“Well, Lucas was basically his only family. And from what I remember, they didn’t get along well at all. Lucas couldn’t wait to get the hell out of town, and I think the old man was glad to see him go off to college. If I recall correctly, I think the old man was pissed that his only son didn’t want to be a doctor. I think he wanted to be an architect, and the old man fought the idea until he finally pushed him away for good. My guess is that when Lucas left town, that was the last time they saw each other. All I know is I’m glad you got this old place. It’s cool as hell, really, and much better than my cookie cutter house in Glenn Heights.”
The mention of his house brought Violet back to reality. He was supposed to be getting married. He had a son and a stepdaughter, and most importantly, he had his fiancée, Penelope. Violet relit her cigar and rolled back over on her back. She stared up at the vaulted roof of the attic and admired its intricate design.
“Why are you here, Michael? Why are you so unhappy with your life?” she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the ceiling above.
He didn’t answer right away, and in truth, Violet wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer.
Then suddenly, he began to talk—not about his current fiancée—but about his marriage to Elijah’s mother and how it broke his heart when she left. It was obvious that he had loved her. He described the way they met at a bus stop in Reno. He had decided to travel and see the country before embarking to college, but within a week’s time he had met Lexi, and he was ready to stop and stay wherever she was. According to Michael, she was scrounging for loose change in the dirt near the bus stop, desperately trying to come up with enough funds to catch the next ride out of there. From Michael’s vantage point, she looked like a homeless woman with her back hunched over and dirt in her nails. When he handed her some change, she was startled and looked up, and that’s when he saw the beautiful contours of her face, and he realized she was not your run-of-the-mill homeless girl.
She was younger than he, about Violet’s age, in fact. She was practically an orphan, he explained. Her parents were drug addicts, and she had been taking care of herself since she was a pre-teen. Despite her rough upbringing, she was sweet and idealistic about her future. Lexi wanted to be a famous dancer someday, but most of all, she wanted to be a mother.
“To make up for her own mother’s shortcomings, I presume,” Violet interrupted.
Michael replied, “Perhaps. Lexi followed me to college,” he went on. “We were inseparable, and in many ways, our relationship was too passionate.”
“Explain,” Violet encouraged him.
“Well, I hate to say this, and I hope this doesn’t offend you, but my relationship with Lexi reminds me of our relationship in a way: passionate and sweet, but painful at the same time,” he said.
Violet raised her eyebrows.
“Lexi was into drugs and sex. She was a great girl, but when she partied, man, she really partied. And it wasn’t just her, it was me too. I mean, hell, we lived in a little apartment down the road from a college campus. It was party central, so to speak.”
Violet nodded. She loved hearing Michael talk about his life, and she wanted to know everything, but the look in his eyes was a reminder that he had an entire life before he knew her, and she definitely wasn’t the first woman he had ever adored.
“Then she got pregnant. And the partying stopped. Well, at least I thought it had, but I have always suspected that she still used some during her pregnancy. When Elijah was born, Lexi was so happy, and so was I. We were young, but we were determined to do it and to be better parents than our own.” He paused, and Violet left him to his own thoughts as she imagined the whole scenario. Michael stood up and started pulling on his pants and boots with a pained look in his eye. “But we were not any better. In fact, we were inherently worse, because she left when he was six, and I did nothing to stop it from happening,” he said with a crack in his voice.
Violet stood up and embraced him. He sunk his head into her bosom, and she stroked his hair with her fingers. She didn’t know what to say, so she just held on to him, speaking soft words of encouragement.
The next thing she knew, he was tearing off her pants again, and they were falling back into bed together. So much for ending this thing tonight, she thought as she arched her back and moaned with delight as he caressed her thighs and kissed her breasts.
“I’m so sorry about what happened, Michael,” she whispered. “It must have been so hard for you and Elijah…”
For the second time that day, she allowed him to shush her. “I am in love with you, Violet,” he whispered into her hair. “I have pined over you since we were kids, and I will be damned if I am going to let another woman walk out of my life without telling her how I feel and not trying to stop it. So, please just shut up and let me love you tonight.”
