by M. J. Wilson
She wiped her nose on her sleeve but kept running. She’d worked hard to bury all these emotions, and now they were ripping her apart — all because this wonderful man had made her feel again. How could he ever love me when I hate myself?
She staggered sideways, black dots swarming her blurry vision. She gasped for air between her sobs. Weston’s voice was fading in and out from the distance. Her hand caught hold of the hood of her vehicle. Mavis’s skin turned clammy as darkness clouded her eyes. No… no… no… Weston’s footsteps were coming fast behind her. Got to move… get away.
“Mavis!” Weston yelled.
She forced herself to slow her breathing, and the dizziness faded. The ringing subsided in her ears. She climbed behind the wheel, turned the key, and left burnout marks in her wake.
Mavis glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Weston standing in the middle of the street, running his hands through his hair. This is why I don’t let myself feel. It hurts too much.
She drove away, struggling to see through the tears she couldn’t wipe away.
Chapter Seven
The shelter door banged behind Weston. Reception was empty. He ran up the stairs, but both offices were unoccupied. Someone had to be here. There were cars in the parking lot.
He came back down and pushed open the swinging door to the animal area. “Hello. Anyone here?” Faint laughter drifted from the back of the building. He walked halfway past the dog kennels and tried again.
Stella came out of one of the training rooms and waved to him. “Sara, you guys take Bandit out to the outdoor play area. Let your kids play with her… see how it goes.”
Weston watched as three kids, and what had to be their parents, went outside with a hyper shepherd-like dog that looked to be a black and bluish-sliver dapple color.
“Good morning, Weston.” Fret was heavy in her voice.
“Hey Stella. Looks like you got a good fit there. Neither the dog nor the kids feet stayed on the ground much. What do you call that dog’s color?” His eyes following the group heading out the door.
“Blue merle, and they do look like they’re going to be a perfect match. I really hope so. They seem like good people.”
“Is Mavis here?” Weston asked as they walked back to the front lobby.
Stella stepped over the lazy bloodhound, who was curled up on a dog bed behind the counter. The dogs eyes fluttered open long enough to look up sleepy-eyed at Stella. “Sorry Lucy,” she bent over to scratch her head. “Didn’t mean to disturb your nap.” Lucy rolled over, and fell back into an easy slumber.
“No, she called in this morning and said she felt sick. She sounded awful.” Her face wore the worry of a parent for a child in pain. “I didn’t get the impression that it was the flu getting her down either.” Stella moved further behind the reception counter. “I’ve never heard her like this. Mavis tends to compartmentalize her emotions, and then forges ahead. This morning she sounded…” Stella waved it off. “It ripped my heart out. I’m not sure what happened or how to help her.”
Weston leaned his arms on top of the counter. “Stella. What happened to Mavis? Was it her parents? I saw a picture of them at her trailer, and she made it sound as though they’d passed away.”
Stella’s eyes said more to him than her words could have.
She sat down in her chair, folding her hands in her lap, and he could see the wheels spinning. Blowing out her breath, she said, “Her parents were killed in a car accident. They were driving up to see her at school for her nineteenth birthday when a semi-truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and hit them head-on. The impact killed them instantly. Mavis had to grow up fast.” She pressed her lips into a hard line. She picked up a pen and rolled it between her palms.
“I had no idea,” he said, regretting that he’d pried into Mavis’s past using Stella.
Stella’s eyes shifted down as she squirmed in her seat.
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
“I haven’t told you anything you couldn’t find out for yourself if you did a little research, but I’m sorry, anything else must come from her. It’s not my place.” Stella paused, tapping her finger to her chin. “I will say this — Mavis lost a great deal in a short period of time.”
“So, yes. There’s more,” he said, pushing back from the counter.
“On a positive note, she left this approval of adoption on the desk last night. Dulce’s yours.” She gave him a weak smile.
His eyes widened, staring at the application stamped approved. After the way she’d torn out of his house, he’d thought… well, that didn’t matter. “Is she at home?”
Stella said, “I don’t know,” while nodding.
Weston’s lips curled up at the corner and mouthed “thank you” as he left.
****
Mavis was sitting on the porch swing as he pulled up to her place. She appeared relaxed, dressed in olive cargo pants and a white tank top, with a lazy Moose stretched out on her lap. Well, her lap and half the swing.
His eyes met Mavis’s as he stepped out of his car. Her eyes never faltered as he approached.
The swing swayed as he sat down next to her. Her body stiffened, and she shifted her shoulder away from him.
“I’m sorry, Mavis. I didn’t mean to upset you last night.”
She let out a disingenuous laugh. “You didn’t upset me. I would have to give a flip about what you thought to get upset.”
He hadn’t been sure what to expect when he’d decided to show up unannounced, but this was worse than he’d anticipated. “Mavis. Come on.”
“Leave. Now.”
“No.”
Her eyes were seething. “How dare you? I want you to go.”
“No you don’t,” he said, ready to fight for what this relationship could become.
“Yes. I do.”
“For some strange reason, I care about you, and I care that you are hurting. I want to take it away.”
