by Malcom, Anne
And he’d walked me into the lawyer’s office when I signed my divorce papers.
My mother had gotten me a cake. It literally said ‘Happy Divorce’ on it. And it was gluten-free and vegan.
Lucy had promised explosions.
“I have a very particular set of skills,” my father said into the phone, still yelling.
I continued to grin. “Well, as much as I’d like to see those skills, I’m actually back stateside, so you’ll just have to wait for the next great Polly adventure/disaster.”
“You’re home?” he yelled. This time I didn’t think it was because of the connection. “Claire! Stop fiddling with that damn bread and come and talk to your daughter, she’s home,” he called to my mother.
There was a rustling as I imagined my mother getting on the other handset. Of course they still had a landline. My father hated mobile phones. He thought the government used them to track us. I didn’t disagree with him. But I also knew I needed one. And he needed one to keep in touch with me and he’d begrudgingly bought it.
“Honey,” my mother breathed into the phone. “You’re home and you didn’t tell us. We could’ve picked you up from the airport. And we could’ve used the trip to visit your sister. Oh, I’ll cancel our plans this weekend and we’ll come. How does that sound?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “Pete, what was the name of that place we stayed at in the city? That was nice enough, wasn’t it? We’ll book there.”
“No,” my father grumbled. “I didn’t like the pillows. Too soft. The mattress was too firm. The valet was too expensive.”
“It’s L.A.,” my mother sighed. “Of course it’s expensive. I’m booking there because I liked the chocolates they left on the pillows.”
“The soft pillows,” my father interjected. “I’d rather sleep on the chocolates than the pillows, they provide better neck support.”
“Oh stop being such a drama queen,” my mother hissed. “That’s your daughter’s job.”
It didn’t bother me, that comment, because it wasn’t made to wound. And also, it wasn’t about me, it was about Lucy. She was the drama queen, a lot more uptight than the rest of our family, but utterly insane at the same time.
I didn’t react to drama. I created it.
“Do you want me to call back after the pillow thing is sorted?” I asked dryly.
“Oh, no honey,” Mom said quickly. “The pillow thing is sorted. Your father will bring his own. Now, I want to hear about everything.”
She really didn’t want to hear about everything.
Neither did my supportive and kind natured father.
Because it would break them.
And they’d only just healed from almost losing Lucy. Healed in a way that a bone wasn’t set properly. It would always ache in those cold emotional climates that took us by surprise with the power of what could’ve been. You never healed from loss. Even when the person came back.
So no, my parents didn’t need to know everything.
I just needed to pretend that I was giving them everything.
I’d only ever given one person everything before.
And he hated me.
And he didn’t even know it all.
And he never would.
* * *
I wiped my palms on my skirt for the thousandth time since I’d parked. I’d been sitting in my car for fifteen minutes. It took all of my strength in order to get out of it. To walk down the quiet and expensive street where the Greenstone Security offices were. It taunted me, that peaceful quiet that money could buy.
Money could buy anything in L.A.
Even peace.
Especially peace.
If you wanted to live in tree-lined neighborhoods, with gates and security guards, manicured lawns and no litter, you could. For a price.
I wondered if it was by Keltan’s design to put the offices here. Because most of their clients were struggling with chaos. Violence. So he literally made the place they came to find respite somewhere outwardly peaceful.
I was sure he wasn’t that deep.
And I didn’t feel peaceful.
Because there were some kinds of chaos, of pain, that no amount of peace could quiet.
As I got to the top of the stairs that led to the double doors of the offices, I seriously regretted my decision to come here. But I’d already gone to Lucy’s newspaper to surprise her only to find her desk empty. They’d laughed at me when I asked where she was.
“I can only tell you the place she almost never is these days,” her editor said. “And that’s her desk. I would fire her for that if she didn’t write such great copy. And because if I weren’t afraid her husband might kneecap me.”
I laughed.
He didn’t.
Obviously not a joke.
Keltan’s offices may have been in a peaceful part of one of the most chaotic cities in America, but the man himself wasn’t. Maybe a part of it was being from New Zealand, his persona was as rugged as his accent. I think it had a lot more to do with his past in the army. That was a thing that could steal peace.
I knew that because of what Lucy had mentioned. About him losing his best friend. I couldn’t begin to fathom watching another human being die. Let alone someone you loved.
I also knew because of the shadows behind Heath’s eyes before and after.
So it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Keltan would break Lucy’s editor’s kneecaps if he fired her. Not that he’d need to. Lucy and Rosie would’ve likely already bombed something he lived in or drove. With no fatalities, of course. They didn’t do harm, they sent messages.
Their words, not mine.
Since her editor had no idea where she was, and she wasn’t answering her phone, I figured her husband would know where she was. No, I knew he’d know where she was. Because ever since he’d held her dying on the street, he always knew where she was. And I loved that for her.
I didn’t love that her husband employed Heath and in order to find my sister, I had to risk an encounter with him. My phone had died on the way out of the newspaper offices. I kept forgetting to charge it.
