Fools Rush In

by Lilliana Anderson

  That was when I was fifteen. Dad had known where she was for five years before she took her own life. And he didn’t tell us, didn’t take us to see her, or tell us she was OK. He just let us think she’d abandoned us. How fucked up is that?

  She’d been dead for seventeen years. Seventeen years and I didn’t know. I couldn’t even pinpoint a memory from that year where I could say then, that must have been when it happened. Because I didn’t feel it, I didn’t notice any change. You’d think the universe would shift just a little when someone as important as a mother died. But it didn’t move at all.

  Wiping my eyes on the back of my hand. I took a deep breath of the fragrant air and looked around the backyard of my childhood. It was mostly the same, save for a few trees that had grown taller. The palings on the fence were still broken, left over from a time when Holland and I had tried to make a secret passage between our yards. We failed, and I got grounded for breaking the fence.

  Holland.

  I was missing her more lately, I wondered how she was coping without Nate, if she felt as empty without him as I did without Sam. I wanted to call her, but at the same time I didn’t. I still needed time on my own, time to work out exactly what I wanted and why I wanted it. Reconnecting with Holland didn’t feel as though it would help, seemed more like reaching for an old habit. ‘Holland’s best friend’ didn’t feel like part of my identity anymore.

  Sam’s wife. Now that was something I would be happy to call myself. I missed him most of all, and wondered if there’d ever come a time when my heart didn’t ache so bad without him, or a day where I didn’t consider calling him or texting to say I was wrong, that I didn’t need him to love me.

  But I did.

  A tiny mewing sound caught my attention just as a tiny tabby cat slid through the fence. It was cute and still a kitten. “Hey, little fella,” I said, making kissing sounds and rubbing my fingers together. “Are you lost?”

  Without hesitation, it bounced over to me, jumping at my moving fingers and swatting them with its tiny paws. It gave me a chance to check the silver tag that hung around its neck on a pink collar. “Blanche Dubois,” I read out loud, smiling at the formal name. When I flipped it, I saw the address for next door. Holland’s aunty had obviously gotten herself a cat.

  “Let me guess, you have a sister named Stella?” I scratched it behind the ear for a moment. Then it sat up, alert, and scampered back through the fence where it had come from. “See ya.”

  “Tea?” My father pushed through the back door, holding two mustard-coloured mugs with the strings of the teabags hanging out. I didn’t realise he’d gotten home. I must’ve been sitting out here for quite some time.

  Giving him a smile, I reached out and took a mug, pressing the warm ceramic against my cold hands. “Thanks, Dad,” I said, taking a sip while he took a seat beside me.

  “I’ve had a lot of deep conversations out here,” he said. “Whenever I didn’t know what to do or which way to turn, I’d come and talk to your mother.” He gestured towards the rose bushes.

  “I always thought you were one of those crazy gardeners who talked to their plants to help them grow.”

  He pressed his lips together as he swirled the teabag through the milky water in his mug. “Your friend is living next door again. Did you know that?”

  I looked over to the house, spotting two kittens in the window on the second floor. I smiled inwardly because I was probably right. Two cats, Blanche and Stella, named after the characters in Holland’s favourite play. “I didn’t know that.”

  “You two have a falling out?”

  I shook my head. “I think we just finally grew apart. It happens sometimes.”

  “I suppose it does. Family seems to be the only thing that lasts.” He had no idea how much those words hurt me. I felt like I’d lost an insurmountable number of people I’d attributed that word ‘family’ to. But then it was different when someone was blood related. The link of blood was the very reason I was sitting in my old backyard, having an awkward conversation with my father. He was my blood and I couldn’t change that. I could only grow to accept and understand because I didn’t want to lose anymore. So much was already gone.

  “Did you really think I was going to be like her?” I asked, pointing to the roses so he didn’t think I was still talking about Holland. Growing up, I always thought he was worried about me becoming an addict, but after learning more about my mother, I now realised he was worried for my mental health.

  “I was worried about both you and Trevor. But more so you. You were so withdrawn at times, and other times you had this wildness behind your eyes that reminded me of your mother’s free spirit. I was afraid of losing you to the same sickness.”

  “That was called being a teenage girl,” I said, sipping my tea.

  “Perhaps. I just knew I needed to keep you close. Maybe too close sometimes.”

  “Do you realise that you lost me anyway? All those rules, all that pressure to behave a certain way. I felt like I couldn’t be myself around you, and I hid who I was because of it.”

  “I wasn’t trying to stifle you, only guide you. Medicine never helped your mother. I turned to God for help with you.”

  Playing with the string of the teabag, I looked into the liquid warming my hands. “Do you feel like He helped?”

  “You’re strong and healthy,” he said, as if that explained everything and excused even more. But I understood the sentiment. In his mind, his prayers and his rules helped guide me into the woman I was now. In a way they did, but more than anything, I think my upbringing was responsible for everything that was messed up about me. I wondered what he’d say if I told him that it was the bohemian thinking of a family full of nonconformists who helped me become as strong and mentally healthy as I felt today. I miss them so much.

