I turn around to see Brooks cross the kitchen, his usual confident demeanor slightly back into place; his illness or anxiety or whatever he had going on seems to be lessening. “Well hello, handsome, you look like you’re feeling better.”
He wipes his brow, but then smiles. “Yeah, I’m fine, really. Do you need any help in here with dinner?” he asks as he leans against the island worktop.
I hover over the opposite side of the island, reaching in until my lips find his. I give him a chaste but heartening kiss, one that signals my devotion, and that screams reassurance. I slowly move back to my side of the countertop and entangle my fingers with his, which are clawing into the granite. “I’ve got everything under control in here; why don’t you relax? You seem wound tight tonight. Is everything going well at work?”
He tilts his head to the side incredulously. “Work?” he laughs. “Work is fine; we actually just closed a multi-million dollar deal this week, and I was thinking of asking Amanda to do some of the advertising and public relations with the project.”
“She’s been very busy, but I’m sure she would be interested.” I pause for a moment, trying desperately to see into the eyes of the man before me. I attempt to read what’s plaguing him.
Brooks steps around the corner and draws me to him, his firm arms winding around my waist. “I know I seem a little off, but I promise, there isn’t anything wrong. I’m planning a surprise for you and the kids, and I’m just a little nervous that I won’t be able to arrange everything, but I promise there is nothing wrong, all right?”
I let my eyes penetrate his crystal blue irises, looking for any ounce of deceit, but there is nothing evident. I relax into his arms and sigh. “Okay, but if something was wrong, you would tell me, right?”
“Of course, I don’t want to ever keep things from you, if I can help it,” he says as he bends down to kiss my lips. My tension releases and I melt into his arms. He finally pulls away, but I follow his lips, searching for more contact. He laughs and plants a soft kiss on my forehead before breaking away completely.
“I’m going to go outside with the kids; I need to talk to them about something. Holler out if you need me for anything.” He grabs my waist once more and yanks me towards him, causing me to stumble into him. “I need a little more of you before I go,” he whispers in my ear before crashing down on my lips.
The gentle, soft Brooks is gone, replaced with my urgent and greedy man. He took everything that I was willing to give and still searched for more. Chaste and overpowering, when he finally pulled away and walked out the backdoor like nothing had occurred, I was left fighting to catch my breath, my lips tingling and swollen, my stomach’s butterflies in hyper speed. The man could make me go from zero to one hundred in a matter of seconds with only a look, and damn if I didn’t love him for it.
I slowly make my way to the fridge, my wobbly legs struggling to aid in the task. Gathering the tomatoes and lettuce to garnish our Mexican feast, I take them to the sink to prep them, but my actions are halted when I see Brooks with the children outside. I watch out the window at my boys playing catch with a football, and the girls standing to the side cheering them on. I can’t help but smile at the thought of how this really could be our life if we took the next steps forward.
I know I really love Brooks, and I can see a future with him but, there are still unanswered questions for me–questions that I have been too afraid to ask. I have never pried about what happened between us ten years ago. He’s never told me why he not only led me to believe that he cheated, but then left school completely. At the end of the semester, I assumed he transferred, and I had heard that it was to the University of Northern Colorado, which was only a town away in Greeley, but those were only rumors.
Not discussing it and not revealing the old secrets has allowed my mind to run rampant as to why he would do it. Thoughts of a drug problem and Brooks checking into a rehab center were at the top of the list. However, when I really think back, I did not see any signs of drug use. He acted strange towards the end, but nothing that led me to believe he was doing drugs.
I desperately want to let it go, pretend that it does not matter. I know I have already forgiven him for his actions, and I know he was trying to protect me from whatever it was he was hiding. No matter how hard I try, though, the thoughts of what could have caused his extreme behavior nags at my brain like nails on a chalkboard. It’s preventing me from completely wanting to take the next step. He says the issues of the past are gone, but what worries me more is that he’s never taken it upon himself to explain what happened. Maybe I’m overreacting, and maybe I’m acting too much like an emotional girl, or maybe the foreboding feeling I have about the situation should push me to be strong enough to ask him. More than anything, I need him to tell me on his own accord. I don’t want to have to ask; I want him to want to tell me.
