For Eric's Sake

by Carolyn Thornton

  Brandy picked Eric up from school, collected some of his favorite playthings—a coloring book, a brand new box of crayons and a cigar box full of miniature dinosaurs—and drove over to Shaw's apartment.

  "Whose house is this, Brandy?" Eric asked as he stood awed by the wide windows and sweeping view of the Atlanta skyline. Sunlight streamed in to the room full of luxurious furniture. There was not a magazine out of place on the low end tables, and not a cushion unfluffed on the huge sectional sofa that dominated the room. In the cases lining the wall, the books stood perfectly aligned next to a collection of knickknacks that were fortunately out of Eric's reach.

  "It belongs to Mr. Janus," she whispered, afraid Shaw might emerge from the next room any moment and find them trespassing. The deep pile carpet was so soft beneath her feet that it revealed every step she took across the space.

  "Who's he?" Eric whispered back, clutching his coloring book as if it were a security blanket.

  "He's a very nice man," she said, hoping that would prove to be true. "He might let us live with him for awhile if we're very nice to him."

  "But I don't want to live with him," Eric pleaded. "I want to live with you."

  "Darling, I want that too." Brandy smiled, bending down to his level and hugging him, coloring book and all. "But I can't stay with you unless someone like Mr. Janus will let us live here together. Do you understand?"

  He shook his head up and down, but was clearly confused. She wondered how to explain the legalities of a situation to the child when she couldn't make sense of them herself.

  "If Mr. Janus won't let us live with him, then you'll have to live with Aunt May and Uncle Louis."

  "But I don't like them," Eric cried.

  "I know, honey, but they like you. And they have lots of children for you to play with," Brandy explained patiently.

  "I want to play with you."

  "I know, sweetheart, and I want that too. But I can't stay with you by myself. I can only stay with you if someone like Mr. Janus will let us live with him."

  "Then make him let us live here," Eric said.

  Brandy chuckled at his simplicity. If only she could make Shaw understand their plight so easily. "I can't make him do that," she frowned, trying not to promise something she wasn't certain of herself. "I can only try to make him like us, and you must be very good to him so that he will like us and want us to stay with him."

  "But I don't like him," Eric muttered.

  "Sweetheart," she laughed, "you haven't even met him. He's a very nice man, I promise."

  Eric looked so frightened and alone, even within the circle of her arms. She wanted to hold him closer and convince him they would always be together, but she knew she shouldn't. Their fate lay in Shaw Janus's hands. She couldn't resist Eric's frightened look; she hoped Shaw wouldn't be able to either.

  It was close to seven o'clock when Brandy heard Shaw at the door. She had gone earlier to pick up Chinese food for dinner, hoping that Shaw liked it, and she had kept the dishes warming in the oven for over an hour. Eric had eaten earlier and was lying, chin in hands, in front of Shaw's wide-screen television set.

  Even though she had been listening for him since five o'clock thinking he might get away early and hurry home to talk things out with her, Brandy's body jolted in panic when she heard the doorbell. It had to be Shaw, since she had the key to the apartment. How could she persuade him she needed his help? How could she hide her fear of losing Eric?

  "Turn off the TV," she said to Eric who had looked up at her at the sound of the bell, "and go see who's there."

  "Do I have to?" he whined.

  "Please, Eric," her eyes pleaded, "and be very polite, okay?"

  Even Eric could not resist Brandy's look. "Okay," he said, as he stood up, dusted off his pants as he had seen grownups do, and marched to the front door.

  Brandy held her breath and leaned back against the cushions of the couch, positioned so that she could see Shaw's reaction as Eric opened the door.

  He looked no more pleasant than he had when he left Brandy that morning. In fact, he seemed angrier. A scowl creased his brows, then disappeared as he realized someone much, much shorter than the woman he had expected was standing in front of him, only as tall as his knees. Shaw frowned, stepped back, then registered surprise as Eric greeted him as if it were Eric's home rather than his own.

  "Hello, sir. My name's Eric. Do you want to see Brandy?"

