by Ally Sky
"You can't tell Dad," I plead. "He'll go look for him, and we don't know how it will end."
We know exactly how it will end. At the police station. My father has already stated more than once that if he ever sees Colin's face, it will end badly. He may be willing to forgive a lot of things, but not my crushed pride.
"You shouldn't have taken Viv out." My mother is breathing deeply.
"What was I supposed to do, leave her there in hopes that he wouldn't decide to go tell her Daddy's back?" The thought makes me sick.
"Shit, that's not good," she murmurs tensely.
"You think?" I yell.
"And he didn't explain himself, didn't say where he was all these years?" She continues her investigation.
"At the gym," I grumble in disgust.
"What?"
"Nothing, he didn't explain, I didn't give him the chance."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." I sit down with my back to the front door, fold my knees to my chest and drop my head. "I don't know what to do."
This little confession makes a tear trickle down my cheek. How could I love him? What a fool I was.
"How does he look?"
"What?" Why does my mother care what he looks like?
"You know, does he look like he's on drugs?"
"Drugs?" I'm stunned by her question, "No, he looks . . ."
For the first time since this morning I allow myself to think of what Colin looks like. I think of the clothes he wore, sitting on his enormous body perfectly, as if tailored to his size. I see in my mind his safe stance, remembering the confidant tone of his voice. He is no longer the boy who sat on my bed and let his shirt rise. Come to think of it, in the end, whatever was waiting under the waistband of his boxers is what got me in trouble.
And I think about that now?
"Lizzie, are you there?"
"Sorry," I hasten to apologize and reprimand myself. "He looks healthy."
He looked really good, not that it matters, not for a moment.
"And he didn't say anything?"
"He said he's back in town and has a business. I didn't ask questions." Maybe I should have gotten more details out of him. Find out what I'm dealing with. "I have to go, we'll talk tomorrow, and shut your mouth around Dad."
"Elizabeth . . ."
I know what she's going to say. She doesn't want secrets kept between her and her husband, but it's my decision when to tell him. My parents have a perfect relationship, the kind one hardly ever sees. Not an easy thing considering what they've been through. As if I'm not short of trouble, their anniversary is approaching, and they're going to celebrate like they do every year, a constant reminder of what I don't have.
"Give me time," I ask of my mom.
"All right," she sighs from the other side.
"Thanks." I hang up the call, put the phone on the floor beside me and lean my head on my lap. This is not happening to me.
The white lace trail of my dress is gathered into a pile on the floor of the car. On my knee lays the veil I chose, the one that had not been used. I'm sitting in the back, my hands on my growing belly, bowing my head to avoid my mother's looks, who sits behind the wheel in silence.
Every once in a while she glances at her cell phone, as if it'll ring any second. She steers the car through the streets. My father is gone, I'm afraid to think where.
"Are you sure?" My mother asks quietly for the thousandth time. I look up and gaze at her with a stare that immediately silences her. I'm not sure of anything, I just want to get home.
Twenty minutes ago I stood in front of everyone I know and in a trembling voice sent them on their way. My groom never showed up. No one had seen him, heard from him. The worry consumes me like fire spreading in a field of thistles.
Where are you, Colin?
The car pulls up in front of the house. I open the door and, without waiting, pick up the hem of my dress and start running, my mother following me. The key to the house rustles in my hand as I push it into the keyhole, push the door, and burst inside.
Please be here. Just tell me you got cold feet, I can live with that. Panic is something I can forgive.
The dark house doesn't bode well. I turn on the light in the living room and stop at the entrance to our bedroom. My eyes dart from the bed I arranged this morning to the open wardrobe and my heart drops. My dresses still hang where they were this morning, my clothes folded in piles.
And Colin's shelves are empty.
A flood of emotions batter me at once. The worry dissipates into smoke, replaced by confusion and anger of intensities I didn't know could be felt. He left?
I look around, maybe I'll find an explanation. Maybe it’s not what I think. I'm pregnant, he wouldn't do this.
On the dresser beside the bed, under the bedside lamp, lies a piece of paper that looks as if someone has ripped it off hastily. With trembling legs I walk into the room, move closer and lift it between my fingers.
The words are written in black, in handwriting that I have learned to recognize as well my own. Words that threaten my breathing and change my world order. Words that ruin my life.
This was all a mistake. I don't love you anymore.
Our small house is quiet. I finish washing the dishes and peer into the bedroom. I hate this time of day, when the sun gathers into the horizon and everything darkens, and I have no dinner to cook and no girl to shower. When everything is still and the street seems to be preparing itself for the night Vivian sleeps, and I'm left with my thoughts.
She behaved so well throughout the evening. She ate her food, played with her dolls, and I cleaned the house like a madwoman in a psychotic attack. It was as if removing all the dust would also remove my troubles.
I used to wait impatiently for this hour. Colin would come back from work on the scaffolding, dusty and smiling, always tired. He would go into the shower and then sit at the table and, together, we would have dinner and exchange experiences from the day we went through, even though our days was usually dull and sounded just like the day before.
