by K. Street
“Know about what?” My blood runs cold, and without even looking, I know she knows.
After I smooth out the creases, I scan the documents anyway.
What the fuck?
“Did you know?” She swipes angrily at her face.
“No.” I shake my head, shocked at the information in my hands. “They had a kid?” I mutter under my breath.
“What did you say?” she asks quietly, almost hesitant.
Fuck. I drop my hands and look away, not wanting to meet her eyes. The papers remain clutched in my grip.
“Answer me, Dante.”
“I didn’t know about the kid.” Kid. It feels foreign on my tongue. Not only did he cheat on Tessa, but he also knocked up his whore.
“You knew he had an affair.” She doesn’t seem to need confirmation. “How long have you known, Dante?”
For a split second, I debate my options. They say that the truth will set you free…but it won’t. The truth will nail my ass to the wall. But, when I look her in the eyes, I know I can’t lie to her. “I suspected, so I asked Trevor to meet me for drinks the night he died.”
I see my words register on her face. I hear her gasp of shock, and then one emotion surpasses all others. She’s pissed.
“All this fucking time, you knew!” She takes a step toward me. “For three fucking months, you knew!”
It’s the truth. I don’t bother to deny it, but this is bullshit. I need to make her understand.
“Exactly how was I supposed to tell you, Tessa? You can barely hold it together on your best day.”
“You son of a bitch. Don’t you dare use my grief to justify your deceit.”
She’s being ridiculous.
“For fuck’s sake, Tessa! When did you want me to tell you?” I thrust the papers to the floor in frustration. “The night he died, I found you on your kitchen floor, catatonic and surrounded by glass. Was I supposed to tell you then?” I stand with my arms crossed, eyes hard. “Should I have told you the day of his funeral? Or how about that night you laughed for the first time in weeks and then cried in my arms for an hour because you felt guilty? When, Tessa? When would’ve been an appropriate time to tell you my brother was screwing another woman behind your back?”
She’s over to me in a flash. Tessa’s flattened palm stings my cheek, the hard slap against my flesh echoing angrily through the room.
“Fuck you, Dante!”
When she moves to slap me again, I catch her wrist in my grasp. “Tessa, that’s enough.” It’s a warning, one I’m certain she won’t heed.
She tries to twist out of my grip, but my hold remains steadfast.
“Let me go, Dante.” She looks at me with disgust, as if I were the one who betrayed her.
“One, sweetheart. That’s all you get.” My gaze locks on hers. “Do not raise your hand to me again.”
I ease my grip enough for her to jerk away from me.
“You were my friend, and I trusted you.” Tears stream down her face. “How could he have done this? We were trying to have a baby, and he had one with someone else.”
Like the blade of a knife, her words pierce my skin. I had no idea they had been trying for a kid.
“Tessa, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry you’re hurting. I’m sorry you feel like I betrayed you. But I was only trying to protect you.”
She rifles through the drawers and starts removing clothes.
I watch her, incredulous. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She can’t be stupid enough to get behind the wheel.
She glares at me. “You need to leave.” Her puffy, bloodshot, red eyes flash with fiery anger.
“Tessa—”
“He has a kid, Dante.”
“Tess—” I stop myself because arguing with her right now is fucking useless. But I need to know what her plan is. “Where are you going?”
“I’m driving home. Not that it’s any of your damn business.”
“I’ll arrange a flight.”
If she wants to leave, fine, but driving is out of the question.
She looks at me as though it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “You’ve done enough, Dante. I’m not yours to take care of. Take your offer and shove it up your ass.”
“It’s getting dark. You’re not getting behind the wheel,” I growl.
“What the hell did you just say to me? You aren’t my daddy. I don’t need your fucking permission.” Her voice drops down low. “Now. Get. The. Fuck. Out of my house.”
“Wait until tomorrow. When you’ve calmed down and had a chance to get more than a few hours of sleep.”
