Fragile Bonds

by Sloan Johnson

  No amount of psychobabble bullshit can change the fact that I wonder how the sun can be shining or a warm breeze can blow gently off the seas. The bright orange blossoms on Poinciana trees dance in the wind, adding to the spectacular landscape. I don’t want sun and warmth and color. The weather back home is much more fitting of my mood, gray and sullen. There, Mother Nature seems to understand that there is no vibrancy in my life right now because I wake up every morning terrified that I will open Alyssa’s bedroom door and find that she’s slipped away from us in the night.

  By the time we ascend the Queen’s Stairs that lead to Fort Fincastle, I’m willing to do just about anything to break the uncomfortable silence. The void between us is painful because I can still remember when Melanie and I would talk for hours about everything and nothing, flowing seamlessly from one topic to another. Melanie wasn’t simply my lover, or my submissive for a time, she was my best friend. The person I talked to about everything. As we continue along the path, I look around, making sure that there isn’t, by some freak chance, anyone I know near us. My throat feels like I drank a cup of sand when we got off the ship this morning as I ready myself to dig deep and find that place where Melanie and I meant everything to one another.

  “I’m freaking out here,” I mumble, staring straight ahead. They’re four simple words, but saying them out loud lifts a hundred pound weight off my chest. Melanie keeps walking and I wonder if she heard me. I’m not sure I can say it again. She squints her eyes as she turns her head to me, shielding her gaze from the sun with her hand.

  “That’s normal, Xavier. No one expects you to be strong all the time,” she assures me. I’m expecting her to keep talking, but instead, she looks ahead and keeps making her way to the ancient stone fort in silence.

  “It’s my job to be the strong one. Am I supposed to rely on Alyssa to console me while I try to figure out how I’m supposed to raise Jacob without her? Maybe I can hold on tight to Jacob while I try to figure out what I’m going to do when I don’t have Alyssa to remind me to do the shit I constantly forget,” I grumble. There’s no choice but for me to put on a brave face, hiding the anguish behind a carefully constructed mask until late at night when I’m alone in my bedroom. Only after I know my wife and son are sleeping do I allow myself to crack.

  I can’t take anymore of being surrounded by carefree tourists. I reach for Melanie’s hand, leading her off the stone path to a clearing where we can sit for a while and just be. She looks down at our joined hands, but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to because the way she flinched at my touch spoke volumes. The only thing keeping her from jerking her hand away is the fact that she’s a compassionate woman who puts her own discomfort aside for the needs of others.

  We find a place to sit in the grass, overlooking the crystal clear waters. While I attempt to reconcile where this woman fits in my life now, I watch her pluck blades of grass from the ground, rolling them between her fingers. That first day she showed up at my door, she was an even more beautiful version of the young woman I knew so long ago. Today, even the Bahamian sun reflecting off her skin can’t hide the exhaustion etched on her face. Fine lines that never existed before mar her features, the light in her espresso eyes is dimmed by worry. I used to wonder how it was that someone with such a tender, compassionate heart was able to get out of bed each morning and devote her life to those who were dying. While she is exactly the type of person any family in our situation should pray to have enter their lives, how does she not die a little each time a patient takes their last breath? Now that I’m paying attention, I see that it is hurting her to see what we’re going through.

  “You’re going to be fine, Xavier,” she promises me, still staring at the grandiose resort in the distance. “It might not seem like it, but I know you well enough to know that you’re going to figure out how to get out of bed each day and be the best father you can be to Jacob.”

  What would Melanie think if she knew that, until Alyssa was told there was nothing the doctors could do for her, I’ve been a hands-off father? I don’t know how I’m going to be there for him because I’ve had Alyssa to deal with his day-to-day needs for nearly five years. While she stayed home with him, I worked grueling hours, traveling nearly every week, and was content to be Jacob’s buddy when I was home. There have been times since November when Melanie or Alyssa have criticized me for being too tough on Jacob, but it’s the only way I can make him see that I can’t be his friend all the time anymore. I have to crack down and make sure he knows that when I tell him he needs to do something, it’s not appropriate to laugh at me, pulling out another game for us to play. Hell, the preschool we put him in just so he had friends to play with and Alyssa had a break a few days each week didn’t even know me the first time I picked him up at the end of the day. What kind of parent is that removed from his son’s life?

