by Julia Blues
Eric Sr.’s in the kitchen making a ham sandwich. Eric Jr. is talking to him, but he’s not paying attention.
“Leave your dad alone and finish your food, EJ,” I tell him.
Kennedy’s picking over her food. She doesn’t share the enthusiasm of her brother over the golden fries. I tell her to throw it away if she’s not going to eat it. She doesn’t hesitate.
I address their father. “When EJ finishes his food, will you give him his bath?”
He nods.
Once upstairs, I slip my robe off, let it fall to my feet. Dip my foot in to make sure the water doesn’t boil off a layer of my skin. It’s perfect, one degree below hot.
I submerge my body all the way to my neck, feels like I’m floating. My eyes close. Thoughts float in Brandon’s direction. He left me hanging in a public bathroom. It wasn’t the ideal place to be in the first place, but I needed to feel him again. Needed him to feel me. Needed us to feel each other so we wouldn’t have to feel everything else.
“Are you thinking about him?”
I almost hit my head against the back of the tub when my husband’s voice comes out of nowhere. “Eric.”
“Haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time.”
I try to hide my warming cheeks. “Don’t be silly.”
He comes over to me, sits on the edge of the bathtub, stares at me with lustful eyes. There’s a swell in his groin. The bulge lets me know where his mind is. A chill crosses over me. I realize when he scared me, I raised my upper body from the water and now my nipples are rock hard, making me slightly cold. Eric dips his hand in the water and rubs warm fingers over my peaks. That quickly warms my center. He licks his lips as he watches my eyes flicker from fearful to the same lustful look in his eyes. He leans over, puts his lips on my neck while his fingers steadily dance across my aroused breasts. Lips move to my shoulder, slowly trailing down my wet skin until the heat from his mouth meets the heat he created on my nipples. Fire burns through me as my husband’s touches penetrate the warmness between my thighs. He stirs up a part of me I thought I had lost for him.
I step out of the water with his fingers still inside of me and wrap my legs around his lap. As his good hand makes love to the most tender part of me, I feel myself on the verge of tears. Not sure if it’s because I let my weakened emotions lead me to another man or if having my g-spot hit repeatedly is almost more than I can bear.
Eric juggles my breasts back and forth in his mouth. At the same time, sliding his hand away from my sweet spot. I reach my hands to unbutton his pants, to move this party up a level. He moves my hands away, kisses me on my shoulder as he slides me off his lap and walks toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Changed my mind.”
“You’re joking, right?”
His hand is on the doorknob. “You said you wanted to see how it would feel without me. Let me know what you come up with.”
And with that he walks out.
59
BRANDON
In a matter of nine years, I got married, had a child, lost a child. Lost my wife. None of it seems fair.
A widower, a title hard to swallow.
A fatherless widower, an even harder title to swallow.
After death, the survivors have the choice to give up and die as well or move on with their lives while holding on to the memories. It’s a hard decision many have to make. A decision I didn’t believe I’d have to make for at least seven decades.
But I’m here now. This is what it is.
People move forward all the time without moving on. They stay stuck in moments of time while time still moves on. They fail to fully process circumstances for many reasons, avoidance of pain being the main reason. When Reggie passed, I made the choice to move on. I mourned, I moved forward and I moved on. Rene moved forward. A big difference in moving on. She kept moving further in life, time kept ticking, but in her mind, she never left that space where she first found that lump in her breast. Her fears kept her stuck and guilt ate its way through her body. I truly think that’s how a lot of folks end up with cancer. Avoiding what was, in any situation, has to come out one way or another, even if that means taking people out. I don’t want that to be me.
As I dreamt of Rene as she was transitioning, I realized my life could end the same way if I held on to the anger not only of losing her, but of my son’s departure as well. Her leaving brought up the pain from his leaving. She knew I was holding on to too much. She knew that if she didn’t reach out to me in some way to bring peace, that anger would’ve taken me over the edge.
I don’t want to be stuck being angry at the decisions she made. Don’t want to lose me because I lost her.
It hasn’t been easy since she left. After taking my folks to the airport, I went back to my apartment. When I walked through the threshold, I swore I felt Rene’s presence. She’d barely been in the space before her illness got the best of her, but she was in there long enough for me to know she should be there. I tried sleeping in the bed she slept in a few nights. Flipped and flopped all night. Kept hearing Rene coughing. I jumped out of bed, stripped the sheets off, tossed them in a corner. Fell on top of them, where I sat for what felt like another decade. I went inside each drawer in the dresser, grabbed handfuls of clothes and flung them in the corner as well. Whatever I could get my hands on found its way on the floor. The place looked like the state of Alabama after a slew of tornadoes ran through it.
That was three nights ago. Haven’t been back since.
Maybe the anger hasn’t gone far at all.
• • •
Nearly two weeks have gone by since Rene’s passing and it’s still hard for me to wrap my mind around it. My father calls every day to check on me. Says to take as long as I need to, and that “Back in the Old Testament, it was mandatory for people to mourn for thirty days.” I had to tell him we weren’t in the Old Testament. I understand where he’s coming from, though. In today’s society, we’re expected to bury a loved one and return to work the next day. It’s as if the pain is supposed to stop the moment the last pile of dirt is tossed on their grave.
