“You’re not leaving?” he blurted, and immediately cringed. God, that had sounded pathetic and needy.
“Seems like you’re back to normal now, so you don’t need me anymore.”
But I want you.
He couldn’t make himself say it out loud, though, couldn’t put himself out there like that. So he watched helplessly as Ken shrugged into his jacket and then walked over to Bailey, his face softening.
“See ya, sweets. I’ll miss you.” Ken kissed the top of her head and then his jaw clenched as Cory watched. He felt his own throat thickening, the greater goodbye somehow implicit.
“Bye,” Bailey answered simply, still watching her movie, the undercurrents and implications well over her head.
Ken turned, avoiding Cory’s gaze, and finally Cory walked over and caught him by the arm. Ken simply froze, not protesting the hold but not accepting either, just enduring. “Can we talk about this?” Cory asked softly, feeling vulnerable, not knowing how things had gotten so bad so fast. It was as if at the moment Ken had given up on him, Cory began missing what he could have had.
Ken’s voice was strained. “There’s nothing to talk about. Never was. Just casual, right?” His voice rose just a touch as some bitter emotion finally bled through. “By the way, I took some messages for you.” He glanced over at the counter and then firmly stepped away from Cory and picked up his bags.
The door closed behind him without another word exchanged.
The empty, churning feeling in his chest put his physical illness to shame. Walking over to the paper on the counter, he read a note to call work, a message from Becky saying she’d be home around dinnertime—
thank fuck
—
and a detailed one from… Jackson.
Confirming their date for tomorrow night.
Saying he was looking forward to picking up where they left off at the bar last week.
Cory closed his eyes.
Chapter Six
T
HE
following week was one of the worst weeks of Cory’s life. Becky had finally come home, obviously drunk and possibly on drugs. She’d refused to talk about her absence and basically locked herself in her room for several days, sleeping it off.
Poor Bailey was having a rough time, wanting to spend time with her mom who kept telling her to leave her alone, and asking constantly about where Ken was and whining about seeing him. Cory had finally lost his temper with her, taking his own uncertainty and loss out on the other victim of his own idiocy. She’d been hurt and cried, but finally came around when he abjectly apologized and promised to let her call Ken soon.
Work was a madhouse after several days without his influence, and people being out sick and on vacation strained everyone to the breaking point. He’d made temporary arrangements with a daycare that did pickup from her elementary school to care for her until he was done with work, but it made it into long, tiring days for Bailey. She was acting out and had already gotten behavioral notices from both the daycare and school. Starting next week she would be off school for Christmas break and in the daycare all day, and now he was second-guessing whether to leave her in there or try to find a nanny or sitter.
Running as a strong, bitter undercurrent to it all was how desperately he missed Ken. Somehow, he had burrowed his way into Cory’s heart when he wasn’t looking, and he hadn’t known until too late. Meanwhile, his own thoughtlessness had taken its toll on the fragile new feelings, damaging them possibly for good. Ken would not return his calls, and he’d finally gotten fed up with his own drama and Ken’s intractability and given up on calling.
On Thursday, he was home for a long lunch, planning to wrap presents for Bailey while she was at school. Grabbing the mail on the way in, he noticed a thick envelope labeled “Private,” addressed to him with Ken’s return address in the corner. Eagerly opening it, he looked at the contents in surprise. It was another envelope addressed to Santa, taped shut, along with a separate note from Ken.
Cory—Since Christmas is next weekend, thought you might want this for gift ideas and/or for a keepsake. I promised her I’d mail it, so here it is. Please hide it, okay? I’m sorry about reading the other one, it was none of my business. I’m sending Bailey a gift in the mail (not from the list), so I hope you’ll pass it along to her. Ken
Cory reread it a couple times. Other one? He opened the letter, first reading Bailey’s with a smile. A couple of the things on the list came as a surprise, so he was glad to have advanced warning. He needed to make another Bailey-free shopping trip before next weekend. Or maybe he could order online?
