by L. M. Carr
Navigating through the streets of Houston, I continue to talk to Rence about arrangements.
“Eric mentioned something about requesting an autopsy.”
“You said it was an accident. Why would he want to do that?” I question. Just because he became my mother’s lover after our father died doesn’t give him the right to meddle in our family business.
“No idea.”
By the time I turn into the garage of our building and park, Rence and I have decided that he’ll contact Eric before any decisions are made. I end the call, then call Julian. Overwhelmed by the onslaught of different emotions, I sigh when I reach his voicemail. I glance over, seeing his car parked in its usual spot. I try calling, but once again, he doesn’t answer.
When the elevator doors open, I step inside, drop my bag and go in search of him.
“It’s not a decision I made lightly,” I hear from our bedroom, his voice terse and strained.
I freeze, wondering whom he’s talking to. Perhaps it’s Gigi. When word had gotten out about our engagement, she didn’t handle it well, filling her social media with hate-filled words.
“No, there’s nothing you can say or do to change my mind… I’m sorry you feel that way. That was never my intention.”
I retreat into the living room and stand at the window, Julian walking in a few minutes later.
“Hi. When did you get home?”
I clear my throat and wipe my eyes. “About five minutes ago,” I reply, keeping my eyes focused on the city lights.
“How was dinner?” he asks, cozying up behind me with his arms around my waist and pushing my hair to the side. “I missed you.” His lips pepper my neck with gentle kisses.
Feeling unsettled, I don’t respond.
He pulls away and turns me to face him. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
“My mother died today.” My voice is devoid of any emotion.
“Oh shit!” He pulls me into his arms. “When? What happened?”
I sigh heavily and share everything I know. How an elderly man suffered a medical emergency, hit the gas pedal and slammed into my mother as she crossed the street after getting her nails done. The car, found a few hundred yards away in an embankment, held the deceased driver. What I don’t share is the guilt, the shame starting to creep in.
“I don’t know why I’m crying, why I feel a sense of loss,” I sigh, my chest shuddering. “She wasn’t a very good mother.”
He runs his knuckles down my cheek. “I know, but she was still your mom.”
“No, yours was a mom. Mine was just a mother. There’s a difference,” I say sharply.
Memories of Evelyn MacIntyre rush forward. Treasuring her son with unconditional love. Treating me like a daughter. Her love was an endless circle of affection and devotion.
Julian wraps his arms around me once again and rubs my back. “What can I do?”
“This,” I answer honestly. “This is all I need.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The following afternoon, I arrive back in the town my brother and I couldn’t wait to escape. I’m on autopilot as I navigate the rented four-door gray sedan through the streets. Boys play basketball at Victor Park. Girls tumble across front lawns and jump rope. Children sell lemonade at their makeshift stand.
A small smile spreads across my face, then fades. While the town isn’t so bad, the memories inside the walls of 274 Dogwood Avenue are. I pull up and turn off the engine, sitting and staring at the white Colonial.
Pulling my phone from my bag, I send Julian a simple text.
I’m here.
I’m not surprised when he doesn’t reply. I know he’s running through multiple decisions today, and I don’t want to distract him.
I lug my bag up the front steps and stop, unable to move. Should I knock or walk right in? It’s been years since I stepped foot in the home. Inhaling slowly, I summon the courage to reach out and turn the knob. I’m on edge, feeling as though one of my parents will round the corner and berate me for something.
I’ll never forget the night my parents cheered wildly from the stands when I scored the winning goal in the championship game, but when we got home, my father screamed at me for missing my earlier kick. My mother just stood there with a malicious look on her face, never once coming to my defense.
“Hey.” Rence’s soft voice transports me back to the present as he gives me a soft kiss on my cheek. “Sorry I couldn’t pick you up at the airport.”
I simply nod and drop my small bag by the front door. My brother’s eyes lock with mine. It’s obvious I have no intention of staying beyond the funeral.
“You came alone?” he asks, looking behind me for Julian.
“He’ll be here tomorrow. He had a couple meetings he couldn’t get out of.”
I sigh, looking around. “So, what needs to be done?”
“Not much. I already met with Eric and went to the funeral home.”
“You did?” I was surprised to learn that they have been in contact with each other over the past few months.
“Do you want to go see her?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
I shake my head. Truth is, I don’t want to see my mother’s lifeless body. I don’t want to touch the cold skin that covers her bones, see the long fingers that marked my skin. Why would I? It’s not as if she was loving. For all intents and purposes, we lived a double life. When in public, we were paraded around like prized possessions, but at home, we were tossed aside when no longer needed.
“Okay,” Rence says quietly as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll make the call.”
Left alone, I feel like a stranger in my own home. I stand there and wait, hearing Rence’s muffled voice as he speaks to the funeral home about the arrangements. Gazing around the entryway, I take in the dwelling where I spent eighteen years of my life. With a thick swallow, I close my eyes, shutting out the memories.
“All set. We should have the ashes back in a few days, then we can have a memorial service.”
