by L. U. Ann
“Thank you so much for coming, bestie. It means a lot to me. I’ll call once I know something. Hopefully, Lane will have an easier delivery than I did,” I vie while Becca shudders in repulse sending me into a fit of laughter. “One day, Becca, you are going to settle down and have children, too.”
“Uh, yeah... when hell freezes over.” She looks around forgetting we are in a church parking lot. “Love, I will do anything for you and you know it. I also know you would do the same for me, just as you are doing. I mean, seriously, that shit’s unreal. You are out of your ever-loving mind sending me on a trip like this.” I am so happy Devon was persistent in booking a trip for her. It was one of the many gifts we gave thanking those who help Devon and me. Mr. Walker is taking a trip to sunny Florida. Little does he know we rented a condo in the same section as Grandma Pain. Oh, I had so much fun planning that. I silently pray there will be a match made in heaven, and he will move out of seclusion. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes also gifted him a high-end ATV that runs on not only gas, but battery, too. They want to make sure he can make it to the clinic in one trip if he ever needs it.
Remembering Becca is looking at me, I reply, “It’s the least we can do, Becca. Especially, for all the time you have spent helping me with Evan while Devon recovers. We want you to get away. You have time off from school over Thanksgiving, so why not? However, if a hurricane or tsunami hits, then that is where I draw the line on our friendship. You’re on your own.” I smirk and wink.
“Whateves… So who is this mysterious person you have traveling with me?” She narrows her eyes seeking answers I refuse to reveal.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” I playfully wave hoping we have made another match made in heaven. I sing, “Goodbye, love!”
“Aw, Beta!” Evan runs out from behind me, sending my pulse into a frenzy. The well-lit parking lot still scares me with little feet running about.
“Oh, you stinker!” Becca scoops his slender body. “I would never leave without giving you smooches.” She gives him a big kiss and tickles his tummy where he squirms for Devon’s arms.
We quickly say our goodbyes to everyone as they pile in the other car. Frank closes the door isolating the three and a half of us from the world. Plentiful love overflows in the calm atmosphere of the limo. Sandwiched between Devon and me, Evan carries on about the wooden train, his imagination running wild. Enthralled, we drive back to the house. Pausing briefly to yawn. Devon is engrossed in the theatrics of trains, whereas I cannot keep my eyes off Devon. Taking in his deliciously confident state in the dim overhead light sends tingles throughout my body. Desire to nuzzle into his body, I bite my lip to stop these inappropriate thoughts and silently chide myself. I will have to mute these cravings until later.
Pleased today is over and free from the huge weight that has been lifted, I can begin living tomorrow without as much guilt. Maybe. Hopefully.
The car slows and Frank parks. “Devon, I’m not sure I will ever get used to our new home. I just love it.” I cannot help but still be shocked over the wonderful surprise from two months ago. I was angry when he used money from his trust fund to purchase the house, but with insecurities of staying at the apartment, I let it go. A modest colonial sits on an acre of immaculate green carpet, and is now our home. A place we can settle, raise a family and live the American dream. Flowers begin to turn in for winter. Strategically placed lighting illuminates the front. With a brick front and deep gray siding surrounding the perimeter, white shutters offset the dark brick, but blend perfectly with the white-picket fenced backyard. An in-ground heated pool sits just off the screened in porch. Because Devon is ‘Mr. Safety,’ he had the yard partitioned with two doors leaving the porch. One goes to the meticulously kept backyard where a cute swing set sits along with beds overflowing with color. The other door leads you to an ‘L’ shaped granite pool dressed with ornamental rock spilling a steady flow of water creating a tranquil space. Green bushes surround the perimeter, keeping onlookers out. This door remains locked at all times. I love Devon even more because of how cautious he is.
“Daddeee weee.”
“Not tonight, Evan. Tomorrow we can swing. It’s time to get ready for bed.”
Evan pouts. I’m sure if he doesn’t stop, Devon will surely give in. He can’t compete with the love and affection he has for our son. Shivering, I chastise myself for not bringing a shawl as the cool night air cuts deeper.
