by K Larsen
“You said my brain would explode.” Annabelle tugged on a strand of hair, exasperated.
“And it will. Don’t rush it, Sport. It will lose its luster if you do,” Jezebel tsked.
“You keep saying that but I swear, nothing life-altering has happened yet. Can’t we skip to the exciting part?” she returned dryly.
“It would be a tragedy to end this too early. The timing must be perfect.” Jezebel fingered the chain of the necklace she wore. Annabelle slapped her palm to her forehead and groaned. “Nothing was ever solved by being dramatic, kiddo.” Jezebel chuckled.
“Says you.” She rolled her eyes and slumped her shoulders.
“Yes, says me. Drama belongs in the theatre.”
Annabelle huffed out a sigh and checked the clock that hung across from the bed. “I have to get going. This week is going to blow,” she grumbled.
“Annabelle, you need someone who will be there for you when you fall apart. Guiding your direction when you’re too blind to see the way.”
“That’s why I have you, Jez,” she returned.
Jezebel sat up and rolled her shoulders. She looked tense. “It can’t be me. Sometimes writing can do that. Do you keep a journal?”
“Not since I was little.” Annabelle wrinkled her nose at the thought.
“Write then. Write your week away.”
“Maybe.” Annabelle shrugged, stood and stretched. “Til next week, Jezzie.”
“Adios, cherie.”
~***~
Annabelle was bored and restless. Her mother was at the country club and her father was hiding in the house somewhere. She’d finished her homework, messaged Madison for a while before her laptop time was up and rearranged her closet—twice.
Taking a note from Jezebel she dug out her old diary and started to write.
Dear Diary,
Hey, it’s Belle, back from sixth grade.
I know the last time I wrote I was crushing hard on Danny and wondering when I’d get my period and boobs but hey, I’m back. And by the way, thanks for filling me on how NOT awesome periods are.
She felt lame trying to write in a diary again so she tried a different approach. She wrote a letter to her brother.
Brant,
I’m not irritable today. I feel something else. Like change is in the air. Somewhere just out of my grasp, but still near enough that I can sense it. I think Jezebel gives me that feeling. You’d like her.
They say everything happens for a reason. Slamming doors are the only sound now, Brant. You didn’t die for a reason because the only reason I can see, all these miserable years later, is to break us. To break the ones you left behind. And you wouldn’t do that.
I want you here to fix this mess. To fix the never-ending rain that douses us, cold and raw. Am I wrong for saying that I’d choose another way if I could? This road you’ve abandoned us on is worn down to just cracks and chunks of the asphalt that used to make a perfectly smooth street. Am I wrong for trying to reach the things that I can’t see? They used to exist. They must still be there somewhere.
You were cool and sweet like ice cream. You made us all orbit around you. You and your stupid spirit and big heart. But now what Brant . . . NOW WHAT?
I dreamed last night. I laid your ashes to rest but when I looked down, I had blood on my sleeve. I hate when I dream of you. You pick and pick and pick at my scabs, keeping the wounds forever open. The damage was done though; you’re gone and I’m here, stuck with them.
How could they be one way, simply because you were here, and so different now that you’re gone? I have never left. I am still here. Sitting at the table with them, eating Mom’s terrible food. I am still right in front of them, except without you none of us exist. I hate you for it. I hate you so much sometimes. I hate that I feel guilty for hating you because really, I love you so much it hurts.
Jezebel told me you can’t have love without hate. She’s cryptically smart.
“You need someone who will be there for you when you fall apart. Guiding your direction when you’re too blind to see the way.”—Jezebel
Peace out bro,
Belle
She felt a bit lighter after writing. She didn’t go back and read her words. She didn’t edit. She simply ended her letter, slammed the journal shut and sat cross-legged on her bed breathing deeply until her emotions felt stable.
~***~
Brant,
I don’t want to be filled with sorrow and grief anymore. I want to be free. I’m going to be free. I’m going to tell you I miss you—right now—and move forward. I’m going to learn who I am.
