by L. B. Dunbar
“I…I didn’t know. I wasn’t referring to…” Her voice faded.
“Oh…” I said at first. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about there.” My voice was low and I spoke with honest gentleness. I didn’t want Lila to worry. While Lansing had been my savior once again, I had no interest in ruining someone else’s relationship. I’d already ruined my own.
Her innocent eyes scanned my face and I smiled weakly.
“He wanted to come here today to check on you. I said I’d visit instead. He still seems drawn to you. Like he can’t help himself. I see him struggle. It’s his damsel in distress syndrome,” she laughed without humor. “He can’t seem to help himself.”
“I know, about the damsel in distress, I mean, and I’m sorry. I didn’t ask him to save me from the fire.” I keep my tone low. I could have been accusatory; I could have been defensive. I certainly hadn’t asked him to rescue me from the burning barn. As much as I was sad, I was grateful for being alive, though.
“I never thanked him, for saving me in the barn,” I clarified. She smiled weakly in return accepting my gratitude on his behalf.
“The thing is,” she started again, “women love him quite…intensely.” I knew what she meant. Elaine Corbin had taken advantage of him to get what she wanted. Layne Ascolat took her life because she hadn’t gotten what she wanted. It was a sad state of affairs, but I had seen Lansing look at Lila. He loved her, heart and soul. We’d made a mistake, an error in judgement at a weak moment. I didn’t think we’d have to pay for that sin for all of eternity.
“Arturo forgave him,” she mumbled.
“Arturo spoke to Lansing?” My enthusiasm and surprise were wrapped together, and my voice came out too high.
“Yes. At some point they talked and he isn’t holding it against Lansing.”
I felt some relief at that, although I also felt anger, that the misbehavior would be held against me. I did not act alone. However, Arturo needed the band. He needed his friends. He needed his family.
“I also wanted to say, I’m sorry for your loss.” Her voice was hushed. It took me a moment to reconcile what she implied. It had been over ten months.
“I see the way you look at Fleur, and all the baby talk with Ireland and Hollister. It must be painful.” She paused, looking up at me hesitantly.
“My sister took what was mine. In a sense, Fleur could have been my child, if my sister hadn’t slept with my boyfriend.” The weight of Lila’s words lay over me like the blanket on my legs. I hadn’t known. We all talked like Fleur was Lila’s daughter. I didn’t realize. Suddenly things made sense. Lila had experience with cheating hearts. She worried it would happen again to her.
“Lila,” I said reaching out to take her hand. “I have no interest in Lansing. I see the way he looks at you. The way he loves you and Fleur. He isn’t going anywhere. I love…” I swallowed hard. “I loved Arturo, and nothing changed that. I made a mistake. Lansing and I both know that. It shouldn’t have happened.” It shouldn’t have, but we could not erase the past. It did. The point was to move on. Go forward.
“I’d like to ask you something.” Her lips twisted and she pushed her honey blonde hair behind her ears. I held my breath, seeing that Lila was struggling. “I wondered if you’d like to babysit.”
I laughed. This was not what I was expecting.
“I need to buy a dress for Tristan’s wedding and Lansing wants to go with me. I thought, if you didn’t mind, that you’d like to babysit and get to know Fleur.”
I smiled deeply. I would like that. She seemed like a lovely child, and I could see that Lila was offering me an olive branch of friendship. It was going to be hard to forget everything that happened, but Lila was willing to forgive.
“You’re bringing Guinie to the wedding, right?” Tristan asked me as we stood in line for coffee down the street from Camelot Records. We had a meeting with Kaye to discuss the world tour. I was actually beginning to think it was a good idea. Throwing myself back into the music might be the direction I needed.
“Or are you bringing Ana?” Tristan spit, a definite bit of disgust in his question.
“No, I’m not bringing Ana,” I snapped back at him. I was still angry that he had taken Guinevere from the house. I had hoped Guinie and I could talk the next day. We just needed some separation. A lot had been shared in a little time, and we needed to let things simmer. When I went to Guinie’s room to find an oxygen tank, an IV machine, and an empty bed, I knew she was gone for good. I didn’t know that her protectors had been Tristan and Ireland.