I’m still hurt and confused about all that’s happened. Still pieces of anger floating around my conscience. I try to block it out, find something else to think about, focus on, then someone calls to check on me and it brings it all back up.
I don’t seem to know what to do with myself anymore. Before I knew about Rene’s illness, I spent most of my time outside of work trying to figure out what was going on in our marriage. Then when I found out, I spent all my energy trying to cure her. I took an indefinite leave of absence from my job at the accounting firm. Though they understood, it didn’t take long before client demands took their understanding to another level. So with no wife, no job, life pretty much feels empty.
I’m sitting at the foot of the bed staring at the little pieces of my life littering the room. Frustration makes me kick at a bag on the floor. A few papers fall out, stacked up mail that I picked up at the apartment the last time I was there. I grab the mail and toss it on the desk by the window of my hotel room. Bills, condolence cards. Stuff I don’t want to give any attention to right now. The one piece of mail I open is from my old firm. I rip open the envelope and pull out my severance package including all unused vacation time in dollars and cents. This is my award for seven years of service. I gave them more time than some couples give their marriage.
My cell phone vibrates on the bed. A sympathy call is not what I’m in the mood for. I grab it to decline the call. The face displayed across the screen makes me feel like I’m looking in the mirror. I hit the green button.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired of people asking me that. How about you?”
“Same here.”
Andrew and I have barely talked since the accident. The only words we’ve shared outside of the hospital were at Rene’s funeral. Our mother shared with me how things have been a little rough between him and
Melissa. She’s had to take a lot of time off of work just to help him get around the house. His leg hasn’t healed all that well. With all of the extra stress in his household, I can’t help but feel guilty being that it was my fault. I let him know just that. “I’m sorry about everything, Drew.”
“Won’t change what happened.”
“And if there was something I could do to take it all back, you know I would. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
His voice becomes muffled.
“Hey, man, I can’t hear you.”
“Hold on. Trying to move with this walker.”
I give him a minute to get himself situated. Hear a lot of huffing and puffing on the other end of the phone. I know the tone of those huffs; he’s not out of shape.
“I’m not calling to talk about what’s going on between us. Just checking to see if you need anything around there. Mel can bring some meals over.”
“The hotel has a lounge. I’m good on food.”
“Oh, I thought you had gone back to your place when Mom and Dad left.”
“Couldn’t take being there. Needed to get away.” I hear Andrew’s voice going on the other end, but I can’t hear anything he’s saying. My attention is drawn to the TV. I don’t remember cutting it on. It’s a commercial with a couple on a plane. The guy is proposing and as the couple’s celebrating, the flight attendant is trying to get them to sit down so the plane can take off. Maybe this is a sign. Maybe I need to do more than get away from my apartment. I need to get far away.
60
BRANDON
I’m on a flight to the Virgin Islands.
Chicago, Los Angeles, Paris, London, and the U.S. Territory of the Virgin Islands were all places on my list of options. Had a tough time making a decision so I flipped a coin to decide. St. Thomas was the last destination standing. I booked the next flight out. Had to fly into Ft. Lauderdale before hopping on a smaller plane to the island. Didn’t pack nothing but a clear quart-sized bag of three-ounce toiletries, passport, and one change of clothes. The rest I’d get as the days go by.
The pilot announces we are within minutes of landing. I slide up the shade on the window, see patches of land sprouting out of the vast ocean the color of a rainbow made of blues. Looks like camels’ backs covered by The Great Flood that Noah warned the people about. The closer to land the water gets, the lighter blue it is, almost looks clear. Reminds me of the beaches in Okaloosa County. Makes me think of Rene.
“Flight Crew, please prepare for landing,” the pilot says, perfectly interrupting my thoughts.
Underneath my feet I can feel the plane’s wheels coming out from hiding. I glance back out the window, feel my eyes widen at the sight of the landing strip. So small looks like we’re about to land on a stick of gum. My heart rate quickens. I close my eyes until I feel the wheels brake against concrete. I’m not able to open my eyes until the plane comes to a stop, and when it does, I don’t hesitate to grab my bag and deplane.
Stepping off the plane, I’m glad with my decision to wear shorts. The heat is no joke. First on the list to buy is a hat, a pair of shades, and sunscreen. And something cold to drink is a must.
I walk past baggage claim and right out the doors to a swarm of taxis. I hop in the first one with an open door. I tell the driver, “Frenchman’s Cove.”
He tells me the fee is eight bucks since I’m without luggage, then says to give him a few minutes for a few more passengers to arrive.
I nod.
The ride to the hotel is quick. Was afraid for my life riding up and down narrow roads at ninety miles per hour and no seatbelt. Not sure I would’ve felt any safer being secured to my seat. Thank God, we arrive unscathed. I give the driver a onceover to make sure if I ever see him again, I run in the opposite direction.
