by R. K. Lilley
"I didn't know how. And I thought you'd reject me. Us. I was sure you never wanted to speak to me again."
"You know, you know, that if you'd come to me, that no matter what, I'd have helped. You know that if you'd come to me, pregnant with our child, I'd have helped."
God that hurt. And I couldn't deny it. Even I, the queen of denial, couldn't choke out the words.
We were in our bedroom for the conversation, and by then we were both huddled in opposite corners, crying our eyes out, and I, for one, was wondering how the hell we'd ever get through this.
Of the two of us, Dante was by far the forgiving one. If he couldn't forgive, how could I even begin to try?
But somehow we found a way. Dante made the first move, coming to me, picking me up, and carrying me to bed. We held each other as we wept until our tears ran dry, then set about trying to heal. It would be a long journey, but if we were committed enough, I knew we could do it.
We were committed enough.
"You need to meet them," I said eventually. "When you meet her parents, you'll understand. Or at least, it will help. They were there for everything. For me and for her. Her mother was the first to hold her, her father the second. It's not possible for them to love her more."
That had comforted him, but even so, nothing could have fully braced him for the shock of meeting our daughter for the first time.
The second Mercy had her fill of hugging me, she approached Dante. She didn't seem the least intimidated by the tall, solemn man that was staring at her with eyes that matched hers.
She held up her hand in a wave like he wasn't right in front of her. "Hi. I'm Mercy."
He lowered down to his haunches and tried very hard to smile for her. "I'm Dante."
"Are you Scarlett's friend?"
"Yes. Her very best friend. I'm going to be her husband. Would you like to come to our wedding?"
She beamed at him. "Can I dress like a princess?"
He nodded, still trying to smile. It was strained, but he got an A for effort.
I had to look away and cover my mouth to keep from sobbing aloud.
"You can," he said, the words unsteady. "If it's okay with your parents, we'd love for you to be the flower girl."
"Of course," Gina said, sounding less than steady herself.
Mercy was thrilled, and completely oblivious to our anguish. Also, she was an instant fan of Dante's. She'd always wanted to be a flower girl, she told him.
"What color do I get to wear?" she asked him, sidling closer.
"Whatever color you want," he said.
She clapped her hands. "Can I pick more than one color?"
"Of course. You can pick them all."
And just like that, they were buddies. She wanted to sit by him at dinner. She wanted him to cut up her meatballs into little tiny pieces and then her spaghetti.
They were fast friends. It was hard to watch but necessary.
We stayed much longer than I normally did, and I knew without having to ask that this would be the new pattern.
It was hours later, and Dante and I were sitting on the back porch swing, our hands clasped hard together, every finger entwined, hips glued like we were attached, watching Gina and Eugene dig through a large outdoor sandbox with Mercy.
"It's so strange that we can just visit her like this," Dante said, his eyes on the mother of our child.
"It is an open adoption."
"That's what you wanted," he stated.
"It's not," I contradicted. "It's what she wanted. She thought, and thinks, since it was an option, that when the question arises, I should not be a mystery. We should not be a mystery. They are fans of total honesty. They want to keep no secrets from their daughter."
"It seems harder this way. The idea of her and the reality . . . are two very different things."
"Yes. Harder indeed. As I've said, it's not what I wanted, but I didn't trust at the time, or even now, that what I wanted was what was best. I was wounded . . . am wounded, and I longed for the easy choice, but the fact is that there wasn't one. So I tried for the best choice, for her, her mother, and her mother I trusted to know what it was."
Gina taught me what angels were, and that maybe, just maybe, Gram was right about prayers, that no matter your sins, sometimes life sends you the answer you need.
Not the answer you want, perhaps, but need is the thing. The thing that matters most, no matter how it hurts.
EPILOGUE
SCARLETT
I dreaded going to visit my grandma, but I didn't put it off. Her time was limited, and I had enough regrets and guilt in my past that I'd learned not to add to it.
Everything had happened very fast. The Durant men had made their move, maneuvered the first chess piece, gone after Adelaide, and the rest of the moves had come fast and vicious.
Adelaide was arrested and charged for the murder of Vivian Durant. No bail was granted. It was a cold, cruel world when all of the Durant influence was suddenly being used against instead of for you. Her trial would be long and complicated, and no matter how it went, her reputation was forever in tatters.
It was going kind of beautifully. More stakes had been nailed into Adelaide's coffin within hours of her arrest. Three of her henchmen had been implicated and instantly turned on her. I ate up each piece of this news with absolute relish. Yum.
At nearly the same time, Glenda turned herself in preemptively, confessing her rehearsed speech. Her spiffy, Durant paid for attorney brought her in and coached her through every word. She was charged and booked.
Even her more expensive than God lawyer was surprised when she was granted bail.
It was for a million dollars, but that was small change in the world of Durant schemes.
All of this made it possible for me to visit her in her new and sumptuously appointed apartment.
She greeted me at the door solemnly and I don't think either of us knew what to do. We'd never hugged, so that didn't seem right, but it felt like we should do something.