I look out the window once more while I shake the vegetables dry from the thorough rinsing I had given them. My worries ease as I glance out at the sight of Brooks huddled in a circle with all three kids. The way that he is with them tugs at my heart, he has stepped in to fill the hole that Will left behind. No matter what he’s hiding, I’ll still always be grateful for how he treats my children. He has taken them in like his own, loving them no different than Grace.
It is almost unbearably cold outside this afternoon. While the sun is still out providing slight warmth, a cold front has made its way through the state in preparation for a wintery Thanksgiving. The evergreens are the only trees with needles or leaves left on them, and other than the occasional deer you might see on Brooks’ property, wildlife was pretty scarce. The chill is taking effect, and Brooks attempts to warm the girls by wrapping his arms around them both. They are all bundled in coats and hats, but Grace’s wide grin can still be spotted from under the mountain of fleece.
All three are intently listening to whatever story Brooks is sharing with them, but Grace’s smirk leads me to believe that she knows the tale already. I finally see Blake nod and Emma throw her arms around Brooks, knocking him back into the dead dry grass.
Feeling like I’m eavesdropping on a special moment, I turn from the window to begin chopping the vegetables on the cutting board laid out on the center island. Slicing my way through a tomato, I continue my assault on the lettuce, careful not to chop off a finger. I’m not exactly handy with a knife. The laughter from outside fills the atmosphere once more and I can’t help but feel the warmth of the situation, even with the glitches that it contains.
Bringing my knife up to settle on the top of the head of lettuce, my blade stops when the sound of the doorbell reverberates through the house. I consider stepping outside to let Brooks know, but I decide not to interrupt the special time he’s having. So instead, I set the butcher knife down carefully on the counter and head towards the front door.
I brush off any wayward food from my shirt, and wipe my hands on my jeans before reaching for the latches on the door. The solid oak door is heavy, and I have to use effort to even open it. Standing on the steps is Brooks, thirty years from now. The tall man before me is slim and has a haggard appearance, but the resemblance is undeniable; he without a doubt is related to Brooks. The dark hair that has sprinkles of white mixed throughout, and the same sapphire eyes that I love are peering back at me. I feel like I should know who he is; he seems familiar to me, but I can’t place him.
He looks nervous, shifting from one foot to the next, his hands deep in his pockets. “I’m sorry to bother you, miss,” he says, almost stuttering the words.
“Oh, no worries at all, sir, what can I help you with?” I ask. I try to alleviate some of his apprehension.
“Um, I believe my son lives here, Brooks Ryan. I was hoping to speak with him.”
Brooks has never shared much of his family dynamic with me, and this situation has caught me off guard. But I try to hide my confusion. I know that his mother and stepfather raised him, but I have never met either of them; Lakin is the only family me
mber that I’ve ever met. I really have no idea whether this possible reunion will be a happy one or not. I haven’t talked to Brooks about the situation surrounding his real father since college.
I swallow down the hesitation that is settling in my stomach like a pile of rocks. Giving the tired man before me one more once-over, I hold the door open further and ask him to come inside. “Please, let me take your jacket. Can I offer you anything to drink before I go get Brooks?” I ask closing the door.
“No thank you, I’m just hoping to speak with him,” he says, handing over his dingy blue coat that’s lined with wool; it’s obviously warm, but has definitely seen better days. The rest of his clothes look relatively new, dark jeans and a green flannel button down shirt. I get the feeling that this is his version of dressy and he’s gone to the trouble for just this occasion.
I hang his jacket on the coat hooks in the entry hallway and lead him into the living room. I look over my shoulder to ask if Brooks was expecting him.
