Love's Inconvenient Truth

by Love Belvin

  I flew home, fighting against rough winds and heavy rain drops in my eight-year-old Taurus. I needed him to tell me to my face why he betrayed me. If he was so repulsed by me, why didn’t he just leave? Why play a role he didn’t ask for? I burst through the doors, dripping from head to toe from the trip from the car. I could hear my Samuel wailing his little eyes out.

  If I would’ve just taken a moment to assess my surroundings…

  I charged the small place until I laid eyes on Henry, rummaging through a kitchen drawer. His coat was on, eyes strained. I ignored all of that and began lighting into him. I went in on his lies and secrets and told him to leave. I made sure to mention how miserable I was as a mother and wife to a man I wasn’t even attracted to, and how for the first time in my life sex wasn’t a missing element of my life. Henry’s only response was he had to go. We could talk about it later, but Samuel’s fever was at an all-time high and he needed to get to the ER. In my hysteria, I demanded he stop and give me some answers. When I started swiping the countertops, sending everything to the floor, my baby, Samantha joined her brother in high pitched cries. None of this registered at the time.

  But what did was Henry calling me a whorish bitch he wished he never laid eyes on and the only good thing that came from between my open legs were his children who should’ve been Jenn’s. That stopped me in my rage. I’d wanted the truth and got it. As he scooped my babies in his arms, I hurled the words that will haunt me until I die. Words that shouldn’t be uttered by a mother whether in anger or truth.

  “I wish I didn’t have to wake up to you or your kids! I wish I was all alone just like I was before crossing paths with you!”

  I screamed that from the pit of my belly as he carried my screaming babies out of the house.

  I straightened in front of Jackson, gripping the robe he must’ve put on me at some point during my sharing.

  “What’s troubling is there was some truth to that. I wasn’t happy. I didn’t want that for my life. But I would never trade my babies for anything, no matter how much their presence changed the course of my life. They taught me devotion. I woke up every day with their care in mind for over three years. They brought joy to my heart despite the gloomy life I was forced to live out because of my reckless actions. Now, at thirty-six, I realize no young woman deserves a limited life that way. But I swear, I would have lived it out, making sure those babies had more than I did.” I licked my lips, preparing myself for the conclusion to my haunting story.

  I couldn’t face him, not with this. “Jackson, that night, Henry and my babies died in a fatal car crash. The storm was in full bloom and the small hatchback Henry drove couldn’t stand against the winds. They skidded across the highway and directly into an eighteen-wheeler.” Jackson straightened, his lips parted in shock. The first stinging tear fell from my eyes, “I buried my family less than two weeks later. It was the most surreal thing in my life. I thought I knew lowliness before, but at that, I collided with depression like never before. They were babies…babies I willed to death.” Jackson reached for me, but I pulled back.

  “I drowned in depression for eight months before something inside of me shut off. One day, I woke up in my parents’ shack out back and went for a run. I was sedentary and wildly overweight, so I may have gone a half a mile that day. The next day, I went longer, and the following, even longer. It was how I empowered myself. When I run, I can think…meditate. From one of those runs, I pieced together a plan to move and go school. I took my time setting up my new life, even changed my name legally. I always knew I was good at manipulation, altering people’s perceptions, this time I did it for a fresh start, liberation from the hell of willing my family’s demise.” Jackson nodded somberly, seemingly understanding me.

  “When I met you that night in the bar, I’d been with one other man since Henry. It was horrible. Encountering you was so—” I cringed at my realization. “Shit—you are absolutely exhilarating; confident, incredibly sexy, extremely articulate, exuding leadership and responsibility. It was easy to assent to whatever you offered in bed or at the firm.” I shook my head as my eyes lolled back and forth below. “But how long could a darkened soul hold on to a promising being like you?” I met his heavy gaze, pupils reflecting the dancing flames of the fire. “You may have lived prematurely and sowed your oats, but with what you bring to the table…what you have in here”—I placed my palm on his chest—“you’re going to run into a more suitable woman who could responsibly care for it.” I gave a forlorn smile as I wiped my tears. “You’ll want babies one day. I’ve had my tubes tied, Jackson.” He recoiled. “Yup. I can’t have babies, don’t deserve that gift anymore.