So, that is exactly what she did. They made love until the sun went down, and then she fell asleep in his arms; she dreamt of nothing, as there was no need. Her dream was lying right beside her.
Chapter Five
Penelope stirred the fried potatoes and glanced out the kitchen window into the darkness of the night. The driveway remained empty. Where the hell is he? she wondered, looking down at her Rolex. It was nearly eight thirty, and even on his busiest nights, Michael was usually home no later than eight. She had prolonged dinner for him, and the kids were getting antsy for their meal as they hovered around her in the kitchen.
“All right, fine. I’m taking up supper,” she said, letting out a deep sigh.
“Yes!” Angie whooped. Tonight they were having her favorite meal, which consisted of hamburgers, fried potatoes, and macaroni and cheese.
Angie took a seat next to Elijah at the dining room table as her mother placed two plates in front of them. She carried over silverware, napkins, and two glasses of Sprite. “Mmmm…looks good, Penelope,” Elijah said.
“Thank you,” Penelope replied. She was distracted, and Elijah and Angie both knew it. They shot each other knowing glances as Penelope stomped into her bedroom, closing the door.
Penelope sat on the edge of her four-poster bed and dialed Michael’s cell phone number for the hundredth time that day. It wasn’t unusual for him to have it off, since he really wasn’t supposed to use it at work, but considering the fact that he was late, she thought he would have at least called her by now to tell her he’d be late for supper. She tried the number one more time and decided to give up when she heard his familiar voicemail once again.
“I’m taking a bath,” she called out to the kids, heading into the spacious, four-fixture bathroom that was adjacent to her bedroom. She locked the door behind her and stripped off her nurse’s uniform and undergarments. She let the water run as she inspected herself in one of the his and hers wash basin mirrors. She couldn’t help but think how tired she looked. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail and inspected the growth between her eyebrows. It is definitely time for another wax, she decided.
The water was ready, so she stepped in slowly, allowing her body temperature time to adjust. She lowered herself into the tub and let out a relieving sigh as she leaned back against the pillow cushion that she had recently added to the backside of the tub.
Closing her eyes, she tried to listen for Michael at the front door, hoping he’d come in, see her stretched out like this, and get instantly turned on. But there was no Michael, and after giving her face a good scrub and spraying off with the showerhead quickly, she decided to get out and check to see if he was home yet. She wrapped a towel around her waist and used another towel to twist up her hair.
“Bedtime, kiddos!” she hollered out to them as she headed back to the bedroom to get changed. She stuck her head out the door once more. “I mean it! It’s a school night!” The tone in her voice must have made the message clear because she heard the Xbox and TV go off within seconds, and then they stomped up the stairs to their second-story bedrooms. Penelope put on shorts and a lacy camisole before heading out into the living ro
om to wait for Michael. Where the hell was he?
The living room opened up into the kitchen, and she once again walked over to the front window. It was nearly ten o’clock, and she had to admit that she was becoming less angry and more worried by the minute. Michael was always so timely, and it just did not seem like him to be so late without calling. At quarter after ten, she’d made up her mind. She used her iPhone to dial his work number and tapped her foot impatiently as she was placed on hold.
Michael worked for a shipping company, and they held late hours, but working this late was very atypical for Michael. She rarely called his work number. In fact, she couldn’t even think of a time that she had called it before. But she was worried, and Michael would understand that. She just wanted to make sure he hadn’t had an accident at work and if he had left hours ago, then maybe he had been in a car wreck on the way home…she didn’t like thinking such grim thoughts.
“B and J Shipping,” a young, peppy girl announced, “how may I help you?”
Penelope told her who she was and asked if Michael had gotten off work yet. Yet again, she was placed on hold, but Miss Peppy quickly returned on the line, only she no longer sounded so peppy anymore.
