At Your Beck & Call

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “How was your day? Did you and Maggie have fun?”

  He patted the space next to him, and I snuggled into his side as he put his arm around me, drawing lazy circles on my skin with his fingers.

  “Maggie and I went to see your exhibition,” I began, slowly.

  His body tensed, but he continued to stroke my arm rhythmically.

  I thought he was going to ask me how it went or what she said or what I thought, but he didn’t. We sat there in silence until finally he found the words he wanted to say.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Burying my parents had been hard. Mom died just before Maggie was born; I was seven months pregnant and struggling with having an active four-year-old Joe running around. It had been a bad time, but Jack had helped. He’d been good at doing the practical, organizational things—emotional support … not so much.

  When Dad died ten years later, all the arrangements were left to me.

  It was painful, difficult—a draining experience. But there’s a certain inevitability to burying the people who raised you.

  Nothing had prepared me for burying a child. That wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. No one should have to do that. It didn’t help knowing that many considered a miscarriage at this early stage as nothing more than a minor medical malfunction, a blip on the sonogram. I’d even been told that I should feel reassured because it was ‘nature’s way of correcting an error’.

  I just hoped those people never had to suffer the way I was suffering—the way we were suffering.

  And I had no doubt that Hallen was in pain. I could see it in his face, the brittleness of his movements, the deeper silence into which he sank. He hadn’t had much practice in showing his feelings, but we could work on that. And although he didn’t seem to be able to talk about how this was affecting him, he never let me feel like I was going through it alone. The touch of his hand, his soft kisses against my shoulder or in my hair, a caress on the cheek—all when I least expected them and most needed them. Each was a small sign that he cared deeply.

  I stared out of the window. I hated the sun for shining. It’s not supposed to shine when your heart is full of ice. Bright light shouldn’t coat the world in color when gray is the only shade that makes sense.

  We went to say our goodbyes at a small chapel not far from where I lived. Hallen drove my car, while Maggie and Joe rode in the back. We hadn’t wanted a lot of people there—just family. But Eloise was waiting for us and swept me into a tight hug as soon as I stepped out of the car. Then she turned to Hallen, grasping both his hands in hers and speaking softly so I couldn’t hear what she said, her lips murmuring while his head hung down. When she released him, her eyes were glassy and wet, and I realized she was the person that Hallen considered his family.

  Maggie clung to me fiercely, quiet tears trickling from her eyes. Joe looked somber, his worried gaze pinned to me.

  The Reverend Molloy spoke calmly and gently, expressing his sorrow for our loss.

  The Reverend’s voice was soothing, comforting and final.

  “Let the children come to me, do not hinder them; for to such belongs the kingdom of God.”

  He said a few more words then asked if anyone else wanted to speak. I shook my head, unable to push a single syllable past the lump in my throat. But Hallen stood up and spoke softly, lovingly, his gaze fixed on the small box where our future lay soundlessly.

  “Gud, som haver barnen kar,

  Se till mig som liten ar.

  Vart jag mig i varl den rangder

  Star min lycka i Gud’s hander.

  God, who holds the children dear,

  Look to me, small as I am.

  Wherever the world will take me

  My luck is in God’s hands.”

  “Amen,” said the Reverend, but the word that I mouthed was, “Goodbye”.

  I leaned against Hallen and lost the last shred of control. I didn’t even realize that the others had left us alone while our tears mingled silently.

  I was exhausted when we arrived home, immediately going to lie down, my eyes sore and gritty, my body aching, the choked feeling refusing to go away.

  Despite my tiredness, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in a haze of guilt and pain, and wondered how to pick up the thin threads of my life.

  The others had gone to sit outside on the patio, and their low voices drifted upward like tolling bells.

  Maggie was running around getting drinks for everyone, and food that no one would eat. Eloise was talking quietly to Joe. I strained to hear Hallen’s voice, but he seemed to be lost in stillness and silence again.

  Eventually, it was Eloise who voiced the question I most wanted to ask.

  “What will you do now?”

  I knew she was talking to Hallen.

  There was a long pause before he answered.

  “I’d like to take Laura away as soon as she feels up to traveling. Help her recuperate. Start again. Somehow.”

  Maggie’s voice was defensive. “Take her where?”

  “I’ve been planning to travel to Europe—Florence and Paris, maybe London. My father was from Malmö in Sweden. I’ve never been, so … if Laura wants to come with me…”

  “She needs to be with her family,” cracked out Maggie.

  “It’s your mom’s choice,” Hallen replied, quietly. “But I think it would be good for her. Good for us.”

  “And if she doesn’t want to go?”

  “Then she doesn’t go—and I’ll stay here … with her. Maggie, your mom means a lot to me: I love her. And I want to be where she is for as long as she’ll have me.”

  Eloise’s voice joined in.

  “Right now Laura needs to rest. She’s physically and emotionally drained. We all are, but she’s recovering from surgery, as well. It’s too soon to ask her to make decisions about anything—even a vacation. Take one day at a time for now. That goes for you, too, dear heart.”

  Empty and tired as I was, hearing their love for me was a little piece of goodness, and it helped to hold back the darkness.

