Seed

by Cassia Leo

  Drea gasped. “You can’t invoke the Lord Jack’s name in vain.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m serious. I think I can get you a job at Barley Legal,” I said to Dylan. “They provided the beer for my wedding and Jack said the guy who owns it — I think his name is Houston — he’ll give me a job. I don’t know if I’m ready to go out in public yet, but he’d probably be willing to give you an entry-level job. I just have to ask him before the divorce gets ugly and rumors start to fly on the interwebs.”

  Dylan gave me a skeptical sideways look. “You think it’s going to get ugly?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  Drea tightened her grip on my arms and turned me around to face her. “Listen to me. You are not getting divorced,” she said forcefully. “It may feel like you’re getting divorced. Jack may say he wants a divorce. But believe me when I say there is no way you two are breaking up for good. You want to know why?”

  I tried not to laugh at the fierce glare in her eyes. “Why?”

  Her lips curled into a knowing smile. “Because as long as I’ve known you — even after every horrible thing that’s happened — I’ve envied what you and Jack have. It’s…” She paused for a moment, her dark eyes blinking furiously as if she were trying not to cry. “Let’s face it. I have a comfortable marriage. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Love comes in all different shapes and sizes. And colors,” she said with a grin, referring to Barry being black. “But what you and Jack have… Well, it’s big. It’s messy. It’s consuming. But in the end, it’s still love, and it’s still very much alive. You can’t bury that.”

  I wrapped my arms around her waist and tucked my face into the crook of her neck as I recalled how I’d buried my son and mother on the same day. Was I strong enough to grieve the loss of my marriage, too?

  “I miss my mom,” I blubbered into her dark, shoulder-length hair.

  She squeezed me tightly. “I know. I know.”

  “I feel so incomplete, like I’ve—”

  The ding-dong of the doorbell interrupted me, which was probably a good thing as I was just about to make a very shameful admission.

  “I’ll get the door,” Dylan offered.

  I shook my head. “No, I’ll get it. It might be someone serving me divorce papers.”

  Drea tsked as she followed behind. “Don’t joke about that.”

  I wiped the tears from my cheeks as I crossed the living room and opened the front door without looking through the peephole. The man and woman standing on the porch looked like they were in their late-fifties or early-sixties. She had round hips and a plump face framed by a whitish-blonde bob. He was a sturdy and handsome man, at least six-foot-two, with salt-and-pepper closely cropped hair and a plaid button-up.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, as I smoothed down my hair and resisted the urge to wipe the lingering moisture on my jaw.

  The man glowered at me in silence as the woman spoke up. “Are you Laurel?” she asked in a clear voice.

  I nodded. “Yes, that’s me. May I ask who you are?”

  The woman flashed me a pleasant smile. “I’m Carol Evans, and this is my husband Bill. We’re Isaac’s parents. We’re here to collect his dog, Boomer,” she said, pausing when she realized I was a bit confused. “The nurse at the hospital told us that Isaac’s dog was being kept here with you and, I think she said the name Dylan. Well, as you can imagine, Isaac has brought us up to speed and he really needs Boomer now.”

  I stared at the woman with the graying blonde hair for a moment, completely dumbstruck. She had Isaac’s eyes, the swirling mix of green and hazel. I imagined if the woman were here under happier circumstances, I might see her smile that same crinkle-eyed grin. As it were, she was not here under pleasant conditions. And her husband’s scowl made that abundantly clear.

  I swallowed my emotions and kept my eyes focused on the woman. “Hi, Carol. Yes, I’m Laurel,” I said, holding out my hand for her to shake.

  The woman looked at my hand, almost confused by the offer, then she took it and gave it a gentle tug. I wanted to kick myself. Her son was just shot on my property and I was offering her a handshake?

  Before I could change my mind, I stepped out onto the porch and pulled her into a hug. A soft oh spilled from her pert lips.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to Isaac,” I said as I breathed in her scent, a soft blend of tuberose and sandalwood. “My bodyguard wasn’t prepared for what he encountered.”

