The budgie in the cage out back is nothing but feathers floating to the poo-crusted metal bottom… ‘Sorry Chicken, but you know, everything that has a beginning has an end.’
The white rabbit from Santa balled up like a fluffy slipper, instead of racing up to me for its carrot… ‘Sorry Chicken but you know…’
The neighbour’s cat with its tongue sticking out, motionless on the front lawn… ‘Sorry Chicken but…’
Brendan and Jon’s dog, forever branded with a tyre print wrapped around his abdomen, left discarded on the side of the road… ‘Sorry Chicken.’
My husband and children left broken and in bloody pieces over the bitumen right out the front of our home on Christmas day… ‘Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.’
Grief overwhelms me, raping me of my strength, leaving me crumpled on the stained floor as sharp sobs break free. This time, I let them. I don’t hold back, I don’t resist. It’s time, in my heart I know it’s time for it to all come out. For me to let it all go.
Like, love, hate, all of it.
Sharpness cramps my chest as it clenches around every single straining cry. Luke falls with me, controlling my collapse. I know he’s wrapped around me, but I can’t feel. As much as I want to wrap myself in the life force he emits, the death encasing me is too strong. I squeeze my eyes as tight as my jaw, the tension jarring my temples while uncontrolled tears flow down my face, dripping from my chin to my top, to Luke’s top and darkens the fabric, dampening our skin beneath, my entire body heaving its release.
This is it. The time to start saying my goodbyes. Not just to the man I’ve loved for as long as I can remember, but to my children. My two baby girls whose lives were cut eighty years too short. My Ella and Mattie who will never get to experience their first kiss, their first love, never get dressed for a high school dance, or get married, or love big and strong and forever. Their forever is so different now.
“I haven’t got a single memory without him Luke, as far back as I can remember Brendan is there. My entire life, Brendan has been there.” My voice is phlegmy and I’m spitting as I speak, but I can’t swallow all the moisture that wants to escape.
Lifting the hem of my shirt, I wipe at my wet face. “And my girls, what am I going to do with all of this,” pressing my palms to my chest for emphasis, “… when everything I did was for them? My poor babies didn’t get a chance at anything. It’s so unfair. I wish it were me, Luke. I want it to be me. What I wouldn’t give...” My tirade is lost to my broken anguish. I don’t want life if I can’t have it with them.
When I’m able to gain a semblance of decorum, I slowly stand and take clumsy steps into the room, pausing a moment to see the damage I created. I can feel Luke standing behind me, silent and supporting.
I direct my words to him without turning. “There are large green garbage bags under the sink in the kitchen. Can you get them for me please?” I hear his retreating bare feet smack quietly against the floor with his departure.
The room’s a mess and at first it’s difficult to take it all in. Bedding, furniture and clothing is strewn everywhere. I try to categorise the disarray hoping it will make this process easier. Unfortunately I’m sad, not delusional, so I know it’s not going to work.
The simplest place to start is the bed. The linen is ruined anyway so it all has to be thrown away. I pick up the sheets, screwing them into balls and pile them by the door for Luke and the plastic bags. The doona cover’s next; after unclipping the clasps, I shake the quilt free, pick up the cover and take it to join the sheets. Luke’s climbing the last step when I drop the material.
Separating the first green bag on the roll, he holds it out in question. “Did you want me to...” signalling to the pile, “… or did you want to do it yourself?”
I don’t know. “These things will be fine, I’m not sure about the rest. Maybe the heavy stuff too.” I bark out a bewildered laugh. “I can’t even believe I managed to move half of these things.”
“I can,” Luke offers, as he bends to pick up the growing pile. I watch him work for a bit before going back to the doona.
“When Sophie died, I went a little crazy too.”
Keeping my back to him, I nod in understanding and press the soft feather down to my face, breathing Brendan in. Silent tears start to trickle their escape. Can I sleep under Brendan’s scent, torture myself night after sleepless night? Can I find the strength to let him go?
