by Calia Read
Was it so horrible that I wanted that? Wes seemed to think so. I could think of a thousand different scenarios that could break up a relationship. I just never thought children would be one of them.
One of the moms glanced at me. Her eyes narrowed at me with suspicion and realized that I looked all wrong: me lingering around a park like a creeper.
Quickly I turned around and hurried across the street, hoping to escape their stares, yet I felt them on my back. I crossed my arms over my chest. My shoulders were hunched and if I could have folded in on myself, I would have. Even though it was cloudy, I pulled my Ray-Bans out of my purse and put them on. It sounds crazy—and probably pathetic—but my sunglasses felt like a small barrier between the outside world and myself. With my sunglasses on, no one that walked past me would be able to see my eyes or my pain.
That was an ingenious idea. Why didn’t I think of it sooner? I smiled down at the sidewalk and promptly slammed into a wall. I stumbled back and lifted my head, quickly realizing that the “wall” was actually a man.
“Sorry,” I muttered. I gave the man a quick glance and did a double take. I knew him. He was the contractor who built our house.
He smiled and I felt my stomach drop. “Victoria, isn’t it?”
I pushed my sunglasses up into my hair. Sinclair Montgomery. How could I forget him? He was still as tall and imposing as ever. Summer had treated him better than me, and his skin was the color of honey. His black hair was shorter than I remembered. He was dressed casually in jeans and a black T-shirt that strained across his wide shoulders.
“It’s good to see you,” he said.
I found myself smiling back. “You too.”
Sinclair gestured to the flower shop. “You here to see Renee?”
“Yes. I’ve been meaning to see her, but I’ve been busy.”
“It’s best to bite the bullet and see her or she’ll pester you until she has her way.”
Of that, I had no doubt.
He held open the door and swept a hand toward the doorway. “After you.”
When I walked past him, my shoulder brushed his chest and the scent of his cologne circled around. It smelled woodsy. Like nature. Or hard work. I ignored the rapid beating of my heart. I didn’t have to look in the mirror to know my cheeks were red.
“Victoria! One of my favorite people!” Renee exclaimed as she walked from behind the counter.
“I’m not included in the list?” Sinclair asked.
“That depends….Do you have the keys to my car?”
He tossed a set of keys at her. Renee caught them with one hand. “Done and done.”
“Then let me start over: Victoria! Sinclair! Two of my favorite people!”
“That was good,” Sinclair replied. “But next time, put some more feeling behind it.” Sinclair rested his huge arms on the counter and glanced at me. “Victoria, would you treat your brother this way after he so kindly took your car to the shop to get a tire patched up and the oil changed?” He didn’t ask me the question to be nice and include me in the conversation. There was genuine interest in his eyes. I was struck by the fact that it had been almost a year since I’d seen this man but somehow he made it seem as if no time had gone by.
Little by little I found myself relaxing. “I never think of treating my brother so badly,” I teased.
“Liar,” Renee said.
Sinclair gave me a smile that I felt from the tips of my fingers all the way down to my toes. I quickly looked away.
“So where have you been?” Renee asked me.
Sinclair pulled out his phone and turned his back to us.
“Oh, doing nothing really,” I said evasively. “Just relaxing at home.”
Even to my own ears, my explanation sounded weak and just plain sad. Renee frowned and stepped closer, peering at me very carefully.
She was getting way too close. I needed to leave. Right away. “Hey, you know we’re not outside, right? You can take your sunglasses off.”
I took a step back. “I know. But I just wanted to stop in and say hi real quickly.”
“Stay,” she said solemnly. “I just have to get a few things done, but I wanted to talk to you.” She glanced at Sinclair. “We’ll go in the back room and talk. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said a little too loudly. It sounded wrong. I felt like a parody of the person I used to be and now I was going above and beyond to prove that I was fine.
Renee drifted back over to the cash register and I took the opportunity to really look around. I’d been here a few times before, but it seemed like every time I stepped into Renee’s flower shop, something was different. She had an eclectic decorating style and I loved it. Renee didn’t believe in throwing anything out. She would scour antiques stores and flea markets looking for anything that would fit her shop. The walls were painted a dark teal. On the wall in front of me was a whole array of mirrors, all different shapes and sizes. A long wooden table ran the length of the wall and was flanked by two broken ladders, leaning against the wall. Most of the white paint was chipped off, but the steps were sturdy, holding a wild array of flowers.
“All right,” Renee said behind me. “Let’s chat. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said to Sinclair.
He threw his hands in the air. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Just do what you do best: Sit there and look pretty, Sin.”
As I followed Renee, I glanced over my shoulder, directly at Sinclair. His gaze clashed with mine and I quickly looked forward.
The back room was a small area with a desk shoved up against the wall. An outdated laptop was open with Post-its stuck around the screen. A small, framed photo of Renee and her husband was next to the stapler. Angled perfectly for Renee to look at. A small mini fridge was plugged in next to the door. Renee gave me the office chair and grabbed a water from the fridge.