Who I am without you.
Who I am without Mom and Dad.
Just who I would have grown up to be if things were different.
Later, Belle.
Annabelle breezed through the entrance at Glenview and damn near tripped over her own two feet when she saw him. Standing just inside the reception area was quite possibly the most gorgeous guy she had ever seen. Dark hair flipped up at his collar and around his ears. His eyes were two piercing blue sapphires. Her heart stuttered and skipped and a knot formed in her throat. She swallowed past it, dropped her eyes to the ground and willed her feet to move: left, right, left.
“Hola,” Jezebel chirped.
Annabelle cut her eyes to Jezebel’s and cocked an eyebrow up. “What’s with the Spanish lately?” Jezebel shrugged but said nothing. “Um, so . . . are there any, ah, new employees here?” she hedged.
“Oh, you saw Mark.” Jezebel chuckled. “Dark hair, the prettiest blue eyes, tall.” Annabelle swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
“He’ll be by in a bit.”
“What?” she squawked.
“He is just a person you know, he holds no super powers.” Jezebel chuckled.
“Whatever. He . . . oh, never mind.”
“Do not never-mind me.” Jezebel wagged a hand through the air. “Spit it out.”
“I got all . . . weird when I saw him,” she admitted.
“Did your pulse pick up?” Annabelle nodded. “Did you instantly feel hot?” She nodded again. “How about breathing—were you able to?” Annabelle shook her head no. “Oh boy. Hormones, honey—you’ve got a bad case of them.”
“Gee thanks for that helpful insight,” she delivered with a hefty dose of snark.
“You’re very welcome,” Jezebel deadpanned. Annabelle snorted and sank into her usual spot. She dropped her bag between the two of them and curled her legs under her.
“Jezebel! My best girl, how’s it going today?”
Annabelle jumped at least six inches in her seat and spun her head around toward the deep baritone voice behind her.
“Mark,” Jezebel batted her lashes, “you’re too sweet,” Jezebel complimented as Mark strode up to her and planted a kiss on her cheek.
Turning to her, Mark said, “Hey, who’s this?”
“Annabelle. She visits me every week, on Tuesdays,” Jezebel informed. A wicked glint shone in her eyes and Annabelle wanted to slap her upside the head to knock the look right off her face.
Mark smiled.
“Nice to meet you.” His large hand shot out toward her. She took the proffered hand robotically and stared at where their bodies joined as a slight buzz travelled up her arm. He squeezed gently and moved their hands up and down while she watched.
“Yup.”
Yup? YUP!? Annabelle wanted to crawl into a hole, curl up and never come out. Ever.
Mark chuckled. “Well, alright ladies, if you need anything just holler.”
“Absolutely stud,” Jezebel shouted after him. Annabelle mewled and pulled the neck of her shirt up over her eyes, mortified.
Jezebel snorted. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about getting weird.” Annabelle scowled at Jezebel and felt her face tint red.
“Can we just, I don’t know . . . dive into the story?”
“After that fiasco! No way. Fess up kiddo. You’re smitten.”
“Obviously.” Sarca
sm laced her voice.
“It helps if you form words, and look someone in the eye, if you want them to notice you.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said and ground her teeth.
“Of course it matters!” Jezebel boomed.
“No, it doesn’t when you’re grounded and have no way to communicate outside of one day a week.” she elaborated, adjusting herself in the chair.
Jezebel frowned and nodded. “I see your point. But there’s nothing wrong with building up slowly to something. You never know how things can turn out.”
Annabelle rolled her shoulders and tilted her head side to side. “I won’t rule anything out. Now can we have story time?”
“Fine, brat. Paris, nineteen eighty-nine.”
Chapter 20
Celeste
Paris 1989
Celeste looked only at Gabriel’s face, but still she felt exposed by his penetrating gaze, torn open. The chapel was crowded as her husband undressed her with his eyes. She knew her chest and cheeks were tinged red at his lingering stare but she couldn’t do anything about it. She resolved that having a husband who could still make you blush was a good thing. She focused her attention back to the gorgeous woman in white next to her.
