Incredible Us

by Deanndra Hall

  At two o’clock that afternoon, I remember the call while I’m gathering up the garbage, so I check it. Probably some salesperson or something.

  But the voice in the message hits me completely unawares and I’m riveted to the spot. “Dave, it’s me. Olivia. Remember me? I’m at the hospital. I don’t want to be here. I want to come home. Please, can I come home? I’ll do whatever you say, I promise. I just want to come home. Please?” There’s a voice in the background and she says, “I’ve got to go. It’s someone else’s turn. I love you. Please come and get me. I miss you.” There’s a noise that’s an old-fashioned phone receiver being hung up and she’s gone.

  I run the message back and listen to it over and over, tears coursing down my face. God, I want to hold her, but I can’t. It’s not right. I’ve hurt her too much and I can’t go back to where we were. It would just be too disastrous when it fell apart again, and it would fall apart again.

  I get a call the next morning, and the next and the next. At the club every evening I go through the motions of doing the things I’ve always done. It’s been exceptionally quiet. Bruce and Valerie, Gary, Austin, Cody, and Tim and Leslie haven’t been here since it all went down. I heard a rumor that Bruce was trying to buy The Catacombs and clean it up, turn it into another version of Bliss. I don’t care. Nothing matters now.

  A month goes by. My house is a damn wreck. Clint isn’t speaking to me, and I don’t blame him. I miss him and Trish and the girls. Steffen has come by a couple of times, but I told him I didn’t want to talk to him, so he quit coming by. Secretly, I’d love for him to stop again. I’d like someone to talk to, but I don’t deserve it.

  On a random Thursday, I get a different kind of call. I recognize the prefix, but it’s not the same number Olivia’s been calling from, so I answer it to hear a voice say, “Mr. Adams?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Dr. Cooper, Miss Warren’s psychiatrist. How are you, sir?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Well, um, sir, I’d really like for you to come in for one of Miss Warren’s sessions. I think we all need to talk.”

  “Nothing to talk about.”

  “Sir, I don’t think that’s quite accurate. Miss Warren says that the two of you . . .”

  “There is no two of us. She needs to get that out of her head. Thanks for calling, but you’re only hearing one side of the story, and it’s all you need. My side doesn’t matter. Please don’t call me again.” Before he can say anything else, I hang up.

  Two weeks later, out of the blue, I open my front door and there stands Clint, Trish, Steffen, Sheila . . .

  And Olivia.

  I feared this day would come, but I’d prayed it wouldn’t. I was hoping she’d just fade away and I wouldn’t have to deal with her. I see they’re not going to let that happen. All I manage to choke out is, “Yeah?”

  “We all need to talk.”

  “Nothing to talk about.”

  He ignores me and pushes the door open, and the five of them come straight into the house. Trish and Olivia head directly to the spare bedroom, and I know she’s collecting the few things still left there. The other four of us sit and wait in silence until they come back, and when they join us, Clint looks around the group and then straight at me. “Olivia’s been released from the hospital.”

  “I see that.”

  A scowl is directed at me, and then he says, “We need to know what you want to do. Does she have a home here? I need a straight answer so we can help her figure out what to do next.”

  “I think coming back here would be a bad idea,” I tell her, looking right into her face. I can’t read her expression, and then I realize I’ve seen it. Those dogs on the commercials for the ASPCA, sad and abandoned. My heart is being ripped from my chest, but I try to look like I don’t give a shit.

  “Okay. Well, at least we know how to proceed now.”

  Clint starts to stand, but I tell him, “Not yet. I’ve got something to say.” They all look at me expectantly, and I get an envelope from the desk and open it. The brochures are colorful and glossy, and I hand one to each of them. “Share them around. Each one is different because they’re about different aspects of the program.”

  Steffen stares at me. “My god, this is what you’ve been doing?” There’s a look of total disgust on his face, and I deserve it.

  “Yeah. I’ve looked around, and this looks like the best one.”