After checking into my room, I head downstairs to grab a bite to eat. It’s happy hour. Half price on drinks. I order a piña colada with double rum, a jerk chicken wrap and a side of fries.
I sit back and take everything in. It’s not crowded, but enough people to know vacation can be any time you take it. Two couples are playing volleyball in the pool; guys against the girls. Others are standing at the edge of the infinity pool, looks like they can walk straight into the ocean. A few are in the hot tub even as hot as it is out here. People are sunbathing. Women, men, kids. There’s a live band playing. One local on a keyboard, one beating hand drums, and another one does double duty with strings and the microphone. They’ve definitely set the island atmosphere.
The waitress brings my drink. As pineapple-coconut-flavored rum travels down my throat, a smile crosses my face. In this moment, I feel everything is going to be all right.
61
SYDNEY
“My parents are coming over for dinner to spend a few hours with the kids before flying out in the morning.”
“I’m not in the mood for company, Eric.”
“Just said they’re coming to see the kids.”
“And who’s supposed to feed them?”
He struggles to pull a T-shirt over his head. His motor skills haven’t quite been the same since the accident. When he finally gets it off, he tosses it in the laundry basket. “Look, nobody’s asked you to cook or entertain. I was just telling you my folks are coming over. You can stay up here, or better yet, you can go for a run.”
It’s been like this since I told him about the affair. Two weeks with him taking jabs at me whenever he can. It probably wouldn’t bother me as much if I were still sleeping with Brandon, but I haven’t talked to him or seen him since the funeral. Not that I haven’t tried. Been to his apartment, the gym, the lake. Even went to the hotel where our sin stained the sheets. No luck.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Whatever, Eric.”
He shuts the bathroom door with a little too much aggression. I wait a couple of minutes before busting into the bathroom. Wait for him to get good and wet, let the heat from the shower steam up the space. I pull the shower door wide open.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
I don’t say anything as I stand with my arms folded.
He tries to reach the door to close it back. Each time he reaches for the door, I move, block his way. “Come on, Syd. Quit playing.”
My left foot steps in the shower. My right foot behind it. I step in the shower with my work clothes still on, pull the door shut behind me. “Is this how we’re going to be?”
“You made that decision.”
He’s right. I made that decision just like I have so many other decisions through the years that I’m not proud of. Most recent, soiling this marriage. It was never my intention to have an affair, to go against the vows I made before family and God, but I knew what I was doing when I got in bed with another man. Another woman’s husband, at that. I knew there was a possibility that decision would lead Eric and I to this point. It was a consequence I was willing to risk.
My husband stares at me, begs me to apologize for something I’m not sorry for.
Ego against ego.
Husband against wife.
It shouldn’t be this way. We have to come to an equal understanding. Compromise. He has to give a little and I have to give a little. Can’t be any other way.
The fresh-scented green bar of soap drops from his hand, hits the tile floor and slides between my feet. I kick it as I move toward my husband. My eyes don’t leave his and his don’t leave mine. He wraps his good arm around my waist with a question. I move forward with an answer. Our lips touch for the first time in months with the unfamiliarity of a first kiss. Our tongues try to find a familiar rhythm. When they don’t, they create a new rhythm.
I help him lift my soaked shirt over my head. I reach behind me to unzip my skirt. It clings to my wet skin. Takes effort to get it fall. My bra comes off next. Eric watches as I remove my panties.
Both of us stand bare.
My womanly parts wetter than my skin.
His manly parts harder than his heart
toward me.
Husband and wife ready for what comes next, but not sure what to do next.
I’m not sure what I was hoping would happen by intruding in on Eric’s shower. Guess I wanted him to get mad, yell at me. Keep blaming me for what I did to our marriage, to his career, his friendship. After he awoke from the coma, he gave Sgt. Lee every detail of the accident. His version of events were consistent with the reports from the witnesses, including Mr. Carter’s. Although he wasn’t the one behind the wheel or the direct cause of the accident, his involvement in the altercation, which sent an innocent man into panic, warranted a suspension. Mr. Carter chose not to press charges for harassment. He wanted to move on with his life. But lines were crossed and it created a bad image for the department and Eric’s and Michael’s unit. Thirty days with no pay for Eric. Michael, on the other hand, had been terminated. He wants nothing else to do with his ex-partner or this family.
As my husband reminded me moments ago, it was a decision I made. Though I didn’t choose none of this, I chose something. Everything else is a consequence.
His lips on my ear summon me from thoughts of disaster and reignite my desire. He nibbles on my neck, draws me closer with his arm still on my waist. I feel his manhood throbbing against my womanhood. It taps at me with a new beat. Not sure where the music will lead, not sure where I want it to lead, but as I once heard in a song, I’ll take passion over pride.
Laughter greets me the moment I reach the bottom of the stairs.
Eric Jr. is sprawled out in the middle of the living room floor being tickled crazy by his grandfather. He laughs like everything is all right in his world, like he has not a single care. My father-in-law has so much joy in his face, like this is what living is all about. Watching them brings a smile to my heart. I feel like a voyeur in the lives of adolescence and history.