  “That’s the whole problem. The best I know how to be isn’t enough. Hell, I still get nervous about bath time because I don’t want to burn him. He’ll go a week without me washing his hair because I don’t know how to get past the battle over getting his hair wet.” The dam in my mind has broken and every insecurity I feel when it comes to my son floods from my mouth. Melanie pulls her legs to her body, turning her face to me as rests her head on her knees. She’s not disputing a single thing I have to say, not reassuring me that I will get through this, nothing. “And worst of all, how am I supposed to respond when he asks me where his mom is? How am I going to tell him that he will never see her again?”

  My body heaves with the fear and grief I’ve held in for so long. Melanie’s lithe fingers sweep away the tears I didn’t realize were freely streaming down my cheeks. I allow myself to completely crumble when I feel her body move closer to mine, her arms encircling me with love. This embrace isn’t romantic or sexual in nature, it’s pure compassion. Her comfort, her sweet assurances that I will be able to go on whispered into my ear make me feel worse than I thought possible. I don’t deserve her support after the way I treated her and yet she doesn’t hesitate to give it to me.

  “We’ll work on that when we get home, okay?” The way she emphasized that we will do whatever she has in mind when we get home is a subtle reminder that I’m not as alone as I feel. The woman I accused on her first day of not being able to put our mutual past out of her mind in order to take care of my wife is quickly becoming my anchor. I was a narcissistic ass to think that she would still be angry with me years later and that she would allow that loathing to cloud the care and judgment she gave my wife. Instead, she has proven time and time again that this is her job, a job that she does damn well. Now, we’re to the point that I don’t know what will happen after Alyssa dies and I don’t have Melanie to turn to when I feel overwhelmed.

  “Work on what?” I ask, seeing the gears turning in her mind. Is she going to sign me up for remedial parenting classes or something? I wouldn’t doubt it given the number of failings I have listed off in the past five minutes.

  “There are little things we can do to make it easier on Jacob after Alyssa is gone,” she promises me. “It’s never going to be easy, but I will help you and Alyssa prepare for his emotional future. And Xavier, you’ll never be alone when it comes to him, okay?”

  She flashes a weak smile, squeezing my hand that is still resting in hers. There are so many more questions I would love to ask her, but I promised Alyssa that I would enjoy my day and not obsess about what is going on in our home or our lives. We have five hours left before we have to walk back to the dock and she’ll be pissed if she finds out I spent the entire day sitting at a scenic overlook, crying like a little bitch.

  Xavier stands, reaching down to help me off the ground. As soon as I’m steady on my feet, I expect him to drop my hand, but the cautious distance we’ve maintained for months is gone. In its place is a chaste love that neither of us can ignore any more than we can the need to breathe. When he circles his arms around my chest, holding me tight against his body, it’s not what
I feared I would feel if he touched me.

  “I’m so sorry, Melanie,” Xavier whispers as he rests his cheek on top of my head. My brow creases as I fight the urge to decipher the meaning of his words. After waiting years to hear the words from him, I’m no longer certain they’re needed or wanted. For all I know, his apology is for breaking down in my presence, and if that’s the case, I might be tempted to kick him in the ass. He’s not the same man I knew back then, but his need to be an emotional pillar pisses me off as much now as it did when we were together. He needs to talk to someone and I’m elated that we’ve finally gotten to the point where he trusts me enough to let me be there for him.

  “Without trust, there is nothing,” Xavier says, standing before me. He reaches down, tipping my head upward. “You’ve given me your trust, which is everything.”

