by J. M. Adele
She untwisted the towel from her hair, the wet strands falling down around her slim shoulders. “Here.”
Christ, she could’ve been a commercial for soft drink. The ones where the chick walks out of the water and holds the cold can against her chest to cool herself before quenching her thirst.
Think about Stewart and his bong.
Think about killer bees.
Think about politics and corruption.
“Thanks.”
She smiled at me and everything else wiped from my brain.
Fuck. “I gotta go. I’ve got a hot date to prepare for.”
“Oh? Who is she?”
“She’s the best person I know.” It was the truth.
Her eyes went soft and the hollow at the base of her throat deepened as she held her breath.
“I’ll see you soon.” I pecked her on the lips and dragged myself away. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but knowing I’d be spending time with her tonight made it easier.
Did I deserve her at all? She was the perfect girl.
And I was far from being able to match that.
Emmeline
Hampshire, England
12th July, 1867
The window seat in the library was my favourite place to sit. The view captured the grounds of my father’s estate, spreading out for miles. A colourfully decorated canvas of nature’s doing providing endless wonderment for my soul. Additionally, the window framed the stables where I could see Sebastian at work with the horses during the day. All the more reason to burrow in to the soft cushions and pretend to read one of the prescribed books on etiquette for girls of my age. Should Father discover that I had successfully procured a copy of Adam Bede by George Eliot, I would surely be banned from reading altogether.
Just this morning, he’d proclaimed the women’s suffrage movement as “the end to rationalism in society.” A mild use of terms given the female presence in the room. His language would certainly have been far more severe and descriptive in the company of his male counterparts.
Mother had continued to sip her tea between savouring bites of dry toast and peaches. I had foolishly hoped my mother had sequestered the petition with the intention of signing it before Father saw fit to destroy it. But of course, what hope was there that she believed women had an equal right to the vote? My mother found no fault with the idea of marrying her only daughter off to a man known to beat women.
I had heard talk of Reginald Fortescue the Third following the Sunday sermon. Word of our upcoming nuptials had spread. The Welsh earl was quite infamous in the area. Apparently he had been trialling the fruits of many women with great hubris prior to his departure to India. He was due to return within the week, according to a telegram we had received from Lady Victoria. The staff were preparing for his visit as I sat here with my nose pressed against the glass, counting down to the end of my life as I knew it.
Sebastian entered the pen where Miss Modesty lay resting. Her tryst with Admiral Caine almost a year ago had indeed resulted in a pregnancy. She was due to foal at any moment. I had observed her taking more rest periods than was customary in recent days. My wish was to be present for the birth. My worry was that the earl would arrive before the foal and I would have to leave without witnessing the miracle. It would break my heart just that little bit more.
This man that I had never met would take away everything that I knew and loved. I hated him with a passion that equalled the level to which I loved Sebastian. They both consumed me whole. One with fire, one with ice. Either way there would be nothing of me left. But with Sebastian, I was reborn from the ashes. With the earl, I would be frozen—a memory easily forgotten as time left me behind.
There was only one thing to do. Closing my book, I took one last look at my love before dashing to the armoire. If I didn’t hurry, I would lose my bravado, for the plan I had formulated was as good as an axe to the heart.
I recovered a satchel and tossed it upon the bed. Ignoring the silk and taffeta hanging from the rail, I searched the shelves for a more sensible offering. Drawers were essential. As was a chemise. I threw two of each over my shoulder, unaware as to their landing place. If need be, I would retrieve them from the floor in due time. The only other items of any use were my nightgowns, a pair of boots, and stockings. What the devil should a female pack when planning to escape on horseback? Certainly not the cumbersome gowns, as was the fashion. I moaned in despair, slapping my palms on my skirts. ’Twas hopeless.
My mind drew on memories of visiting the scullery. “Hope restored.” My lips tilted in a sly smile.
I hid my book under the mattress and shoved the clothes in the bag, making sure to stash it behind the dresser before making my way downstairs.
“Morning, miss.” The butler dipped his chin in greeting.
“Morning.”
I slowed my pace until he had disappeared from sight before resuming my chase. The maids would have done the washing and pegged it out to dry. My timing could not have been more perfect.
Casually, I skirted through the utility areas, greeting the staff as I went. I received some curious looks. I supposed it had been a while since I had graced them with my presence. Not through my own discretion. The bowels of the house were more a home to me than the grandiose upper levels. Thanks to my adventures as a young girl, I could map these rooms by memory.
I exited the scullery and went directly to the line. My heart leapt at what I found. Everything I could need was there for the taking. It was as if I had planned it. Or at least received a helping hand from those unaware of my scheme.
Heart pounding, I checked my surroundings for witnesses, finding none. After retrieving a couple of shirts and buckskins, I made quick work of tying my petticoats into a pouch of sorts and securing the items undercover.
I straightened and clasped my hands in front before strolling my way to the courtyard. Eyes darting around for any threat of discovery, I refrained from wiping the sweat trailing down my neck as I made my retreat. This time, I used an alternate entrance before travelling to my quarters.
I closed myself in, leaning against the door as I took in a deep breath. “I did it.”
