The Brightest Sunset

No. That’s not at all what good parents did.

Which probably explained why that was exactly what I did.

“Go,” my mom urged, giving my shoulder a gentle shove.

Stiffly, I shuffled into the room with my heart in my throat, prepared to face the little boy I’d failed so many years ago.

“Stop!” Lucas yelled before I’d fully cleared the door.

Brady was squatting low, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Lucas was tight in his arms, his face the picture of horror, as he frantically tried to shimmy his way out of Brady’s embrace.

“Mr. Boyd,” the social worker scolded.

We’d been briefed for twenty minutes on how to handle this reunion. During this time, we’d learned that our son had specifically asked that we not touch him. I assumed that this request had been given after my showdown with Porter back at the house. He’d also asked that we called him Travis. The social worker had urged us to stay calm and keep our emotions in check. And further that, if we found ourselves unable to keep it together, given the emotional altitude of that day, we were simply to excuse ourselves so as not to upset him.

And there Brady was, not ten seconds after he’d entered the room, breaking every last rule.

“Brady!” I hissed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, reluctantly letting him go and rising to his feet. “I…” He trailed off and used the back of his arm to wipe his face. “Shit. I’m so sorry. I thought I could do it.” He looked over his shoulder, his red, tear-filled eyes slicing through me as he said, “It’s Lucas.”

“My name’s Travis,” he said, scrambling away, not stopping until his back was against the wall. His lungs wheezed as he added, “Travis Reese. And I want my dad.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth. After the last ten years, I didn’t have much of a heart left, but what was left shattered into a million pieces.

“I am your—”

“Brady, don’t!” I snapped, cutting him off.

He wanted his dad.

And, suddenly, so did I.

Squaring my shoulders, I took a step toward my son. “Hey, Travis. I’m Charlotte.”

His dark-brown eyes, which matched my own, slid to me, and then he sank deeper into the corner.

“I won’t touch you. I promise,” I assured, moving to the other side of the large conference table. I slid a chair out and sat. “I’m really sorry about all of this. Especially for when I freaked out on you back at your house. That won’t happen again. You have my word.”

He didn’t move or relax, but he continued to wheeze.

I had no idea what I was doing in the parenting department, but his every strangled breath was my territory.

“I met you once before today. At the doctor’s office. You stood outside with my best friend, Rita, while your dad and I talked. Do you remember that?”

He nodded cautiously, and just that little acknowledgment sent a wave of relief crashing over me.

“Okay, good. Then maybe you remember that I’m a doctor too, right?”

He nodded again.

“Perfect,” I breathed, leaning forward on my elbows. “Now, listen. I know you’re scared. Today has been crazy. But I really need you to sit down and try to relax. Did you bring your inhaler?”

His eyes cut to the social worker in question.

“Oh, right,” she said, jumping into action. After grabbing a small, neon-green backpack from the corner, she carried it straight to me. “There’s a lot of medicine in there. I’ll be honest. I have no idea what’s what.”

I smiled up at her. “I think I can manage.”

And then my smile fell when I unzipped the bag. She hadn’t been lying. There was a lot of medication inside. At least thirty prescription bottles, a full nebulizer including extra mouth pieces and tubing, packets of individual saline, and three inhalers.

Jesus, my baby was sick.

Clearing my throat, I laid the inhalers on the table and then zipped the bag back up, saving that nightmare for another day.

I recognized all of the labels, but handing him the right one wasn’t going to win me any affections.

“Hey, Travis?” I called. “Do you remember which one of these Dr. Laughlin gave you for emergencies?” I hazarded a glance up and found that he’d come unstuck from the corner.

“The blue one.”

Another one of those waves of relief hit me.

I purposely picked up the wrong one. “This one?”

Shaking his head, he took a step toward me and lifted his finger to point. “No. That one.”

I offered it his way. “Right. Of course. Silly me.”

He stared at me for several seconds, the scales in his head visually shifting as he weighed his options. Then he lifted his gaze to Brady, who was still standing near the door.

Understanding dawned on me.

“Brady, can you do me a favor?” I asked while keeping my eyes on Lucas. “Go see if you can find a first aid kit for me.”

“What? Why?” Brady asked.

I peered over my shoulder and flared my eyes at him. “Please. Now.”

His back shot straight for only a second before he rushed from the room.

“Why do you need the first aid kit?” Lucas asked.

“Oh, I don’t. He was just making me nervous standing back there.” I winked.

And then it happened. The most beautiful thing I had seen since the day he was born.

He grinned.

It was small. Almost imperceptible.

But it was there. And it was aimed at me.

Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry.

I bit my tongue to distract myself and shook the inhaler. “Here.”

His frail body swayed as he walked toward me. I tried not to stare, but I was desperate to memorize his every movement. To fill even the deepest recesses of my mind with ten years’ worth of memories, for fear that that moment was all I would ever get.

Our fingers brushed as he took the inhaler from my hand, and I once again ignored my overwhelming urge to cry.

Sucking in hard, he drew the medicine into his lungs with a practiced ease. He immediately started coughing, so I pushed the chair beside me out for him to sit. He didn’t delay in accepting the offer.

“There ya go,” I soothed, my fingers twitching to touch him. But I somehow managed to keep them in my lap.

His brown eyes flicked up to mine, but he didn’t say anything.

“Better?” I asked with a tight smile.

He nodded and then asked, “When can I see my dad?”

My stomach clenched, but I answered him honestly, “I don’t know.”

His chin quivered, and his eyes filled with tears. “I want to go home.”

Oh God.

There was nothing I wouldn’t do to ease that pain for him.

Even if that meant igniting my own.

Digging in my back pocket, I retrieved my cell phone. Then I pulled up my text messages from Porter.

The last message had been a picture he’d taken of us the night before. I was laughing, my eyes closed and my mouth wide. He was kissing my cheek, his nose smooshed against my face, and despite that his lips were puckered, he was still smiling. We’d been lying in bed when he’d told me that we needed a picture together. I’d argued because, well…it was what I did with Porter. So he’d held me down, tickled me, and then snapped the selfie when I’d been too lost in hysterics to stop him. When I’d sobered, he’d shown it to me, and it was the craziest thing. I hadn’t recognized myself. That woman was beautiful. And not in the conventional way where her hair and makeup were done to perfection, but rather because the woman in that picture looked genuinely happy.

And the man kissing her did too.

The truth was that, while I couldn’t think about my relationship with Porter without acknowledging the darkness, I also couldn’t think about us without remembering the overwhelming, life-altering happiness I felt when we were together.

I’d never forget his proud grin as I’d used his phone to message the picture to myself.

My whole body ached as I briefly looked at that woman on the screen. She’d only been gone for a matter of hours and I already missed her. I wasn’t brave enough to look at Porter. I was barely keeping my emotions in check as it was. Add his gorgeous, smiling face into the mix and I would have lost it.