“Thank you for dropping Devon off at the church. I appreciate everything you and Alice have done.” I fold my arms across my chest to hide the chill.
“You are very welcome, Ms. Lacey. Is there anything else you need for the evening?” Frank asks with warm, caring eyes.
“No, thank you,” he turns to proceed toward the driver’s side door. “Oh, wait!” I suddenly remember. “We would love for you both to come by for Sunday brunch. Mrs. Holmes and a bunch of us are going over ideas for the baby’s room, and I would love for Alice to join. If she’s up to it.”
“Will do, Ms. Lacey.” His sweet smile lights up the night. This man and his wife are full of so much unrelenting love.
“Now you are clean and a useful engine. Mr. Conductor says to Thomas closing the roundhouse for the evening.” Devon closes the newest book we added to Evan’s library.
“Noooo,” Evan whines in protest sporting a pout.
“It’s time to go to sleep, Sweet Pea. We can read more stories tomorrow.” I plant a kiss on one of his chipmunk cheeks. “Good night, Evan. Mommy and Daddy love you very much, and Mama, too.” I recite what has become a nightly ritual just before leaving his room.
“Hey, Sugar Pants,” Devon pinches my rear scaring the bejesus out of me as I dress for bed. “Hmm… there’s no need for this.” His sultry voice bathes my body just before removing the nightgown I was putting on.
With his body pressed behind me, soft fingers sweep my hair off to the side. Warm breath teases my neck and stimulates an ache deep within. Hands glide over to touch my growing belly, caressing, relishing in the life we created. I place mine on top of his. Heartfelt succulent kisses begin trailing from the base of my neck to that oh spot causing my knees to weaken.
He lovingly turns me around, devouring me with his hungry eyes. My heart swells as his fingers run through my hair pulling back as he exposes my neck. He glides his tongue over the open skin, making me all wonton-like.
“Devon?” I gasp, bracing my hands on his upper arms. The warmth of his skin sends tingles through my fingertips begging to caress the taunt muscles below.
“Hmm, what is it Lacey? Does that feel good?” Oh, sweet Jesus, his breath is as fresh as hot cakes on a Sunday morning. He nibbles on my ear before attacking my mouth.
I love his kisses, simple perfection. His movements become urgent. “Lacey...”
“Devon—,” he interrupts my thought by spinning me around. His hands find my breasts as he presses his cock into my backside. He slowly pushes our movements forward in line with the bed. Once my leg hits the side, he bends me over running his hands along my back continuing down my legs. Fingers trailing, teasing, they slowly work their way up my inner thigh. All I want to do now is close my legs. It is exquisite, but too much at the moment. Holy shit! One hand is squeezing my breasts while the other begins to explore a more sensitive area. Abandoning my breast, he runs his hand along my spine and begins planting little kisses along my back, sending me over the edge where sparks are seen.
He guides his strong length driving me to see another explosive vision full of color. “Lacey, you feel so good. Damn, baby.” He begins to pick up the pace still teasing me to the point I just can’t take it anymore.
“Devon! It’s too sensitive. I can’t!” I gasp breathlessly, jerking spasms.
“Come on, baby, relax.” I let go of all control under Devon’s spell.
“Oh, my God…” I whimper as his movements become even faster with both hands on my hips as he quickly drives himself to release.
He peppers kisses up
my back, causing goose bumps to surface. Oh, this man knows how to make a girl feel cherished. He rolls me to the side to snuggle.
“I love you, Sugar Pants.” Kisses continue along the side of my head. His hand gently rubs my swollen stomach while he plants a kiss and begins talking to our baby.
“I love you, too,” I reply watching him. It is not long before the night takes hold of my exhausted body.
Eight and a Half
I’m on autopilot. I wake up and do the exact same thing every day trying to avoid feeling the gaping black hole in my heart because I let the ball drop.
