by J. L. Mac
People start filing in. Most of them are familiar, except there’s someone new this week. My heart aches when I see the familiar haunted eyes and stricken expression of loss. She’s got sandy blonde hair and must be my age, but she could pass for a year or two older, in her state. She shuffles reluctantly to a seat. I fight against my urge to motion her to the seat beside me; I know better than anyone that she isn’t open to listening to anyone. The white nametag sticker on her shirt says “Caroline” in barely legible writing.
“Okay, everyone get settled, we’re ready to begin,” Joel announces, looking at his wristwatch.
I allow myself to watch her carefully from where I’m sitting. She has her arms crossed over her chest and slouches back in the folding chair. It’s the universal posture of someone who’s closed off to the world around them.
“Everyone, today we have a new friend with us. Everyone say hi to Caroline.”
Everyone gives their hello, hey, or hi, lacking enthusiasm. Caroline tilts her head, giving a little nod with her chin.
“We’re going to begin today on a positive note. I want everyone to share something about their loved one that always made you laugh, whether it be something they said, or did, or maybe something that happened to them. Let’s go clockwise around the circle.” Joel nods his head at the barely-senior man to his left, whose scribbled nametag says “Dave.”
“Oh, um, Susan, my wife, she uh,” Dave pauses to quietly chuckle to himself, “she made this teriyaki noodle stuff and I hated it. It was…bad. But I pretended to love the stuff. I just wanted to make her happy, so I dealt with the one meal that I didn’t like. So she kept making it. Years passed and finally our son ratted me out. He told her that no one liked that teriyaki stuff and she just looked at me with wide eyes. I thought I was in the dog house for sure, but she just smiled and slumped her shoulders forward and said, ‘Thank God! I hate that stuff too! I only made it because I thought you liked it!’ We laughed so hard that night over pizzas that we had delivered.” He sighs and wipes the mix of happy and sad tears from his eyes. Quiet laughs comes from the circle in all directions.
I regard Caroline from across the circle; she is unmoved. She doesn’t smile or laugh, just stares at the floor in front of her. The woman sitting next in the circle begins to tell her story. Everyone laughs at something she has said and I watch as Caroline gets more and more agitated. She’s ready to walk out.
She stands up and dismisses herself from the group without explanation. I glance over to Joel and hold up a finger, letting him know that I’ll be right back. With my purse hanging on my shoulder, I find Caroline leaning up against the building just outside the door. I don’t ask to join her, I just walk over and claim the space beside her. I don’t necessarily need it, but I dig through my purse for the emergency smokes that I’ve made sure to keep around. I pull one from the pack for myself and then flick one out towards her. She glances down at it and then to me.
“Thanks,” she mumbles.
“No worries. It’s my emergency pack. I’ve made sure to keep a fresh pack in my purse since my husband died,” I explain as I cup my hand and light her cigarette for her.
She inhales deeply and relaxes against the brick. That looks familiar.
“People suck,” she mutters. I know it’s her way of explaining why she ditched the group therapy.
“Yeah. They do. Most of the time. But,” I lift my cigarette to my lips and take a drag, letting it burn my lungs before I exhale the smoke, “sometimes people get it right. You know?”
“No.”
“You will. I have a friend named Dawn and she was the first person who didn’t suck after my husband died. It took a while, but I don’t think everyone sucks anymore. Life can suck. People can suck too, but it’s equal parts shitty and good.” I nod, content with my explanation, and we both take another puff of our cigarettes. I dig for a pen and scribble my cell phone number down on the pack of smokes then hand them, along with the lighter, to Caroline. “Here. Just in case,” I explain with a knowing, rueful smile.
Just in case she needs an emergency cigarette.
Just in case she needs an emergency friend who has travelled the same road she’s on.
Just in case.
Her eyes give all the thanks needed and I flick the cherry from the end of my cigarette then toss the filter into the trash can by the door on my way back in to therapy. I can’t really even decide who helped who just now. Seeing her that way, in such a familiar state of being, bolsters my courage to press on. It gives me even more resolve to focus more on the good in my life instead of the parts that suck.