  “The last time I saw my children alive they were wailing; one in pain and both frightened by my emotional breakdown. What woman deserves kindness after that?” I shrugged as I turned away from Jackson to face the fire and murmured, “Since meeting you, I’ve gotten a taste of what a connection with a man could be like, so I was considering companionship for a while recently. But… I don’t deserve care. I don’t deserve to be looked after. I certainly don’t deserve your future. Jackson, you’re a man of devotion. I. Don’t. Deserve. You.”

  Then I let the overflow of tears that I’d been balancing within release. I felt Jackson’s arms wrap around my trembling frame as he scooped me up and carried me to bed. He crawled in behind me and pulled me into his chest, gripping me to the point of pain. I didn’t mind it at all. It reminded me I was amongst the living. And that’s what Jackson did for me. He made me feel alive, not just surviving the guilt of being alive.

  eighteen

  The next morning, we headed back to the city, riding in the same awkward silence as when we arrived. This time, I knew it was because of my sharing with Jackson. I was too drowsy and achy to analyze it. Before dropping me off at home, he stopped off at a drug store.

  After he helped me into my apartment, I stripped off my clothes and crawled into bed. Jackson’s voice thirty or so minutes later awakened me. He’d set out medications for me and had chicken noodle soup delivered, likely from some fancy restaurant. I asked him to go, understanding he was a busy man. I had no desire for him to watch me lay zombie-like with a running nose. After urging me to take a few pills, I remembered him planting a kiss on my forehead before I dozed off.

  The next time I roused Michael was there, playing doctor. It was painfully annoying. He fed me a few spoonsful of soup, gave me two of the pills Jackson left behind and left himself. This went on for two days. When I was marginally better, I began to care for myself. Midnight, my stray cat, also popped in for a meal and stayed overnight. Her quiet presence strangely lessened the sense of dread I was once again ensnared by. I called out of work the first half of the following week and worked from home the remaining days. It was partially because I was still sick and part not being ready to face Jackson.

  On Wednesday, I contacted Rayna Jacobs to discuss the details of my move out there. I knew nothing about Los Angeles and needed to find a place to rent for my stay. She offered me a place in Marina Del Rey. I made a few more calls to set up my impending move then moved on to emails concerning my current clients.

  By Thursday morning, my mood was shifting. After doing several cycles of mountain climbers, planks, pushups, bicycle sit ups, jumping jacks and every other exercise my healing body probably wasn’t ready for, I collapsed on the couch, finally ready to confront the issue gnawing at me. Jackson. He’d been in touch about work, on several occasions asking about my condition after communicating something work related. I knew he was out of town on business during the early part of the week, but it was now Thursday and I hadn’t laid eyes on him since the weekend.

  You called it off, Elle.

  Yeah, but…damn! He could have at least given parting words for my painful disclosure. Perhaps to the tune of his secrets and what keeps him so guarded and pensive. Why does he seem so disconnected from the world…unless he’s with me or inside of me. But even with me, Jackson still held
back a lot. I didn’t get him. It would’ve been nice to get closure from him before our final parting.

  Forget him! If he wanted to keep his cards, then so be it. I simply had to be proud of myself for opening up for the first time. Sighing, I sat up and decided to shower. Fatigue was upon me and I overexerting my body with those drills didn’t help, I was sure.

  Okay. Shower first, nap next, and eat later. I told myself as I skulked off to the bathroom.

  I sighed as my “Sorry I’m Fizzy Today” O.P.I. painted nails tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel. Every few seconds, I gazed intently into the driver’s side rearview mirror, searching for a silver Spyder. It was just before seven in the morning and I’d been out there since six. And while my wait may have seemed laborious, my tactic was severely strategic.