  Trish’s voice is shrill. “What the hell is this?”

  “It’s a home. Well, not a home like some kind of facility, more like a school. It’s a group setting where they house students while they learn a vocation. You go through the program, and when you’re done, they help you find a job, housing, transportation. And it’s in Denver. It’s really pretty there. I think you’d like it,” I say directly to Olivia.

  Her eyes are empty, but her lip trembles when she whispers out, “Dave, I love you. Please don’t send me away.”

  Everything inside me melts, and I know if I want to save my soul from the eternal fires of damnation, I have to show her my heart right this second. I kneel in front of her and take her hands. “It doesn’t matter if you love me or I love you. It’s . . .”

  “Do you love me?” Her eyes dart back and forth as she looks into mine, and I know she’s watching for some shred of caring and compassion. I need to give her something, but I need to be careful.

  “That doesn’t matter. It’s time for you to find a life for yourself. I took yours and didn’t give you anything of value in return. This will help you get a fresh start in a new city with people who are trained to get you that fresh start and do it right.”

  “You did give me something of value. You gave me your heart.”

  “And I shouldn’t have. That was wrong of me. I was expecting you to be something you’re not, and that’s not fair to you. This will right that wrong and you’ll be surrounded by people who really can help you. You won’t have to worry about them being cruel or mean-spirited or letting you down. They’re professionals and they’ll do right by you.”

  “I just want to be in a home. This home. Our home.” Oddly, she’s not crying. I find that a relief even as it’s a curiosity. I would’ve expected that, but instead, she’s very calm and rational. Probably meds. “Weren’t we happy?”

  “It wasn’t real, honey. It was just us trying to make the other person be what they needed them to be, and it didn’t work.”

  “You’re exactly what I want.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not. I’m a Dominant who was looking for a permanent submissive. You’re not a submissive.”

  “No. I’m not.” Now I’m shocked. I just knew she’d say that she could be whatever I wanted her to be, but this takes me completely by surprise. Then she adds, “I don’t think that’s what you really want either.”

  “You don’t know that because you don’t know me that well.”

  “I know your heart.”

  I shake my head again. “It’s black, baby. Black as coal.”

  “No. It’s not. I’ve seen it and it’s beautiful.” Her face is sweet and calm, even as her lip keeps trembling.

  I give up and turn to Clint. “I’ve already paid for the program. They just need to know when she’s coming and to make transportation arrangements. I’ve given them the money for that too. They don’t know when to expect her, but they are expecting her.”

  Clint slaps his knees and stands. “Well. That’s taken care of, looks like. Thanks for that. We’ll be going now.”

  Steffen mumbles out, “Clint, I . . .”

  Clint snaps at Steffen, “No.” Then he glares at me. “No. It’s all taken care of. Do you want me to let you know when she’s leaving so you can say goodbye?”

  “Probably not a good idea, but if it’ll help, I’ll come.”

  Shaking his head, he snorts. “Wow. Thanks for that. Come on, baby. You girls get in the van and we’ll go get some ice cream or something. Anything.” As they all file out,
Steffen gives me an odd look and follows everyone else, then closes the door behind him.

  Well. That’s done. Everything can go back to normal.

  Yeah, right.

  I haven’t seen or heard from Clint for three weeks when I see his name pop up on my phone. I just answer, “Yeah.”

  “Dave? I just wanted you to know that she’s leaving tomorrow. About two o’clock. We’re taking her to the airport. I’d really like for you to be there and at least pretend you care something for her. She’s doing very well. It’s the least you can do.”

  “Son, I do care something for her. I love her and I want what’s best for her.”

  “Gotta tell ya, if that’s how you love her, now I’m worried about all the times you’ve said that to me.” Ouch. But I deserved that.

  “Look, I’ll try to be there. But don’t tell her I’m coming in case I decide not to. Please.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of disappointing her again unnecessarily.” Then he hangs up on me.

