by Julia Blues
“Your gums.” I plop back down on the couch. Spot so warm you’d think it was on fire.
“Funny.” He lifts the lid to the pizza box sitting on the coffee table. “Man, this thing looks like it was made by Fred Flintstone.”
The pizza went untouched. Sausage so dried and hard you’d think they were pebbles stuck in sheetrock. An unopened Budweiser sits next to it.
Andrew closes the pizza box and picks up my cell phone. “No wonder you’ve been missing calls.”
I grab my phone from him, stuff it between the seat cushion. “You got me now. What’s up?”
He looks at me for the first time since walking through the door. “I should be asking you. Everything all right?”
I nod.
He shakes his head. “Now you know I’m the last person you can lie to.”
If only he knew. I slide the papers over to the edge of the table.
My brother picks them up, flips through the pages, sees Rene’s signature. He sits on the couch with a hard thud, makes me bounce. “Wasn’t expecting that.”
I take them from his hand, rip the pages in half. “Wasn’t expecting that either.”
He looks at the ripped pages. “So, what are you going to do? Keep fighting? Is it even worth it anymore?”
I tell him what she told me. Tell him, “Man, don’t know what I’m going to do at this point. Cancer changes everything.”
Both of us lean back on the couch, press our heads into the cushion. Stare up at the ceiling.
First I lost my son, then I lost my wife. Now I’m really losing my wife. All this time, I’ve been walking around like I was the victim. Had my head held low because my wife wasn’t giving me the attention a husband deserves. I’ve been selfish. My wife’s been dying in front of me, but my ego blinded me from the truth. What kind of husband have I been?
The vibration from Andrew’s pocket steals the silence away from this room.
“Negative.”
“What’s that?”
He stuffs the phone back in his pocket. “Mel’s not pregnant.”
“Sorry to hear that, man. I know how much you wanted to be a father by now.”
“Yeah. But I’m beginning to think it’s just not in the cards for us. I mean, it’s been the same story every month now for ten, eleven years. It’s draining.”
“Literally,” I add.
That gets us both to smile.
Twins. Born minutes apart, both of our marriages falling apart.
“That too, but emotionally, I can’t take anymore. Don’t know how she keeps wanting to try.”
“How could she not want to? That’s the first expectation you put on her.”
He sighs. “And that’s why I keep giving in. Feel like I’m responsible for making her obsessed with making me a daddy.”
I dig my phone out from the cushion. Plug it up to the wall charger by the TV. It’s so dead it won’t even cut on after being attached to its life source. I’m in the room with my life source, but both of us are zapped of energy.
In the kitchen, I open all the cabinets in search of something edible. Come up short. Nothing but a jar of peanut butter. That makes me think of Sydney. I can see her cheeks all sunken in trying to sip on a smoothie thicker than the thickest contestant on The Biggest Loser’s thighs. I grab two cold bottles of beer from the fridge. Toss one to my brother back in the living room.
Andrew uses one of the napkins next to the pizza box to wrap around the bottle cap. Pops it, takes a long gulp. “If you could change anything about your life, what would it be?”
I pop the top on my beer, down a mouthful of carbs. “Probably would’ve pursued a career in photography.”
He falls back into the couch. “Man, I thought you’d say something totally different. Why a career change, and photography at that?”
“And all these years I thought you knew me, Bro.”
“Obviously, I don’t know everything.”
“You remember I took that photography class back in high school?”
He says, “Oh yeah, I forgot about that. We’d eat dinner late sometimes because Dad would have to go searching the neighborhood for you and that doggone camera. You’d be out there taking pictures all night if Mama and Daddy would’ve let you.”
I toss the memory back and forth in my mind. That camera was the first time I felt needed and appreciated. It was like the camera needed me to fulfill its purpose. Without me, it was pretty useless. I’d take that thing with me everywhere, using it to capture anything the lens found interesting. The camera was my security until I discovered love. Until I discovered Rene. “I was serious about it,” I say.
“That you were. I remember you went days without talking when Daddy hid your camera after the semester ended.”
“Yep. He told me I needed to focus on math. Said pictures wouldn’t make a woman happy.”
“That’s exactly what he’d say. ‘Keeping food on the table makes a happy wife.’ He used to kill me with that,” Andrew says.
“And look where that got us.” I gulp back more beer. “What about you? What would you change?”
He rolls the bottle back and forth between his hands. Thinks about his answer to the question he asked of me. “Check this out. I’d actually change my career as well.”
“No, not you.”
My brother looks at me as if he’s looking at himself in the mirror. “No lie. Being around kids forty hours a week is the main reason why I wanted to be a father. Kids make life worth living.”
I raise my beer in the air. “Don’t I know it.”
“I know you do, brother. I know you do.”
I ask him what he asked me a little while ago. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I put a lot of pressure on Mel up front. I pretty much made her a mother before I even took her out on our first date. That wasn’t fair. Now she’s putting pressure on me to fulfill my requirements of her. We’ve both grown lost in the midst of all of this. It’s time for us to have a heart-to-heart about it. We’ll see where it leads. One thing’s for sure, it’ll either make us or break us.”
