by Carys Jones
Aiden tightened his embrace around Brandy and she grumbled sleepily. He didn’t want to fall asleep himself, didn’t feel the need to dream as he was already within one.
The following day the sun still refused to shine over Chicago, leaving the city shaded grey by the thick layer of cloud overhead.
Aiden awoke on the sofa in Brandy’s apartment, but she was now longer resting upon his chest. He stretched and tried to undo the various knots which had formed in his muscles after sleeping so awkwardly.
As he tried to pull the sleep from his eyes and sharpen his tired senses, Aiden heard the sound of someone gently humming from across the apartment, accompanied by the sound of running water. Brandy was showering.
Aiden headed over to the sound and stopped at the bathroom door, politely knocking to alert her to his presence. But Brandy failed to hear him. Aiden knocked again, with more vigour, but still she didn’t respond so he felt he had no choice but to open the door, just a fraction, so she could hear him.
He eased open the door and a torrent of steam came gushing out. The wet heat of the shower pressed again his face as he leant forward and called her name.
‘Aiden!’ she shrieked in horror and the sound of running water immediately ceased. Seconds later Brandy appeared at the door, wrapped in a large white towel and looking upset. Her hair was still covered in soap suds as she had stopped short her shower.
‘Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything!’ Aiden couldn’t help but laugh at her reaction. Her modesty was endearing and rare in women her age. Most women, if they had her incredible figure, would be seeking any opportunity to flaunt it.
‘You could have knocked!’ Brandy berated him, shivering slightly within her towel as the compressed heat of the bathroom began to escape through the open door, getting dissolved by the vastness of the open plan apartment.
‘I did! Twice!’
‘Oh.’
‘You were singing,’ Aiden teased.
‘Oh,’ Brandy turned bright red and shifted uncomfortably within the towel.
‘I was just going to ask if you wanted anything for breakfast.’
‘Oh,’ Brandy cocked her head to the left, like a bird, and regarded him thoughtfully. ‘How about waffles?’ she suggested brightly, her usual sunny demeanour returning.
‘Waffles sound good, I can make those,’ Aiden nodded.
‘With syrup?’
‘Yes, of course with syrup.’
‘Okay, well, I need to get back in the shower as I’m freezing my hide off out here!’ She didn’t wait for him to respond, instead hurriedly returning to the bathroom and switching the shower back on, clearly eager to re-create her warm, steam-filled sauna effect.
Fifteen minutes later and, as Aiden dished out the freshly cooked waffles, Brandy again emerged from the bathroom, this time washed and dressed in a purple sweater with black leggings. Her hair, still damp, was tied casually in a plait.
‘Thanks, these look amazing,’ she noted as she sat down and immediately dug into her waffle.
‘No problem.’ Aiden took a sip from the coffee he had made himself and began to eat his own waffle. He realized that he hadn’t made breakfast in quite some time. Back at home, Isla always prepared breakfast and most dinners. It was as if a silent agreement had been made between them that now Aiden was the sole breadwinner, Isla would attend to all generic housewife duties.
The thought of home suddenly made Aiden feel nauseated with guilt and he was unable to finish his breakfast. He thought of Meegan and how desperately she would be missing him, whilst here he was in Chicago, cooking breakfast for a woman he was insanely infatuated with. It wasn’t right. It was the sort of behaviour Aiden had vowed to forsake after Justin died. He nervously pulled at the collar of his shirt as he attempted to swallow the harsh reality that he was letting himself down.
‘Do you not like your waffle?’ Brandy asked, concerned.
‘I’m not that hungry. Besides, I need to get back to my hotel room and get washed and changed.’
‘You could shower here if you want,’ Brandy offered. Aiden knew that would not be a good idea. Each moment he spent with her he felt his resolve weakening.
‘No, it’s fine. I need to change my clothes anyway.’
‘Okay.’ If Brandy was hurt, she didn’t show it. Instead she kept happily eating her waffle, of which little now remained.
‘Shall I just meet you at the place where you play the piano?’
