Past Imperfect

by Alison G. Bailey

  Outwardly, I don’t reveal any emotion in my voice or my expression. Inwardly, my chest tightens and my breathing almost comes to a complete stop as I wait for his answer. The hair on my arms rises and a prickling sensation covers my skin while the seconds tick by, my question just lying out there with no response. Logically, I can guarantee what his answer will be. After being around my father all these years, the evidence points to the fact that he couldn’t care less about whether or not I’m happy. My fingers grip the end of the wooden armrest as I brace myself for his cold words.

  “What kind of a question is that?” he snaps.

  “The kind I’d like an answer to.”

  “I don’t have the time or interest in engaging in this nonsense with you today. I have all the information I need. We’re done here.” He turns his attention back to the computer.

  The fact that he evades my question is all the answer I need. The natural reaction I feel to my father’s words never ceases to amaze and confuse me. I despise this man and have never had any respect for him, so why do I care even a little bit how he feels about me? I don’t want to care, but I can’t deny the innate need in me to have his approval and even his love.

  “Becca may not have been happy, but her parents wanted her to be. I saw how much they cared about her at the memorial service. That makes them successful parents in my book.”

  His eyes shoot to mine. “What the hell is wrong with you, Bradley? Aren’t you just a little bit pissed that these people are trying to hold you partially responsible for the death of this girl?”

  “No, I’m not pissed at them. I think they’re still trying to make sense of the senseless and need something tangible to latch on to. She wasn’t psychotic or delusional. She was just a young girl who struggled with depression. Don’t drag Becca’s name and her parents through the mud. None of them deserve that.”

  We stare at each other for a few seconds, neither of us saying another word. I leave my father’s office and walk straight to Mabry’s. I hesitate before knocking. I know something is going on with her and I’m trying to give her space, but I need to be near her right now.

  “Come in.” Just the sound of her voice gives me comfort.

  I open the door, walk in, and close it behind me. I can tell by her expression that she already knows what I need from her, but since things have been off between us today I feel I should ask. “Can I hold you for a few minutes, please?”

  Without saying anything, she gets up and walks to me. Taking my hand, she leads me to the front of her desk. I sit and she positions herself between my legs, wrapping her arms securely around my neck. I nuzzle my face in the crook of her neck as my arms snake around her waist. I let the scent and feel of her soak into me. The tension in my body fades away, replaced by a calmness and peace. All I want to do is pick her up and carry her away from here. I want to go someplace where we can start over with a clean slate. I just want to be done with my past and move forward with the love of my life.

  I’m not sure how long we’ve been in each other’s arms when I feel Mabry pull away. I keep a firm hold on her, not letting her step away from me. Looking into her eyes, I see the sadness that I thought I had gotten rid of.

  “Talk to me, Mabry,” I say, a plea in my tone.

  “About what?”

  “Something’s different. When we went to bed last night you seemed okay and then this morning… I feel you pulling away from me now and I don’t understand what changed overnight.” I swallow hard trying to hold my emotions in check.

  “I don’t mean to. It’s weird knowing that you and Becca were together and how she felt about you. I just need some time alone to sort it out in my head.”

  “Will I see you tonight?” I ask, but I already know the answer.

  Shaking her head, she says, “I’m going to work late and then I think it’s best if I spend the night at my place alone.”

  I bring our foreheads together and whisper, “I’m sorry, Mabry. If I had known you were going to be in my future, I would have been a better man in my past.”

  Her eyes close and she steps away. “I need to get back to work, Brad.”

  I’m scared to leave, so I hesitate for as long as possible before it starts to look pathetic. With each step toward the door, I can feel the hollow gnawing of loneliness take over my body. It’s a familiar feeling. It used to be the norm for me. I had been able to numb myself, building up a manageable tolerance to the pain in order to get through my day. When I met Mabry, I finally got relief from the persistent emptiness. I didn’t realize how intense and debilitating my pain was until I got a break from it. As it seeps back in, I pray that whatever change occurred last night to cause Mabry to shut down reverses itself, because I won’t be able to tolerate being without her.

