Once Upon a Time

by Cleveland, Eddie

  I bite my lip and my eyebrows crunch together at the thought. Did Marcus ever lose it on her like he had with everyone else in his life? As a kid, I never saw anything like that. I always watched as they held hands, laughed, and danced together. I remember thinking my life would be complete if I found a guy who loved me as much as Sandra loved my brother. Now I’m grateful that prayer was never answered.

  I flick on my four-way flashers, even though I know there’s no one on this road, and pull over. I need to get myself under control. Driving through a haze of tears is going to put me in a ditch. Inside me, there’s a storm brewing, part of me is begging me to go back to Connor. To stay regardless of whatever happened with Marcus and his ex, and chase my own happiness.

  I remember how Marcus turned to the church after Sandra left him. When our parents passed away in a car accident a year later, it only cemented his connection. That’s when he decided he was going to become a Pastor. No, Marcus stepped in and raised me when he was only nineteen so I wouldn’t have to go to foster care. He’s the only family I have left. I’m not about to turn this car around, and turn my back on my brother, not for Connor. Not for anyone.

  I wipe away my tears with the back of my hand, take a shaky breath and pull back out onto the dark road. I try not to speed away, but I want to put distance between me and Connor. I feel like the sooner I can put some miles between us, the quicker my heart can move on.

  Because that worked so well when he joined the SEALs, right? Totally over it.

  I click on the radio and try to let my thoughts slip away as the pop songs blend together. Soon the tunnel of darkness lifts and street lights of the city guide my way back to my house. Well, it was my parents’ house, but when they passed they left it to Marcus. I’ve never left. I came home from the hospital to this house and still eat breakfast at the same table that I grew up munching on Fruity Pebbles at.

  I pull into the driveway and hit the lock button on my keychain as I make my way to the front door.

  When I walk in, I almost scream. I stifle the yelp that wants to escape my lips as I jump a little. “Marcus, you scared me. Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

  I look over at my brother, slumped in a living room chair near the window. There are no lights on. No television blaring. He’s just lost in the darkness.

  “Where were you?” He doesn’t answer my question. I can see him look up at me. I can feel his eyes on me, even without any lights on.

  I shut the door and slide my hand over the light switch, flooding the room with a warm glow. “Don’t you worry about what I’ve been doing, you just worry about you. Why are you sitting here like this? It’s creepy.” I kick off my shoes and walk into the room.

  Marcus doesn’t move. He just bores into me with his stare. “You went to see him, didn’t you? After I told you not to.” His voice trembles the air around me, like the little shocks you feel before a huge earthquake is about to hit.

  “I said goodbye,” I hold up my hand. “Listen, I didn’t know about what happened with Sandra and him. You never told me about that.”

  Marcus tilts his head and his eyes soften, “He told you?” Confusion flickers on his face like the dancing shadows of a candle.

  “Yeah, and I told him we couldn’t see each other anymore.” I try to swallow the lump in my throat. The one that’s threatening to erupt my emotions like lava from a volcano, spilling from my face until I’m empty inside. I’ve known that I’ve loved Connor McLean since I was thirteen-years-old. I’ve dreamed of him holding me, wanting me, loving me. And now, when I finally got a taste of that fantasy, it’s been ripped from my heart.

  “Good,” Marcus looks out our living room window, but there’s nothing to see in the darkness. All I see is his reflection staring back at us. “You know what they say, a leopard can’t change his spots,” he sighs wearily. Suddenly, his reflection looks a lot older. Like he’s aged thirty years.

  “Marcus, do you want to talk about what happened? I’m sorry about this,” I step towards him, but he quickly jumps up from the chair and walks around me.

  “No need. It sounds like everything is sorted out,” he clears his throat and makes his way to the stairs. “I’m tired, Lottie, I’m going to bed, okay?”

  “Sure, I understand.” I nod and watch him shuffle heavily up the stairs like an eighty-year-old man.