My eyes snap open. “A few days? The article I read on Google said seven to ten days.”
My brother smiles sadly. “It’s a small town and there aren’t any funerals scheduled.
“Come on.”
I follow him into the kitchen, taking a seat at the large oak table I sat at during my formidable years. Rence sits at the head in the seat our father occupied.
“We’ve got to decide what we want to do with the house and car.”
“I don’t want them,” I state firmly.
“Me, either. Maybe we could donate everything.”
Grabbing my phone, I start to research about how to give our mother’s belongings away when a text from an unknown number comes through. It seems the computerized phishing phone calls aren’t enough. Some companies have now taken a different route and send texts. I ignore the chirp associated with the unknown sender.
When I see movement out of the corner of my eye, I glance up, seeing Mallory walking into the kitchen. I jump to my feet and throw my arms around her neck. “Hi!”
She returns the hug with a laugh. “Good to see you, too.”
There’s something special about my brother’s girlfriend. Her demeanor is calming, comforting, and I really enjoy the time I get to spend with her.
I step back and smile. “Thanks for being here.”
“Of course.”
“What have you got there?” I ask, motioning to the items in her hand.
“Pictures. Piles of them on the living room floor. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, all spread out.” Mallory extends her hand, holding them out.
The glossy rectangle feels heavy between my fingertips as I take in the scene. Two toddlers, a curly-headed boy and a chubby-cheeked girl, wearing matching sailor outfits smile for the camera.
The second photograph is of Rence in his uniform, sweat across his forehead, disheveled hair, smeared eye black.
The third is
a picture of me standing next to Julian, who wore a dark gray suit and a crisp, white shirt. I remember he’d chosen to wear a red tie that day.
I wonder how differently things would’ve turned out if I had known then that he was going to change his mind about us. I suppress the dark memory. That feels like a lifetime ago. The most important thing is that fate brought us back together.
“I think your mom was putting them into albums.”
My eyes flick up to look up at Mallory, brows furrowed. I walk into the living room, eyes widening at the scene before me. Thousands of pictures strewn everywhere, each small pile seizing moments frozen in time.
I drop to a squat and, fingers shaking, pick one up. My mother standing behind me, braiding my long locks. I struggle to deal with the sudden rise of emotions when I realize the smile on her face is genuine. It’s one of absolute love, and my eyes fill with tears at the image.
“You okay?” Rence asks softly, placing a hand on my shoulder.
Unable to speak, I nod, hearing my phone ring in the kitchen, but I’m lost in the moment of this picture.
“AJ, Mom was sick.”
“Was it cancer?” I ask, glancing up at him.
He shakes his head. “Not physically sick. She was mentally ill.”
I frown and blink furiously. “What are you talking about?”
Rence sighs. “She suffered from bipolar disorder.”
“No, she didn’t!” I snap, quickly standing.
“Think about it, AJ. Her moods constantly changed. She went from extremely happy to angry within seconds. How many times did she join something just to quit a few days later?”
I consider his words.
“Then there were the shopping sprees she used to go on or the times she disappeared for a few days.”
“So she was flighty. That doesn’t mean she was bipolar.” I don’t know why I feel slightly offended to hear there might be a reason she treated us the way she did.
“I’ve been doing a lot of research. It’s not something she could control. There are studies out there that show how brain development, genetics and family history all contribute to the condition.”
It takes a few minutes for this information to process, then I blurt, “Mom was a mean bitch!”
Rence shakes his head. “No, she wasn’t. You just remember the bad more than the good.”
“That’s because there was more bad than good!”
My brother pulls me into a hug and leads me down memory lane, recalling stories of happier times with our late mother. The dam breaks and the tears flow freely.
“Yes, she wasn’t the best mother, AJ, but I think she did the best she could under the circumstances,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head. “On the other hand, dear old dad, well… He was just an asshole.”
“I just want to go home,” I whisper.
“I know. Why don’t you go lie down?”
I squeeze my arms around him, then exit the room. Stopping in the kitchen to grab my phone, I smile when I see a missed call from Julian.
I walk up the stairs and push open the door to my childhood bedroom. My full-sized bed still occupies a large portion of the room, despite my mother’s constant comments to rearrange the room to maximize the space. I never listened. Maybe it was because they were her ideas.
I scan the walls, smiling at the memorabilia from high school. Walking to the shelf, I touch the trophy with the inscription “Prom Queen”. I wonder if Julian still has his award for being king. Just the thought of the miles between us makes me sigh. I don’t know how I’m going to survive football season when he’s at the stadium for more than twelve hours a day or one of us is on the road traveling.
Sitting on my bed, I open my phone to call him, still seeing the unopened texts waiting. I toe off my shoes and lie back, tapping the green icon and clicking on the unread messages, then on the attachment.
My eyes shoot wide open and I gasp, bolting into a sitting position and releasing a blood-curdling scream at the image on my screen. A video of me, on my knees, getting fucked from behind. I quickly drop the phone and pull my hand back.
