Imperfect

by Cherry Shephard

  I hear the apartment door close, and I curl up into a ball in the middle of the bed. I’m naked, broken.

  A wail rises from the deepest recesses of my chest, until it turns into a scream. It feels good to let it out. Tears pour down my face, but I don’t care.

  He’s right. I made him do it.

  I’m pathetic. Useless.

  “Shannon!”

  My eyes snap open and I gasp for breath. It’s dark, but the small lamp on the bedside table casts a glow around the bed, illuminating Stone’s panicked face. “You were screaming,” he says, his voice full of worry. He’s so caring that I can’t stop the flood of tears that seems to appear from nowhere.

  “Ah, hell,” he curses, moving to the other side of the bed and sliding beneath the covers, taking me into his arms. He holds me as I cry, saying nothing as his large hand gently strokes my arm. I let it all out—the pain, the fear, the anger. I cry until I’m screaming, dry-heaving. My tears soak the pillow beneath me, until I finally fall into an exhausted sleep.

  But he stays with me through it all. Never saying a word. He’s my rock.

  My Stone.

  I glance over at Shannon as she sits in her wheelchair on the back porch.

  She hasn’t said a word this morning, and I’m fucking worried. What was that meltdown about last night? Was it a bad dream? A memory? I’m dying to ask her, to comfort her, but she won’t even look at me. I swallow the last of my coffee and put the empty mug in the sink, rinsing it out and smiling at the fact that Shannon’s changed me so much in such a small amount of time. I dry my hands on the back of my jeans and step onto the back porch. She glances up at me, and my heart breaks for her. Her eyes are puffy and red from her tears, and I wonder how she kept it inside for so long.

  I clear my throat. “Do you want to do something today?” I ask, shoving my hands into the back pockets of my jeans.

  She looks away, but she nods. It’s a small victory, and I’m going to count it.

  “What would you like to do?” This time, she gives me no indication that she hears me. “We could go out for lunch,” I suggest.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asks me in a voice so quiet I have to strain to hear her.

  “What?” I reply, squatting in front of her.

  She raises red-rimmed eyes to me. “Why are you being so nice?”

  I’m confused by her question. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t deserve to be treated nicely.”

  I curse under my breath and grab her chin, tilting her head up to meet my eyes. “Did Troy tell you that?” She swallows hard and nods in response. “Shannon,” I say gently. “You’re probably the most special woman I’ve ever known in my entire life. No one has ever believed in me the way you do, and you’re still here even though I keep fucking up.”

  “You won’t let me leave,” she reminds me with a small smile through her tears.

  I can’t help but laugh. “You’re right,” I concede. “I’ll give you that one. But Shan,” I continue, looking at her seriously. “You deserve to be treated more than nicely. You deserve to be treated like the fucking queen you are. You deserve more than I could ever give you; that’s for sure.”

  A sudden heaviness falls over me at the realization. I’m not good enough for her. I might never be good enough. I don’t know that I can ever give her what she truly needs.

  I shake my head slightly and square my shoulders as I stand back up. I might not be able to give her what she needs, but that will never stop me from trying.

  “Come on,” I say, grabbing the handles of the wheelchair. “Let’s go for a drive.”

  After she’s dressed, I help her into the truck.

  I don’t know where we’re going, but it seems important to me to just keep driving.

  Shannon says nothing the entire time, just stares out the back window with her head resting on the glass. I don’t know how to help her. How can I if she won’t let me in? We drive for a few minutes more when her small gasp makes me glance in the rearview mirror.

  “What’s up?” I ask. She doesn’t respond, and I look out the window to see we’re passing by the stables. Her horse. “Do you want to stop?” I ask her, glancing in the rearview mirror again.

  She bites her bottom lip and nods, so I slow down and turn into the small driveway that leads up to the stables. I cut the ignition and get out. Grabbing the wheelchair from the bed, I set it up next to the passenger door as Shannon eagerly opens it. She’s in such a rush that she almost falls out, and I reach out to steady her. “Easy,” I say with a laugh, helping her into the chair.

