by Suzie Carr
She turned away from me still tightening her arms over her chest as if afraid I’d start to fight her.
“You always smoothed everything over for me instead of helping me to face things. You did everything for me and I couldn’t do anything back,” she said.
“I loved you.”
“Did you love me? Or did you do nice things for me because you felt sorry for me and you lived to be the savior?”
The years spread out in front of me like dominos. I pushed through, standing on my toes to see over the memories, the hurts, the embellished times, and I couldn’t tell truth from lie. Of course I loved her back then. But, maybe I did want to control the situation for her like I attached to controlling my shelter, my diet, and my future. “Maybe a little bit of both. I don’t know. It was a long time ago.”
“Exactly.”
The invisible strings that connected us strained under the pull of my indecision. I wanted to take back my answer and sweep it in the corner so that later I could collect it, study it, and look for virility. The winds of change blew around us, snapping string after string, unbinding us, leaving no fasteners intact for later use. Plink, plink, plink. I sank into my lap, wrestling with what-ifs and maybes and absolutely nots. I focused more after drinking a bottle of sangria than I could at that moment.
I wanted to be angry with her. “I can’t believe you fucked my brother.”
She squeezed the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply. “I was a different person back then full of fears and insecurities. He didn’t feel sorry for me that night. He saved my life by treating me like an equal. And, then the adrenaline took over, and before either one of us knew what we were doing, I was paying him back for pulling me out of a life that would’ve trapped me.”
“You’ve had plenty of years to justify this to yourself, haven’t you? I suppose Josh did, too.” I wanted to throw up. “This is exactly why I choose to not get involved with anyone.”
People sucked.
“Neither one of us wanted to hurt you.”
“Hurt doesn’t even begin to explain it.”
She pulled in her lower lip and blinked up at me. “I love you so much, Olivia.”
“You love me?” I scoffed. “How can you say that?”
“I’ve come back for you twice. Doesn’t that prove anything?”
I bolted out of the yard faster than a line drive ball. I didn’t need her anymore. I could fund the shelter on my own like I did before. With the new donation check coming in I could use that to pay incidentals, my clinic hours to pay staffing, and continue with fundraising for extras. I would pound on every door in Maryland if I had to. I would not place myself in this muck, always looking over my shoulder to catch blame for being too loving.
As I headed towards the door, I pictured the three of them together, Chloe, Josh, and their adorable Ayla, the look-alike Chloe with pretty sandals, shiny black hair and brilliant eyes.
Ayla was Chloe and Josh’s daughter, their unbreakable bond, the miraculous result of a moment of passion. I wondered if Chloe had been staring into my eyes this whole time thinking how much I reminded her of her daughter.
I sped up trying to outrun the vivid pictures piling up in my brain. I didn’t want to think about any of this. I just wanted freedom. I had piles of work to get through at the shelter. I looked back and she was following.
“Fuck off!” I yelled out to her before slamming the door to the back room. I now had all the proof in the world that human beings could never be trusted like animals. Animals would never screw me over like this. They’d never cloud my judgment. They’d never cause me to question my place in this world. With them, I knew my place. They needed me. I needed them. Reciprocity at its finest. What human relationship could ever equal to that level of trust?
Obviously not one that involved Chloe Homestead.
~ ~
I arrived at Josh and Bridget’s and he was grilling burgers on their pool patio. Josh flipped a burger when I charged toward him. Bridget poured pink lemonade into tall flowery glasses that I just knew Josh despised but would put up with anyway because that’s what he did with Bridget. He cowered to her to keep her smiling. She wore a string bikini and looked way too good for a thirty-five-year-old who had given birth to a jumbo, watermelon-sized baby nine years earlier. She waved at me. I cringed, wishing she would disappear.
I pounced on my brother. “We need to talk.”
Panic traced his eyes. “She told you?”
“She just did.”
He pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. “Okay.” He avoided my eyes and stared down at his grill. “Let me just take these burgers off the flame.” He scooped up the burgers, one agonizing, shaky flip at a time. He piled on the last one and it fell to the ground. He bent over, picked it up, and tossed it in the trashcan.
I watched him, searing my eyes into him. “How could you?”
He exhaled, looked up to the awning and blinked back at me. “I should’ve been there when she told you.” He peeked over at Bridget who was standing poolside dunking her toe in the crystal water.
Just then, Thomas bolted out of the door and ran directly towards the pool, launching himself to the sky. He tucked his knees and he hit the water like a cannonball, splashing water to within feet of Josh and me.
“Leave the freaking burgers where they are and come with me.” I pulled at his tank top.
He trailed behind me without a fight. Thirty seconds later, we sat down on his leather couch and his bottom lip started to tremble. He stared down at his Bermuda shorts and shook his head. “I don’t know where to start.”
“I trusted you,” I cried out.
“And, I’m a fuck up.” He lowered his head into his hands and pulled at his reckless strands.
“No, you don’t get to do that.” I shoved at him. His face remained planted in his hands. “You don’t get to call yourself a fuck up. I get to do that.” I spoke through clenched teeth. “I need to do that.” I wanted to punch him.
He looked up at me, sorrow rested along the fine lines around his eyes. “I don’t know how to make this right.”