I fear I will never be me again. This intensity of emotion drowns the light. Love, true love, is unconditional. I have an extended perception into the finality of death. I’m trying so hard to use the unique insight and review life. I seek knowledge and purpose of why things happen the way they do. Why my God would allow horrible things in the world to occur? The depths of my understanding fall short and I come up empty. Except for one... my father. I am in control of how I live the rest of my life and today, that changes!
“You can determine how confident people are by listening to what they don’t say about themselves.”
~Brian G. Jett
My feet aimlessly wander along the desolate shoreline arms holding onto the offering for the water. The late afternoon breeze whips around sending congenial comfort from the late Indian summer sun as it glares off every surface worth its reflection. Greeting calls are heard above from flocks of Canada Geese flying in their family groups, teaching their year’s young the migration pattern. Small fish greet the surface of the water while bugs are still present during this unseasonably warm spell.
There is no headstone. Nothing showcases the years expended among us. The only thing I personally have is water. She is somewhere out there, I must believe. Hauntingly, I place flowers purchased yesterday on the breathing sea and watch the current as it slowly cradles the gift and the tide gently rocks, taking them to where ever she might be. Her favorite flowers are the only ones I find myself able to send—yellow roses with pink tips. I wish there was a place somewhere concrete to visit, though. Areas so vast such as this seem consequently vague resembling the heavens.
Anchored in the moment, I sit, drawing knees to my chest, and enjoy the air whispering through my hair. Eyes closed, I take in a deep breath, which leaves a tangy taste of salty air. The revelations of this not being the Gulf of Mexico are known, but the Chesapeake Bay leads to the ocean. And in Lacey-Land, that means somehow we are connected. The wind delivers comfort from the emanate sadness. My first holiday without Mom—Thanksgiving.
I am so fortunate for the two blessings I have waiting for my return. With the thoughts of my newest gift, I smile, pushing some of the sadness away. I left Evan in Devon’s very capable hands along with many others, needing some time by myself. Questionable looks were given from many since we arrived at my in-laws early. I am stressing so hard to please everyone.
Thoughts infused. It appears so many want to scream at me for carrying such guilt and sadness. How can they understand the weighted bricks I carry or the pain of letting someone succumb to the awful illness that is Bipolar? Why do people have to admonish others, and think they are better because they weren’t born with an illness or disease, not one a person can even prevent? Unrestrained hope takes hold. I wish people would be so much more understanding of other’s differences.
Perhaps, if the stigma of mental illness were admonished, others would not judge. She would not have kept quiet. Would she have had the strength to tell someone she needed help? Memories and questions are all I hold now, nothing new to acquire from the woman who raised me.
My constant internal battle is hurting those around me. Driving distance is not something I want with Evan, Devon, or anyone for that matter. Somewhere, I need to find a sense of solace and cope, letting go of a little bit of the honest guilt. How do I do it when my insides are playing tug of war? Why do people preach, telling me how one should feel? I have faked numerous laughs to get people off my back. I have plastered meaningless smiles to keep those around me from seeing the despair ripping through my veins. I not only grieve the loss of Mom, I grieve Lane’s, her baby’s, Evan’s, and the little one I’m carrying. If anything, I grieve more for them because I am the one to blame. They had no idea… I did.
I could not take the pity, the questions, or the ‘oh, my gosh, are you not over that yet’ looks. Needing an escape, I had grabbed my sweater and left after telling Devon I needed air.
Does society actually think by saying, ‘She’s in a better place now, I know how you feel, everything happens for a reason, be strong,’ will make the pain go away? Does it make me grieve the loss any less? I can only take so much and right now, I’ve reached my limit. I want my mom back and there is not one damn thing I can do to make that happen. Quickly standing, I haphazardly grab two handfuls of sand and throw them into the water. With balled fists, I throw my head back and look up into the peaceful sky and scream at the top of my lungs, “WHY?!”
