Idle Bloom

by Jewel E. Ann

“I’m going to vomit then have a voluntary lobotomy!” She slings a sticky piece of spaghetti at me as I head toward the stairs.

  *

  I skip down the front steps. Glass scars? What glass scars? A pang of disappointment hits me when I see Chance’s truck still there. Maybe he’ll take the hint and leave when he sees me salivating through labored breaths at his brother.

  “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  I hear voices as I near the stairs. They become clearer as I tiptoe my way upstairs.

  “I think you should stop drinking.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, once you pass out the party is over.”

  “I didn’t pass out … I took a nap.”

  “You passed out.”

  “How would you know? You’re wasted too.” Oliver chuckles.

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “You broke your ax on my door.”

  “Okay, I’m a little wasted.”

  “Viv-i-an’s going to be here … soon. You should go.”

  “You should let her go. You’re fucked-up and you’re just going to break her heart.”

  “You’re right—”

  “He’s right?” I turn the corner at the top of the stairs, startling both of them. “Is that what I heard you say?” My jaw clenches while I squint at him. “I thought we had this conversation! Stop jerking me around. Either you want to be with me or you don’t. But I’m fed up with you acting like some martyr willing to give me up even if it kills you just because you think it’s best for me. Either you’re in or out! So what’s it going to be?”

  He struggles to stand up, but falls right back down on his butt. Chance laughs.

  “What’s so goddamn funny? What’s wrong with the two of you? Why are you both sitting in the hall, drunk off your asses, in the middle of the day?” I look to my left at the door. There’s an ax stuck in it with the handle broken off. I pull the key out of my pocket and dangle it in front of them. “Seems a little less destructive than an ax, don’t you think?”

  Oliver goes to grab it, but I pull it away. “Why do you have my key?”

  “I slipped it in my pocket the other day and forgot it was there. I have it now because I was planning on returning it. Now answer me.”

  He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head as if that’s going to help him sober up. “What was the question again?”

  “Ugh! Are you keeping me or cutting me loose? Why are you both drunk? And what the hell is the meaning behind the pillow with a photo of your dead daughter sitting on top of it in the middle of an otherwise empty room?” I point to the door.

  Chance looks at Oliver. “Bro, you kept the pil—”

  “Get out!” Oliver grits through his teeth.

  “That’s so fuc—”

  “GET. OUT!”

  Chance crawls to his feet and stumbles to the stairs.

  “Don’t you dare drive home,” I say to Chance, still glaring at Oliver.

  “I’ll call for a ride,” he replies on his way down the stairs.

  Oliver bows his head and rubs his temples. “My head is killing me. So pick one.”

  “What?”

  “Pick the question that matters most right now.”

  I kneel down between his bent legs. He looks up at me with heart-wrenching emotion in his glossy blue eyes.

  “Are you letting me go?” I whisper with such fear of his answer smacking me in the face.

  “Never.”

  I nod. “Okay then.” Releasing a sigh of desperate relief, we embrace like we’re holding on for life.

  *

  My back screams in protest while my body temperature approaches boiling point. We’re still in the hallway. Oliver has half his body draped over mine and his head is on my chest. I’m not sure how long we’ve been asleep, hopefully long enough for the alcohol to clear his system.

  “Oli?” I whisper, running my fingers through his hair.

  He mumbles something.

  “Oli, wake up.”

  He lifts his head just enough to see my eyes. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Choosing me.”

  I smile. “I think it was the other way around.”

  “No, when you chose us over my past … you chose me.”

  “I’ll always choose you. No take backs, remember.”

  “No take backs.” He grins and rolls me on top of him. “You didn’t let me finish earlier.” I close my eyes when his lips brush across mine. “I should let you go, but you’ve become my sunrise. I need you when the darkness threatens to take over.”

  “When is that?”

  “Always.”

  Oh, Oli …

  Our faces are as close as they can be without actually touching.

  “You’re staring at my freckles.” I rub my nose against his.

  “Because they’re so damn cute.”

  “Shut up. Dimples are cute. Freckles are spotty, patchy, and messy.”

  “Messy?” He laughs.

  “Yeah, like I’m messy right now and sweaty. I need a shower.”

  “Bath?”

  I grin and nod.

  We fill the tub … too much, thanks to us both being incapable of keeping our hands off the other when we’re naked.

  “We’re going to have a mess to clean up by the time we get out,” I say as I ease in the water between his legs. I love his deep claw-foot tub.

  “We’ll add it to the messy list with your freckles.”

  “Ha, ha!” I lean back against his chest and skim my fingers over his legs.

  “So how did the weekend go?”

  “Great, actually. I feel free. The painful weight of lying to my parents for the past two years has been lifted. They felt bad that I thought I needed to protect them from the truth, but they weren’t mad.”

  “And your adulterous boyfriend?”

  I laugh. “They think we’re both insane, but they get it.”

  “Get it?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “How much did you tell them?”

  “I told them your wife is mentally ill because your baby died. It’s tragic and something I’m sure you don’t want the whole world to know, but they’re my parents and I had to explain the situation.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Are you mad?”

  He wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. “No … I’m not mad.”