  Since my parting with Jackson, I’d turned impossibly angry and inquisitive. I’d poured my heart out, cleansing my dark closet of secrets to him in the Catskills. It was painful, but I’d exposed everything, all to have him continue to keep his hidden. It was unfair and betraying. Jackson was withholding something and I foolishly couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie—or in this case, I couldn’t let a lying dog sleep.

  Show time…

  I saw Jackson’s Porsche whipping down the street, preparing to hang a left and I started the engine of my rented compact. I made sure to give him some latitude before tailing him. I didn’t want to blow my cover. My hands gripped the wheel so tightly, my knuckles whitened in anxiousness. I was doing it. I’d executed my plan. Much of my angst was for the possibility of him being able to easily shake me with the speed of his sports car.

  Being the manipulative being that I was, I called up Candice the day before offering a few of my clothes that I had from cleaning out my closet. I asked if she wanted me to bring them by for her to go through. As I expected, she jumped at the opportunity. I asked her to be sure to let Jackson know I was coming so I wouldn’t have to endure her mother calling me an intruder. The perceptive seductress in me knew Jackson would take the bait in hopes of me wanting to rekindle. I purposely fell asleep—or at least that’s what I wanted everyone to think, seeing that had been a usual occurrence since my first time over. I was sure to be up and out before Candice was up—again, a usual event.

  The only thing that could have blown this was Jackson breaking his normal pattern of leaving for his Sunday morning agenda when not taking me back into the city. Whenever I drove, he’d ride out from here, but when he had to take me home before dawn, he’d work out, then go. Apparently, my estimations were correct and I was now an hour and a half into this ride, shitting bricks. I didn’t know how much longer I’d have because I didn’t know my destination. I made sure to reserve a small, fuel efficient car to preserve on gas. I couldn’t make any stops to fill up until Jackson stopped.

  And by the time we exited off of Interstate 91, the tendons in my neck and shoulders were loosening. I followed him for an additional twenty-five minutes before he turned into a commercial driveway.

  Jackson pulled in and stopped at a guard’s booth. He waved familiarly and briefly to the security and a gate opened for him. I noted he didn’t present any information to gain access.

  As Jackson drove onto the property, I continued past the entry in search of a sign for the name of the property. By the vastness of the front end, I could discern it wasn’t a private residence. It had to be a facility. That was confirmed when I read the elegant marque at another entryway that read “Love’s Hospital for Special Care.”

  Why does he visit here every week?

  I pulled over and quieted the engine. I needed to think and I knew I’d have time because, presumably, Jackson spent hours here before his weekly Sunday dinner with his family. For nearly thirty minutes, I mulled over scenarios that could gain me access beyond that gate. I glanced around the rental, looking for anything to inspire a plan. When I could no longer delay my agenda, I half-wittingly twisted the key in the ignition, hastily whipped the car into drive, busted a U-turn in the middle of the road and turned into the driveway.

  “Hi,” I grated, exasperated. “I’m here to drop this off to my boss, who’s visiting today.”

  “Your name?” He clicked a mouse as he studied a computer screen.

  “Why?” I blurted, mouth dry and body quaking with silent tremors.

  “I need your name to check it against the visitor list, ma’am,” the brown haired man in deep blue livery requested.

  “It’s Cheryl with a C…look”—I shook my head because that fib came from nowhere—“I doubt I’m on there. I just need to get this to him.” I flashed a green portfolio being sure to bring his attention to the J.G., Wizer and Hunter logo. “I don’t want to get written up just because I can’t get behind a damn gate.”

  “Ma’am, if you’re not on the list, I’ll have to call over to the main building and find your…boss for him to approve you to go inside.”

  “Look, sir! It’s a Sunday and I just left my babies behind to run this menial errand for my boss in another state. I’m tired, hungry and pissed that I ain’t in church, giving thanks instead of playing delivery for a man with a hot temper.”

  When his lids collapsed, I recognized the defeat. “Ma’am—”

  “I don’t need to go inside!” I was now pleading. “Look at me! Does it look like I’m dressed to go into anybody’s facility? He’s meeting me in front of the main building…he said.” I added that last bit for credibility.