“You can’t make this right. You fucked up, Josh.”
He stretched his neck to see out of the patio sliders. Bridget was tossing Thomas a ball. “I didn’t know you were in love with her,” he whispered.
He didn’t. I made sure he didn’t back then. “I can’t get past the part about you keeping this from me all of this time.”
He pressed his fist into his forehead. He circled it half a dozen times. “I was ashamed.” His voice stretched.
“Ashamed?”
“Yes, ashamed.” He unfurled his fist and dropped his hands to his side. “Ashamed for being such a coward and not doing the right thing.”
Tears drained from his eyes. Pain etched along his stiff jawline. I stared into the eyes of a stranger.
“Does Ayla even know?”
He shook his head. The tears sprang like a leaky faucet. Red blotches popped up on his skin. Panic riddled his eyes. “She’ll know soon enough now.”
“All of those times I carried on about Chloe.” I paused. “I feel like a fool now. How did you think it would all end someday?”
“I just thought she’d live her life and be fine.”
“So you were okay with fathering a kid and letting her wander through life without you?”
He groaned. “You make me sound like such a monster.”
I wanted to pull his straggly hair, stomp on his bare feet, and punch him in the gut. “Well, who does that?”
He fell back against the couch dazed. “Assholes like me, I suppose.”
“I need to go. I can’t deal with any of this anymore.” I jumped up and ran past him wanting to throw up.
He pulled me back.
I snapped back at him. “I really hate you right now.”
His mouth creased in on itself. “How do I fix this?”
“Were you ever going to tell me if she didn’t?”
He stretched his eyes and sighed. “For the longest time, I struggled with this. I went back and forth on whether I was even worthy enough to be Ayla’s father. I kept thinking that if I stayed silent on this, no one’s life would be screwed up. You know?”
“Well, everything’s so screwed up now.”
“Just so you know, I never wanted this,” he said. “I made one mistake and all of these lives are screwed up forever. The best thing was when she went away and I could deny that I ever even had a child. I wasn’t ready to be a fucking father, and especially not with her!”
“But, she was good enough to fuck though, wasn’t she?”
“Give me a fucking break. I was a horny kid alone with a hot girl. If you would’ve been honest with me back then about being a lesbian, I wouldn’t have ever slept with her. What kind of a person do you think I am? The fact that you could ever think I would stoop that low just really pisses me off.”
The sincerity of his words slammed into me. They branded me in fault. “Screw you!” I turned and ran to his front door.
He whipped me around again. “This is ridiculous. I’m not an enemy here. Okay.” He lowered his hand. “I just want to finally do the right thing. And, I need to know you’re with me on it. I can’t have you hating me.”
My heart knocked against the hollow of my chest, rattling my core, cutting off vital flow, causing me to convulse in choking tears.
He pulled me into his protective arms and rocked me back and forth. “I’m so sorry. I really am.”
I emptied all my anger in the form of tears, imagining the introduction. I’d be angry with them all, even innocent Ayla. I’d be most angry with Chloe and her lovely, soft smile, the way she’d be gently holding her daughter’s hand as she pushed towards Josh. I’d be even angrier with Josh for crying. He’d look at his daughter like she was a rare gem dug out of the earth and presented to him like he deserved her. Their daughter, delicate like a flower, would be smiling, too. She’d look fragile in a pretty sundress, so fragile that she’d look about ready to break before she even got to hug her father.
He’d move towards them, to his precious new family. They’d be within a foot of each other and Josh would no doubt throw his arms around this little girl who had his same shiny hair and big eyes. Chloe would be weeping and shaking. I’d want to throw up. Instead, though, through no control of my own, I’d be weeping, too, succumbing to compassion and wishing with every morsel of my being that I could control moments like these when I turned into a sap.
I told him, “I want to hate you.”
He drew a painful breath, and then tossed his head back, blowing many years of regret, no doubt, into the air. “You should. It’s much easier to move on when you hate someone.”
He might’ve been a jackass on the outside, but inside of him, a heart did tick. “In some warped way, I can’t hate you.”
~ ~
I took General along with me to my parents’ gravesite. I needed the company and friendship more than ever. General, my hundred-pound furry friend resembled a regal leader with his jowls and mighty chest. He was every bit the snuggle buddy I needed. He sat in my passenger seat like a person, strong and stoic, his chest bellowed out and proud, his front paws supporting his upper body into an upright angle. We traveled the country roads, past the rebuilt country store that still sold penny candy; past the farmers’ market where local farmers sold beefy, juicy tomatoes and big, red bell sweet peppers and hung signs written by hand with misspelled words touting great deals on the freshest veggies; past the funeral home where we held my parents’ wake several years ago. General looked over at me as if he knew I needed his one blue eye and one brown eye to tell me life would be okay as always.
I reached over and patted him and he responded with a tired yawn. General was my buddy who had seen me through my fair share of mild breakdowns and major shakedowns over the past few months. He’d never seen me this upset before, though. He shifted his body so that he could lean on me, all one hundred pounds. He rested his head on my shoulder, not bothered when I had to turn my wheel. He just pressed into me, licked my face gently with his big, wet tongue and yawned again.