  The tears I’ve been holding back can’t be contained anymore. They prickle at the corners of my eyes and slip down my cheeks as I head downstairs to my bedroom. I can’t stop them from flowing, from mourning a love I’ve always wanted, but could never have. My heart bleeds for a man that can never be mine.

  11

  Charlotte

  2 Months Later

  I shift the car into park and take a deep breath, scanning the lot before I exit the vehicle. I drove to the pharmacy on the edge of town so I wouldn’t run into anyone I know. I grab my purse and step out into the sunshine, throwing back my shoulders and lifting my head up high.

  Not that I’m worried, obviously.

  I just don’t want to get any rumors swirling at the office. I’m still six weeks away from getting my full benefits package and I don’t want anyone finding a lame excuse to send me packing just so they don’t have to pay them out to someone who…

  I walk into the cool store and avoid the eyes of the other customers. I’m not here to make friends. I’m on a mission. I swerve down the aisle with the feminine products and search in vain. Where are they? I don’t see them anywhere.

  My shoulders tense up and I make my way up the next aisle, full of condoms, lube, and... there we go, pregnancy tests.

  I almost want to laugh at the set up. Almost. It’s like the stock person had a grand design idea when he put the boxes of pee sticks next to all the other stuff. Like he was saying “If you don’t use these, you might need this!”

  My throat squeezes tight and I peer at the tests out of the corner of my eye, like I’m afraid that I’ll make my suspicions come true if I look at them straight on. Like somehow, by buying one of these things, I’m going to make real what my sore boobs and early morning nausea has been hinting at. As if the little lines that appear will make the pregnancy real, not the little baby that might be growing inside me right now.

  I realize I’m holding my belly and drop my hand, snapping out of my daze.

  What am I going to do if I am pregnant with Connor’s child? I know, with absolute certainty that it would be his. I haven’t even kissed another man since I last saw him, when was that? Two months ago. Damn. I haven’t had my period in over two months? Do I even need this test?

  A groan escapes my lips and a woman down the aisle gives me a look of pity before pretending I don’t exist again.

  Thanks lady, you don’t even know the half of it. If I am carrying Connor’s child, what am I going to do? I don’t want to do it alone, but I don’t know if he’ll even want me back after I took off that night and never returned.

  He called night and day the first week, but I didn’t know what to say to him. I told myself that I’d get over him in time, but the truth is he got over me. The calls dropped off. Not that I blame him. There’s just too much bad blood, too much history. Connor can have any woman he wants, I’m sure he’s moved on with a few of them by now.

  Ugh, Marcus. I can’t even think about him right now. I push away the thoughts and pluck a pink box from the shelf. This one promises to give the earliest results in a digital readout that tells you how far along you are. It’s pricey, but it comes with two tests. I’d rather buy two expensive tests and get it right, than spend five times less on the cheap ones and not be sure.

  Should I call him? I’ve thought about it every single day since I walked out. I run my hand over my hair and sigh, let’s just tackle one crisis at a time. Take the test and then figure things out with Connor.

  I begin to walk up the aisle when something makes me stop in my tracks.

  “Lottie! I mean, Charlotte, wait up,” I turn and my mo
uth hangs open when I spot Connor coming toward me.

  Butterflies explode into a million beating wings in my chest as ice runs through my veins. He can’t see the test! He’ll know everything before I can even think of how to talk to him about it. Without thinking, I stuff the pink box in my purse and sling it back over my hip.

  “Connor,” my voice is shaky and my hands are sweating. “Hey, what are you doing here?” I try to sound casual but it comes out more like an accusation.

  “I came into town for a supply run,” he nods to the soap and shampoo in his basket. “What about you?” He looks down at my empty hands.

  “Uh, yeah, same, gonna get some shampoo,” I lie. I haven’t been to a pharmacy yet that sells good shampoo or conditioner for black hair.

  “I should go,” I turn but Connor circles his fingers around my arm.

