1929

by M. L. Gardner

  “Aryl, we’re having a baby,” she said monotone and sarcastic.

  He threw his head up with eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. “What?” he asked and stared at her with a ridiculous expression that made her laugh. “I . . . just . . . never saw this coming! I mean, how? Okay, well, I know how, but when? When will it be here? What will we name it?” He rolled onto his back and put his hands on his head. “There’s so much to do. We have to get to work. No, you rest, I’ll work.” He flipped to his side and felt her head, patting all over her face and neck. “How are you feeling? Are you sick? Hungry? You’re not in pain, are you?”

  She was giggling hysterically now, and just as he launched into another outburst, she put her hand over his mouth.

  “Aryl, stop.” He froze, watching her flat expression as it melted into a smile. “Thank you. That was very entertaining. And sweet.”

  “I’m sorry it didn’t happen the way you wanted it to,” he said. She looked around the room, recounting at lightning speed the whirlwind her life had been since the first time they were here.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered. “But your mother!” She laughed a low, evil laugh. “I’m going to find a way to get her back for this.”

  ∞∞∞

  “The wind is really picking up,” Jonathan said casually, glancing at the window over the sink. Jonathan Sr. had excused himself to bed and Margaret followed, leaving Ava and Jonathan at the table.

  “It is. Think we’ll lose the lights?” She picked at the tablecloth and felt the sudden apprehension in the air. Jonathan shrugged and stared into the doorway of the dark living room.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t make it to the movie house.”

  “I guess we shouldn’t spend any money anyway, under the new circumstances.” She sighed in resignation.

  He leaned his head back, speaking into the air. “I’m sorry. Just when things were starting to look up.”

  “What did he mean, Jonathan?” He tensed, crossed his arms, and took a deep breath.

  “He’s just upset, in shock, talking nonsense.” He wouldn’t look at her but felt her eyes boring into him. He prayed silently she would let it pass. A month ago, he was prepared to tell her everything, if he had to–if it meant her emerging from behind her brick wall. But now, for reasons he didn’t understand, he wanted to bury it back down, forget about it. He didn’t want to explain himself, especially during what should have been a relaxing and romantic weekend.

  “If he was talking nonsense, why did he apologize to you? The look on his face, he knew he messed up, and his apology was directed at you. Ending up in a bathtub?” She looked at him confused. “Why would he be sorry to you for saying that?” His eyes focused on the rose print of the tablecloth.

  “I’m not sure I want to go into it tonight,” he said, almost pleading, but acknowledging to himself that he would, at some point, have to go into it.

  “So, there is something else you haven’t told me.” She crossed her arms, staring into her lap. “How many times has this happened,” she said sarcastically. “Honestly, I should be used to it by now.”

  “There’s just this. And one other thing. But neither one is what you think.”

  “Two things. Wonderful. Then why don’t you enlighten me, so I don’t assume the worst.”

  He pulled a quarter out of his pocket and flipped it in the air.

  “What are you doing?” She looked at him, irritated. It was getting late, her plans for the evening were ruined, and now he wanted to play games.

  “Heads or tails. I’m letting fate decide what to talk to you about first,” he said. “We might as well get it all out, I suppose, so tomorrow we can try to have a nice day.” He raised his hand to peek. “Shit. All right, let’s do that one first.” He sighed in resignation and rose. “I’ll be right back.”

  He left the room, took the stairs with sluggish steps, and rustled around upstairs. A moment later, he returned with an envelope.

  “I was saving this for the right time. I’m not sure when that was ever going to be. I guess now’s as good a time as any.” He turned it over and she strained to see the feminine script on the front of it. He pulled out a smaller envelope from inside and placed it in front of her. “I found this in the trunk of Jean’s things when we got the telegram. There was a letter addressed to me, asking me to give this to you when you were ready. I’m not sure what she meant by ready, but here it is.”

  She looked up from the letter at Jonathan as if she had been stabbed. “It’s from . . . her?”

