Chapter Four

Jaron felt Bobby's little fingers wrapped around two of his. In Jaron's other hand, he held a large duffle bag. He'd used the bag when he left Pickleville. The irony of that didn't escape him.

The bus wheezed, popped, and jerked as it rolled to life on its tires. As it moved past them, Jaron focused on the restaurant across the road. The restaurant had large windows in the front with the words Bella's Restaurant. Underneath that were the words Pickleville, Michigan as if the restaurant itself held pride in where it stood.

His mother held a mug, probably full of coffee. She held her thin shoulders forward which made her spine curve. Seven years had made her fragile in a way Jaron hadn't remembered her ever being. She stared into her mug as if it held some truth she longed to find.

Seeing her again through the window, made him feel as if he stood in the back of a movie theater. He watched as if it weren't real life. His life was that mug she held.

If she turned him away, he'd call Brian. If he refused, Jaron had enough savings to get them a place to live for about a month. Then he'd have to hope he'd find a job quickly.

When he had left all those years ago, he had been a stupid kid wanting to fit in somewhere. Everyone, including his mother, had known he didn't fit in Pickleville. Maybe he still didn't but he had to hope for Bobby's sake.

Jaron looked down when Bobby squeezed his fingers. He met Bobby's gaze and smiled despite the desperation pounding through his heart. He needed so much for the town where he grew up to magically turn into a safe haven for Bobby, even though it hadn't been for him.

God, please.

A door behind him opened, changing Jaron's focus, making him stiffen. Everything about Pickleville made him tense up as if he were that eighteen-year-old kid dealing with bullies and gossipmongers.

The building had housed a hobby shop called the Hobbyist's Dream but had turned into an Asian market at some point. The shop next to it had been a movie rental place when he'd left, but that had transformed into a florist. On the bus ride through town, he saw that someone had put a fast food place by the highway. The hair salon over that way was an ice cream shop.

Maybe things had changed.

"I'm thirsty." Bobby spoke around the thumb in his mouth. Jaron thought Bobby had dropped the habit a few months ago, but it reared up again, probably caused by the stress.

"Me too. Let's go." Jaron stepped off the curb and onto the street, gripping Bobby's hand just a little tighter, pausing for a car, and then continuing until he came within inches of his mother, the glass providing the only barrier.

She met his gaze, showing more emotion in those few seconds than he had ever seen during his entire childhood.

He was the first to look away, but that was only to make his way inside. When he entered the restaurant, the familiar smell of diner food hung in the air, calming some of his nerves.

A man greeted him, pulling out an adult menu as well as a children's one along with a packet of crayons. "I don't need a menu." Jaron nodded his head in his mom's direction. "Meeting her here."

"Right." The man smiled but handed him the children's menu and crayons. "In case he wants to color."

"Thank you." Jaron took the offer and closed the distance between himself and his mother.

Mom had never been a big talker and nothing about that changed. Not even when he sat across from her tucked into the seat next to the window.

Jaron wasn't a big talker either when he was nervous, so it came as no surprise when Bobby was the only one making noise.

His mom watched him, her gaze darting to Bobby, who tried to hide behind Jaron's arm.

Every few seconds Bobby whispered, "thirsty."

His mom smiled at Bobby and waved the waitress over.

"What do you want to drink?"

Jaron knew the woman because she had been in his grade. They graduated the same year. She hadn't changed that much other than carrying a few more pounds than she had back in high school, but they looked good on her. Her name was Beth Calhoun, and he remembered her as a happy, smiling girl who made friends easily. That one quality reminded him of Tracy, which brought tears to his eyes.

"Two lemonades please," Jaron told her.

She gave him a look as if his sadness concerned her, but she didn't know how to approach the subject.

He kept the topic on food. "Two hamburgers and fries too."

"Sure." She smiled and turned to the counter.

The silence took over again. Jaron wrung his hands together and tried to avoid his mother's gaze.

Bobby laid his head on Jaron's shoulder even as he played with the paper menu and handed Jaron the box of crayons to open. Four different colored sticks sat inside. Bobby chose the blue one and moved off Jaron as he colored a picture of a hippo.

The waitress dropped off their drinks, which gave Jaron something to do as he pulled the paper off the straws. Bobby's drink came in a small white plastic cup with a lid so he wouldn't spill it.

In all that time he couldn't bring himself to meet Mom's gaze.

To his surprise, Mom was the one to break the silence.

"I thought you were dead. Did you know that?" Her hands shook even though she still held onto her coffee cup. Steam curled in front of her face.