We settled for nodding at each other and then she showed me around her new house.
"Nicest place I ever lived," she said. She sounded awful. Old and sick. She looked it too. "They even got a nurse checking in on me, helping me out every day. Never been treated like this before. Don't know what to do with myself, but mostly I just watch TV."
I'd figured as much. The TV was on even while she led me around, as though she never even thought to turn it off. "You should try out a show called Kink and Ink. Pure TV crack," I suggested.
She told me, looking dubious about it, that she would.
She made us tea, something I'd never even seen her drink, and we sat at her cute little dining room table and stared at each other.
"I don't know what to say," I told her. "I'm still not sure why you're doing this for me."
She stared at me, and while she did look awful, her gaze was more lucid than I'd ever seen it. Perhaps it was being terminal, but she seemed more human, more normal than I could ever remember.
"I owe you some words. I ain't good with words, but I'll try to explain myself. Bear with me."
I nodded because she seemed to expect it.
"I've been homely my whole life," she said. "You see me. Homely and awkward. All the pretty girls at school always loved to make fun of me. I was an easy mark. Mean enough but no good at articulating it.
"And then one day, when I was fifteen, the most beautiful boy in town, his name's Verne Hawn, set about seducing me. I fell for him in about a second flat, but two weeks after he got me on my back, I heard the real story. He did it on a dare. He made fifty bucks to sleep with the ugliest girl in school, and I got a broken heart and a baby out of it.
All my life pretty people been tormenting me, and all a' sudden, there I was raising one. She was a sassy little piece, too, always knew she was better than me. Then she runs off soon she can, leaving me with her own pretty baby. And I took it all out on you. It wasn't fair, and the only defense I got is that the horri
ble things I said to you, the ways I brought you down, in my own twisted way, a lot of it was just my way of trying to guide you, to keep you from being like me."
It didn't make it better. It didn't even make it okay. But it helped. At least now I had an explanation. At least now I knew that the way I'd been treated wasn't all me and my own defectiveness.
"And about that cop." She wasn't done talking. "I didn't know. I just didn't know. But at the very least I should have been the one to protect you. This is my way of making that right. That I didn't do my job."
And still she wasn't done. It was the most I'd ever heard her talk in my entire life.
"I been off the drink for a while now," she continued. "It helps. Well, on some days it helps. I ain't as bad as I was.
"I know what I am. I know what I did to you. I'm an unpleasant, bitter woman. No one understands this more than I do. I was a terrible mother, and my daughter hated me for it. That hate made me cruel, and I took much of it out on you. I didn't mean to, but that's no excuse. You don't want anything to do with me, and I don't blame you for that. I'm doing this because it's the right thing, and for once in my miserable life, I want to do the right thing. Please don't try to take that away from me. And please consider letting it make up for some of the harm I've caused you."
I had no clue what to say to that, but unbidden tears welled up in my eyes, and I'd never been so shocked as I was when I saw twin tears building up in hers.
"I have no right to ask anything of you, no right at all, but I just want you to know that if you ever wanted to visit me in these few months I have left . . . it would mean a lot to me. It doesn't have to be a long visit. I won't talk your ear off every time like I did just now. I just want to look at your beautiful face, to hear your voice and even . . . get a chance to tell you I love you a few more times."
"I can do that," I told her slowly. "I'd like that," I amended. It was strange, us being nice to each other, but I was certainly on board if she was. "And thank you for doing this."
"To be honest, I'm looking forward to the break. I'm sick of cleaning that rich bitch's house."
We laughed hard. I tried to recall if she'd ever made a joke before and couldn't come up with any. Still, it was a good start.
*****
"One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: That word is love."
~Sophocles
DANTE
Scarlett straightened my tie. "You're so decorative. Arm candy. I'd take you over any bag."
"Well, that's reassuring," I said wryly and she looked up and smiled.
I wanted to kiss her, head to toe, starting with her lush pink mouth, but I knew better than to screw up the makeup she'd just had painstakingly applied.
She properly interpreted the look I was giving her and made a little noise in her throat.
It didn't help.
She took a step back, biting her lip.
It was an effort, but I kept myself from going after her.
My phone dinged a text at me, and I checked it surreptitiously. And smiled.
Good. The night was going to be perfect.
The surprise hadn't been hard to finagle. The owner of the casino that housed the Kink and Ink tattoo parlor was an old family connection, generations deep. I'd even met the famous James Cavendish several times, and we got along quite well. We had lunch whenever we were in the same city, as a rule.
I'd passed the invitation to Frankie Abelli through James, and her response had come swiftly: a resounding yes.
She was a huge fan of Stuart Whently and only too happy to attend one of his movie premieres.
And Scarlett, being Frankie's biggest fangirl (she'd recently made me marathon watch the entire show with her) was going to lose her ever-loving mind. I couldn't wait.