  Instead of telling him, I simply leaned in and nudged him gently with my shoulder. “Yeah, Dad. I’m OK,” I said, giving him a more genuine smile than I had before. Then we sat together in the quiet, listening to the birds and drinking our tea. I didn’t think we’d ever have a great relationship, but I understood him a little better now. At least there was that.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Starvation

  By the time December rolled around, I’d progressed somewhat, primarily to eating cereal from a bowl with milk added as opposed to straight from the box. It still wasn’t the best diet, but it was easy when cooking just made me think about the Cartwrights and all the meals I was missing out on being apart from them.

  My own family had shared a meal or two of late, with Trevor and Jenny inviting me and Dad around for Sunday dinner. We were trying to make it a thing, though I wasn’t sure how long it was going to last. It wasn’t exactly the most rollicking meals I’d ever been party to.

  With my feet up on the couch, I spooned Special K Berry into my mouth, flicking through the latest full catalogue of Bobbi Brown make-up. After finding out about Mum, I spent a few days reflecting on my own state of mind and realised that while working in the funeral home paid well, it was never what I wanted to do with my life. So I dialled my hours back to part-time, sharing the load with Jenny while also teaching her a few more techniques. On the days when I wasn’t working with my family, I was at the make-up counter at David Jones, fulfilling my adolescent dreams one customer at a time. I loved it there, and every shift I worked gave me a little extra bounce in my step. I was finally doing something that was just for me. And when I thought about who I was, I could take a deep breath and feel OK.

  I was OK.

  Just as I slurped the last of my cereal off the spoon, there was a knock on my door. I’d thrown myself pretty heavily into online shopping of late and I was expecting a package from Tarte to arrive any day now.

  Getting excited by the prospect of new make-up to test, I set my bowl on the coffee table, uncurled my body and padded to the door, my heart stopping for a moment when I saw a familiar large shape.

  “Oh my God.”

&nbs
p; I touched my hand to my hair, checking it wasn’t doing anything out of this world. Then I held my hand in front of my mouth, breathing into it and then sniffing my breath. It smelled like special K and berries. Not my preferred mouthwash scent, but at least it wasn’t horrible.

  The knock sounded again. Oh God. I should change. I was wearing a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt that I was pretty sure I’d just dripped milk on.

  Another knock.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  “OK. You can do this,” I whispered to myself, placing one hand on the handle while the other flicked the deadbolt. My heart rattled my ribcage and my breath shook as I steadied myself, then pulled the door open.

  “Peaches.” Sam held up a literal bucket full of them. They were better than flowers, and reminded me of his silly poem. Oh, he was a sight for my love-sore eyes. His hair was a little longer and his skin sucked against his jaw a little tighter, but it was still him, still beautiful, still huge. He filled my entire doorway looking like perfection in a leather jacket. I glanced over his shoulder and saw a motorbike next to my van. He hadn’t had that before.

  Reaching out, I took the bucket from his hands and met his eyes. They looked tired. Tired and empty. The light, that sparkle he always had, wasn’t there. Could he possibly be hurting as much as me? Does this mean…?

  I didn’t even want to think it.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, stepping aside so he could come in. He ducked his head and stepped past me, not moving much farther before he stopped and ran his fingers through his hair. I closed the door and leaned against it, waiting as mixed emotions ran across his features. My fingers itched to touch him, my arms longed to wrap about him, my mouth wished to taste him and my whole body cried from wanting to be held by him.

  I love him.

  Not a moment went by when that feeling had been any less intense than it was when we were together. So I waited. The seconds ticked by. I let out my breath, then held it again.

  He cleared his throat. “I, um… I fucked up.”

  I didn’t know what to say or how to respond. I didn’t even know if he was talking about us or if something new was happening. So I waited, and I continued to hold my breath.

  Frowning, he lifted his head and looked out the window. Then he sucked in some air and dropped his eyes to his hands. “I never should’ve said yes in the first place. I should’ve made them let you go, stood up for you. I should’ve done things with you the right way—dated you, learned everything about you, met your family, proposed. But we rushed into things with this crazy plan of Nate’s and now… now he’s—” His voice cracked and his face scrunched up. It took a couple of breaths before he could go on. “he’s dead.”

  “Oh God,” I gasped, dropping the bucket of peaches and closing the distance between us in an instant. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he buried his face in mine, his arms encircling my torso so tight I almost couldn’t breathe. His body shook against me, breaking down to the point where I almost had to stop him from falling.

  “Please don’t tell me to go,” he begged.

  I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed the side of his face. “I won’t.”

  Catching my face in his hands, he kissed me roughly, his movements filled with emotion and grief as he walked me to the couch and started pulling at my clothes.

  “Wait,” I gasped. “I’m not sure we should do this.” I didn’t want him to fall into me like an old habit.

  He stopped and looked into my eyes, holding either side of my face, his hands shaking. “When I found out about Nate, the first thought I had was of you. The only person I needed to be with was you. I love you, Alesha. This is a shitty time to tell you, but my life isn’t worth a dime without you in it.”