“That’s life. Always something to make or break you.”
And I’ve just about reached my breaking point.
23
SYDNEY
What is it about men?
They put the bait on the hook, stick it in the water, wait for you to bite, reel you in only to take you off the line and toss you back in the water.
That’s how Brandon’s made me feel.
I’ve been to Pick Your Fit plus Riverpoint with no running partner in sight. He’s the one who asked me to train him, and now he doesn’t even want to show up. He’s got me sacrificing sleep in the mornings and time with the kids in the evenings to be stood up. Not that I’m really complaining there, but still, it’s inconsiderate. Ever since the day at his place, when he kissed my temples, things haven’t been the same. Maybe my confession scared him away.
Eric was the same way when we first started dating. A mutual friend introduced us. Took a few phone calls, texts, and emails before we could get our schedules together. He had been on the police force for a few years and was in the process of trying to get in with a special unit’s division. I was just getting started in real estate. Neither of us had much free time to play around with. He was charming in our communication. Had me interested. Told me he wasn’t dating anyone else, he was a one-woman kind of guy. I was rather smitten before meeting him. It was one of those moments where you just fall for someone’s words. When we met, though, the chemistry was lacking. I found myself more interested in him behind the scene than face to face. But I kept dating him. Really wanted to give him a shot since he was different from the men I was used to dating. I got used to him, overlooked his quirks. The moment I started to feel a little something, he told me he was interested in another woman and that he wanted to date us both.
I was taken aback by his honesty. I dodged his bait for months. When I finally decided to go for it, he reel
ed the hook in to cast back out in another direction. I should’ve stayed right where I was instead of swimming to the other end of the pond in search of another chance at what he had to offer. Every time I tried to get more involved with him, it was like his line was pulled more from another direction. I began to doubt myself, felt insecurity creeping in. Made me feel like I had to find ways to prove to him I was worth dating exclusively. I needed to make him know I was a good catch.
The clock on the dash reads six-thirty-three. Another morning left hanging by another woman’s husband.
Men.
I secure the laces to my sneakers, press “Go” on the running app on my smartphone. Soon as the GPS finds my location I hit “Start.” Clip the phone to my running belt, put one earphone in my ear, leave the other ear open so I can stay connected to nature at the same time. Need to make sure I’m always aware of my surroundings. Never know who’s hiding in the bushes waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting soul.
Not a mile in, rain taps on the top of my head. I slow down momentarily to unclip the music player and place it in the waterproof pouch, then pick my pace up, hear my feet slap against wet concrete. Run like I’m trying to outrun the rain clouds. Legs feel good through the pressure I put on them to get me to the end of the path and back.
• • •
Seven miles and some change later, hands on hips, I make a steady stroll back to my car.
“Thought you were going to run until midnight.”
Saw him the moment I stopped running. “How long you been out here?”
“Pulled up when you took your first step.”
I check the running app on my phone. Sixty minutes and a few seconds. “You act like you’ve been out here for hours.”
“Time moves slow when you’re waiting.”
With my shirt, I wipe sweat and rain from my face. Unlock my doors to grab a bottle of electrolytes and a protein bar. “Seeing as though you’ve left me hanging these past few days, how’d you know I’d be out here?”
Brandon rubs a hand across his scalp. He pulls out his phone, fidgets with it.
I step away, give him privacy. Bend over, fingertips to toes, stretch out tight hamstrings. Feel my stomach vibrate. I unzip the pouch, look at the caller ID on my phone. It’s not Eric or my mom, so I don’t answer. Then I realize I brought my work phone because I didn’t want to be interrupted with anybody during my run and knew nobody would be calling about a house this early. They hang up before I can answer. As I put it back in the pouch, it vibrates again in my hand. I put my business voice on.
A finger taps me on my shoulder.
I turn around. The lips in front of me move to the voice on the other end of the phone.
“How’d you get my work number?” I ask through the phone.
The call disconnects. “The question is how do you know my wife?”
One of my knees buckles, makes me lose my balance. “I wasn’t aware I knew your wife.”
“You know her well enough to have your picture plastered in my front yard.”
“Bear with me. I have three houses currently listed.” I rack my brain trying to figure out which one he’s referring to. One client is an elderly widow, another a married couple with two kids, and one on the way needing a larger home. “Are you talking about the property in Farrington Isle?”
“How do you know my wife?” he questions again.
A breeze passes through me. Clothes are wet from the rain and sweat. I fold my arms across my chest. “This is weird.”
He just stands there, eyes on me. Waiting for answers.
If looks could kill, I’d be lying in an open grave with dirt being tossed on top of me like a Jane Doe. “Look, I had no idea she was your wife. She called about selling her house, I went out, a contract was signed. She didn’t mention a husband. How was I supposed to know?”
Hardened eyes turn away from me as he walks back over to his ride.
I finish off my drink, toss it in the trash. Need every ounce of energy possible for this conversation.
He leans up against his truck. “It’s in her maiden name. Rene Ortiz.”