  I cannot keep doing this. It’s been over a month since I allowed myself time to think about what Xavier and I used to share. At that point, I decided to let go of the past completely and appreciate the man I’m getting to know now without letting our history skew my opinion of him. And now, as we’re in one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever visited, walking under a canopy of exotic trees and plants, the memories are coming back to me.

  “No worries,” I say, deciding that anything else will be an invitation down a slippery slope.

  Xavier grips my shoulders, turning me to face him. Thank God I’ve finally lost the reflex that caused me to go weak in the knees and stare at the ground every time he looks at me this way. Today, I’m staring directly into a sapphire torrent of pain and, if possible, it’s murkier now than it was earlier. “I do worry, Melanie. There is so much I’ve fucked up when it comes to you and I’m not sure you’ll ever know how much I regret my decisions.”

  The way he’s looking at me, there’s no doubting his sincerity. It also confirms that this is a conversation we can’t be having. Not now, maybe not ever. Seeing his life as it is today is what gave me the strength to finally let go of the “what-ifs” and accept that there is a reason why we didn’t get to have our forever.

  “Xavier, don’t,” I plead with him. This might be the only time I get to visit Nassau and I would prefer to enjoy my time, not worry about whether or not I’m going to leave pieces of my heart that I thought were glued back together lying in the middle of the street.

  “Please, Melanie. I have to say this and we might not have another chance.” Tourists bump into us as we have a stand-off in the middle of the road. For selfish reasons, I want to keep a lid on everything I felt when he left me to cry myself to sleep, knowing I had lost him. But with everything he’s going through, this is what he wants to talk about. I get the impression he truly does need to clear the air between us for his own peace of mind.

  I close my eyes, bracing myself for whatever it is that he has to say. Rather than continue blocking the path that is getting more congested with every passing moment, I lead him to a small café down the street. This way, we can hopefully find a quiet corner to call our own while we say whatever needs to be said.

  “Look Xavier, we were both different people back then. And I’m sorry that I broke your trust.” Of all the thoughts that held my mind captive in the weeks and months after I moved out of the house, it’s the ones where he emphasized the importance of us being able to trust that stuck with me the longest. “I know now that it was an immature decision and that I could have told you what I was feeling.”

  My hope is that if I tell him these things, he won’t need to reopen the wounds that have healed. “And please don’t regret anything. If we hadn’t gone our separate ways, you wouldn’t have Jacob in your life today. And even when you’re uncertain of your parenting skills, I see how much you love him. You wouldn’t trade him for the world.”

  The pain on his face softens as he takes in my words. The corner of his mouth quirks up as he subtly nods his agreement. “True, but that doesn’t change the fact that I overreacted that night.”

  There’s the understatement of the century. It’s the one fact that allowed me to turn my grief to anger for so long. While I fully own the fact that I lied to him, I’ve never understood why telling him I was going to stay home and then going out for the night was enough for him to abandon me.

  No, you will not go there again.

  “Xavier…” This time, I’m not sure I have anything to say to him. Agreeing won’t make him feel any better. And I can’t dispute what he said because he’s right. “What’s done is done. While I appreciate the apology, you can’t beat yourself up for what you did or didn’t do.”

  “You’re right,” he agrees, taking a sip of his coffee. The waiter delivers sandwiches that I’m almost certain are going to remain untouched. Well, he might be able to eat, but I’ve lost my appetite at this point. “But there is one thing I need to know.”

  I cock my head to the side, unsure why he sounds nervous now. As I study him, he straightens the silverware in front of him over and over, sometimes only moving the knife or fork a millimeter. “What’s that?” I ask uncertainly. The awkwardness between us seems to be slithering its way back into the room.

  “Why did you disappear?” he asks, his face once again pained. But this time, the sadness is because of something he thinks I did. Which is ludicrous because I became a hermit, never leaving home unless I was at class because I didn’t want to miss his call.