  After twenty minutes of silence and the dropping water temperature evoking goose bumps, we get out. I wrap my towel around myself and comb through my hair while Oliver goes into the bedroom.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” I say while grabbing one of his T-shirts from the drawer and slipping it on.

  He sits on the edge of the bed in just his briefs with his head bowed. “I’d been working late … a lot. Being the youngest lawyer at the firm meant long hours. We both knew that when I took the position. That’s the reason I looked for a job in Portland, so her parents would be close by to help when the baby came.”

  He’s telling me everything and I can’t move. I want to sit next to him, hold his hand … something, but I’m frozen in front of the dresser, just feet away from him, completely paralyzed.

  “She went into labor at five in the morning two weeks before her due date. They ended up doing a C-section. Melanie was tiny but so…” his voice cracks “…strong.” He shakes his head. “God, she was so strong. Caroline had a tough recovery, but her mom stayed with us to help out. The partners at the firm insisted I take a week off and work from home. I thought we were good, tired and exhausted, but good.”

  Silence settles over the room. I don’t know if he’s looking for the right words or the right amount of courage. Forcing my body to find its own courage, I move closer and kneel on the floor by the bed, resting my head on his leg. His hand moves to my hair and he runs his fingers through it in slow methodic strokes.

  “I went back to work, but her parents came to help every day over the next couple mo
nths. They encouraged her to take a shower, a walk, even run an errand or two just to have a break. One day she would scrub the kitchen floor then the next she didn’t want to get out of bed. Her doctor said it was postpartum depression, fairly common. Her mom thought she was starting to hallucinate, but I never saw that side of her. Then again, I wasn’t home much. Melanie was usually asleep by the time I got home, so my only interaction was when she woke in the night, but even then Caroline was usually up. She hardly slept.”

  He laughs, it’s a painful, maybe even an angry laugh. “It wasn’t postpartum depression, it was postpartum psychosis. Did you know that point one percent of women get it? And even then, less than five percent of that point one percent are suicidal or …” He swallows and takes a deep breath.

  I can’t move … I can’t breathe. I know where this is going. It’s the sickest feeling I’ve ever had in my life. It’s worse than waking up in the hospital with third-degree burns. It’s worse than hearing about Sean’s abusive past. It’s even worse than the news of Kai’s sister dying. One blink and my tears release. They flow freely down my face and onto Oliver’s leg.

  “Less than five percent of … Point. One. Fucking. Percent. Her parents had driven down to visit her brother in Salem, just for the evening. I made sure to be home by dinner. I brought food and flowers. It was going to be our special night together, just the three of us.”

  His tears fall to my cheek. I look up at him and the pain on his face is like someone’s ripping him apart and he can’t stop them.

  I shake my head. “Don’t.” I need him to stop.

  “It was quiet … too quiet. So I went to our bedroom.”

  “Oli, stop.” I release a sob and grab his tear streaked face. “Please.”

  He just stares at me like he’s looking through me, not even seeing me. “They weren’t there. I thought … I thought maybe she was in the bathtub. The floor … so much blood … she was lifeless.”

  “Oli … don’t do this.” I cry.

  “I called 9-1-1 and went back down the hall to unlock the front door. That’s when I saw them.” More tears fall from his glazed-over eyes. “Her feet … they were bl-blue.” A break in his voice and a single sob … it’s a dagger to my heart.

  My forehead falls to his chest and I cry so hard. He places his hands over mine still on his cheeks.

  “She was in h-her crib with a p-pillow over her head.” He releases another strangled sob.

  I crawl up onto his lap and press my wet lips to his. “No more, Oli! No more.” I mumble between sobs against his lips.

  He nods, resting his forehead on mine and holding me tight in his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bared to Boston

  Oliver

  I gave Vivian the version of the story that showed the monster in Caroline. There’s the version where I’m a monster too. The one I’ve never told anyone. It’s the version that includes my thoughts that night … my regrets. I regretted calling 9-1-1 because Melanie was already dead and Caroline was still alive. Monster.

  It’s almost midnight. We’ve both been in and out of sleep but never leaving each other’s arms. The most incredible woman in the world found me … me! Someday I could wake up and discover she is in fact, just a dream. But for now I’m holding on to her with the intensity of a lifeline.

  “Do you miss Rosenberg?”

  I love her … I fucking love her more than I ever thought humanly possible. We haven’t said a word in six hours, not since I finished reliving my past, hopefully for the last time. Yet, she just knows to ask me about something as random and mundane as her dog.

  “Can’t say I’ve given him much thought.”

  She brushes her fingernails over my chest in the same repeated pattern. “Well, I think he took a real liking to you.”

  “Mmm, I guess I’ll have to go visit him again.”

  “Yes, or maybe he could come here … for a visit.”

  “Uh … yeah, sure … I guess.”

  “Really?” She looks up at me resting her chin on my chest.

  I shrug. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Thanks, babe.” She leans up and kisses me. “I’m hungry.”

  I chuckle. “It’s past midnight.”

  “Well, all my tummy knows is that we missed dinner.” She climbs out of bed and looks over her shoulder. “You coming?”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Mr. Konrad, I’m always serious when it comes to food.” Her voice fades as she heads toward the stairs.