I fall to my knees. I have learned that grief changes a person forever. Change is a constant in life, affording me the opportunity to review my own. Going through the stages of grief is essential for someone to move forward. I do not think I am there, but I am trying. I have tried to understand the depths of reality. This is not like grade school where a teacher gives you a lesson and you are supposed to burn it to memory. No, grief gives you wisdom, a wisdom you will never be able to forget because it hits you fast and hard. You never know until after it strikes. I will never be the person I was before I failed Mom. Nor will I ever be the person I was before I married Caine. All of these events have changed me. Seeing the new dimension of life has caused me to mature faster than my peers. Hell, Becca has even told me this.
A single grain of sand produces a beautiful pearl. My fingers trace a pattern in the sand, how can something so precious come from something so irritatingly painful?
Thoughts of Dr. Offutt flood my mind.
“Well,” Dr. Offutt stated matter-of-factly, “you can look at this as a gift. You know what it is like to lose a mother and you do not ever want to put your children through the pain you are going through. Or you can let it consume you and try to take the easy way out just like your mom did,” he says, dispelling the simple thought of how I laid my heart out on the table vulnerable to his examination.
A gift?
So I can look at losing my mom two ways, or I can allow the guilt to consume me for not providing a safe haven? Educated, the warning signs were there. I knew. Clear as day, I recognized them. I identified an issue. The familiar ‘something isn’t right’ was there, and what did I do? I made the choice to tell my father he needed to step up. I entrusted it to my father’s hands. Of all people! The very man who had screwed my mother over countless times. What was I thinking? I made the destructive decision to leave it up to him. I dangerously thought he loved her enough.
My mind couldn’t comprehend what the doctor was saying because I was currently fixated on the fact she was gone and there was not one damn thing I can do about it. How I handle the lingering grief is not significant. What matters is I do not have a mom and I could have stopped the tragic ending before it ever began.
I can remember at least three times Lane and I committed Mom due to depression. The moment we piled in the car was not stress-free. Conning Mom with a car ride to wherever when all along I knew the ultimate destination would be filled with remarkable deception. It was not tranquil, but we did it. We had to. There was no other option.
“Lacey, I’m not sure if you know this or not, but bipolar can run in families. You are at a greater risk of being diagnosed with the illness. It’s also something you will need to keep in mind with your children. Have you noticed uncontrollable mood shifts?” the doctor had asked.
Without hesitation, I had nodded. I haven’t done anything wrong, yet society is going to stone me. Oh, wait. What about Lane and my nephew, Alex? He’s neve
r going to know our mom either. I close my eyes and try to get my emotions under control before the doctor asks me anything further.
“So, when did you begin to notice your symptoms?” he probed. Really? Admission of possible temperament alterations and you’re pushing on? Several years of surviving a veiled marriage of abuse and a childhood full of lies and betrayal, can cause the sanest person to go wonky. It’s a better question asked to those who live with me or interact with me on a regular basis. Would I be able to give an earnest answer? If I asked her if she was depressed, would Mom have provided me a truthful response?
“To properly treat your symptoms, I need to know everything,” he pushed. Really, Mr. Pushy? I do not know if doctors truly understand their patients. They go to school and learn their field, but do they accurately comprehend their patients? Situated behind a desk, acting like God, thinking they can fix whoever is occupying the seat in front of them. No one can understand, or come close to understanding until they have experienced enormity of the situation. Dr. Want-to-know-it-all was apathetic and I will forever be skeptical to share my demons again.
How much more do I have to sit through? I had thought. The walls are caving in and I need air.
A car door startles my deploring thoughts. I do not know how long I walked or that I was near a place cars could park. I thought Devon’s parents owned this entire deserted beach. Great, now with an audience, it will be harder to work through my wretchedness. I play with the coarse sand enjoying the roughness when I am hit with the same particles blowing in a gust kicked free by footsteps. As I turn around to flip off the ass… the mere silhouette materializes heat. Devon.
Speechless, my face reveals everything. “Sweetheart,” he says pulling me into his arms as he takes occupants beside me, “I’m sorry and wish I could say something to take all of this pain away.” I grab his shirt, sink my head into his chest, and allow myself to let go of some of the oppressed sorrow holding me back.