Tear Me Apart

by J. T. Ellison

  She pulls into the garage, noting Jasper’s Audi isn’t inside. Good. She needs some time to figure out exactly how she is going to handle things. What to say. How to manage the situation.

  The situation. Hello, darling. How was your day? Make you a martini? By the way, our whole life is a lie.

  The living room is dusty and cold. She lights a fire in the oversized potbellied stove and cranks open the vent. The air begins to warm immediately. She throws in more wood until the stove roars with happiness, then climbs the stairs to the master, desperate for a long, hot shower and change of clothes.

  The bedroom is a mess. Jasper is a naturally tidy man, Lauren is a neat freak, and Mindy is a minimalist, which means the house is designer showcase ready at all times, but she finds their bed unmade, the sheets stale and crumpled, magazines and books spilling from the side table onto the floor.

  An unreasonable anger seizes her. Damn Jasper for leaving her this mess. Damn Juliet. Damn Mindy for crashing into that gate. Damn the cancer eating her alive. Damn the doctors and the DNA and the needles and tests. Damn it all.

  She sweeps the books and magazines to the floor with a crash. Rips the sheets off the bed, throws them on the floor, too. The fury grips her and she takes it out on every available thing that is light enough to move, then collapses onto the bed in a puddle of frustrated tears.

  She hears the gentle chime of the alarm system indicating a door has opened. Jasper is home. Damn that, too.

  “Honey?” he calls. She hears him on the stairs but doesn’t move. She can’t do this. Not anymore.

  “Dear God, Lauren, what’s going on? What are you doing?”

  “Grieving,” she manages, throwing herself facedown so she won’t have to see his pity.

  Jasper begins to laugh. It is the nervous laughter of someone trapped too long in solitary confinement. Lauren rolls onto her back and looks at him incredulously, which makes him laugh harder.

  “Look at this mess. You trashed the bedroom.”

  “You come home to find your wife in tears, and you laugh? What kind of sicko are you?”

  He laughs harder. “The kind that gets his kicks from coming home to a bedroom that looks like a drunken rock star threw a three-day bender in it, apparently. Come here.”

  He gathers her in his arms. The tears have stopped; Lauren has never been much of a crier. Even now, even faced with Mindy’s possible death, with her world falling apart, the possibility that she will lose everything looming large, crying feels like a useless waste of time.

  Jasper has stopped murmuring nonsense meant to soothe and is softly kissing her neck. She lets him. She needs a shower, needs to straighten up, but she needs this more. It will make what she has to tell him easier.

  She turns to face him, straddling his legs, pulling off his glasses and tossing them to the nightstand, then proceeds to get his pants open enough to take advantage of the position. He helps, dragging off her leggings as she smothers him with kisses, his mouth, his neck, his chest, sliding farther and farther down until she has him in her mouth and he is moaning her name.

  They’ve always been good at this.

  Always been good at everything.

  He pulls her back up, and her legs naturally wind around his waist. He holds her tight in his arms, moving into her, and she grinds against him, losing herself in the rhythm, in the exquisite feeling of being alive, of feeling him inside her, his arms around her, his head thrown back. They go faster, then he stands and turns around, lays her on the bed, but not gently, she doesn’t want it gentle, she wants to know she’s alive. He senses this and moves hard into her. She bites him on the shoulder and bucks against him, and he loses all control, his movement inevitable and unstoppable now. She goes right over the edge with him, trembling and shaking and calling his name.

  When she comes back to herself, she opens her eyes to see his sheepish face hovering above hers.

  “I am so—”

  She puts her finger on his lips. “No. Don’t apologize. I needed it, too.”

  “But you were crying.”

  “And now I’m not. Mission accomplished, wouldn’t you say?”

  He kisses her deeply then, slowly, and she relaxes into the bed, savoring him, allowing the connection between them to cement itself.

  Together, it whispers. You’re in this together.

  23

  They shower, taking advantage of the double heads, and dress, speaking of nothing important, marriage talk, assiduously avoiding all mention of Mindy and the hospital and why Lauren is home instead of there.

  When her hair is dry and tied back in a ponytail, Jasper helps her change the sheets and put the room back into place.

  “Sorry it was such a mess. I rushed to the office this morning.”

  “It’s fine, babe. Don’t worry. I wasn’t mad at the mess. I’m mad at the whole situation.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad to see you feeling something. You’ve been on autopilot for a while now. What happened to your arm?”

  The bandage is secure, thank heavens. “Just a scratch. Nothing to worry about.”

  “You’d tell me...”

  “Of course. It’s all good. I’m hungry, how about you?”

  They’ve been married long enough for Jasper to know when to back off.

  They make dinner, still not speaking of Mindy, of her absence at their family meal, of their absence at her bedside. It is strange and feels wrong, but something tells her she needs this. Needs the space. She’ll be a much better mother and wife if she takes care of herself, even if she only indulges in a long shower and sex and a good night’s sleep.

