Renata and the Fall from Grace

by Becky Doughty

  He'd take it. Life was so much simpler, so much easier to enjoy to the fullest, when you didn't have to worry about keeping secrets from your wife.

  Last September, right after school started up, when he knew he wouldn't be leaving Renata with a house full of high-on-summer boys, he and the guys took off for Amador County, just this side of Sacramento. Tim Larsen, his closest friend, grew up in Sutter Creek, and his family still owned a chunk of land with a cabin in the woods. Everything operated on a generator and propane, but that was what made it so perfect. Man-fest. They usually scheduled at least two trips during hunting season, but last year, he'd only gone once.

  It was during that trip that Renata started spotting, and a few days after he returned, she miscarried. Again. It was the third one since they'd decided to have one last try for a girl back in March. "A Christmas baby," she'd cooed hopefully, her eyes soft and dreamy.

  Even with reservations—Judah was a poster child for birth control—he couldn't say no to her when she looked at him like that.

  Much to Renata's dismay, and John's guilty relief, the doctor had recommended that they wait at least six months before trying again. Three miscarriages in a row were hard on a woman in so many ways. Dr. Flynn had even offered to write Renata a prescription for anti-depressants when she started crying, but his stalwart wife refused, assuring the doctor that she was sad, not depressed. Now, three months later, John wasn't so sure.

  How he loved her, but how she frustrated him. And he could see that she was beginning to frustrate the boys, too. John pushed open the door to Reuben and Simon's room. Both boys were sprawled across their twin beds in almost the exact position, on their backs, arms up over their heads, mouths open. Reuben had one foot stuck out from under the blankets.

  "That's my boy," John murmured, a smile playing across his wide mouth. Reuben did look the most like him, even though Judah was the closest to John's Scottish red coloring. Reuben's hair was straight and nearly black like Renata's, but that's where the similarity ended. The lop-sided grin that was too big for his face, his bottle-green eyes, his full, slightly-thrusting jawline, even his posture and the way he walked; it was all John. No one could deny his oldest son's parentage.

  Simon turned onto his side and snorted, but didn't wake up. John chuckled at the frown between his brows. "And that, my friends, is Renata's boy. Just like her in every way." Then, slightly abashed for thinking it, for saying it aloud, he crossed over to Simon's bed and brushed the too-long black hair from his forehead.

  Uh-oh. He felt awfully warm.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Renata sat across the table from Reuben, who stared solemnly back at her, his clear gaze not wavering. Just like John, she thought. It hurt that the boys were pulling away from her these days, and she needed to clear the air between them. She knew the other three would follow Reuben's lead, and if she could make him change his attitude toward her, they would, too.

  "Honey, I'm sorry I've been so crabby lately. I haven't been feeling well on the inside, but that doesn't give me the right to be ugly on the outside, does it?"

  "Are you sick, too?"

  "No, not like your brothers, anyway. But I'm sad." She wondered for the umpteenth time if he was too young to hear any of this. But she'd always felt that they should be honest with their children about life. They didn't pretend things were all right when she and John argued, mainly because they felt it was just as important for the boys to know how to resolve things as it was for them to know that disagreeing was normal. They didn't want them going out into the world with unrealistic expectations about relationships, with unbalanced ideas about how to work together with those they loved. "Your dad and I really want to have another baby, but it just doesn't seem to be what God has in mind for us."

  "Gross." He looked away. She could feel his foot thumping against the base of the table, suddenly nervous.

  "I know. But I thought you should know why I'm sad so you don't worry."

  "Okay." He still didn't look at her; he slid the zipper on his hoodie up and down repeatedly, in time with his swinging foot.

  "Okay." She stood up, not wanting to push him. He tended to clam up when she did. "Aunt Georgia will be here to take you to school in a few minutes. Are you all ready?"

  "Yep."