I know exactly who his wife is.
“Nothing makes sense to me anymore. Wish I could fast-forward to the good parts ’cause this right here…”
“I’ve felt that way before.”
Out of nowhere, Brandon chuckles. Then doubles over in laughter. “Wanna hear a good joke?”
His laughter and wanting to tell a joke catches me off-guard, but is needed at the same time. “Our conversations have been pretty deep lately, huh?”
“Get this, my wife’s dying. She’s got cancer.” He’s laughing so hard tears stream from his eyes when he looks up. “Funny, huh?”
It takes the hand of God reaching down from heaven to keep my hand from slapping this insane individual across the face. “No. That’s not funny at all, Brandon. I can’t believe you.”
He pulls air through his teeth so hard it sounds like his teeth shatter. “You’re right, it ain’t funny.” He says that, turns around and sends his fist through his car’s window.
24
BRANDON
Sydney’s motherly instincts kicks in.
She whips her car through morning traffic. Does her best to get me to the hospital before all the blood in my body flows out my hand.
“It’s not that bad, Syd. Not worth getting in an accident over.”
She looks at me. Worry in her eyes, hint of a smile on her face. “That’s the first time you’ve called me Syd. I like the way it rolls off your tongue.”
I wink until the throb in my hand steals my attention.
“Keep the towel tight. We’re almost there.”
A car in front of us is going too slow for Sydney’s taste. She swerves around it, makes her tires scream.
Again, I say, “A few cuts aren’t worth dying over.”
As she presses down harder on the accelerator, a siren blares behind us. I look out the side mirror, see an all-black vehicle with blue flashing lights on our tail.
“I’m not blind.” Still she refuses to apply the brakes.
“Now wouldn’t be the time to be Bonnie and I sure as hell ain’t trying to be no Clyde.”
“And now wouldn’t be the time for your jokes.”
I keep my mouth shut. Let her handle her.
Sydney puts her blinker on, moves two lanes over to the right. The cop follows. She slows, puts the car in park on the side of the road, flashers on. Beads of sweat mark her forehead as her vision’s glued to the rearview. My bleeding hand no longer her concern.
I bounce my head on the headrest. No matter what I do, Rene continues to screw my life up, and now it’s affecting other people.
Anxiety grows on Sydney’s face as she watches the cop walk up to her window.
“Let me handle this,” I tell her.
She positions her body in a way that blocks me from looking out her window. She runs her hands through her hair, but they get caught in tangles. The rain earlier did a number on her hair. Has her looking like Raggedy Ann’s twin sister.
The officer drops his arm on the top of the car, leans his head down. “Well, well, well.”
“Michael, now I know you saw how slow that car was going.”
“If you weren’t going so fast, I might’ve.”
“Can you cut me some slack this morning? I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”
“I let you slide the last time. Don’t want you getting into the habit of thinking just because you’re married to a cop and best friends with my wife that you can get away with breaking the law.” He reaches his hand in the car. “You know the drill.”
I should’ve stayed my butt at home, stuck to the couch, starved and pissed at the world. I may have been miserable then, but it sure beats being in this car with my DNA dripping in my lap.
Sydney huffs, reaches across me while still trying to block me from view. Pulls her wallet and registration out the glove box.
“Is that blood
on your shirt?” the officer questions.
I take that as my cue to speak up. I raise my hand with the soiled towel on it. “Yes, officer. It’s mine. This kind lady was just trying to get me to the hospital.”
He takes a look at my hand, then says to the driver, “Goodness, Sydney, why didn’t you just say something?”
“Well, you came to the car with a chip on your shoulder and you needed somebody to take it out on.”
The officer reaches his head in the car. “Sir, I’m sorry you have to be witness to this.” He smirks at Sydney, then looks back at me. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”
“Thank you,” she and I both say. One with more of a sarcastic tone than the other.
He hands her back her identification, pausing as if he has something else to say.
“Come on, Michael.”
“Just a minute.” He looks back at me. Tells Sydney, “Step out of the car,” in a way that makes me feel like there’s a warrant out for my arrest.
“What for, Michael? You see the man needs medical attention.”
“Why didn’t you call him an ambulance?”
I don’t know the history of these two and I couldn’t care less. Either he gives her a ticket or he doesn’t. At this point I’m willing to walk the rest of the way to the hospital, even if I pass out along the way.
Again, I raise my hand toward the officer. “Sir.”
He no longer looks at me with concern, but now his eyes reveal a distaste that even I can taste.
“Just get out the car, Sydney,” I tell her.
She flings the door open, nearly pushing him into traffic.
My hand no longer throbs. Think it’s numb. Kind of like my consciousness. Rene has me jacked up in the worst way. Got me busting my fist through windows, got me falling apart all because I fell in love with her all those years ago. A wife should never make her husband feel like this. And a husband should never have his wife feeling like Sydney.
She jumps back in the car, eyes refusing to blink or look in my direction.
“What was that all about?”
Sydney slowly moves the car back into the flow of traffic. Voice barely above a whisper. “He recognized your face from the park. Saw us holding hands.”