“Jesus Christ,” I hiss, raking my fingers through my hair, my ring snagging. “What the fuck?!”
Detangling myself, I glance down at my ring. “Oh god!” I cry when I notice one of the five prongs holding the diamond in place is broken, its jagged edge sharp. Could anything else go wrong? Maybe this is a sign. A sign that I’m too broken and undeserving of a life with Julian.
Starting to pull the ring off my finger to prevent any further damage, I freeze. I can’t take it off. I promised Julian I would never remove it. Then again, maybe he’ll demand it back once he sees these images.
The frantic beating of my heart, combined with the rush of adrenaline and fear, makes me dizzy. I push the ring back onto my finger and stare at my phone. The offensive video seems to mock me while I consider my options. Although I would like nothing better than to just delete the videos, I know I have to figure out who the man is. Neither the photos nor the videos show his face. Heck, even his hands might give me some idea as to who the culprit behind the pictures might be. But he’s elusive, the camera focused on me. What’s the point in resurfacing these encounters from my past?
“Hey! You okay up there?” Rence calls up the stairs.
“I’m good. Stubbed my toe,” I lie.
I draw in a shaky breath and return my attention to what I now realize is actually a GIF. My stomach roils at the image of me looking over my shoulder at my lover. It’s obvious that I am not only completely naked but also inebriated. Between inspecting the still image and replaying the clip, I look for anything that would indicate who the man is, to no avail.
I close the screen and tap one of the names in my favorites.
“Hey. I’m walking into–”
“I just got another one,” I interrupt.
“What? Another what?” Naomi asks.
“A picture of me having sex.”
“Are you serious? Hang on.” A muffled conversation ensues before she returns to the phone. “I can’t talk long.”
“Call me later.”
“Wait. Is it the same image?”
I rub my forehead with my palm. “No.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I’m done here. It might be late, but I’ll call. We’re going to get to the bottom of this and nail the motherfucker! No pun intended.”
In typical fashion, Naomi manages to make me chuckle. “Okay.”
I lie back down, curl into a fetal position and cry quietly. Why was I so reckless? Why is this happening to me?
Lost in thought, I startle when my phone rings, sighing when I see Julian’s name on the screen. I’m desperate to hear his voice, but he knows me too well and will know something is wrong. After a minute, I answer. I just lost my mother, so he would expect me to be a little distraught.
“Hi, baby.”
A feeling of calm washes over me. “Hi,” I whisper, wiping my eyes with my sleeve.
“How’re you doing?” he asks softly.
“I’ve had better days.”
“I should be there tomorrow morning by ten.”
I want to reach through the phone and squeeze him, needing the comfort. “I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
“She was your mother, Addison.”
“Not that. I’m talking about you.”
He laughs lightly. “Me?”
“I didn’t think being away from you for less than twenty-four hours would be so tough.”
“Oh, sweet girl. I miss you, too,” he murmurs. “You’ve been through a lot.”
I stifle the sardonic snicker. “You have no idea.”
The sound of multiple voices and chairs moving filters through the phone.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“At work,” he replies quickly.
“How are the meetings going?”
“Good.” Julian then speaks to someone in the room. “Listen, babe. I’ve got to ru
n, but I’ll call you later.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Absolutely,” he assures me before he abruptly ends the call without even saying “I love you”.
His recent meetings, long and exhausting, have left him mentally drained. I worry about how he’ll handle the stress and scrutiny of coaching.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The following morning, I wake up with a pounding headache and slight cramps, denoting the start of my period…thank God. After a shower, a light breakfast and Advil, I arrive at the airport early and stop in the area marked for arrivals. When Julian, who looks more like a Hollywood celebrity than an NFL coach, emerges through the double doors and strides over, his luggage in his hand, I press my legs together to quell the desperate throb.
“Damn, you’re gorgeous,” I say, leaning over to kiss him after he lowers himself into the passenger seat. I use every ounce of restraint I have not to straddle his lap. He raises his sunglasses, setting them on top of his head, then cups my jaw and crushes his lips to mine, his tongue exploring. He pulls back with a smile when the driver of the car behind us honks his horn.
“Hi, beautiful,” he sighs, the love reflecting in his eyes matching my own.
“Hi.” I growl and roll my eyes when the impatient driver honks again.
Julian smirks. “Should I go knock him out?”
I laugh, shake my head and kiss him. “No, I need you in my bed, not a jail cell.”
I drive out of the airport and toward town.
“This place hasn’t changed much, huh?” he questions as we pass by familiar sites.
I shake my head. “Nope. God, imagine if we never left this place. We could’ve been like so many whose paths were dictated by others.”
Julian’s mouth slips into a frown.
“I just meant all the people who never followed their dreams. Like we did.”
His small smile is strained as our high school and the football field that was his second home comes into view. “I knew what you meant.”
“Remember the woods behind the school?”
He nods.
“I’m guessing they got some money to finally rebuild the athletic fields back there.”