We were silent for a moment while the barista made our coffees. We remained silent as we walked down the avenue to Pendragon Empires. Inside the classical architecture building, Camelot Records was housed. My insides fluttered with nervous excitement. We had already crushed the last touches of the album in the weeks immediately following my return. That was tying up the past; this was on to discussing the future. There was still the issue that I couldn’t play and we might need to find someone to replace that position in the band. I was beginning to look forward with a twinge of enthusiasm.
“I can’t take Guinie to the wedding,” I finally spoke. “We broke up.”
“I know,” he said quietly. Of course he knew; he was the one to help her escape my house, which still pissed me off.
“You know, I’m not trying to defend her. Defend them…” he began and stopped when I leveled him with a squinted glare. I watched him run his hand through his sandy colored hair. I wondered who else knew of Guinie’s infidelity with Lansing. Obviously, Lansing, Lila, and Guinevere, of course. Did the whole band know and no one thought to tell me? Like a cuckolded man, I was the last to find out.
“I’m not justifying what happened,” he started again. “But between your disappearance and cold shoulder…” I narrowed him with a menacing stare again, but he raised his hand to continue.
“She was really distraught over the baby.”
I stopped in the middle of the lobby of Pendragon Empire. What the…?
“Distraught over your baby? Why?” I couldn’t understand why Guinevere would be upset that Tristan was having a baby with Ireland.
“Not my baby. Your baby.”
The weight of his words filled the cavernous space of the open lobby, and so did the mental sound of little feet never heard.
“My. Baby.” My words felt foreign and tumbled out of my mouth slowly. I swallowed hard and stared at him. Surely, he was misinformed. Surely, he was not telling me the truth. The expression on my face displayed my disbelief.
“Oh man,” he said in a hushed tone, “Don't say anything.”
I stared at him incredulous.
“How does everyone know, but not me?”
“I just assumed…she said you shared your truths.” He paused to run a hand through his hair again. “I was the one to find her,” Tristan added then shivered. “It’s a scene I try to scrub from my mind, especially in Ireland’s condition.” Ireland was a little over three months pregnant.
“I thought she told you,” he said quietly. “She swore us to silence, promising she would tell you.”
It was another lie, or rather an untold truth. I had no idea she was pregnant. My mind raced to last August. Images flashed behind my eyes of Guinie in white lingerie, hours before the concert. Sounds of her pleading voice haunted my ears later that night.
Arturo, please. I really have to tell you something. It can’t wait. Let’s go home.
I hadn’t listened. I hadn’t made it home.
When I arrived at Lansing’s penthouse, I hesitated, hearing voices on the other side of the door. I knocked lightly knowing I was interrupting something. The door opened on a heavy thrust inward, and Lila stood staring at me.
“Arturo?” she questioned, looking to her side. I noticed Lansing standing there with his hands pushing back his long black bangs.
“Hey man, come in,” he said. Lila stepped back allowing me space to enter. By opening the door wider,
I was able to see Guinie standing in their living room. They lived in one of two penthouses at the top of the historical Dolores Guard building. Guinie turned in time to face me, and then her arms wrapped around her stomach. The expression on her face showed she was just as surprised to see me, as I was to see her.
“What’s going on here?” I grumbled to Lansing out the side of my mouth.
“A huge misunderstanding,” Lansing muttered under his breath.
“I asked Guinie to babysit for us,” Lila responded in a normal tone for us all to hear. “Lansing apparently asked you.” She smiled weakly at the confusion.
I stared at Guinie across the open space. She looked beautiful, but thin. I took in Lansing and Lila’s place. They didn’t have much furniture for such a big space. Only a couch sat in the center of the room with a flat screen television. It looked rather empty, like a bachelor pad might, but I knew Lila and Fleur lived here.
“I can always go,” Guinie said, heading toward me or rather the front door.
“No, I can go,” I said awkwardly, pointing over my left shoulder.