Folding the heavy comforter, I set it in the centre of the bare mattress. I think I’ll put it in the wardrobe and decide another time. I start making two piles with Brendan’s clothes - the ones I’ve ripped, and the ones that are still intact. The ripped pile grows fastest.
Luke moves around the room lifting the side tables and shifting the heavy framed mirror I’m amazed didn’t break when I threw it over. He picks up lamps, inspecting them for damage and replaces draws like puzzle pieces, finding where each section fits best.
I point to the larger pile and let him know that they can go out with the rest. We work in a comfortable silence for as long as it takes to organise the room, emptying Brendan’s half of the wardrobe. There are a few things I can’t bear to let go of, so I find a nook and secure them there. The doona ends up in the back corner on the top shelf, where I can’t see it but can find it if I need to. Brendan’s pillow ends up next to it.
Closing the door behind me, I stand on the landing staring at my girls’ bedrooms. The best I can do in their rooms is tidy up all their Christmas gifts and stack them onto the floor at the foot of their beds. I take their Dora and Diego dolls, holding them securely under my chin and step heavily down the stairs. Then envelope the blanket left hanging on the back of the couch around my tired body, curl up on the lounge and weep until I fall asleep.
THE SOUND OF arguing from the front of the house wakes me from a restless sleep. The room’s glowing, but there are no lights on in here.
Sitting up, I carefully set Dora and Diego to the side of the couch so they’re touching, cuddling each other - silly I know - untangle the blanket from my lap and drape it over the arm of the couch.
Rubbing the creaks out of my neck, I wander to the front windows, shift the curtain aside and peer out, feeling like the town gossip from a bad TV soap. There’s a car with its high beams on parked up the drive, lighting up the yard and the front of the house. But it’s what I see on the lawn that captures me by complete and utter surprise.
Luke is arguing – no, yelling at Red. They’re in each other’s faces, all but thumping puffed out chests as the words fly and tempers skyrocket.
My stiff neck forgotten, I run through the front door and down the coarse path, cringing at the volume of their tirade. As I head out, I spare a glance at Mr Stoner’s yard when his verandah lights flick on, illuminating his roses. Stopping short, Luke pushes Red, causing him to stumble backwards.
He doesn’t fall, but notices me. “There you fucking are. I’ve been calling you for fucking hours,” Red snarls, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand instead of his bloody lip. “We’re going out. Get dressed. And hurry the fuck up.”
“The hell she is,” Luke counters just as strongly as he moves in front of me.
His tone and the fact he’s speaking for me has my back up in seconds, even though I know he is trying to protect me.
“Luke,” I bark, taking his arm to hold him in place so I can stand between the two irate men, yelling loudly. “What’s going on?”
“You fucking him now, sweetheart?” Red spits, stepping forwards. “Got your boyfriend back so you think you can dump me like I’m nothin’?” Luke reaches past me fisting Red’s chest to stop him from getting closer.
“I’m not anybody’s.” I’m telling a half-truth. I may not be with anybody, but I’m definitely drawn to both of them, only for very different reasons.
Looking from one man to the other, I’ll admit, seeing Red in my yard has me wanting to go with him, ride the chemical high for a few hours. Guess I’ve become a little addi
cted to more than just the man.
My eyes drop to his thighs and gradually work their way up. There’s no doubt he is a good looking package wrapped up in a whole lot of trouble, and I’d be darned if I don’t yearn for a taste now that he’s so close.
Red must notice the change in me, realise I’m tempted, because his next words are soft and carry comfort. “Come on sweetheart, they’re waiting on us at the Rabbit Hole. Go get dressed and I’ll take real good care of you.”
Luke stiffens next to me, but doesn’t move, doesn’t touch me. I can’t decide if I like that he’s letting me decide for myself like I asked, or if I want him to fight harder for me to choose him.
Red takes my hesitation as compliance. “Get changed sweetheart, we gotta go.” His voice is even and firm. It’s an order. He needs me.
I step away from the men and take my time weaving my way through plants and weeds, climbing over volcanic rocks and chewing my thumb nail as my heart-rate begins to rise. Red needs me.