***
July 1, 2013
“Okay, Mrs. Parker, since you’ve already paid in full for this month, service is scheduled for disconnect at the end of this billing cycle, which is in four days. Is there anything further that I can assist you with today?”
“No, that will be it. Thanks.”
“Thank you for calling Go Mobile. Have a nice day.”
I hang up and shove my cell phone in the back pocket of my shorts. I slip my hand into my front pocket and pull out a small, black velvet jewelry bag. My heart shudders and I fight to keep the trembling to a minimum. With a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth, I find the courage somewhere inside to take the rings off that Jake put on. I bite back a strangled sob as the white gold bands slip easily off my thin ring finger. With uneven breaths, I drop them into the small velvet bag, tug the string, closing the bag tightly, and slip it into my front pocket before I can change my mind. I trace the tan line across my ring finger and take in another shaky breath, feeling heartbroken but proud of myself. I turn on my heels, taking one more look around my empty house. The boxes are gone. The furniture that I wanted to keep has been stored. I donated a good portion of my household things to the church I grew up attending. The Ladies Auxiliary Club helps struggling families and I know that someone will appreciate the things that I can’t hold on to anymore. They’ll appreciate the things that Jake’s hard-earned money bought. I think he’d be glad to know that he has helped someone else.
I take one last stroll through the home that I shared with Jake. I remember him chasing me down the hallway to our room. I remember him walking into our bathroom and joining me in the shower for lazy Sunday lovemaking. I remember us dancing in the empty living room to no music the day that we bought the modest little house that we’d planned to live in for so long. I remember him working hard to transform the garage into my personal studio. I remember him tripping when he carried me over the threshold for the first time. We fell in a heap onto the floor in the front doorway and laughed so hard we both had tears seeping from the corners of our eyes.
Tears pool in my eyes, but they aren’t all sad tears. They’re a mix, I guess. Tears of loss and happiness. Tears of joy and grief. Tears full of memories, good and bad. Tears of hope. That little part of me that hopes steps forward and dominates every emotion. I run my fingers over the light switch and turn the lights off for the last time. I shut the door and tuck the keys into the lock box the real estate agent attached to the handle of the front door. I shut the little door on the box, leaving the keys to our house locked safely inside. I turn and make my way into the front yard over to the oak tree. Our initials are still carved there, staking our claim, memorializing a chapter in my life when I was happily married to the boy who stole my heart when I was just a carefree little girl. Jacob Parker will always have that little girl’s heart. But the woman I am now has given her heart to a man that lives in lonely beach house in Tybee Island, Georgia, and I plan on giving him the rest of me. I just hope he still wants me.
I sigh deeply and pull the little package from my purse, stuffing it into the mailbox. I send it off with a silent prayer that when it reaches its destination, it will be received with an open heart.
***
July 4, 2013
The sun has scattered its essence across the horizon, boasting pinks and purples and glowing oranges. The
fireworks will be peppering the sky soon.
My feet graze across the windblown sand with each easy stride. I take my time as I make my way north up the beach, soaking up my surroundings. I let the calm that I feel here in this place wash over me, bolstering my courage. I feel, smell, hear, taste, and watch everything around me. Seagulls call in the distance. The water is calm today. Whitecaps slosh on the surface, then settle down into the water from which they were conceived. The air is heavy and laced with the subtle taste of salt. The gritty warmth of the sand beneath my bare feet feels nice. I stop for a second and wiggle my toes down into the sand. My head tilts back as far as it will go and I turn my face skyward so that the barely there rays of sunlight can warm my cheeks.
I right my head, facing forward again, and take one step. One step is all I can take. One. The sight of Zander walking down the beach towards me stills my resurrected heart. He walks with long, relaxed strides. His body isn’t tensed, but his eyes are. My poor black sheep. I love him so much. He comes to a stop only a foot or two away from me. His hair flicks in the light sea breeze, making my fingers itch to run them through his cinnamon strands.