  Shortly after that, Eloise rose to leave. I heard Hallen escort her through the house, both talking quietly.

  Joe must have been waiting for that opportunity because as soon as they left, he had words for Maggie.

  “He’s trying to do the right thing, you know, sis. Having you jumping down his throat every time he speaks isn’t helping anyone.”

  “What? I don’t! I just don’t like the way he tells Mom what to do. I mean, they’ve hardly been together anytime at all, and he’s making all these decisions for her.”

  “You know that they were together for three months before they broke up?”

  “I don’t think it was that long.”

  “Trust me, Maggie, it was. Mom was happy—like singing in the rain happy. I can’t say I didn’t have my doubts about him, because I did. But you’ve seen how he has been these last few days. Hell, it couldn’t be any clearer if he’d paid a sky writer. He really cares about her. And you know what else? Better get used to the idea that he’s going to be around for a long time.”

  Maggie huffed quietly, then she said.

  “We went to see his exhibition last week.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Mom told me that he’d been an escort! And she said it like it’s no big deal!”

  “Maybe she doesn’t think it is.”

  “Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re saying that! I saw those horrible paintings—the one you said that was so great…”

  “Yeah? What did you think?”

  “What do I think? I think he’s been with all those women … like been with them! I mean, like … like a prostitute or something!”

  I shuddered, hearing the condemnation and disgust in her voice.

  “Yeah, probably,” Joe said, his voice quieter.

  “Is that all you can say?”

  There was a pause, and I strained to catch his words.

  “We’ve all done stuff that we’re not pro
ud of…”

  “But … but … it’s disgusting! I can’t believe you’re being so calm about it! Wait, how long have you known about him?”

  “A while. Dad told me.”

  “Dad knows? What did he say?”

  “He had Hallen investigated. He wasn’t happy, but … so, yeah, he knew.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Mags, he’s who Mom wants. It’s got nothing to do with us. And if you saw the exhibition, you know that he really cares about her, too.”

  “I admit he’s been really great this last week…”

  “Yeah, he has been great. Some guys would have just got the hell out. And you know, when I went to see him, to tell him about Mom … and everything … his suitcase was standing by the door. Hell, he could have been waiting for a cab when I went over for all I know. But as soon as I said Mom was sick, he wanted to come see her right away. He didn’t even stop to think about it.”

  “But … he’s nearer my age than hers! It’s just … wrong!”

  Joe gave an impatient, dismissive laugh. “Get over yourself, Maggie! Love doesn’t come in neat little boxes—it’s messy and disorganized and a pain in the ass. Get used to it.”

  “What about Dad?” she asked in a small voice, that ripped more pieces from my battered heart.

  “What about him? He’s married to Yasmine. They have a kid. Don’t be naïve—he cheated on Mom and I hate that. But it’s not our business. He’s happy—even you have to admit that—and Mom has the right to be happy, too. Just grow up.”

  “That is so unfair!” Maggie cried out softly, but Joe hadn’t finished.

  “And give Hallen a break. Because right now Mom is hanging on by a thread, and the only thing that’s keeping her together is the guy you’re doing your best to piss off.”

  I heard his chair scrape back and his rapid footsteps headed away toward the bottom of the garden.

  I hated hearing the kids arguing, especially when it was supposed to be a day about family and being together, but I was stunned to hear what Joe said about Hallen. He accepted our relationship, approved of it even. It was a revelation.

  Was I in danger of falling apart, hanging on by a thin thread of sanity? I imagined strings attached to my arms and legs like a puppet, and someone cutting them one by one. Cut, cut, cut, and I was just a heap on the floor.

  In the distance, I heard Eloise’s car gunning down the driveway as she left. A moment later, Hallen was back on the patio. He must have seen that Maggie was alone and tried to leave the way he’d come.

  “Hallen?”

  His footsteps faltered. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  There was a long pause before he replied, “For what?”

  “I’ve been a bitch to you. I didn’t mean to be … well, I did, but I … Joe really told me off. He said I should grow up and see that … and see that Dad was never coming back and that Mom had a right to be happy, too. He said that you could do that. Well, I guess … I’m sorry.”

  Another long pause.

  “Thank you, Maggie, that means a lot to me. I promise I’ll do everything I can to make your mom happy. And if I don’t … feel free to kick my ass. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  I heard the smile in her voice as she answered.

  Sex.

  Sex.SEX. sex. S.E.X. S-E-X. SEX sEx SExsEX SEX.

  It’s everywhere, right? Even food and cooking shows have ‘sexy recipes’. Even phone apps are sexy. Freakin’ garden furniture is advertised as sexy. Ugh. It’s everywhere.

  Just not in my house.

  The weeks following our service for Anika Rose gradually began to follow the pattern of a new normalcy.

  Maggie moved back to her own apartment, frequently scheduling lunch dates, and visiting occasionally. Joe called and texted and dropped by for dinner once or twice a week. My body was getting stronger, although I was still prone to sudden bouts of crying that were as irritating as they were draining. Hallen was my rock throughout it all. Except for one thing.

  Sex.

