Forgive Us Our Trespasses

by M. L. Steinbrunn

  My blood boils with his insinuation that our separation is somehow my fault, and my temper rises to the surface. My hands shake, and my breathing hitches with words that are stuck in my constricting throat. When he reaches for me again, I unleash every emotion that I had been struggling to hold at bay.

  “You fucking lied to me!” I scream, shoving him away from me. My face is streaked with tears, but this time I let them fall, the salty drops occasionally slipping into my mouth, the taste only serving as a reminder of the pain he has caused. “I let myself fall in love with you not once, but twice, and both times you proved to be disloyal.” Finally gaining control of my voice, I step towards Brooks, jabbing my finger into his muscled chest. “You know what, Brooks? You’re right. I did make a mistake in regard to you. My error is not in walking away from you now, it was with ever trusting you with my heart in the first place.” Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes to avoid the hurt that I’m causing. I take a step back. “Please leave,” I exhale.

  I stand frozen, feet planted, eyes tightly shut. I feel Brooks kiss my forehead, and then nothing. I know before I open my eyes that I’m alone. My gut twists into knots when I open my eyes to see that Brooks did as I asked and left the bar.

  I forcefully wipe the remainder of tears from my rosy cheeks and head to the bar. I bypass every questioning pair of eyes and head directly to the bartender, the only man here that I actually want to see. I knew this evening would end with liquor and tears; I just didn’t figure on it happening so soon. The handsome young man behind the bar rushes to take my order, surprisingly remembering that I had ordered wine before.

  “Another moscato, doll?” He pauses for a second, taking in my appearance and then shakes his head. “May I suggest something a little stronger?”

  “Yes, please,” I say, nodding while attempting to fix the smeared mascara that I’m sure is plastered and smudged under my eyes–waterproof, my ass.

  The bartender turns to make my potent mystery concoction of future inebriated bliss, but pauses and turns back to the disheveled mess before him. “For what it’s worth, he’s obviously an ass,” he says, leaning across the bar in my direction so that his words are only for me. “And let me add that you look like one hell of a woman, and any guy that has the balls to make you cry should have them removed.”

  I let out a half-snort half-laugh and pat his hand. “Thank you, I needed that. Remind me to introduce you to my friend Jen. I think you two would get along great. One of her favorite pastimes is to threaten to damage the jewels of every breathing man.”

  “Well, if it’s warranted,” he laughs before returning to my drink.

  When he places the glass filled to the brim with electric green alcohol that looks like something out of Blake’s Ninja Turtle movies in front of me, I chug it down without a word, letting the burn of it slide down my throat until the fire spreads through my chest. I cough and gasp for breath, and I fan myself, trying to ease the burn. I finally get myself under control and give him the signal for another.

  “I think that should do the trick, love, but I figured you might want something else, so I made you something to chase it, but drink it slowly.”

  I grab the fruity-looking drink from the bar and take a sip. It is strong but delicious. I reach for my purse, but he reaches for my hand. “This was on me. I’ll just call it my good deed for the day,” he says with a smile.

  “Thank you,” I say, and when he nods and turns away from me, I slip a twenty across the bar and under his order book. I figure the kid brightened my dreary night; I can at least leave him a decent tip. I take one last guzzle of my frilly drink and head toward the firing squad waiting for me.

  Deer in headlights…that is the best way to describe the expressions staring back at me. I throw myself down onto the empty chair and glance around the table at a sea of purely-dumbfounded gazes. To their credit, they remain silent, letting me down more of my liquid courage before having to address our overly curious group.

  I see Jen’s leg bouncing violently under the table, and I know my reprieve is quickly dissipating. Swallowing one last gulp, I neatly place my drink on the table, square my shoulders, and let the alcohol takeover.

  “I found out his secret. I know now why he did everything he did in college.” I throw it out there so matter-of-factly that the looks of confusion remain in place.

  “Babe, we are going to need a little more than that,” Jen coddles. I can tell she is barely able to contain herself though; her fingers are hastily tapping on the tabletop, a sign of her impatience.

  I clear my throat and wiggle in my chair; the heat of the situation is causing me to sweat, and my comfort level is now at DEFCON 5. I wipe the moisture from my hands on a napkin on the table, and I begin to tear it into little shreds.

  “You’re killing us here; tell us the fucking story already!” We all turn to look at Carly, whose out-of-character outburst has taken us all by surprise. Her eyes widen, and her hand flies to her mouth to cover the verbal eruption. She slowly uncovers her lips and looks around the table, searching for forgiveness. “I just mean,” she stutters, “I…we are dying to find out what this is all about. Please stop stalling, and tell us what happened. We thought you guys had moved past everything and the relationship was good. We were all putting bets in on when you guys were getting engaged.”

  “Well, you can hang on to your Benjamins, ladies; I think this relationship might just be O-V-E-R.” I attempt to be nonchalant, but saying the words aloud slaps me in the face, and I feel the pain of its finality. As much as his dishonesty has injured me, I don’t think I can really let him go.

  Jen waves her hand, urging me to continue and clarify. I take another swig to numb my bruised heart, and inhale deeply to prepare for the next part of the story.