“You came back,” he states more than asks.
“I never left, Zander. Not really.”
He sweeps me up against him and breathes deep. His arms are so tight around me that I can’t fill my lungs completely. “God, I missed you.” He whispers his confession like it hurts and I know that it does. I know how he feels. “You said you love me.”
“I do,” I assure him. “I love you. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, baby. More than you’ll ever know.” He sets me to my feet and brushes a loose tendril of hair off my cheek. The sea breeze lifts and holds it back. I bring my palms to his cheeks. We both lean in and kiss each other with as much love and passion as we can. “Let’s go home, Slim.” He smiles a perfectly crushing boyish grin and I fall in love with him all over again.
“Okay.”
I think I’ve always been on my way to Alexander McBride. My journey has been tumultuous and unbearable at times, but I’ve stayed the course. I’ve run, crawled, walked, and stalled along the way, but I’ve never been on my way to anywhere else except right here. My perfectly imperfect Zander is my truth and my destination. He’s my home. He’s my proof of life.
My vital sign.
I’ve been pushed, squeezed, and cornered all the way to him. Always to him, my vital sign.
Epilogue
Sadie
19 months later…
The index finger of my right hand traces the scrawled letters of the three words tattooed on the inside of my left wrist. It’s become a sort of an absentminded habit, especially when I’m nervous. I’m not nervous, though.
I’m pretty use to all the publicity now. The funny thing about reporters and tabloids is that when you stop giving them interesting shit to write, they stop coming around. I discovered the quickest way to get rid of them is to call after them; turning the tables works most of the time. I’ll spot one here and there, especially when I’m in Atlanta, and I make it a point to say hi first. I wave and smile wide for the camera and they’re usually left scratching their heads. No chase equals no intrigue. It’s simple.
Three months after I came back to Tybee, came back to Zander, they had a field day when they spotted me getting my tattoo. Zander stood by with a wicked little grin on his face, reminding me that Daniel McBride was going to frown upon the ink I was having etched onto my skin. Zander liked it. He may not admit it, and he may not purposefully act out anymore, but I know he got a little thrill that I was acting out in the public eye. A photographer pressed the lens of his camera to the plate glass window of the tattoo parlor, snapping shots of me in the chair. I told Zander to sit tight and let the jerk take his pictures. When the artist finished up, I jumped up from the chair and took off for the door.
“Hey—hey!” I shouted at the photographer, my brows knit but a smile tilting up my lips as his eyes bugged out of his head and he froze in place, clearly unsure of what the hell to make of my brazen approach. “Want a picture? Ask for it,” I said kindly, holding out my wrist for him to see.
“Pushed. Squeezed. Cornered. What’s it mean?” he asked, holding the camera up and peering through the viewfinder.
I stood still, letting him take a few shots of the tattoo. “It’s a reminder that sometimes the longest route is the most rewarding,” I explained, knowing that he wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t. The only other person that I knew who could possibly grasp what I mean by those words, the words that my mother had used to sum me up, is the man who captured my heart. Zander has been pushed, squeezed, and cornered his fair share too. We both take the long route to wherever we’re going most of the time, but we get there on our own terms, at our own pace, and that’s half of the reward in itself—just knowing that you’re stronger than the forces that bear down, knowing that you refuse to follow the norm, to fit in, to lie down when society dictates that you should just for the sake of following the mold. The ring on my left hand is proof of that taking the long route, even though it gets ugly sometimes, can be equally as beautiful.
I married Alexander McBride two months ago in a ceremony that was my only concession to the grandiose fancy that is his family. Photos of our wedding and reception were splashed all over the social pages in the newspaper and on the internet. I didn’t mind, though. I felt beautiful, even with a tattoo blazed across my wrist reminding me of where I had come from. Probably more specifically because of the tattoo on my wrist.