“You can’t,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her middle. He reached to touch her and she jerked away, sending Moose off her lap and into the trailer. “Go away!” Her voice was as cold as ice. “Go away… go away… go away!” Her fists pounded the words out on his chest, tears flowing like rapids down her cheeks.
Grabbing both her arms, he pinned them to her sides. “No,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere, so get used to it.” He held her firm and forced a bear hug on her.
Weston let her struggle until she collapsed against him, her hands clenching his shirt. Still cradling her, he waited while she released all the years of pent-up hurt she’d buried. His lips pressed firm against the side of her head.
Eventually, Mavis sniffed, pushing away from his chest to sit up. Weston handed her a tissue from his jeans pocket. “Stella told me about your parents.”
Mavis stared into the distance, seemingly lost in her own mind. She picked at a thread on the hem of her tank until it started to unravel.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping at a tear on her cheek.
“They were wonderful parents.” He watched her push her fresh supply of tears away. “I loved them dearly, and they died because they were coming to see me.” Her head angled away, allowing her hair to fall and hide her face. “I asked them to come. I did that.” Her hand smacked her chest. “Selfish Mavis, never thinking about anyone but what she wanted.” She hugged her middle and rocked. “And what did it cost me? Everything… everything that mattered most to me.” An agonizing whimper cut through the air. “I deserve every punishment I received for my self-indulgent behavior.” Her voice was almost soundless. A tear plunged to her knee.
He stroked her hair back from her face. “It wasn’t your fault, you know that right?”
Mavis wiped at her nose. “Doesn’t make it any easier to know I wasn’t driving the semi-truck. In my heart, I know they were on that road because of me. I might not have run them down, but I put them on that path.” She gasped in air over her quivering lower lip. Her eyes focused on h
er hands clasped in her lap.
“Mavis, as tragic as that obviously was, I don’t think that is what sent you running out of my house last night.”
“I just came to my senses.” Her tears ceased. She shook her head and turned her back to Weston.
“Mavis… don’t,” he said, taking her back into his arms.
She didn’t fight him, but she didn’t allow his comfort for long. Taking a deep breath, she sat back up and rested her arms on her knees.
A stillness fell between them, and the only sound he heard was the occasional whisper of a soft breeze ruffling the leaves. Even the birds had lost their joyful voice. It was as though time was stuck in a painful memory. He began to wonder if she was going to be able to pull herself back from the place she’d mentally gone and say anything else.
“A week after I buried my parents, I found out I had cervical cancer. I needed radiation therapy to have any chance at survival.” She wiped at her fresh tears.
His chest constricted. Unconsciously he had clenched his fists. Terror held him in a vice grip that her next words would be the cancer has returned. He stayed quiet, afraid she wouldn’t finish and yet afraid she would. He’d only just found her — the thought of losing her now turned his gut to ice.
“They saved my uterus, but the therapy damaged too much of my reproductive organs. The treatment left me sterile,” she said, voice hoarse with pain. “I can’t have a family.” Her chin dropped to her chest.
The blow must have been devastating — she’d only been a teenager.
Mavis took in a quivering breath, but went on. “I never really thought about having kids and now I think of nothing else.”
He flashed back to the way she spoke of Laney and now understood why she’d shut down. What had sent her running from his house had more to do with the demons she had battled alone for a long time, and not what he had said or done. His heart hurt for her and this solitary existence she had chained herself to.
“I guess I refuse to build relationships or let anyone get close to me, because it hurts too much to lose them.” She shrugged. “Eventually I got used to being alone.”
Weston’s breath whooshed out. His gut relaxed and he could breathe again. Infertility he could live with. Not having Mavis in his life… he might as well rip his heart from his chest. The relief he felt at finding out that she was okay was something he couldn’t share with her — he didn’t want to disvalue the pain she felt.
Instead, he embraced her. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “Everything is going to be okay.”
“How can you say that? It will never be okay. There isn’t a miracle treatment out there that can make me whole again. Please just go.” She pushed at him.
“Why do you want me to go?”
“Because it’s easier to let you go now than after I really start to like you.”
“There is one problem with that,” he said, turning her to look at him. She met his eyes. “I already really like you.” The corner of his mouth curled upward as he touched the side of her face.
“Please don’t. I don’t want to like you.”
“You don’t get to decide for me.” He moved closer to her. “And I am right where I want to be.”
“But I’m only half a woman,” she said, as another tear slid down her cheek. She didn’t bother to wipe it away.
“Stop it. I don’t ever want to hear you talk like that,” he said, with such vehemence that her mouth dropped open but no sound came out. “You are a wonderful person. Someone I would like to get to know a whole lot better. You have a heart of gold, and I wanted you in my life from the moment I laid eyes on you. Feisty attitude and all.”
“But…”
He stopped her with a kiss. “No buts. I want to see where this goes. I think you’re someone I could see myself having a life with, and I’m not going to let you ruin that for me.” His voice cracked with tenderness.
“I’ve been nothing but rude to you.”
“And yet I still want to be with you. See how well this is working out?”
She laughed, hoarse from crying. “What about down the road?”
“You mean when you finally tell me you love me and can’t live without me?”
“Stop it,” she said, sniffing. “You know what I mean.”
