Every little lamb, asleep in the stall.
Every little flower, asleep in the de-ew.
Oh my Darling, Griffin,
I love you.
Oh, my Darling, Griffin,
I love you.
By the time I finished, his eyes were fluttering shut and he looked content. My little angel. Sometimes, in the still moments, I felt like I could see my mom in him. She would have loved him, probably spoiled him rotten.
I wished she could have met him.
My thoughts trailed down a different path as I tucked Griffin into bed. One where my life took different turns and circumstances had changed. One where my mother wasn’t dead and instead of having a one night stand with Michael, we’d dated and eventually fallen in love.
It was stupid, and I shook my head at myself. Normally I never looked backwards, because what was done was done, but was the first time in a while that I had thought about Michael.
I couldn’t help it as my mind delved into imagining what things would have been like if he was still in the picture. How would my life have changed if I didn’t run? Was it possible that it all could have turned out okay? What would have happened if Michael and I were able to have a normal relationship? The passion we shared that night was incredible.
It was a pretty intoxicating fantasy. I pictured the sweet nothings we could have said to each other as we laid in bed together after another night of passion. Of the dates and quick kisses. How different my life would have been with Michael by my side.
It was a nice thought. But just that, a thought. I knew that in reality there would have been contracts, or pressure to get rid of what at that point was just a clump of cells. I knew there could have been family court, and visitation agreements. I was just a twenty two year old mother who was poor and had no family. Michael was rich and connected. Chances were, I would have only gotten to see my sons on weekend.
No, I had done the right thing. I had made sure that me and my baby stayed together. And it was with that contentment, that certainty, that I drifted to sleep with only a faint recollection of Michael’s dreamy eyes on my mind.
8
Michael
I stabbed the spike of the trash-stick I was holding into a particularly large glob of mismatched Styrofoam pieces. From what I could tell, it was a couple of coffee cups that had been squashed flat and then fused together with some sort of sticky substance. I hoped it was gum, but considering we were in a public park, there was really no way to be certain without closer examination. And even with the gloves on my hand, I still wasn’t going to stick my fingers anywhere near that.
I shook the piece off into my trash bag in my other hand then kept right on to the next piece of garbage, making sure my hair was fully tucked under my cap and my large sunglasses stayed blocking the top half of my face.
I was in incognito mode, trying not to be recognized so I could actually get some work done. Sometimes it was nice to use my face and my foundation’s clout to get a huge number to the little projects I did, but sometimes it was just nice to actually do something.
I’d always been a fan of charities; it was something that my parents instilled in me from a young age. But over the past few years, I’d broadened my horizons, started doing more hands-on things and projects for the community. It wasn’t just glitz and glamour and benefits with thousand dollars a plate donations. It was building community gardens and water drives and helping food pantries and, apparently, cleaning up the local park.
Funny to think that it had all started in an effort to get a woman off my mind. I wasn’t normally the kind of guy who got hung up on people. I liked being wanted and I didn’t like being unwanted. But for some reason, that one woman who I had spent a singular night with and then disappeared the next morning had really thrown me through a loop.
Maybe it was because I had read her so wrong when I normally prided myself on getting a beat on people. Maybe it was because I’d had the best sex with her that I’d had in a couple of years, everything from her body, to the way she felt, the way she tasted even to the sounds she made as she fell apart around me. It was like she had been designed to be my perfect woman, and maybe I had let myself get a little carried away by that.
Or maybe it was just because she was a small ray of light after the darkness of my father’s death, winked out before I was done basking in it.
Either way, she was gone.
There had been a bit of a hubbub afterward, I knew that. While most of the office didn’t even seem to notice the woman was missing, a couple of employees got it into their heads that I had slept with her then fired her or come on to her too strong and then fired her. Etc…etc… basically, no matter how the story went, I was very much the bad guy and she was the victim.
Thankfully most people didn’t believe it, or let it go as just an office rumor -after all, apparently Belle was known as being a bit private and prudish despite her chipper nature - but I had to think long and hard about it. Was I the bad guy? Had I somehow pressured her? I was so sure that I was careful and that I really had her enthusiastic, uncoerced consent, but given her sudden flight… what if I didn’t?
But it wasn’t like I could ask anyone. Since she was no longer an employee, it wasn’t like I could call her, or go to where she lived. Besides, since she had run, it felt wrong for me to try to get that information about her anyways. She wanted to be left alone, I needed to respect that.
Even if I just wanted to ask her if I had hurt her, if I had somehow done wrong.
And thus, the charity thing began. I began to join different projects in an effort to assuage my unanswered guilt and ended up liking them much more than the benefits and parties. Apparently, I was making quite a name for myself in the philanthropic community, and that was a pretty cool thing. But sometimes, when I had a moment to myself and my thoughts grew quiet, it all felt… hollow.
Huh, wasn’t that just depressing?
