Temper for You

by Genna Rulon

  “I needed money—a lot of it and fast. My signing bonus with Cauldwell, Rueger & Stein, coupled with the correlating salary bump, provided the means I needed. The treatment saved her life, as promised, but it didn’t cure her. She continued to be ravaged by the cancer, forcing me to put her in an assisted living facility last year. It’s a nice place and they take care of her, but it’s ridiculously expensive. The monthly fee is more than the mortgage on my townhouse.

  “The financial burden keeps me with CRS, but at this point, I don’t know where I would go if I left. The DA’s office wouldn’t want me after a stint on the ‘dark side.' They barely tolerated me before—now I’m enemy number one.”

  He walked back to the bed and flopped on his back next to me. Sharing his story had been taxing—it was clear in the lines carved on his usually smooth face.

  “You’re a good man, Wes, despite your claims to the contrary. I can’t imagine the struggles you faced as a child—the sacrifices you made for your Dad. And what you did for your mom…no one would have faulted you for slamming the door in her face,” I shared, awed by the man and all his story revealed.

  So much lay beneath the polished veneer that appeared untouchable and immune to emotion. He let the world believe he was callous and unscrupulous because he didn’t give a damn what people thought of him—and perhaps because a part of him wanted to be impenetrable. It was easier to allow others to believe the worst instead of fighting to prove otherwise, exposing a vulnerability to friends and enemies alike.

  He was the antithesis of every man I’d ever met—good or bad. A rare breed that was content to play the antihero while hiding a river of nobility so pure it cleansed his soul of the filth that surrounded him.

  Today I learned the truth about Westly Black.

  He was a liar and a deceiver, masquerading as something other than himself, because the veiled reality was…

  Wes.

  Was.

  Good.

  "The truth is rarely pure and never simple." -Oscar Wilde

  Westly

  Sharing my past with Meg hadn’t been as difficult as I’d expected. It was unpleasant and mildly embarrassing—after all, who wanted to admit their own mother didn’t want them…or that they ‘sold out’ for the same derelict’s benefit? Can you say chump?

  Opening the vein was an acceptable price, however, if Meg would reveal a fraction of herself in return.

  “Quid pro quo,” I prompted, earning me an exasperated breath.

  “This is so unfair,” she griped, “your deep dark secret is that you are essentially good.”

  She averted her eyes, but not quickly enough. The trepidation and sorrow glowed like high beams on a moonless night. Whatever she was hiding was the source of deep shame. Did she worry her confession would change the way I perceived her? There wasn’t anything she could tell me that would make me send her away. I was prepared to tell her as much when she finally spoke.

  “I ran away from my family on my eighteenth birthday. I won’t say ‘home,’ since it never was, and the specifics of what drove me to leave are immaterial. All that matters is that it wasn’t a healthy environment, so I fled. With no money and only one friend thousands of miles away, I was completely alone and petrified. I knew they would look for me, and if they found me I’d be brought back. Luckily, a good Samaritan took pity on me and helped me reach my old friend, Jay, without discovery. Jay took me in for a few months and helped me find my footing. He managed to—and I’m invoking attorney-client privilege for this part—buy me a new identity and establish a history. Everything about me is based on a lie…my name, social security number, school records, employment history—all of it. I’m a liar and a fraud.”

  The disgrace emanating from her whole being was heartbreaking. She may have broken the law by purchasing a false identity, but she wasn’t using it to plunder someone’s bank account. Something forced her into hiding, the new identity a necessary evil to ensure she remained hidden and untraceable. However, none of this explained the level of shame she was displaying. I held my questions, hoping she would continue.

  “I worked off the books as a waitress, saving every penny. Jay wanted me to stay, promising to protect me, but my family knew of him. Eventually they would make the connection and find me with him. When I left, he gave me Bessie—my car—and a pay-as-you-go phone. All he asked in return for his help was that I call him if I ever found myself in trouble.

  “I slept in my car until I reached New York and then stayed in shelters most nights. I found another waitressing job and continued to save money while I established residency in New York under my assumed identity. After a year, I applied to community college and attended classes around my work schedule. Two years later, I earned my associate’s degree and transferred to Hensley University to complete my bachelor’s. On-campus housing was crazy expensive so I found a tiny studio and lived alone, working every minute I wasn’t in school to pay tuition and rent. One of my sociology professors championed me and helped me obtain grants for Hensley’s Ph.D. program, which allowed me to work only one job while in school.

  “Ev stole me away from the campus coffee shop to work for her at Higher Yearning, which is how I got to know Sam, Griffin, and Hunter. You know Sam was nearly kidnapped, I presume? Well, they kind of adopted me into their ragtag family after the shooting. Everything has been fantastic—the best time of my life—but I can’t stay past the end of the year. It’s time to move on.