“That’s the thing about love. There isn’t any hurdle it can’t overcome. So, stop living in fear and start living your life. Start by letting me know you… okay?”
Their eyes met, and he kissed her. Kissed away her fear… her doubt… her self-hate. He rested his forehead on hers. “Now that that’s settled, there is something important we need to do together.” He stood, pulling her to her feet.
“Where are we going?” she asked, hanging back, clutching his hand.
“To get my dog and take her home, so I can spend some quality time with both my girls.” He pulled Mavis, still a step behind, toward the car. “Come on. Keep up,” he ordered, giving her a yank, and tucked her in under his arm.
He opened the car door. “You know this counts as date number two.” He leaned his arm on top of the door and looked in at her. The adorable crooked grin that spread across his face was infectious.
Mavis gave a heart-filled laugh. Maybe this was her first step toward healing her heart, and for once, she was hopeful about her future.
About the Author
Mary Jane Wilson lives on the Georgia side of Lookout Mountain, the natural beauty there fuels her love of the outdoors. Her time is divided between writing stories, hiking with her two dogs, and working with her horse. She also sits on the board of a local non-profit dedicated to reducing the overpopulation of dogs and cats by offering spay/neuter assistance and education.
Also from Astraea Press
Equations swam on the textbook page in front of me, mocking me in my confusion. Math made my brain hurt. The phone began to ring as Dad strode in the back door, fresh from a day of concrete finishing. I could smell him before he even hit the porch, something like sweat mixed with tar. Soap suds dripped down Mom’s arms as she did some pre-dinner dishes. A tiny bubble drifted up out of the sink. I watched as it spiraled lazily toward the ceiling. The phone was still ringing.
Mom sighed. “The lord love a duck! Joanie, would you please get that? It’s going to ring off the hook.”
I blinked at her but dropped my pencil. The phone trilled a fourth time. Dad dropped his heavy work boots in the mud room and walked across the kitchen. From the firm line of his jaw, I knew how irritated he was that I hadn’t moved my butt faster.
“Hello?” Despite the way his body was set, tension oozing out of his pores, Dad’s voice drifted across the phone lines as mellow as could be. “Uh huh, she’s here, but she’s busy at the moment. Can I take a message?”
My heartbeat picked up. Could someone be calling me? Jimmy Michaels had said he might call me. So far he hadn’t, but… could this be it? I stared hard at Dad, trying to get some sort of reading out of him. A split second later, I got my answer as his eyes cut to Mom, still standing at the sink. My shoulders slumped in defeat. I picked at the edge of my paper as I listened to the rest of Dad’s side of the conversation.
“Is that right?” he said. Mom had turned to look at him now. He motioned for her to take the receiver, so she carefully dried her hands on a towel she kept hanging near the sink.
“This is Barb,” she said. As she started to “uh-huh” along with whoever was on the other end, I lost interest.
Four more math problems stared up at me from the page. If I just finished them, I’d be done with my homework for the whole weekend. Two whole days without Ms. Peck or pre-algebra. I tapped my pencil in an off-beat rhythm as I tried to reason out one of them.
Dad stilled my pencil with his large, calloused hand. “Your mother is on the phone,” he said.
I bit my lip to keep from pointing out that a pencil doesn’t make that much noise, especially the eraser. Dad didn’t look like he was in the mood for my observations. Instead, he moved off t
hrough the kitchen, presumably to change out of his work clothes. The cuffs of his work pants were torn again and spattered with dried concrete. That’d be tough to scrub out. I was sure glad that I wasn’t on laundry duty this weekend. I’d take scrubbing the bathroom over scrubbing Dad’s work clothes any day.
“We’ll take them,” Mom said, her voice raising an octave in excitement. “Sam! Sam!”
Mom hung up the phone with a resounding thunk. She skittered out of the room in a flurry of activity. I set my pencil down and eyed the doorway. Curiosity gnawed at me. Careful to avoid the creaky floorboard, I crept toward the living room. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, I could hear the murmur of my parents’ discussion. Mom’s tone rose and fell in a cadence that told me she was excited about something. Dad’s voice provided a calming baritone. Disappointed that I couldn’t actually hear their conversation, I slunk back to the kitchen. My math homework glared at me from the table. With a shudder, I headed for the refrigerator to get a glass of milk.
As I sipped my milk, I leaned against the sink and gazed out the window at the lengthening shadows on the back lawn. I was just rinsing my glass when my parents came back into the kitchen. Mom’s eyes were shining with enthusiasm, the corners of her eyes crinkling. The back door banged open, and my older sister, Kaye, tromped in followed closely by our dog, Pepper. The dog wiggled and wagged as she danced around Mom and Dad. Kaye dropped her ballet bag by Dad’s boots.
“Do I have time to change before we eat?” she asked, running a hand along her sweaty neck.
Mom nodded. “Penny isn’t home yet.”
Kaye hustled toward the stairs before anyone could say anything else. I huffed out an annoyed breath at my sister. How could she not have noticed that something was up? Something exciting was brewing, and I knew better than to ask. Mom and Dad wouldn’t tell me until they were ready, so I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to focus on my math.