  When she didn’t respond, I let her go and stepped back. Her eyes were closed as she reached up and grasped the circular pendant hanging from her neck. Finally, she opened her eyes and flashed me a soft smile.

  “I know Isaac has… problems. Things he hasn’t dealt with,” she began delicately. “We just spoke to him in the hospital and he insists none of this was your fault. He knows… Well, he was actually on his way to tell you about the program he enrolled in at the VA. He’s… very upset, obviously. But he doesn’t hold you responsible. He made me promise I would tell you that.”

  My stomach curdled with shame as she tried to convince me I wasn’t to blame for her son’s brush with death. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll go get Boomer.”

  I didn’t dare glance in Isaac’s father’s direction as I turned around. Both Drea and Dylan flashed me concerned looks as I passed them. Then, Dylan rushed ahead to open the back door for me. Boomer lifted his head from where he was sleeping on the back porch, hardly happy to see us.

  “Boomer, it’s time to go see your poppa,” I said, and the dog turned his lazy head in my direction. He didn’t understand the word “poppa.” I would have to try something else. “Boomer, you want to go home?”

  He let out a high-pitched bark as he leaped up, wagging his tail furiously as he raced toward me. And I couldn’t stop myself. I broke down in tears.

  “Oh, Laurel,” Drea murmured as she folded me into her arms.

  “Everyone’s leaving me,” I whispered. “Junior and my mom. Now Jack and Boomer. Nobody loves me.”

  Drea laughed. “Well, that’s just plain insulting. Are you calling Dylan a nobody?”

  Dylan and I both laughed. “Dude, I’m totally okay with being called a nobody if it gets the waterworks to stop.”

  Drea let go of me and reached over to pinch Dylan’s cheek. “Of course you’re not a nobody. You’re gorgeous, darling.”

  “Boomer, heel,” I said, patting my right hip so he could follow me inside.

  As Boomer and I walked side-by-side through the kitchen and the living room, I felt my heart breaking more with each step I took. After I handed the dog over to Isaac’s parents, would I ever see him or Isaac again?

  We arrived at the front door and Boomer sat down at my side. “He’s such a good boy,” I said to Carol as I scratched the dog’s head. “We’re going to miss him.”

  She smiled. “We’ll take good care of him.”

  “Go on, Boomer. You’re going home,” I said, as he made no attempt to leave. “Go on, boy.”

  He looked up at me, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, as if he were asking for permission.

  “It’s okay. You can go,” I urged him, motioning with my hand toward the front porch.

  Boomer looked out across the street, but he didn’t move. Then, a sudden noise got all of our attention. The sound of a child’s laughter tinkling in the air, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. I flicked my head to the left, toward Isaac’s front yard, and saw a slim brunette chasing a small blond boy, who appeared to be no more than three years old. As she ran after him across the lush green grass, he squealed with delight.

  A cold numbness fell over me as I realized the woman was probably Isaac’s ex-fiancée and the boy was probably his nephew. Boomer stepped out onto the porch and Isaac’s father grabbed his collar to lead him away. Carol said something before she turned to leave, but I couldn’t hear her over the sound of the boy’s laughter.

  Dylan appeared at my side, looping his arm
around my waist to support me. “Are you okay?”

  I wiggled my fingers to encourage the blood flow in my tingling hands. “Yeah, I… I have to go to the hospital.”

  I spun around to head back inside, but Drea stopped me.

  “Laurel, you can’t leave. You are in no condition to visit Isaac right now.”

  I tilted my head. “I’m not going to visit Isaac. I’m going to check on Ace. Did you all forget my bodyguard was shot?”

  Drea and Dylan glanced skeptically at each other. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  I drew in a long breath to calm my nerves. “I’m positive. I’m just going to change out of my sweatpants and we can head out in a few minutes.”

  I spent the entire ride to the hospital staring out of Drea’s passenger side window at the eclectic mix of people walking the streets of Portland. It dawned on me that I had never asked Isaac why he decided to move here instead of all the other cities in America.