‘Sure.’ She smiled at him and her smile was so pure and so innocent that Aiden almost choked on his inner turmoil. He wanted to stay, more than anything he wanted to stay and not risk a second away from her.
His fingers subconsciously began to rub the wedding band he wore, a reminder that he was taken. He had never resented something so symbolic so much before. He wanted to go over to the window and cast it out to the city below. But that was unfair on everyone, Isla included. Besides, what he felt for Brandy might be nothing more than a crush. However, he knew that the closer he got to her, the more drawn to her he felt and the greater the risk of getting burnt by the fire he seemed intent to play with.
‘So I’ll see you there in a bit?’ Brandy asked.
‘Yeah, I’ll see you there.’
The address Brandy gave him was for a hotel two blocks away from her apartment building. Aiden took a taxi there, now freshly washed and changed.
He pulled up outside an old hotel in desperate need of renovation. The sign outside was weathered and dull and a quick glance into the foyer showed that inside was in dire need of fresh paint and furnishings.
Aiden paid the driver and headed inside. The hotel was relatively quiet. Unlike the chain hotel where Aiden was staying, where the foyer was a hive of activity no matter what time it was. There were always people coming and going but here it felt as though time had stood still. One solitary receptionist stood behind the desk but they were preoccupied by something on the computer system. Soft elevator music played out over some loud speakers but, other than that, he was alone.
He hesitated, stood on the worn carpet, glancing at the dated décor of gold fleur-de-lis and potted fern plants, wondering where he should go.
‘Hey,’ Brandy’s gentle lilt greeted him from across the foyer. Her hair was still tied back, showing off her face. He was surprised to notice that she didn’t seem to be wearing any make-up at all. Isla wouldn’t even go out to fetch the milk without her full face on. At least that’s how she used to be. It saddened Aiden then, in that moment, to think that his wife was changing. Perhaps he was guilty of changing too. The issue was that if they didn’t change together, they would inevitably pull apart.
‘Nice hotel,’ Aiden quipped as he strode over to Brandy.
‘It has its charm,’ she told him. ‘They have a piano in their dining room that they let me practice on as long as they don’t have a function or anything on.’
‘I don’t expect they have much on here,’ Aiden observed as he followed Brandy towards the dining room.
‘Don’t be mean,’ she told him. ‘If you look beyond the moth-eaten drapes and the holes in the carpet, you can see what a beautiful place this once was. I like to imagine how this place must have been when it was new, all the ladies in their flapper dresses and furs walking in on the arms of their husbands who wore smart suits and smoked cigars. It must have been so glamorous a world for them,’ she sighed dreamily.
‘You see beauty everywhere, don’t you?’ Aiden smiled fondly at her.
‘That’s because there is beauty everywhere. The world is an amazing place if you let yourself open up your eyes to see it.’
The dining room was a vast open space, filled with a dozen circular tables which were missing chairs and, in the far corner, a white baby grand piano. In the centre of the ceiling there was a chandelier which would have been impressive if it had retained all its pieces and been polished within the last decade.
Aiden could see why Brandy chose to come and play there. He sensed she found som
ething comforting in the faded glory of the place. It didn’t have the sheen which so many places within the city had which made it seem oddly more real, more safe.
Brandy skipped across the large dining room and settled herself on the stool of the piano. She looked so dainty before it. Aiden leant against one of the circular tables and patiently waited for her to commence playing.
‘Now, don’t you go teasing me,’ she warned him. ‘I’ve not been playing for all that long!’
‘I won’t tease,’ Aiden promised. ‘Scout’s honour.’ She smirked at him and then turned her focus to the keys before her. She gently placed her small hands upon them and then appeared lost in thought, trying to recall the melody which was stored within her memory.
After a few moments she began to play, a soft, haunting melody which eerily fitted the room in which they were in.
Brandy played beautifully, although even though Aiden was no connoisseur of music he did hear the odd note which sounded out of place. Undeterred by her errors, Brandy continued to play, her head nodding gently in time with the music.