  The second I hear the door click shut tears roll down my face. It took every ounce of strength for me to step away from Brad, but I had to do it. I need some distance right now. When he’s in front of me, looking so vulnerable and hurt, my resistance is nonexistent. I knew he had come from his father’s office. They’re meeting with the Hyams in a few weeks. Mr. Johnson is an extremely detailed lawyer and an over preparer. He doesn’t like surprises. I’m sure he had Brad tell him every detail of his relationship with Becca twenty times over. When he first told me about Becca I was shocked, but then my focus narrowed in on the fear in his eyes. He was so afraid I’d leave him. All I wanted to do was make him feel better. Later, though, when he was asleep and things were quiet, my mind went on a wild rampage. The images and questions are still swirling around in my head.

  Brad and Becca, naked and tangled together.

  Brad walking out on her.

  Becca lying dead in her room.

  What was she feeling right before the blade slid across her wrists?

  Did my mom kill herself right after my dad left for work that day?

  Did Dad leave that day knowing how deep Mom’s pain was?

  What’s in Becca’s note?

  Each time a thought flits across my mind, the craving to self-harm increases. Last night I was able to control myself and not succumb to the urge, but I came close to banging my head against the edge of the counter in the bathroom. If Brad hadn’t been there I knew I would have gone through with it. Even now, my hand is slowly creeping up into my hair ready to yank at the first strand it reaches. Before last night, whenever I looked at Brad I felt free from the pain of my past, but now the view is different. I see him and feel all the pain rushing back.

  I need to know what’s in that note. I grab my cellphone, scroll through the numbers, and press send before I have time to talk myself out of it. He picks up on the second ring.

  “Well, hello there, Bright Eyes.”

  “Hey Ten. How are you?” I ask, trying not to sound like I’m up to something.

  “I’m fantastic, especially now hearing your voice,” he answers smugly.

  I haven’t spoken to Ten since our date. He’s called a few times and left voicemails. I always meant to call him back and explain that a personal relationship was not going to happen between us, but I never got around to it for some reason. I can tell by his tone that he suspects I need something and plans on playing the guilt card to get what he wants before I get what I need.

  “So, listen, I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls. I’ve been crazy swamped here.” It’s not a complete lie. Work has taken up a lot of my time. Work and Brad.

  “Oh, is that what’s kept you from me? I thought it might have something to do with Johnson,” he says.

  “No, just busy. Listen, Ten, would you be able to meet with me tonight? I need to talk with you.”

  “I always have time for you, Mabry.”

  “Great. Um… could we meet at Boone’s around 8:30?” I ask.

  “Boone’s at 8:30 sounds perfect. You want to give me a little heads-up as to our topic of conversation?”

  “Well, what would be the fun in that?” I cringe because it sounds flirty and I don’t want to
give Ten the wrong impression, but asking him to tell me what’s in that note is highly unethical. If I don’t play the game just a little I won’t get the information I need.

  “True and I wouldn’t want to miss out on any fun with you.” I knew he meant to return the flirtatiousness, but his words just sounded smarmy.

  “So, 8:30 at Boone’s. See you then,” I say, ready to end the conversation.

  “See you then. Oh and Mabry.”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe you’ll let me escort you home tonight.”

  “I’ll see you later.” I hang up before he has a chance to respond.

  At 8 o’clock, I grab my jacket, purse, and briefcase and head toward the elevators. I notice the light in Brad’s office is still on. The floor is deserted except for the two of us. I feel the pull in his direction as usual, but I ignore it. Brad’s office is directly in line with the elevators. I force myself to keep my eyes pointed straight ahead. I reach my target and push the button. As I stand there waiting, it dawns on me that I forgot to tell Tina to move my Thursday meeting with the Murphys to Friday. I walk to her desk to leave a note, keeping my gaze down, in order not to catch a glimpse of him. While placing the note on her desk I hear the sound of the elevator arriving. When I turn, I inadvertently look up and see him.