“No, miss, I haven’t seen him in many years, and I’ve tried contacting him recently, but I could never reach him. I thought my only chance would be to show up here. I don’t want to cause any problems; I just wanted to see him.” His voice tapers off at the end; his gait slouched in defeat. I don’t know why they don’t have a relationship, and it’s not my place to meddle, but in this moment, I feel pity for both of them to have missed out on the bond that a son shares with his father.
I gesture for him to take a seat on the couch, and he obliges. I stay standing, ready to gather everyone from outside. Dinner has to be close to being ready, so I’ll keep the kids in the kitchen with me while Brooks and his dad discuss whatever he came here for. I turn to leave, realizing that I hadn’t even asked him his name. I face him once more.
“I’m sorry; I’ve completely lost my manners,” I say, reaching for his hand. “My name is Vivian; I don’t believe I caught yours.”
He smiles at me and lets his hand meet mine. “Nice to meet you; my name is Raymond. Raymond Michaels.”
As the name that has been embedded in my mind my entire life rolls off his tongue, I feel my body go completely rigid. Everything clicks into place as images of the mug shots, police line-up, and evidence photos flood my mind. He’s older and rougher around the edges, but I can now see the man from those photos in the man sitting before me. Every bit of my air is knocked out of my lungs, and I can feel the color drain from my face. The knots in my stomach feel like boulders weighing me down, and I try to hold myself up, but my shaky legs give out and I stumble backwards, hitting the arm of the couch, gripping it to steady myself.
Over the last month, I had given a lot of thought to this moment. What would I do if I ever came in contact with this man? What would I have the courage to say? I would pride myself on keeping my emotions in check. But with the realization that the monster of my childhood is not only in Brooks’ house, but is also his father, all of the bravery dissipates and I feel the overwhelming need to flee.
Raymond begins to stand, sensing my discomfort. “Vivian, are you all right; are you ill?” he asks, taking a step forward.
My knuckles are white, the upholstery straining under my vice-like grip. I try to compose myself by taking a deep breath. I move quickly before he can close any more of the distance between us. “I’m fine, just got a little dizzy. Let me go get Brooks for you.”
“Thank you, dear, it really was nice to meet you. You seem lovely.”
I simply nod; any words I have saved for this man fail to make it past my lips. I turn and rush into the kitchen. Without checking dinner, I shut off the oven and then open the backdoor.
“Brooks, you need to come inside; you have a visitor waiting for you. Kids, come on in; we need to go home.” I try to yell, but my voice is strained by the tears I’m keeping at bay.
Everyone turns to look at me in confusion. “Who could possibly be here?” Brooks says as the kids groan. “Do we really have to leave? We haven’t even gotten to eat dinner, and Brooks has a big surprise for you,” Blake adds.
Brooks gives him a stern look that relays the message, ‘say one more word and you’ll regret opening your mouth.’ I ignore them all, solely focusing on my objective of getting the hell out of this house and away from Brooks, who intentionally kept this information from me. I feel betrayed–again–and this time I’m not sure if I can forgive him.
“What’s going on? Who’s here, Viv; why do you guys need to leave?” Brooks implores, stepping in the direction of the house.
My emotions are hanging on by a thread, and when the final fiber breaks, my composure melts away. “Stop asking questions!” I shout. “Blake and Emma, get in this house; we need to leave now.” The children startle at my outburst, but Brooks glides towards me. He captures the backs of my arms just as a sob breaks free, and I quickly cover it with the back of my hand. I feel his eyes roaming my face, looking for an explanation, but I refuse to let my eyes meet his.
“Please,” he murmurs. “What’s going on?” The pleading in his voice feels like sandpaper scraping against my skin. I push away from him, out of the arms that have made me feel safe; away from the man that I love that has once again broken my heart.