  She waved goodbye to him, grateful again for Gia's willingness to help out whenever she needed her. They lived just up the block from each other, and with Gia's hours at Café Rico's not usually starting until after 9 a.m., she often proved to be a very convenient back-up plan for mornings. Not one to be beholden to anyone, Renata made it up to her, much to Gia's delight, with gift cards and movie tickets. It worked well for both of them.

  She was not looking forward to another day of sickness. She stared out the window over the kitchen sink into the backyard. It was winter in Southern California, but the grass was green and the rosebushes were in bloom. If they had a freeze, Renata would clothespin some old sheets over the top of her salvias, begonias, and geraniums; the plumbago didn't seem to mind, and neither did the vining lilac. But everything looked tired, worn down, the way she felt all the time these days.

  She used to enjoy getting up to make breakfast for John before the boys awoke, but now she dragged herself into the day, her mind sluggish, slow to respond. By mid-afternoon, her body wanted to shut down; she could hardly keep her eyes open after lunch. And she dreaded the three o'clock pick-up from school because she was so cranky by then and didn't think she could handle a back seat of babbling, battling boys. At least while they were in school, even on the days Judah didn't go to preschool, she could put him in front of the television and sit uninterrupted in her favorite chair in her room.

  In fact, since the New Year, she'd actually gone back to bed a few times on the days that Judah was gone. She blamed it on the cold wet weather, but she didn't tell anyone about it.

  And now the day loomed ahead of her like a black cloud. "I don't want to be a nurse today, Lord. I don't want to think about anyone, worry about anyone, or clean up after anyone today. I don't want to see or smell vomit. I don't want to cook, I don't want to do laundry." It seemed like once she got going, she couldn't stop. "In fact, I don't really feel like being a mom today. Or a wife, for that matter."

  Someone took a deep breath behind her and she turned guiltily, afraid one of her boys had slipped out of bed and overheard her words. It was only Harry, sighing contentedly on his dog pillow in the family room. He lifted his head to look at her, Sally followed suit as she always did, then both Labradors dropped their heads back onto their front paws again. Renata covered her face with her hands, relief washing over her.

  "Oh God, I feel like such a failure." She pressed her lower back against the edge of the counter, and dropped her hands. She gazed down at her nails which were long overdue for a manicure. "I just want to run away from me," she whispered.

  Sally opened her eyes to look at her, and thumped her tail on her cushion a few times.

  An acute silence settled around her and her ears began to pick up the myriad noises of the house; the whoosh of the heater as it kicked on, the mechanical hum of the refrigerator, the gurgling of the coffee-pot as it prepared to turn itself off.

  The sounds swelled, filling her senses, until Renata thought she could hear even the bumblebee buzz of electricity coursing through the wires in the walls. She stood transfixed, poised; for what, she didn't know.

  "Mommy!" Renata's heart skipped at the shrill call, the air around her exploding into activity as both dogs leapt to their feet and went scuttling down the hall to heed the call of their buddies. "I need a drink! And a cookie!"

  That, she thought, was a good sign.

  Three hours later, she was back at the sink. She gazed out the window at all three boys bundled in sweats and hoodies. She'd banished them to the back yard to play while she made their lunch, hoping to wear them out enough that they'd settle down for a nap, or at least a movie after they ate.

 
Simon was sullen, but that wasn't anything out of the ordinary, and he sat at the picnic table with his arms crossed, glaring at the other two who were fighting over the tetherball. Which is why she'd kicked them out. They'd been arguing and bickering non-stop for the last two hours, and Renata thought she might harm someone if she had to listen to it any longer. Even though Simon still wasn't feeling well, he had no problem coming up with mean things to say to antagonize Judah who was always ready for a fight. It wasn't just the little guy's auburn hair and flashing eyes that were so like John's. His temperament had to come from his father's Scottish roots, too. John claimed a direct line through the Dixons to the Douglas Clan of Ayrshire. He liked to brag about his forefather being William the Hardy, one of William Wallace's first supporters. Renata could totally see Judah jumping into the fray of that blue-faced lot, no holds barred, roaring at the top of his lungs.

