“She didn’t call the police, Ray,” I say. “She’s wants you to be part of Michael’s life. She’s giving you a second chance, but you’ve got to take it the right way.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“You know it isn’t this,” I challenge. “What took you so long anyway?”
“I took him back to my place for a while,” Ray says. “We spent the afternoon and evening watching cartoons and eating pizza. I just wanted more time. He asked if he could stay until midnight.” Ray laughs a little. “He almost made it, but he fell asleep.”
“Are you crazy?” I suddenly see a little devil and angel version of myself sitting on either shoulder.
“I watched him sleep for about an hour. Then I scooped him up and put him in the car. I just wanted more time,” Ray says again.
I think about the day of Dad’s stroke. I said the same thing over and over to myself. I’m not ready for this. I want more time. I’m not ready. Not ready. More time. I need more time.
“Yeah,” I say. “I know what you mean.”
“Will you go with me to drop him off? Not for me—for Nicole. In case she needs someone to watch Michael while she beats the crap out of me.”
“You’ve got it coming,” I say, then pause. “Is that really why you want me to go with you?”
“No,” Ray says, and his voice is so soft, so broken. “In case it’s the last time I get to see him.” He pauses, and I hear his emotion in the silence. “I just don’t want to be alone.”
My throat is tight, and when I breathe in its all snotty.
“Don’t cry,” he says. “It was worth it. I never would have had a shot at him anyway.”
I don’t believe that. I think Ray could have been happy, but his fear got the best of him.
“You in?” he says.
“You know I am.”
Michael is asleep in the backseat of the car. Ray shrugs at me when I get in. I don’t say anything.
“I called Nicole and told her I was on my way,” Ray says. “That I was bringing you.”
“You think she’ll yell any less because I’m there?” I ask, buckling my seat belt.
“No,” he says.
Ray starts the engine and then shuts it off again. He turns in his seat and looks at me. He rubs his hand across his mouth several times the way people do when they’re getting ready to say something serious—like they have to warm up their lips and coax the words out.
“Look,” he says. “Thanks. For all those years ago when I was being a jerk. Back when we were kids and I didn’t know how to cope with what happened to Lola and my part in it all. I should have been there for you, and I wasn’t. I know you were coping, too. And then I pulled out of life and got sent away and missed, well, everything. And now I’m doing it again. Screwing everything up. I’ll probably disappear again, and I hate that, but it’s likely, so I just wanted to say—”
“Stop,” I say sternly, actually holding my hand out toward him. “Don’t you dare give me a good-bye speech. All we’re doing right now is taking Michael home. That’s it. Then you’re going to go home, go to sleep, get up in the morning, and go to work. Understand?”
He takes hold of my outstretched hand; he is the one to reach out this time.
“I’m really sorry,” he says. “I know you’re searching for yourself, or something that you think you need. Give yourself a fighting chance. Don’t screw up like I did.”
“Ray, I mean it. Stop this.” Tears are streaming down my face.
Ray squeezes my hand and turns me loose. He starts the car, and we drive in silence to Nicole’s apartment building.
She’s on the landing with her cell phone in her hand. Ray stops the car, and she walks casually down the steps like she isn’t approaching the car of someone who stole her child. Ray gets out and stands next to the open door. She doesn’t say anything, just walks up to Ray and slaps him hard in the face.
I look in the backseat where Michael is still asleep.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asks Ray. “This is still new. It’s too new for you to sneak off without telling me. What am I talking about—it’s never all right to sneak off without telling me and then stay out until after midnight without so much as a word, a phone call, a text, nothing. I didn’t call the police even though my mother thought I should. I still might.”
“Nicole,” Ray starts, but she holds up her hand for him to stop.
I can’t see their faces, and I’m glad of it. I’m not needed here, which is a good thing, but I feel like I’m spying.
Michael stirs in the backseat. Nicole opens the back door a crack. Michael sees her and smiles.
“This stuff right here is why I didn’t tell you, Ray,” she says. “Do you know how badly Michael wants you?”
“He does?” Ray asks.
“You’re so stupid,” she says. “How dare you put me in this position?”
“Nicole,” he tries again, but she waves him off.
“We can talk later,” Nicole says and opens the back door all the way. Michael hops out and hugs her. “Did you have a good time with Ray?” she asks him like she hasn’t been riddled with worry this whole time they’ve been gone, even if she did know Ray had him.
Mothers can do that—change their voice, their eyes, and their face in a fraction of a second. They can close up
