In the Land of Milk and Honey

by Nell E S Douglas

  He stared out into the woods. “I’m not sure,” he replied, sounding perplexed by the idea.

  I snorted in a very unladylike fashion. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have thanked you. Good night,” I said and hit the sidewalk again.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” he called out. I turned and narrowed my eyes.

  “Do you?” His expression softened.

  “No, but that’s not important.”

  He walked out into the street and looked both ways before he let out a loud whistle. He kept his gaze down the street towards the intersection until he dropped it to the ground and made his way back to the sidewalk. A few seconds later a yellow cab pulled up and he opened the back door and looked at me expectantly.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “You’re going home,” he informed me.

  “I can walk,” I defended. A lie.

  “It’s too dangerous to walk alone,” he protested. I let the irony of his statement pass. “And you’re in no condition for it.”

  “You could walk me?” I hedged, surprising myself.

  “That’s impossible,” he said, matter-of-factly, and I was a little disappointed though I had no reason to be. The cabby yelled out that the meter was running. “Get in,” he commanded.

  “I don’t have any money,” I said incredulously, nodding towards the cab.

  “My treat,” he offered and reached in his pocket and pulled out a roll of folded bills, which I was stunned he had. He really looked like he could use that money for more important things and he sensed my reluctance.

  “Let’s make a deal. You offered me your scarf earlier. I’ll purchase it from you. For the fare,” he compromised reasonably. I hugged my arms around my shoulders and shivered because my wet clothes were turning to ice. The scarf was a gift from Violet and worth much more than the twenty, but it still seemed like he was getting the raw end of the deal. Suddenly, I had an idea.

  “Play for me. Tomorrow,” I said quickly. He looked momentarily confused before he exhaled deeply and shook his head. “Why? Do you think you’re a Beatle or something?” I said, hiding my hurt.

  “Groupies are everywhere,” he quipped.

  “Yes…well, I don’t fall for hype.”

  “What do you fall for, then?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” I glanced down. “Besides, Wings was better,” I justified, hiding a blush.

  “I’m still hallucinating,” he replied, watching me closer. The cabbie honked his horn, impatiently. Urgently, he insisted, “Get in.”

  “No. Not until you agree. Play for me.”

  “I cannot offer that,” he said with finality.

  “And I don’t accept charity,” I replied and began walking away, holding my breath.

  “Fine,” he called out from behind me, and I smiled to myself before heading back towards the cab. He moved his hand out dramatically, gesturing for me slide in the car but before I ducked my head in, I needed to be sure. He’d caved too easily.

  I peered at him. “Do you really promise?”

  His nostrils flared a little and he went completely still. He was standing a few inches away from me, and in the bright streetlight I could see he was sweating profusely, every pore of his forehead visible. His skin had gone gray, and his breathing was shallow. The periwinkle blue veins in his neck were pulsing, and his tired eyes glistened with resignation and regret as he spoke.

  “If…if I am able to…I will. That is all I can promise,” he answered slowly, selecting his words carefully, and it was the saddest thing I’d ever heard.

  I understood what he was saying: if he made it until then, he would be there, but he didn’t think he would. My eyes watered, and I pressed my lips together while I nodded. I wanted to convince him to let me take him for help, but what little I knew of him made me certain he would refuse. My request was unfair and I’d asked for too much.

  Without a second thought, I was unraveling my scarf and looping it around his neck. He was taken off guard, but as I reached up to knot it under his scruffy chin, he gripped my wrist in his long fingers and closed his eyes as he leaned down to inhale the exposed sliver of skin on my wrist as if he were sampling a perfume. I felt the coarse brush of his frosty cold facial hair and the softer brush of chapped lips that were surprisingly warm before he pressed his lips forcefully onto my skin in a brief and savoring kiss. Against my frozen skin his lips seared like a brand, but all I was thinking of was how waxen his eyelids were.

  “Please try,” I begged, voice cracking, eyes pleading, tears falling, and for once, completely unashamed.

