

"He's not Josiah, Dad," I finally answered.

I wasn't sure why I knew that so quickly or so certainly. I just did. The way you knew some things before you had the language to explain them. Raymond wasn't Josiah.

The mention of Josiah's name got Dad tensing up, but he rolled the tension off his shoulders like they weren't there. Too bad I saw it. His eyes had already started their shift — the blue draining out slowly, going grey at the edges the way they did when he was angry and trying not to be.

I watched the grey take over and said nothing. There was nothing to say. We both knew what the anger was about. We both knew it had nowhere to go.

That was the part that never got easier.
Dad shut his eyes tight for a second. When he opened them the blue was fighting its way back.