I could have smiled, but my small victory was superseded by the tragedy of it all. I should not have had to perform that mission at all.
After adding my acquisitions to the satchel, I stuffed it back in its hiding spot before returning to the window seat. Sebastian wheeled a cart stacked with straw on a path to the stables.
“All I ask for is one more chance to show him the magnitude of my love before I go.” I sent the prayer, hoping it would be fulfilled.
Wishing I could ask for forever.
‘Twas not to be.
I would take the bag with me when attending the foaling.
And then I would leave.
_____
Ben
Brisbane, Australia
26th of December, 2016, 7:22 p.m.
He was so perfect. How could something so tiny and so perfect be the cause of so much agony?
How could the most beautiful moment of my life also be the most tragic?
Why?
I fitted the tip of my finger into Seb’s little palm and bowed my head, squeezing my eyes shut as hard as I could. Was I trying to keep the memory of my wife’s death out, or was I trying to keep the picture of my newborn son at the forefront of my brain? I couldn’t separate the two.
The tug of war between joy and pain, wonder and denial—it pulled apart my insides. A giant fissure dividing me into mourner and father. Pressing a kiss to the top of his soft, fuzzy head, I leashed my grief. He needed me to show him love. To prove to him I could be strong for him.
He smells divine. Andrea would love his smell.
They’d revived her. Three times.
She was upstairs, plugged into God knew how many machines, pumps, and bags of fluid draining life back into her veins. It all seemed a hopeless waste to me. My wife was no longer in that body. I couldn’t feel her.
And still, I couldn’t let her go. How long would it be until they suggested I pull the plug? I’d never be capable of making that decision.
Once he was strong enough, they’d laid Seb on her chest as the machine inflated and deflated her lungs in a calculated sequence. His little body had squirmed with life while hers only moved under artificial instruction.
It had broken my heart.
I’d had to bring him back down to the nursery, leaving half the fleshy beating organ in my chest behind. The last thing I’d wanted to do was leave her side, but Seb needed a parent.
I needed her to stitch me together again.
This was all my fault and I couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t fix her.
Seb made a little squeaky noise as he stretched his arm and flopped his head to the other side. The remaining half of my heart hiccupped.
“Ben.”
I lifted my head. “Mum.” My mouth shaped the name without any sound.
Her knuckles strained where she gripped the straps of her handbag. Her pained gaze dropped to the bundle I held against my chest, shoulders rising as she took in a breath. She stepped into the room, nodding to the nurse who sat at the desk in the corner.
The only other occupant was a tiny baby with a shock of black hair. There were several empty cradles pushed together in the space to the rear. They had little use for this room now that babies stayed with their mothers. The only reason a baby would be in here was if the mother needed a break for a little while. Or if she was unable to care for the baby.
I couldn’t get my head around the fact that I’d soon be bringing Seb home without Andy.
After pulling a chair over, Mum took a seat across from me and placed her palms on my knees. “How is she doing?”
I shook my head, unable to speak through the firm clamp my emotions formed around my throat.
She reached out and gently touched Seb’s head. “He’s beautiful.”
I nodded, pressing my lips shut.
Cradling him in my palms, I leaned forward and passed him to her. She took him against her chest, tears forming in her eyes. “He looks just like his daddy.”
I tapped a finger near my eye and shook my head. He had his mother’s eyes. I needed to point that out. Needed to include Andy in the equation. Seb had as much of her in him as he did me. She wasn’t gone yet. I had to believe she was still fighting.
I stood, motioning a drinking action with my hand before going to the bubbler in the hallway. Maybe if I forced a cup of water down my throat it might open. I might be able to fill my lungs to capacity for the first time since Andy’s waters had broken.
I held the plastic in my hand, staring at the bubbles rising in the dispenser of water. It looked about the same size as her stomach had been. All that fluid had come gushing out. Had I caused any damage, giving her all those orgasms?
My hand crushed the cup, spilling the drink over the sides. “Shit.”
Hmph. Got my voice back. I chugged the rest of the liquid and threw out the cup before going into the nursery to find paper towels.
After cleaning up, I took my seat next to Mum. “Thanks for coming.”
She smiled, resting her cheek on Seb’s head. “Do they know what happened?”
“Placental ab-something. The placenta was detaching from the wall of the uterus. There was so much blood.” I leaned forward on my knees, holding the weight of my head in my hands. “They think some of the amniotic fluid got into her bloodstream causing a bad reaction.” I dropped my arms and faced my mother. “They did a hysterectomy.”
She gasped, causing the baby to stir. “Shh, sh, sh. It’s okay, bubba. Nanna’s here.” The rhythmic sound of her hand patting his nappy mimicked the ticking of a clock.
Were we counting down my wife’s final hours or were we adding up the minutes of my son’s life?
Push, pull. Give, take.
“Have they said anything more?”
“She’s going to be on life support for a little while. Her oxygen levels dropped and she lost a lot of blood. We don’t know what damage was done yet.”
“Oh, God.”
Yeah. Oh, God.
Where the fuck was he when we needed him?