I had all the money I could want, I had two foundations set up in my name and helped ten people through college in the past four years. I had schools and wells being built in other continents and a community center starting up in an underfunded part of the city, but still I wasn’t content.
Maybe contentment was just a myth. Sold to us in an effort to always make us try to do better.
I chuckled grimly at that, poking my stick at a plastic bag as it tumbled by. The little thing had moves though and skittered off in a different direction almost like it was alive.
It wasn’t, of course, but it was a bit entertaining to go after it, trying to stab it multiple times only to have the slight breeze cut it away whenever I was just about to spear the bit of waste.
It was right when I had it cornered up against a tree that I heard something. It was faint, hardly audible even, but something about it curled around my ear and slid into my brain, yanking my attention to it.
Craning my neck, I looked around for the source. It was so quiet… it had to be a distance away. But even with just the few slight notes I was hearing, I knew that was a ring of familiarity to it. Just enough to know that it was important.
Trash forgotten, I wandered in the direction of the sound. The closer I grew, I realized it was laughter, carrying on for a few moments, then fading into happy speech before ramping right back up into a peel of mirth.
That didn’t make sense. If it was the laughter of someone I knew, then wouldn’t I be able to recognize it? But try as I might to place it as I strolled along, no one came to mind.
However, if it was someone I didn’t know at all, why did the sound sit right in my chest, making my heartbeat pick up and my mouth dry?
I didn’t know, and I couldn’t think of an answer when all of my brain power was dedicated to finding the sound. So, I just kept walking forward until finally I crested a small hill lined with weeping willows and saw the last thing I ever expected.
She was there.
I stared openly, so shocked and slack jawed that I was surprised a bug didn’
t fly into my open mouth. Standing right in front of me, laughing and talking like everything was normal, was none other than Anabelle MacIntyre.
Belle.
She looked as beautiful as ever, and I was amazed that even after four years, I remembered so many details of her face so clearly. Her long, long, blond hair had been cut shorter, sitting somewhere just past her shoulders and she had a little more weight around her middle and even bigger hips. I knew it wasn’t possible, but it seemed like the whole area around her glowed, celebrating that she was there.
I took a step forward without thinking, her name rising up to my lips. I couldn’t believe it. Of all the parks in the city, we ended up at the same one at the same time. Surely that had to mean something. I was so caught up in the moment, in thinking of what I would ask and if she would look happy or upset to see me, but all of that came to a screeching halt as a child ran towards her with his arms raised.
“There’s my boy!” Belle laughed against, sweeping him up and swinging him around like he weighed nothing. Because of course she did. I’d known from the start that she was clearly strong, but it was another thing to see it again with my own eyes after wondering for four years or so if my mind had exaggerated certain parts of her.
When the shock cleared, I quickly retreated, cursing myself the whole way. Of course, someone like her wouldn’t be alone after almost half a decade. I was sure that she was snatched up almost immediately. Any man who let her pass him by had to be insane, and that was a fact.
Part of me wanted to leave, turn around and forget I ever saw her like a nightmare that faded into the ether upon awakening. But the other part of me just wanted to bask in the experience of seeing her all over again. Especially since I had thought that she was completely gone from my life, never to be encountered again.
So I stayed there, rooted to my spot like some sort of creeper, as I watched her play with what had to be her son. The resemblance was too uncanny even from the distance I was at to be anything but her direct progeny.
But the more I watched, the more I thought that there was something… else to the child. Something that was also a bit too familiar. How old was he anyways? He looked… I was actually pretty terrible with children and avoided them most of the time if they were under ten, so the closest I could guess was between three and five. But he couldn’t be five, because Belle had been a virgin when we-
Wait, I didn’t really know if that was true, did I? She could have been pregnant already and then lied to me about being on birth control so she could rope me into taking care of a kid that wasn’t …
Well, no. That couldn’t be it either, because she wouldn’t have run then. Unless someone had been forcing her to?
That thought made me run cold and my fist clenched. I heard horror stories about that sort of thing happening, and I hoped that wasn’t the case. But if she was in the park and decidedly not blackmailing me, did that mean she got away? Or did it mean that I was building up any sort of insane fantasy in my head to justify why she had disappeared without so much as a note?
But… what if… what if there was potential that…
No. That couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.
While I debated myself, afraid to so much as finish the sentence in my mind, I looked up to realize the two had already left, leaving the world a little more dim and cold than when they had just been there.
I knew I should let it go, just be content with the pair disappearing back into the city so she could live her life just how she wished, without me. I knew that would be the right thing to do.
But I had to know.
I had to.
Certainly, I was owed at least that much of a courtesy? If I had a child running around, I needed to be responsible for them. I deserved to know.
Well, one way or another, I was going to find out.
9
Anabelle
“You look so pretty, Mommy.”
I smiled at my son, leaning over from the vanity we had gotten from the local thrift store for my birthday and placing a kiss on his forehead. He giggled at the feeling and wiped the lip print off with the back of his hand.