Colin could make everything sound funny and intriguing, like that lady who used to walk under the building every morning and shout obscene words at the workers for no reason. We were both trying to guess what her story was, inventing strange and illogical plots until my stomach ached with laughter.
Then we would lie on the couch in front of the TV and stare at the screen. All I was really interested in was Colin's fingers stroking my forearm and chilling me, as if he were doing it for the first time.
Most nights I would fall asleep with that movement of his fingers on my skin. A feeling forgotten in the countless days that had passed since the last time he stroked me, countless evenings that had led to countless nights. The only thing that broke the solitude was Vivian's breathing. The only thing left of him.
I curse in my heart the boy who pretended to have a life taken out of a Hollywood movie, the boy who revealed the truth only to me. The blond boy with the blue eyes, Captain of the football team, who returned every day to a house no one would want to live in.
The tears run down when I think of what was deprived from Vivian, of what was deprived from both of us: The right to lean on someone, the promise that he will always be there. The father he chose not to be, who abandoned his daughter before she was even born. I didn't imagine he, of all men, would run away, but he did and he left us alone. And now he is back, but the loneliness is not gone. It is still there, in the empty bed he left behind, the dinners he never attended, in the trust he broke, that no man after him could repair.
I look at Vivian sleeping, oblivious to the storm in our lives that is about to sweep us both onto an unfamiliar beach. The man who calls himself her father is back, and I'm the only one standing between them, trying to save her from heartbreak. What if one day she finds out that I was the one who kept her father from returning to her life, and doesn't forgive me?
What if he really is going to stay?
I close my eyes and try to soothe my breath. I have no idea what his plans are, but it's too early to let him get close. What Colin did was unforgivable, and my heart will not forget so quickly how he broke it.
The smell of pancakes fills the house and I take another sip of coffee in hopes it'll wake me up after my sleepless night. The fears I managed to hold back finally came in full force and for most of my questions I have no answers.
What does he want, except to meet Vivian? Does he want to keep in touch with her? Custody, visitation rights?
"Why are we staying home today?" Viv asks, for the third time since she woke up, as she takes the maple syrup out of the fridge.
"I thought we'd spend the day together," I lie to her, putting a plate of pancakes on the table. Last night I called Mr. Blunt and apologized for my expected absence. I'm not sure he took it well.
"What do you want to do?"
"Tea Party!" she climbs to her chair and opens the bottle.
"We can have a tea party."
"And bake cookies!"
"Sure." Baking cookies sounds like something we can do.
"And then we'll go to the playground and rock on the big red swing." She pushes a piece of pancake in her mouth.
"We'll see." I load pancakes on my plate, aware of the fact I have no intention of going to the playground today. "Eat with your mouth closed," I tell her, before she raises any more ideas that I will have to rule out.
We're staying home.
Chapter 3
"Why can't I go to Tania's birthday party?" Viv looks at me disappointedly, tears in her eyes. We spent the last two days at home, baking, cooking, playing cards, trying on dresses, applying nail polish and even make-up. The last, in particular, made my child very happy, as I don't normally agree to that. I left behind the pretense and the attempt to be someone I was not at the age of seventeen, the evening when Colin walked into my room and found me wearing a tight dress.
"Going somewhere?" He mocked me, as he used to do to disguise his insecurity. I forgave him most times.
"I was just trying it on when you arrived," I lied in embarrassment.
"I can see your panties." He raised an eyebrow, and I responded by pulling my dress down so hard my bra showed.
"Um . . . Tits or legs. Tough choice."
"Stop that."
"Stop trying to be someone you're not." He gave me a serious look. From that day on, I stayed in the jeans and a T-shirt.
"Mama!" Vivian's crying makes me jump. The bastard is back and so are the memories. Screw this.
"I'm sorry." I hug her.
"Tania is my best friend."
What am I supposed to do? Let her go and hope her father doesn't show up?
"Okay," I feel the pressure rising in my chest growing, knowing that I'm reacting hysterically to the situation. But how can I not?
"We'll go to the birthday."
"You're not invited," she protests firmly. "All mothers go home."
Dammit!
"Are you sure?" I ask, though I know she must be right. She nods quickly.
"Okay, go get dressed and I'll get Tania's present." I take a deep breath, trying to calm my pulse, if only slightly. Luckily I'm a girl who likes to be prepared so I bought Tania's gift a week ago. Better not to leave things for the last minute. Viv runs into the bedroom and five minutes later appears dressed in a festive pink dress and shiny red shoes.
"Ready?" I brush her long hair with my fingers.
"Ready." She smiles a huge smile. I open the door and hurry her into the car.
The door of the Margolis family is decorated with balloons and a large, colorful sign, informing everyone they have come to the right place. Vivian knocks on the door and waits impatiently, while my nerves become more ragged every passing second.
Mrs. Margolis opens the door with a wide smile.
"Vivian, you're just on time, come in." She has hardly completed her sentence before my four-and-a-half-year-old ignores any politeness I ever taught her and runs into the living room. Mrs. Margolis laughs loudly, "I understand someone is excited."