“Why? Because another day is going to change the fact that my husband fucked another woman and got her pregnant?”
“Tessa.” I beg her with my eyes to listen to reason.
“Don’t you get it? I can’t be here.” She waves her arm around the room.
“You’re too upset to get behind the wheel tonight.”
“Fine,” she concedes. “I won’t leave until tomorrow. Now, go.”
“Tess.” I want to shake Tessa, make her listen to reason.
“Leave me the fuck alone.”
Through her blinding rage, the only thing she sees is an act of betrayal. Not just Trevor’s. I could scream at her until I was blue in the face, but I know it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good. It doesn’t matter what I say; she isn’t going to hear me. And, this time, when she tells me to leave, I heed her words and walk out the door.
twelve
Dante
When the elevator doors open, I step inside and mash the button for the lobby, holding it down so hard, my nail bed turns white. I take a step back, tilt my head skyward, and release a loud exhale as the lift descends.
Theo closely watches me when I step out of the elevator.
“Good night, Dante,” he calls out.
“Good night, Theo.” I can’t help but grin when he remembers not to call me Mr. Salinger. It took years, but he’s finally dropped the formality.
There’s a chill in the air as I make my way to the car. No way Tessa is going to bend to my demand to wait until tomorrow to leave. I’m certain she won’t because she’s the most stubborn woman I’ve ever known. The idea to rush home, pack a bag, and follow her to Charleston enters my head. I briefly entertain the thought before dismissing it. Tessa needs time. If I want any kind of relationship with her, I need to give her some space. Even if it goes against my every instinct, it’s the only way.
With my phone in hand, I thumb through my Contacts until I land on a number that’s become familiar over the last few months. I tap the icon and listen to the phone dial.
“Hello?” Tessa’s dad answers on the second ring.
“Mr. Carmichael, it’s Dante.”
“Son, how many times have I told you to knock off the Mr. Carmichael shit?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer before he continues, “How’s my baby girl?”
Fuck. I should have thought this through.
“She’s heading home to South Carolina.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me something, boy?”
“It’s not my story to tell.”
“Frankly, I don’t give a damn whose story it is.” His voice turns stern, fatherly. “Start talking.”
There’s no way I can tell him about the kid, but I need to give him something. “Trevor had an affair. Tessa found out…tonight.”
Bill Carmichael is silent for several beats. I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure he hasn’t disconnected the call.
“I see,” he says quietly. He’s never been a man of many words. “Thanks for the heads-up, son.”
“Mr. Car—” I catch my mistake and then continue, “Bill, Tessa isn’t very happy with me right now. Would you mind giving me a call in a couple of days…let me know how she’s doing?”
“Will do.”
“Thanks, Bill,” I say and then hang up the phone.
thirteen
Tessa
I
can’t be here.
Around every corner, there’s a memory, each one tainted by Trevor’s betrayal. The unveiled truth, like poison, leaves a rancid taste in my mouth.
I thought the bottom had fallen out of my world the night my husband was killed. Days later, I placed my lips against the cold steel of his casket and kissed him good-bye for the last time. In the days that followed, I struggled for every breath. Getting out of bed was the equivalent of scaling Mount Everest. I thought I’d hit rock bottom, but I’ve realized something in the last twenty-four hours. Beyond rock bottom lies an abyss, and I’m plummeting into the belly of the void.
The glint of my Tiffany diamond-encrusted platinum wedding band catches my eye. What was once a symbol of Trevor’s love and fidelity serves as a reminder that it was all a fucking farce. I rip it off, stash it in my jewelry box, and take one last look around the room.
Being here, within these walls where we built a home together, makes me physically ill.
By the time I load the suitcase into the trunk of my Prius, it’s late. I toss my purse on the passenger seat before climbing inside and starting the car. I pull out of the parking garage and into the Chicago night. The skyline, bright with city lights, pales in comparison to the anger still burning through me.
