Meant to Be Broken

by Brandy Woods Snow

  By the time I get to his jeans, his breathing is slowed, almost non-existent. He’s waiting on me, anticipating my next move, and I love the sense of power. We lock eyes, his brimming with smoldering heat, as my fingers find and unfasten the button and slide the zipper down. He leans in and crushes his lips to mine with tender force as he steps out of his jeans. We come to a standstill, taking a moment to look at each other, head to toe. He swallows hard and reaches for his wallet.

  “Stop.”

  Gage turns back quickly, eyes wide. “You’re not ready?” He can’t hide the disappointment.

  “No, I’m absolutely ready. It’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  “We don’t need that.” I point to his wallet. “I’ve been on birth control a couple years now… for my complexion and my cycles. The doctor’s idea… so, we’re covered.”

  He closes his eyes and opens them, the fire renewed, as he looks at me and tosses the wallet over his shoulder, walks back and slams his lips to mine. They move faster now, furiously searching, his tongue jutting out across mine, stopping only briefly to nibble my lower lip. Suddenly he grabs me, his fingers burning like branding irons, and lifts me up, walking us backwards to the inflatable mattress on the tent floor.

  “My God, you’re perfect,” he whispers. “I love you so much, Rayne, I can’t contain it.”

  “Then quit trying,” I whisper back.

  His kisses rain over me, and he presses his body into mine, a new level of intimacy that robs my breath, and in between the booming thunder and roaring waves slapping the beach, Gage and I melt into one another, salty lips and sandy skin, hot breath and soft touches, finding perfect satisfaction in our slice of heaven.

  I awake the next morning with a smile on my face, but Gage is no longer beside me. Light streams in and the waves roar as if right outside the tent. I push up on one elbow and look around. He’s in the doorway, flaps thrown open as he watches the tide go out. The still-wet sand glistens in the morning sun.

  I crawl on my hands and knees behind Gage, wrap my arms around his shoulders, and rest my head in the curve of his neck.

  “Morning,” I whisper in his ear.

  “Morning, beautiful.” He keeps looking out over the waves.

  “I am, aren’t I?” I tease, pretending to fluff my unruly hair. Between the ocean air and last night’s rolling around, it’s about ten times puffier than normal.

  “Yes.” He turns and puts his hand on the back of my head, pulling me in for a kiss. His blue eyes sparkle with the prismatic effect of the sun. “Last night was… God, I love you. I belong with you.”

  “Then stay.” I climb onto his lap. “Stay with me and don’t ever leave.”

  They say there’s a calm before the storm. We’re in its sweetness for only a couple more hours before Daddy’s call comes in. Mama’s worse, and we have to get home. Now.

  Endless rows of pine trees swish by in a green blur outside the passenger window, hazy and shapeless, kinda like my head right now, which swirls with the sweet memories of last night wrapped up in the worries about what lies ahead. Daddy didn’t say much on the phone, but I heard the cracking in his voice, the long pauses of silence. In the side mirror, Edisto fades further behind us. I hate leaving. I hate being left.

  I squeeze Gage’s fingers in mine. He’s not going anywhere, but Mama is—any day now. Daddy’s simple words struck my heart like an arrow. “It’s not good, Rayne.”

  Gage pulls my fingers to his lips. “I got you. Whatever you need.”

  “Just stay by me, Gage. I can face anything with you.”

  Daddy’s slumped in the front porch rocking chair when we pull up, his eyes fixed on the slatted floor, not even acknowledging the crunch of gravel beneath our tires. Gage squeezes my hand, leans in for a kiss, and pulls back, his eyes roving my face. “Call me.”

  I nod and slide out, running toward Daddy as the hum of Gage’s engine dissolves into background noise.

  Daddy unconsciously runs his fingers along the arm of his glasses, something he only does when upset, but musters a small smile when I walk up. “Glad you’re home safe.” He pushes his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, and then grabs my hand. “She’s asking for you.”

  I hug him and kiss the top of his head. It reminds me of how he used to tuck me in at night. It’s much too early for us to be having this parent-child reversal thing going on, but a part of me realizes how much he needs me to be strong.