  “I guess there are things she needed to say to you.”

  Ava didn’t break her expression of disbelief. “Oh, I’ll bet there are. Only now, she’s dead and I can’t have my say in return.” She shoved the letter across the table. “I won’t have a one-sided conversation.”

  “Ava, please.”

  “No!” she screamed suddenly. “No more Ava, please!” she spit the words mockingly. “Every time I turn around you’re saying Ava, please. And I’m done.” She shoved her chair back and stood up, glaring down at him. “No. This time, it’s Jonathan, please. Jonathan, please understand that I am sick and tired of your past haunting me. I had nothing to do with it, and it’s not fair that it’s wormed its way into our marriage and ruined my life.”

  “I hardly think it’s ruined your life.”

  “It’s my turn to talk, Jonathan!” He recoiled slightly as she screeched at him. “Your past, everything from who you slept with to how you ran your business has affected me, and all you can say is ‘Ava please’. I’m forced to cope with the fallout of every decision you have ever made, things I never had a choice about and then!” She laughed, short and maniacally. “I have your bastard son to suddenly contend with.” Anger flashed deep in his eyes. “Someone that will always remind me, and you, for that matter, of her. I have to be reminded every day of the other woman you loved. And now you want me to read a letter from her. I will not, Jonathan. You can go straight to hell.” He opened his mouth to counter but she had only paused to take a breath. He folded his arms and tilted his head to the side, waiting for her to finish. “I lost everything with you, I lived in that horrible tenement with you, waiting for Victor to torture us, scared of what he’d do next, I stood by you while you crumpled into someone who didn’t care about anything anymore, I took care of you when you were attacked, I half-starved with you and every day I told myself that you were going to snap out of it. You were going to fix everything and be the hero that you love to be. It didn’t once cross my mind to abandon you!” Fury was boiling through her, months of repressed anger and frustration welling to the top, causing words to spill over without concern for their consequences. She walked over to the sink. He raised his head, yelling at her back.

  “Yes, it did! You said you were going to Maura’s after Christmas. But she wouldn’t take you in, so you stayed. Don’t act like you did me a favor by staying, you had nowhere else to go!” He looked away and bit his lip with instant regret. Without thinking, she spun around, picked up a plate from the drain board, and hurled it across the kitchen. It shattered against the wall with a thunderous crash, shards of ceramic flying in all directions. He ducked, covering his head. Her breath was ragged with adrenaline, fuming with rage, trying to arrange the most hurtful words possible.

  “I could have gone back to him,” she snarled. “To Victor. He would have taken me in, even if only to finally beat you at something.” She spoke slowly, seething. He was utterly shocked and instantly enraged. His hand curled around the sugar bowl and hurled it across the room, leaving a gash in the plaster by the kitchen window.

  “How dare you!” he roared. “You would be a whore for him, wouldn’t you? Yet you condemn Elyse for caring about me!” He stood, absentmindedly groping for something else to throw. Both fully consumed by deep hurt and irrational rage, there was only one mission now and that was to hurt the other as mortally as possible.

  Jonathan Sr. poked his head in the doorway with frighten
ed concern. “Jon. Everything okay?” he asked timidly.

  “No!” he yelled at him. “Everything is definitely not okay.” He went back to staring at Ava with revulsion. “Go away and leave us alone.” They stared intently at each other with narrow, hate-filled eyes that dared the other to speak, or look away.

  “Take it back,” Jonathan ordered with a low voice, thick with warning. “Take your words back before everything we have is destroyed.”

  “I’ll take it back, if you send him back,” she challenged unreasonably.

  “I’m not sending him back. He’s my son and I love him!” The words surprised both of them. In his own heart and mind, he had admitted to growing fond of Jean, forging a bond, and even beginning to feel fiercely protective of him. But he hadn’t admitted, until this moment, that he loved him. He sat down hard in the chair and lowered his head. “I love him,” he repeated. “And he’s staying with me.” His slightly shocked but resigned expression told her this was no longer negotiable.

