In the kitchen, he shoved the curtain aside and stared out into the backyard, scanning the dark-shrouded corners.
§
A week later, he woke to the crying again. The woman in blue was in the same spot, her shoulders hunched, dressed in the same dress. The waning moon offered little light, yet he could see her clearly as if she’d trapped enough to wrap her in a halo. She didn’t turn around this time, simply remained in place, shedding her tears. The skin of her upper arm appeared discolored. Bruises?
The clouds slipped over the moon, turning everything into a pool of shadows; when they moved away again, the yard was empty, the gate hanging open once again.
If not for the gate, he might entertain the thought of a ghost. The house was old, and while Alec wasn’t sure he believed in ghosts, he wasn’t sure he didn’t believe in them either.
§
“Make a wish, Daddy.”
Megan held the dandelion in one hand, gripping it tight. Around them, his neighborhood was filled with the sounds of barking dogs and laughing kids and the rhythmic drone of many lawn mowers. The back gate to his yard was latched shut, as it had been when he and Megan first stepped out into the yard.
“Maybe in a minute. Let me finish my coffee first, okay?”
She cupped her hand around the dandelion. “Dandelions are my favorite flower, but Mommy said they’re a weed. That’s not true, is it?”
He chuckled. “I’m afraid it is.”
She squeezed her eyes half shut and pursed her lips. “Uh-uh. They’re a flower and they’re magic and if you make a wish, it has to come true.”
“You are silly.”
She remained quiet for several minutes, staring down at her hand, and then looked up, her eyes shadowed. “Daddy? Are me and Mommy going to come and live here with you?”
“No, punkin’, remember? Daddy is going to live here, you and Mommy are going to live in the other house, and you’re going to come here to visit.”
“But why?”
A knot tightened in his chest, a knot of barbed wire. Harsh words pushed against his lips, but it wasn’t Megan’s fault, none of it was her fault, and he couldn’t take it out on her. He put a smile on his face that felt like broken glass but hoped it kept his words calm. “Because Mommy and Daddy can’t live together anymore.”
“But if you move all your clothes back, you can.”
The smile tried to shatter, but he held it in place. She bent down in the grass, plucked another dandelion free, and spun in a slow circle, the seeds spreading out like white rain.
§
Alec tiptoed down the stairs and stood in the entrance to the kitchen. Through the window, he could see the woman. Same dress, same posture, same tears, and again, she was illuminated in a pale glow, brighter than the moon could explain.
The front door made a slight creak when he pushed it open; he padded around the side of the house as carefully, as quietly, as he could, expecting her to be gone.
She wasn’t.
The marks on her arm appeared darker—swirls of green and purple in irregular patterns. Most definitely bruises. Was she seeking temporary shelter after a storm of violence? Did this yard and this house hold something in her memory, something she couldn’t get back?
He took a hesitant half-step forward, and a twig snapped beneath his heel, the tiny sound a shriek in the night silence. She didn’t move, but Alec sensed a stiffening of her shoulders and spine, and he retreated until he was mostly hidden by the edge of the house.
She continued to cry but, after a time, cupped her hands over her face then extended her arms and tipped her hands. He saw teardrops slip from her palms to the ground, a rain of glistening pearls, each one distinct and separate. Impossible.
He hissed in a breath, and this time, she turned; once again, his breath gathered in his chest as if his lungs had gone on holiday. He didn’t think she could see him, but he pressed closer to the house. She blinked once, slowly, and then walked to the gate with a smooth, gliding step, her dress spread out behind her, and slipped through and out.
When the ability to breathe returned, Alec knelt on one knee where she’d been. Beneath his fingers, the ground felt damp in one spot, the spot where she’d spilled her tears.
It wasn’t until he returned to his bedroom that he realized her dress had made no sound moving across the grass. No sound at all.
§
Alec’s fingers gripped the phone tight hard enough to hurt. “What do you mean I can’t see her tonight? We talked about it last weekend.”
