Page 6 of Love Always

The fact that he’d been shot brought me to my knees. Literally. Cory thought I was sick. Devon asked why I was throwing up in the bathroom. How could I explain something I didn’t understand? How could I feel so connected to him?

The idea of Mateus dead, hurt, made me sick, caused my heart to race and all oxygen to leave the room. I’m not like Claire and Chloe. I don’t get panic attacks. I can’t afford them. I just throw up. The fact that I reacted this way to news he’d been shot was terrifying. I cannot afford to be involved with anyone. I’m a single mom of an autistic boy.

Later, after Mateus drove up, climbing gingerly out of the car, he used the word “grazed,” correcting all of us. He solemnly explained how badly Bryce had been hurt and how Chloe wouldn’t leave his side. As glad as I was that Mateus wasn’t killed, I was equally relieved he never looked at me and we never made eye contact. I didn’t want him to see my face. I didn’t trust myself to be able to keep our plan intact.

The hold he has on me is the result of a chance meeting on a pier one terrible day. But every time he’s around I lose my grip on who I am. The good news is he’s almost always in Portland helping Bryce Tucker open a second office down along the waterfront.

But just last week the two of us were inadvertently thrown together. It was a blustery, early October day, in the middle of peak foliage season and we were all over at Claire’s veterinary clinic next to the Inn, my old home, having a potluck when the discussion suddenly turned to Chloe and Bryce. The reality was they hadn’t seen each other since her rescue and getting them together should obviously happen. The consensus was, however, that this might prove not so simple.

Devon in her usual middle-child way of uniting people, thought Chloe should sneak aboard the Water Falcon, one of Colton Security’s boats, and surprise Bryce. Everyone agreed it was both romantic and had a practical aspect Bryce couldn’t say “no” to. Mateus agreed to drive Chloe down to the harbor. The problem was why should Bryce pilot the boat back up the coast to The Inn? It made no sense.

Before I could even think, I made an offer. “Well, it’ll need to be scraped. I can do that,” shot out of my mouth.

Everyone turned to look at me. That’s when my glance met Mateus’s, and my heart started to pound. Mateus’s eyes are so deep brown they are nearly black, liquid, fathomless. He wiped his mouth and though I averted my gaze again, I could feel his on me.

Two days later, Bryce and Chloe were reunited and the Water Falcon sat perched in dry dock in the barn across the from The Inn’s parking lot. I had my steel mesh hull mitt on and a belt of very sharp scrapers when Mateus drove up and stepped out of one of the company’s Lexus. He glanced at me and started to come over. When our gazes met, I dropped the scraper, a curved nasty looking tool, and it nearly sliced the top of my foot. Side stepping, I ignored his wave, retrieved the blade, turned my back and resumed work.

I heard him stop walking toward me. I felt the hesitancy in his step. In a few seconds he had back tracked, mounted the porch and was on his way up to the second-floor office.

But he’s out there. Both close and far. Both here and there. Already in my heart, and yet excised forever: He’s the kind of guy who sleeps with random strangers. This I know. And I know the kind of guy that is.

This yin and yang of life, this here and there, is how I at once know that kind of man oh-so-well, and yet can be so happy Cory is in my life. My love for Cory is total, complete, and so overwhelming, sometimes I think I might explode. He is always the most important variable I weigh when I make decisions now. He is my yang.

Always.

It’s why I haven’t slept with a man in three years. And that’s the yin.

Chapter Three

Laurel

“I don’t think you fully understand the impossibility of the situation.” Ms. Kram, the first-grade teacher looks at me with a severity that does not mesh with the fact her knees are drawn up to her chin because the two of us are sitting on tiny little wooden chairs.

All I can do is picture her laying out tiny cups and saucers and a teapot. I’ve pictured this since I had her as a teacher years ago.

“This is not a laughing matter.” Her face makes the sour expression we all used to call “lemoncram.”

“I understand it’s not a laughing matter.”

“This school will not tolerate bullying.”

I adjust myself on the chair and try to appeal to her majesty.

“I don’t think you understand, Ms. Kram,” I say as solicitously as I dare sound, “it is impossible for Cory to bully anyone.”

“He does not grasp the concept of sharing.” She holds up a hand. “I understand his situation. But his inability to get along with the other children must be dealt with and unfortunately this often has to begin with the parents. Schools cannot be expected to take on this sort of behavior problem.”

“May I remind you that he was on an IEP? He was taken off in part because you felt he didn’t need an aid anymore?”

This makes her shift a little in her chair. Or maybe it’s just that adult hips are not meant to be squeezed between the arms of a munchkin chair.

“May I remind you Ms. Russo,” and I swear the “Ms.” is emphasized, “you agreed Cory was ready to be moved into kindergarten?”

Anger and fear swirl in my stomach. We don’t live in an area with a lot of resources for kids with disabilities and the public school is really it. More importantly, Cory was doing so well over the summer and so excited to be in school. It would set him back months if he got kicked out.

I swallow, and pluck at the more matronly sweater I’d donned this morning in an effort to appear older than twenty-four. “What if I came to the class and explained to the children what some of Cory’s issues are? Without him in the room?”

She seemed to brighten somewhat at this idea. “Well, that might work. And it would be helpful if you could explain, perhaps, some coping mechanisms the other children could use when dealing with your son.”