  “And what if I said it’s me or him, Jonathan? Who would you choose?”

  “You wouldn’t make me choose. You’re angry, you’re pregnant, and your emotions are running high.” He looked down, his fury somewhat diffused from those realizations.

  “You’d choose him,” she whispered. He shook his head slowly.

  “It would be an impossible choice, Ava.” He rested his arms on his knees and hung his head down, closing his eyes, suddenly very tired.

  “Tell me, Jonathan,” she started, “after Elyse, Ruth, Jean, and even Aryl and Caleb, is there anyone else you love more than me? Just so I can place myself in the proper pecking order.”

  He sighed heavily, feeling frustration welling up again.

  “Elyse is dead and I never loved her like you think I did. Ruth, I didn’t really care about in the first place. Jean is my son and I’ll protect him like I protect you, or from you, if necessary. And leave my friends out of this. Especially Aryl.”

  “Even him before me?” She looked around in disbelief. “I had no idea I ranked so low.” He sprung from the chair, a split second later an inch from her face, gripping her shoulders.

  “There is nothing I love more than you. Nothing!” he said through his teeth. “But you don’t believe me, do you? You want me to prove it? I guess there’s only one way to do that.” He took a step back, yanked up his sleeve, and thrust his wrist in her face. “Christmas Eve. While you all were walking to Maura’s, warm with hot buttered rum, I was sitting in the bathtub with a razor to my wrist. That’s what my Dad meant, Ava. I had completely given up. I wanted to die so badly and was within a few seconds of accomplishing that when Aryl found me.”

  Her mouth fell open, all the rage drained away as she stared at the thin white scar in shock while he spoke. “At first, nothing he said made a difference. In fact, while he was rattling on, I had decided to move the razor to my throat and pull very quickly because that way there would be no time for him to save me.” He winced at the memory before going on. “But then he talked about you. See, I thought you’d be better off without me. Thought I was doing you a favor. He didn’t mention you to convince me that you needed me or even that you loved me, after all I had put you through. He worked an angle he knew would get my attention. He told me that if I did it, he would take you to Victor. That he would hand you over to him the first chance he got. His act was very convincing. That’s the only thing that stopped me.” He stared at her eyes, which were fixed on the scar, brimming with tears. “He pulled me out of that bathtub, and I did what he asked of me. I put one foot in front of the other and kept going. That’s what I did until I gradually returned to myself. But you.” He lowered his arm, sliding the sleeve over it. “You were the only thing to pull me back.” She reached down and circled the wrist with her fingers as she contemplated his words. “The thought of him taking you to Victor . . . And then you threaten me with the same thing.” He yanked his wrist from her grip and glared at her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, refusing to look him in the eyes.

  “You should be.” He walked back to the table and sat down hard, leaning his elbows on the table, holding his head in his hands.

  The wind had begun to blow in small gusts and the tip of a tree branch scraped against the windowpane. The noise sent shivers up Ava’s spine as she stood against the sink, wiping tears. He took deep, ragged breaths and touched his own eyes discreetly.

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh, “for everything.” She stared at his bent head, unsure of what to say. Too much had happened for her to just tell him it’s okay and be done with it. She wanted to comfort him. He looked remorseful enough, but she willed herself against the sink, determined to hash this out so she’d never have to hear another ‘Ava, please’. He sniffled and wiped his face with both hands. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “All I ever tried to do is protect you. From everything. Seems like everything I tried to protect you from found a way around me and hurt you anyway.”

  “If you had just told me everything from the start, Jonathan.”

  “I know. You’re right. I should have talked to you when I saw everything start to fall apart. I should have told you who we had to rent from.”

  “That would have been better than the way I found out.” She nodded in agreement. He sighed, recalling their first major fight and then quickly shook his head.

  “No. I never should have agreed to it. Even if it meant leaving our friends and moving you here, that’s what I should have done. Found something else or brought you to Rockport. I should have thought more of you when we were there,” he continued. “I got lost in my own self-pity, and I’m sorry.”