“Thirsty?” she asked.
I said no and sat down.
For a while, Renee and I talked about mundane things, nothing too heavy, but soon we had covered every easygoing topic until there was nothing left.
Renee sighed and tossed her empty bottle in the trash can. “So where have you really been?”
“At home. Busy.”
Renee quirked a brow. “Yeah. Busy. Is everything okay with you?”
“Everything is great.” I gave her a bright smile, but it was starting to quake because inside, my soul was screaming, pleading, begging for me to tell Renee the truth. It was taking all of my power to keep quiet.
“All right, all right. Everything’s okay with you….” Renee pushed away from the wall and stared down at her hands as though she were working out a complicated math problem. She raised her head and looked me in the eye. “Is everything okay with you and Wes?”
I hesitated. It was only a second, but it was enough for Renee. “What’s going on?” she prodded.
Now it was my turn to stare down at my hands. “We’re just going through a rough patch.”
Renee nodded empathically. “That’s normal. Couples go through tough times. Sometimes my husband drives me crazy and other moments I can’t get enough of him. But most of the time he drives me crazy,” she said teasingly.
I smirked, appreciating her attempt to lighten the mood. “How long does he usually drive you crazy?”
Her brows formed a tight V. “That depends on how stressed out I am. The same for him. The longest time though?”
I nodded anxiously, waiting for her reply like it was manna falling from heaven.
“I’d say probably around the time that I opened up this business. We’d been married for only two years. He was worried that the business would fail. Honestly, so was I. But I wanted to at least try and see if it had a chance. We were snapping at each other for a good two months and then one night he didn’t come home and that was our reality check. We made a conscious effort to work through the stresses of life, trying not to take it out on each other.”
Two months. To me, two months seemed like
a walk in the park.
“From the devastated look on your face, I assume that’s not exactly what you wanted to hear,” Renee said wearily.
I slumped in the chair. “Things are much worse than that between Wes and me.”
“Like how?”
“If I tell you—”
Renee held up both hands. “I won’t tell a soul. And I mean that.”
I nodded and took a deep breath. “Things have been stressful lately for Wes. He’s trying to make partner and it’s taking longer than he anticipated. He works crazy hours. We hardly see each other and it’s just…rough. Last year, I thought having a baby would really round us off, make us happier than we could even imagine. But that didn’t happen. I quit my job…I gave up a part of my identity for Wes. He didn’t want a baby, but I pressured him into it….He’s lost his temper a few times. It happens out of nowhere, when I least expect it.” I exhaled loudly. “Each outburst is becoming worse than the last and I don’t know what to do anymore.”
I always thought telling the truth would be akin to pulling teeth. But in a way, I felt free.
“These outbursts,” she said, starting off slowly. “How bad are they?”
Renee presented the question calmly, not completely coming out and asking me if the relationship was abusive. Instead it was silently implied.
I was repressing every bad thing that had happened to Wes and me and it was slowly eating me alive. I knew I had to confess the truth to someone, but it was the last thing I wanted to do. No one wants to come out and reveal their pain and humiliation. It’s like standing naked in front of a group of strangers.
But Renee was no stranger and deep down I knew that if I was to confide in anyone, Renee should be the person.
I stood up from my chair. Renee gave me a confused look as I turned and gave her my back. Sometimes words fail you. Sometimes there’s no adequate way to describe a situation or your feelings. Sometimes you have to show them.
Staring at the wall, I reminded myself that I could trust her, then I raised the hem of my shirt up to my shoulders.
I knew the moment she saw it from the way she gasped. Most of the bruises from the night of our second anniversary had faded. But what Renee saw wasn’t a bruise. It was a cut. When Wes slammed my back against the wall in the restaurant, I hit the edge of the mirror. It left a nasty cut of about five inches.
Only a few seconds passed by, but it was long enough for me. I dropped my shirt and quickly turned back around.
Renee wore a look of horror. “What was that?”
“That was a brief look into my marriage,” I mumbled.
A pained expression crossed her face. “Has this been happening the whole time?”
Leaning against the counter, I shrugged and stared at the floor. “Not the whole time.”
“Then how long?”
“Just…recently,” I confessed, not bothering to admit the times where he’d acted completely erratically.
“This just doesn’t sound like him. I can’t believe this,” she replied in a half daze.
“Well, it is.”
A tense silence swirled around the room. Renee started to pace back and forth. “This is not okay,” she said fiercely.
“I know that.”
She whipped her body around, eyes wide. “So you’re going to leave him.”
I hesitated and her face fell. “Oh, Victoria. No….”
“It’s complicated,” I mumbled, but even to my own ears my reply was weak. I might have revealed a small portion of the truth, but I wasn’t ready for it all to come out into the open. I couldn’t explain to her that my fear was a large, powerful beast living inside me, controlling everything I did, to the point where I felt paralyzed in my own body. Choices and decisions that I would have easily made in a heartbeat were now uphill battles that I could never seem to conquer.