  She looks up at me with a shy smile. “Um, Stone?”

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “Could I possibly have some time alone?” she asks.

  In my heart, I understand. This is what she needs.

  I nod. “Of course. I’ll go check on Keets and Ruth at Saddles.”

  “No beer,” she reminds me, and I flash her a grin.

  “No beer,” I promise. I hop back into the truck and watch as she carefully wheels her chair into the stables. When I’m sure she’s safe, I back out and onto the road.

  By the time I get to Saddles, I’m exhausted. It was such a long night, I barely got any sleep and now I’m paying for it.

  I enter the bar and see it’s not too packed. A few customers are littered about the room, talking quietly as they enjoy their various lunches and drinks.

  “Stone.” Ruth waves me over to the bar, and I pull up at seat. “How’s Shan?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly, shaking my head as I eye the bottles of beer behind the bar. It’d be so easy. Shannon wouldn’t ever have to know . . .

  “She had this major meltdown in her sleep last night that scared the absolute shit out of me. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Ruth nods knowingly. “I was half-expecting it,” she admits. “Though the nightmares haven’t happened for a while.”

  “Troy?” I guess, and she nods again.

  “The guy really fucked her over.”

  “Bastard,” I mutter under my breath. “I should’ve killed him when I saw him in the club.”

  “And what good would you be to Shannon behind bars?” Ruth asks.

  I hate to say it, but she has a point. “Do you always have to be right?” I tease.

  “Only when I know I am.” She laughs. “You’re looking great, by the way. Keets said you looked like shit yesterday.”

  “Yeah, well, today is a new day. What can I say? I feel amazing.”

  “She definitely agrees with you,” Ruth says slyly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Shannon,” Ruth explains. “She’s clearly been good for you.”

  “Oh, well, uh, yeah, I guess she has.” I can feel myself flush.

  “Ohh, the big, bad Ethan Stone is blushing!” she teases.

  “I am not,” I say, covering my face. Men don’t blush.

  “Sure,” she draws out. “So, where is the invalid?”

  “At the stables,” I answer as she serves a customer. “She wanted some alone time with her horse.”

  “Zeke’s up there,” Ruth tells me with a smile. “He’s got a real fascination with the horses.”

  A stab of guilt shoots through me. “How is he?”

  “You could always ask him yourself,” Ruth answers, but I shake my head.

  “He won’t even talk to me.”

  “Well, have you tried to talk to him?” she counters.

  I hang my head in shame. Trust her to make me feel guilty.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” she states, crossing her arms with a frown.

  “Look, give me a break, okay?” I say hotly. “First I get a son who looks like he’d rather kill me than call me ‘Dad’, then Shannon won’t give me an answer on my proposal, and now I’ve got you breathing down my—”

  “Back up.” Ruth says, holding up one hand as she stares at me incredulously. “You proposed to Shannon? Why the hell would you do tha
t?”

  I rake my hand over my head. “I don’t know,” I confess. “It was dumb.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “I guess I thought I was trying to help her. Some guy said her dad owed him a lot of money, and she has to either pay up or sell Saddles to him.”

  “What?!” Ruth screeches. “She can’t sell Saddles; it’ll kill her!”

  “I know,” I agree, nodding. “That’s why I suggested we marry. That way, my money becomes her money.”

  “And she’ll have enough to pay him off,” Ruth finishes for me.

  “Exactly.”

  “But she won’t give you an answer?” Ruth presses.

  I shake my head. “Not yet. I don’t know what else to do.”

  “You need to ask her again,” Keets declares as he comes out of the office. “You’re doing a good thing, man.” He slaps my shoulder comfortingly.

  “I don’t feel like I am.” I feel miserable.

  “Look, the worst thing she can say is no, right?”

  I nod. “I guess you’re right.”

  And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

  Opening the stall door, I push the wheelchair back as Lady slowly moves forward. I follow behind her as she ventures out into the corral and lifts her head up to the sunlight.

