“You know you’re not supposed to open the door by yourself.” The door suddenly jerks back and Jordan pokes his head around the edge. His expression goes from concerned to apologetic when he sees me, and he puts his hands on Matthew’s shoulders. “Sorry, we’re still mastering door etiquette. I hope you weren’t out here very long.”
Matthew holds tight to my fingers and I’m not sure how to pry him off without offending him. So I just keep shaking and say, “He’s better company than you anyway.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Jordan grins down at his brother. In one move, he lifts him up onto his shoulder, effectively freeing my hand. He turns his back on me and walks inside, leaving the door open behind him. In between bouts of Matthew giggling I hear Jordan say, “Come on in, Riley.”
I stand still on the porch. Every inch closer to the Vega family feels like some sort of betrayal. What would Daddy think if he knew I was here tonight? What would he say?
I draw my shoulders back and stand up straight as I walk into the brightly lit interior of Vega Central. I don’t know if I’m expecting it to look more like a holding cell than a house, but as I close the door behind me and my eyes adjust, I’m surprised by how welcoming it all feels. Everything in the living room I’ve stepped into is warm and inviting. It’s decorated in a southwestern style with brown couches and white pillows with accents in pops of teal and terra-cotta.
Absolutely nothing reminds me of my nightmares about the man who lives here, and I’m grateful for that.
Everywhere I look, it feels like it has a woman’s touch and I’m hit by a wave of sadness as I remember Jordan’s mother’s accident. Daddy has been gone long enough that I don’t see constant reminders of him when I look around our house. I can’t decide if the memories would make it easier or infinitely harder. Probably both.
One corner of the room is filled with a massive pile of blue plastic rectangles. I don’t have a clue what they’re for, but when Jordan puts Matthew down, he runs straight over and starts putting them together. I realize they make a track and then I see the familiar green tub of race cars nearby. There is a big section of racetrack that is already put together, tucked back on the other side of the kitchen table.
“Wow, that looks like quite a project.” In my head, I try to picture all the pieces of track connected, and it’s quickly obvious that the finished track would take up more than the length of the room.
“Want to help? Jordan helps,” Matthew shouts at an impressive volume without even looking up.
“Thank you, but no. I have zero track-building experience. I would only slow you down.” Matthew considers my response carefully, then goes back to work like he’s decided that I’m probably right.
I remind myself again where I am and—now that I’ve seen it—how badly I would like to be gone from here before Jordan’s dad shows up. I have a feeling he wouldn’t be nearly as welcoming as his racetrack-building kindergartner.
Jordan has his eyes on me and I tilt my head toward the door. “Can we talk somewhere else?”
“Sure. Just give me a second.” He turns to face Matthew. “Sorry Matty-boy. It’s time for bed.”
“But Dad isn’t home yet.” Matthew drops his track pieces into the bucket, his pout clear in his voice even before he turns to face us. When he slowly pivots around, I’m surprised to see tears in his eyes.
“I know. He might not be home until very late, but I promise he’s safe.” Jordan crouches down and pulls his brother in for a hug. The underlying reassurance from his words comes through perfectly. How hard would it be for Matthew to understand his mother being taken away so suddenly when he was so young?
A sudden vivid memory sneaks up on me and steals my breath away. I remember lying alone in bed, afraid to sleep because I was terrified that if I closed my eyes the police would come and take Mama away, too. I’d been in bed asleep when Vega came for Daddy. The commotion woke me up, and I’d watched with tears burning my cheeks as they walked him out in handcuffs. Somehow I felt like if I’d stayed awake I could’ve stopped them. I was small and powerless. Not sleeping was the only thing I could think to do to make sure it didn’t happen to Mama, too. I haven’t slept well since that night.
“We can’t see him. How can you be sure he’s safe?” Matthew’s tiny voice asks.
My soul hurts, both from my own memories and for what Jordan and Matthew have been through. When Jordan sits and pulls Matthew onto his lap and against his chest, the raw pain I see in Jordan’s eyes wrenches my heart. He takes a shaky breath and then puts on a smile. “Tell you what. You go get your favorite blanket and I’ll let you watch cartoons on the couch in the living room while you fall asleep. Okay?”