Aiden watched her as he listened; she was focusing intently on the notes, on the rhythm. It was intoxicating to behold.
As Aiden watched, he remembered that first time he had seen her. When she was lost within the orange prison jumpsuit, waiting to be executed. And now she was a free woman, sat within an old hotel playing a beautiful song upon the piano. The horrific thought that had Aiden not intervened that she might have died, that he might have been denied this moment, this connection with her, was unbearable. He got up off the table and walked over to her, suddenly desperate for there not to be any space between them.
He sat down on the stool next to her. There was barely room for both of them so they were pressed up against one another. Brandy’s soft vanilla scent ignited his senses and he found himself wrapping an arm around her as she played.
Brandy played for a few more minutes and then the song concluded and the spell was broken. Aiden thought to remove his arm but something held it there, some magic which remained from the music. Brandy turned to face him, gazing deep into his eyes.
‘You play beautifully,’ Aiden whispered, trying to stop his voice from trembling.
‘Thank you,’ Brandy answered, but she seemed to be overwhelmed by sadness. She looked down at the keys and played awkwardly with her hands.
‘What’s wrong?’ Aiden asked, holding her protectively in his embrace.
‘When I play, I think of my baby,’ she admitted, turning to face him with tear-filled eyes. Aiden pulled her towards him and kissed the top of her head.
‘I’m sorry I had to tell you what I did,’ he said quietly.
‘Its better I know,’ Brandy whispered, her voice pained. ‘That way I can finally start to let go of my past. I can stop being the girl that everyone points at in the street and whispers about behind their hands. I can start to live and it’s all thanks to you.’
Brandy pulled away from Aiden slightly so that she was looking directly at his face. He could feel his heart begin to race frantically as she held him in her gaze. Instinctively he leant forward, desperate to place his lips on hers but instead they brushed noses, both suddenly breathing deeply with latent desire.
‘I need to stop loving you,’ Brandy whispered to him regretfully, before pulling away completely, getting up and walking away from the piano, away from Aiden, leaving him sat upon the stool, stunned.
Chapter Eight
Cloaked Calls and Dial Tones
It took Aiden a moment to realize that the light on the phone in his hotel room was flashing to indicate that he had a message. He walked slowly towards it, his exposed torso still damp from the shower, a white towel covering the rest of his body.
He went to listen to the message and then paused, knowing exactly who it would be from. He had barely spoken to Isla since he had arrived in Chicago and she would be angry. He had been avoiding her as he was in no mood for confrontation. Brandy’s revelation had left him reeling and he was struggling to make sense of his thoughts, which felt scrambled and confused. He had no idea what to do, so instead he had come back to his hotel the previous night and drank himself in to a stupor. Then this morning he had got up and showered, hoping to wash away some of confusion but it had been in vain. He was as conflicted as before, albeit cleaner.
Aiden’s head throbbed in protest. Scattered miniatures from the mini-bar were a painful reminder of just how much he had drunk. He’d wanted to switch off from his own emotions and whilst the alcohol had allowed that, it was only a temporary release and now, in the harsh, unflinching light of day, he had no choice but to step up to the reality of the situation. And that meant speaking with his wife. Aiden’s head ached at the thought of dealing with Isla’s vitriol.
*
Isla Connelly sat staring at the telephone which she had now placed in the centre of her kitchen table. She watched it intently, willing it to ring but it remained silent. She seethed with anger and slammed the table in frustration.
‘Where the hell is your father?’ Isla asked her daughter, who looked back at her from her high chair with innocent, oblivious eyes.
‘I knew he’d do this!’ Isla lamented to herself. She pushed her chair back away from the table and began to pace the room. Her was mind running at a mile a minute about why her husband was suddenly missing in action. It was so unlike him not to call. Isla went from being distraught over fears he had been hurt, perhaps he had been in a car accident, to becoming almost blind with rage at the thought that perhaps he had just chosen not to call her.