“I already told you, you can’t just see her whenever you want, and I told you I’d think about it, that’s all. Well, I thought about it, and it isn’t a good idea tonight.”
“She’s my daughter, too.”
“I never said she wasn’t, but she has school in the morning.”
He closed his eyes. Swallowed. Pressed one hand against the heart thumping madness beneath his skin, imagining a stone instead of muscle and blood. It was better, safer, that way. His attorney told him to check his anger and keep the peace, no matter what. Be the bigger person. “Both of you being angry won’t help the situation,” he’d said.
“Then let her spend the night, and I’ll take her to school.”
Shari gave a long drawn-out sigh. “I don’t want to fight about this with you.”
“I didn’t think we were fighting,” he said through clenched teeth. “Please, let me see her for a little while.”
Silence. Then the dead air of a disconnected call. Alec bit back a curse and paced back and forth in the living room. Seven steps from one wall to the other. Seven back again. Seven, a number of luck. (Like eleven, and eleven years of marriage had turned out so well, didn’t they?) He stopped on the sixth step, pivoting on the ball of his foot, lurching back across the room like a drunk in search of a bottle or a zombie catching the scent of flesh. Fuck seven, eleven, and anything else remotely stinking of luck. That was for other people, not him.
Why was Shari doing this to him? To Megan? They both had a right to spend time with their daughter; they were divorcing each other, not their daughter.
He picked up his glass of water, the shake in his hand sending water sloshing over the top. With a grimace, he threw the glass against the brick fireplace, the shatter a bright scream in the quiet. Slivers of glass and chunks of ice tumbled to the floor; streaks of water dripped down the brick.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Stop it. Stop this. Get control of yourself.
He clenched his fists hard enough to hurt,
Don’t let it hurt. It will pass. It has to pass.
picturing the stone again, hard and unbreakable. Shari was calling all the shots, and wasn’t that always the way? Damn the law and the lawyers to hell. Mothers did whatever they wanted, adding new rules as they went along, and fathers were supposed to keep their heads down and their mouths shut and play along.
Six steps (Because six meant nothing, lucky or unlucky. Six was a fucking neutral.) one way, then the other, heel-toe, heel-toe, legs stiff and awkward, arms down at his sides with his fists like a boxer’s, breathing in and out, the sound too loud, too animal. He stopped in the middle of the room and closed his eyes, willing himself still while a muscle in his jaw twitched and twitched and twitched.
Eventually that stilled, too.
§
The crying. Soft, desperate. Like a lullaby of sorrow. Alec used the kitchen door, opening it slowly. The woman in blue turned, then spun around toward the gate, but not fast enough to prevent him from seeing the side of her face, swollen and awash in purple and yellow.
She left behind the open gate and another damp patch on the lawn.
§
“Daddy?”
“Yes, punkin’?”
“How come you don’t want to see me more?”
Alec took Megan’s hand in his. “Never think that. Never, okay? I wish I could see you all the time.”
“So how come you don’t?”
“Because whe
n Mommies and Daddies don’t live together anymore, they have to follow certain rules.”
“Like in school?”
“Yes, sort of like that.”
“But why are the rules like that? Why can’t they change them?”
He gathered her into a hug and stared over her head toward the fireplace. A piece of broken glass glittered in the edge between the slate hearth and brick, and he glanced away fast. A momentary lapse in judgment, in control, that was all it had been.
“It’s not fair,” Megan said.
“No, it isn’t fair at all, but it’s the way things are right now, okay?”
She nodded against his chest. He closed his eyes and pictured the stone, a perfect, untouchable, unbreakable sphere.
§
The crying crept in through the open window along with a slight breeze. Alec put his forearm over his eyes. For hours, he’d been tossing and turning with sleep an elusive ribbon he could chase but never catch, and now she’d returned to serenade him with woe. As if he didn’t have enough of his own. He flopped over on his stomach, buried his face in the pillow.