  I keep wiping down the bar. A few people mill around in the commons area, but no one is scening. It’s almost time to start decorating for the holidays, but I don’t really care about it this year. I don’t want to be reminded that my heart is broken by being around people jostling me in the malls and getting crabby in the lines at the grocery. I don’t need that.

  During the night, I dream, and in my dream we’re right back here in my bed, my arms tight around her. I kiss her and she kisses me back, and then she whispers, “I love you, Dave. You’re my dream come true.” Her lips are like caramel on a hot summer day, and her hair is a silky wave of chocolate drifting down her shoulders and across the pillow. I draw one of her nipples into my lips and listen to the moan that rises from deep in her chest. It’s perfect and cozy and so, so right.

  Waking with a start, I sit bolt upright in the bed and look around in the dark. The realization that it was just a dream is a bitter pill, and I slump back down into the bed and pull the covers up to my neck. I never expected a broken heart to hurt this badly, but it’s excruciating.

  Every minute without her is the most painful minute of my life, only to be replaced by the next that’s more painful still. Remembering her arms, her smile, the touch of her hand, it all sends me into a spiral I don’t think I’ll ever surface from, and I’m lost in all the memories. We had so little time together, but it meant so much. And now it’s gone, and it’s not coming back.

  Halfway through the morning I decide that, out of decency, I should go and see her off. I paid for the program, I drove her to this point, and I should at least go and show her that I care. I pick out something I think really says “me,” a button-front crew neck, and draw my brown leather jacket over it. I don’t know where they’ll be or when, so I just drive to the airport and park in short-term parking. The board inside the front door says there’s a plane departing for Denver at three o’clock – that’s got to be it. I head for the gate and look around.

  They’re standing in a cluster, my son, daughter-in-law, grandkids, and Steffen, Sheila, and their two. Olivia’s right in the middle of them, and she’s smiling and laughing, teasing the kids and jumping into Sheila and Trish’s conversation. She looks different somehow, kind of settled and calm and . . .

  Grown up. She looks all grown up. She’s not the fragile, frightened little thing I rescued from the garbage. Her hair is glossy, her skin and eyes are clear, and she’s got a smile on her face. My chest aches with the knowledge that I couldn’t help her get there. Someone else had to do it, and it looks like they did a very good job. For that, I owe them my eternal gratitude.

  I stand and watch them, wondering if I should just leave. They’d never know I’d been there. But just as I think I should do that, she looks up and locks eyes with me. And I have to go to her. I can’t help it. They all part their little circle and she stands there in the middle, waiting. Stopping in front of her, I look around at my little family and ask, “Could you guys give us a second, please?” Without a word, they all drift away toward a hot dog stand across the concourse and leave us standing there.

  Face to the floor and staring at my shoes, I manage to mutter, “Wow, this is awkward.”

  “It’s not for me. Thanks for coming. I’m glad to see you. And thanks for doing this for me.”

  My head snaps up. The look on her face tells me that she genuinely feels what she’s saying, and a wave of relief washes over me, followed by regret so enormous that it threatens to swallow me. “I’m glad to see you too. I just wanted to come and tell you how sorry I am about . . .”

  Her finger presses against my lips and she smiles. “Let’s not go there. I’m just glad that you came to say goodbye.”

  I eye her suspiciously. “This is weird. I was sure you’d beg me to let you come back.”

  The smile that slips out is sad. “I wouldn’t do that because I know it’s not going to happen. I love you. You don’t love me. That’s just how it is.”

  “I do love you, Olivia.”

  “No, you feel obligated to help me. I consider this our day to say that we’re even. I gave you what you wanted from me insofar as I was able. You gave me what I needed from you until you just couldn’t anymore. So we’re good. But there’s something I need to say to you.”

  My eyebrows arch. “Okay. Go ahead.”

