Free When We Collide by A. L. Jackson Page A

in, and I took good care of it because it was Jonathan’s
home.
    Late afternoon light seeped through the floral
drapes on the living room window. The house was wrapped in shadows,
cold and much too quiet. I crossed the room and flicked on the
overhead lights in the kitchen. I blinked against the harsh light,
and I was hit with another wave of nausea.
    It seemed in the light too many things became clear.
Every mistake I’d ever made. The fact that as much as I might like
to, I could never take them back.
    And unmistakable fear.
    Above everything else, it was the most glaring. I
had no idea what would happen now. Would William pack his things
and go, disappearing into the night like he had before? Would he
stay and seek me out, and if he did, what questions would he ask?
And how would I ever answer when I didn’t know myself? Or would the
anger that had clenched his hands into fists prevail, would he
whisper accusations into the minds of his family and of this town.
Would he try to take from me the only thing that mattered?
    No . I shook my head. Not the William I
knew.
    Fear throbbed inside me when I was struck with the
memory of his face from earlier. I had to admit, I really didn’t
know that William I’d left standing in the middle of the road two
hours before. He’d changed, I could tell. Those brown eyes no
longer swam with the warmth I remembered. They were hard. Hurt.
    The best thing for us all would be for him to go,
and I prayed he would. I just wished the thought of him leaving
didn’t hurt so much.
     
    ~
     
    “Hey, Jonnie Boy.” Troy bent down to rumple
Jonathan’s hair where the child played with his cars on the kitchen
floor. Jonathan looked up at him with an uneasy smile. I bit back a
cringe. I hated that Troy called him that, hated more that my son
didn’t know how to act around his dad .
    Troy dropped his lunch box on the counter as he
kicked his work boots from his feet. “Smells good in here. What’s
for dinner?”
    “Pork chops.” I stirred milk into the pot of
potatoes I’d boiled for mashing.
    “Mmm...” Troy leaned in, pecked me on the cheek, and
ran a hand through the hair hanging down my back. It always amazed
me that he could waltz in here and act as if we were the
all-American family, he the perfect husband and I the perfect
wife.
    Inclining his head, he studied the side of my face,
his brow drawing up as if he were concerned for my well-being. “You
been cryin’?” he asked.
    I had the urge to laugh, though there was nothing
funny about the absurdity of his question. Apparently he found it
in himself to care if I was crying if he wasn’t the one who’d
caused it.
    I held it in, buried it with everything else.
    It wasn’t hard to fake the sad smile and sniffle.
“Yeah…today was Lara Collins’ funeral. I stopped by to drop off
something Mom made for the family.” I shrugged as if it really
didn’t matter all that much. “I don’t know…guess it just made me
sad to see all those people grieving.”
    Frowning, Troy uttered a tight, “Hmm,” before he
turned away and left the room without another word. It was no
secret he didn’t think much of the Marsches. William had been the
only person I had ever seen stand up to Troy, the only person who’d
ever stood up for me.
    I felt the place I kept hidden away for William
expand.
    Troy had never forgotten it—and neither had I.
    I looked down at my son playing on the floor, and
smiled at the sweet child when he looked up. I extended my hand.
“Come on, baby. It’s time for dinner.”
    He scrambled to his feet. “‘Kay, Mommy.”
    With his clothes changed and his face and hands
washed, Troy walked back into the kitchen. His light blond hair
looked almost brown from running dampened hands through it. He
plunked down into his chair with an exaggerated sigh.
    “I’m starving.”
    I set a plate him front of him, another in front of
Jonathan, and sat down with my own. These were the hardest times
for me. It was so difficult