Mara was stunning. She radiated a calm contentment that Celeste didn’t think her friend would ever find just five years ago. Charles stood facing Mara wearing a shit-eating grin. Celeste was happy that they’d found each other. He was a good man and Mara was her best friend. Happiness bloomed in her heart for them.
Vows were exchanged. Rings were placed on fingers and the groom swept the bride up into his arms and claimed her with a kiss. White hydrangea littered the reception hall. Mixed with the lights, music and people it was the perfect backdrop for Mara’s big day. Matteo crossed the room in a tux, looking extra handsome. A beautiful redhead hung on his arm.
“Fiore mio,” he greeted using his nickname for her. Celeste beamed and kissed his cheek. “Where’s the husband?”
“Grabbing drinks. Are you going to introduce me?” she prodded.
“Celeste, this is Aria. Aria, Celeste.”
She took the redhead’s hand and gave her a warm smile. She was excited to meet anyone Matteo deemed worthy of bringing as a date. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Aria said curtly.
“All decent I hope,” Celeste laughed.
Gabriel appeared at Celeste’s side then, champagne in hand. “Love, this is Aria, Matteo’s date. Aria, my husband Gabriel,” she introduced.
Gabriel clapped Matteo on the back, as men did, murmuring something about how nice it was to see him, and then took Aria’s hand in his and kissed the back of it. “Lovely to meet you Aria.”
Celeste chuckled at her husband’s chivalry. It was in earnest but she also found it adorably amusing. Matteo saw the star-struck look on Aria’s face and grumbled at Gabriel. “How do you get used to it?”
“I’ve found that flattery is a cheap distraction from truth,” Gabriel answered. They all shared a good laugh as Mara finally found the time to stop by and chat with them.
“I’m so happy for you!” Celeste squealed pulling her friend into a tight hug. Matteo wrapped his arms around them both, sealing the three of them in an embrace. “Me too, Mara. You look stunning.”
Mara sniffled and wiped happy tears from her eyes. “Psst. Can I borrow you two for a minute in private?” she asked. She and Matteo both nodded as Mara grabbed each of their hands and tugged to get them following her.
Just outside the chaos of the reception Mara stopped and turned to face them.
“I’m pregnant!” Mara squealed.
Matteo’s brows shot up to the top of his forehead and Celeste gasped in shock.
“And before you two jerks say anything,” Mara said, eyeing them, “no. That’s not why we got married. I just found out last night and—don’t hate me Celeste, but I wanted to wait and tell you together!”
Matteo shook his head and laughed his congratulations to her. Celeste tugged Mara into an epic hug and told her how happy she was for her. And, despite the small pang of jealousy that bumped against her heart, she was happy for her friend.
“Hey! Three musketeers, the groom is looking for his bride,” Gabriel shouted toward them.
“No one else knows besides Charles, so mum’s the word, okay?” Mara whispered, then pretended to zip her lips and toss away the key. They both nodded.
The reception was the most fun Celeste had had in years. They danced, they drank, they danced some more, they re-lived old stories and ate too much while doing it. As they headed upstairs at the end of the evening Gabriel swept her up into his arms and planted tender kisses where her shoulder and neck met. She laughed as goosebumps broke out across her skin.
Inside their hotel room, Gabriel stripped her as bare as his eyes had made her feel earlier in the day and cherished each and every centimeter of her skin. As they lay together tangled in a knot, she thought about Mara’s news.
“Mara’s pregnant,” she blurted into the silence surrounding their breathing.
“Is that . . .”
“No, she only found out last night,” Celeste explained, knowing his question.
Gabriel twisted her in his arms to face him. “We could try, you know. Look into options . . . there has to be one.”
Snippets of a hundred ‘what ifs’ ran through her mind. She shot them all down. She expelled a heavy breath that felt like it carried the weight of the universe. “Gabriel,” she fought, trying to find the right words, “there is no treatment that will magically allow me to carry a baby.”