‘You’d better hope you’re in hospital, Aiden Connelly,’ she told the phone which sat silently as a centrepiece. ‘Else I sure as hell will put you there!’
‘Park!’ Meegan exclaimed, noticing the golden sunshine warming the front drive from her vantage point in her high chair. ‘Park!’
‘Not now,’ Isla dismissed the child. ‘I’m waiting on a call.’
As Isla paced, she contemplated calling Aiden’s hotel once more but felt she’d long since exhausted the polite manner of the receptionist and didn’t feel like arguing with a stranger. She had called eight times. Each time, she was connected to his bedroom and the line had rung out before the answer machine kicked in. This had happened now two nights in a row. It was evident to Isla that her husband had not been sleeping at the hotel, so in what bed had he been sleeping? The sheer helplessness of not knowing made Isla feel sick to her stomach and angry beyond reason. She had to fight the urge to run upstairs, pull all his clothes from the drawers and then burn them in the backyard, watching his precious suits shrivel up beneath the flames. She wanted Aiden to hurt as she was hurting.
Bunching her hands into fists, she tried to contain her rage. Turning her head, she noticed the slow approach of headlights and suddenly all her anger drained out of her, pooling uselessly at her feet. The sheriff’s patrol car drove by her house again and Isla shuddered. She looked desperately at the phone, wishing her husband would at least be on the other end of it when she was left feeling victimized in their own home.
Willing the phone to ring, Isla began to cry. Light, sorrowful tears only shed by those who felt truly isolated.
*
Aiden had eight messages. All of them were from his wife. They started out tense, with Isla asking where he was, sounding mildly concerned, and descended into her frantically screaming down the phone about what an asshole he was not to call her. Aiden sat, holding the receiver, listening to the recording of his wife screaming and let his head fall to his chest. He knew he deserved every ounce of her fury. He had been irresponsible to not call her. He had let the fairy tale of his time with Brandy get the better of him.
In Isla’s final messages she was sobbing and uttering Buck Fern’s name, saying how he had been driving past their home again.
He needed to call her. It was selfish of him to delay the conversation any further. Aiden took a deep breath and dialled the familiar number. Isla answered a
fter the first ring.
‘Yes?’
‘Isla, honey, it’s me,’ Aiden tried to sound casual, hoping to feign ignorance over her angry messages.
‘Aiden?’ Isla’s voice instantly took on a strained tone.
‘Yeah, hi.’
‘Where the hell have you been?’ The emotion in her voice caused it to shake. Aiden knew from experience that she was trying to hold back the torrent of pent-up anger which threatened to spew out from her at any given moment.
‘Sweetie, I’m so sorry that I’ve not called you sooner.’ Aiden sounded apologetic, sincere, but Isla wasn’t convinced.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ she asked again, her voice raising an octave.
Aiden shifted awkwardly on the hotel bed, wishing he had taken the time to dress before calling as now he was wearing only a towel he felt the overwhelming cool of the air conditioning system. He shivered slightly, acknowledging his own foolishness at having believed it would be a quick conversation.
‘I’ve been working,’ Aiden lied.
‘I’ve not heard from you in almost three days!’ Isla was now clearly livid and in the background he heard Meegan begin to cry, distressed at seeing her mother like that.
‘Three days, Aid! And you know all the shit that I’ve been going through with those fucking horrific notes! Why even have a Goddamn cell phone if you’re not going to answer it?’
‘I’ve been busy!’ it was Aiden’s turn to be angry as he became defensive over his actions. ‘I told you that I was here to work and that’s what I’ve been doing, working all hours of the day and night!’
The line was silent for a moment as Isla contemplated his excuse.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she finally answered, her tone cold and flat.
‘That’s not my problem,’ Aiden told her tersely. ‘I’ve been working my arse off, as I told you I would be. The least you could be is supportive, but instead you give me all this crap, as usual. I was even thinking of flying back early so I could be with you tonight.’ The final part was a fabrication but Aiden hoped it would be enough to placate his wife.