  “So now you know. The only other people who know that much about me—besides Jay—are Sam, and Ev, who dragged the truth from me with the assistance of Captain Morgan—he’s a relentless interrogator, that one. I haven’t even told Griffin or Hunter, although I’d be naïve to assume the girls didn’t spill at least some of my story. Please—please—don’t say anything to them about my leaving. I’ll tell them when the time is right. I don’t want to spend the time I have left fighting with them about the inevitable, and I definitely don’t want them trying to wade in and ‘fix’ my messes,” she implored with so much desperation it stole my breath.

  I was certain there were huge pieces to her story that had been omitted, not the least of which was what had driven her to run away. However, it was abundantly clear that she would not delve into the subject and now was not the time to push for more. If I did, she would run and never look back.

  Her struggle to survive as a young woman, alone without resources, sent chills down my spine. No doubt the simple, sanitized account she gave me bypassed countless precarious situations. I prayed nothing horrible had happened during those years, especially the ones spent homeless and living in shelters.

  As I replayed her story in my mind, all I could think was…how the hell did she do it? How did she not only survive but thrive? She accomplished more than most, even though the deck was stacked so heavily against her it was a miracle she could stand upright. Which led me to two nagging questions that had to be asked.

  “I have two questions, if that’s okay—then I’ll distract you from the past,” I teased, hoping to reduce the tension in the room.

  She gave me a stiff nod, reluctant but willing.

  “Clearly something was wrong with your family situation, and it wasn’t safe or healthy. You made the right choice—the only choice—by leaving. So why do you seem ashamed about leaving?” I asked bluntly. We were both naked, physically and emotionally, at the moment. Being anything other than direct was insulting.

  She didn’t respond immediately, obviously debating if she would answer and weighing her words.

  “I wasn’t the only person living in the unsafe and unhealthy environment. When I ran, I did so alone because it was the only way to gain my freedom. I left the others behind and the guilt gnaws at me. What’s worse, after all this time I never returned for them. I can think of a thousand excuses for why I haven’t returned, but that is all they are…excuses. You want to know why I look ashamed?” she asked, clutching her hand to her chest, eyes filled with sorrow. “Bec
ause I am a selfish coward. I hate myself for abandoning them.”

  It was worse than I’d feared, both the situation she ran from and the guilt she carried. It would be difficult to dissuade her without details, but I couldn’t let her continue on her path of self-loathing. It was a painful road that could take you so far from yourself you may never find your way back.

  “Obviously I don’t know specifics; hear me out anyway. From what I gather, you left alone because you couldn’t bring the others with you—not because you didn’t want to bring them—correct?”

  She nodded her agreement.

  “You’ve been hiding out of fear for seven years, that’s how bad the situation is with your family. If you returned for the others, is there any chance you would succeed?”

  She shook her head in the negative, averting her eyes from mine.

  “Did you ever contact anyone to intervene after you left…police, social services, whomever would be appropriate?”

  “Yes, it was the first thing I did after leaving. I called the sheriff’s office. I also told the social worker that helped me leave town.”

  “Then, Meg, you’ve done everything you could possibly do. Even if you sacrificed yourself, the odds that you would succeed in helping them are slim to none. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I know you don’t believe me, but you need to find a way to let go of your guilt. It’s not justified and it’s eating you alive.”

  She nodded, not in agreement but to confirm she heard me. My words would not be enough to unravel the knot of emotions strangling her. She needed to find the truth herself—to see herself clearly.

  “Second question—”

  “You just asked me about ten questions, buddy,” she interrupted with the first glimmer of humor I’d seen in the last hour.

  “No, I asked question one, you answered, and the subsequent questions were riders.”

  “Such a lawyer,” she muttered before regally waving her hand, granting me permission to continue.

  “Second question…why do you have to leave by the end of the year? What’s changed?”

  She looked away again, unwilling to answer.

  “Meg, please answer me. I swear on my life I will not repeat a word you say to anyone—ever. You can’t keep everything bottled inside indefinitely. Life will shake you up and then you’ll explode like a can of Coke you didn’t know had been dropped just before opening. Please.”

  I waited for-fucking-ever while she debated if she would answer.

  “They’ve found me,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  “What?” I asked with forced calmness.

  “I received an email in my student account a few hours before I ran into you at The Stop. Somehow they figured out I’m at Hensley. Don’t ask me how…I have no clue. If they don’t know exactly where I am, they will soon. I spoke to Jay and he agreed that they would probably hold off for a little while to give me a chance to return home willingly. If I don’t, they’ll come here to find me. I can’t let that happen, so I have to leave before they arrive.”

  I tried to wrap my brain around the fact that she glossed over this very pertinent detail. What else had she left out? Was her life in jeopardy, or was it a matter of an overzealous family that had stifled a young girl to the point she bolted? I couldn’t see the big picture with so many pieces of the puzzle missing.

  “How can you be sure you have until the end of the year?” I asked. It was one of the missing pieces that nagged at me.

  “I can’t, it’s an educated guess. I’m positive I have a few weeks before their patience runs out…beyond that I can’t be certain. It’s a gamble, but I’d like to finish the semester and arrange the leave of absence so I have the possibility of returning or transferring. I’d also like to celebrate the holidays with everyone—one last memory to take with me.”