Everyone in my family had bought me portable battery packs.
And they were all fully charged, sitting in some drawer in my living room.
I wasn’t someone who needed to be attached to my phone. I didn’t have social media. Didn’t like the spirit of it. The competition of who could make their lives look better, while behind the photos were problems and issues that broke people with the effort it took trying to hide them.
It was hard enough doing that in real life.
So I never worried about my phone too much. This was a time I cursed myself for not keeping it charged.
I could’ve gone home and waited until Lucy called me back. But I wanted to see my sister now my mind was cleared from yesterday. Especially because of the news she’d called me with two weeks ago.
“You’re going to have a baby?” I whispered.
“I know, everyone has had varying degrees of shock since I’m not maternal, like at all,” she said. “ I can’t be the only one to think that babies are ugly. Everyone’s thinking it. When they’re fresh, they’re all wrinkly and red and look like aliens and they’re just too small and breakable. It creeps me out. And now I’m growing one. Me. So shock is not surprising.”
A tear trailed down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away. “No, Lucy, this isn’t shock. You’re going to be the best mother. I know it.”
There was a pause. I let Lucy take it. She didn’t do emotions, so she had to collect herself.
“You’re going to be the best aunt,” she said, her voice husky. “Well, as long as you actually come back from your adventure before the baby is born. Because I’ll kick your ass if you’re not there to judge me about getting an epidural and lecture me on natural births.”
“I’ll be there,” I said immediately. All of my pain, my fear, my heartbreak was not going to stop me. “And you know the dangers of drugs—”
“I’m getting the fucking injection, Polly,” she hissed. “I’m pushing a human child out of my vagina. There is no way I’m doing that without drugs. You want to do that when you have your moonchild baby, more power to you. But it’s not happening for me.”
It was my turn to pause. Mostly because the breath had been punched out of my chest.
Lucy took this as disapproval. “The silent treatment isn’t going to have me change my mind,” she snapped. “I’m even considering a C-section because I like sex and I don’t want a child I’ll obviously love and cherish ruining that for me.”
I sucked in a breath. “I’ll support you with whatever you need.”
“Wait, no way would you support a scheduled C-section, not without at least a few pointed comments,” she said. “What’s going on?”
Crap.
I forgot that my sister could read me, even across oceans.
“Oh, my phone’s about to die,” I said, not a lie. “I’ll call you later. I’m so happy for you, Lucy,” this was little more than a whisper.
And then the connection was cut off as if my phone battery was giving out at the same time as my heart.
If only I could figure out a way to recharge the latter.
She’d be showing now. She’d have a bump. And my niece or nephew would be growing inside of her. I had taken last night to deal with my pain. And today was for my joy. I was anxious to let it chase away the worst of everything, hence me risking precisely everything by walking in the doors.
I should’ve taken more care of my appearance. I hadn’t for the precise reason that in doing so I’d be tempting the universe into thinking I wanted to encounter Heath. Dressing up would be tempting fate.
So I had my hair in braids, messy because I’d slept in them after my bath. It was balmy in L.A., so I only wore a thin white tank, with strands of necklaces I’d collected on my travels slung around my neck.
My white skirt flowed down to my ankles where I’d put on heeled wedges that Rosie had obviously left and I thought were cute. My skin was a lot more tanned than usual since I’d spent as much time out in the sun as I could. Trying to warm my bones.
I’d lost weight because I had eaten barely anything since I’d booked my tickets to come home. Not because I wanted to lose weight or anything like that. I battled with Lucy all our lives with her obsession with food and weight. I ate what I wanted and didn’t let society’s notion of ‘beautiful’ dictate how I saw myself in the mirror.
It was my own actions that made it hard to stare at reflective surfaces lately.
I guessed I looked good.
Carefree.
Like the usual Polly.
Which was exactly what I was going for.
The cool, manufactured air of the reception hit me as I walked in, chasing at the beads of sweat that were forming in the middle of my chest. My body temperature tended to increase when I was nervous. Or when I was terrified.
I was both right now.
And I didn’t even get two steps inside the reception before I stopped dead.
I had told myself the chances of seeing him were low. Miniscule. He, like Lucy, was barely ever in the office. He’d disappeared entirely before and after my wedding, apart from the day of the drive-by shooting when he shattered my fractured heart and disappeared until I left him standing in my doorway a year ago.
It wasn’t a nine to five job, obviously. The offices were expensive and comfortable not because the employees spent a lot of time in here but because they needed to be welcoming to clients.
I wasn’t a client, I was family. I should’ve felt welcome. But his presence was a ghost in these halls, so I didn’t feel welcome whenever I came here, which was as little as possible.
And then the ghost turned tangible as the flesh and blood man strolled from the hallway into the reception. He was looking down at his phone so he didn’t see me until he was halfway across the foyer. Getting closer to me.
When he looked up, he stopped his steps abruptly.