The children move past us and into the kitchen; once they are beyond earshot, I finally make eye contact with Brooks. “I think you know why I’m leaving.” I try to be strong and confident with each word, but as the sentence tumbles from my lips, my voice sounds like a mere whisper.
His eyes widen when he realizes I’ve discovered his secret. He takes a step forward, trying in vain to reach for me once again. “No, please no!” he says as I move away from his grasp. “Please, let me explain; please don’t go.”
Swallowing down every bit of hesitation, I turn away from my defeated man. “I’ll take Grace with me; she doesn’t need to be here right now. I’ll call Katie and have her pick her up in the morning.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Brooks’ head down, his beaten posture slouched. He slightly nods, but I don’t move right away. I stand still, just looking at him for a moment, contemplating the gravity of the situation. I feel myself questioning my decision to leave him, to walk out the door. Can I really walk away? The reasons for his decade-long betrayal seep into my mind. Did he do it because of his love for me, or because of his fear of me not understanding?
Brooks brings his hands to his face, rubbing his palms harshly across his evening stubble. When he finally looks up to see me still standing there, my mind snaps back into the present. Finding my voice, steady and strong, I address him once last time. “When the lies run, Brooks, I hope the truth finally sets you free.” Before he can speak, I turn on my heel, briskly leaving the kitchen.
Brooks doesn’t follow me, and I don’t bother going back into the living room to give my goodbyes. I meet the kids at the door where all three have congregated. I let Grace know she’s staying at our house instead, and we all leave. It’s not until I hear the click of the door behind me that I finally let my tears run down my cheeks. I walk away from the house, believing I’m walking away from love.
Brooks
I hear the slam of the front door, leaving a silence throughout the house that blows a hole into my heart, exploding it into a million little pieces. I expected a desolate sadness, or even numbness to overtake my body; instead I feel a boiling anger flow through my veins, heating my skin and causing my heart to pound out of my chest.
I pace the kitchen, trying to calm down from the shaking tremors that are wracking my body. Realizing that nothing is easing my torment, I travel towards the living room where my demons await. I have been running from this exact situation since I found out about my true identity, and I know there isn’t a damn thing that will change until I finally face the fact that this man is my father, and his sins have been what have kept me from the only woman that I’ve ever loved.
I walk through the threshold and see my same eyes peer back at me. My father looks worn, looks beaten, and I can’t help but
think that this could be me if I don’t fix this. Alone, a pathetic existence that regrets every fucking moment of their life; I can’t let that be me. As much as I want to feel bad for him, all I feel is disdain and rage. As much as I know that he and I are both to blame for Vivian leaving, I’m not ready to accept my role just yet.
“Did everyone leave on my account?” Raymond asks. I refuse to acknowledge that this man is my father.
“Yes,” I snarl. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I haven’t moved any closer to him, nor has he moved from his station on the couch, both of us unsure how to proceed. My hands are firmly stuffed into my pockets, but my eyes are narrowed directly at his. If he had any question whether I would warmly receive him into my house, he surely knows the answer by now.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, son, I…” My hands fly out of my pockets, and before I realize that I’m even moving, I’m across the room and picking him up off the couch by the collar of his shirt. Slamming him into the nearest wall, I hear his head thud against the sheetrock. I hold him still, letting my forearm forcefully meet his throat. I feel his Adam’s apple wobble under my grip. His eyes widen, and as he struggles for breath, his hands wrap around my arm to create a wedge. I don’t loosen my grip; I slam him harder into the wall.
“I’m not your son. You haven’t earned the title of Father. Everything you do turns to shit, and I don’t want anything to do with you. I considered it ten years ago, and I lost everything because of that decision. I will not make the same mistake twice. Not when I’m so close to having everything I’ve ever wanted. And at no point were you ever part of that equation.”
Raymond stops struggling against my hold, and I relax my arm. “I’m sorry to have come here; I will never bother you again.” His voice is raspy and ragged; his eyes tell me he understands that I want nothing from him.
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