  Hallen woke up hard every morning. Every damn morning, I could feel it pressing into my ass. He’d move his hips against me and I’d be a hot, bubbling mess within seconds—half turned on and half afraid of how my post-surgery body would respond. I was desperate for something to happen, but I could tell the moment he was fully awake because he’d suddenly freeze then shift away from me, walking quietly to the bathroom, where I imagined he took care of himself.

  I fantasized about him stroking himself in my shower until he climaxed. I was jealous of my shower! Oh my God.

  It had been nine weeks since I left the hospital, and I was feeling fitter than ever. I swam with Hallen in the pool every day and rode with him to his gym where I worked out, following the careful instructions of Joanna, a wonderful personal trainer who was amazing at helping me regain muscle tone and develop stamina. I also got to watch Hallen lifting weights and building up a sweat out of the corner of my eye. I guess that’s what you call a win-win situation.

  I’d regained a reasonable level of fitness, but believing that I was someone Hallen could desire was taking a lot longer—especially with what seemed like his hands-off rule. My libido was doing somersaults, moving from disgust to desire to desperation several times throughout a single day. The scars on my abdomen continued to fade—thin, pink lines that seemed so small but their meaning so large. My doctor confirmed that I could resume sexual relations, but warned I could suffer from dryness, and recommended several brands of lubrication.

  That conversation alone put me off the idea for another week. I’m sure Mr. I-wrote-the-sex-manual Jansen could have come up with some ideas—if I could have faced asking him.

  Although I was able to drive again, we’d gotten into a habit where Hallen chauffeured me around. He didn’t seem to mind, and he didn’t make a big deal of it like Jack had.

  For the first few weeks after he’d quietly moved in, he wouldn’t let me out of his sight. Now, he was allowing me some alone time, and three or four afternoons a week he disappeared to his studio. I didn’t know what he was working on, but he seemed to come home calmer, if tired, his hands, clothes and even his hair covered in paint. He still hadn’t mentioned anything about his plan to take me away on vacation, but I was beginning to think it might be a good idea.

  In so many ways, our relationship was stronger than before, more equal—but he shied away from anything approaching a deeper level of physicality.

  Instead we cuddled—a lot. It was beginning to remind me of high school, because every time one of us initiated some serious kissing—and it was usually me—he’d pull back and say something about taking it easy. My fragile body-confidence was beginning to return, but it was hard to have a complete renaissance when Hallen refused to do anything more than hug me or kiss me on the cheek. We hadn’t even gotten to second base. For the last eight days, I’d been thinking about that a lot.

  Yes, I was nervous, ridiculously so considering—well, everything—and I guess that’s what Hallen was picking up on; but I was sexually frustrated, too. And I needed to feel like I was still a woman.

  After my gynecologist’s lecture, I’d read up about sex after menopause and sex after a hysterectomy, so I thought I’d learned enough of the pertinent facts; but that’s like the difference between watching a porn film to find out about sex, and actually experiencing it for yourself. And I admit, I’d done that, too—watched porn. Just some stuff I’d found on the internet. I decided I was going a little crazy when I kept trying to find movies where the guy looked like Hallen. I knew then that I had to make a move, because even though it was nine weeks since the surgery, and I’d had the all-clear from the doctor, it sure as hell didn’t look like Hallen was going to.

  At first, I wondered if he just didn’t find me desirable anymore, but I’d definitely, physically felt that he still wanted me during our brief make-out sessions. I was going to have to take the initiative, and that thought scared the h
ell out of me. Although not enough to stop me from stocking up on three types of lube: two that my doctor had recommended, as well as some glitter lube as an afterthought.

  Hallen was still treating me like I was made of glass. I wasn’t allowed to lift a dish or wash a plate when he was around. I loved it, but it annoyed the hell out of me, too. I’d have to figure out a way to show him that I wasn’t breakable.

  Except for one tiny problem.

  I had no idea how to seduce a man.

  Well, I had an idea, but I cringed at all the usual scenarios: wearing sexy underwear; dirty talking during movie night; dressing up in stockings and garter belt. Everything seemed kind of sleazy.

  I’d thought about assaulting him early one morning before he was fully awake, but he was so quick to leap out of bed that I wasn’t sure it would be the best time. The other problem was that I was so whacked by the end of the day, I was asleep and probably snoring before he came to bed in the evenings.

  I needed a plan.

  Of course, while I was trying to formulate said plan, the world kept on turning.

  I’d met Maggie for a girls’ lunch while Hallen was at his house, working in the studio. I didn’t usually disturb him when he was painting, but today, out of curiosity as well as a need to see him, I decided to make a surprise visit.

  Music was playing softly when I knocked on the front door, and it was almost a full minute before I heard Hallen’s impatient footsteps pounding down the wooden stairs.

  He yanked the door open, a scowl creasing his lovely face. It vanished as soon as he saw me.

  “Laura! What are you doing here?”

  He looked slightly off kilter, causing a nervous laugh to bubble out of me.

  “Surprise! Can I come in?”

  He glanced upstairs before he answered.

  “Uh, sure,” and pulled the door open wider so I could enter. “Do you want a coffee or a drink or…?”

  He was acting so odd that it made me uneasy.

  “Is something wrong?”