I nod with my back to them, so I don’t know if they see the action before I close the front door.
“You’re going with him?” Luke’s voice is incredulous. I didn’t hear him following, but I’m beyond glad that he has.
“Will you stop me if I do?” I challenge, turning to face him as he approaches with his brows crossed. He’s scared for me, not upset as I imagined. I hate that I put that expression on his beautiful face, that I’m letting him down. I love being with Luke. He comforts me and makes me feel safe, needed. But it’s like my body craves for Red and the oblivion he can give.
“I can’t stop you Maggie Mae, but I don’t want you to go either.”
“Can’t or won’t Luke?” I feel like I’m having an out of body experience. I can hear the challenge in my words. I know they’re coming from me, but I can’t stop them.
Luke cups my face in his large hand, his blue grey eyes glossing over. “I want to Maggie, but I won’t. You need to do this your way, baby. I’m not going to stop you from doing that.”
He won’t help me?
My heart sinks. “Then why are you even here?” He’s not going to fight for me, for us.
“For you, babe. I’m here for you, for when fine isn’t fine anymore.” Luke steps closer, threading his hand into my hair and presses his forehead to mine. I want to wrap him in my arms, hold him tight, have him hold me tighter.
My cheek moistens as his tears fall free, my own threatening when we’re jolted out of our moment by loud banging on the front door.
“Open the fucking door, Maggie.”
“Maggie?” Luke whispers, recapturing my attention. “You don’t have to go Maggie Mae. This is your choice, not his, - or mine, but you do have a choice.” His hands fill the front pockets of his worn, loose-fitting shorts as he allows me to step away.
I search his face for answers, to tell me what he wants me to do, before turning away from him and the continued bagging on the front door, my head and body at war. My heart’s begging me to stay, my body’s screaming to leave.
I’m stepping past the lounge suit, on my way to… I don’t know where, when I see the Dora and Diego dolls, soft limbs hanging, heads pressed together, and I falter. I take the few strides to the base of the staircase, balancing on my toes, swaying on the precipice.
My heart lodges itself in my throat, strangling me in my indecision. My whimper has my chin rising, my eyes taking in the mountain of stairs waiting on me.
Do I climb to find my false Nirvana, or turn to face my cruel reality?
I rise to the first of many steps, holding onto the banister to steady my shaking legs, silently searching out Luke to find his blue orbs begging.
Shaking my head in apology, I slide a foot over another step. I’m too weak, my insecurities too strong. Luke opens his mouth to say something, but holds his thoughts and lowers his eyes as more tears escape and dampen his beautiful face.
A sharp, intense pain in my chest has me folding almost in half, my free hand pressing firmly over the muscles that protect my pounding heart. My full, throbbing heart that hurts so much. The same heart that’s becoming whole again, thanks to the one man who’s given me his undeserving strength and love without asking for anything in return.
Releasing the railing, I close my eyes and run a firm hand over my face, sliding my feet over the timber flooring until the back of my legs touch the couch. Rolling my hip over the brushed fabric and bending from my waist to retrieve the cuddling dolls, I hold them to my chest and wonder if they can feel the new strength to the beat under my ribs.
Smiling sadly as I pass Luke, I latch the safety chain into place and crack open the front door. “I’m sorry Red but I can’t-”
“Open the fucking door Maggie,” Red interjects venomously, scaring me backwards a step.
I blurt out the first thing that springs to mind in hope to placate him, “I’ve got my period, Red.” My statement renders him silent as he clenches his jaw, sniffing and rubbing at his nose.
“Fucking women,” he grounds out under his breath. “I’ve got a fucking phonebook full of sluts just like you, sweetheart,” he warns pressing a hand on the wooden door. “Last chance Maggie,” he snarls his last sentence in warning.
I swallow noisily. It would be far easier to go, to open the door, and step through to the never ending world of numb… only it does end, and usually very badly. “I’m sorry Red,” I say quietly, leaning to close the door.