Several minutes into the drive, the light from my cell illuminates the interior of the car. I ignore it. It’s probably Dante, and he’s the last person I want to talk to.
Fucking Dante.
I don’t understand how he could’ve kept the truth from me. There were so many times he could’ve told me, but instead, he looked at me, straight-faced, and didn’t say a word. He was supposed to be my friend. I let him wipe away my tears. His betrayal stings like a slap in the face.
My thoughts turn from Dante to Trevor. We wanted to have a family. We’d been trying to get pregnant for almost six months, but I wasn’t worried. It would happen when the time was right, and my doctor assured me that it took many couples almost a year to get pregnant.
Now, I’ve learned that Trevor has a son…a little boy who should’ve been ours. It hurts so much, and I’m so angry with him. My hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles going white from the force of my grip. Fury sets my veins on fire, scorching every nerve ending, blistering every cell. Incinerating me from the inside out. Anger so intense, it ruins me. I repeatedly punch the wheel, a slew of curse words leaving my mouth.
My rapidly beating heart rips through the wall of my chest. I force myself to breathe. Inhale, exhale.
Several minutes pass, and the tightness begins to subside. Salty wetness seeps from my eyes. Streaming down my face, pooling on my shirt, dousing the flames to embers. I cling to the glowing remnants; it’s how I’m going to survive. Anger is an emotion I can use.
Somewhere in Kentucky, I turn into a twenty-four-hour gas station, top off the gas tank, pee, and grab the biggest cup of coffee I can get. I try to summon a smile for the cashier who looks like she’d rather be anywhere other than behind the counter in the too-early hours of the morning, but I try and fail.
I get back on the interstate and head for my childhood home. I need the comfort of my mother’s arms and the strength I’ll find in my father’s.
Running on adrenaline and caffeine, I drive straight through, only stopping to use the restroom. I smile in spite of myself when I see the sign that reads, Welcome to Charleston.
It’s almost lunchtime when I park in my parents’ driveway and turn the engine off. My eyes settle on the place I called home until I went off to college, and I feel myself exhale for the first time in months.
The light butter-yellow antebellum-style house with its white shutters and wraparound porch still looks the same as it always has. Two tall, live oak trees stretch toward the heavens, Spanish moss hanging from their limbs. I grab my keys and open the door. The breeze carries the scent of the sea, and I inhale deeply. I forgot how much I loved that smell.
With determined strides, I make my way to the front porch. The door opens before I even have a chance to turn the knob. My mother takes one look at me. My breath catches, and my lip quivers.
“You’re here,” she announces like she was expecting me. She pulls me through the open doorway and into her arms. “Oh, my sweet girl.”
That’s all it takes for me to fall apart.
“Mama.” My broken sob is muffled into her shoulder.
The agony of Trevor’s death, our broken vows, the shock of learning he fathered another woman’s child—all of it comes crashing down. I can barely stand under the weight of it.
She rubs circles on my back as she supports both of our bodies.
“Mags?” Daddy calls from the kitchen. “Is that—” His voice halts, but I can hear him coming toward us.
He wraps his arms around the both of us, making a Tessa sandwich like they used to when I was little. Together, they cling to me, providing the solace I need.
“Shh, baby bear. Shh,” Daddy whispers his comforting words against my ear.
I turn from my mother and wrap my arms around him. He tightly holds me, his tall stature and strength swallowing me as I cry into his chest.
“It’s going to be all right, darlin’.” He plants a kiss on top of my head as I soak his shirt with my tears. “Shh. Shh, Tessa Rae. Come on now.” He crooks his finger under my chin and turns my face up to his. “Let me look at you.” He runs the pads of his calloused thumbs under my eyes to wipe away the tears. Then, he kisses my head once more. “Let’s go sit down.” He leads me over to the sofa.
Mama takes a seat beside me. Reaching for the box of tissues on the coffee table, she holds it out to me. “How about a bottle of water? Or maybe some sweet tea?” Mama offers.
