by Jane Anthony
“It’s for the best, Bird,” I whisper under my breath. But the relief I thought I’d feel doesn’t come. Instead, my heart disintegrates, trickling over all my organs until I’m completely hollow.
A vacant shell of the man I wanted to be.
The man I almost was.
CHAPTER 31
Wren
TEARS CLING to my cheeks as I roll down Lakeside Ave. The main road in Creek Falls, usually bustling with life, is a dead zone at this time of evening on Christmas Day. All the stores are locked up tight yet still glow with holiday spirit. Baubles and garland, strings of lights hung from pole to pole making it feel as though I’m gliding through a winter wonderland as I wander the streets without purpose.
My family isn’t an option. I can’t go there to hang my head, admitting defeat. Dad swore Jesse was going to break my heart, but he was wrong. Jesse didn’t just break it, he crushed it to dust. Losing him the first time was hard. Losing him now feels as though my skin’s been torn from my body. Every breath is filled with pain, filling my lungs with sandpaper and soot.
All I want is to turn this car around and drive back home. Fall into his arms until he believes he’s the only one, but I can’t. He turned on me. His accusations are more than hostile words; they’re shots fired. And now I’m bleeding out with no chance of survival.
My car slows in front of the library. The “Merry Christmas” sign blinks on the lawn, the bells illuminating to a beat that makes them appear to be ringing back and forth. I sit in my car and watch each bulb come to life, then suddenly blow out. Our relationship in a nutshell. Bright and gleaming so bold it burned out without warning.
Beyond the flashing glow of electronic wonder, a small cottage sits back from the road. Obscured by trees in the summer, the scalloped peaks of the quaint home show through the naked branches. It calls me in. I’ve nowhere to go. The library is my solace but won’t open until tomorrow. I can’t drown my shit in the words of others. I need to face it head-on.
More than anything, I need a friend who’ll just listen without judgment.
The cobblestone path sinks into the dirt. I walk up the stones and ring the bell, wiping the salted emotion from my face.
The slow shuffle of footsteps stops to the sunshine yellow door. Each lock disengages with a click. Then, slowly, it opens.
“Merry Christmas, Enid.” The words carry with them a rush of despair. It slams against my chest like a drum. Emptiness blows through the open doorway. “I’m sorry to just show up like this.”
The old woman offers a dismissive wave, though it’s clear she wasn’t expecting visitors. Long gray braids hang over her slender shoulders instead of crowned around her head the way they usually are. “Nonsense. I love the company.” She pushes open the screen and lets me in. The television blares from the back at full volume, the smell of violets pulling me deeper into the warm space.
Without her walker, she steps with caution all the way to the kitchen with me following close. Her home is a living dollhouse that time forgot. Dust and cobwebs settle between the leaves of floral garland hung over white lace curtains. An aged wallpaper border of fruit and flowers crests above it, decorating the tops of each cream-colored wall.
“I was just about to make some tea. Would you like some tea, dear?”
“Yes, please.” I nod as the old woman fills the kettle and sets it on the stove. The burner clicks before exploding in flames. She adjusts the heat and brings a plate of Chips Ahoy before taking the seat next to me.
“So. What brings you here?”
“Do I need a reason to visit?”
When she touches my hand, her skin feels as soft as tissue. “It’s been quite some time since you’ve had tea with me.”
A shameful smile sits on my lips. As a young girl, I’d frequently visit Enid and help her with things around the house. Especially after Jesse left. The library was my comfort; Enid was my ease.
Having lost her only son to a fatal heart attack, we shared our unspoken loneliness over tea and cookies. We’d chat about books and life and Jesse and my future.
It was Enid who encouraged me to start writing.
Words are the quickest way to touch one’s soul. Write from the heart, and you’ll always have a story.
“I’m sorry I haven’t come to visit.”
“You mustn’t apologize to me, dear. I was young once, too.” She grins and gives my hand a tight squeeze as the kettle begins to cry.