His gaze told me a lot of things.
One thing was a roar among the rest.
I was definitely not welcome here.
“You’re back.”
The two words were harmless in any other context. The combination of them nothing that could be packaged or structured into something that would hurt.
And words could hurt.
Sticks and stones did break bones. But words broke souls.
I knew that better than anyone.
Because two seemingly innocuous harmless words did just that. Tore through the broken pieces jabbed at my insides for good measure.
It wasn’t about the words.
It was the voice that spoke them.
The man that spoke them.
The man whose face I’d forced myself not to think of for an entire year. So naturally, it was the face ingrained into my memory like I’d stitched it there, sewn it into the fabric of my mind.
And I didn’t recognize him.
Just like I didn’t recognize that flat, cold, empty and dead voice.
I couldn’t even say cruel.
Because cruelty required energy. Some sort of effort.
Nothing was there inside of that voice I pretended I didn’t hear in my dreams. In my nightmares.
His gaze flickered over me blankly. With disinterest.
Not hatred.
Or longing.
It should’ve been anger.
I’d prepared myself for that. Prepared myself for the inevitable meeting that we’d have because of our mutual connections. I hadn’t expected it to be so soon, but ripping the Band-Aid off was meant to be good, right? It was meant to make it hurt less. I’d known it would hurt, but I didn’t think much could hurt more than what I’d already done to myself.
I’d reasoned it would kill me if he looked at me in hatred.
Oh, how I longed for that now.
Because that flat and empty gaze ruined me.
Right there on the spot.
I had to stay standing. Because we were in the middle of my brother-in-law’s offices. There were people. People staring between the two of us like they might two bombs lingering near that fatal zero on the counter.
But there was no explosion.
Nothing.
I swallowed glass.
“I’m back,” I agreed, my voice low, more than a squeak. I tried a smile, a Polly smile. That’s what I did, after all, I smiled at people. Even the man I’d loved and run from—twice—the man looking at me like I was a stranger on the street.
Yes, I tried to smile at him because the only other option was sinking to my knees and falling apart right here in the modern offices of Greenstone Security, in front of the receptionist and my brother in law who had just appeared behind Heath, his face tight and fists at his sides.
I knew Keltan was worried. He was protective by nature. And I was a damsel by nature. But I would not be responsible for him feeling like he had to come to my aid by creating conflict with a friend. So I smiled, tearing my eyes from Heath and settling on the safer gaze of my brother in law.
But I feared my smile was something more than a grimace.
I wondered if I ever might smile again.
Like magnets, my eyes were drawn to Heath’s once more.
I clutched onto that stupid, oh so very old Polly-like shred of hope I’d been carrying around like the tattered remains of a child’s security blanket.
It was the hope that there would be something there, some spark to hold onto, to feed me...something, despite the fact I didn’t deserve it. Rage. Disappointment. Anything to hold onto.
But there was nothing.
The hope was a moth-eaten scrap of fabric, clutched too tight and crumbling in my hands.
Heath nodded once. “Good. I hope you had a nice trip.”
And then he strode forward.
Toward me.
I held my breath as he gave me a wide berth—not wide enough since his scent, his very presence a
ssaulted me with his nearness—and then strode out the door.
Like left.
I stayed there, frozen, unblinking.
I must’ve been breathing because I was upright and people that weren’t breathing tended to be horizontal.
I couldn’t believe we went through all of that, everything in the past, just to be strangers again.
That was the biggest tragedy of heartbreak.
When someone was your everything.
And then they were nothing.
He wasn’t nothing to me, of course.
But I was obviously nothing to him.
And I couldn’t blame him.
Not one bit.
There was only so much two people could go through before you had to call it, before someone had to back out, walk away. There was only so much two hearts could take. He was making the right decision turning us into strangers at worst, acquaintances at best.
There was pressure at my elbow.
“Polly?”
I focused on the source of the masculine concern.
Keltan was regarding me with pinched brows and a hard jaw. His eyes were soft, though. Because he was kind. And good. And he loved my sister more than anything on this planet and he took me as his little sister and did what everyone else did with me—handled me with a version of kid gloves, otherwise known as ‘Polly gloves.’
I straightened. “I’m okay,” I said.
I wondered who I was talking to, him or myself.
His eyes narrowed. “Didn’t ask you if you’re okay,” he said, voice warm and low.
I blinked. “Oh.”
“I know you’re not okay so askin’ would be a stupid question,” he continued. “I don’t ask stupid questions.”
I paused, momentarily surprised at how astute the hulking New Zealander was. Then again, he was married to one of the most emotionally complex—some would say crippled—women on the planet, otherwise known as my sister, so he had to be on his game.
Also, it felt like I was bleeding from a thousand tiny wounds and I wasn’t adept at hiding such pain and he was ex-military so he knew pain. He also had a tumultuous courtship with my sister, which ended in her bleeding out in his arms.
So yes, he knew pain.