  She is pleased to see the kitchen is provisioned well enough and sets about making French onion soup. She caramelizes the onions, the fragrant scents of butter and sherry making her mouth water. When the onions are done, she adds the stock and sets it to simmer, then pulls a baguette out of the freezer and puts it in the oven. Shredding the Gruyère, she goes slower than normal, being careful, cautious. Lets the slow scrape of the fragrant cheese against the metal teeth soothe her.

  She still has no idea how she is going to explain things. But food and sex are a good buffer. She’ll tell him after dinner. Wine, she should open wine, too. French, one of the burgundies, maybe splurge with a Pomerol?

  “So what’s the big secret you need to tell me?” Jasper plops down on one of the kitchen stools, facing her. It brings them to eye level; he is much taller than she is. She stops grating.

  “Here, give me that. Go stir the soup.”

  She hands over the cheese and shredder, using the moment to school her face. When she turns back, she takes a deep breath.

  “Why do you think I have a secret?”

  He gives her that lopsided smile she loves so much. “Babe, we’ve been married for a very, very long time. I can tell when you need to tell me something. Spit it out, you’ll feel much better.”

  She takes the cheese from him and sets it aside.

  “Please don’t hate me for not telling you this sooner.”

  “I could never hate you, Lauren. I love you. Now, what’s going on?”

  She chews on her lip briefly, then blurts it out. “I adopted Mindy before she was born.”

  There are many reactions she expects from him, but cool acceptance isn’t one of them. “Is that why neither you nor Juliet was a match?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me when we met? Do you think it would have made a difference to me?”

  “Well, yes, actually, I did. It’s one thing to be with a woman who has a child, but if that woman has chosen to bring the child into her life, and it’s not hers...”

  “That is the dumbest logic I think I’ve ever heard.”

  “You are taking this very well.”

  “No, I’m really not. Inside I’m screaming at you.
” Jasper scrubs his hand across his face, his stubble rasping. “That girl is my greatest gift. I knew it from the moment I met you and met her. It makes no difference to me who birthed her. Though I am hurt—hurt as hell—that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.”

  “I am so sorry.”

  “So am I. You’ve broken the trust between us. Just when we need it the most.”

  He sounds so sad, it makes her want to weep. He is trying to look into her eyes as if seeing into her soul will help him understand, but she averts her gaze. It hurts too much, seeing the pain she’s caused. She is a coward. Such a coward.

  “I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to hold this back. It was personal. It was a decision I made when I might not have been entirely in my best mind, and once I made it, I couldn’t—wouldn’t—walk away.”

  “Tell me.”

  So she does. Tells him the whole story, from beginning to end, from Kyle’s hateful indifference and the pregnancies and the miscarriage to the doctor, as dispassionately as she can.

  When she finishes, he sighs. “We’ll deal with my hurt feelings soon, but for right now, I agree with Juliet. We have to find Mindy’s real mother.”

  “I am her real mother.” The words rip out of her in a snarl, and Jasper holds up a hand.

  “Biological, babe. That’s all I meant. You’re not in a position to attack me, you know. I’m behaving very rationally for a man who’s just found out his wife’s been lying to him for seventeen years.”

  “You are, and I’m sorry.” The timer dings, the bread is done. “Let’s eat. Then—”

  “Then we will look for this woman, whether you like it or not.” She starts to interrupt, but he shakes his head. “Lauren, you don’t have a choice anymore. This is bigger than you, your feelings, your pride. We must do whatever it takes to save Mindy’s life.”

  “You can’t tell her. You can never tell her.”

  He shakes his head again. “The time for secrets is over. We are going to tell her. She loves you. No one could ever take your place.”

  “Are you thinking clearly, Jasper? Because I don’t think you are. If we tell Mindy I adopted her, we’ll also have to tell her you’re not her real father. Are you ready for that? We’ve always promised not to share that with her, and now you want to drop the biggest bombshell of her life on top of a potentially fatal disease. She’s seventeen, for heaven’s sake. Even though you think she’s Supergirl, she’s just a seventeen-year-old child who is sick, and might die.”

  Genuine pain crosses his face as if her words have been attached to an anvil smashing into his stomach. “Honey, listen to me. This couldn’t have happened in a worse way, I’ll grant you that, but Mindy isn’t stupid. I think she already suspects. She asked me for a book on DNA. She said it was because she was thinking about following Juliet’s steps into the CBI, but I think she wants to understand what her charts are saying. Maybe she senses this, maybe she’s always wondered. Who knows? But she has the right to know her true heritage. And she has the right to the hope that we can find her a match. It’s our duty now. We must put our personal stakes aside and do what’s right by our daughter.”

  “You’ve changed your tune. You always said—”

  “Circumstances have changed, Lauren. I can’t save my daughter’s life with my blood, and now I know why you can’t, either. So yes, I’ve changed my tune. She’s old enough to know the truth. And we are going to tell her.”

  Lauren serves their meal stiffly, silently furious. She can’t let Mindy know. She just can’t. She will do anything she has to, anything, to keep the truth from her.

  24

  Lauren finds sleep impossible. The bed is too comfortable, the room too dark and quiet. Jasper’s gentle snores and the roaring wind in the trees outside feel like a jackhammer to her brain.

  She gets up slowly so as not to wake her sainted husband, wraps herself in his discarded sweater, and steals to her office on the first floor. It is chilly but she welcomes the discomfort, it helps her relax a bit.