“Ms. Sinclair? Are you still there?” Peppy asked.
“Yes, I am,” Penelope answered, unable to hide the irritation in her voice any longer.
“He’s not on the schedule today…” Peppy revealed hesitantly.
Penelope paused briefly, then thanked Peppy and started to hang up before another thought crossed her mind. “Miss? Can you tell me if he will be in tomorrow? Silly me! I forgot that he told me he was taking some time off this week, and I’ve been out of town planning our wedding, so we haven’t talked much this week…I’m due back in town tomorrow so if he’s off, I thought I might surprise him,” Penelope said.
The receptionist gave out a sigh of relief, as though she hadn’t revealed too much information about her boss’s whereabouts after all. “Yes, he’s off all week,” she informed her.
Penelope thanked her again and hung up.
She was stunned and her eyes welled up with tears. What was going on? Why would Michael take a week off from work and not tell her? Sure, he had been off for Elijah’s birthday, but he told her that he had the day off, not an entire week.
So, then, she wondered…if he’s not at work, and he’s not at home, then where else could he be? She poured herself a glass of Chardonnay and tried to carry it to the bedroom, but her hands were too shaky. She sat down at the dining room table but left her drink untouched.
Michael had been distant for the past couple of months, but she had just chalked that up to a busy workload and stress with the move and wedding plans and all. Now that she really thought about it, they hadn’t had sex in nearly two weeks. What if…no, she wasn’t going to think thoughts like that. Surely, when Michael got home, he would explain all of this. Hell, maybe he took the day off so he could go buy her an engagement present or make plans for their honeymoon? After all, Michael did love surprises.
Speak of the devil, she thought, as headlights glared through the shiny, glass kitchen window. She ran to the bathroom to hide her tear-stained face. She locked the door and re-started the bath water just as he turned his key in the front door lock. She pressed her back against the door and realized she was foolishly holding her breath. The knock on the bathroom door startled her. She turned off the faucet and called out, “Honey, is that you? I was worried!”
For a moment he was silent, but then he responded through the door, “I’m sorry, Babe. I lost my cell phone in the truck, and they worked me like a dog today. We have some new clients in town this week, so I will probably work late tomorrow and Friday too.”
She plopped down on the edge of the tub and wrung her hands nervously. She was stunned.
“Honey? You okay in there?” he asked.
She called out, “Yes, I’m fine—just washing my hair. That sucks about your new clients. I hate when you have to work late.”
“Yeah, me too. Well, I’m going to undress and hop into bed. I am totally beat,” he replied softly through the door.
“Good night. I’ll be in in a little while,” she answered back. She stared blankly at the bathroom tiles and even went so far as to count them. Her bathroom consisted of eighty-six tiles.
Penelope felt numb. Meeting Michael was the best thing that had happened to her and Angie in a long time. He had a good job; he was great with the kids, and he was ridiculously handsome. She knew he had a past and a little bit of a wild side, but surely, he wasn’t cheating on her, was he?
Regardless of what he was doing, it was only a matter of time before she would discover the truth for herself. Nancy Drew was her favorite book series as a child, and after tonight’s revelations, it seemed as though it was time to do a little detective work of her own.
Chapter Six
Until she could get her tire fixed, Lexi was stuck riding the bus. She dug some loose change out from the bottom of her satchel and handed it to the bus driver, then headed for a seat in the back. Riding the bus was not her favorite pastime. For one, it stank of urine and body odor. Two, it was filled with passengers who either talked too much or gave her the creeps. Last but not least, buses reminded her of Reno, and Reno was the last thing she wanted to think about.
Lexi was scheduled to be at work at seven. As long as the bus stayed on schedule, she would make it just in time. Billy, the owner of the Clamshell, was intolerant of tardiness, and Lexi had definitely had her fair share of tardiness since she had started working there last year.