If she was looking for a prince on a rescue mission, she’d picked the wrong yard and the wrong man.
§
“I wish you could go to the beach, too, Daddy.”
“It’s okay, maybe we can go back, just you and me, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy. Um, Mommy says I have to go finish packing. I love you.”
“I love you too, punkin’. So very much.”
Alec let the phone drop from his hand. A day’s notice from Shari that she was taking Megan to the beach for two weeks. One day. He exhaled sharply through his nose. Better than a phone call when they were on the road, at least. He sank down on the sofa, steepled his fingers beneath his chin, and stared at the wall while images flickered on the muted television in the corner.
§
Sleeping pills made his brain thick and sluggish in the morning, but even with the window open, he slept
like a stone
better than he had in weeks. Months. The pills brought vivid dreams, though, dreams of Shari dragging Megan away, of crying women, of bruises, images that lingered even after coffee, and every morning when he went out into the backyard, the gate was open. After a time, he didn’t even bother to close it. What was the point?
§
After one last hug, Alec watched Megan run into the house, her hair bouncing bright against her shoulders. Shari followed behind without a second look in his direction; Alec didn’t wait for the door to shut before he drove away.
§
The lamp on the end table cast a small sphere of light in the living room; the rest of the house was dark. Alec took a sip of vodka, grimaced even though the alcohol went down smooth and clean, and pushed the glass aside. He stared into the shadows, not drinking, not thinking, and when the crying began (how could he even hear it, all the windows were shut?), he fumbled for his phone. He bit back a laugh. Who exactly was he going to call? The police?
She was standing in the same place, wearing the same dress, her head bowed, weeping into her hands. The bruises on her face were even darker, a violent shade of dark and angry. For a moment, the urge to step outside, to talk to her, to ask her why, raced through his blood stronger than the vodka. He pulled the door open, took a half-step outside. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move.
His hand tightened on the door knob, and he retreated back into the house. “I can’t help you,” he whispered.
§
Shari was usually waiting at the door when he dropped Megan off; this time the door was shut and the windows curtained. He held Megan’s hand as they climbed the porch steps. Shari yanked the door open wide as he lifted his hand to knock, her face caught up in a scowl.
“You’re late,” she said.
“We got caught in traffic, sorry.”
Shari’s mouth pressed into a thin line; her eyes turned steely. “Oh, I forgot, Megan can’t see you this weekend. She’s going on a camping trip to Rock Creek Park with school.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“No, Mommy, I want to go with Daddy, not on the stupid trip, remember?”
“I understand that, honey, but I already told them you were going. You’ll see Daddy the next weekend.”
“But I don’t want to go on the trip. Please, please, Mommy, let me go with Daddy. We’re going to the big zoo to see the baby pandas.”
When Shari spoke again, her voice was hard. “The zoo will still be there the next weekend. Why don’t you go in the house now?”
“No.” Megan tugged Alec’s hand. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Daddy, tell Mommy not to make me go on the trip, please. I want to come with you instead. Please, Daddy, please.”
“Mommy’s right, the zoo will still be there next weekend, and so will the baby pandas.” He turned away and walked back to his car. Megan would be fine. Kids cried all the time when they didn’t get what they wanted.
§
Another night. Another room filled with the weight of silence. Outside, a light rain tapped against the windows, and thunder boomed in the distance. The living room turned to shadows and grey, and, eventually, he closed his eyes and let sleep tug him down.
He woke with a jolt, one hand pressed to his chest, the echo of thunder still in his ears. Rain pummeled the windows, obscuring everything beyond. Lightning split the sky. The lamp flickered, another boom of thunder raged in the night, and the light went out.
With his arms outstretched, he felt his way into the kitchen, fumbling in a drawer for candles and matches. He had one candle lit when he glanced out the window as another slash of lightning stripped away the dark. Oblivious to the storm, the woman was standing in the backyard, weeping.