He huffed and stared at her hard. Disappointment etched in the lines of his face. She started to speak but he stopped her. “Drop it, Celeste.” His words were cold and raw. She blinked back tears and nuzzled her face into his neck while she whispered that she was sorry. She would have to be patient with him and he would have to, ultimately, be strong. As she lay there wishing her truth was different she tried to keep in mind that no marriage was perfect. No person was perfect. They would conquer this hurdle together. They had to.
Chapter 21
Annabelle
“Oh, it’s dangerous, It’s so out of line, To try and turn back time.”
~ Hurt, Christina Aguilera
At six, Annabelle noticed the time. She had completely zoned out to the story today. She jumped up from the chair and scurried to the bathroom to relieve herself before heading home.
Emerging from the bathroom she apologized to Jezebel. “Sorry to run, Jez, but . . .”
“You’re going to be late.” Jezebel nodded in understanding and Annabelle scooped up her bag and made a beeline for the front doors. She had ten minutes to get to the bus stop and catch her bus home.
“Hey! Wait!” Annabelle stopped her feet and skidded to a halt. She turned and found herself chest to chest with a breathless Mark. “Uh, Jezebel said you forgot this.” He held out her wallet.
Baffled, she unzipped the outermost pocket of her backpack to check. Her wallet was missing. But she hadn’t touched her bag the entire visit. Brows furrowed, she looked up to Mark.
“Weird. Thanks,” she mumbled, taking the wallet from him.
“So, Jez says you visit her every week. That’s real sweet. Is she family?”
“No,” she answered. Confusion swept over his face and she knew what he’d ask next. Embarrassed about the circumstances for her being at Glenview, Annabelle preferred to avoid that particular conversation with Mark.
“So, why do you come here then?” he asked, just as she figured he would. She waved her hand to stop him. “Can we just talk about something else?” He mulled that over, his eyes never leaving hers.
It was obvious he did not want to drop it, but he gave her an acknowledging shrug anyway. “What would you like to talk about instead?” There was a playful edge to his voice. Annabelle suddenly felt apprehensive. “I don’t know . . . actually . . .”
He cut in, “Alright, I’ll pick.” He seemed like the kind of g
uy who didn’t have a care in the world.
“Um,” she cut him off, “I really have to go. I can’t miss the bus. Sorry.” She gave a small wave as she turned to go.
His hand caught her arm, slid gently up to her neck and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. Her breathing halted. Her muscles froze. His expression was tight, like he was fighting for restraint. “Are you sure you have to go? I’m off in ten.” The gravelly sound of his voice almost convinced her to stay. Almost.
She pressed her lips tightly together and took a step back from him. “I’m sure. Uh, see you around.” She turned on her heel, bolted out the doors and ran the entire way to the bus stop. Another two seconds and she would have missed the bus. As it was, she could barely catch her breath from the impromptu sprint—or maybe it was because of Mark. She couldn’t be sure.
On the bus ride she took time to gather her thoughts. She had definitely not left that pocket on her bag unzipped and she had not taken her wallet out for anything while visiting. Jezebel set her up. It had to be when she used the bathroom before she left. That sneaky brat. Annabelle smiled to herself and watched the town blur by the window.
~***~
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
Mark.
His name seemed to play on an endless loop in her head. It was foolish and embarrassing but she couldn’t put him out of her mind. The feeling of his thumb grazing her cheek. The way his eyes sparkled. The way the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention from his touch.
Mark. When she dreamed.
Mark. When her teacher’s voice droned on and on.
Mark. When she was restless at home.
Mark. When she talked with Madison.
He filled up space inside her soul alongside the ever-present grief and sorrow, somehow making it, briefly and ever so subtly, more tolerable.
Brant,
I met a guy. His name is Mark. I know absolutely nothing about him. I think you’d tell me how ridiculous it is that I’m obsessed with him. I think you’d tell me that if he wants a shot at your baby sister he has to get by you, but I think you’d approve. I have no facts to base this off of, but I want you to approve.
