The Home-wrecker (The Goode Brothers)
The Home-wrecker: Chapter 39

Dean leads us to his dad’s room, and I’m impressed with how quickly he’s composed himself. Feeling him cry in my arms shattered my heart to pieces, but I’m so proud to see that he’s not afraid to show emotion.

Bringing us with him today is such a good sign. It means he’s willing to give us a chance—whatever that means. And maybe there’s no name for what this is, but we love him, and we want to be there for him.

I know Caleb feels the same.

Abby clings to Dean’s other hand as we enter the room. His father is sitting in a hospital bed, but he’s lying on top of the blankets in a pair of blue plaid pajama pants and a sweatshirt. He’s so gaunt and nearly ash-colored that it takes me by surprise.

“Hey, Dad,” Dean says as he enters the room.

Immediately, the man lights up. He begins to try and stand, which has Dean rushing over to help him. And when he wraps his arms around Dean, tears prick my eyes again.

The love between them is evident.

“Dad, I want you to meet my friends,” Dean says, turning toward us. “This is Caleb and his wife, Briar.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, going in for a hug.

“Oh, it’s so great to finally meet you,” he replies. His voice sounds so weak. Like it’s been shattered into a million little fragments. There’s an oxygen tank at his side and tubes strapped in place around his head.

Caleb puts out his hand with a smile. “Likewise.” He squeezes Dean’s dad’s hand tightly as he places an arm around Dean’s shoulders.

“I’m Abby!”

Dean’s dad looks down and smiles at her brightly as he puts out a hand for her. “Well, hello, Abby! I’m Sal,” he says.

“We brought you burgers, Sal.” She holds up the bag to show him.

“Oh, thank you so much,” he replies excitedly.

There’s a small table in the room, so I take the food there, unbagging it while Abby helps me pass out everyone’s burgers.

The entire time we eat, I can’t take my eyes off Dean. This concern for him is visceral. How could his entire family be one person? He’s only twenty-six, and he’s about to lose everyone. It’s not fair, and my heart breaks for him.

No matter what happens with him and us, I can’t stand the thought of him being alone. No one should be alone.

Abby sits on Dean’s lap while eating her food. After unwrapping her burger, she holds it out to Sal and says, “Cheers!”

He laughs heartily before touching his sandwich to hers. The laughter turns into coughing, and Dean grows concerned, patting his father on the back.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Sal says, waving him away. “Just happens sometimes.”

“I’m sorry,” Abby murmurs.

“It’s not your fault,” Dean says, squeezing her shoulder.

Across the room, my gaze connects with Caleb’s, and we just stare at each other for a moment. I wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking.

After we’re done eating, Sal says he’d like to take us for a tour of the center. He wants to walk, but Dean insists they take a wheelchair. As soon as Sal sits in it, Abby asks if she can sit in his lap.

“Of course you can!” he replies, helping her up.

As we walk past the exercise room, the library, and the game room, Dean pushes and tells his father about everything he’s been up to. He tells him about the museum I took him to and the swim races with Abby—of course, she brags about how she beat him that one time. Then he tells him about the charity gala.

“My son knew them,” Sal says. “The Goode family.”

“What?” Dean asks.

“They seemed like a nice family, and I wanted him to have that, you know? A mom and a dad and brothers.”

Dean freezes. “Dad, what are you talking about? That was me.”

Sal turns and looks up at Dean as if he’s shocked to see him standing there. Then, he starts to fidget, seemingly upset by his mistake. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. I was talking about you.”

I glance over at Caleb, but his expression stays tight and guarded. His eyes don’t leave Dean.

Then Caleb approaches him, placing an arm around Dean and squeezing him comfortingly.

Dean resumes pushing with Caleb by his side, but I can see the way he swallows and blinks away his tears. “You don’t have to say that, Dad. I had a nice family. You and I were a family, remember?”

Sal clears his throat. “Yeah.”

I have to look away to hide my tears.

As we walk a bit farther, Sal’s mood begins to brighten back up as Abby tells him all about how Dean let her play his video games, watch Friends, and made her spicy ramen. He laughs at her stories and holds a hand affectionately on her back.

It’s a beautiful day so we venture for a walk out back in the garden. When Sal sees someone he knows, he waves, and the elderly woman comes walking over.

“Oh my, Sal!” she says with excitement. “Is this your granddaughter?”

“Yes, it is,” he replies. “This is my granddaughter, Abby.”

When I notice Dean lean in to correct him, I grab his arm. He turns toward me with bloodshot eyes and an expression of confusion. I quickly shake my head.

“Let him,” I whisper.

I watch as his jaw tightens, and he swallows down the urge to cry.

Sal is beaming as he introduces Abby to the woman and the few others who gather around to meet her. She smiles excitedly on his lap as she tells them that she’s six and a half and about to go into first grade.