He scrubbed his face with his hands. Was she in such a bad situation that his yard in a storm was preferable? What kind of nightmare was she trying to escape from, and why didn’t she just run away for good?
Before he could change his mind, he opened the kitchen door. A gust of wind tugged it from his hand and shoved it back against the wall. He staggered out into the rain, arms over his head, feet slipping on the wet grass.
She didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge him in any way. Her entire arm was a study in violence, not only bruising but deep gashes that openly bled their red. Neither rain nor wind touched her hair, her dress. She was a small statue of calm amid the chaos, save for her weeping.
When he drew close, she turned slowly. Her left eye was blackened, her right cheek inflamed. A split in her lower lip gaped open, revealing the pink meat below. Her chin was raw as if someone had dragged her down a concrete step. Scratches and cuts, some deep, some superficial, marred the skin of her chest visible above the neckline of her dress. And still, she wept.
He let out a ragged breath. In his mind, he saw Megan’s face streaked with tears, saw himself turning away, felt the sharp sting of guilt, of failure.
“Please, come inside,” he shouted against the storm still drenching his clothes and hair. “You can’t stay outside in this. I promise I won’t hurt you.”
She didn’t move.
“But are you ready?” she said softly, her voice clear even through the storm’s anger.
He shook his head. “For what?”
She touched his chest; in a split-second, the storm no longer touched him. He could still hear the wind, the rain, the thunder, but all were muffled as if from a great distance away. Water dripped from his arms and legs down onto the dry grass beneath his feet.
Inside his chest, he felt something tug and twist. She smiled and took his hand. Her skin was cool, but not cold. So close, her wounds were even more horrific, yet she smelled not of sweat and hurt, but flowers and time. Tears continued to slip from her eyes; as soon as one fell, another took its place, trailing a shimmering line down her cheek.
“What happened to you?” he said. “Why were you outside in the storm? Why have you been standing out here?”
She pressed a finger
to his lips, and the cool kiss of her skin against his felt strange, other, as if she was of some elsewhere, trapped in thiswhere in a way Alec knew he’d never understand.
He reached out a hand and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Why do you keep crying?”
She smiled. “I feel like I’m drowning,” she said. “Like my chest is filled with dandelion fluff and I can’t breathe through the wasted wishes.”
Her voice carried a lilt, a melody.
“I don’t understand,” Alec said, unable to take his eyes away from hers.
“See?” She coughed, gently, delicately, and held out her hand. There, on the unlined skin of her palm, a tiny speck of white. Maybe dust, maybe his imagination.
“What is it?”
She folded her fingers over; when she released them, the white had vanished. “A wish.”
“For what?”
“For happiness and joy instead of heartache and grief, for a smile instead of a tear.”
“I don’t understand,” he said again, shaking his head. “Who, what, are you?”
She smiled. “I am the Algea, the three, Lupe and Ania and Achus, the daughters of Eris, the spirit of suffering of body and mind. In other lands, I have been named the Dolores, Nedolya, Cihuacoatl, but my name is of no matter. I know no torment though I carry it in my veins; I know no heartache though I taste it in my tears. I am grief and sorrow and ache, condemned to feel everything in my command, now and always.” She gave a small smile. “But I think it’s time. I think you’re ready.”
“For what?”
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, one quick touch that tasted of sunshine after a long rain. “For this,” she whispered against his mouth. “To feel again. To feel everything.”
He felt a pulling in his chest, a twinge in the back of his throat, a sense of shattering at the edges and deep below. A rush of anger flowed through his veins, pushing aside the chrysalis of numbness he’d wrapped around himself. He saw Shari’s hard eyes, the document stating when he could and couldn’t see his daughter, the lawyer’s bill. The anger turned to rage, covering him in a wave of red, blood-dark and reeking.
Sing Me Your Scars (Apex Voices Book 3) Page 10