  The rhythmic beep-beep-beep of monitors surrounding Mama’s hospital bed echo in the otherwise silent den. Her head is turned, facing the triple windows. Only a few fringes of natural light filter in across her body.

  “Rayne, honey.” Her frail voice startles me. I thought she was sleeping. “Open up the windows. Let in a little fresh air.” She gasps between the words as if there’s not enough air left in her lungs to string them together.

  “Yes ma’am.” I raise each window halfway, never taking my eyes off her. She looks no more than a corpse already, all skin stretched over bone. It’s difficult to look at her, but I do. Because no matter how sick she is, she’s here right now, and we can’t waste any more time. “Need any water, pillows?” I move close to her bedside and pour water into her cup from a small pitcher on the side table.

  “Answer a question,” she says, her voice wispy. I have to lean close to hear the words. “Does God forgive all sins?”

  I spring back. The woman who’s always lectured me on all things holy is asking for my spiritual opinions, and for a split-second I wonder if it’s some sort of trick question—her testing me one last time. “If we repent, He forgives.”

  She winces from pain or my answer, or both. “What if the sin… is too big?” She pushes the words out. “What if other people… get hurt?”

  The thought of Mama’s involvement in some major, life-altering sin is laughable considering the woman is religious to a fault and has pretty much been paralyzed by her anxiety all these years. Her anxiety. Isn’t weakness of spirit some sort of sin? Maybe Mama’s apologizing for her “episodes” after all these years.

  “Forget all this. Relax.” I take a cool washcloth from the bedside table and lay it across her forehead.

  “No.” She grabs my hand, her eyes wide. “There’s something I need to tell you.” She gasps loudly and coughs. “Before it’s too late.”

  “Mama?” My voice is high-pitched, almost squeaky. I wring my hands, massaging so hard the bones in my fingers ache from the pressure.

  “Sit.” She nods toward the chair beside her. I do, but keep her hand tucked in mine. “You know it took us so long to have you… three rounds of in-vitro… so many failures… before you.” She gives me a weak smile as the screen door opens and Daddy walks in. He joins us and grabs Mama’s other hand before she continues. “That summer was so hot, so dry, but on the day we found out about you…” she pauses and takes a deep breath, “on July 26th, the rains finally came.”

  “You found out you were pregnant on July 26th?” I laugh and clamp my free hand to my mouth. “How crazy is that? That’s Gage’s birthday!”

  Her chest caves in and she’s struggles for breath. “I know.” Daddy’s hand squeezes into hers tighter. “There’s more to that day than I’ve ever told you… or anyone… except Daddy.”

  Her words are ice chips in my veins. What could she possibly say that links my conception and Gage’s birth? She wouldn’t have even known the Howards then because Gage was over a month old when they moved here. Still, my stomach’s churning, and I don’t know why.

  She continues, her voice wavering and broken. “I was driving home from my doctor’s appointment downtown when the rain started. So hard,” she whimpers. “Impossible to see.” Daddy grabs a tissue and blots the corners of her eyes, but she pushes his hand away. “There was something in the road… a horrible noise… the thump against the fender… I’ll never forget it.” She pauses and looks down. “I just knew I’d hit a dog
, but it was too dangerous to stop.” She sobs, pulling her hands from mine and Daddy’s and collapsing into them. “I had to think of you. My baby…”

  “A dog?” I move to the edge of my seat and touch her arm. “I don’t understand…”

  “It wasn’t a dog, Rayne!” She grips her side and grimaces in pain. “It was a person. I killed someone!”

  Suddenly I understand Mama’s anxiety. Surely I’m in its clutches now, my heart thumping hard against my ribs, my last meal rising up from my stomach, ready to spew. It’s like a million bursts of energy going off simultaneously in me, and I can’t keep still. I jump up and pace beside the bed, gripping my throat, trying to ward off the unseen force that’s threatening to collapse my airway. “What? I… I don’t…”

  “That’s not all.” She takes the cloth from her head and drops it over the side of the bedrail. “The woman was eight months pregnant.”

