by Marie James
He tells me he’s going to catch up on highlights from tonight’s games and heads into the living room. I’m on edge, and he seems to be on edge as well. I don’t want to be under the microscope any more than I can imagine he does so I leave it alone and head to the bedroom to change into pajamas.
I’m slipping my t-shirt over my head when I hear a knock at the door. The last time someone knocked on the door it was Savannah’s twin Sierra. A chill runs up my spine as I walk to the door. It’s cracked and I’m in no form with my pajamas on to see anyone who may come visit him, but I’m curious. I lean in close to the door and listen as Kadin answers.
“I told you not to come here anymore,” I hear Kadin say in a hushed tone. “You need to leave.”
“I need you, Kadin.” That voice. That husky voice filled with seduction makes my heart stop. Sierra.
“We talked about this. You can’t come here.”
“Is it because of that whore you moved in?” She hisses. “I love you, Kadin. I need you with me, not her!” I can tell just by her tone she’s growing agitated.
“Fuck.” I hear Kadin grunt in frustration. “Wait down by the damn truck.” I hear the door close.
I make it across the room and step into the walk-in closet when I hear the bedroom door open all the way. I stiffen when I feel his arms wrap around me from behind. My heart is pounding in my ears and when he says, “I hate to leave again, but I have something I’ve got to take care of down at the office.” All I can do is nod my head slightly in understanding as he kisses the back of my head and leaves me standing there to go be with Sierra.
I knew the bullshit I pulled after Savannah died was going to come back and bite me in a big way. I also knew I had a million different things to fix and should’ve started exactly where I ended up tonight rather than just hoping it would go away. I spoke with Sierra on the phone after London told me she stopped by the past week, and she had me convinced that she’d agreed what we’d done in the past was detrimental to both of us and not something we should continue. I hadn’t seen her in months until she showed up at the condo tonight.
I got her back to her house without incident which in and of itself is progress where Sierra is concerned.
“I don’t understand,” she sobs and wipes her nose with a Kleenex.
“We talked about this, Sierra. I’m trying to get my life back on track.” I’m doing my best at keeping my calm but we’ve been at this for over an hour and a half, and all we’re doing is talking in circles. I’m growing frustrated which is the last thing that helps with unstable people.
“I love you, Kadin. We can get on track together.”
I close my eyes and take a calming breath. “I’m still in your life, Sierra. I’m not going anywhere, but we can’t be together like that.”
Eventually, she nods in fake understanding. This is how she works. She throws a fit and then when she doesn’t get her way she pretends that she’s going to act in the way she’s expected to. She never does. I excuse myself and leave the room. Firing off a text to her parents explaining they once again needed to come and look after her. I can’t keep fighting this battle. Each time she gets this way she ends up hospitalized. Her mother is her Power of Attorney so she’ll be the best one to get her into a facility. She’s obviously not been taking her medications as prescribed, if at all.
The text comes back immediately that they’ll be there shortly. I join Sierra on the couch and play along with her as she talks about mundane stuff like shopping and a class she’s thinking about taking at the local community college.
I jump up at the sound of her doorbell close to an hour later and watch her shift gears immediately. She narrows her eyes at me and almost instantly her demeanor changes. I open the front door, and not surprisingly I’m met with both of her parents and two uniformed attendants from the local mental health hospital. We’ve just about gotten the routine down. Her parents know that if I’m concerned enough to call that they better bring backup when they arrive. The first time we did this without help was pretty nasty.
I stand aside while they go in, and Sierra immediately goes into a rage. I wince as she struggles with the men until she’s administered something from a syringe and she calms. Her parents thank me for calling as I exit the house. I sit in my truck and watch as they load Sierra in the back of a dark tinted SUV. Anyone looking at the vehicle would think nothing of it; they’d have no idea that a sedated paranoid schizophrenic is in the back.
I remain in her driveway long after the SUV and her parents’ town car pull away. I would ask myself how I got in the middle of all of this mess, but I know exactly when it started. I can still see the train wreck I was the negligent conductor of.
The insistent banging on the door won’t stop. I’ve yelled, cussed, and covered my head with my hands, but the clanging still continues. The only way to go back to the peaceful oblivion I’ve been pulled from is to get up and tell them to leave, drink another glass of whiskey, and get back on the couch. I pray it’s not my mother again. The look of devastation on her face the last time she showed up unannounced is not something I can handle again so soon.
I roll off the couch and stumble to the door. My steps are uneven, and I’ve got too much booze coursing through my veins to even give a shit. The house is dark, matching my mood perfectly. I haven’t left the house since the funeral three weeks ago except to restock the liquor cabinet, and that’s only because my family somehow convinced the delivery service to in fact not deliver to me.
I tug open the door ready to rage on whoever dares to knock on my door. I’ve been more than clear about my desire to not see anyone or speak to anyone. Every thought in my head comes to a grinding halt when my tired eyes land on a sight everything in the universe told me would never happen again.
“Savannah,” I gasp. My beautiful wife stands on the other side of the door glowing like a fucking angel with her back lit up from the lights in the hallway. I take an unsure step toward her, fearful if I get too close she’ll disappear.
