Just Let Me Love You (8 page)

Kay

W
hen Chase and I return to the house, his mom and Greg are home. We step into the entry hall tentatively, where all of us kind of stand around, sizing each other up.

Greg speaks first, uttering a quick, “Hello, nice to meet you.” He shakes both my and Chase’s hand formally, and then declares he is retiring to his study.

“I have paperwork to get caught up on,” he says to Abby.

He’s so much older and more reserved-looking than I expected him to be.

Abby replies “Okay, dear,” and then Greg is gone.

With her husband out of the room, Chase’s mother turns her full attention to her eldest. “Chase,” she exhales dramatically. “Oh, baby, come here.”

Chase doesn’t move an inch, so Abby sighs and goes to him. She encircles him in an awkward hug, clinging to him like she hasn’t seen him in years. But I know Chase’s mother saw him in April, the day he was released from prison.

“Oh, sweetie, sweetie,” Abby coos, her dark-blonde hair tumbling from her loose bun.

Abby Gartner—or rather, Abby Vintner nowadays—is an attractive woman. She’s thin and petite. Her sons apparently inherited their height from their dad. But it’s not all Jack Gartner genetics that have been passed down to his sons. Will definitely has Abby’s green eyes.

“Mom, come on.” Chase pulls away from his mom. “Please. I think that’s enough.”

Abby is far from done, though. In fact, there’s so much fanfare in the next five minutes from his mother that Chase ends up walking away.

“I can’t do this right now,” he says as he heads for the stairs. “I’m going up to take a shower.”

“You’ll be down for dinner, though, right, baby?” Abby sounds like a wounded puppy.

“Yep,” Chase replies, his tone clipped.

And then he’s up the stairs and out of sight, leaving me standing in the entry hall with his overwrought mom.

Wow.
Chase may have made peace with his dad today, but I can see there’s much work ahead when it comes to reaching a common ground with his mother.

Abby eyes me appraisingly for a full two minutes. “Hmm,” she says at last. “So, you’re Kay.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well.” She blows out a breath, and then surprises me when she says, “I have to say I think you may be the best thing that has happened to my son. He’s a little high-strung at the moment”—
he’s
high-strung? I almost blurt out—“but overall, he seems…different around you.”

“Oh?” I raise a brow, curious as to her perceptions. “How does he seem different?”

Abby taps a pink manicured nail to her chin in a thoughtful manner. “Chase is definitely calmer than he was a few months ago,” she begins. “And, despite his irritation with me a few minutes ago, he seems more grounded.”

Okay, so this woman is not completely flighty and unaware. She’s perceptive when it suits her, or so it seems.

I relax a bit.

She relaxes too, and after a few more minutes of idle chit-chat, Abby asks me to accompany her to the kitchen.

“Come on,” she says, turning and beckoning. “You can help me get dinner started.”

I’d much rather head upstairs to make sure Chase is all right, but what can I do? Should I tell Abby no? I don’t think that would be prudent since I’m staying in her house, so I keep my mouth shut and follow her to the kitchen.

When we start prepping for dinner, I discover something new about Chase’s mother—she’s quite bossy.

She hands me three large, ripe tomatoes and says, “Here, chop these up. Finely chopped is what I prefer. I don’t like my tomatoes too chunky.”

“Okay, then,” I say. “Finely chopped it is.”

I barely get my response out before Abby is talking right over me. “Now put them in the salad when you’re done.” She pushes a big wooden bowl she’s just filled with a bagged salad down the counter to me.

Eight minutes later, Abby is at the stove, frying chicken. “Kay,” she says, “can you come over here and turn these chicken breasts for me? I need to run out to the back patio for a little air. It feels stuffy in here.”

I think it feels fine in the house, but I nonetheless set the salad aside, and say, “Yeah, sure,” as I step over to the stove.

When the chicken is just about done, Abby returns. She takes over at the stove, and I get a whiff of cigarette smoke from the deep-rose sheath dress she’s wearing.

Hmm
…

Chase suspected his mother had not given up smoking. Guess he was correct.