“Give her a minute, would ya, Mags?” He winks and gives me a look that says, You know how your mama is, as he takes a seat in his recliner.
“Bill, I’m just tryin’ to offer her a drink,” she says.
“I-I’m f-fine, Mama, but thank you.”
“See, Mags?” he teases.
I have always loved the banter between my parents. I am certain no two people have ever loved each other more than these two. When I was a kid, I’d catch them stealing kisses all the time. Touching, smiling, and laughing. Between my parents and all the books I’d read growing up, I believed in the magic of fairy tales.
Unlike real life, we never see the truths that lie hidden beyond the pageantry. The sun sets, and not once do we get a glimpse of what becomes of Cinderella after the happily ever after. I know all too well what happens. When the very foundation of her world crumbles from beneath her, when she discovers the fairy tale is nothing more than an extravagant lie dressed up in lavish clothes, Cinderella falls.
My parents wait patiently for me to speak. I swallow hard and try to form the words that will devastate them.
“I-I don’t even know where to begin.” I suck in a breath. “I-I was get-getting some stuff from the top shelf of our bedroom closet. I-I found an old shoebox…” With a deep inhale, I deliver a partial blow. “Trev-Trevor was having an affair.”
A look passes between my parents, and it’s my mom who says, “Tessa. Oh, honey, are you sure?” My mother shakes her head, as if it’s not at all possible.
Daddy doesn’t say anything.
I swipe at the tears. It’s supposed to be just like ripping off a Band-Aid. But here’s the thing; regardless of how fast or slow you do it, it fucking hurts. And this is excruciating.
It takes several breaths to steady my voice. “Inside the shoebox was an envelope. It was a paternity test.”
I look at my parents, waiting for some sort of sign to show they understand. That I’m not going to have to spell it out for them. They just stare at me, so I do the only thing I can.
“Trevor has a son.” The words leave my mouth in a rush.
Ripping open my flesh. Exposing the wound, which oozes, diseased with deceit.
Stealing my air and shattering my soul into a million pieces.
We wer
e supposed to have babies together. Trevor’s little boy is out there, somewhere, and he calls someone else mom. The realization sears me with a pain unlike any I’ve ever known.
My parents sit in stunned silence. I drop my head into my mother’s lap and tuck myself into a ball. Tears stream down my raw cheeks as she soundlessly runs her fingers through my hair. I close my eyes against the torrent, letting the gentle strokes of her tender touch lull me to sleep. To the place where my soul doesn’t weep.
fourteen
Tessa
Sunlight filters in through the sheer curtains. A groan leaves my lips as I blink against the glaring brightness. Slowly, my eyes adjust, and the room comes into focus.
I’m snuggled beneath the hot-pink-and-black bedding of my former teenage self. It’s oddly comforting, being here, in my childhood bedroom. My eyes roam over the space and land on the bookshelf still filled to the brim with favorites from my youth—Charlotte’s Web, Grimm’s Fairy Tales, and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. During my teens, I developed a love for poetry. Everyone from Tennyson and Longfellow to Frost and Angelou.
Memories soothe my tattered heart like a balm. I came home, seeking solace, a reprieve from pain, and maybe this is where I’ll find it.
My gaze settles on the full-length mirror across the room, and I’m thankful I can’t see my reflection from this angle. I cried so hard yesterday before falling asleep in my mother’s lap, like I’d done many times as a little girl. I woke up on the couch around three this morning, having slept for hours. After stumbling up the stairs to my room, I succumbed to sleep again.
There’s a light knock on the door.
“Tessa?”
I can imagine my mother standing in the hall, staring at the door, almost hesitant, hands on her hips, wanting to push but not knowing how much I can take.
“Tessa? Sweetheart, are you awake?”
I know hiding out isn’t going to be an option if my mother has anything to say about it.
“Come in, Mama,” I answer. The sound of my own voice in my ears drives pain through my head. All the crying has left me with a pounding headache.