She closes the distance between us. “Kadin,” she whispers, and her voice is slightly different than I remembered. The guilt of already forgetting things about her hit me in the chest, and I close my eyes. “No, baby. Stay here with me. Open your eyes.”
My lips crash against hers before I can even give it a second thought. I blame the alcohol when they don’t feel the same. I blame the time away from her for how different she tastes. I do my best to shove out the knowledge that there’s no way my wife is here with her hands on me. She’s not the one unzipping my pants and taking my cock out before I can get the door shut, locking us into the condo.
I shove all of that away and wrap my arms around her, picking her up, and walking her back into the living room. I lay her roughly on the couch while greedy hands strip her clothes off, my mouth seeking and finding the tightened bud of her exposed nipple.
Her groan is throaty and deep. “Kadin! Yes, I’ve wanted this for so long.”
I know it’s wrong. I know it’s one of the things I’ll regret the most when it’s over, but none of that keeps me from pulling her panties to the side and slamming into my dead wife’s twin sister.
I slam my hands against the steering wheel, frustrated with Sierra and the shit she pulled tonight. The anger is displaced. I put myself here and instead of explaining to London what happened I lied to her. Twice. The guilt I felt over Sierra used to be all consuming until the next bottle of whiskey showed up at my door which was consequently always followed by a visit from Sierra.
The times I tried to pull away and tell her it was wrong she’d pretend to be Savannah. Thinking back, I can see now how she’s begun to transform herself over the last year and a half. Her hair and clothes have gradually become less her personality and more of Savannah’s. I’d put no real effort into stopping it. In my demented mind, I needed her body against mine and the glutton for punishment in me needed the guilt afterward.
My drive back to the condo is accompanied b
y the revelation that London holds a place in my heart, a place in my future. I’m not in a position where I’m able to determine how much of my heart belongs to her, but she’s managed to climb inside and situate herself there. I need her to know and understand that the arrangement we’d agreed to at the cabin is not where I’m at now. She needs to know that I don’t see her as just someone to have sex with and if I'm completely honest with myself she never was. She began creeping inside of my soul the second she crossed the threshold of that cabin and confirmed her place when I began thinking more of her smile and less about the pills and gun I brought with me.
My hands begin to shake without warning as I pull into my parking spot in the subterranean garage. The empty spot to the right is an unwelcomed sight; the one that has been occupied by her little red car for the last week. A look at my watch makes the feeling worse. It’s after midnight and much too late for her to be out for a store run.
I try to convince myself she just went out for a snack or something as the elevator crawls to my floor. The house is deathly silent, much like it was the day she didn’t answer the phone, and I found her curled up on her bed. The thought calms me a bit as I make my way to her room.
The sight I was met with earlier in the week is not the one that greets me now. My first instinct is to reach for my phone and call her, but I know she doesn’t have a phone. She got tired of that asshole ex of her calling all the time, so she threw it in the trash on the way back with me last week. With suddenly exhausted legs, I walk in and flip the light on in the closet. Empty. In a panic, I tug the drawers open in the dresser. Empty.
I grip my head in my hands and slowly turn in a slow circle fully taking in the room. There’s nothing left of her here. The bathroom is empty as well. Her shampoo is gone. The half empty container of bubble bath we got at that hole in the wall store in Poison is the only thing left on the side of the tub. The counter no longer holds her toothbrush and lotion. Frantically I check the drawers, hoping, praying for just one thing. Something that says she’s not gone. One nugget of hope.
What I find instead makes my head spin. My brain goes haywire as I look down at an open box of pregnancy tests. I slowly lift my hand and run my fingers over the top, every possible emotion flooding my body. Gingerly I pick the box up and look inside; one test is missing.
She couldn’t be.
I look in the other drawers and the linen closet for the missing test and come up empty. My eyes land on the small trash can on the far side of the toilet. I approach it like the bomb squad would approach an unidentified suitcase in the airport; with uninvited anticipation and trepidation.
I don’t even have to reach in to get the news that makes me collapse to my knees on the hard tiled floor. Trembling hands scoop up the positive pregnancy test of their own accord. I hold it in cupped hands and stare at it without seeing anything but the tiny oval screen; everything else fades out in a halo effect.
I stumble to my feet, clutching the test to my chest. I have no idea how I got to the bed or when I lay down, but I find myself curled on my side praying she’s just a little freaked out. I close my eyes and beg the universe not to be so cruel as to pull two women from me. That’s more than any man should have to suffer through in one lifetime.
It’s been several days since I packed my things in a rush and left Kadin’s condo. The first twenty-four hours were spent sobbing uncontrollably, feeling sorry for myself for once again having blind faith that I was enough for a man I care for.
Love.
I know that irrevocably. I love him. I can’t even deny it. I tried; it was impossible. I may not be able to control my heart but I can control my actions, and I refuse to stay in a situation where I don’t come first. Grief is one thing; competing with the ghost of his wife was hard enough. I have no desire to remain in a setting where my other competition is the exact, and all too real, replica of that ghost.