She starts to get up, but I rest my palm over her crinkled knuckles. “Let me.”
I whisk about the kitchen, pouring two cups of tea and bringing them back to the table. Like a well-practiced dance, she plops one sugar cube into the hot, fragrant brew, then stirs with a gentle clang of her spoon against the porcelain cup.
Lifting her saucer, she blows off the steam before taking a tentative sip. “Now. Tell me why you’re really here.”
Tears sting my eyes. “I had a fight with Jesse.”
“Must have been one doozy of a fight.” She takes another sip and sets her cup back on its saucer with a clink. “I remember a Christmas Day fight I had with my Winston, God rest his soul. That man used to know how to push my buttons and took every opportunity to do so. Personally, I think he did it just to make up with me,” she says with a wink.
A breath of laughter blows from my nostrils. “I don’t think that was Jesse’s plan when he accused me of cheating on him.” I wince saying the words aloud. After all we’ve been through, to be disregarded with such vehemence hurts more than the accusation itself. The Jesse I know is sweet and kind. A man who’ll do anything for someone he loves. That man fell asleep in my bed last night but awoke as a stranger this morning. I don’t know him, and I don’t want to.
“Everything was great, and then suddenly, it wasn’t. I just don’t understand what went wrong.” My breath comes out in stuttering gasps. I curl my fingers around my stomach, my body crumpling in on itself. “I don’t know how to fix it, Enid.”
Enid’s wrinkled lips narrow to a thin line. “Ever heard the phrase it’s always darkest before the dawn?”
I nod.
“I loved my Winston with my entire being, but before we met, I was engaged to another man.”
My sodden eyes widen. “Really?”
“Really. My mother was a seamstress in a tailor shop. When the tailor’s son finished his four-year service, he came back looking for a wife, so my mother and the tailor set us up on a date.”
She pulls a deep breath in and lets it out hard.
“He was handsome, very kind, and his family had money. In those days, that’s what you looked for in a spouse. It wasn’t about connection and sex because all that came later. Stability was the secret to a good marriage.” She slices the air with her hand and continues. “He took me to lunch at a coffee shop. We picked on apple tarts, and I remember I was so nervous. I wanted him to like to me so I could make my mother proud. I was almost twenty-five, and the last of my friends to get married. I saw this man as my last chance.”
I lean into her story, waiting for the inevitable moment when Winston charges in and sweeps her off her feet. “And?”
“About a month into courting, he popped the question. My mother had this whole grand affair planned. As far as she was concerned, my wedding was going to be the event of the century. And, while I was happy, something just didn’t feel . . . right.”
She sips her tea, then presses her fingertips against the hollow of her throat as she swallows. “It was 1935. Prohibition was finally over, and my girlfriends and I went to a local pub to celebrate my last days as a single woman. That’s where I met Winston.”
Enid’s calm gaze sparkles with mischief. She claps her hands together, bringing them to her chest as she continues. “Oh, he was a looker. Eyes as dark as night with hair to match. Tall. And very charming. And funny, oh, was he a hoot! He had me in stitches for most of the night.”
“So what happened?” The question blusters from my lips in an excited rus
h.
“I went back the next night by myself. And the one after that. Two weeks later, Winston and I were married in a quiet service at the mayor’s office.”
I teeter on the edge of my seat, salivating for more. I pore over romance novels with a fierce, untamed hunger without ever knowing that the quiet old librarian actually lived one. “And you lived happily ever after.”
She chuckles, patting my hand. “Not quite. First, I had to deal with the fallout. And when the dust cleared, Winston’s jealous streak came to the surface.”
A sharp breath zips through my teeth.
“Exactly. We didn’t have a lot. We lived in a small apartment above the bar. It wasn’t much, but it was home to me. We lived happily for a while, but soon, Winston started making wild allegations. He accused me of resenting him. Anytime a friend of mine got a new dress, he’d get angry and turn it back on me. I didn’t want for anything. Winston was a good man, and up until then, he’d treated me well. I didn’t understand where all this was coming from.