Abby leans away from the stove, frying oil spattering in her wake. She turns down the heat while opening a utility drawer with her other hand. From the drawer, she removes a small bottle of perfume and sprays a little on the tan skin of her wrist, and then on the dress.

“What?” she says as she catches me watching her. “I smoke when I’m stressed, okay?” She brandishes the perfume bottle. “This hides the odor from Greg.”

I quickly turn away. Raising a hand, I say, “It’s not my business.”

“Perhaps not,” she replies slowly. “But there’s one little problem… Chase also thinks I quit.”

“Hmm,” I murmur.

In a low, conspiratorial voice, Abby says, “I’d like to keep it that way, Chase thinking I quit. I mean, if that’s okay with you, of course.”

Oh, no, I am not going down that slippery slope of keeping secrets from Chase for his mother.

She must see hesitation in my expression, as she quickly amends, “You know what, just forget it. I’ll tell him the truth myself and just get it over with.”

“That would probably be best,” I mutter.

Ten minutes later we are all seated at the dining room table. Chase is freshly showered, hair unkempt and damp. Damn, he looks good every second of every day. How does he do that?

I smile, thinking,
that man, he sure is a stunner
.

Chase is wearing a dark-gray T-shirt—one with an old band name on it—and faded jeans. He works the jeans-and-tees look oh-so-well, like he’s ready to star in some hot male model spread. And here I sit in the same desert-dusty jeans and V-neck tee from earlier. Suffice it to say, I don’t look nearly as good as Chase.

Oh, well, he loves me anyway.

As if to accentuate that point like he’s reading my mind, Chase smiles over at me and mouths, “You look beautiful.”

I just roll my eyes and laugh.

When everyone is settled, dinner commences.

I watch as Greg picks up the salad tongs and fills his salad bowl with lettuce. Abby, I note, messes with the napkin on her lap. She seems uneasy, waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then I see why when I look over at Chase. He’s scanning the chairs around the table, frowning.

“Where’s Will?” he sharply asks his mother.

“He won’t be joining us for dinner today,” she replies, her voice unnaturally light and carefree.

Abby abandons messing with her napkin and instead starts pushing around pieces of chicken on her plate.

“Why isn’t Will joining us for dinner?” Chase’s voice is anything but light.

Greg clears his throat, but Chase pays him no heed. “Mom,” he presses, “where is Will?”

Abby picks up her water glass and takes a long sip. She sets it down carefully and, not meeting Chase’s stare, she says, “Your brother went over to Cassie’s house for the night. You’ll see him tomorrow.”

“You gotta be kidding me.” Chase sounds incredulous. “He’s staying over there the entire night?”

Abby nods.

Chase shakes his head. “You do realize Mrs. Sutter leaves them alone all the time. What do you think they do when there is no supervision?”

Abby shrugs. “I’m sure they talk, watch TV, maybe play a few video games. That’s what kids do these days, right?”

Exasperated, Chase blurts out, “You cannot be this fucking clueless, Mom.”

“Hey, hey,” Greg interjects. “Watch the language at the table, please.”

Chase laughs. “Oh, that’s rich. I can’t say ‘fuck,’ but it’s perfectly okay that fucking is exactly what Will and his girlfriend are probably doing right now.”

“Chase!” Abby gasps.

Greg yells, “That’s enough!”

Chase ignores them both as he stands and slams his chair into the table. “You’re both so fucking blind it’s not even funny. No wonder there are problems in this house.”

I remain silent, having no right to intervene. I stare down at chicken I no longer have an appetite for and think:
Welcome to a Gartner family dinner
.

Chase

F
ucking Mom, fucking Greg, fucking Will.

Well, maybe not Will. He’s been okay.

Or so it seems. Who knows?

All I know is Will was abiding by the rules I set for him and Cassie in Ohio. The only sex going on under my roof was between me and Kay. Clearly, the situation is different here.

But how can my mother be so blind to reality? How she can breeze on in to a place and blow things all to hell within a day? I’ll never know. But I do know her actions play a big part in Will’s problems.

And I’ve had it.