  Shaw stared down at Eric.

  "What's your name?" said Eric, still holding the door politely, yet not inviting Shaw in.

  "Shaw," he grumbled, "and yes, I do want to see Brandy." He looked into the room then, and nearly stabbed her with his eyes. "May I come in?" he addressed her.

  "Invite Mr. Janus in, Eric."

  "Please come in, sir." Eric opened the door wider with a great flourish, then waited until Shaw entered before closing it behind him.

  Brandy stood, silently praying her knees wouldn't buckle beneath her. She had to give the impression of being strong, even though she didn't feel it. "I thought you'd be here earlier." She forced a smile, and ruffled Eric's hair as he came to stand beside her.

  "I was busy," he snapped.

  "Of course," she said demurely, thinking she knew what sort of activities usually kept him so busy.

  "And I can't exactly say I was looking forward to coming home tonight," he added.

  "No." She glanced swiftly up at him before returning her attention to Eric's mussed hair. "I can certainly understand how you feel."

  "Can you now?" His eyes challenged her to meet him directly.

  She mustered a bright smile. "Are you hungry?"

  "Hungry?" he shrieked. Then he whispered somewhat more civilly as Eric looked up quickly at his exclamation. "Food is the furthest thing from my mind right now. We have some business to discuss, which I hope we can manage alone."

  "I didn't think you'd get a chance to eat," she said, avoiding his eyes and his presence by stepping toward the kitchen, as far as possible away from him, "so I have a meal. It's always better to discuss things after you've had something nourishing."

  "I do own a restaurant, you know. You shouldn't have gone to any trouble." He smiled, for Eric's benefit.

  "Oh, it was no trouble," she hastened to assure him, going into the kitchen to escape him as well as to check that the food was not sticking to the pots or burning to a crisp.

  Eric followed her, with Shaw right behind him.

  "It's Chinese." Brandy unnecessarily stirred one of the concoctions. "Do you like Chinese?"

  "Never touch the stuff."

  "Why not?" She peeked into the oven and turned off the dials.

  "I'm a meat and potatoes man, but there's no reason you should know that, nor any reason to concern yourself with that knowledge in the future," he asserted.

  "I bet you've never eaten Chinese food," Brandy said, turning a sob into a laugh. So far he held all the cards and he was not dealing any to her.

  "Never wanted to," Shaw said curtly.

  "Oh, then let me fix a plate for you," she offered, "just to taste. You might find you'll really like it. I bought a variety."

  Shaw leaned back against the doorjamb, crossed his arms over his broad chest and smiled. "Don't tell me you didn't cook all of this yourself? I'm disappointed."

  "Don't be. I can cook, if that's what you're implying. But I thought this would be easier tonight since, as you said, we have so much to discuss."

  Shaw looked from her to Eric, and back again. Eric just stared at him. "Did you bring any toys with you?" Shaw asked him.

  "Yes, sir," Eric whispered, stepping back to clutch Brandy's pants' leg.

  His quivering lower lip warned Brandy that tears were near. She knelt down beside Eric and gave him a big hug. If only there were someone to reach out and give me some courage with a hug, she thought.

  "Why don't you go back into the living room and finish watching that show on TV? And you know what?" she prompted.

  "Wh
at?" His eyes were nearly puddles of tears.

  "Your favorite show comes on tonight."

  "Which one?"

  Brandy laughed. It hurt so much to love him. "The funny one with the animals," she said giggling.

  "Really?"

  "Promise." She nodded.

  A quivering smile reached his lips as she held him away from her. "Now go on. I'll be right in here, and if you get hungry later, maybe we'll get some ice cream and cookies. Okay?"

  He nodded solemnly, kissed her cheek and threw his arms around her neck. "I love you, Brandy."

  "Oh, I love you too," she said and hugged him tightly. Please let me keep Eric, she silently prayed, then pushed him gently in the direction of the living room.

  "Very touching," Shaw said when Eric was out of earshot.