Andrea
Rockhampton, Australia
16th of May, 2009
I pulled out my new lingerie. I’d bought the bra and knickers set with the money I’d earned helping Peter at his office over the Christmas holidays. It was pink. It was see-through organza with lace decals placed in strategic positions. It would drive Ben wild. If he would let me show him. Six months we’d been dating and his hands hadn’t ventured underneath my clothes once.
They’d explored outside. Many times. His stoicism was not a virtue. Jesus, I was ready to rip his clothes off every time he walked in to my room. Tonight, I wanted to be ready. Just in case. I didn’t want to expect anything, but my God, I was horny.
I slipped the straps up my arms and leaned forward to jiggle my girls into place. Stepping into the G-string, I smoothed the elastic over my hips. If I looked in the mirror, I might lose my nerve. The reflection might speak of a girl on the verge of seventeen rather than a woman needing to be loved by her man. I’d been through enough that I’d grown beyond my years. I needed him. I wanted him. And if it should happen, it would be the final passage into womanhood.
I put on my comfy shorts and a tank top. He had a thing for the shorts. He could never stop staring at my legs when I wore them. Looking at the box on my bed, I smiled. The final weapon in my arsenal. His celibacy and my virginity were toast. Ah. Expectations were such a bitch. Or maybe it was hormones.
I trotted to the kitchen where I enlisted Bree’s help to make dinner.
“Should we save some for Ben?” She took the cutlery from the drawer.
“He didn’t say he wasn’t coming. He would’ve told me if that was the case.” I served the steaming lasagne onto our plates and put the leftovers back in the oven to keep warm.
We ate it in front of the TV, watching some reality garbage. My leg jiggled as I checked the time. Seven-thirty. He’s usually here by now. I’d hoped tonight would be pivotal for me. Maybe he’d forgotten to let me know he was busy? Doubt tried to sneak in to dim my shine. I glanced at the front door too many times to count.
Relax.
He’s coming.
“Yes!” Thank you for the confirmation.
“Huh?” Bree turned to me, confusion evident in the bunch of her brow.
I needed to learn to keep my thoughts to myself. “Time to clean up. Come and help me?”
“You’re way too excited about the dishes.”
So excited. “Life’s short. You’ve gotta find the joy in everything.”
I hit the volume on the remote control and shook my butt to Flo Rider. Gloved hands dipping into the suds, I scrubbed another pot while Bree dried the dishes.
“Is Ben still coming over?” She shook out the tea towel.
We both turned at the knock on the door. I flashed my teeth, took off the gloves, and ran to let him in.
“Hey. Sorry I’m late. Adam and I were having some bro time.” His scent hit me—that mix of sawdust and soap that had me melting on the inside.
His eyes wandered over my body before he leaned in for a kiss. “Are you having a party?”
“Girls’ night in.”
“Oh, where’s Peter?”
“Mum and Peter are in Hervey Bay, having a dirty weekend.”
He made a noise in his throat, smirking. “I’m sure that’s exactly how they described it.”
“I know how to read between the lines.”
“So it’s just you and Bree?”
“Not anymore. You’re here.”
“Should I go?” he joked.
I grabbed his arm and dragged him into the kitchen. “Don’t be silly. We’ve been expecting you.”
“Hi, Ben,” Bree chirped, putting a plate away.
“Hello. Did I miss dinner?”
“We saved some for you.” She opene
d the oven. “It’s lasagne.”
“My favourite.”
I know. If only I was old enough to buy beer.
He ate with a smile on his face while we finished doing the dishes. Bree used the whisk as a microphone while I drummed a bit of Black Eyed Peas against the bottom of a pot.
“Hey, Bree, can you go and get the box off my bed, please?”
“Yep.”
She scooted off as I took a seat in Ben’s lap. “How was your day, dear?”
His hands came around my back. “Superb. How was yours?”
“Wonderful.” I placed one arm around his shoulders and the other on his chest, slipping my fingers under his collar.
“Is Stewart going to come over and check on you?”
“What for? We’re capable of looking after ourselves.”
“I know. But if you were my sisters, I’d be here.”
And that was one of the things I loved about him—his protective instinct. “You’re here now.”
“I won’t want to leave tonight.”
I fell into his crystal blue stare. “So don’t.”
“What about Bree?”
“She sleeps like a log.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off by laying one on him. His fingers gripped me tighter as he tilted his head and leaned into the kiss.
“Here—” She stopped as she caught sight of us. “Are you guys gonna be like this all night? Because I don’t want any lifelong scars.
I hopped up and held my hands out for the box. “Thanks. Are you ready to play?”
“Can I spin the wheel?”
Perfect. “Yep. Let’s see how flexible Ben is.” I twisted my head and gave him a wicked smile.
“Is that Twister?”
“Yes indeedy.”
“I haven’t played that since I was eight.” I couldn’t tell if he was looking at it with amusement or distaste. His mouth was twisted to the side, eyes unsure.
My smile dropped. Oh, God. I’d let my teaching aspirations bleed into my relationship. He was a man, not a child.
“Maybe you can spin the wheel and Bree and I can play?”
“No, I’ll have a go.” He rose to his feet.
“Okay.” I opened the box and spread out the plastic sheet covered in coloured spots before handing the spinner to Bree.