by Pamela Crane
Day three dawned following yet another sleepless night, and his body ached for rest. In an exceedingly rare moment of peace, while Amelia colored the pages of the Cinderella coloring book he’d bought for her, he sat sipping coffee at the kitchenette table across from her. Coffee—a luxury he’d forgotten about during his prison time, and his sleep-deprived lifeblood. Savoring each drop on his tongue, he let himself indulge in the moment.
Right now was perfect, even if only for a short while. Because after he was done with Amelia, most certainly everything would be thrown askew. But it was a gamble he had to take. A means to an end.
He watched Amelia drag the crayons across the paper in vivid streaks. Apart from her bouts with what he could only explain as demonic possession, she was a beautiful little girl. So sweet. He hated that he’d used her to get to her mother, but seven years hidden from polite society had eroded what few ethics he had. When you had to fight for your life—for your food, for your shower, for basic commodities, for your “virginity”—you couldn’t help but indulge the animal within you. Prison life had left him hollow and angry, and there wasn’t room for much else. Only his undying love for Josephine kept his thread of humanity intact.
The long stream of redundant days hadn’t tempered his memory of her. If anything, time had eternally preserved that special night like flowers pressed between the pages of a book. That angora cream shawl soft to the touch. Those bangle bracelets that clinked as she talked alluringly with her hands. The low-waisted jeans that offered a glimpse of her naval and advertised the shape of her hips. Her blond hair hanging in loose curls, tickling her shoulders. It was instant attraction—her beauty only emphasized by the dingy walls and dark atmosphere of the bar.
Every moment clung to him like fragrant oil. Their sticky stools scraping against each other. Her furtive glances. His nervous smile as he mustered the courage to say hello. It had been foreplay for nearly half an hour before he dared make eye contact.
He had noticed the hulking engagement ring on her finger from the first moment and felt a shudder of disappointment. She was taken, of course. How could she not be? And then she grinned at him. An invitation. He accepted. Why not, if only for a fling?
They spent the next two hours talking, flirting, and drinking. He was mesmerized by her involuntary seductiveness. The way her fingers ever so softly grazed his as she reached for her drink, or how effortless her palm fell to rest on his thigh.
An abundance of rum and Cokes led to his suggestion that they “get out of here.” She numbly followed him to his car, where the spark ignited. Giving in so easily, she allowed him to take her fully, their heavy breaths steaming up the windows.
He remembered how she kissed the sweat off of his forehead, and he licked the salt off of her lips. They continued kissing long after the sex was finished, groping and grabbing and touching and tasting each other with frantic urgency, like they were attempting to devour the other. It was intense and powerful, sweet and sensual. He’d never been with a girl like this before, and he’d come to realize he would never find it with anyone else again.
After the sizzle faded, and sheer and utter exhaustion took hold, she rested against his chest in the backseat, their chests heaving as she confessed her cold feet about getting married. Too young. Too many unrealized dreams to live. Worried her fiancé might not be the one.
“Then don’t marry him,” he had said, inhaling the passion fruit scent of her hair.
She had looked at him sarcastically, as if the logic had never occurred to her.
“Oh, let me guess. I should marry you instead?” The alcohol had slurred her words and she laughed.
But in that moment it didn’t seem all that funny to him. She was perfect in every way. The type of girl he could imagine himself house shopping with, having kids with, growing old with. She wasn’t the typical bar skank that most of his evenings resulted in. She was intelligent, pure, funny, genuine.
“Hell no, I’m not the marrying type,” he said instead, feigning machismo. “But you shouldn’t get married if you have doubts. You’ll end up with a lifetime of regret.”
He could almost see her brain working as she contemplated his words with a cute nibble of her lip. Damn, she was adorable.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t marry Jay. But what if he is the one?”
“Out of the billions of people in the world, you think there’s only one person out there for you?”
“I dunno. Maybe. I think that anyone can find a spouse they can live with, connect with even. But then there’s that epic love—that soul mate kind of love. A one-in-a-million kind of love.” Her eyes had gone all dreamy as she spoke, and her words were so delicious he throbbed to taste them. “That kind of love, that’s what I want, but I don’t believe you can get that with just anyone. It has to be someone special, someone created for you and you for them. The hard part is finding that person.”
“How will you know when you do?” he had asked with genuine interest.
She shrugged and looked at the ring on her finger. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“Well, until you do …” he chortled as he pulled her back on top of him for another round, her legs sliding so perfectly open, enveloping his pelvis, swallowing him inside her.
He later realized just how right she was. He could feel the vibrations in the air between them, could sense the unique connection they shared. Josephine was his one and only, but it took her slipping between his fingers for him to realize that truth.
He’d gone through many women after that night of backseat passion and whispered dreams. Drowned his misery with sex and booze. Then got himself into trouble after one particularly drunken night when he’d beaten a chick half to death after she mocked him for being so sentimental. At the root of all that wretchedness was Josephine. She had left her imprint on his heart and it stopped beating after she said goodbye.
One night of confessions, of unfettered passion.
One night of waking a slumbering love that hibernated deep in his heart.