“Finally, I’d had enough. I packed a bag and went to stay with my mother. She, of course, told me I’d made my choices and had to live with them, but I refused to return to that apartment with that stubborn man.”
My elation falls somber, but I know it worked out. Enid and Winston shared fifty wonderful years of marriage. She speaks of him often, frequently reminiscing about the good times they used to have. I know this story has a happy ending, and I need to hear it, for my own peace of mind.
“How long were you apart?”
“Three weeks passed before he came crawling back with his tail between his legs. I’ll never forget the way he looked. Unshaven and disheveled, it was as if he hadn’t slept the entire time I was gone. He groveled and pleaded, but I wouldn’t listen. I was far too stubborn.”
My heart leaps into my throat. “Why did you do that?”
“I felt as though he lied about who he really was. In doing so, he robbed me of my chance for a good life. As far as I was concerned, we were done.” She shakes her head with a silent laugh. “Lucky for me, my heart isn’t as much of a mule as the rest of me. I sent him away, but he returned. This time, he wasn’t begging, and he wasn’t groveling. He simply said ‘I love you too much to keep you.’”
Goose bumps break across my skin.
“He admitted he was a fool. When his demons got too large to wrestle, they came after me. Knowing what I gave up slowly ate away at him. He wanted me to have the world when all I ever really wanted was him.”
My gaze falls to the untouched cup of tea cooling before me. “All I ever wanted was Jesse,” I whisper in a subdued tone.
“And you still do.”
I offer another nod, looking up through tearful lashes.
“Men like Winston—like Jesse—they’re proud and strong. They hide their feelings behind words and fists because that’s how they’ve been taught. It’s up to you to unteach it.”
“How do I do that?”
She brings her spindly fingers to my chin. “Go home. Show him you’re willing to accept him and all his broken pieces, but don’t tolerate disrespect. You’re his mate, not his enemy.”
I sit like a sponge absorbing both Enid’s story and her motherly advice. I shouldn’t have run from him the way I did. I should have stayed and worked it out. Running away is what I do best.
I ran from college.
I ran from my future.
And I ran from him.
But I’m done running. I’m going to face it head-on, grab what’s mine, and never let go.
“Thank you, Enid.” I stand and take my cup to the sink.
“Good luck.”
Pulling the old woman into my arms, I offer a tight squeeze before heading back toward the door. I need to get home. I need to get to him before it’s too late.
I race to my complex and run through the door. “Jesse!” Eerie silence is all that responds. “Jesse?” I call again, wandering down the hall to our bedroom.
Dread crawls across my skin and settles deep in my gut. A single drawing pad sits in the center of our bed, a sloppy scribble penciled across the bright white page.
It’s better this way.
My heart slams against my ribs. I turn toward the dresser and wrench open his drawer. Empty.
I stalk to the closet next and throw open the door. Rows of empty hangers dangle amongst neatly hung dresses.
His clothes are gone.
He left me.
The mattress bounces from the force of my fall. I roll to my side, curling like a potato bug. That’s how I feel. Fragile as an insect waiting to be squashed.
His masculine scent still clings to the sheets. I hug his pillow to my face. Torrents of saltwater leak into the purple cotton that holds the faint smell of his shampoo, and that’s where I stay until falling into a fitful sleep.
CHAPTER 32
Jesse
MY TRUCK IDLES in front of my childhood house. Oversized candy canes line the walk. Pressed in the yellow grass, a broken sign that reads This Way, Santa that hasn’t lit since I was a kid points toward the dilapidated dwelling I always considered home.
I force a snicker through my nose. Santa hasn’t shown up at this house in years. The last gift I remember getting was a black eye when Dave woke up on the warpath.
Sitting back against the cracked leather seat, my mind rolls past the details of my life. My father didn’t want me, my mother couldn’t care less about me, and my stepfather made it very clear how much he despised me.
The only good thing in my life was Wren.
We were happy. I thought we’d stay that way forever.