  Sadness threatens to overwhelm me once more as I watch my beautiful horse. I’ve been to Hell and back, but she witnessed Daddy’s accident first hand. Many people might think ‘oh, she’s just a horse,’ but even a horse can only go through so much before they fall apart. She walks over and puts her head down to me. I stretch out my fingers and gently stroke her long nose. What must it have been like, to witness such a horrific accident? Do horses experience similar emotions to humans? I’ve heard that’s true. If so, she must have been terrified when those hunting dogs attacked.

  I miss riding her, I can’t deny that.

  A slight movement to my right catches my eye, and I turn my head in time to see a young blond-haired face staring at me from around the side of the stables. Zeke. I smile as I turn the wheelchair around. “Hey, Zeke,” I greet, motioning him over. He slowly steps out from the side of the stables, his eyes wide as he looks at Lady. “This is my baby,” I explain, petting Lady on the nose once more. “Would you like to pet her?”

  He nods as I push the wheelchair back a little and he creeps slowly over, his hand outstretched.

  Lady must sense his discomfort, because she whinnies and tosses her head as she takes a step toward him, putting her nose down and bumping against him. “She likes you.” I giggle, as he strokes her nose. He gives me a small smile, and I feel my heart swell. It’s a small thing, but it’s a start.

  “Do you ride her?” he asks in such a quiet voice that I almost miss it.

  My heart skips a beat and breaks, just a little. “Not anymore,” I say sadly.

  “Why?”

  I debate on how much to tell him, but ultimately decide to tell him the truth. He listens carefully as I talk about my dad, nodding occasionally. When I’m finally finished, I sit back in the wheelchair, exhausted.

  He’s silent for a long time, and I begin to worry that I may have pushed him too far, too fast. Finally, he lifts his head and looks at me a little shyly. “Can I ride her?”

  I’m taken back by his request, and more than a little humbled. “Of course.” I respond, nodding.

  I spend the next thirty minutes teaching him how to saddle Lady then watch as he sits atop her proudly while she walks around the corral, a huge smile on his young face. It’s a bittersweet moment; I want to ride her again more than anything.

  He leads the horse back to me and carefully jumps down. I smile as he sits on the grass beside my chair and pulls at the individual blades with his fingers. “So, how’s life at Ruth’s?” I ask as casually as I can.

  “It’s great,” he replies enthusiastically. “Ruth is so funny, and very pretty.”

  I smile at that. I’m pretty certain every man in the world, both young and old, thinks Ruth is beautiful. “So, do you think you can find it in your heart to come home?” I watch his face carefully as I ask the question, looking for any clue as to what he’s thinking.

  “Dad hates me,” he says, shaking his head.

  “Oh, sweetie,” I exclaim, touching his arm gently. “Your dad doesn’t hate you at all. He just hasn’t been a father before, so this is all so new to him.”

  Zeke nods in understanding. “It’s new to me, too.”

  “Will you come home, and give him a chance?”

  To my surprise, he doesn’t say no straightaway. “If I go home,” he says slowly, “will you be there?”

  “I will, for a while,” I answer.

  “Can I ride Lady?” he asks, patting the horse’s nose once more.

  I can’t help but laugh. “As often as you’d like.”

  He seems to think about it for another moment then slowly nods. “All right,” he agrees. “If you promise you’ll be there, I’ll go home.”

  “I promise,” I say, unable to wipe the smile off my face. “You won’t have to do this alone. You have a whole town behind you, and we look after our own.”

  “But I’m an outsider,” Zeke tells me, suddenly looking fearful. “Won’t they hate me?”

  My heart goes out to this poor boy, screaming out for just a little bit of love and understanding.

  “Let me tell you something,” I start, adjusting myself in my wheelchair. He looks at me, interested. “Your mother was born and raised here, and so was your daddy.”

  “They were?” Zeke’s eyes are huge, as though he finds it hard to believe that such a story could be real.