  He took it so well, the news she wasn’t Mindy’s biological mother. Outside of his desire to tell Mindy the whole truth, he’s handled the revelation better than expected. Oh, she could tell he was furious, ready to burst into screams, but he’d kept himself under control. They sniped at each other the rest of the evening until she locked herself in the bath and he stomped off to clear the snow from the decks. But that was to be expected.

  The problem is Jasper’s planned next steps. He doesn’t understand her reluctance to share the news with Mindy. She has to make him see the light.

  Lauren will not—cannot—run the risk of losing her daughter to a technicality.

  She peels the bandage away from her arm. The cut is ragged, nonuniform. It bisects the other scars, long faded, scars few people outside the family know are there. Everyone who’s ever seen them has been told they occurred in a car accident when she was young. Arm through the glass windshield. Tons of tiny little cuts. The scars so pale now that no one but Lauren can see them.

  The scratch has crusted over. She runs the pad of her finger over it, feels the bumpy line. Pulls at the edge of the scab until a bead of bright red blood appears. She touches the tip of her finger to it, brings the smear of red to her tongue. Takes a deep breath and puts the bandage back into place.

  Her laptop is completely out of battery. She plugs it in and gives it a few minutes to charge, then opens her email. It has been piling up. Even though she’s looked at the account occasionally on her phone, she’s let it grow wild, and now it needs to be pruned back.

  Fifteen minutes later, after ruthlessly deleting every email from a stranger or a store, she is left with five. Two are from friends checking in on Mindy, asking if they can bring dinners by, or help in any way. The other three are nothing of note, class schedules for an art program she is involved with, a homeschool standardized test notice. She answers them all quickly and efficiently, then turns her browser to private so the internet’s bots won’t track her. In Google, she types in a name she hasn’t thought about in a very, very long time.

  She types and searches and clicks and reads until she is satisfied.

  Her secret is safe. She lets out the breath she’s been holding all day.

  “Babe, what are you doing? It’s three in the morning.”

  Lauren jumps in her seat and slaps the lid of the laptop down. Jasper stands in the doorway to her office, rumpled, yawning, his face a mask of confusion.

  “My God, you scared me. I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

  “I heard a noise, realized you weren’t in bed. It’s freezing in here. Seriously, what are you doing?”

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d tend my email. It’s gotten out of control.”

  She stands, surreptitiously pulling the power cord out of the laptop. “But I’m done. I was wasting time surfing. I’m finally tired.” She yawns for effect. “I’m sorry I woke you. I’m sorry about tonight, too. About everything. I don’t want to fight. I know you’re right. We have to tell her.”

  She goes to him, presses her cheek against his chest, her arms sliding around his waist as if they’ve been born for that purpose alone.

  “Let’s go back to bed,” she says, allowing her voice to go husky, and he doesn’t resist, just switches off the light and starts down the hall, his arm solid around her shoulders. They are a few steps away when she says, “Oh, crap, I forgot to plug in my laptop. I’ll be right there. Start without me.”

  He stiffens but nods, letting himself be lied to. Is this how things will be between them, lies and mistruths and sneaking around? She hopes not. She wants to put this whole story to bed once and for all.

  She fumbles with the cord long enough to open the lid of the computer, log in one-handed, close the private browser and reopen it in her normal mode. On the surface, it will do, and tomorrow she’ll go in and purg
e the history, make sure everything has been deleted.

  Jasper is waiting for her, eyes cool in the darkness. She slides into the bed and shimmies off her clothes, nestles against him, toying with the waistband of his boxers. Says a small prayer as she kisses him.

  So many secrets. So many lies.

  Let them be enough.

  25

  DENVER, COLORADO

  Juliet knows she should leave things well enough alone, but that isn’t who she is. She can’t just sit back and wait to see what Lauren cooks up, as much as she promised she would. She stares at the slowly rotating ceiling fan, the minutes and hours ticking off, thinking, Why? Why in the world would she lie about this?

  Finally, recognizing sleep is going to be elusive, she goes to the kitchen and makes a cup of tea. As the water heats, she wonders again—what is Lauren hiding? The whole story rings of half-truths. Juliet knows her sister well enough to recognize when she’s lying. She is terrible at it, always has been.

  But a lie of omission, that is different than an outright falsehood, right?

  As far as Juliet can tell, Lauren has never given anyone any reason to doubt Mindy is hers, but she certainly never claimed it. She’s allowed everyone to assume, and there was no reason to question her about it. Is that truly lying?

  Juliet thinks back to her sister’s pregnancy. The only time she saw Lauren between the divorce and Mindy’s birth was at her baby shower.

  There was an ultrasound on the refrigerator, Juliet remembers that. She tries to remember the women who’d attended, their names, faces, and comes up blank. Truthfully, she hadn’t paid much attention. Juliet was a teenager at the time, involved in her own world.

  It wasn’t until after Kathleen passed away that Juliet got back into their lives on a more regular basis, so yes, Juliet can understand why Lauren hasn’t confided in her. They weren’t close then, and they certainly aren’t close now.