by Alyse, Jade
She grasped at her belly again, at her Harper, and silently vowed to get her shit together before it came into their lives.
Don’t worry, my little baby, your mama will be your mama when you get here…
Then she thought about the audacity of the thing growing inside of her, and the growing distance between her and Brandon, and the idea that he used to make love to Sophia Baldwin the way he made love to her. And she cried a little harder.
She didn’t see the oncoming, fast-moving headlights…
“Natalie, Natalie, wake up…”
She knew it. She knew she’d been dreaming. The whole tragic spat between her and Brandon had been nothing more that her own subconscious telling her that it was best to communicate with her husband.
Her husband: who cried for her, yelled for her, threw temper tantrums at the thought of the silent distance she constantly created between them. The sound of his deep voice, hailing above her head made her feel as though all the beautiful things in the world were happening to her all at once, in quick succession, tingling her brown skin, filling her to full, blissful capacity. The tones of his voice as it called her name made her heart coil and sing an aching tune that only she seemed to understand.
She’d chosen in that very moment not to be foolish anymore.
Brandon David Greene wasn’t going anywhere.
“Tallie, would you get up?”
She opened her eyes. She was facing skyward, breeze coddling her cheeks. The clear blue sky was no match for the look in his eyes. She allowed herself to get lost in them for a while.
“Hmm?”
She instinctively reached for him, as she’d done hundreds of times before, longing for the same pleasurable outcome: the exuberant proximity of her Brandon. She was safe with him; she knew nothing of the outside world.
“We have to go,” he urged. “Today’s the day…”
“Do we really have to? What are you talking about?”
“My wedding day,” he replied plainly, reaching for her.
But they were in their field. They were alone. They were them. What made more sense?
“What are you talking about, Brandy? We’re married…”
“Huh?”
He glared at her; flushing down her general resolve with his baffled stare.
“You and I,” she reminded him. She gathered to her feet. “We got married, remember?”
“Have you lost it? I’m marrying Sophia…remember? My girlfriend for the past six years or so?”
“But…”
“Sophie told me you had too much to drink last night,” he chuckled. “But she insisted on making you her maid of honor…”
“What?”
“Do I need to get you some water?”
“Why are we here then?”
“Where?”
“In our field?”
“Our field? We’re in my truck on the way to the store to pick up some stuff. But we need to hurry though. Sophia’s going nuts without you…”
“Sophia?”
“Yes,” he replied with growing agitation. “She’s only been your best friend for some years now. I promised I’d bring you back in one piece…”
“But…you called me ‘Tallie’…”
He bounced his shoulders with irreverence. “Yea…she started calling you that a long time ago. I guess I sort of liked it.”
“Brandy, seriously, where are we going?”
He looked at her crossly. “Brandy…what sort of nickname is that?”
“The one I’ve been using since I was nineteen years old…”
He chuckled warmly. She’d always fallen victim to the sound of his poorly hidden nervous laughter.
“Oh, Natalie…you sure you’re feeling okay? Let me know now. Sophia wants you in tip-top shape for this wedding. She specifically chose you as her Maid of Honor, because if she faints, throws up, or gets too drunk, or gets a heart attack, you’ll be there to provide medical care…”
“I can only do so much,” she replied. “I dropped out of medical school, remember?”
“You did? When? I’ve seen all of the pictures from your white coat ceremony, your graduation, your acceptance into the residency program. You know Sophie’s a digital camera fiend.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, don’t be modest,” he replied, tapping the top of her arm gently. “We give you permission to brag about being a pediatrician, Dr. Chandler…just as long as it’s tastefully done…”
“I need some air. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Don’t worry…we’re almost to the church.”
“The church? Since when did you want to get married in the church?”
He bounced his shoulders again. “Oh, hell, I don’t know. I sort of love the tradition of it all, you know? Sophia’s the perfect girl…she deserves the perfect wedding. Anybody that comes between that, I’ll kill ‘em…”
Natalie remained silent, subtly clawing at her throat for air. It took her several seconds to realize that Brandon was still talking.
“…I’m going to have to drop you off in the front. I don’t want Sophia seeing me.”
“I get it,” Natalie replied, feeling the tears buzz to warmth in her cheeks. “Tradition…”
Someone was yelling at her, well into the distance. A loud beating sound followed. They didn’t know her name. Only that she was a woman. The person sounded distressed. The yelling made her head hurt. She couldn’t speak. She saw nothing but a hazy shade of gray.
“Can you believe it, Tallie? Can you believe that today’s the day?”
She stood behind Sophia Christine Baldwin in a quiet room with a large oval mirror. It was just the two of them, in close proximity. Natalie wrestled with a bobby pin in Sophia’s perfectly coifed curly up-do, her gilded hair, shining unnaturally.
She was beautiful. She smelled of citrus and peppermint, and her skin was perfectly darkened by the sun’s light.