She'd dressed with utmost care for tonight. She looked edible. Opulently beautiful. Completely flawless and abundantly ravishing. Sin draped in sheer lavender Givenchy.
This was her introduction to the world and she was about to knock 'em dead, and it was about goddamned time.
She was made for this.
She'd left her hair down, and I couldn't keep my hands off it for long. Nor my lips from her skin. I saved her makeup by focusing on her shoulders, her collar, her cleavage. There was way too much of her perfect flesh exposed, and I wasn't sure how I was going to make it through the evening without falling prey to her lavish charms.
"Stop it," she said, her tone telling me that she wanted the opposite. "You're such a tease. We have to leave in like five minutes."
"I can work with that," I told her sincerely.
She threw her head back and laughed.
It was flooring. Spectacular. I'd been through hell and back more than once just on the faith that I'd see it again someday. It was worth every second of suffering to be on this side of it, to see her smile every day, to hear that laugh.
I'd do it again if I had to. Every bit of it. For this.
"Come here," I told her gruffly.
She came, her eyes suspicious on me, but I just held her for a few drugging moments, lips at her hair.
Heart in her hands.
Soul joined with hers. In perpetuity.
We were in the back of a limo that the studio had sent, headed to the premiere when I said, "I have a surprise for you."
She shot me a saucy grin. "Is it oral?"
That surprised a belly laugh out of me. "Is oral on the table?"
"Only if you're doing it. You don't have any makeup to worry about."
I started shifting lower in my seat, all too ready to accommodate her, but she stopped me with a hand and giggle.
"I was kidding! You know I'm too nervous right now."
"I'm pretty sure an orgasm will help with that."
"You're incorrigible."
"Yes," I said, tone succinct. "Also, I'm very good with my tongue."
When I handed her out of the limo, she was only slightly mussed and much more relaxed.
She took to the red carpet like a natural. A queen taking her throne. A goddess.
Gram would have been so proud and not the least bit surprised. Just like me.
I was just as Scarlett had said—arm candy. An accessory for the evening. I was fine with that. It was refreshing and stress-free in comparison to my usual social functions. I didn't have to conduct any business, didn't have to do much aside from stand close to the love of my life and smile for the camera.
She really, sincerely disliked her co-star, and she made sure I stood next to him in several photos to illustrate how much taller I was.
I was game. Any enemy of Scarlett's was on my shit list, as ever.
"We heard you're engaged? When are you tying the knot?" was asked often, or some version of it.
"As soon as I can drag her to a courthouse," I'd say, or, "How late is Vegas open?"
These answers were always met with chuckles, but the truth was, I wasn't really joking.
"Your surprise is here," I murmured into her ear when I spotted Frankie Abelli approaching.
Scarlett's eyes twinkled mischievously up at mine. "I thought the killer limo oral was my surprise."
"As tempting and accurate as that is—my oral is killer," Frankie said directly behind her. "I'm taken by this spicy little Brazilian babe on my arm."
Scarlett turned, recognition lit her face, and she squealed in delight.
Totally worth it.
The women, all three of them, hit it off. How could they not, after that introduction?
I'm biased, of course, but the movie was brilliant. Scarlett stole every scene.
There were a few parts that I had a hard time watching. A bit more skin than I'd have liked to share with the world, a lot more touching than I wanted to see, but I bore it in silence and with good grace. It was my issue, not hers. This was her art, her craft, and I'd be damned before I'd be the ass that told her how to express it.
She'd always been one that took self-criticism to new extremes, but even she admitted th
at she was happy with her performance and with the movie as a whole.
When the lights came on, she was watching my face, a grin on hers.
There was a twist to her smile always, but just then, she was happy.
As was I.
"Scarlett Theroux," I told her with quiet reverence. "I will love you to the end of my days. There aren't a lot of guarantees in life, but that is one of them."
"I know, lover. I don't doubt it for a second. You've earned that."
*****
"They say marriages are made in heaven. But so is thunder and lightning."
~Clint Eastwood
SCARLETT
For months I'd waffled between wanting a huge wedding and saying to hell with it and just eloping.
But Dante had promised Mercy that she could be a flower girl, and I really, really liked dressing up, so we settled for small but lavish.
And most importantly of all. Quick.
We took a small entourage to an extravagant Durant property in southern Italy and threw one hell of a party.
I wore a champagne lace Givenchy number that made every other dress in the room have a small, intense orgasm as I passed by.
And red Louboutins, of course. Because shoe porn.
Leona was my maid of honor, Demi a bridesmaid.
They'd both been even more shocked than I had when they found out about Farrah. Shocked and disgusted.
The girls hadn't even had to kick her out. She'd disappeared one night amid the Adelaide fallout. None of us heard from her again. Good riddance.
Gina was my third and final bridesmaid. When I asked her to do it, she cried like I'd just granted her a wish. I still wonder all the time what I ever did to deserve such sweet, amazing people in my life.
Bastian was the best man, but his fiancée was not invited. Just no. Never. I was still waiting for her to die in a fire.
I live on hope.