  Pregnant. July 26th. Gage’s birthday. “Oh my God.” I back away from her, my mind in overdrive. She couldn’t have hit Charlotte because Charlotte’s alive. So how does this all fit together? My gag reflex twitches as my throat spasms again. “The baby?”

  “He lived. The woman was single, no husband, no family.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “A contact in the NICU.” She closes her eyes and leans back in the pillow. Daddy leans down and whispers in her ear, but she shakes her head. “Let me finish.” She opens her eyes and motions me over. I walk to her and prop myself on the foot of the bed. “A father came forward after a few days, a high-profile businessman, married with a family. It could’ve been a major scandal, but he was close with the hospital administrator, so things were done hush-hush. Only the family, the administrator, and my nurse friend knew the truth. The media was told it was a private adoption.”

  My heart slows to an unnatural pace, like minutes lapse between each beat. My head’s quiet as if separated from my body. Outside looking in. “So, the businessman is… the baby is…” I sputter.

  “Gage is the baby, Jackson Howard the businessman. They moved to town shortly after taking Gage in, so people here wouldn’t know the truth.” She makes eye contact with me for the first time in a while. “Now you understand… why I am the way I am… why I wanted to keep you away from the Howards…”

  I shake my head. No. It can’t be. She’s mistaken. So many things don’t make sense. “The police? If you killed her, why aren’t you in jail?”

  “There was no evidence at the scene, no witnesses. And I,” she drops her eyes again. “I never came forward. I couldn’t. Because of you.”

  Because of me. Mama has lived with this gut-wrenching secret for nearly two decades because of me. But what about Gage? He wouldn’t keep this kind of secret from me.

  “Gage would’ve told me if he was adopted. He would’ve!” I insist, stomping my foot on the hardwood.

  “He doesn’t know.” She says it solemnly. The three of us sit in silence until the screen door slams behind us.

  I stand up quickly. “What’re you doing here?”

  Gage’s cheeks are red, face stoic. He swallows hard a couple times. “You left your bag in my car. I was putting it on the swing out front when I heard you talking.” He looks at Mama. “I want the truth. All of it.”

  Mama, so fragile, nods and motions Gage toward the empty chair by her bed, where he sits, leaning forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped together, while she tells him the whole story. When she finishes, when he knows his very existence has been a lie, he buries his head in his hands. He doesn’t cry. Doesn’t scream. He’s still.

  Mama pulls her Bible from the side table and leafs through the front few pages before pulling out a yellowed newspaper clipping. She clears her throat. “Gage?” He looks up, and she hands him the article. “I’ve kept this since the accident.” She pauses, the words getting harder and harder, her strength failing. “Every day I pray for forgiveness. I hope you can forgive me, too, Gage… one day.”

  He stares at the paper, his bottom lip trembling. I peer over his shoulder at the article in his hands. It’s a news report of the hit-and-run, the details we’ve just learned staring back at us in black and white. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, but he stiffens at my touch. He pushes my arms away, gets up, and walks to the door without a word.

  I follow him. He twists the screen door handle as I grapple with his shirt sleeve. “Gage? Gage! Please… talk to me.”

  He turns around, eyes hollow. “It all makes sense now. I feel like a black sheep because I am one.” We stare at each other. There are so many things I want to say, so many things I should say, but no words come. He slams his hand into the knob and the door flies open wide. “I gotta go.”

  Before I can make it out onto the porch, he cranks the Scout and with a hard rev of the engine, peels out of the driveway and doesn’t look back.

  Chapter 34

  Gage

  W

  hen they walk out tomorrow and see two muddy ruts across their manicured zoysia grass, maybe then they’ll know I think driveways are overrated. Just like this “happy” family bullshit they’ve been hiding behind. Jackson and Charlotte Howard with their 1.5 kids and mansion. And this point-five-child is freaking over it.

  The quaint boxwood wreath with the monogrammed “H” falls off its hanger and onto the hardwood floors at my boots when I sling open the front door. Stupid wreath. Stupid frou-frou crap Mom—I mean, Charlotte—keeps around to make her feel important. The anger ricochets inside, surging down my body like a roman candle, with a power that explodes when my foot makes contact. I kick the shit out of it, hurtling it across the foyer into the perfect vanilla wall with the perfect display of china vases.