  “No, Charlotte, please. I can’t stop thinking about you. Why didn’t you answer my calls? I need to talk to you, give me a chance, please?”

  I whirl back around on my heel and get locked in his intense eyes. All I’ve thought about is him too. I want to talk to him more than he can possibly know. I want to tell him that I miss him. That I’m scared. That I need him and always have. That my life is empty without him but complicated with him. I need to spill it all before I burst at the seams.

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  12

  Connor

  I rub my hand over my scruff and look at all the sterile boxes of Band-Aids and bottles of pills surrounding us. “Not here, please? Come back to my place and let’s really talk.”

  I watch her eyebrow lift cynically. “Go to your place to talk? Come on Connor, I’m not stupid,” she purses her thick lips together and looks at the floor.

  “Listen,” I cup her chin and lift her gaze back to mine, “I can stand here and tell you how many times I’ve tried to call you, but you know that don’t you?” She looks away and bites her lip. “Yeah, and that’s fine, this whole thing got fucked up fast. I’m sure it’s been a lot to digest.”

  “It’s just, I wanted to answer, I really did, but Marcus is the only family I have left. I don’t want to hurt him, even if he hadn’t given up his entire adult life to look out for me, I still wouldn’t want to hurt him.” Her chin quivers and I pull her into my chest.

  “Hey, don’t cry. I get it. I’m not upset with you, blood is thicker than water. You’re a good sister,” I run my hand over her hair as she buries her face into my shirt.

  And I’m a bad brother. Blood brother at that.

  My mind drifts back to the crimson streak dripping from my palm in the woods behind the elementary school.

  “Now what?” The blood pooled in my hand as Marcus took the same razor blade I stole from my Dad and slit his skin open just below the lifeline and bright red smeared across his own palm.

  “Now we shake hands, this makes us blood brothers. Just like real brothers,” Marcus reached out and his black hand enveloped my pale white one as we shook on it, making it official.

  “Blood brothers for life,” I smiled.

  “For life,” he agreed.

  I push the thought away, letting the eight-year-old versions of us and all of the optimism and innocence that came with that age all float away. That was a decade before I destroyed our friendship. Before I killed the ties with my only brother. Sure, in the SEALs I got more brothers, but nothing compared to the friendship I had with Marcus.

  “Charlotte,” I swallow the lump in my throat and grab her arms, looking down at her, “I haven’t seen you in two months. Sixty days. You know how I know that? Because each one has been painful without being able to see you, to talk to you, to feel you,” I rub my hands over her arms. “If you want me to bare my soul in a pharmacy, then I will, but I would really like you to come home and talk this out with me. Give me a chance, please.” She looks up at me from under her wet lashes and nods her head.

  “Let’s go,” she agrees.

  I drop my basket of toiletries on the floor and grab her hand, leading her to the door without hesitation. I’ve been waiting for months to just hear her voice again, and I’m not going to wait around here for another second and risk her changing her mind.

  “I parked over there,” she vaguely waves across the lot but I open the truck door for her. “Let me take you, I’ll bring you back to your car, I promise.” I don’t want to watch her walk to her car, I don’t want that space between us, no matter how short of a time it would be for. I need her next to me now and I don’t want to let her go.

  “Okay, sure,” she shrugs and I give her a hand getting inside before making my way over to the driver’s side and sliding in beside her on the old bench seat.

  “So, we’re going to your place?” She looks up at me and it takes every fiber of self-control I have in me to resist wrapping my arms around her and kissing those full, pouty lips.

  “Yes,” I manage to answer through gritted teeth. As if, by opening my jaw, I might not be able to contain the desperation of my tongue, longing to find hers.

  “Just to talk, right?” She tilts her head and the sunlight gleams off her dark hair.

  “That’s right,” I nod curtly, not taking my hands off the steering wheel.