  “What are you talking about? You knew where to find me and you never bothered calling,” I say bitterly. I curl my toes tightly in my sandals, praying I will be able to keep him from seeing how agitated his accusation has me. Of all the places I anticipated this conversation heading, him telling me that I disappeared on him didn’t even hit my radar.

  “That night, I told you that I needed time to think,” he reminds me. The tick in his jaw indicates that we’re dangerously close to this discussion escalating to an argument. “What did you think I meant by that? When I realized what I had done, I tried calling you, but every time, Stacey told me you didn’t want to talk to me.”

  This makes no sense. I never told her that. In fact, I cried every single day because he hadn’t called. She knew how badly I wanted to have one last chance to talk to him. To find out how he could throw what we had away so easily.

  “If she said that, I’m sorry. Xavier, you have to know how hard it was for me after you said goodbye. I thought we were going to be together forever. That’s what you said the day you handed me the keys to the house. That it was our forever home.” I swallow the lump in my throat that’s making it hard to breathe, much less continue speaking. “And then there was the letter--”

  “What letter?” he asks, completely sailing past upset to utterly pissed off. Until this very moment, I have never doubted the authenticity of the letter I found sitting on my kitchen table about a month after he left me. I read it so many times that the paper was soft from my gripping it tightly, the ink blurred by my tears.

  “I came home from school one day and there was a letter from you at the apartment,” I say, carefully watching his reaction. He shakes his head, his mouth hanging slightly open as blinks rapidly, trying to figure out what I’m talking about. It’s this reaction, combined with the knowledge that my so-called best friend was intercepting his calls that causes me to bury my head in my hands. “You didn’t write that letter, did you?”

  I ask the question more for confirmation than anything else. It was common knowledge that Stacey didn’t care for him, but I never would have thought that she would have stooped so low as to actively work to keep us from reconciling. Anything I felt when we started talking has been replaced by the sinking feeling of betrayal. I wish I was back home so I could call her and ask her why she felt the need to do this to me.

  Xavier shakes his head again, reaching across the table for me. His thumb gently strokes the back of my hand as he speaks. “Melanie, I would never put words on paper that needed to be said to your face. How could you possibly think it was from me?”

  Some
thing that feels awfully close to shame fills my entire body. “I don’t know, I guess I let myself believe it because you cut me so deep that night. And there were things in there that I thought were between us.” There’s only one person who knew some of the little things Xavier said to me over the course of our relationship. No matter how happy I am that Xavier has a good life now, I will never forgive her for this. He was my everything and Stacey is the one who took that away from me.

  I watch as Xavier slides his chair so he’s sitting closer to me at the small wrought iron table. “How could you think I would be so heartless?” I can’t bring myself to look at him to see if his eyes are filled with the sadness I hear in his voice. “Melanie, I loved you so much. That night, I was so mad at you. It wasn’t that you went to that party, although I’m not sure I will ever understand why you thought it was okay to go to a party themed around open nudity and public sex without me. It was the fact that you weren’t talking to me. When you said you needed to prove to yourself that you were still your own person, I think I hated myself more than anything.”

  I make no effort to stop the tears rolling down my cheeks. Every wound has been sliced open once again. I stare out the window of the café but I don’t see anything. For the first time since I came out of the post-Xavier darkness, there’s an unbearable emptiness in my soul. Everything I thought I knew about his leaving is a lie. And now that I know the truth, there’s not a single thing I can do about it because he has moved on with his life while I’ve buried myself with my career, saying I didn’t need anything else.

  “Say something,” Xavier begs. I purse my lips, trying to calm down before I speak. “Melanie, please tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “I think I’m going to head back to the ship,” I say, standing. The moment I’m outside, I take off at a sprint, praying I can lose myself on one of the decks before he can catch up to me. The tears come faster and harder with every step I take. I can barely breathe but I can’t stop. I have to keeping running. I have to be somewhere far, far away from Xavier right now or I might say something I can’t take back. The worst case scenario being that I would tell him that I lied to myself. I’ve been lying for six years, every time I’ve said I don’t love him anymore.