  “You all know that my father was killed when I was a little girl, right?” Everyone nods, but Jen scowls; the lines between her brows deepen and her lips purse.

  “Brooks’ dad was the one that killed him. He’s known since college, but never told me. Instead, he disappeared. This time, I guess he thought he could just keep it from me. But when his father showed up on his doorstep when I was there, his secret spilled out.”

  “That piece of shit!” Jen blurts out. “Get the supplies; it’s ball-busting time!”

  “Everyone, just calm down,” I snip. “I don’t think we need to go to that extreme.”

  “I don’t understand why he wouldn’t just tell you. I get that the situation sucked in every way, but why would he hide it? Especially if he wanted to marry you?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe he thought I’m too stupid to figure it out on my own, or maybe he thought I would never cross paths with Raymond Michaels, so it would never come up. Really, who knows? To be honest, I’m not sure I want to know at this point.”

  All of the previous confusion fades and a mixture of emotions stares back at me. Jen is obviously angry and ready for blood. She would defend me until the day I die, whether I was in the right or not, and I’m so thankful for a friend like her. Carly just looks sad; you would think I ran over her dog or something. She looks as crushed as I feel, and the sympathy is pouring out of her.

  Campbell, on the other hand, has been very silent. I’m sure that Jen caught her up on all of the drama while it played out in front of her, so there is no need to go through the back-story with her. She has always been the down-to-Earth, call-it-like-she-sees-it friend, who told you how it was, even if it meant that you were wrong or made you feel like shit. Love it or hate it about her, she always meant well. We are the only family she really has, and we love her like a sister. Her silence means she is overanalyzing the situation, and I’m probably not going to like her conclusion.

  “Okay, Cam, give it to me,” I sigh. “I know the gears in that head of yours are cranking, so give it to me.”

  She hesitates, which only makes me scoot farther towards the edge of my seat. She still hasn’t said anything to me, only given me a half-hearted smile, which
is Campbell code for, ‘you don’t want to hear what I’m going to say.’

  “Oh, shit, that bad? Just spit it out already,” Jen interrupts. I pin Jen with my eyes, silently scolding her for the interruption.

  “Sorry,” she mumbles and looks down at the table.

  “Look, I’m not sure I know the whole story here. It’s been a long time since there was ever a ‘you and Brooks’. After you were over, you planned your forever with Will, so this is all a little overwhelming for me.”

  I’m taken off-guard by the direction of her speech, and all I can manage is a slight nod.

  “No one ever would have thought that Will would die so young or that Brooks would enter your life again so soon after, but here you are widowed and in love with the man you–we all–swore to hate.”

  I adjust on the chair, ready to defend him, but she holds her hand up to stop my interjection. I’m not even sure what I would really say. What he’s done is not something to defend, but I don’t like the idea of people hating him, either. I certainly don’t hate him, angry with him, yes. If I’m being honest with myself, I still love the prick. But that doesn’t mean that I can pretend like he didn’t lie to me.

  “Viv, I’ve never shared a lot about my childhood with you guys. Jen probably knows the most, and even that is not a lot. Does that mean that I lied to you?”

  “No, of course not. Those are your stories to share, and we would never make you feel like you had to tell us anything.” I grab her hand, reassuring her of my feelings about her, and the horrible life she had bouncing around the foster care system.

  “I had some great fosters, and some monsters for fosters, but the thing about it is, I could control none of those situations. Some of the children of those monsters were the very ones that protected me from being hurt worse. It was what I endured, and am I proud of some of the things that happened? No. Do I tell people everything that happened to me? No. That doesn’t make me a liar; it makes me human.”

  “Of course, Cam, we love you. You’re like a sister to us, and we would never think differently of you because of what happened when you were younger. If you didn’t tell us, you had your reasons,” I add.

  “Campbell, hun, what does this have to do with Brooks?” Carly asks.

  Campbell huffs with annoyance at our slow uptake. “Seriously, guys, you don’t see where I’m going with this?”

  We all shake our heads.

  “Well, no fucking wonder you are in the position you’re in,” she sighs, which completely pisses me off. I knew I wasn’t going to like this conversation, but damn.

  “I knew it ten years ago, and I know it now. Brooks loves you, Vivian. That man would do anything in his power to protect you, even if it means hiding something from you in order to keep you from being hurt. Brooks didn’t tell you about his biological father because he wanted to guard you from the pain of knowing the truth that he struggled with. Right or wrong, his biggest fear is that you would judge him for something that he has no control over. When you found out, you ran; you proved every one of those fears correct.”

  Well, shit. That just makes me feel like a big piece of judgmental crap. Will always told me how important it was to consider the perspective of the other person and sometimes a person needs to judge the intention and not the action to understand a situation. This is a prime example, and I utterly failed.

  “Damn you, Campbell,” I say, finishing off my drink. “It was easier to just be mad at him.”

  She laughs and finally picks up her neglected gin and tonic to take a small sip. It’s a rarity to see Campbell drink; she usually orders a gin and tonic, but then nurses it all night long. It’s her way of being with all of us without drinking, which is something that makes her a little uncomfortable. I’ve never seen her intoxicated.