Musing over his suddenly larger to-do list, he absently opened the other piece of paper in the envelope. Heat rushed up his chest and neck to his face as he saw his final draft of
The List
, in all its color-coded, explicit, damning glory. The thought of Ken reading this made him grimace with shame at some of the qualities he’d given importance to—before he realized what was really important to him. They jumped off the page at him as he worried about how Ken would see them:
Athletic, built, six-pack.
Ken was no super model, but who was? Cory had never met anyone so sexy and perfect
.
Exciting career (or) in early retirement so we can travel. No boring jobs to listen about.
Ouch. It was like Cory was saying Ken’s job as an accountant was the exact opposite of what Cory wanted.
Likes kids and comes from a big family so Bailey gets lots of relatives.
Cory was pretty sure Ken was an only child and his parents were gone. He’d never mentioned any other family.
Friendly, outgoing, likes to have fun
. What had he been thinking when he added
that
to the list? Ken wasn’t outgoing, in fact, that was one of things that had first attracted Cory to him—his quiet presence and laid back personality.
A few of the items on the list Ken had nailed, like
Sexually compatible and adventurous, Stable and consistent
, and
Generous
, although given some of the other things on his list, Ken might have interpreted that as Cory being avaricious.
Fuck, fuck, fuck
. Put this piece of crap on top of Jackson’s suggestive phone call, and it’s no wonder Ken ran for the hills. His mind raced.
Maybe if I make another list, and send it to him….
Scrambling around for a piece of paper, suddenly needing to make black and white the evidence of his change of heart, he heard the phone ring and almost didn’t pick it up. He glanced at the caller ID and groaned, recognizing the daycare’s number. Wondering what Bailey had done now, he picked up.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Collins?”
“Yes.” He continued to look for paper, finally remembering the art supply stash—from Ken—in the kitchen.
“This is Bridget at Little Rascals. I just wanted to remind you of the procedure for having a child miss a day. When we send the van to a school to pick up and they’re not there—”
“What?” Cory cut her off, yanked into the conversation as dread built. “Not there? What do you mean?”
“Apparently, Bailey’s mother,” papers shuffled, “Rebecca, picked her up from school shortly before the end of the day. We really need to know about—”
“No!” Cory shouted, chest seizing. “No, no, no! Oh my God.” He hung up on the sputtering woman and ran his trembling finger down the phone list, calling the school office, only to find that Becky had indeed signed Bailey out of school around one thirty p.m.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Collins,” he was told by the principal after he’d been passed along, “but she
is
the custodial parent, and has the right to sign her out.”
“You don’t understand,” Cory said desperately as he paced. “The last time she did this, they disappeared for a month. She drinks and—” Cory stopped to try to get his composure. His legs started feeling weak, and he found his way to a kitchen chair.
The principal continued in a more sympathetic tone of voice. “If she’s missing from school without a call for three days, we can file a report with the truancy bureau.”
“Yes, but what if she calls like she’s supposed to? And three days? There’s only one day left until the holiday break.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Collins. There’s nothing more I can do right now. You might try the police,” he added doubtfully, “however, since Bailey’s mother is the legal guardian, there isn’t much that can be done.”
Cory sat there shell-shocked for a few moments after they’d disconnected, and then tried to think positively. Maybe Becky had gotten something in her head, something truly innocent like going shopping for Christmas presents or visiting Santa that Becky just didn’t think to mention to Cory. It was a stretch, but maybe….
He tried her cell phone, and it went right to voice mail.
“Becky,” he tried to keep his voice calm and non-confrontational. “It’s me. Just checking in with you and Bailey. You signed her out today, and I couldn’t remember what you had planned. Give me a call, please. Love you.” He sank back in the chair.
Immediately his mind jumped to Ken. He would want to know, and moreover, Cory
needed
him right now. He dialed.
“C’mon, c’mon, pick up.” He bit his lip. “Pick… Damn.” He swore under his breath as it went to voice mail. He waited impatiently for his cue.
“Ken, it’s me. Listen, don’t erase this. Bailey’s gone, Becky took her. She….” He cleared his throat as the awful reality of Bailey disappearing began to sink in, overwhelming him. “I don’t know where she is.” His voice broke. “Please, I need you. I’m so sorry….” He had to stop before he began really rambling, or worse, crying like a baby. “Bye,” he whispered.