I couldn’t tell her that I felt like the biggest hypocrite. So many times I had seen people in and out of the ER with suspicious-looking bruises, and watched carefully as excuse after excuse rolled from their tongues. I always thought that if I was in their place I wouldn’t put up with it. I would leave, because I was strong. I knew my self-worth and knew I deserved better.
But here I was.
If I could track down every patient whom I silently judged, and just tell them I was sorry, I would.
“Look, you don’t need to tell me that it’s wrong. I know that. And you don’t need to tell me that I need to leave. I promise you, whatever you’re thinking about right now, I’ve already thought about a thousand times over.”
Renee’s lips went into a flat line and I knew there were thousands of things she was dying to say, but didn’t. For that I was grateful.
I pushed myself away from the counter abruptly and straightened out my shorts. “Can we drop this, please?”
“Sure.”
I grabbed my purse and walked toward the door, anxious to leave this conversation behind us.
“Victoria?”
I slowly turned.
“This isn’t your fault,” Renee said quietly.
I lifted my head and blinked back my tears.
“And you ever need anything, I’m one call away.”
“I know,” I replied.
She stopped me by grabbing my arm gently. But it still made me flinch. “I mean it. I’m there. For anything.”
When people reach out and try to help, I truly believe it’s done sincerely. But also with naïveté. It’s so easy to make declarations while being far away from the situation and even easier to run away when everything gets rough. But from the look in Renee’s eyes, I knew she meant it.
“Thank you,” I whispered gratefully. And I meant it.
The second we emerged from the hallway, Renee put a small smile on her face as if nothing was wrong.
“We’re back,” she announced.
Sinclair tapped his watch. “You do realize you’ve been back there for almost thirty minutes, right?”
“We were talking.”
Sinclair’s eyes veered between his sister and me. “About?”
“I’m sorry, did you grow a vagina while I was back there and I didn’t know it? Why do you care what we were talking about?”
He held his hands up in surrender. “Just asking. No need to rip my head off.”
“I should be going,” I announced.
“All right. See you later,” Renee replied breezily.
Sinclair stared at me for a long second, making me feel like I was under a microscope. “See you later,” he finally said.
His words weren’t empty, just said to be nice. No, his words sounded a lot like a promise.
July 2014
Nobody should be ringing the doorbell at eight in the morning.
It’s just wrong. A cardinal sin.
I belted my robe as I hurried down the stairs. “I’m coming. I’m coming.”
Quickly, I peered through the peephole. My mother was on the other side.
I flipped the lock and opened the door.
“Good morning.” My mother breezed past me, looking bright-eyed and cheerful as though it were the middle of the day instead of early morning. She carried a box with VICTORIA’S STUFF written on the side. She balanced two coffees and a carryout bag on top of it.
I didn’t know where to start so I took the food and coffee. Then I pointed to the box. “What’s that?”
My mother dropped her purse and the box on the table against the wall. “Oh, I was cleaning out the attic and found some of your old things. I thought you’d like to see them.”
I really didn’t, but I shrugged. She took a deep breath and grabbed one of the coffees out of my hand. She still hadn’t explained why she was there and it didn’t look like she was going to do so anytime soon.
“What are you doing here?” I asked as I shut the door.
“I just wanted to spend some quality time with my only daughter.”
“At eight in the morning?”
“Is it a c
rime to want to have breakfast together?”
There was so much wrong with this impromptu visit. I didn’t know where to begin. My mother liked planning things in advance. No surprises. She applied that theory to everything.
Something was up.
I followed her toward the kitchen. “I told them to give me two decafs but I think they messed up the order. There was a long line so I didn’t bother getting it fixed.”
“It’s fine. I have some creamer.”
As I grabbed two plates, my mother sat at the kitchen island and took two large bagels out of the bag.
Coffee and carbs. Dear God, was she here to tell me she was dying and had three weeks to live?
“Is everything okay?” I asked cautiously.
She linked her fingers together and placed them on the counter. “Of course.” She waved her hand in the air as if scattering my words away and stared at the French doors. “I always seem to forget how beautiful your garden is.”
“Is that what you came here to talk about? My garden?”
My mother frowned at me. “Of course not.” She took a small bite out of her bagel and wiped her hands with her napkin. “How are you?”
She gave me a meaningful look. The same look she gave me as a teenager when she knew I’d fucked up and wanted me to confess.
I took a sip of my coffee. “I’m good,” I replied slowly.
“Are you really?”
“Mom…what’s really going on?”
“Wes spoke with me,” she confessed.
“About?” I asked a little sharply.
“He’s concerned about you.”
“He’s concerned about me,” I repeated back dully.
“Well, yes!”
Impatiently, I waved my hand in the air. “Mom, just tell me what he said.”
“He says you’ve been acting erratically and unpredictably. He says the two of you have had terrible fights and he tries to work through things with you but you’re inconsolable.”
I was in a state of shock. I’d seen a dark side of Wes. But never in a million years did I think he’d try to turn my own mother against me. This was a new low.