  She reaches for one of my hands and takes it in hers, then looks into my face. I see the girl I fell in love with, and the love I feel for her is deeper than the ocean and wider than the sky. I want to tell her that, to grab her and kiss her, but I can’t. That wouldn’t be right, and I know it. I just wait and she starts to speak.

  “I just want you to know that I love you. I love you just as much as I ever did, maybe even more. I know you didn’t act the way you did toward me because you hate me; you did it out of love, and I respect that. I’m not what you want, and that’s okay. I’m just glad I had your love for a little while. No one ever loved me like that before, and I thank you for that.” She draws my hand to her lips and kisses the back of it, and I feel like I’m going to faint. Then she looks at me and says, “And now it’s time for you to go.” She immediately drops my hand and smiles.

  I’ve been dismissed. Whatever she’s done in the last few weeks, this girl has become a woman, a strong, determined, self-sufficient woman who only needs a little help to have the life she deserves. I’m the poor schmuck that broke his own heart when he couldn’t get his shit together, and that’s something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.

  I stammer out, “Well, uh, okay, I’ll be going. Have a great time, I mean a good life. I care about you, Olivia. I hope you get all the wonderful things you deserve.”

  “Thanks.” She doesn’t move to touch me again, hug me, anything. After the most uncomfortable minute of my life, I just turn and start to walk away.

  Then I remember something and turn back. “Hey, how did all of that with the police work out?”

  “Ask your son. He loves you, Dave, and you’ve treated all of us like shit. Fix your relationship with him. And Steffen. With the whole bunch. Apologize to the guys at the club. That’s all they really want, to be treated with some respect.”

  Lower than whale dung, I smile a weak smile. “I’ll do that. Thanks for the advice.”

  “You’re welcome. Anytime.”

  I don’t wave to Clint or the rest as I leave the terminal. It’s over. I can go back to the life I had before she stumbled into it. I’ve been there less than thirty minutes, so I owe parking nothing, and I head home and try to think of things to fill my time now that she’s really gone. And it’s true.

  She’s really gone.

  “What?” Clint’s voice isn’t angry, just cold and distant.

  “Son?”

  “What?” he repeats.

  “Could we go to lunch sometime this week? I’d love to sit and talk to you.”

  “I don’t think so. I’m really busy.” That little statement comes with dead airspace behind it, so I try again.

/>   “Clint? Before she left, Olivia asked me to make things right with all of you. I’m trying to do that. Would you be willing to meet me halfway?”

  There’s a deep sigh before he says, “I’ll come a third of the way. The other two thirds is yours to make.”

  “I’ll accept that.”

  “Good. Where and when?”

  “I’m asking you, so that’s your choice. Your convenience.”

  I hear him rustling some papers or something. “How about Tuesday? Twelve thirty? Tequila Mike’s?”

  “Sounds good. And Clint? For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about everything.”

  “Save it for Tuesday.” With that, he’s gone. Then something occurs to me.

  I haven’t talked to Marta and Angela for a very long time, since before all of this started up. I punch Marta’s contact and wait. Then I hear, “Well, look who’s still alive!”

  “Haha, very funny. Sorry about that. I was wondering: Would you by any chance have some time for me?”

  “In the sack or out?”

  That’s a valid question, coming from Marta. “Out. Just to talk.”

  “Sure! Why don’t you come over tonight for dinner, about six. Angela’s trying out a new recipe on me, and it would help to be able to spread the love, if you know what I mean,” she chuckles.

  “That sounds great. And thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. I always love your company.” I hang up and smile. I don’t know how we’ve managed to stay such good friends, but she knows me better than anyone else, and I’m thankful she’s at least speaking to me.

  I step into the house to find an intoxicating aroma of chili peppers, vinegar, and cheese of some kind. “Wow. I don’t know what’s going on in here, but it smells fine.”

  “I hope it tastes just as good.” Angela crosses the kitchen and hugs me, then pulls back and looks into my face. “What’s up with you?”

  “What do you mean?”