  “Tomorrow,” he answered, but his eyes said goodbye, and my heart broke for the lost boy, the villain, and the player. I unfurled the hand that had been clutching the scarf in a painfully tight fist, and he released my wrist before taking a step back. I slid in the back seat unable to think or speak, while he leaned in the passenger window and handed the cabby the fare and extra tip, instructing him to make sure I got home safely.

  He closed my door and I watched him from the window step onto the curb, turning in profile to give me a thin reassuring smile that was anything but, and when we pulled off, I felt like I’d made a mistake and left something important behind.

  I didn’t sleep when I got back to my dorm room. Instead I sat at my desk and stared out the window into the streets. I watched a group of pigeons flocking until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I showered and almost dozed off in its spray before I crawled under the covers, wrapped in my towel, to hide. I was disgusted with myself for watching him self-destruct and doing nothing to stop it. He was cruel and distant, but he didn’t deserve to be observed like a wounded animal taking its final breath. Just like an animal, he secluded himself to die alone. He’d made it clear over and over he didn’t want my company but I ignored him. I was no better than a snuff film voyeur. I gave him no dignity in his darkest hour, and instead of trying to help, I watched. My phone rang but I ignored it and sent emails out to the girls telling them I was sick. Because I was, in fact, a very sick person.

  I fell asleep sometime after I convinced myself to put it all behind me. I wouldn’t go back. If he was there, he would just call me vile things for being a twisted example of humanity, or maybe he’d still be out-of-his-mind high and hurt me or worse. And if he wasn’t there…well, my conscience couldn’t handle that. It was better if I never knew what happened to him, so I could pretend like he’d made it and entered some work program, attended weekly meetings, counseled others, and married a kind, pretty French Canadian school teacher in New Jersey who would stand by his side if he relapsed.

  Two-point-five kids, adopted stray, matching denim shirts….Yes, that was the picture I wanted so badly, and so I kept it. And with that image alone, I’d finally allowed myself to lay my head down.

  I woke up sweating, burning with fever, and saw out the window the sun was gone. I’d only had a few hours of sleep and I began pacing the room. I felt so restless and distressed so I grasped at my manufactured image of a suburban heaven, but it was now wrong and discomforting and I wondered if my subconscious had robbed me of my solace as punishment. I sat down on my bed and started biting my nails, a habit I don’t have and ordinarily find gross, and I knew I needed to know for sure. Before I could second-guess myself, I’d dressed and was taking a cab to Manhattan.

  It was only a little after nine when I arrived at the Waldorf but I decided to wait inside. I snuck past the desk and heard the sound of a piano being tuned coming down the hall and my spirit lifted. I took a deep breath before I peeked into the piano room, but I froze when I saw something I didn’t expect. A silver haired man in a waiter’s uniform tinkering on the keys. I also didn’t expect to see the entire room elaborately set up for an extravagant event.

  I was in a panic. I wished we made better plans, but he said if he did come, it would be to play for me. My mind roamed to worst-case scenario—that he wouldn’t make it at all. I was scrambling as I hailed a cab and heade
d to the only other place I could I think of: The Park.

  Once the cab dropped me off, I circled the edge of the woods trying to estimate where I’d entered the night before, but I felt like time was wasting so I walked straight in. My boots trudged through the day’s newly fallen snow and every step felt more urgent. After a while I saw the tree line end in the distance and I slowed my pace. My heart thudded inside my chest as I neared, and when I reached the edge I almost fell to my knees and cried. He was there. Alive.

  And there that night, in the darkness and cold, alone, where nothing glowed and blackness thrived, and the life around us died, I did what I knew I would always look back on as either the most right or wrong mistake of my life. I went to him.

  Chapter 10 - A Flower in the Desert

  I closed the notebook, squeezing my eyes shut.