  He’s in profile, sitting at his desk, leaning far back in the chair, while looking at his computer. The sleeves of his royal blue dress shirt are rolled up, exposing his toned forearms. I love how protected I feel when those arms are wrapped around me. Raising his hand, he runs his fingers back and forth through his hair a few times. It’s in complete disarray when he’s done, but sexy as hell. Looking at his chiseled profile, I think back to the first time I saw him a few years ago at the memorial service. Loneliness radiated off of him then just like it does now. Before I realize it, I’m standing in the doorway of his office, forcing myself not to go over and hug him. A slow grin spreads across his face.

  “What are you grinning about?” I ask.

  Keeping his eyes on the monitor, he says, “The fact that you’re standing at my door.” He turns to face me. “I’ve missed you today.”

  Looking into his warm eyes and hearing his sexy low voice wrap around those sweet words causes my insides to melt. I know I need to leave right now or I’ll end up in his lap, clinging to him.

  “Don’t work too hard, okay,” I tell him.

  The grin falls from his face. “I won’t.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He gets up and rounds his desk heading toward me. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Taking a step back, I shake my head and say, “No, that’s fine. I’ll be okay. Have a good night, Brad.” I turn and head in the opposite direction before his words stop me.

  “I love you, Mabry.”

  Facing him, I say, “I love you too. That’s not ever going to change.”

  “But other things have changed.” The fear is back in his eyes.

  “It’s only been one day. I just need a little time.”

  “Okay. Will you at least text me when you get home, so I know you’re safe?”

  “Yeah.” My throat stings, as I try to hold on to the tears and my stomach twists in knots from the guilt I feel, not letting on who I’m about to see.

  I walk as quickly as I can to the awaiting open elevator and step inside. When I turn around to press the button my eyes meet a sapphire gaze that’s frozen on me.

  Downtown Charleston is a beautiful place. It’s an eclectic mix of historic homes, well-preserved architecture, and distinguished restaurants, living side-by-side with small local artisan shops and casual bars. Even though Boone’s is only a couple of blocks away from the firm on King Street, certainly within walking distance, I decide to drive. I figure having my car handy will make for a quick getaway once my meeting with Ten is over. I park my car and head inside.

  Boone’s has a rustic artsy/sports bar feel to it. Local artists’ paintings and flat screen TVs cover the old brick walls. Industrial modern lighting fixtures jut down from the exposed ceiling beams. There are three levels. The upper two levels are designated mostly to either live music or watching whatever games happen to be playing on the multiple large flat screen TVs. The lower level is set up more like a restaurant with dark wood tables and chairs and an open kitchen. The atmosphere is casual and relaxed. It’s still a little early for the barflies to have taken over, but there is a small dinner crowd.

  As I walk in, I spot Ten immediately. He’s seated at one of the tables in the corner. A huge smile appears across his face as he raises and tips his beer toward me. Approaching the table, I feel my insides quiver.

  I shouldn’t be doing this.

  My legs feel like lead with each step I take.

  I feel like I’m betraying Brad.

  My breathing is shallow as I try to take in as much oxygen as possible. I’m scared to find out what’s in the note, but my need to know pushes me forward. As I make it to the table, Ten stands to greet me.

  “Hey Bright Eyes,” he says, his smile getting even larger if that’s possible.

  The nickname unnerves me. We’re not that familiar with each other for him to be calling me that and this is not a social meeting. I bite my tongue and keep my thoughts to myself. I don’t want to piss him off. I want him as willing as possible so I can find out what Becca wrote about Brad.

  He pulls out my chair and I slide in to it. “Hey. Have you been waiting long?” I ask.

  As he pushes my chair closer to the table, he says, “I’d wait forever for you, Bright Eyes.”