"No. I didn't." He didn't know what else to say. An apology was inadequate, not that he thought she needed one. Explaining why he had left wouldn't help her get over the hurt.

The waitress placed the food in front of him and Bobby, but he felt sick to his stomach. He picked up a fry and dipped it into ketchup anyway.

Jaron gave Bobby a smile.

His mom cleared her throat. "I'd like to know where you've been."

"The city. Like I said."

"And you had a bad time there?"

Jaron met her gaze. He put his hamburger down. "No, Mom. It wasn't bad at all. I had friends and a job I liked."

She frowned as if wanting to ask a bunch of questions but didn't know where to start. "What's his name?"

"Bobby."

She smiled when Bobby looked up from his food. "Hello, Bobby. Where'd you get such pretty blue eyes, huh?"

Bobby moved into Jaron again, trying to hide behind his arm.

Jaron smiled. "From his mother." He wasn't ready to talk about Tracy and all that had happened. Maybe he would, but he understood Mom wanted to fill in the huge gaps his absence left. "How about I tell you about her later." She opened her mouth to speak, but Jaron held up his hand. "It's not a nice story. And…I can't right now. Okay?"

Mom nodded. "You both must be tired."

Jaron nodded and took a bite of his sandwich.

His room was exactly the way he had left it. His Metallica poster still hung on the back of the door. The lead singer's long hair and the white lettering on his black shirt the only relief against the black walls he had loved. The red comforter hadn't been moved or made in seven years. Dust covered everything.

He had forgotten his juvenile need to be mad at the world.

The white letters above his bed read Scream. He had forgotten that part of himself too, but it came back in stark relief. All at once, he realized the hurt he felt had followed him around for years after he moved away.

When had the anger dissipated?

Probably sometime after leaving town all those years ago. And then Bobby came, and he had no time for anything else. Tracy had been immature enough for both of them.

He had changed. Life happened, dragging him through the mud, forcing him to either lift his head or drown. He swam through the mud pies. Each one he got through left him better than the total of the contents in his childhood bedroom.

Bobby hung onto him as if he were about ready to fall into the deep. They both held each other up, although Bobby would probably never know just how much.

Jaron looked down at the small angelic face.

"The spare bedroom can be his if he wants." His mom came into the room. She held out fresh sheets. He took them from her.

"Thanks. He probably won't sleep there." Jaron set the sheets down on the cleanest surface he saw. The floor. Why had she never dusted? It was as if she froze him in time.

"He'll have toys and such."

He nodded, turned to the bed and began to strip it of the soiled blankets and sheets. It was difficult with a five-year-old strapped too him like a second skin. "Okay buddy, want to help me here?"

"I guess." Bobby pulled the thumb out of his mouth and pulled the sheet all without letting go of Jaron.

"Bobby, would you like to help me make cookies?" His mom asked, smiling, and holding out her hand.

He shook his head and burrowed closer to Jaron.

"How about I go with you and watch you help?" Jaron asked.

Bobby nodded, and they all left the bedroom.

"You'll have to explain to me what brought you home finally."

"I know. I will. Just give me time. Please."

"I gave you seven years, Jaron McAllister. I think that's long enough."

"The mother of my child was murdered a few days ago. I'm a single parent raising a son who saw the whole thing."

"I didn't realize."

"Of course not." Jaron didn't know if he was ready to entertain whatever hurt feeling she had from him leaving. He wasn't even sure he was ready to admit that he caused that hurt.

She led them into the kitchen. Nothing in the room had changed at all. The coffee pot sat on the same part of the counter. Even the small beehive sugar bowl was exactly where it had been when he left. After living with the chaos that was Tracy, who hadn't put anything back in the same spot, he realized for the first time just how anal his mother was.

He chuckled even as he sat at the table.

Mom gave him a strange look.

He waved her off. "Tracy was messy." Something about those three words, let his emotions loose. He let out a sob before covering his face with his hands, not wanting his mom to see him cry.

Bobby's little arms came around him.

Jaron pulled him into his lap, and they hung onto each other.

"Crying doesn't make you weak, Jaron." There hadn't ever been a moment where he needed his mother more, and she seemed to know what he needed to hear. "Maybe if I would have shown more emotion around you, you would have felt differently about leaving."

Jaron met her gaze. She leaned against the counter, gripping the edge. "Maybe."

"We have a lot to talk about, you and I, but it can wait until you're ready." She owed him nothing and yet she let him upend her life.

"Thank you for taking us in, Mom."

She nodded and turned to Bobby. "We need eggs for cookies. Would you like to help me get them?"