They fawn over her, and Sal sits proudly in his wheelchair. He introduces them to his son, and Dean shakes their hands using such good manners they practically faint over how perfect they are.

Sal’s perfect son and his perfect granddaughter.

As Caleb and I step away to allow them to have their moment, I feel his lips against my head.

“We can’t let him be alone, Caleb,” I whisper. Sadness bubbles to the surface as the words leave my lips.

“We won’t,” he replies, squeezing me tighter.

I turn my head to stare up at him. “I’m serious.”

“Me too,” he replies.

We spend the rest of the day with Sal. He watches me and Caleb play against Abby and Dean in a game of pickleball. We watch a few innings of the Rangers game on the TV in Sal’s room, and when dinnertime comes, we join him in the dining room so he can show off his perfect family some more.

As I pick at my food, I remember the looming situation of my two-week wait about to end. Which means I’ll have to test in the next couple of days. I don’t know if what I’m feeling is excitement or nervousness.

I rest my hand over my lower belly as I sit silently and ponder the situation. Somewhere deep in my heart, I know there isn’t a baby there. It’s a strange intuition, or maybe it’s just some form of self-preservation, but somehow I just know.

How do I feel about this?

The thought of a baby growing inside me, Caleb’s baby, is a comforting thought. But then what comes after that? A miserable pregnancy. Sleepless nights. Another two years of my life when my body belongs to someone else, growing and feeding another person. It’s exhausting but rewarding.

If only having a baby were as simple as my mother seems to think it is.

How much longer can we keep doing this? One disappointment after another, what is going to be left of me by the time I do get pregnant? My life is ticking by, day by day, and I’m terrified of filling these years of Abby’s childhood with the grief and pain of one negative test after another.

At what point do I just let it go and live?

My feelings are all over the place, made even more complicated by the prospect of Dean and everything he means to us.

There is a small part of me that wants to take a break from trying if this test is negative. Not to say I wouldn’t be ecstatic for the baby if it’s there. How would Caleb feel about that?

I can’t help but feel like these years of trying have been more about a positive test than an actual baby. But could I say that to him? Would his heart be broken? His hopes are up, and I can’t let him down.

After dinner, it’s time to say our goodbyes to Sal. I can see he’s exhausted from a long day. He slips in and out of lucidity, agitated with himself and getting more and more quiet as the time passes.

Abby hugs him tightly once he’s in his bed. The picture she drew for him at dinner is taped to the wall next to the TV so he can see it.

Dean struggles to leave his dad’s side, hugging him and holding his hand as if it’s the last time. Knowing it very well could be. They say their tearful goodbyes, and Dean promises to return tomorrow and the next day, while Sal insists that he doesn’t need to.

“Go have fun,” he mutters to his son as he squeezes his hand.

When Dean finally leaves the bed, I see how his lip trembles and his eyes moisten. Once we reach the lobby of the nursing home, I stop in my tracks.

“I think I forgot my phone,” I lie. “I’ll be right back.”

I run back into the room. Sal is lying in his bed, staring listlessly at the TV (or Abby’s photo) with tears in his eyes. I rush to his side and lean down to meet his gaze.

He smiles softly when he sees me, giving me a gentle nod. I don’t know if he’s with me consciously or if his mind has taken him somewhere else.

“We’re going to take care of him,” I frantically whisper. “I promise. He’ll never be alone.”

His eyes fill with tears as he smiles, and I know he knows. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

I squeeze my arms around him, letting a sob rack through me. When I stand up, I quickly wipe my eyes.

I feel a kindred adoration for this man I just met today. My mother would say that feeling is God’s presence, but I think it’s love’s presence. He and I love the same person, and that binds us.

As I step away from his bed and to the door, I know I’ve given him something no one else could. I gave him peace.

I think about Abby and how I would feel in Sal’s position. Peace is all I’d want for my child.

As I walk back down the hallway toward the exit, I let my hand rest on my lower belly again.

If I want peace for my daughter, and for Dean and Caleb and even Sal, then why can’t I want peace for myself?

“Did you get it?” Caleb asks, putting an arm out for me.

“Huh?” I stammer. “Oh, yeah.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. Of course, I never left it in there. I just knew I couldn’t leave this place without telling Sal that we have Dean.

As we reach the parking lot, Abby takes my hand and lets out a yawn. Reaching down, I pick her up as she rests her head on my shoulder. She’s getting far too big to carry, but I’ll still do it while I can.

Stroking her hair, I kiss her head.

“Mommy,” she whispers. “Why did that man call me his granddaughter?”

I smile to myself as we walk a few feet behind the guys. Turning my head toward her, I whisper, “He was just confused, peanut.”

“He can be my grandpa,” she replies with a yawn. “He was nice.”

“Yeah, he was.”

As her eyes close, she adds, “I love Dean. I hope he never moves away.”

My heart aches as I squeeze her closer. With my lips against her head, I say, “Me too.”