  I couldn’t lie; the journal entry frightened me. But when I read it, it was like I was reading someone else’s life. I wasn’t the same girl and, although I knew it was me, it just didn’t feel real. Based on the timeline, accent, and eyes, it had to have been Daniel, but nothing else made sense. He even denied playing piano. In my mind, I couldn’t reconcile this man, the player, with the Daniel Baird I’d just met.

  I took into consideration that I was in the middle of some sort of breakdown when I wrote that entry, but I didn’t think I’d made it up either. It was almost as if I’d written it to convince myself not to doubt it later. A chunk of pages following that entry had been ripped out. All that remained were blank pages, in the back, so I had no more detail than that.

  But what if Daniel was still a drug addict? I knew about big Wall Street guys with thousand-dollar-a-day habits. He seemed too controlled for that, but maybe he’d mastered the art of controlling the addiction. It’s possible he’d sought treatment and was now in recovery, because he didn’t even drink alcohol. But that still left the suicidal part.

  It seemed like he’d had some sort of breakdown, along with everything else, which concerned me for Tristan’s welfare. He already had a mother with a lapse and now he had a father with one, too. I’d heard these things were hereditary, and I’d long suspected my short bout was inherited from my own mother who was a drug abuser and manic-depressive. Mitch even told me she’d experience sudden fits and manic episodes, but I guessed poor Mitch was the one who actually ‘experienced’ the fits.

  As much as I loathed this idea, it was possible when I went in the woods that night I did drugs with Daniel and became instantly hooked. With my mother’s addictive personality, maybe that first try was enough. I’d never even smoked a cigarette before then. That would explain my secluded, secretive, volatile behavior, and why I still had the wherewithal to cover for myself. They say addicts are the best deceivers, and that would also explain my dramatic weight loss, deteriorated health. It could also explain whom I was waiting for. It made my stomach churn to think that Daniel had possibly taken me to his dealer or some other druggie friends of his. Maybe I was waiting for a dealer that day they found me pregnant in the park.

  The concept seemed far-fetched, but, when I compared it to the fact that I’d had unprotected sex with someone whom I thought to be a homeless drug addict then went mental and had his baby, it seemed feasible by comparison.

  With the time sequence, Daniel must have been my first. Then I wondered how many other men I might have slept with during my breakdown. I didn’t have money for drugs, so how would I have paid? It made me scared and angry to think it was possible that Daniel Baird may have introduced me to or traded me off to friends after he was done with me. That’s the reason I was never even sure the piano player I described was the father at all; because I never actually knew if it had been him, someone else, or one of multiple candidates. I just knew in my last clear memory I was definitely still a virgin.

  But the last line of the entry made me feel like I’d made a choice. It was a conscious decision. I’d obviously written it after it happened, and there seemed to be a willingness to be there. When I read that last line, I felt like in my broken down state I’d accepted responsibility for what I was getting myself into—I just wasn’t sure how it would turn out.

  And almost six years later, I still wasn’t sure.

  What I knew now was that I had a little boy who needed me. If I took drugs with Daniel, I had to take responsibility for that. And if this was the card he wasn’t ready to play when we talked at my office, the reason behind his vague answers, a fear of being exposed, then it would stay with me. Just like Jill’s abuse, August’s sexuality, and Violet’s secrets, I’d keep it sacred just the same. There was no need to embarrass my son’s father if this was his private shame. It made me sympathetic towards him in a way.

  Although I was exceedingly curious what could’ve put Daniel in such a dire situation, it wasn’t my place to dig. Hopefully, in time, we could form a relationship based on trust and partnership as Tristan’s parents and I could get some answers.

  Hopefully.

  Tuesday I finally spoke with August and he seemed unsurprised by the revelation. Shocked by its verification but not entirely surprised. He understood how outrageous a concept it was just as well as I did, but he was always perceptive and helped me sort some things out.

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “He took an interest in you that was above and beyond what was called for. It was more than I thought he was capable of. The only thing I’ve known him to care about is his position in the company. That night at dinner when you were looking at each other…there was something about it that felt…private. Not romantic, exactly, just intense,” he finished hesitantly.