“Groooooss!’
“Gross?” I repeated. “Since when did Mommy’s kisses become gross?”
“Since they got sticky!”
I chuckled at that. “Alright, fair point. I won’t give you any more smooches until I seal all this up.”
I fixed my lipstick and my hand went to my setting spray. It was my one expensive piece of makeup, and one I desperately needed for special events because -not only was I oily- I was a sweater.
“Why do you have all that one anyways? Ya gonna go onna date?”
I startled at that and looked over to him. “Why do you know what a date is?”
“Mom,” he said, rolling his eyes and for a moment I was again wondering why my three-year-old talked like he was going into second grade. “I just do.”
“Uh-huh. Well no, Mommy isn’t going on a date. You know how I sometimes have to go to long, stuffy things for work? Well this is one of those.”
He nodded, picking up my lipstick and placing it with the others, arranging them all by color gradient. I watched him work, so intent on him figuring things out that I almost missed his next sentence.
“You can, ya know.”
“I can what?”
“Go on dates.”
Well… that was just strange. Gently placing my hands on my son’s shoulders, I turned him around. “What do you mean by that?”
“Caleb’s Mommy and Daddy don’t live together anymore, and Caleb says his Mommy is real sad. Like… like… as sad as I was when I dropped my crayons down the stairs.”
“I remember that. You were very sad.”
He nodded resolutely. “Yeah. Like that. Caleb says his Mommy is sad cause she’s lonely. I hate being lonely. It’s so bad. Like… bad bad. Really bad.”
I was caught between wanting to respect what he was telling me and take it seriously, to chuckling at him trying to explain how crushing the feeling of being utterly alone was from his view of the world.
“Yeah, that does sound bad.”
“Well, I just thought that, if his Mommy is so sad because she’s so lonely, maybe you are too. We’ve never had a Daddy. So, if you want to date, and maybe you find a Daddy, I think… I think that would be okaysies. Well, as long as he liked to color. If he doesn’t, he’s no good.”
What on Earth had I done to get the best kid in existence. I knew that every parent thought that, but I couldn’t possibly think of how any child could be more considerate than my little boy.
“Come ‘mere,” I said, opening my arms wide in a hug.
He laughed and threw himself to my front. Once more I was reminded that my heart was absolutely going to break when we reached the ‘ew, mommies are embarrassing’ stage. Hugging him tightly, I peppered the top of his head with kisses then finally let him go.
A knock sounded at the door, and then a text immediately dinged on my phone. Picking it up from the vanity, I saw it was from the babysitter.
“Oh, it looks like Stacy is here. Why don’t you practice your opening the door manners?”
Griffin nodded eagerly and rushed downstairs while I spritzed myself withy my setting spray once more and finally stood. He knew that normally he was not allowed to greet people at the door by himself, but I had been giving him chances to do so when I knew who was on the other side and I was close by. I knew it made him feel proud, accomplished like a grown up, and it gave me an excuse to preen over him some more.
Looking myself over in the mirror, I gave myself a nod. I was wearing a purple number, very bright compared to the normally drab, professional tones I wore to our functions. But considering that the company I worked for was throwing a charity auction for domestic abuse, I figured wearing the designated color of awareness was apropos.
It was more form fitting that I usually wore while still being office appropriate. Well, as office appropriate as m
y figure I could ever be. I knew there were a select few at work who hated almost everything I wore just on principle, either because I was fat, or my boobs were too big or my ass too fat. But I mostly ignored those people, mostly because they sucked.
It had taken me a long while after pregnancy to learn to love my body again. While I hadn’t gained that much weight, there were definitely more stretch marks around my middle and the skin wasn’t as firm and smooth as it once was. My hips had also definitely gotten wider, which made it that much harder to find nice pants for myself.
But it was Griffin himself who had helped me. He always thought that I was the prettiest, the greatest, the most wonderful Mommy ever, and it was hard not to buy into his hype. He was convincing that way.
Looking myself over one more time, I almost felt a bit like my twenty-two-year-old self. Back when it was just me against the world and anything was possible. Giving myself a nod, I headed downstairs.
Sure enough, Stacy was inside and already starting on dinner while I headed towards the door. Naturally, Griffin ran up to me for goodbye hugs and kisses and assurances that I would be home soon before I finally slipped out the door.
If I had known what was waiting for me, maybe I just would have stayed home.
* * *
I smiled to myself, humming as I mixed up another bowl of punch. Things were going absolutely swimmingly, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
Sure, I wasn’t high up enough in the proceedings to know how much we were raising, or if we were above or below goal, but I knew every item was indeed going and we had even more attendance than we had anticipated. That certainly made me happy. It felt good to be doing something, anything to fight off some of the horrible things that were happening in the world.
“Belle?”
I froze as a chord was struck within me. One that I thought I had buried and forgotten long ago. I stood there a moment, empty carton of pineapple juice in my hand, before slowly turning.
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