“No,” Natalie managed to breathe. She tried a smile, gazing into the reflection, grasping at her own envious resolve at the sight of Sophia’s clear emerald eyes.
“I’m so nervous,” she answered, her sweet southern voice a little shaky.
“You haven’t a reason to be.”
“Tell me I’m doing the right thing…”
“You’re doing the right thing, Sophie.”
“He really is kind of perfect, isn’t he?”
“One of the best.”
“Handsome.”
“Very.”
“Sexy.”
“Most definitely.”
“Aggressive.”
“He has no competition in that category.”
Sophia chuckled and sighed thereafter, adjusting a pendant around her neck. It was the dragonfly pendant, right there before her, beautiful and unique.
“I’m promised I’d wear it for him,” she murmured, smiling. “Can you believe it’s been so long since he gave it to me for my twentieth birthday?”
Natalie recoiled her impending response, resisting the urge to cry.
“He’s always been so good to me,” she continued. “I can be quite difficult to deal with…”
“Not as much as you think, I’m sure…”
“Still,” she sighed. “I’m so lucky to have him. I’m so lucky that he loves me…me, Tallie…”
“You deserve it, Sophia…you deserve him…you deserve to be happy…you two were always meant to be…”
Sophia reached for her hand. “Come, Tallie…it’s time…”
“Miss! Miss, are you okay? Answer me! Are you okay?”
Stop with all the fucking yelling! She was trying to sleep! What was the big deal, really? What could be done? What would change? She was a loveless creature, caught adrift in a blue chasm, absentminded and cold.
Why call? Why care? Why?
So there she stood, behind Sophia at the altar. The unity candle flickered near her face. She watched Brandon. She watched him smile, cry, laugh. He was in love with the wo
man in white. He was fucking in love with her. What could be done? What could be said?
He was beautiful – fucking beautiful. Tall and dark and thick-haird.
Fucking beautiful.
She thought of a million ways to scream out her misery, but when she parted her lips, no sound escaped. Only invisible life, emptiness.
“I do,” Brandon said. “I really do…”
And Natalie felt his words.
There was a loud sound near her head, a cracking noise against glass. Shattered glass. And a man’s voice. It wasn’t nearly as deep as Brandon’s. But more articulate and accented. It was strange.
The idea that it wasn’t Brandon calling for her, pushed her to crack her eyes open and begin to sob uncontrollably, tracing the tips of her fingers up her face and through her hair. She felt a wetness, and a muted stinging sensation that throbbed a little when her touch connected.
She groaned.
“Miss, I’ve called the police, I need to get you out of this car…open up…”
Natalie blinked several times to focus, and her head lopped forward as the tears moved through her.
“No…” she moaned. “No, please…”
“Miss, the door is jammed. I’ve called the police. Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s your name?”
“Does it matter?” she muttered. The sobs took over her voice.
“The sun is coming up,” she continued. “And my marriage will be over.”
“What? I can’t understand you. Do you have a name, Miss?”
“Sophia,” she whispered. “Sophia Baldwin…”
The next thing she remembered were flashing red and blue lights, a cop with a notepad and a man dressed in all black standing nearby with his arms crossed.
She was in the back of a cop car, drowning in a peculiarly anxious disposition, teeming with wrought emotion.
“I need your license and registration, ma’am…”
“I don’t have it.”
“Insurance information?”
“Don’t have it.”
The officer lurched closer to her with a furrowed brow. The air was chilly, achingly numbing.
There was a slight pause before he continued with, “Ma’am, whose car is this?”
“My husband’s.”
“Does he know you have it?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Where is he right now?”
Natalie looked toward the cop. The man in black remained stationary.
“In our bed, naked and asleep. We made love tonight, and I knocked him out with my insatiable appetite.”
“Is that the truth?”
“That or he’s passed out drunk. Either way, he’s in our bed. And I refuse to go back to that bed, you see.”
“Are you inferring that you had a domestic dispute, ma’am?”
“Nope. I’m simply saying that I left the house while he was asleep and decided to take a joyride in his car. The rest, I’m not so sure of.”
“We will need to contact your husband for insurance and registration.”
“Does this conversation have to include me?”
“That’s a strange question, ma’am.”
“There are no strange questions, officer. Only strange reactions.”
She was feisty. She half expected the cop to wrangle her into handcuffs, but he didn’t. He just stood there.
How disappointing.
“Would you like to at least tell me your name?”
“Which one would you like? My full name? My nickname? My maiden name? Or my married name?”
“Ma’am, it’s been a long day. Please. Indulge me.”
The cop was young and clean and attractive. He was barely out of the academy, given a shitty shift to test his natural fortitude.
Natalie respected his forbearance as much as she did his face.
“Natalie. Natalie Chandler.”
“Is that your maiden or your married name?”