  “I don’t have much food in the house.” I catch up to her at the bottom of the stairs.

  “I should run across the street and see what Alex left for me. She was making the yummiest pasta with a cream sauce and the whole place smelled like sugar cookies which were to die for.”

  “And you left that for me?”

  She opens the refrigerator. “I know, what was I thinking? Jeez, Oli, not much was an overstatement. You have nothing.” She opens the pantry and grabs a nearly-empty jar of peanut butter and a bag with bread. She pulls out the bread. “Heels … figures.”

  “I’ll stock the kitchen just for you tomorrow.” I pull her hair away from her neck and kiss her soft skin.

  “Where are your plates?” she asks while opening and shutting the doors to the empty cabinets.

  I step back and hop up on the island with my hands folded in my lap. “Funny you should ask. I haven’t had a chance to replace them since the home invasion.”

  She turns toward me, licking the peanut butter off the knife. “Oli …”

  I shake my head and reach for her arm, pulling her between my legs. “Don’t. I don’t want you to be sorry or feel bad or regretful. I should have told you long before you found out.”

  “But—”

  I press my finger to her lips. Her eyes fill with tears. “No buts. Just because I’ve shared everything with you doesn’t mean you’re supposed to give me a free pass. I love you, Vivian, and I knew it long before I said it. So I should have told you then. I should have told you everything.”

  She nods while I wipe away the few tears that have fallen down her cheeks. “Just let me say this once, Oli. I need you to hear it. Okay?”

  I feel the desperation in her voice. “Okay.”

  She draws in a slow breath then releases it as she sets down the knife and takes my hands in hers. “What happened to your family is unimaginable. I still can’t comprehend it. But you have some issues that aren’t going to disappear by simply ignoring them.”

  I look away then close my eyes.

  “You have to deal with what’s behind that door. I can deal with you having pain, Oli. People live with pain, but that’s not pain. That’s torture. And eventually it’s going to destroy you.”

  She squeezes my hands and I open my eyes. “So, stock your kitchen.” She steps back and grabs her sandwich. “I like crunchy by the way, this creamy crap is lackluster.”

  We both smile.

  “I’ll meet you for breakfast and let you take me to dinner. If you’re lucky, I’ll indulge you in a slumber party on the weekends, but I won’t move back in with you or make a commitment to a future with you until that door is opened and the walls are painted yellow. I want my single bed in there and a desk to use for my school work. And when I come to bed with you in our bed I want to lie on my pillow after you’ve made love to me once and fucked me twice.” She winks. “I need the Oli that I fell in love with. The guy who bought me my first bikini and gave me my first orgasm—the guy who let me lick my Boston Kreme donut off his—”

  “Vivian!” I adjust myself. “I get the point.” My body is at war. She’s talking about my past and essentially telling me to get my shit together or we don’t have a chance, but at the same time she’s eating, and my dick knows that my brain views her eating much the same as watching porn.

  “Sorry, babe. But you get what I’m trying to say, right?”

  “Yeah, I get it.” I grab her wrist and take a bite of her sandwich
. “I need to get it together and you like to lick food off my body.” I mumble over a mouthful.

  Vivian giggles. “Your words, not mine but close enough.” She feeds me the last bite. “We should grab a couple of cookies before we go back to bed.”

  “I don’t have any cookies.”

  “I’m talking about the sugar cookies Alex made.” She grabs my hand and pulls me off the counter.

  “She’s probably asleep.”

  “There’s a key under the planter.”

  “I’m in my underwear and you’re not wearing anything but my T-shirt.”

  “Come on, Oli. Don’t be such a spoilsport. It’s just across the street and who’s going to see us at this hour?” She opens the door.

  “So responsible people are considered spoilsports?” I follow her out the door.

  “There’s responsible and then there’s stuffy and boring. Live a little, Oli.” We look in both directions then streak across the street. “Her car is gone anyway. She must have gone to Sean’s after dinner.”

  I keep a lookout for cars while she lifts the planter. “Hmm … it’s not here. Man! I bet cowboy Sean forgot to put it back the last time he used it. Idiot!” She tries the door but it’s locked.

  “We’ll do cookies tomorrow, my love. Come on … it’s a little breezy out here in nothing but my skivvies.”

  “Fine!” She pouts as I pull her back across the street.

  “Maybe we should go upstairs and do a doughnut intervention, but call it a cookie intervention tonight.” I look back at her and smirk while grabbing for the doorknob.

  “I suppose.” She continues to pout. Those must be some amazing cookies over there. For the first time since we’ve been together she’s treating sex like a subpar consolation prize.

  “What the hell?” I jiggle and tug at the knob.

  “Did you lock the door?”

  She shakes her head. “You were the one who shut it.”

  “Dammit!” I bang my fist against the door.

  “Just use your spare key.”

  “I gave my spare key to you.” I try to keep my voice calm but it’s a challenge.

  “Well, why’d you lock the door then?”

  “I didn’t! Chance must have turned the lock when he left and I didn’t check the lock before we decided to live a little.”