2
VIVIEN
“Oh my God,” I say, surveying the wreckage in front of me with disbelieving eyes. Bodhi’s room is trashed. The bed is overturned, the mattress strewn across the floor, and every book and item from his shelves is scattered across the wooden floor. The globe my parents gave him for Christmas is smashed to pieces, and the autographed song lyrics Dillon had framed for him, that hung over his bed, is tossed on the floor, the glass cracked and broken. All his drawers are open, the contents upended on the floor, and a line of clothing extends from his walk-in closet to the bedroom, many of them shredded and slashed and unwearable.
None of it matters. Material things can be replaced. All I am concerned about right now is my son and the state of mind he must be in to do something so uncharacteristic. “Where is Bodhi?” I ask E, rubbing a hand along the tightness spreading across my chest.
“Your son is outside,” Bobby says, and I spin around on my heel to face the man who was a lifeline for me and Easton in the months after Reeve died.
We have a team of bodyguards on payroll now, but it is Bobby and Leon I gravitate to all the time. I trust those men with my life and my family’s lives, and I go out of my way to ensure they are well taken care of so they never leave.
“Leon went after him,” he adds.
“I’ll go find him,” Dillon says, bundling me into his arms.
He holds me close, and his brief strong embrace fills me with much-needed strength. Dillon has been my rock this past week as I struggle to help our eldest son cope with the latest revelations about the past.
“Try not to worry,” Dillon says even though he knows it’s an impossibility. He kisses me, before letting me go. “Stay here. I will try to calm him down. Talk to East.” He levels our son with a knowing look, and I can read the silent communication: Look after your mom.
Dillon leaves with Bobby, and I trail my gaze over the messed-up room as I knot and unknot my hands. Anxiety waits in the wings, ready to swoop in and toy with my insides. “Did your sisters wake?” I ask, worried at what they might have heard tonight. I bend down and start picking up debris off the floor.
Easton shakes his head, drawing a hand through his hair. “No. I made sure to close their doors and I closed Bodhi’s too when he started throwing shit around the place.”
I glance at him as I move around the room, gathering up the remnants of Bodhi’s room. I’m on edge, and I need to do something with my hands to keep myself distracted.
Wordlessly, E starts helping, righting Bodhi’s bed and flipping the mattress over, replacing it on top. He is strong from football and weight training, and it’s hard to believe he’s only sixteen when he’s so tall and broad and looks like a grown man.
He looks so much like his father. Like Reeve too. Sometimes, I do a double take watching Bodhi and Easton together because they remind me of Reeve at sixteen, and it’s like looking at a ghost. E wears his hair very similar to Reeve in a classic all-American style while Bodhi favors a more edgy look. Presently, he is wearing his hair in a faux hawk with bleach-blond tips.
“Is this a delayed reaction to what happened at school?” I ask after a while, reaching down to retrieve the broken frames from the floor.
E strides toward me. “Careful, Mom. That could cut you.”
“Why don’t you let me do that?” Charlotte says, entering the room, carrying a dustpan and brush and the cordless vacuum.
My inclination is to keep cleaning, but I also want to find Bodhi and Dillon. I need to see my son with my own eyes to know he’s okay. “Thank you, Charlotte. Only clean up the broken things. Sweep anything that might harm him, but leave the rest. Bodhi must take responsibility for his actions. It will be up to him to fix his room.”
Charlotte nods, her expression conveying her agreement.
“Thanks, Lotty.” Easton gives our housekeeper a quick hug, and her eyes meet mine over my son’s tall, broad shoulders. Her face shines with love. She adores all the kids, and she’s so good with them, but there is a special place in her heart for Easton, and it’s definitely mutual. Charlotte has been with us since E was a little baby. She never married, and she has lived with us for years, helping me to take care of our expanding family. It’s safe to say we all cherish her and have happily adopted her as one of our own.
We leave Charlotte to the mess and step out into the hallway, heading in the direction of downstairs.
E slings his arm around my shoulders as we walk the hallway on the ground level, moving toward our casual living room. “It’s going to be okay, Mom.” He gives me a reassuring squeeze, but I detect the uncertainty in his usual confident tone, and that troubles me enormously. “Bodhi is just going through a rough patch, but he’ll pull through.”
“I want to believe that,” I say, striding into the room. “But this is not like him.” Bodhi has always been reticent about speaking his mind, preferring to vent his thoughts and feelings onto the page than speak to me or Dillon about them. I know he has confided in Easton, and that has helped to reassure me, but lately it’s as if Bodhi has pressed some inner self-destruct button, and whatever coping tools he’s used in the past don’t appear to be working now. I even suspect he is being more guarded with his brother, and that worries me greatly.
It's one of the main reasons why I’m so concerned.
“What happened?” I ask, turning around to face my son.
Easton wets his lips, dragging a hand through his brown hair. It’s threaded with natural blond highlights, just like Reeve’s hair was, from the California sun. “Don’t get mad, but we watched the movie.”
Shock races through me as my jaw slackens. “You did what?” I splutter as shock instantly gives way to anger. “We agreed if either of you wanted to watch it, we’d watch it together!” Pain spears me through my heart at the thought of how they both must be feeling.
Shortly after the movie premiered, some kids at school started talking shit to Bodhi and Easton about Reeve and Saffron. We went to the school immediately and handled it, but it forced us to revisit the topic of them watching it. They were only eleven at the time, and we felt that was too young to see it, but how could we protect them from other kids? That any parent would let an eleven-year-old watch an adult movie was shocking but not a surprise. A lot of parents suck at parenting.
Dillon and I had decided to let them watch it when they were thirteen. We felt that was old enough for them to be able to grasp the basics of our messy past, and we chose to stick to our guns. Yet when thirteen rolled around, the boys didn’t want to watch it, and we didn’t force the agenda. We told them when they decided they were ready to see it, we would watch it with them.