  She nods and slides across the beat-up seat to me as I turn the key and the ancient engine roars to life. As I pull out of the parking lot, Charlotte nuzzles in against me, her sweet scent filling my nose and getting me drunk with passion.

  I know we’re just going to talk but as she relaxes against my chest, as I breathe her in like the very oxygen I need to live, I can’t help but wonder where else this is going.

  13

  Charlotte

  Connor opens the door to his beautifully renovated cabin and steps aside to let me walk in first. As I stride into the open concept living room and kitchen with a huge loft overseeing the main floor, I can’t help but feel proud of him for how much he’s changed this place. I remember when this was old man Lou’s “haunted” shack. He was a legendary recluse who only came into town a couple of times of year to buy some food and supplies to make moonshine. As a kid, we all heard crazy stories about Lou. Some were tame, like that he was running from the law and trying to keep a low profile, others were crazy, like that he was some kind of modern day witch from Hansel and Gretel, participating in cannibalism as he ate the children he’d steal away in the night. Of course, no one ever knew of a child being kidnapped. Not firsthand. Always some distant cousin, twice removed on their mother’s side.

  Anyway, I remember seeing this place in all of its “glory” and by glory, I mean its decrepit, run-down, borderline forced eviction status back when Lou was alive. My father worked for a charity that delivered Christmas hampers to people and Lou was the last stop on our drive. I cowered in the car as Dad took him the food. When he returned, I asked him why he gave him any. I was a bit angry. Didn’t everyone know what kind of monster Lou was?

  Dad said, “Lou isn’t a monster, but he fights them. When you get older, you’ll understand that monsters aren’t scary creatures in the closet, they’re demons we fight from our past. Some people win the battle and some are consumed.” He set his jaw and we drove home in silence as I thought over his words.

  “Want a beer?” Connor interrupts my thoughts and I spring back into the present.

  “No!” The word forcefully blurts out of my mouth like a sharp slap on the wrist of a child who was only looking at a cookie.

  I turn away, my cheeks blazing at my overreaction and try to fight my instinct to rub my hand over my belly.

  Searching the room for a distraction, my eyes fall on his books haphazardly strewn on the shelves of his bookcase. I glaze over the titles I’d expect Connor to be interested in, American Psycho, Revolutionary Road, stopping to stare at the odd book out. It reminds me of that old Sesame Street tune, “One of these things is not like the others. One of these things just doesn't belong. Can you tell which thing is not like the others, by the time I finish my song?”
>
  “Charlotte’s Web?” I look over my shoulder with a cocked eyebrow and don’t wait for an explanation before I cross the room and pluck the curious selection from the shelf.

  “It was a gift. More of a joke, really,” Connor grabs his beer and lets the fridge door slam shut, following me across the room. I flip open the cover and admire the beautifully handwritten inscription:

  Connor,

  Just remember, you can be the most “Terrific” pig in the world, but at the end of the day, you’re still just a pig.

  Cynthia

  “Who’s Cynthia?” I snap the cover closed as jealousy burns over the back of my neck.

  “No one,” he laughs, but the noise dries in his throat when he meets my eyes. “Well, not ‘no one,’ but not what you’re thinking. She was a military clerk I knew. She always called me a pig, but I figured she had the hots for me. So, when she gave me a Christmas present I was sure she was finally admitting her feelings, but, as you can see,” he sweeps his hand to the book in my grasp, “that wasn’t the case. I thought it was funny, so I kept it,” he shrugs.

  My tense shoulders slump with relief as I put the book back down. Why am I feeling so worked up anyway? It’s not like Connor is mine. And even if he was, he had a life before me. That’s not exactly a surprise. Even when I was a little girl, I noticed how he had a different piece of flaky arm candy dangling from him every week.

  A leopard doesn’t change his spots, my brother’s voice echoes in my mind.

  I clear my throat, “I didn’t take you for the sentimental type, I guess.” I finally let myself look into his eyes and am suddenly lost in a jungle of green.