  I’d spent weeks working with Isaac and learning from him, and yet I hardly knew anything about his past. Other than a few war stories, and the initial confession he made to me about what happened with his brother and fiancée, we spent most of those weeks together talking about gardening and music. And me.

  That had to change.

  When we entered the Providence St. Vincent Medical Center through the East Pavilion entrance, the smell hit me like a wrecking ball to the chest. It was a faint scent of antiseptic cleaner mixed with the aroma of coffee and fried food wafting out of Vinnie’s Restaurant in the center of the lobby. The smells brought back the memory of leaving the hospital with Jack last night.

  His anger billowing off him like smoke as we made the long, silent trek to his truck in the parking garage. He never even allowed me to explain. He just fucked me five different ways and dropped the d-word before I could even get dressed. Once again, his words echoed in my mind: I. Want. A. Divorce.

  Maybe I was better off without him.

  Just allowing myself to think those vile words made it difficult to breathe. How could he speak those four words aloud?

  After checking the map in the lobby, Drea, Dylan, and I walked along the corridors in silence, our footsteps muffled by the sage-green commercial carpeting. After passing another café, we arrived at the nurses’ station in the intensive care unit. We were quickly spotted by a nurse typing on a computer, which was mounted on a mobile stand with casters. She rolled the computer closer to us and, without looking away from the screen, asked how she could help.

  “I’m looking for Ace Moretti,” I said.

  She flicked her gaze in my direction, scrunching her eyebrows in confusion. “Do you mean Lorenzo Moretti? Are you family?”

  It never even occurred to me that Ace might not be my bodyguard’s real name.

  “I’m his employer. He’s my bodyguard. He was shot while trying to protect me. I just wanted to check in on him and make sure he’s being well taken care of.”

  She looked me up and down, then cocked an eyebrow. “He was released a few hours ago.” She watched my face, almost as if she was trying to read my reaction. “Is it true your husband invented the Halo app?”

  I blinked a few times as I tried to think of a response to this question, which obviously meant the nurses had been talking about us. “Yes, he did. Thank you for your help.”

  I spun around quickly and headed for the exit. The swinging double doors dumped us out of the ICU into the brightly-lit corridor from where we’d come. The fluorescent lights seared spots in my vision, making me dizzy as I wondered whether everyone in the hospital was now familiar with me, Ace, and Isaac. Did they think what happened to Ace and Isaac was my fault?

  “Are you okay?” Dylan asked. “You look pale.”

  I nodded. “I’m fine. I need to see Isaac. I need to apologize.”

  Drea grabbed both my arms as she shook her head. “Have you gone completely mental? What are you going to apologize for? For being in the wrong place at the wrong time? For having a minor meltdown in a very stressful situation?”

  I looked up at her, my eyes beseeching her understanding. “If I hadn’t brought Ace to my mom’s house none of this would have happened.”

  She stared at me, mouth agape. “Are you being serious? Are you really going to choose that one bit of information as the cause for this whole fiasco? It couldn’t possibly be that Isaac has violent PTSD outbursts, or that Ace behaves like a gunslinger in a Western film, or that Jack blackmailed you into getting a bodyguard? It couldn’t be any of those things, right? Are you completely mad?”

  I sighed with defeat. “Fine. It’s not all my fault. But I do need to see him.”

  Dylan shook his head. “No, honey. That is not a good idea. That is the kind of idea you put in a rocket and shoot straight to Mars, where it can die a slow, painful death.”

  My jaw dropped. “Really? You two aren’t going to let me visit my neighbor who was shot on my property?”

  Dylan and Drea exchanged skeptical looks.

  I let out a puff of laughter. “Wow. You guys trust me as much as Jack. Thanks a lot.” I set off toward the West Pavilion exit doors. “Fine. Let’s go home.”

  “Okay!” Drea exclaimed. “Okay, okay. We’ll pay Isaac a visit. All three of us.”

  I rolled my eyes as I followed her and Dylan back toward the intensive care unit. “I didn’t realize I needed chaperones. You know, Jack is the one who left me. I did nothing wrong. You guys are acting as if I’m guilty of the things Jack’s accused me of. I seem to remember you saying something about this situation not being my fault.”