“Don’t be nervous, baby.” Zander looks over at me and squeezes my hand affectionately.
“You know they’re waiting outside. The cat is going to be out of the bag once they see us walk out of here.”
Zander shrugs his lean muscle capped shoulders. “So. I’m happy. And excited. Nothing could ruin this for me. Not even those assholes.” He smiles wide, showing his pearly whites, and the tension immediately leaves. I lean toward him and prop my head on his shoulder, sighing deeply.
“Mrs. McBride, Mr. McBride,” the doctor greets us as she steps into the exam room. She shakes both our hands and smiles curtly like doctors always do. “I’ve got all your lab work back. Everything looks great except one thing.”
I draw my bottom lip into my mouth and nip at it anxiously. “Okay,” I say, trying my best to sound confident.
“Looks like you won’t be trying to conceive in the next few months,” she says, flicking through the paperwork in her hand.”
I feel color drain from my face. My hand finds Zander’s and I squeeze.
“No need,” the doctor explains with a smile, looking up from what I guess are my lab results. “You’re already pregnant.”
“Oh my God. Are you sure? I mean—wow!” I feel Zander squeeze my hand and I look over to him. He’s smiling just as big, maybe bigger, than when I met him at the altar.
“Yes. According to the blood work, you are indeed pregnant, but we can make you a believer right now,” she says, pointing to some TV screen thing on wheels with all kinds of buttons all over it. “Ultrasound,” she explains. “It’ll have to be transvaginal due to how early on you are, but we should be able to see your little one.”
Zander and I nod in unison.
“I’ll be back in just a moment.”
I look to Zander as soon as the door shuts and stare at him with wide eyes. “Holy shit, Scrappy. That didn’t take you long! It hasn’t been that long since they took out the IUD, has it?”
“It’s been long enough, I guess,” he says with a proud smile. God, he’s handsome. I smile right back at him and hold up a hand for him to high-five. He’s feeling all macho. This deserves a high-five for Team McBride.
I follow her instructions to undress and then put on the gown she gave me. Zander wags his brows up and down, enjoying the show. I kiss him deeply and rub him through his jeans before breaking away to sit up on the exam table. Zander’s lusty eyes narrow on me in disapproval for teas
ing him. He adjusts his thickening cock and I giggle, knowing that I’ll be on my back the minute we get home.
The doctor is back before we know it, with a nurse in tow. I sit up on the table as she instructs and I catch sight of the look on Zander’s face when she holds up an ultrasound probe that could easily double as a foot long white sex toy. Jenna had told me all about them when we let the cat out of the bag about trying for our first baby, but I still wasn’t expecting that. Zander’s mortified expression is more than worth enduring this awkward situation, though.
The screen flickers to life, distracting me from the fact that there are three other people in the room with me. The doctor manipulates the ultrasound wand and the screen fills with an unfamiliar, blurry scene. It’s amazing that anyone can make heads or tails of these ultrasounds. My brows furrow, searching for something that looks familiar.
“Okay, see here,” the doctor instructs, pointing to a dark circle with an oblong white shape inside of it.
“Yeah…” we both answer, though I’m not sure either of us see anything except black and white blobs.
“There’s Baby McBride. Strong heartbeat. Looks like you’re about,” she taps some keys on the machine, “a little over six weeks along, I’d say.”
The nurse jots down notes beside the doctor. I look up to Zander standing beside me, finding his eyes locked on the screen. He’s rapt, watching intently. Studying. His chest rises and falls evenly. I squeeze his hand in mine and he looks down. A sweet smile tilts up the corners of his mouth and I can see his eyes glistening a little, matching the burgeoning tears in my eyes.
“We’re having a baby,” I whisper, still a little in disbelief.
“Yeah. Yeah, we are.” He raises my hand, bringing it to his lips. His eyes close as he presses a tender kiss on the inside of my palm, an intimate gesture that leaves me feeling even more cherished than he already makes me feel every time his sapphire blue eyes meet mine.