“Why don’t you both stay?” Lansing suggested, his voice firm as he reached for Lila. He kissed the side of her head briefly and then wrapped an arm around her.
“I’m taking my girl out shopping,” he laughed. “Dinner is ordered. Just hang out.”
He stared at me intently as if warning me that if one of us left, the other better stay with Fleur. We watched them leave like disappointed children and then glanced at each other. Guinie looked away first. I noticed again that she looked thin, unhealthy. I worried that she suffered from leaving my home early without recovering fully from the smoke inhalation. She broke into fever, which the doctor warned us against. Her skin was on fire while I told her about Ana, but her heart had turned cold to me.
“Want to build a fort with me?” Fleur asked us both. Guinie giggled and I shrugged my shoulders. “Sure, Ladybug,” I replied.
An hour and an empty pizza box later, the three of us sat under the sheets that Fleur had instructed Guinie and I to pitch, in order to hold the material up. We’d made a makeshift tent, of sorts, in the living room. Inside the delicate tunnel, Fleur hung white Christmas lights. It was obvious she had done this before, and she was good at directing. Guinie and I worked hard as her minions, holding poles, and draping material, stringing lights, and plugging them in. It was a magical oasis, fit for a princess, who was served the royal dinner of pizza. We huddled inside, but there was enough space for three. Fleur had also brought in some large floor pillows and we lounged like kings.
She showed us some artwork and then Guinie colored with her. I simply watched, as the control of my left hand would not allow me to stay within the lines. Guinie and I hardly spoke to one another, unless it was in response to something Fleur asked of us. Murmured grunts and huffed sounds were the extent of our interaction, until Fleur fell asleep under the makeshift tent. The magnificent ladybug had previously shown us her dance moves, twirling and swirling around the open space. I understood why Lansing had such little use of furniture. Fleur finalized her performance with an exaggerated bow, and then collapsed next to Guinevere. Startled, Guinie began to stroke Fleur’s hair. She fell silent as I sang a song and drifted off to sleep pressed against Guinie.
“You’re really good with her,” I said quietly, watching Guinie weave her fingers through Fleur’s brown hair. Fleur looked so peaceful; Guinie looked so content.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, keeping my voice low, so as not to wake Fleur. Facing Guinie, I was perched up on my elbow, stretched out on my side over a pillow.
“Tell you what?” she responded, smiling down at Fleur, her mind absent of my question. My silence made her look up, and I stared at her, willing her to tell me.
“Why didn’t you tell me you lost a baby? Our baby?” I asked, softly.
“I lost our baby, Arturo,” she said, swallowing hard, her voice cold, as she gazed back at Fleur. She continued to stroke her fine hair.
“But why didn't you tell me?” I choked a little on the words.
“In light of everything, I didn't think it mattered,” her voice was so low, I hardly heard her.
“Not mattered. Guinevere, my God, our child...” my voice faded away.
“What was I supposed to say? I was pregnant but the baby died inside me,” her voice took an edge of bitterness to it.
“Yes,” I said, raising my voice. “Yes, that's exactly what you were supposed to say.”
Fleur stirred next to Guinie and rolled to curl into her. Guinie wrapped an arm over the child, as if to protect her. Then her arms slipped down to wrap around her middle. I understood why. I'd seen her make the move before, but it finally made sense. She was holding it in. She was trying to keep it, the baby and us, inside.
“Guinie,” I tried again, tenderly, but a tear fell from her eye.
“Damn it,” she whispered, wiping her cheeks furiously. “Don't feel sorry for me.”
I stared at her, but she refused to look up at me, continuing to brush at her face.
“Fine, I feel sorry for me. I wasn't here and you needed me.”
She looked up then.
“Are you listening to yourself?” She faced me. “Was it any different for you? You weren't here, but you needed me.”
I sighed, the weight of the breath so deep. I had done this to us. If I thought I'd lost my hand alone, I would be fine, but I lost my heart. My Once. I lost my child. My Future.
“You still have Morte, anyway,” she huffed, returning to stroke Fleur’s hair.