“Greene. My last name is Greene.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Greene,” he replied, jotting down something on the pad. “And your husband’s name?”
“Brandon.”
“Thank you. I’ll give your husband a call in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll contact a local tow truck service and have his truck pulled out of the ditch. You did a pretty number, avoiding the other driver. I should add least give you credit for your evasive driving.”
“Thank you. And I’m sure my husband will thank you too. Should I decide he’s worth speaking to again.”
For the sake of his own professionalism, the cop attempted to stifle a chuckle.
“If he’s got a firecracker of a wife to deal with, I’m sure he’s worth the trouble.”
“I appreciate your honesty, officer.”
“Where can I take you?”
“I’m not sure. I have no license. I have no money. I’m still in my bedroom slippers, you see.”
Then she laughed heartedly at the thought of the letter she left on the nightstand beside her husband’s phone.
You two deserve each other. Time to end the charade. Have a nice life.
“My husband won’t be very happy with me when he wakes up,” she remarked, settling down. “And I have no friends or family in the area. It’s just us. Do cops provide plane tickets back to Georgia.”
“On my salary, no,” he smiled. “But I do have a friend who owns a hotel. I’ll take you there.”
“No.”
The man dressed in black stepped forward. She could barely see his face in the flashing hazard lights.
“I’ll take her.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not very accustomed to taking rides from strangers.”
“We already met, you see,” he said. “When your truck almost totaled mine.”
He drove a large black SUV, a real shiny clunker of a thing that looked as though it belonged to a Dr. Carrievan of Secret Service agents. And he had a really nice watch on his hairy wrist, similar to the one she’d almost purchased Brandon but stopped herself when she realized she wasn’t rich.
He would’ve loved it, though.
The sun was starting to peek up ahead, and she winced her eyes toward the horizon. They stung with fragments of tears. She felt weakened and sore and empty.
“There’s a better establishment downtown,” the driver muttered. “That cop would’ve taken you somewhere crappy.”
“I like ‘crappy’,” she remarked idly. “It’s what stories are made of.”
“I don’t think you would’ve shared the same sentiment had you actually have stayed there.”
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You have no idea.”
They didn’t speak for several minutes, and the coral sky took over her perception.
She was in love with what she saw. It made everything easier to deal with.
“That young cop must’ve really liked you. They usually slam people with drunk driving charges like they’re candy.”
“I wasn’t drunk.”
“Oh, that was your normal way of driving.”
“My emotions have become something I cannot control. I’m existing for two now.”
“That’s poetic.”
“Yes. And it also means that I’m carrying my husband’s child. And I’m not sure that I want to.”
“That’s an honest statement.”
“No more talking, please. I just want to sleep.”
The next thing she knew, she was waking up in a swanky hotel room, flanked in silk and lace and modern accents, with the smell of fresh flowers filling her every sense. And there were at least twelve missed calls from Brandon, half of which he had taken the time to leave voicemails.
“Tallie, where are you? Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
“Are we really doing this again? Is this really us?”
“Let me explain myself. I do have an explanation.”
“I know what you’re doing right now. You’re sitting wherever you are and you’re stewing.”
“I love you.”
She shivered at the sound of his voice, melting away the anger she quickly woke up with. She knew what she had to do, just that quickly. She knew how much easier it would be once she did it.
She sat up sharply, shuffled the ridiculously comfortable covers aside, and slid her feet to the floor. Her feet sank into the plush carpet.
“Where the hell am I?” she questioned aloud. “And where are my clothes?”
Damn it, she thought. I’m dreaming again. I got too drunk in said dream over the loss of Brandon and I’ve sunk into a very depressive subconscious. Help me.
She reached for her phone again. She hated when her anger for her husband collapsed swiftly. She hated how much she loved him, even then, when things were so haphazardly fucked up between them.
She dialed a series of familiar numbers, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
“Brandon Greene, speaking…”
“Brandy…”
And she crumbled into tears. Right there with her husband on the other end. They tumbled through her like a miserable orgasm, taking over every inch of her body, leaving her helpless, exposed and weak.
She heard her husband release a heavy breath into the receiver. She couldn’t tell if it was a sigh of relief or exasperation. Nevertheless, she collected her senses, wiped her eyes and her nose and continued with, “I’m sorry.”
He breathed heavily again. “I’m sorry, too.”
“I’m sorrier than you.”
“Not possible.”
“I can’t believe you went to work.”
“I had no other choice. Though, I’m not really sure I should have. Cab fare here is ridiculous.”
She felt a pang in her chest, remembering the accident. Her purpose for being in that hotel room came flooding back to her violently.
“Are you at least safe?”
She surveyed the room; it was the nicest one she’d ever been in. Period.
“Yes. I am.”
“I won’t ask where you are. Just as long as you’re safe.”
“Baby, I want to see you. I need to see you.”
“I thought you’d never want to see me again after the things that came out of my mouth last night.”