  “So you see, hun,” she says, placing the full drink back on the table. “Brooks didn’t tell you because he thought it would change how you feel about him. It’s the same reason why I don’t share my past with people. He wanted you two to have a happily ever after, and you knowing the truth could prevent that.”

  “Still, I think he should have told her,” Carly adds. “How do you have a relationship without being completely honest with the other person? That doesn’t seem fair.”

  Carly’s thoughts were exactly where I was at before this conversation. Campbell was right. Brooks was just trying to protect both of our hearts. His tattoo is all about seeking forgiveness, and all this time I figured it was only about the faking-cheating-disappearing act he put together in college. Really, it’s more than that. It’s about me forgiving who he is; it’s about me accepting him, even with the father that he has. This entire time he has been silently begging me to save him, but instead, I let him drown.

  Well, fuck that. I’m done being the weak one. It’s time for a grown-up Vivian; one that will eat alone at a restaurant, one that will finally confront the man that killed her father, and one that won’t quietly let this relationship slip through her fingers. If Brooks needs a life preserver, I’m going to bring the whole damned Armada.

  I feel my breathing pick up and my face flush. This determination thing is sending my heart rate into dangerous levels. Before anyone can answer Carly, I push back my chair and jump down from the stool. I grab Campbell and squeeze tightly, whispering a heartfelt thank you in her ear before pulling away.

  “What are you doing? Where are you going?” Jen asks as I gather my purse.

  “I have a lot to get done for what I plan on doing tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll call you.” I blow them a kiss and turn to rush into the crowd, towards the door.

  Saturday

  Vivian

  It took every bit of willpower not to text Brooks back last night after we both left the bar. I shoved my phone between my mattresses and then continued to toss and turn throughout the night with his words rolling around in my head. When I woke up this morning, it took an entire pot of coffee to revive myself from the dead. I busied myself with as many activities as possible throughout the morning; I made the kids chocolate chip pancakes, we went to an early movie, and Amanda even went with us out to lunch. Now I’m sitting outside a place I never thought I’d be, waiting for a person I never in a million years ever wanted to talk to.

  It took over an hour to get to the United Postal Service distribution center in Commerce City. Raymond rides the RTD from the halfway house in Greeley to his job here each day. Apparently, the company is very selective when hiring prior felons, but because of the degree he earned and the mentoring work he did while incarcerated, he was hired, but with a longer work probationary period. The terms of his parole are extremely strict; missing the bus, missing work, having holes in his schedule that have not been cleared through his parole officer or half-way house supervisor will result in a violation of his parole, and would mean more prison time. So far, he has stayed in line.

  I found out from a little internet research on the UPS website what the shift schedules are, and after pretending to be his daughter-in-law when I called the halfway house, I know Raymond will be getting off work at four in the afternoon, and will have to run to catch the bus home that leaves Commerce City by 4:15. So here I sit, in front of the huge warehouse in my freezing car waiting for the man of my childhood nightmares, Raymond Michaels.

  My eyes bounce from my phone screen at Brooks’ text, to the employee entrance. I’m not even sure why I keep looking at it; the words are burned into my memory. “I’m sorry for everything. I will never stop loving you.” I suppose that seeing the words gives me the push I need to remain here waiting for Raymond; they keep me from chickening out.

  Last night Campbell made me realize how in love with Brooks I am, and that our connection through our fathers has nothing to do with how we feel about each other. The second he found out the truth, he tried to protect me from knowing it, because he thought keeping me in the dark was the best way to protect me. He had taken on the guilt of his father’s sins and hid it from me out of fear of rejec
tion. Now it’s my turn to fix this, make him see that I love him no matter who his father is.

  The first step, though, is confronting Raymond, and finding out the actual truth about what happened between him and my father. I can’t go to Brooks until I make peace with that situation for myself first. I know that I can’t just show up to his residence without prior approval, and him riding in my car would also be against the rules, so I plan to follow him and sit next to him on the bus. That gives me at least an hour to talk to him. That’s pretty much as far as I got in the planning process. I’m not sure what to do if he refuses to talk to me.

  When Raymond walks out the doors, he looks tired and haggard, not only from a hard day’s work, but I’m sure from a rough life in general. I can see his breath in the cool air, and he zips up his jacket, throwing the hood over his head to shield himself from the gusty frozen winds. He begins to walk towards the park and ride area, so I quickly grab my purse and tighten my scarf before jumping out of the car.

  I shiver from the cold temperatures for a moment before the adrenaline takes over. I take off in the direction that Raymond is walking, making sure to stay at a safe distance. I don’t want him to notice me before we get on the bus. If he has the chance to run from me, I’m afraid he will.

  My pace quickens from the anticipation, and I have to remind myself to slow down. I struggle to catch my breath as I get in line to buy a bus pass. Note to self: work a little more cardio into the daily workout, because I look and feel pretty pitiful right now. I see Raymond board the bus, but I hang back with the crowd, slipping on through the back doors. I scan the mass of people, and when I find him sitting alone, I wait until the bus begins to move before I approach. He doesn’t seem to notice me, nor does he pay me any attention when I sit down next to him as nonchalantly as possible.