  Levi, although he didn't really argue, was a good counterpart for Judah, because he simply stood his ground. He didn't fight dirty, he didn't cry, but he didn't budge either. It drove Judah into a frenzy at times, but Levi's level-headedness almost always won his little brother over. Today, however, Levi's fever had been replaced by frustration. He was feeling better, but not well enough to feel good, and he was taking it out on Judah by keeping the ball circling the pole just out of the little boy's reach. Judah was putting up a good fight, but he was losing hope, along with his grip on his temper. Simon continued to glare, but she could see a nasty smirk of anticipation on his face. Any minute now, if she didn't step in, the back yard would go up in flames.

  She turned away from the window. "Let them burn."

  She left three pita pockets stuffed with turkey, sprouts, and cream cheese, three piles of carrot sticks, and three oatmeal cookies on three plates next to three glasses of unsweetened apple juice at their assigned stations around the table. If they survived the tetherball war, their hunger would bring them back inside. Renata headed back to her bedroom to wait in peace, her chair beckoning her. If she was lucky, she'd get another half hour of reading in before someone shoved open her door.

  She picked up the novel she'd tucked in between the armrest and the cushion and opened it to the pages she'd been reading earlier. A third of the way through the book; there would be a sex-scene coming up any minute. She hadn't read this author before, but she hoped it was a good one. Maybe the stimulation would get her blood pumping enough to wake her up.

  But the high seas adventure—the abducted English princess with skin like rose petals blossoming over the top of her cleavage-baring satin gown, the shirtless buccaneer leaving her with no doubts of his intentions—none of it was even holding her interest. Closing the book and shoving it deep into the chair again, she rested her head against the high back and listened to the noise coming from the kitchen. She could hear Judah's high-pitched, non-stop chatter, Levi's even-toned responses, and Simon's abrasive one-liners. What was she going to do with that kid? But at least all three were alive, and now were being fed, and hopefully, would all keep it down. Whatever the bug was, it didn't look like it was much more than a 24-hour thing. She sighed resignedly and got up to go do the mom thing.

  ~ ~ ~

  When John arrived home at five, Renata was on the phone. A cold rain had begun to fall, so he stood just inside the front door, removed his damp coat, and gave it a good shake out onto the porch. He eyed his wife, gauging her mood, then made a wide circle around her to the living room to greet the boys, whose voices could be heard over the noise of the television.

  It wasn't a normal scene; at least it hadn't been up until recently. Renata rarely let them turn on the television until after dinner. "If there's daylight, there are things to do outside. If the weather won't allow it, there are games to play and books to read and rooms to clean." But since Christmas, things had shifted. Since the last miscarriage, actually. He knew that was the problem, but he kept hoping she'd come around, she'd come back.

  As the boys leapt up to greet him, he kept one ear tuned to the conversation she was having.

  "No. No! I already told you I had no clue she was going for it. I would have made her talk to the rest of us first if I had known!"

  Thankful for the movie that quickly drew the boys' attention again, he wandered into the kitchen where Renata now stood over the sink, her free hand turning on and off the water in her mindless agitation. He quietly made his way around her to the coffee pot, brought it to the sink and held it under the flow of water, grinning at her. She smiled back briefly, waved her fingers at him, and walked away, leaving the water running. He'd been acknowledged…and dismissed. Prettily.

  A bit too aggressively, he finished making the coffee and followed her down the hall to their bedroom. He didn't miss the frustration in her eyes when he came in, but he just shrugged and began to undress. With his back to her, he peeled off his long-sleeved thermal shirt, then turned and caught her watching him. He grinned, wiggled his brows, and swiveled his hips suggestively. She rolled her eyes and turned away, but he saw the smile playing on her lips. That was all he needed.

  Renata. Her name meant light. And she was his light. Oh, he knew she was hard, he knew she was a little too tightly-wound for her own good, but when she came apart in his hands, he knew there would never be anyone else for him. Like glass, she was, and she trusted him to pick up the pieces every time she shattered.