"Very," I nod and glance into the house, freezing in front of the scene that I see. Tania's white dress flutters in the air as Mr. Margolis swings he's her like . . . like no father ever did my daughter. My heart collapses into itself.
"Elizabeth?" Mrs. Margolis asks in a low voice.
"I'm sorry" I try to smile, "when should I come to pick her up?"
"In an hour and a half, we're having 'Max the Great.'" a broad smile comes over her lips. Max the Great is the neighborhood children's favorite attraction. He is known for blowing up balloons, magic and asking for a price I could never afford.
"I'll come back later," I say my goodbye, the bitter disappointment growing inside me. Just one more thing I can never give Vivian. The thought of having to host all these children in my house, and the cost all that entails, is tension I don't need.
Don't think about that now, you have other things to deal with. Stay focused!
You're losing it completely, I scold myself as my eyes scan the street outside the Margolis house. Inside, the children are celebrating Tania's fifth birthday, and outside I sit, in the car, watching the house.
I don't know how to act differently. Really. I wish I could be one of those calm mothers who isn’t upset about anything. I wish I had a big house with a white fence and a husband to return to at the end of every day. I wish my dreams didn't crash because of a quick, heartless act from someone who claimed to love me.
The black car on the road makes me tense. The driver behind the wheel is unaware of my existence as she drives past.
What car does he drive?
I don't know anything. Not which car he has, nor what he does for a living, not even where he lives. Is that how I'm going to keep him away?
I look up at the mirror, examining the small lines at the sides of my eyes.
My mother claims they're my imagination, that only I can see them, but they are there. Tiny slits, incriminating evidence. I'm not seventeen anymore, not even twenty-one. I am scarred and frightened, and life alone has raised my anxiety to a threshold I didn't know was possible. Vivian is my whole world, and now someone is threatening the little family I've built. I know it's crazy to think he'll get her or something, and yet, here I sit in my Toyota, imagining the worst.
An hour and a half later I ring the bell and pick up my happy child, her face covered with chocolate cake.
"Enjoy yourself?" I pick her up and carry her to the car.
"Yes!" she rejoices. The thought of her missing her best friend's birthday because of me fills me with sadness.
It's not because of you, it's because of him.
"Let's go home," I put her in the seat.
"I want to go to Granny's," she protests against my plan to lock us in again.
"I don't know if she's free."
"Ask her."
I dial my mother and wait. After Vivian was born, my mother, who runs a beauty salon, cut down her hours. She claimed, of course, it had nothing to do with me having a baby. I'm not sure I believe her. She wanted to be there for me.
Maybe if she'd cut her hours when I was in high school and the house wasn't empty, I would have refused Colin and not invited him. God knows, if my father had discovered him there, it would have ended badly.
How many months did we sneak behind their backs?
Colin knew to keep our secret and not show up uninvited.
At one point I had to tell him. I had to explain why the situation was complicated.
We sat on my bed during one of our breaks from studying and talked endlessly, until I stole a glace at the clock and panicked.
Colin laughed and asked if it was my bedtime.
I didn't smile. Not one muscle moved in my face as I tried to find the right words.
They mustn't know you're here. I know we're just studying, it's not about you. But you're a football player. My father will freak out. It's because of Morgan. He was . . .
&n
bsp; "Elizabeth, are you there?" My mother's voice shouts in the speaker. How many times had she called me already?
"Sorry, sorry," I apologize and curse the memories again. "Viv wants to know if you're home and if we can come over."
"I'm home, you can come over."
"We're on our way." I sneak a glance at Viv, who smiles broadly.
"I'll be waiting for you." She ends the call. I start the car and steer my way to the house where I grew up. Where I hid my love until I could no longer.
"Elizabeth, you can't lock your child at home." My mother sighs when I finish telling her about the semi-psychotic attack I've been having. It's seven-thirty in the evening, Vivian is playing quietly inside while we sit on the front porch on the swing. I look at her and examine her beautifully arranged red hair. Her make-up is meticulous, the amount of masking any wrinkles or signs of worry. She is groomed, her nails always painted with nail polish, her lips red and full. And she got me, the girl who doesn't like dresses, who doesn't understand why one should apply face cream every night before bedtime, who prefers comfortable clothes that you can just throw on. I take comfort in the fact that her granddaughter is like her and loves lipstick too.
"I am not locking her at home," I try with all my might to concentrate on the conversation. "I just have to think."
"You should talk to him."
"Absolutely not," I murmur.
"You need to figure out what he wants and draw him some boundaries."
"What I need is to take him to court and make him pay for what he did."
"That's also an option."
"A good option."
"Call him."
"I don't have his number," I reply immediately, remembering how I crumpled his card and threw it at him furiously.
"I'm sure you'll find a solution."
"Don't you understand that there is no solution?" I resent her suggestion.
"You keep forgetting something," my mother loses her patience. "There's someone else involved in this, and if you want to protect her, you have to plan your moves. Do you think you can prevent him from seeing her forever?"