  “I think that’s when I was starting to recognize him but didn’t realize how.”

  “Do you think that’s all there was to it?” he asked simply.

  “Of course,” I said and hid back the fact that I had lustful feelings towards him later that night. It seemed a hazard of his presence for all women.

  He opted not to expand further, so I cut to the chase, “So you agree the mixer’s a good idea?”

  “I think it’s wise,” he replied in his thoughtful voice. “It’s important to take measured steps. He’s not a man who likes surprises or acts without reason. Be patient and I’ll plan something formal with the attorneys for us to have a sit down and ask him to submit to a DNA test to be sure. I think he’ll appreciate us handling it discreetly and succinctly.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” I said, relieved I finally had one.

  ~o~

  I decided to go with Ian to the mixer in hopes Daniel would be there. It was a public place, so it seemed like a good opportunity to try to learn exactly who Daniel Baird was as a person today as opposed to the disturbing figure I’d recorded meeting all those years ago. We seemed to do better in groups of people. Like at the dinner, when there wasn’t opportunity for things to get…off track. He was actually relatively kind during those interactions, and I needed to be more secure about his true nature before I threw my child into the fray.

  Ian showed up around 6:00 p.m. to pick me up, and I kissed August and Tristan goodbye before we left. The event was being held at Moran’s down on Wall Street, and the place was pretty full when we arrived.

  I had dressed in a black knee-length cocktail dress and low black heels, and I wore a khaki trench coat over it. My hair was down with the long layers swept across like bangs. Ian, of course, was in a designer dark navy suit with tiny pinstripes, complete with waistcoat, silk tie, and cufflinks. The place was dark with wood paneling and collegiate crests hung on the walls. It was an old school, Rat Pack kind of place.

  “I don’t see him,” I observed on tiptoes as I craned my neck around. The place was filled with other nicely dressed people in their twenties and thirties, all in similar attire. We were hanging out near the hors d’oeuvres table in the far corner while Ian quality tested every kind they had.

  “He’ll be here. I’ve heard a lot about him being in town, and the other alums were buzzing about i
t this week. There’s a lot of talk about him moving the company. Word on the street is his dad’s not too happy about it,” he shared as he checked out a woman in a short red dress.

  I frowned a little, thinking about what Daniel had said about coming back, but surely he didn’t mean it that way. I doubt he relocated his company just to get me in bed. That would be crazy.

  “Ian, how old is Daniel?” I asked curiously.

  “I think he’s twenty-eight,” Ian replied nonchalantly.

  “Do you know long he’s been running this company?” I inquired, trying to put together some sort of timeline in my head.

  “Ah, let’s see. Just a year or two, I think. I just remember the press release when his dad retired and ran for some sort of office over in England. That’s when he took over,” he answered but seemed uncertain. “A lot of people thought he wasn’t ready because of his age. Nepotism and all that. But he’d worked his way up. The guy’s a business genius and handed the board their asses when he took over. Oh!”

  “What?” I asked as I whipped my head around. He patted my back quickly in excitement.

  “Tuna rolls. Be right back, Bree,” he said quickly as he chased down a waiter with a silver tray hoisted in the air.

  Ian was gone a while, but I didn’t talk to anyone except when someone would ask what year I graduated. Once they found out I didn’t go to Harvard, the conversation ended, which was fine by me. They seemed uptight with their scotch on the rocks and golf trips abroad. I looked around wondering what fulfilled them.

  “Ms. Valentine,” I heard a smooth voice that I recognized right away, and I don’t know why, but it made me smile really big.

  “Hi, Daniel,” I replied through my grin as I turned to see him standing next to me.

  He looked great in a charcoal gray suit and white shirt with no tie. And amazingly, he returned my smile-for-no-reason tenfold, all the way up to the eyes as he studied me. He was so good looking it almost hurt.