I storm in to the fucking five-car garage. Stomping over to the Indian, I take a seat on the cement floor next to the bike. When I notice some dirt on the left shock absorber, near the back tire, I lean toward a nearby shelf on the wall and grab a rag.

Just as I’m wiping and polishing, I hear the opening of a door.

It’s either Mom or Kay coming into the garage.

Please be Kay, please be Kay.

“Chase.”

Fuck, it’s Mom.

“What do you want?” I ask. I don’t bother to look up at her, even when she reaches where I’m seated.

“Can we talk?” she quietly asks.

“I don’t know,” I scoff. “And by the way, where’s Kay?”

“She went upstairs. She wanted to come to you, but I asked her to give us a few minutes to talk things out.”

“A few minutes to talk things out?” I scoff. “Really? You think we can get this shit straightened out in a few short minutes?”

“Well, no,” Mom replies, sighing. “Maybe it’ll take more than a few minutes. But how long, Chase? How long will it take before you and I reach some kind of common ground here?”

“Try forever,” I snap.

I still haven’t looked up at my mother, but I eye her up good when I stand. I have every intention of giving her one final stare-down before taking off. But when I see all the pain in her eyes—true sorrow—I ease up.

I can’t do cold-hearted—not right now—so I say in a kinder-than-I’m-feeling tone, “Okay, where do you want to start?”

“Where do you think I want to start, Chase? I want to know what’s going on. I want to know why you’re really here. Your brother said you and Kay just up and decided to visit. Like, out of the blue.” She waves her hand around. “That’s pretty random, Chase, even for you. And don’t think I’m buying it even for a minute.”

I shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

My mom lets out a frustrated, “Jesus.” And then, after a beat, says, “Don’t give me that shit, Chase Michael Gartner. Your brother’s been acting shady, and I think you know why. What are you keeping from me? I know something is up with that kid.”

Ha, if only she knew
. But I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with Mom’s histrionics when she learns “that kid” bought a gun in Ohio.

Swiftly, I steer the subject to what caused all the fuss at dinner, thinking the whole while
best to pick your battles carefully
.

“Will and Cassie are having sex, Mom,” I blurt out.
There, take that. Those blinders are coming off
.

“Oh, Chase.” She waves me off dismissively.

But I am not deterred. “No, Mom. No, ‘oh, Chase’. Those kids are not just hanging out at Cassie’s house like you think they are. You need to wake up and see what’s happening. You’re being duped by your youngest. You have to start keeping a tighter rein on Will.”

Mom wrings her hands. She’s giving in, allowing herself to see what’s right in front of her face. “But Will is only fifteen, Chase,” she cries.

“Exactly. He’s fifteen, Mom. Not eight.”

“He can’t be having sex,” Mom whispers, stricken.

“He grew up fast,” I say gently. “You know that. You’re actually lucky he didn’t start sooner.”

Will is her baby, though, so I know this is difficult for her to hear.

Mom leans back against a work bench, like she needs the support to keep her upright. Maybe she does. She’s a leaner, not a supporter.

“I’ve been a bad mom to you boys,” she says in a pained tone.

I don’t want to lie, but I don’t have it in me to be brutal. I choose to go with a half-truth. “You did the best you could, Mom.”

She sometimes did.

We look at each other meaningfully for a few seconds, and then she says, “You don’t have to say things that aren’t true to try and make me feel better, Chase.”

I let out a long, tired breath. “Still, the past is the past. Not much we can do about it now.”

My mom touches my forearm. “Honey, I should never have sent you away.” She sighs deeply. “You ended up in prison, for God’s sake.”

“You helped me get out early, though,” I offer.

“Small consolation,” she snorts.

“Hmm…” I nod.

And then she lays it all out there. “Don’t let me off the hook so easily, son. It’s time I admit what I did. I gave up on you. I chose the easy way out. Sending you to your grandmother’s only made things harder for you. You were already paying for your father’s sins and suddenly, there you were, paying for mine.” Her eyes fill with tears, and she covers her mouth to stifle a sob. “You reminded me so much of your father back then. I couldn’t deal with it. Every time I looked at you, I saw Jack. And seeing your father in you reminded me of how much I had failed him.”