  “It was a bad time for us all, Jonathan,” she said quietly.

  “No, I was selfish. I should have told you about Elyse, too. I just didn’t want you to think badly of me. It was an odd arrangement, I admit. But most importantly, I didn’t want you to know because I never wanted you to feel like you had to compete or weren’t good enough.”

  “It would be hard for any woman to not feel less than average standing next to her,” Ava said with a hint of venom.

  “Only for the reason that you don’t see what I see,” he said, looking up at her with tired eyes. “There is no competition. And I should have told you about Ruth.” He leaned back, folded his arms, and stared at the tablecloth. “I can’t begin to tell you how unimportant she was, Ava. I explained why I didn’t mention her when we first met, but I should have told you later.” All she could do was nod, suddenly exhausted and unable to hold onto her burning anger with her husband pouring his heart out. “I didn’t know about Jean, so there is no way I could have warned you about that,” he said with a helpless shrug. Some of the anger she thought she was too tired to feel returned with a vengeance, and her ears burned red. She opened her mouth with a string of hurtful words at the ready. “But I should have talked to you before deciding to keep him,” he said, before she could hurl them across the room.

  “Yes, you should have,” she said firmly.

  “And about my grandfathers.” He sighed long and hard. “There’s so much I should have done, and I’m sorry.” He stood and walked over to her, wrapped his arms around her slowly and buried his face in her hair. Her folded arms stayed wedged between them, her body slightly rigid as he slowly rocked her.

  “Please forgive me,” he whispered. Ava blinked away tears, unfolded her arms, and placed her hands lightly on his waist. A strike of lightning lit the room with an intense flash and a deafening thunderclap overhead shook the house. Jonathan instinctively pulled her closer and then laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder.

  “I just keep doing it. Trying to protect you, I mean. I’d throw myself in front of a bolt of lightning for you, you know.” She meant her laugh to be endearing, but it came out as a scoff.

  “If you didn’t push me in front of it first,” he added with a twitch of his lips. He moved, his eyes closed and bent h
is head to rest his forehead on hers. “I love you so much, Ava.”

  “There are things you can protect me from, Jon. And I want you to when it’s needed. I love that about you. You’ve always been there, standing in front of me, strong and confident.” Her hands moved over his shoulders, taking a moment to enjoy the depth and width of them. She covered every inch of them and then she rested her hands, fingers spread wide, over his chest. “But you can’t protect me from everything.”

  “But I want to. I need to,” he admitted with a whisper. He hugged and rocked her again, holding her so tight she could scarcely breathe. Suddenly, his eyes flew open.

  “I thought of something I should tell you,” he said hesitantly and felt her stiffen under his arms. “But it’s not what you think. It’s nothing really, I just don’t want you to hear about it later and be angry or think something else of it.” She wiggled out of his hold and stood back, staring at him, braced and ready. He held the hands she kept rigid at her side. “Before you, on one of the trips to Paris, well, you know by now what an outrageous mess Arianna was. One night we were all playing cards with a handful of clients. We were intoxicated, but Arianna was way ahead of us as usual. I excused myself to the restroom and when I came back to the table, she, well, she was topless. Dancing. I saw, well, the whole room saw her–” he glanced down at his chest. “I didn’t mean to,” he said in his own defense.

  Ava stared at him expressionless and then her face cracked into a smile, and then a laugh. A small wave of relief washed over his weary face.

  “I can hardly blame you for that, Jonathan,” she said. “I’m sure half of Paris has seen Arianna’s breasts.” He laughed lightly, nodding in agreement, and gave her a sheepish grin.

  “Yours are nicer,” he whispered. Her lips twitched in appreciation, her eyes flickered up to his, then away. They were surrounded by awkward silence again, and she shifted her weight uncomfortably with a sigh. “Let’s go to bed,” he suggested with a slight tug of her arm.