“The fuck you are!” he screams, pushing against the door with such intense aggression that I drop my children’s toys to press my hands to the timber, uselessly supporting the straining chain lock that’s at full extension.
“I am, Red.” It’s the truth, I am. Part of me wants him, craves for what he represents. “You need to leave now.”
“You heard her,” Luke growls over my shoulder, his hand going to the door and pushing back.
“Fuck you,” Red spits. Squaring his shoulders, he takes two backward steps, glaring at me, “And fuck you too, Maggie.” He turns and strides down the path to his car. Revving the engine and spinning the tyres, he leaves a grey plume of smoke in his wake.
Slumping forwards, I start banging my head on the door. “What have I done?” I question rhetorically, liking the feel of Luke’s hands massaging my shoulders, waiting for him to pull me to him, to hold me, comfort me and tell me that everything’s going to be alright.
Instead, he steps away.
“You know, I can go something to eat. You feel like pizza?”
Chapter 12
“WAKE UP, SLEEPY head.”
The patterns being traced on my lower back are way too relaxing for me to move.
“Come on baby, it’s time to wake up.”
Luke presses a kiss to the back of my head, his fingers inching my singlet top higher as he continues to draw feather light shapes that warms my already warm skin.
“No, I’m busy,” I mumble against my pillow, ignoring his chuckling at my sleepy protest.
“Baby, wake up. I’m starving and I want to take you out for breakfast.” His gentle voice is music to my ears and his warm breath tickling my bare skin is the symphony.
“You’re always hungry. Go have your midnight snack and come cuddle me for a few more hours when you’re done.”
I don’t know how it came about, me sharing Luke’s bed with him, but I have been for the last couple of months. Initially I felt weird about it, like I am constantly jumping from one guy to another, not giving my husband’s body time to cool before opening my legs for someone else.
With Luke though, it’s not sexual at all, which is both humbling and insulting.
The main reason I find myself lying next to him at night is because I still can’t bring myself to sleep in my own bed; and short of lying on the floor in the girl’s rooms when I need time to be with them, or sleeping on the couch. The spare bed is next best thing. It just so happens to come with an incredibly lovely tall, muscular man with blonde hair and blue eyes and the soul
of an angel on the side.
And, yes, I do like it. Being with Luke feels safe and, I don’t know… right. It’s hard to explain or admit. But I like it, and that’s the truth.
I’m coming to terms with the time I’ve spent with Red, drinking to oblivion, taking drugs or doing both to find the foggy haze. I guess since we’re sharing confessions and being all honest and open, as much as I would like to hold Red completely responsible for my constant intoxication, I can’t.
In the beginning, most definitely yes, that was all on him. But later on… well… I guess with brutal honest,. I have to admit there was a pattern emerging. I knew that every time I sat in his car, Red was going to pass me a flask. I knew he would eventually offer me some kind of chemical relief that I was more than eager to take. I was aware that he liked me that way. I just found it easier to not over think things, to believe that Red liked me for me. It felt so darn good to be wanted. I simply couldn’t, can’t accept that he never felt something emotionally for us. Not love, but more than like.
Luke starts chuckling, sliding a hand over my back and rolling me from my stomach onto my side, so we’re facing each other. “It’s eight o’clock, babe.” Shifting closer, he kisses my lids, his lips moving lightly over the flesh as he speaks. “Open your eyes Maggie Mae.” His warm whiskers tickle my skin and gaining the attention of my heart.
My chin tilts up towards his voice, my nose inadvertently tracing the length of his. “No.” It’s a weak protest, and not very convincing.
Luke bursts out laughing, shaking the bed as he whips the covers off and smacks me on the butt. “Get up, I’m starving.”
“But I don’t want to,” I start to whine. The next thing I know I’m flying in the air and being carried to the bathroom across the hall. “Luke,” I warn as he turns on the shower, “Luke, don’t you… AHHH. That’s Freaking Cold.” Squealing and clawing at him, for some crazy reason I’m trying to climb over his shoulders to get away from the cold spray when all he does is turn and stick me right back under.
Maggie's Five ...the first in a LOVE story Page 13