Instead of turning down Highland to get to the front gate of the cemetery, I drove a few miles south to Lakeview Road and turned into the parking lot of the baseball field that I had ventured to almost every night last October when Thomas’s team fought to defend their championship title. I parked alongside the broken, rusted fence and sat staring at the pitcher’s mound. General snored with his eyes open. His big head rested in the crook of my shoulder and neck. I scratched at his scruff behind his ear and he snored louder. I sat for some time hugging my big furry boy, taking comfort in his loyalty and friendship. I hugged him so hard at one point, he snorted loud like a foghorn had bellowed out of his massive barrel chest.
So many nights I’d sat in this same spot, windows rolled up to escape the mosquitoes, cheering on my nephew and his championship team. The smell of fresh greens, vibrant floras, and pungent roots permeated the car anyway, wafting from the overgrown woods circling the field. My brother would often look back at me and smile and wave and urge me to stand next to him and Bridget. Bridget swatted gnats, smiling all the same, proud of her little family, unknowing and innocent to the fact that the man she stood beside fathered another kid.
On Thomas’ big night under the grand lights, I did venture out of the truck and stand alongside my brother and his faithful wife to cheer him on. That night, my brother and I huddled against the fence screaming out cheers like Thomas’ life depended on his team winning. When he positioned at the plate and choked up on the bat like his father taught him, a swell of pride flowed through me that reconfirmed if I really wanted to, I could have a kid, too, and be equally as proud of him. A wave of jealousy washed over me that night, one that engulfed me, spun me up and down, panicked me, that I might never make that come true. I thought of Chloe at that moment, and how she had screwed me up. She angered me by planting the seed of doubt in me. That seed had grown into one hell of a strong vine, choking the trust in relationships right out of me, leaving no room for drama, for commitment, for dreams of a life that included more than solitude, lonely nights, and angry resentments. I remembered wondering that night as Thomas banged out a line drive right up the center of the field past the pitcher and second baseman, and into the shallow circle of center field, how many more years would have to pass before I could let go of how Chloe had hurt me.
Later, after Thomas had struck out, and my brother and I spent the following two hours consoling him with oversized cones of butter pecan ice cream dipped in chocolate, I never thought that years later I’d be sitting here in my truck alone without even a brother I could trust.
The ice cream had helped us all heal from the blow of the strikeout and lost attempt at winning the championship that night. Well, it helped Thomas at least. My brother took a little longer to heal from that. He had big dreams for Thomas’s future. These dreams had Camden Yards stadium written all over them.
My brother, the father of the year, coveted the role of Thomas’ big hero, and mine, too. I viewed him as my staple, my guard post, my foundation. After our parents died in the accident, he nestled me under his wings and protected me from all things hurtful. I relied heavily on him to get me through the rough patches when grief would come to me and strike me down. Only he could shake me out of the grip of sadness when it struck. Only he intimately understood my pain. He protected me and carried me through those moments that still happened far too often. I wondered how he’d protect me now that he had turned into the cause.
Instead of driving to the cemetery, I headed for Melanie’s.
~ ~
Melanie scrubbed her kitchen floor on hands and knees. Her house smelled like pine and lemons. She pushed and pulled a wet rag around, grunting. “I will never put laminate tile in my kitchen again. This is not work for anyone over the age of fifty.” She wiped her forehead with her cotton sleeve. “In my next life, I am
hiring a cleaning lady.”
I joined my friend on the floor, knee-to-knee, elbow-to-elbow, pushing, pulling, and grunting, dispensing the ugly secret of how my brother and ex-girlfriend destroyed any possibility of me trusting any being that didn’t grow fur. Instead of lecturing me about my pessimistic attitude, Melanie listened, nodded, handed me more rags, and pointed out other areas of her kitchen that needed my energy, my attention, my anger. We moved the fridge, we opened up the radiator covers, we pulled out the chef’s carts to banish dust bunnies and grime. We even huffed and puffed our way through the grueling task of scrubbing her oven clean and rebalancing her dishwasher. By the time we finished, we could eat dinner off of her floor if we chose to do so. Instead, we pulled up a spot alongside General in the living room and collapsed on top of him. I summed up my entire conversation with Chloe, about why she slept with Josh and about how I made her feel less-than—all of the ugly details—which only brought on more anger.
“If you’ve still got some anger in you, my bathroom could really use some help.”
General snored under our weight. I moaned, sore from hours of using muscles that hadn’t been challenged in years. “She’s not worth it.”
“If I wasn’t so tired, I’d disagree with you.”
I patted Melanie’s hand, and General snored again. “I’m too tired to laugh at that.”
An hour or so later, I woke up when General jumped to his feet, alerted by the smell of fresh meat cooking on the polished stovetop. Try to get him to walk on a leash for a relaxing stroll in the park, and he acted like a ninety-year old man with arthritis. Yet, open up a package of chicken tenderloins, and he’d sprint a freaking marathon to get to it.
I strolled into the kitchen and jumped into making a salad. I sharpened the chef’s knife and began slicing a garden-fresh tomato when I asked my friend, “Was Henry your soul mate?”