  Drea pulled a hair tie out of the pocket of her gray hoodie and pulled her dark shoulder-length hair into a ponytail at her nape. “My lips are sealed. I shan’t speak another word.”

  Dylan grabbed my hand as we entered the ICU and leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “Please tell Isaac I took good care of Boomer.”

  I smiled. “You took great care of him. I’ll make sure he knows that. But don’t you want to go in and tell him yourself?”

  He shook his head as we approached the nurses’ station. “I think you should go in there alone.”

  “May I help you?” said the Asian nurse behind the counter.

  There were three nurses here now, and none of them were the one we spoke to a few minutes ago.

  “I’m here to see Isaac Evans,” I said, trying to sound as pleasant and cool as possible, as if I belonged there.

  “Are you family?” she asked, though it sounded more like a challenge than a question.

  “I’m sorry. No, I’m not family,” I began, flustered by my sudden realization that I probably wouldn’t be allowed to see Isaac. “I’m a friend. Well, not like… I mean, I’m a neighbor.”

  “A neighbor?” she replied, her words dripping with suspicion.

  “Well, he’s my neighbor and my friend. But just a friend. I’m—”

  I cut myself off before I told this stranger I was married. Technically, I was separated. Again. But Jack had made it very clear last night that this separation was permanent. After throwing my clothes at me, he finished getting dressed and left, probably to have beers with Nate. A large part of me hoped he’d left because he couldn’t bear to watch me pack my things and leave.

  I grabbed Drea by her yoga-sculpted shoulders. “But she’s his wife,” I said, thrusting Drea toward the counter.

  Drea, being the loyal friend she always was, did not hesitate. “Truth be told, Isaac and I are separated at the moment. But there’s nothing like a good old-fashioned gunshot wound to bring the spark back. You know what I mean?”

  The nurse did not look particularly impressed with this display, but she seemed to decide we were either fairly harmless or not worth the trouble. “He was moved into a private room this afternoon. Take the elevator up to the eighth floor and follow the signs to the patient rooms. He’s in 829.”

  “Thank you!” Drea and I replied in unison.

  The nurse rolled her eyes and we
nt back to moving her mouse around and staring at the computer screen.

  In the elevator, Drea could no longer keep quiet. “Is it a crime in America to lie to hospital staff? Will I be arrested and thrown in one of those rape-y women’s prisons?”

  Dylan threw back his head and let out a loud guffaw as he pressed the number eight button on the control panel. “You’re asking this now?”

  Drea smiled at me. “No offense, darling, but if I get arrested and put in prison, where I’m fondled by a woman named Bertha who smells like whale sweat, I will stop speaking to you for at least a week. Understood?”

  I was about to answer in the affirmative when the elevator stopped at the third floor and the doors slid open. A young biracial couple walked in, him carrying an empty car seat and her carrying a tiny baby swaddled in a soft blue blanket. My heart stuttered, making my breath hitch as I stepped out of the way, pressing my back into the corner of the elevator to give them more space.

  I could practically hear Drea and Dylan’s worried thoughts. Suddenly, the guy with the car seat flung his arm out to stop the elevator doors from closing.

  “Sorry. I thought you were going down,” he said, though I was too busy staring at the floor to know who the comment was directed toward.

  As they stepped out of the elevator and the shiny doors slid closed behind them, I let out a sour breath. I was grateful neither Drea nor Dylan asked if I was okay. I was so fucking tired of not being okay. I wanted to just pretend I was fine. That I wasn’t trying my hardest to block out visions of my son’s dead body from my thoughts.

  When we arrived at room 829, Drea and Dylan stopped in the middle of the corridor. I stared at the door, which was ajar a few inches, no trace of light spilling out from within. If he was asleep, I would take it as a sign that this visit was a bad idea. I would go home and never bother Isaac again.

  I wish I knew what I would do if he was awake.

  “Just wait for me for a few minutes,” I said to Drea. “If he’s asleep, we can go home.”

  “And if he’s awake?” she asked.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You can head home and I’ll catch an Uber.”