  The door to his study is cracked. I slam it open, swinging it back into the bookcases with a loud thud. His chair squeaks as he pushes back from his desk, eyes locked on mine. “How could you?” I growl, but before he gets to the door, Charlotte rushes down the stairs, all dramatic-like in her slipper-heels and loosely-fastened silk robe billowing out behind her.

  “What is going on here? I’m upstairs trying to get ready for the Elkins’ party, and—” She pauses in the foyer and glares at the damage then stabs her finger at the mess on the floor. “Look what you’ve done, you little bastard!”

  “Damn straight.” Everything swells inside me like a tsunami—all the mistreatment, all the chilly interactions, all the animosity. I grew up believing my mom hated me, but my mom doesn’t hate me. My mom never got a chance to love me. This is only an imposter bitch who thinks I’m not worthy, and quite frankly, she can kiss my ass. They all can.

  “Gage…” Dad stands beside me in the doorway. I jerk my eyes to his, my lungs shriveling in my chest, like all the oxygen’s being sucked out. His lips move, but the words don’t register in my brain, just a high-pitched buzz ushering in a slew of blackish spots that stream through my vision. I lunge toward him, fisting his polo in both hands, and pin him against the wall.

  Dad’s eyes are saucers as my knuckles grind deep into his chest, the shirt pulled so tight the threads pop. The room is silent, except for the click-clack of Charlotte’s heels as she stomps over, hands on her hips. “Take your hands off your father this instant!”

  “Shut up! This is between Dad and me.”

  “Gage, don’t talk to your mother like that.” His voice wavers.

  “I’m not! My mother’s dead.” My fists dig in deeper as the recognition filters into his startled gaze, and his body goes almost limp against the wall.

  “Jackson! Do something! You promised me! He’s trying to ruin my life!” She grabs my shirt, yanking hard against me, nails clawing into my skin through the cotton. I jerk my arm away, trying to shake her off, and she falls to the floor, underwear half-exposed as her bathrobe splays out around her.

  The back door slams open and heavy footsteps sound in the hallway. “Oh my God, Mom!” Preston rushes to her side, and she plays it up as usual, grippin
g her knee. Always the victim. “Why aren’t y’all helping her? She’s hurt.”

  He refocuses on her knee as she whimpers, “Gage did it.”

  Preston stands up, shoving forward into my face. “How dare you attack Mom!”

  “She’s your mom, not mine. Mine’s dead.”

  He grimaces and blows out a breath. “That’s a sick thing to say.”

  “No. It’s the truth.” I look over his shoulder to the two of them. “Right, Dad? Charlotte?”

  Preston narrows his eyes and whips around toward them.

  Dad squeezes his eyes shut, lips flat-lined, as he takes two deep inhales. He opens them, fixating on me. “I take full responsibility for this. There’s no need to blame Charlotte.”

  “Oh, I don’t. I blame you, because you knew the truth, and you still let her treat me this way my entire life. You could’ve stepped in, but you didn’t. You let me bear the brunt of her anger all these years, and for what? To save your reputation?”

  Dad steps between me and Preston, wrapping an arm around each of our shoulders, his voice calm and even. “Gage, you and I need to talk, and then Preston, I’ll explain everything to you.”

  Behind us, Charlotte’s shrill laughter cuts through the moment. “Oh, I’m sure you will. You’ll explain it all with a pretty little bow on top. But there’s nothing pretty about the fact that you whored around with a little slut from your office while I was at home, alone, with an infant who depended on me for…”

  A flame ignites in Dad’s stare as he pivots to face her head-on. “Spare me the histrionics! You were never the little wife and mother, alone at home and burdened. You were at society luncheons and getting your nails done while the nanny raised Preston. You treated me like a business partner, someone to dress your arm for public appearances and provide the lavish living you believe you deserve. I was content to live the life I got myself into, until I found out just how different it could be. Leighton was no slut. She was a warm, beautiful woman who…”