  He said them. The words I’d been wanting to hear. Why wasn’t I jumping into his arms? Why wasn’t I swooning at the sound? Had I given up on us? Was it too late now?

  No. I loved him. I loved him so much that I was scared to believe this was true. We had obstacles to overcome, and just because he was grieving didn’t mean those obstacles were magically gone.

  He moved to kiss me again and I placed my hand over his mouth, blocking his access. His eyes seemed shocked, but there was one thing I needed to know. Something important before I allowed myself to get caught up in everything that was Sam. “What about the rest of your family? What are they going to do when they find out you came here?”

  “I don’t give a fuck about what they think. Didn’t you hear me? This is about me and you. I need you. I love you. Please, peaches. Don’t turn me away again. These last few months have been shit, and I don't think any of it’s worth it if you aren’t there to share it with me. Ask for anything and it’s yours if you’ll just come back to me. I’m not even living anymore, I’m just missing you.”

  That was it. My heart was full. “I love you,” I whispered. “I just want you.”

  “I love you.”

  With hungry mouths and hungry hands, he took me right there on the couch, barely breathing from his need to kiss me, to taste me, to be inside me. My entire being rejoiced at his return, but my heart wept at the reason behind it. I hated that it took something tragic to make him see what he was missing.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” he gasped, pushing inside me, his fingers digging into my hips. “You feel so amazing.”

  I dared not speak, afraid to break the spell as we moved together, reclaiming our bodies, the connection even more powerful than it had been before. I cried out of joy, I cried out of relief, I cried because his brother had died and the only comfort he’d wanted was me.

  “I love you,” I whispered as my body shuddered and his did too. He groaned against my neck, a muffled cry filled with sorrow and release. When I touched his cheek, I found it damp. My heart had never been so full and so broken at the same time. This man, this beautiful and powerful man, was trusting me to see him break. I knew he’d see this as a moment of weakness, but to me it showed nothing but strength and honesty.

  “I love you so fucking much,” he murmured, holding me even tighter until his breathing slowed and then evened out.

  I couldn’t help but smile as I ran my fingers through his hair. He’d literally fallen asleep while still inside me. I didn’t know guys could do that.

  Letting myself sink into his warmth, I kissed him gently and then closed my eyes as well, knowing it wouldn’t be long before I joined him. I hadn’t slept a single night in peace without him.

  Just as I drifted off, my phone rang, startling me awake.

  “Oh God,” I gasped, looking at the time. “I’m supposed to be at work.”

  “Ignore it,” he murmured, shifting a little to get more comfortable before realising we were still connected. He moved his hips. “Yeah, you really need to ignore it.” He was still semi-hard from before, but I felt him stiffen with each thrust.

  “Oh God,” I moaned, gripping his biceps as he picked up speed. The first time had been filled with emotion; this time was pure need.

  Thankfully, my phone stopped.

  “Fuck,” he hissed, sitting back and gripping my hips. “So tight. I missed… fuck.”

  My phone started ringing again.

  “I have to answer,” I gasped. “They’ll—oh!” His thumb pressed against my clit and started making circular motions.

  “They’ll what?”

  “They’ll just come looking for me.”

  He paused his movement and grabbed my phone from the coffee table, hitting Accept before handing it to me.

  “Hello,” I said, out of breath.

  “Are you all right, dear? You sound puffed.” It was my aunt Miranda, who generally dealt with all things employee related.

  “I’m just not feeling well. I meant to call but I’ve been, uh.” Sam thrusted unexpectedly. “I was, uh.” Another thrust.

  “Are you going to throw up, dear?” Miranda asked.

  Sam rolled his hips, his thumb doing magical things to my clit
. “Uh-huh,” I gasped, almost whined. Then before I could say any more, Sam grabbed my phone and ended the call, flicking it to the side before he brought his mouth to mine.

  “I need you today. I need you all day, every day.”

  Placing my hands on either side of his head, I ran my fingernails through his thick hair. “Why do you need me?” I whispered.

  “Because I love you.”

  I nodded, almost crying. “I’m right here. I was always right here. You just had to want me enough to come get me.” And thank God he did. I’d missed him beyond words.

  “Peaches,” he murmured, wiping a tear that slid from my eye.

  “I’m OK,” I assured him. “I’m just glad you came back.”

  Then his lips returned to mine, and barely left until it felt like starvation was setting in.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Swooping In

  “What happened?” I asked as we sat in my kitchen, eating from my cereal selection.

  “Fire. Tore right through his property. They suspect arson.”

  “You think it was those dealers he was involved with?”

  He shrugged and swirled his spoon in his bowl. “He’s been AWOL since you and Holland left. I know he wanted out of the life because Holland was against it. Maybe he tried and they retaliated?”

  “Does Holland know?”

  “I’d assume so. The cops would’ve told her like they told us. She’s his wife.”

  “Oh God. How horrible. How’d Jasmine take it?”

  “She lost it. Toby crushed her sleeping pills into a vodka tonic just so she’d rest.”

  “Everyone else?”

  “Devastated. We’re all fucking devastated. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to get old with the rest of us and continue to be the bossy pain in the arse he’s always been.”