The police dispatcher sent a patrol over to his house. The officers empathized with his plight, but offered no assurances. The one who did most of the talking took down what little information he had and accepted a recent photo of Bailey. She said she’d informally circulate it, but their hands were tied unless something illegal happened.
Just after the police left—in fact so quickly he thought it might have been them returning—the front door opened, and Ken strode in, his face drawn with worry.
“The police I just saw, were they here? Did they find her?” He kept walking straight to him and scooped Cory right against his chest, wrapping him up in his strong arms. Cory inhaled his familiar scent, and he sagged with relief. Relief at having a friend, relief that things weren’t so bad between them that he wouldn’t come.
Cory shook his head, his heart in his throat. “No, nothing yet. Becky won’t answer her phone, and I have no idea where she might be. They could be anywhere.”
Oh God
, the thought of his precious girl out there in a strange place, and if Becky was using….
“I’m so sorry. Don’t worry. She’s fine, and she’ll be home soon. I can just feel it.”
Even though Cory knew they were empty reassurances, it felt good to have someone thinking positive thoughts for him. Especially someone he’d treated so miserably. He swallowed against the guilty lump restricting his breathing.
“I’m so sorry, Ken—”
“Shhh. Not now. We’re okay. It’s gonna be fine.” Ken rocked and swayed, holding Cory against him, murmuring soothing words in his ear while he finally released all the worry and emotion of the last few hours. He’d do anything to take back his earlier thought about it being such a bad week. He was being punished for his melodrama. Someone up there was teaching him a lesson—
“No, no. Don’t punish yourself like that.” Cory didn’t even realize he’d been expressing his thoughts out loud until Ken answered. “It’s nothing that you did or didn’t do.”
“I should have gotten Becky help. I should have been more aggressive about getting permanent guardianship. Then she couldn’t have—”
“You don’t know if any of those things would have made a difference. Her addictions are a disease, and they impair her judgment. But I’m sure she’ll come to her senses and bring our little girl home where she belongs.”
Cory fixated on the word “our” and held it close to his heart over the next several hours of mind numbing worry. Not wanting to leave the house in case they returned, and not knowing where to begin looking anyway, they stayed up, mostly just sitting silently. They half-heartedly picked at a light supper, and tried calling Becky’s cell phone every twenty or thirty minutes.
Finally, the clock ticked over into a new day. “Eight days until Christmas,” Cory observed dispiritedly. “I was going to wrap presents for Bailey today.” He pressed his lips together to try to keep from sobbing.
“Let’s do it now.”
“What?” Cory stared at Ken. “I can’t wrap presents now.”
“Why not? We’re up anyway, and they’re going to need to be done. Might as well be tonight.” Ken looked at him with a challenge in his eye, and Cory wanted to argue, but he knew what Ken was saying. They had to have faith Bailey would be here for Christmas and even well before then.
He nodded his acquiescence, and Ken gave him a compassionate smile and a hug. “Okay, so where did you stash the loot? Let’s play Santa.”
They wrapped in companionable silence, working well together as a team. When the last wrapped gift had been placed under the tree, with the stocking stuffers tucked safely back in their hiding spot in Cory’s bedroom, they sat together gazing at the tree.
“Time for another call,” Cory sighed. He dialed, hoping somehow the spirit of Christmas they’d engendered would carry over into success with the call. But it went again to voice mail.
“Becky.” He cleared his throat. “Becky, please, I’m begging you. Bring Bailey home. I’m not mad, I just want you both safe. And this is her home now. She’s settled in here so well. I just want to know she’s okay. Beck, c’mon, for God’s sake. She’s just a kid. She needs to be in her own bed after midnight. If you can’t come, just call me. I’ll come get her wherever you are. Please….” Ken gently removed the phone from Cory’s hand and disconnected, holding him close.
“I’m so scared, Ken. She gets these things in her head and just does them. Bailey could be in another state by now. It was bad enough when she was a toddler, but now she’s old enough to
know
.”