What the fuck was I thinking?
A sharp knock on the passenger window pulls me from my reverie. I lean over and crank down the window as Erika leans inside.
“What are you doing out here?”
I stare listlessly out the windshield, tracing the curving lines of the road until it disappears into a fine point. “Nothing really.”
“You comin’ in?”
“I don’t know.”
She stands and yanks the handle hard. The door swings open with a creak that makes me wince as Erika plops beside me. “Wren told me you guys would be coming hours ago.” A golden curtain falls past her shoulder. Her gaze flits about the cab and gestures to the garbage bag of clothes filling the small area behind the seat. “Goodwill?”
My stomach twists. “I’m leaving town.”
Her blue eyes widen. “What do you mean, you’re leaving town? What about Wren? And the baby? What happened?”
A pang stabs my chest at the mere sound of her name. My eyes flutter closed, willing it away, but it just keeps coming. “She’s better off without me. Everyone knows it.”
Erika grabs my bicep, forcing me to look at her. “That’s bullshit. Don’t be that guy, Jess.”
Irritation begins to simmer. I yank my arm from her grasp and settle my hand in my lap. “What the fuck do you know about anything?”
“I know you guys are good together. I know she loves you, and you still love her, and if you leave now, it’s going to eat you alive for the rest of your life.”
I swallow down the emotion blustering in my chest. “She threw me out, E. She told me to go. What am I supposed to do?”
“You’re so stupid!” She pushes against my shoulder with her palms. “Don’t let her throw you out! Fight for her! Go back and tell her you refuse to give up.”
“You think Wren and I were going to live happily ever after? It’s naïve. That shit only happens in movies. Real love is ugly. It’s pain and tragedy. It breaks and burns and ends without warning.” I whip my head toward the direction of the house and raise my pointer finger. “Love is what’s inside drinking herself to an early grave.”
The corners of her mouth turn down. “You don’t really believe that.”
Refusing to look at her, I scowl out the window. “I didn’t come for a lecture. I just came to say goodbye.”
“Where are you
going?”
I shrug. “Mark said he’d lemme crash at his place in Peterson for a while until I find my own.”
She lifts an eyebrow, pursing her lips. “Peterson? Have fun getting murdered,” she spits.
“It’s a place to hang my hat,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
“It’s also place to get shot on the street.”
My mom’s words come back at me full force. Grumbling under my breath, I mutter, “Maybe that’s what I deserve. One less Dylan in the world, right?”
We sit in silence for a beat, the rumbling of the engine the only sound between us until Erika responds, “When did you become such a whiney little bitch, Jess?”
I furrow my brows, glaring daggers at my sister. “The fuck you say to me?”
“You heard me,” she fights, staring at her fingernails as if she’s can’t be bothered to look in my direction. When she finally does, her crystal eyes burn with fury. “Wah-wah-wah. That’s all I hear. Wren’s too good for me, wah-wah-wah. Grow up! You’re a grown-ass man, and you have a baby on the way. I’m sorry if your life didn’t turn out quite the way you planned, but whose does? I didn’t plan to have an alcoholic mother and an abusive bastard for a father, but I do, and you know what? I’m not going to let it define who I am. I’m not going to let their bullshit ruin my future!”
“I’m not worried about my future!” The force of my yell echoes through the cab. Erika falls against the window, but the testosterone-fueled aggression thrashes through my veins like a locomotive. I can’t pull it back now. “I’m worried about theirs. Can’t you see that? Wren and that baby don’t stand a chance if I stick around. There’s a reason people treat me like I’m nothing, Erika. It’s because that’s exactly what I am.”
“If that’s really what you think, then I feel sorry for you.” She pushes open the door and kicks it wide with her foot. A gust of cold air lashes against my skin, cooling down the rage brewing near the surface. “Guess this means I’m on my own, too, huh?” Sorrow twines with her words. “Someone I thought I admired once told me running away doesn’t solve anything. I wish I knew where that guy was now.”