  Brandy stirred the Chinese vegetables vigorously, hoping the sound of the spoon scraping the pot would hide her sniffling. "Why?" she rounded on him, "be-cause I love him? Because it's genuine, and not some delusion of caring simply for what you can get without giving of yourself? He's all I have, Shaw."

  He seemed prepared with a retort, then thought better of it. "This has been quite a little show you've put on for me." He advanced into the kitchen, overseeing the collection of pots and pans on the stove, and the table set for two with bright napkins and gleaming cutlery. "The happy homemaker: a meal waiting on the table, a warm body busy at the stove and a child to make the family unit complete."

  "It's not like that at all," she protested.

  "Isn't it?"

  "I was just trying to make things easier for you."

  "After you've made them so difficult by sewing up my life in a neat little package? Instant wife and child without my consent," he countered.

  "I had your consent."

  "Not consciously." He glared at her.

  "I'm trying to make you understand—"

  "Don't," he cut her off. "You understand me for a change. I don't want a wife. I don't want a child, especially not someone else's. And I definitely do not want marriage, not even to someone as beautiful as you. I do not like package deals."

  "But I—"

  "Yes?" He waited patiently, without moving, and so quietly they could both hear the clock on the wall ticking.

  "I need you, Shaw," she admitted.

  He continued to stare at her for a very long moment. This time it was he who looked away first.

  Brandy stood, shoulders drooping, at the stove. For her it was as simple as that. She needed him. She couldn't push him any more than she had already; he was the one to control the situation. She could talk until she was blue in the face, but he probably did not want to be reasoned with. She could beg and plead and scream, but it would do no good unless he was at least receptive to her problems. She had already accomplished the ultimate: trapping him in a marriage of her making. Now, if she remained here, it had to be at Shaw's invitation. He had every right to remove Brandy and Eric from his life.

  The last few weeks flashed through her mind—all the efforts to keep Eric, all the frantic worry of finding a husband in a town where she barely knew any men. She had acted quickly in seeking support from a relative stranger, but at the time it had made sense and seemed the only solution. Maybe it hadn't been the right thing to do after all. Maybe she should just give up and let Louis and May take him.

  "I am sorry," she swallowed, "for trying to manipulate you."

  "What?" Shaw looked up at the sound of her mumbling.

  "I apologize," she cleared her throat and spoke louder, "for involving you, Shaw. I guess I saw myself as some sort of savior for Eric, and it was wrong of me to play with your life. I don't think I really considered your feelings. I simply manufactured your reactions to follow my way of thinking. You have every right to be disgusted with me, and to resent everything I've engineered." She clutched the counter top behind her. "I had no business trying to control your life. I do badly enough with my own."

  She couldn't look at him. She was afraid to see his wrath. "I won't fight you. I don't know how. I know someone who can undo this marriage probably a lot faster than it took to put it together."

  Still he didn't respond, and she looked at him, eyes shining, and whispered, "I'm sorry."

  The anger was gone from his face, as was all other emotion. He seemed puzzled, his eyes searching as he admitted, "I have to say I'm impressed."

  "Please don't be sarcastic." She put her hands to her face, letting her hair fall forward to hide her tears. "I meant what I said just now. It's not some kind of ploy to gain your sympathy. I don't know you well enough to know how to appeal to you."

  "I wasn't being sarcastic." He pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. "I am impressed. Impressed that you had the courage or determination or whatever to get me to marry you. Maybe you don't realize what an impossible feat that was."

  Brandy took a deep breath, willing the tears to stop dripping from her eyes.

  "Come sit down," he invited, "and we'll talk sensibly. Maybe I can help."

  Warily, she approached the table and sank into the chair he had pulled out for her. She sniffed loudly. She wiped her hands across her cheeks to smear the tears away.

  "You know, you're beautiful," he said, mesmerized by her simplest action, "even when you're crying." Realizing from the blush on her face what he had said, he coughed, wiggled in his chair, and got down to business. "I checked it out."

  "Checked what out?"

  "This marriage, and it is real, like it or not."