  “Yep.” I nod. “Not very far from here, actually.”

  “How do you know?” he asks.

  “It’s a small town,” I explain. “News travels fast. Your momma and daddy loved each other very much when they were younger,” I continue, though imagining Stone as a lovesick teenager isn’t an easy feat to accomplish.

  “So, what happened?” Zeke presses.

  “Your granddaddy was in the Army,” I say with a smile. “And so was his daddy before him. It’s in your blood. When the attacks happened on 9/11, your daddy decided he had to go fight to protect his country, his wife.”

  “What about me?”

  “They didn’t know your momma was pregnant. She was so mad at him for leaving. She couldn’t understand that he was fighting for your freedom.”

  “But if he loved her so much, why didn’t he come back?”

  For a moment, I can’t think of a way to answer his question. How do you explain to a child the horrors of war? I decide the explanation is best left to his father. “I don’t know, sweetie,” I admit, leaning over and brushing a strand of blond hair off his forehead. “I suppose he couldn’t, for a while.”

  “Do you think he’d tell me, if I ask?”

  I smile. “You know what? I’ll bet you’re the only person he wants to tell.”

  “Really?” Zeke asks, his eyes full of hope.

  “Really,” I affirm, nodding eagerly. “But you’ll have to come home and ask him yourself.”

  “All right,” he says with a tremulous smile. “I’ll give it a go.”

  I can’t help but lean down and give him a tight, quick hug around his shoulders. But I’m surprised when he latches on to me, hugging me tight. “Thanks Shan,” he says, his voice muffled against my shirt. Tears spring to my eyes at the breakthrough. “It’s gonna be okay,” I whisper, placing a soft kiss against his hair.

  Normally, I’d be craving a beer by now, but not tonight.

  I’m standing on the back porch, staring up at the clear night sky. The rain is gone, and the sky is lit up with a million diamond-like stars.

  The voices in my head are quiet, and my body is relaxed. I don’t know how she’s done it, but Shannon has brought my son home. When I picked her up from the stables, I was shocked to find her with Zeke. I was even more shocked when she told me he wanted to come home. He had
a lot of questions, but I held nothing back. For the first time in my life, I wanted someone other than Keets to know about my past. I held back the worst details, glossed over them so as not to frighten him and ruin any kind of improvement we’ve made. I think he sensed it, but he didn’t say anything. Shannon sat right by me, holding my hand as I revealed details about my life that, until now, had remained a mystery. She tightened her grip as I spoke about the young girl, and cried for me when I spoke about the torture I’d endured for so many months.

  As if my thoughts had somehow conjured her up, I hear the glass sliding door open and, a second later, the squeak of the wheels on her chair. “How are you doing?” she asks, looking up at me.

  I smile and move to sit on the couch at the other end of the porch. “Better, I think,” I respond, glancing up as she wheels toward me. “How’s Zeke?”

  “Sleeping,” she says with a smile. “Listen, Stone. About everything you told us tonight. I—”

  “Ahh, I really don’t want to talk about it,” I cut her off.

  “Why not?” she asks. “Stone, you can’t keep this bottled up forever. Dr. James said—”

  “Shannon,” I interrupt again, a little sharper than I intend. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Her eyes search mine for a few minutes, and then she finally nods. “Okay,” she agrees gently. “It’s okay.”

  “Look.” I sigh, raking a hand over my head. “It’s late, and I’m tired. We can talk about this tomorrow.” I stand up and move past her.

  I’m almost at the door when her voice stops me. “Stone?”

  “Yeah?” I ask, turning to face her.

  She turns her wheelchair around and lifts her head to look at me. “Last night, at dinner . . . when you . . . you . . .”

  “Proposed?” I prompt gently.

  She nods. “Were you serious?”

  “I was.”

  She’s silent for a few minutes, not looking at me. I’m ready to turn around and walk away again when she finally speaks. “Okay.”

  “I’m sorry?” I say. “Did you say ‘okay’?”