All it took was one night to fall for Josephine Lively and to decide he’d do anything to get her. Absolutely anything. Even at the cost of her child.
The plan was ready to execute. It was time. With his latex gloves on to ensure he left no trace of himself, he held the ballpoint pen and touched it to the paper. Not one to make empty threats, he hated the idea of hurting a child. Especially her child. But some sacrifices were necessary for the greater good. She’d see that eventually. She’d come to understand why he had to do what he had to do. It was for them. All for them. He was her one true love. Time would prove this to be true.
As long as Josephine followed the plan, everyone would walk away for the better. It was up to her now. While she had made the wrong choice ten years ago, this time she could rectify it. She could save herself, save him, and save their happiness together. All it would cost was one small life.
Then he set in motion the event that would finally collide their worlds.
Your daughter is safe. But not for long. There is only one thing I want, and you know what it is. I’ll be coming for it soon. But if you refuse, your whole family will pay the price. You know what you have to do.
Chapter 26
June
The roads were slick coming back from Austin’s therapy appointment. I’d had to drag all four kids with me, entertaining the other three in the waiting room while Austin threw a tantrum for an hour with his new speech therapist. I couldn’t blame him after witnessing her chilly personality firsthand. It didn’t help that I wasn’t in there helping him navigate through her vague instructions, but with Arabelle, Kiki, and Juliet, I had my hands full breaking up the fights over the scanty toys the facility provided.
In the backseat Juliet cried for her bottle, despite me nursing her for the past hour. Kiki screamed about wanting her seatbelt off, claiming she was a “big girl like Arabelle.” Austin made his irritating eeee-owwwwww sound while wildly flapping
his hands in the air, which set Arabelle to pouting and whining in her corner of the van because I wouldn’t take them out for lunch at the McDonald’s with a playroom.
Every kid screaming.
Every kid draining what little patience I had left.
Every kid testing my will to endure.
I couldn’t take it anymore—the skirmishes over toys, the complaints over what’s for dinner, the sulking at being told no, the tantrums I couldn’t pull Austin out of, the arm flailing that made strangers gawk, the speech therapy that seemed to be no help, the working too much but getting paid too little, Mike’s fruitless job searches, the constant battle for survival, which I was losing …
It was all too much. I was drowning in my own life and I simply wanted to slip under the waves.
A memory rose from the grave of my mind. Back before kids, when Mike and I would spend weekends in bed, making love under the covers and cuddling through the rainy afternoon while we talked about our dreams, planning our future together. I had told him I wanted to backpack through Asia together, riding elephants and shopping at the bazaars in Chiang Mai. Then we’d head to an exotic Malaysian beach where we’d do nothing but sunbathe and sip mixed drinks.
I don’t recall this being part of that future.
Where had my fantasies gone to die? Why had I chosen this life of chaos and noise and sleep deprivation and stress? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten six hours of sleep, let alone the eight I needed. Or when I’d last eaten a hot meal after serving everyone else first and getting up a dozen times during dinner to grab drinks or condiments or clean up spills.
Not once did Mike ever acknowledge what I’d given up. Not once did the kids ever thank me for my servitude. My thanks was four screaming children in the back of my secondhand van whining about dropped sippy cups, grumbling tummies, tight seatbelts, and making noise just for the hell of it.
I. Was. Done.
“Shut up!” Two words that released years of pent-up frustration and anguish over an existence I didn’t want anymore. “I can’t take it anymore! I am done with all of you!”
And suddenly the car went silent, and I realized I meant it. Life had stripped any desire to live from me.
Maybe it was the patch of water I hit that wrenched the steering wheel from my grasp, or maybe it was the urge to send my family off a cliff at that very moment, but it happened before I could think, before I could stop it, before I could change direction.
Cresting the hill, the road flattened out, but I didn’t notice the puddle stretching its watery arms across the concrete until it was too late. Somehow—whether by my own hand or sheer momentum—the tires veered a sharp right, and I felt the car sliding … slipping … heading straight for a drop-off where a thicket of woods met the berm.
The van plummeted crookedly down the short hill. Suddenly the earth flew up and met the passenger-side windows, and I felt myself dangling in my seatbelt, bouncing recklessly. The kids cried out frantically for Mommy, but I was at the mercy of the rolling minivan.
Tipping over didn’t seem to slow it down, though, as we plunged into a line of trees. The cries crescendoed—and I realized it was my own voice rising above the kids’. A moment later my body felt like it was pulled apart when my front fender smacked a tree trunk with a grating crunch. The force jarred our bodies forward as the deploying airbag smashed against my face.
The adrenaline masked any pain I should have felt until the voices of weeping children receded in the encroaching blackness. I welcomed it with open arms.
Chapter 27
Shayla
“I’ve been a bad, bad girl …”
I crooned Fiona Apple’s “Criminal,” a catchy tune I remembered from my adolescence. About a woman plagued with guilt over using and abusing a man who loved her, it was fitting today—the day I planned to apologize to Kelsey for calling the cops on him and attempted to cut things off as amicably as possible. If that was even possible. I was oddly at ease, considering I had no clue who he really was beneath the charming smile. He’d pulled a complete 180 on me—from agreeable to aggressive. What was he truly capable of?