  The idea of her leaving didn’t sit well. Our time together shouldn’t have to end until we were both ready. And if the concern I felt for her was any indication, I would need more than a couple of months before I could stand to let her go.

  “There has to be another way,” I said futilely.

  “There isn’t. I can’t be here when they arrive and pull everyone else into my mess. It wouldn’t be fair to them.”

  “I’m sure everyone—myself included—would be happy to help, no matter what the mess.”

  “But I don’t want help. Not if it means all of you being compromised. And don’t even think about going behind my back to enlist anyone else. You promised.”

  The situation was more than a mess, it was a shitstorm—the aftermath of a category five hurricane. With no means to right the wreckage at the moment, only one question remained. Though I had more than exceeded my allotment, I hoped she would answer.

  “What’s your name? Your real one.”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  I didn’t like it, but I accepted her answer in light of everything else she’d given me tonight.

  “Come here,” I said, pulling her closer, needing to hold her. “I want to tell you it will be okay, but I might be lying.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Wes…don’t ever lie to me,” she whispered fervently. As her body finally relaxed against mine, she accepted the comfort I offered freely. “It will be what it will be. For now, let’s stick to the plan and enjoy our time together. Nothing in life is guaranteed. You may wake up in the morning and decide you’re done with me. All we can do is live in the moment and treasure what we do have, not focus on what we don’t or may never have.”

  Her advice was sound; I wish I could take it. Despite agreeing to our plan for no-strings fun, I was feeling the threads securing themselves. It wasn’t a completely unpleasant feeling, but it was entirely unfamiliar. After countless women, faces, and bodies I could barely remember and names I never bothered to learn, this desire to know her was disconcerting yet undeniable. Reminding myself of our arrangement didn’t help—our pact now sounded shallow and jaded. A quiet voice in the recesses of my mind—the one I rarely listened to—was cautioning me to do something, to intervene despite my promise.

  I needed time to work through the quagmire and find a solution that satisfied all parties involved, and that wasn’t going to happen tonight. With Meg—ugh, I hated calling her that now that I knew it was a lie. With my beautiful girl lying in my arms, I let go of everything else and held on to her.

  "God grant me the serenity to accept the people I cannot change, the courage to change the one I can, and the wisdom to know it's me." -Author Unknown

  Meg

  Four weeks had passed since the night Wes and I exchanged pieces of our souls—even in my head that sounded cheesy, but there was no truer way to describe what we’d shared. When I awoke the next morning still wrapped in his embrace, he made love to me with a tender sincerity that changed everything I’d ever learned about sex. Gone was the fierce lover who claimed my body as his prize. In his place was a man who used his body to tell me I mattered…to him I was valuable. Even amongst my friends there was a part of me that questioned what I brought to the table. Wes convinced me without words that when I was gone, he would remember me and never be the same man for having met me. It was the start of an undefined relationship, not labeled or qualified. Because we didn’t need classification…we only needed each other for as long as we had.

  In the weeks that followed, we hoarded time, spending every free moment together since time was a commodity in short supply. Wes understood that I needed to be with GriffLo and Huntleigh as much as I did him, and because he cared, he ensured I got what I needed. He appointed himself the group’s unofficial social director, a strange role for ‘the new guy’ to claim, but his position went unchallenged. Group texts were sent to establish dinner dates, hang-out sessions at The Stop, and he even went so far as to plan elaborate outings involving the use of his company’s skybox for a NY Giants game. If anyone questioned the increased frequency of organized ‘group time,’ they never said a word.

  ‘We were a f
amily, and families spent time together whenever possible,’ Sam said. ‘There will be points in our lives where it’s hard to wrangle everyone into the same place on a regular basis. Life gets crazy and we’re all pulled in a thousand different directions, so when that bitch cooperates, we take advantage.’

  On his mission to help me collect as many memories as possible, Wes found himself the sixth ‘orphan’ adopted into the clan. Watching him bond with the guys—a ritual that centered around sports games and teasing us girls—was a highlight of many of my days. Thanks to our heart-to-heart, I was able to see how much these new bonds meant to him and how desperately he needed to feel connected. Like the rest of us, he needed a family.

  Some of the funniest moments arose while I watched him experience Ev and Sam unfiltered. For a man who had encountered his fair share of female attention, he was surprisingly surprised by their antics, often finding himself at a loss for words. The first time Sam overshared about an impromptu sexploit her and Griffin had engaged in earlier in the day, Wes was left choking on his ill-timed sip of wine. He learned an important lesson the rest of us had mastered: do not consume beverages while Sam is speaking. You never knew what she might say next.

  After a few weeks—and as his comfort with the group grew—he began to wade into debates with Ev and Hunter, often taking the point, leaving both uber-competitive debate connoisseurs beside themselves. For that feat alone, he’d found a lifelong brother in Griffin.