  "I told you that this morning," she whispered, idly tracing a swirl in the woodgrain tabletop.

  "You have to realize you gave me a rude awakening this morning with the news that I had actually married somebody. It wouldn't have mattered who it was. The fact of marriage just isn't the easiest thing for me to swallow."

  "Yes, I do realize that now, and it was wrong of me to involve you."

  He reached out and touched a strand of her dark, curling hair. "You did it for the best of reasons. I see that now."

  "But I had no right—"

  "No, you didn't. But I can't blame you for it totally. I mean, I must have cooperated to some extent, even if I don't remember doing it."

  "You did," she whispered. "No one said the words for you. It wasn't a marriage by proxy."

  "Well, there then." He smiled and shook his head. "Then I asked for it." He raised his eyes questioning, "Why did I ask for it? Oh, never mind." He looked back at her. "The fact is we are married, for better or worse. Now we need to decide what to do about it."

  "We'll get an annulment, of course. It's the easiest way out for you."

  "But not for you."

  Brandy looked at him, surprised at the sincerity in his eyes. She shook her head.

  "What is it that you're actually asking of me?" Shaw prompted. "Come on," he coaxed when she continued to trace the woodgrain lines. "If I understand exactly what you need, maybe I can help in some way. You did want my help, didn't you?"

  She nodded. "But you can't help unless you're my husband. I'm underage, you see, and the courts don't want to put Eric in my custody. I don't represent the stable home environment he needs. I work. I'm a model. I can't be home when he gets in from school. I can't be a mother to him they say, much less a father. They think since I'm single and supposed to be always concerned with dating, that I won't be home for Eric in the evenings, either. And financially, well, I'm not making that much now, and I guess that part frightens me most, because I can barely support myself. But one day soon, I just feel it, I'm going to be Atlanta's top model. Then, maybe I'll even go to New York."

  His eyes looked fierce when she glanced at him, like a cat ready to pounce, she thought, and she noticed that his eyes were green.

  "I'm beginning to get the picture," he said, "but why me? Wasn't there anyone else you could have married? A boyfriend? Someone you might have known from school?"

  Brandy shook her head. "I haven't made many friends since I moved to Atlanta. I've been too bus
y trying to work, and the men I meet are either married or utter creeps. I always have to fight them off—"

  "Fight them off? What do you mean?" he asked sharply.

  "I'm exaggerating, I guess. It's only happened once or twice."

  He frowned and his voice became gruff. "Explain."

  "Well, I was modeling this practically sheer teddy one day and the photographer—"

  "Ugh," he groaned. "Don't tell me any more. I can guess. Well, you asked for it, you know."

  "I did not!" she wailed. "My agent sent me over there. He doesn't get many calls for short girls like me, so I have to take every job he sends me if I want to eat. And I was just trying to do my job. I wasn't trying to… to…"

  He looked at her, shaking his head. "Spare me. Well, what about someone from back home? Where do you come from?"

  "Bainbridge. It's a little town."

  "I know what it is. Weren't there any available men there you could have married?"

  "I wasn't very popular in school, and I didn't know many boys." It wouldn't serve any purpose to explain how sheltered her upbringing had been, how she'd had only one date during all of high school. His eyes said he found her words hard enough to believe.

  "If I'd been in that school, you would have been my private property and I'd be fighting to keep the wolves away from you."

  "It wasn't like that at all," she explained, "I was very shy. And I was too busy trying to finish school a year early so that I could move away. I hated living there. You see, I lived with Louis and May, so I know what it's like. And I don't want that for Eric."

  Shaw slid his chair back and stretched his long legs in front of him. "I'm beginning to see."

  "So what happens now?"

  Shaw shrugged. "I need to think."

  She nodded, rearranging the place setting she had meticulously set for their meal. "Are you hungry? We could be eating while you're thinking."

  He shrugged again and she took that as a sign to ladle out the food. Anything to keep busy, to stop her mind for a few moments. Brandy picked up the two plates and carried them to the stove, unaware that Shaw was watching every move she made.