I could’ve stayed and let him explain. I could’ve listened to the excuses he would’ve used to explain away his blatant lie. But, I didn’t.
I swore to myself when Trent carried my bloody body away from Brian’s abuse that’d I’d stop making excuses for other people’s issues. That’s why I walked away without looking back from Trent and why I couldn’t stay for Kadin either. Before crashing into Kadin’s life, I knew I needed to focus on myself and find a way to be happy without the requirement of other people. Even with that knowledge, I still clung to Kadin like an emergency tether in a storm.
I plan to stay in Spokane. The city is big enough never to run into Kadin. I’ve poured over the classified ads and found a small two bedroom home on the opposite side of town from him so chances are slim he’ll ever have to see me again. I have an appointment to meet with the owner to check it out and talk about the lease this weekend. I’ve also managed to snag an appointment with an OB/GYN for late Friday. I need confirmation of the pregnancy even though everything I read online says at-home tests are very accurate, and each of the six I’ve taken all indicate that I am.
I’m coming to grips with the idea even though I’m terrified beyond belief about not only being on my own but doing it as a single mother. I remember Kadin telling me that Savannah didn’t want kids. He responded that he wanted Savannah when I’d asked him what he thought about kids. I have to keep reminding myself that Trent is just as possibly the father as Kadin is, but it’s obvious what my preference is right now. The last thing I want is to see Trent much less spend the next two decades in each other’s lives because of a child.
The week has been incredibly successful. My doctor appointment yesterday confirmed the pregnancy, and I found myself hoping for it to be true as I waited for the lab work to be completed. I also got an email and an interview request for today.
I tap my foot on the floor as I sit in the waiting room of Bland & Pratt, an attorney’s office. I’m interviewing for a personal assistant position and can’t help but think about the job that Kadin offered me. This will be different on so many levels.
“London Sykes?” a middle-aged woman in a dark blue, sharp looking business suit asks from a doorway at the far end of the reception area.
I look up and plaster the biggest smile I can muster. “That’s me,” I answer and stand to greet her open hand with my own.
“I’m Theresa Gilson with human resources. I’ll be conducting your interview this morning.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Gilson,” I answer.
“Just Theresa,” she says with a smile and my nerves are instantly calmed. “Follow me, please.” She walks with purpose down a long hallway and turns left down another hall when it ends at a huge office.
Just as I reach the turn to follow her, the dark, solid wood door pulls open, and a hulk of a man stands inside the frame. I nod my head slightly, whisper good morning, and continue to follow Theresa to her office.
She waits for me to enter before closing us into her comfortable office. Sitting down at her desk, she restacks an already perfect stack of papers as I take a seat in the chair directly in front of her desk.
“I want to say right off the bat I was very impressed with your resume.” I smile at her. “The fact that you’ve been a PA before is a huge plus. You’re interviewing for Mr. Bland today. Do you know anything about Bland & Platt?”
“I’m sorry; I don’t. I’ve only just moved to Spokane.” I shift slightly in my seat, suddenly nervous about why it seems I’d need to know about the organization prior to getting the job. I immediately wonder if he’s horrible to work for. “Is that a problem?” I ask trying to judge her reaction.
“Not at all. He’s just really known here in the city.” She shifts her eyes down to the papers on her desk, and I can tell she didn’t mean anything by her question. Now it seems more like small talk than the ominous warning from before.
We go through the basic interview questions. I answer appropriately telling from the smile on her face. Next we shift gears to the benefits package and schedules.
“Mr. Blan
d keeps a pretty basic schedule. Most, if not all, of his appointments, are kept here at the office. There may be an occasional lunch you’d need to attend, but that is, of course, an exception to the everyday routine.”
I nod my head as she continues to speak about holidays, vacation pay, and insurance.
I paid out of pocket for the doctor’s office visit yesterday, grateful he had an in-house lab rather than having to go to the hospital to have the bloodwork done. The latter would have cost an arm and a leg.
Deciding I need to be one hundred percent honest with anyone I interview with I asked a question that may have me shot straight out the door. “Do you know what kind of coverage there is for preexisting conditions?”
She tilts her head slightly to the side. “Like diabetes?”
“Pregnancy,” I answer quietly.
“When are you due?” Her demeanor has changed slightly as she cuts her eyes to my stomach.
“In the fall,” I reply.
I see her look at my left hand before asking her next question. “You’re not covered on your husband’s insurance?”
I hold my head as high as I can. “I’m not married.”
She restacks the papers again, tapping the small pile repeatedly. “We have supplemental insurance, but I’m almost certain that your condition won’t be covered under that either.”
Somehow my perfect resume means absolutely nothing because I’m having a baby. I knew I’d get some looks and possibly snide remarks when I started showing, but I never thought it would start so close to me finding out.
“That’s okay. I can manage without it.” Like I have a choice.
Her face twists in mild disgust. “Well, Ms. Sykes I’ll review your application.” She emphasizes Ms. as if it’s now a filthy word.