  The fact that God had given him, John Daniel Dixon, the only backstage pass to the real Renata, blew his mind. When she set aside all her hang-ups and all her preconceived notions about everyone else's expectations, she lit up his world. He took seriously the responsibility of being the one and only person who really knew how to make her shine.

  He crossed the room to stand in front of her in just his jeans and socks, refusing to be ignored any longer. She didn't look at him, so he placed both hands on her armrests and bent forward so his face was less than a foot away from hers. When she kept her eyes averted still, nodding solemnly at something the other person was saying into her ear, he grabbed her free hand and brought it up to his jaw, rubbing her soft palm along his two-day stubble. She jerked her hand away and turned to scowl at him, and he pressed his mouth to hers, completely catching her off-guard. She tried, half-heartedly he could tell, to pull away, but he gripped her chin gently, and kissed her deeper.

  "Rennie? Are you there?" He recognized the caller immediately, Phoebe's voice like butter even over the phone line. He grabbed the phone and spoke into the mouthpiece.

  "She's kissing her husband right now. Can she call you back?"

  "Hey, John. Glad to be home?" she purred into his ear. "Kiss her once for me." Then she hung up. John set the phone on his wife's lap and cupped her face with both hands.

  "I'm home, woman. Now kiss me back."

  And she did.

  CHAPTER NINE

  When John looked that good, and kissed even better, it was hard to remember her name, no less the conversation she'd been having before he so rudely interrupted her. And now, her face red from rubbing against his, she watched as he sauntered into their bathroom, obviously feeling quite pleased with himself, leaving her sitting in her chair, completely disarmed. It was hard to stay worked up over the situation with her sisters and Angela Clinton when she felt like this. She sat and listened to the comforting sounds of the water come on in the shower, to his humming—she couldn't quite make out what song it was—and closed her eyes.

  How she loved that man.

  When he emerged from the bathroom again, his hair still damp, but his face smooth, wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a plain black shirt, she smiled softly at him. He bent over her again, but this time, he just rubbed his jaw line against her cheek. "Better?"

  "Mm. And you smell good, too."

  Grinning, he straightened. "I'll keep the boys busy while you call your sister back. And get yourself looking respectable again."

  "What do you mean?" she asked, looking down at her blouse, wondering if she'd
come undone. "I look perfectly respectable."

  "No, you don't. You look perfectly kissed. Scandalous, my love." He drew a circle around her mouth with his finger, winked at her, and left the room. He knew just how to make her melt. Suddenly, she didn't want him to leave her alone, even sitting in her favorite chair. She wanted to be near him, close to his soft touches and heated gaze.

  She'd call Phoebe back after dinner.

  Dinner was spaghetti, a family favorite for the variety of ways one could eat a noodle. The options were endless; with or without the sauce, olive oil with garlic salt, butter with salt and pepper, even ketchup for Judah who liked to dip each noodle individually.

  Reuben seemed relaxed and had no signs of illness, for which Renata was happy, Simon looked tired, but claimed he no longer felt nauseous, and the two younger boys were clearly back to themselves.

  Renata, on the other hand, couldn't focus on anything. By the time the kitchen was cleaned up and the boys were taking turns in the bathroom, she had no desire left to talk to Phoebe. She didn't want to think about her sisters, or Angela, or why on earth Juliette would take it upon herself to contact the girl. Why didn't she at least ask Renata what she thought of it before she up and sent that stupid letter.

  Forgiveness. Well, Renata had forgiven the girl for killing their parents years ago. She didn't harbor any bad feelings toward Angela, not really, but that didn't mean she wanted to usher her back into their lives. Renata agreed that Angela probably needed some closure, and that it would be good to hear that the Gustafson family had endured and survived and thrived, but to open the door for her to contact them, to have any kind of relationship with them? That was totally unnecessary.