Page 91 of Someone to Hold

He pauses for a second, like he’s trying to rein in his temper, then yanks his father toward the truck. “Leave and don’t fucking come back.” He opens the door and shoves Malcolm inside.

His cowboy hat on the ground in front of us, Chase drags his hands through his hair and grips the side of his head. Luke, my sweet, sobbing son, crawls forward and grabs the hat as I lift Laurel to her feet.

“Back to the house,” I say.

His father is still parked, unmoving, and I don’t know what happens next. But I do know my kids don’t need to see it.

As I get to the top porch step, I hear the truck peel out, gravel spraying. The kids are already in the house, moving much faster than me.

I turn to see Chase standing there, a cloud of dust swirling around his legs, watching his father drive away. As if he can feel my eyes on him, he glances over his shoulder.

Although it’s nowhere near as bad as how his father looks, the mark on his face hurts my heart. For him and all of us. For what that man did today, and the violence I imagine he inflicted on his family for years. Does the violence end here?

Chase must be able to read the question in my eyes because he gives a slight shake of his head, then stalks toward the barn.

I don’t follow, of course. My kids need me, and I have to know they’re okay. There will be time later for Chase and me. I have to believe we still have time.

28

MOLLY

“Is he back yet?”Laurel asks as I move away from the front window later that night.

“Not yet,” I say, shaking my head. “He’ll be back soon, though. He just needed some time to clear his head.”

I hope that’s true. Chase left in his truck several hours ago, and I have no idea where he went or when he’s planning to return. It’s been raining for hours, and the wind is howling outside. The house seems to tremble at each deep rumble of thunder, and the walls feel like they’re shaking with emotion. Which is relatable. I’ve been doing the same thing off and on since the confrontation this afternoon.

I couldn’t hold back my tears as I put ice on Luke’s cheek, the skin angry and swollen where Chase’s father hit him. He’s been in his room most of the night, skipping our dinner of frozen pizza. I placed a plate with a couple of slices on his bedside table even when he told me he wasn’t hungry.

It’s the first time my kids have experienced physical violence firsthand. Teddy wasn’t a great father, but he never would have hurt one of our kids. Linda can cut me down with a well-placed barb, but she’s always kind to her grandchildren.

“That man was bad,” Luke had said in a small voice as he held the ice pack to his face.

“Yes,” I agreed without hesitation. “We won’t let him come back here.”

“Chase won’t let him,” Laurel clarified.

I chose not to address the fact that we witnessed Chase beat the shit out of his dad in front of us. I don’t condone violence, but I wanted to do the same thing after that man struck my son. I figure there’ll be time to sift through things once we’re settled.

Once Chase comes home.

Because thisishis home.

“Should we watch a movie before we paint our nails?” I ask my daughter as I step away from the window. “Or paint our nails and then watch a movie?”

“Nails first,” Laurel says. “And Luke should pick the movie. Can we make caramel popcorn? It’s his favorite.”

I cup my daughter’s cheek. “You’re a good sister. You know that, right?”

“Not always.” She bites down on her lower lip then whispers, “Today was scary, Mommy.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head. “Kind of. Did you know Chase could get that mad?” Laurel looks at me with solemn eyes that make her seem older than her years.

I wonder if she’s asking if I still trust the cowboy we’ve let into our lives and our hearts.

“I didn’t, but he was defending Luke and you and me,” I tell her. “I’m not saying that excuses what happened, but he’s still the Chase we know.” And love, I add silently.