  His brows narrowed just slightly. “What’s his name again, ma’am?”

  “Hunter…Jackson Hunter,” I uttered abruptly, lifting the portfolio closer to his line of vision. “Can’t you see the Hunter there?”

  He paid a few minutes to his computer screen. “Oh, Mr. Hunter!” His eyes gleamed with recognition. “…for Miracle. Okay. But I’m sorry to say I can’t give you access to the buildings without his verification,” he warned, feigning rebuke.

  Miracle? The Miracle Cheryl with a “C” mentioned! Who is this Miracle and how is Jackson tied to her here at this place?

  “Honey, I have no desire to go inside of any building but my own or the house of God today.”

  After a long period of consideration, he uttered, “Mr. Hunter is a good guy.”

  I fought like hell to hide my relief. The guard nodded just before tapping a button. The gates opened and I held my breath until I found a parking space in the lot and turned off the car.

  Now what?

  I didn’t have a plan. Didn’t exactly plan on visiting a private facility like this either. Once again, I found myself in deep thought, trying to concoct a plan to get inside. After twenty minutes or so, I decided impulsively to get out of the car. The brisk air rushed against me, so I tightened my jacket around my frame as I paced the length of three cars, contemplatively. Then I decided to advance toward the building, but my actions were limited to that; I had no plan. Once that was decided, I treaded to the side of the building and then back.

  On my second round of ruminative pacing, I was just about to trek past the building and froze in my tracks at the name “Mr. Hunter.”

  It was from a female. She seemed to be giving a rundown of information.

  “And you know how stubborn she is first thing in the morning, so when I washed her hair she gave me a time. But then when she had her favorite banana oatmeal, she was putty again.” The woman laughed.

  As they passed the side of the building, I recognized it was Jackson with a woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform, pushing a medical stroller with tanks and tubes. To soften the clinical appearance of it, the stroller was decorated with…a fairy tale motif. It was…Cinderella, the first book Jackson gifted me, only this one was the traditional animation. Miracle was a little baby girl. This was clear by the themed décor of her stroller and pink and purple blankets that covered her. She also appeared to be an invalid from the amounts of tubes running inside of the carriage.

  What in the world?

  My heart had been hyperactive all mor
ning; it was definitely in overdrive now as I stood frozen, gaping at this mysterious sight before me while they circled around the park-like courtyard. I must have stood there so long that it barely registered they were back on my side until I heard the woman’s voice again.

  “On Thursday, she was delighted all day. You know she loves that “Frozen” record, “Let It Go.” When that came on, she got excited…”

  I leaped back against the anterior of the building just in the nick of time. I was now panting, mouth pasty and limbs shuddering. That was a close call.

  This was becoming too much for me. Suddenly, I felt immensely intrusive, infringing on strangers’ private lives. Also, the suspense of it all and hiding had me over capacity. As soon as they were out of earshot, I did another furtive duck/run jog into the parking lot and to my car. When I got inside and closed the door, my trembles turned into full violent body shakes. I couldn’t control the convulsing.

  I was in over my head. I should’ve left, should have carried my nosy ass home. But I was undeniably and painfully attached to Jackson. A small and very irrational part of me felt connected to him, like I should be in the know. I was impelled to know how this affected him. Did something concerning this Miracle child bring him the irrefutable pain he carried with him every day?

  So many questions…

  Who was that woman with Jackson? A Good Samaritan lover? Who was the baby, Miracle? A child of a friend? The Good Samaritan’s child? And how does Cheryl with a “C” come into play? Who was Jackson? Who had I been sleeping with for the past six months?

  And more importantly, why am I here?

  Harsh thwacks at my window snapped me from my thoughts causing me to swallow my tongue. I could hear blood rushing in my skull.

  I glanced up frantically to find more than the usual scowling Jackson. It was a seething Jackson with steam puffing from his nose and ears. He motioned with his index finger for me to roll down the window. Shakily, I obeyed.