Then again, he didn’t know what I was capable of either. But I had a lot more to lose than he did, a lot more to fight for.
I needed to bury the hatchet with Kelsey, whatever it took. In his thirty-odd messages since our Jim’s Tavern scene, he made it clear we had unfinished business, but he still loved me—despite the drama queen that I was. He was a glutton for punishment if he intended to get back together after all the shit I’d pulled.
Back at square one, I’d be breaking two men’s hearts today: Kelsey, who was obsessed with having me but couldn’t; and Trent, my devoted husband whose heart might never recover from the betrayal. Tonight I would get it all over with, confessing and losing everything all at once.
I deserved whatever I got. My bipolar brain for once understood the nature of the consequences.
My little chat with Bev was only part of what prompted this revelation, though. The other part was growing inside my uterus, a secret that was getting bigger, heavier, harder to hide every day. I still wasn’t sure what to do about it. It was early enough that I could terminate the pregnancy and no one would be any the wiser, but could I go through with it? I’d already imagined wiggling fingers and toes. I’d already pictured Trent’s penetrating inky eyes and my full lips on this child. And then the image would fade into a looming question mark that sent my worry into overdrive.
I didn’t know for sure the baby was Trent’s.
And if it wasn’t, what then?
No matter who the biological father was, I knew who I wanted the father to be: Trent. He’d done a hell of a job raising Arion and Tenica, and I knew he’d be a good daddy all over again. Hell, he’d probably be thrilled with the news. God forbid I get stuck in a life with Kelsey involved, but would this baby force me into that?
The urge for a cigarette became overwhelming, so with one hand on the steering wheel, I fumbled through my secret stash in my purse and lit up. Pregnant or not, stress was worse on the baby than a couple puffs of nicotine.
Despite the rain pelting the windows, I lowered the passenger-side window to air out any trace of smoke. Trent hated it when I smoked; I didn’t need him to find out and add it to my tally of sins against him. A cool haze wafted through the car. The rain’s pitter-patter combined with each delicious toke to mellow out my surging mania.
Stopping at a red light, I continued to sing away my anxiety while a car rolled up next to mine. As I sat in my metal and leather cocoon, I suddenly felt a dull thud against my ear, and the spray of something sticky spitting all over my arm. A shriek of laughter later, the car next to me took off, leaving behind the words “Learn how to sing, bitch!” I glanced down to find a half-empty can of soda that had bounced off me and landed in the passenger seat, a pool of liquid staining the cream leather brown as it seeped into the seams.
Seriously? Were people really that immature?
Hitting the gas, I followed the car for the next ten minutes, my tires lapping up the miles as I rode them bumper-to-bumper, swerving up beside them and flipping them off while I lobbed every obscenity I could think of at the punks. I laughed as I scared them shitless. That would be the last time they’d ever toss a Coke in someone’s car again.
I was still irritated as I turned onto Oleander Way where Kelsey agreed to meet me. A growl of thunder above resonated with the rumble in my gut. Kelsey vowed that I wouldn’t leave unscathed. And what about Trent? How would he react? I imagined him flying into a murder-suicide rage.
Two deadly unknowns.
When I pulled up to my house, Kelsey’s car was parked three doors down in case of an emergency flight, something that had only happened once before—and once too many. There would be no need for hiding this time, though, I reminded myself. Arion was at school, Tenica in daycare. Trent was at work, and I only needed a few minutes to speak my piece. Kelsey would resist, try to take back control
of the situation, force me into a corner to stay. But I wasn’t taking any shit today. I was still too pissed off at the soda incident.
And despite months of dragging this out, I couldn’t put it off any longer.
In, out, get it over with. Just like my sex life.
Raindrops stung my face as I ran up the walkway to the front door, signaling Kelsey to follow me. Under the shelter of the porch roof, I hurriedly unlocked the door and waited for him to join me in the entryway.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, pecking my cheek.
“Seriously?” I replied flatly. “I almost get you jailed and you kiss me?”
“Forgive and forget, ya know. How about we head to the bedroom to dry off?” he suggested with a wink, luring me with a firm hand on my wrist.
I shook my head and pulled my arm free of his grip. “We need to talk.”
“In the bedroom.” He stalked off toward my room, which instantly pissed me off, as if this was his house, his domain.
By the time I joined him, his belt was already unbuckled, pants dropping, while his fingers hastily unbuttoned his collared shirt.
“What are you doing?” I scoffed.
“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Half-undressed, Kelsey dropped onto the bed, then patted the empty space beside him. “Hell, I’ll even rub your back. Anything for my girl.”
My girl. I sighed. This was going to be harder than I thought. “Kelsey, I need to tell you something.”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t say what I think you’re going to say. I already warned you that you’ll regret it.”
I already had enough regret to last a lifetime. What was one more?
“I have to do this. I’m sorry. But it’s over between us. I plan to tell Trent today, so there’s nothing you can do that will change this.”
I waited for the yelling, the cursing, the threats. Instead I was met with an unsettling calm. Then he smiled … and laughed. He laughed until his body shook, and the creepy intensity of it scared me.