Stripping was not her idea of a good job, but without a degree or high school diploma, she didn’t have a lot to offer prospective employers. Reggie, her sometimes boyfriend, had taken her to the Clamshell one night with some of his buddies. She didn’t mind strip clubs and didn’t protest when they suggested she tag along with them one drunken evening as they prepared to go. Not only did she not mind strip clubs, but she actually viewed the men as the ones being degraded, not the women. If men want to throw their money away just to look at something they’ll never get, and could easily get from their wives at home, then that makes them pathetic, not the girls.
That night at the Clamshell she was offered a job. After months of searching for employment and being on the verge of losing her apartment, she accepted the position and had started the very next day. The truth was, despite her liberal views on strip clubs, she hated working there, and she did, in fact, feel pretty degraded by it.
The bus screeched to a halt and several passengers started heading up to the front. This was not her stop. She stared out the window at the city with its strip malls and small specialty shops lining the streets. One of the shops was called “Unique Gifts for the Child in All of Us.” Lexi stared at the model airplane that was displayed in the front store window, and she thought about Elijah. His first word was mama, and his second word was plane. She smiled sadly at the memory. Even as he grew older, he still loved airplanes, and when he was five he’d built his first model airplane with Michael by his side helping him. She remembered how full of love she had felt that day—for both her husband and child.
Lexi looked away from the store window and then looked back again. “Driver, wait!” she called out suddenly, surprising herself and jarring awake the woman beside her who had been snoring softly. “This is my stop,” she said as she climbed over her neighbor’s lap and pushed her way to the front.
As the bus pulled off, she stood on the sidewalk staring at the airplane that she pretty much had just given up her job for.
“Fuck it,” she said aloud and reached for a cigarette. She wanted to buy it for Elijah, and she had enough cash in her pocket. Screw the tire, she thought as she tossed the lit cigarette to the ground and then jogged across the street. For the first time in a long time, she felt excited about something.
Chapter Seven
Violet leaned back in the computer chair and stretched her arms up over her head. She ne
eded a break. She had spent the entire morning and half of the afternoon cleaning the house again in preparation of Alex’s arrival, and then the rest of the day she had been working on volume eight of the Manolo’s Secret series that she had been writing for six long years now. When she wrote her first book, there was no way she had ever dreamed it would really get published. But after her book proposal was rejected by nearly three dozen agents, Christopher Fontaine had come to her rescue. He had started out as a small-time agent, but over the years, he had become quite a success, and “It all started with you!” he liked to remind her from time to time. Christopher had worked his ass off to find a publisher willing to take a chance on a first time author. But in the long run, his diligent work had paid off, and now here she was, working on book eight of a successful series that had recently hit the bestseller’s list. She couldn’t help but feel proud of what she had accomplished, and even though she had enough money to leave her part-time job at the library, she loved her co-workers and couldn’t imagine giving up her position there anytime soon. Books were an integral part of her life, and there was rarely a time she could ever remember a day going by without reading or writing.
Violet loved writing and reading books more than anything. She grew up poor, and one of the greatest highlights of her life was taking weekly trips to the library with her grandmother. Her mother had died in a car crash when she was a baby, and her father was too busy getting drunk to take care of her half the time, so Granny Alice was the closest thing to a parent she had.
Granny Alice did not have much, but she treated what she did have as though it were gold. She lived in a one-bedroom, shotgun house in the middle of a dead-end street, three doors down from Michael’s parents’ gorgeous, old Victorian home. Granny’s house stood out like a sore thumb with its minute size and rickety paneling, but she was not the kind of woman who concerned herself with others’ perceptions; since childhood, she had encouraged Violet to worry only about her own self-image. “We may all look different on the outside, Violet, but if you lift the skin and peek underneath, we’re all the same. So, never think that you’re better, Violet. And most certainly do not ever think that you’re worse,” she would say over and over again; it was always like she was telling her the first time.
This Is Not About Love Page 3