“Guinevere,” I warned. Was she kidding me? I could hardly call what I had with Morte a father-son relationship. The next day when Guinie was gone with Tristan and Ireland, Ana and Morte returned. Ana seemed more hesitant around me. I could only hope it finally sunk in. I loved Guinevere, and nothing Ana did could change that. I was also still very upset with Morte and demanded he get some professional help. Ana and I were terrible parents, and Morte needed to start working through the damage we had done. We were going to need some help to be a united family, without being a family unit.
“It's not too late. He's still a child. There's time to fix him. Fix your relationship,” Guinie said, soothingly. She didn’t fault Morte. I knew it then; I knew it now.
“He's not broken,” I snapped. Morte wasn’t a toy. What he’d done was in retaliation of us, his parents. I believed he had sound mind to know what he was doing, I could only hope he would be all right in time. I had a long way to go to earn Morte’s forgiveness.
“No, but you are. In the way you treat him and respond to him, and after all that happened, the way you'll feel about him.”
She was right. I was still resentful. Morte almost killed us, himself included. I didn’t believe Morte understood the magnitude of what he’d done. However, when I thought of the pain and disgust in his eyes, as he stood next to Guinie’s bed, it further proved his feelings for me. He hated me, deservedly, and I needed to fix that. I needed to fix how I felt about him.
“Morte isn’t the issue, though, Guinevere.”
“But he is your child,” she retorted.
“Yes, but we’re talking about our child,” I emphasized.
“We don’t have one,” she snapped back, her hand rubbing absentmindedly over her belly, as she continued to work her fingers through Fleur’s hair.
“I know, and I’m sorry, because damn it, I wanted one with you.”
My words froze her motion. Her eyes met mine. Liquid filled them again, and she blinked.
“I wanted that, too,” she said softly.
Of all the times I would never run into Arturo King and his Nights as a teenager, I seemed to be constantly forced to meet him as an adult. I had been convinced to attend the wedding of Tristan Lyons and Isolde Ireland in the Cayman Islands. The timing didn’t seem ideal to me. Isolde wanted to wait as she was three months pregnant, but Tristan said he wanted her as his wife as soon as possible. The Cayman Island
s was special to them. Factor in that Hollister was eight months pregnant and had to get special clearance from a doctor to fly internationally, I didn’t think the rushed wedding was a good idea. Topping off that list was the fact that I was asked to be one of three bridesmaids, meaning I’d have to face Arturo again.
After our babysitting adventure, I went home with more heartache for a lost child, but great relief that I had no more secrets from Arturo. He knew my sins. He knew my punishment. I was absolved in my mind. The wedding would be the second time I’d see him after leaving his estate in upstate New York. The tension that surrounded me was a bubble of pressure, before I even neared the private jet Kaye Sirs had hired to fly us to the Island. The wedding party consisted of the four members of the band, plus Kaye. It would have been easy to pair us each off, but with the addition of Kaye, it made Arturo, him, and me a trio. I was actually relieved.
Until I sat on the plane and Arturo demanded I sit by him. As everyone was a couple, it meant either Arturo sat alone while I sat with Kaye, or he and Kaye were together. He demanded option C; sit with me. I fell into the seat, busying myself with my iPad for reading and my headphones for music. I wanted to drown the whole miserable experience out in my head.
I could tell that Hollister was nervous and Perkins’ attention seemed to put her on edge.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, leaning her head back as Perkins belted her in.
“Relax,” he said to her, rather loudly and the plane quieted. Looking up, Perkins said to no one in particular, “She’s never flown before, and a panic attack could bring on the baby.”
The guys started getting a little silly about who would deliver the baby if it had to be birthed airborne. It broke the tension that surrounded us all. The only ones oblivious were Tristan and Ireland. Then we took off. Hollister must have been panicking because before I knew it, Perkins was making out with her, full on, mouth open kissing. Well, that was one way to distract her, I thought. It was a train wreck I had to watch for a moment, unable to pull my eyes away, until I felt the longing inside me. I wanted to be kissed like that. I stole a glance at Arturo, but his eyes were focused out the window.