  He’s such a Sir Douche.

  A slight smile crosses my face, thinking about the nickname Brad gave him.

  Ten sits across from me and signals for the waitress. His eyes travel down to my chest and then back up to my eyes. “You look beautiful.”

  “You’re such a liar. I’ve had the same makeup on and have been in these clothes for the past twelve hours.”

  “Well, I’ll have to see what I can do to rectify that,” he says with a smirk.

  I feel his eyes on me again and it makes me shift uncomfortably in my chair. Thankfully the waitress arrives for our drink order.

  “Hey folks. What can I get you?” she asks, cheerfully.

  “I’ll have a Firefly Mojito,” I answer.

  “And for the gentleman?” She gives Ten a flirty smile.

  “I’ll have another Holy City Pluff Mud Porter. Thanks.” He returns her flirty smile before she leaves. Turning his attention to me, he says, “I was kind of surprised to hear from you. Happy and excited, but surprised.”

  “I apologize again for not returning your calls. It’s just been nuts at the office.”

  “I bet, especially with the lawsuit Junior’s got hanging over his head,” he says nonchalantly.

  The waitress arrives with our drinks before I have a chance to respond.

  “Can I get you folks an appetizer?” she asks while placing my drink in front of me.

  I shake my head at Ten. “No, this will be all for now. Thanks,” he answers.

  We sit in silence for a few seconds, both taking sips of our drinks. He knows I have an ulterior motive in asking him to meet with me. He continues to drink his beer, waiting for me to start talking.

  “So, the lawsuit… I hear you’re the lead on it.” My eyes dart back and forth from him to my mojito. He remains silent. “That’s pretty impressive to be given a case this big already. You’ve only been with Clarkson and Ross for a little over a year, right?”

  “What can I say? When you’re good, you’re good. You should come join us. We’re always looking for talented lawyers. With your assets, you could go far at the firm.”

  I give him a weak smile and take another sip of my drink. This is harder than I thought. I really should have planned out what I was going to say. “Do you really think you’ll be able to win the case?”

  Eyeing me suspiciously, he takes a long draw of his beer. “You know as well
as I do that this won’t go to trial. There will be a settlement made. The only question is how much of one.”

  “What if the Johnsons don’t settle?”

  “They’ll settle. The old man cares too much about his reputation to let Junior’s wandering dick get in the way.”

  “I hear there’s a note.”

  “I think we should probably change the subject.” He reaches over and runs the tips of his fingers over my hand. “You know, Mabry, you and I would be great together.”

  My eyes glance down at his touch and immediately back up to meet his dark brown eyes. “I know you can’t tell me exactly what’s in the note. But is there a strong implication that he was directly responsible for her death? Are you that confident in your case?” I ask, shifting into lawyer mode.

  “Did they send you here?” He removes his hand.

  “No. No one knows I’m here. I’m not part of the case, Ten.”

  “The note is pretty clear about her reasons for killing herself. That coupled with your boy’s past activities leads me and my firm to believe we’re in for a hefty payday.”

  “Past activities?” There’s hesitancy in my voice.

  “Brad’s been a busy boy,” he says, sarcastically.

  “He admits to having been a player. We all make mistakes when we’re young.”

  “Mistakes, yes, but he was calculating.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It seems in high school Brad and some friends had an ongoing betting game. It started off innocent enough, I guess. They’d bet on which one would be the first to feel up a girl or get a blowjob. As the boys got older, the bets and the stakes got bigger. The most charming was snatching of the V card. Their intended targets got picked each semester. The fellas would say and do whatever they needed to in order to get the girl to give it up. When she did, they’d further humiliate her by having the other two assholes appear out of nowhere and pay up right in front of her. He and his friends continued this activity through undergrad school. He’s also, pardon my French, fucked the majority of the females working at your firm. Hell, he screwed one of his father’s assistants in the old man’s own office.”