Weather the Storm

by LK Farlow

  I process his words, dread and anxiety churning in my stomach. “Great. L-let’s eat?”

  “Oh, shit! Lunch!” Simon exclaims. “I forgot all about lunch.”

  “It’s f-fine. I just made a salad. We can go eat it now.”

  I pad out of the room and to the kitchen, Simon following behind me. I direct him to have a seat at the table while I shuffle back and forth, bringing the salad bowl, tongs, two plates, flatware, and drinks over to the table.

  “I coulda helped you bring all that,” Simon says as he plates himself a large portion of salad.

  “I know, but I…I like doing things like this for you.” I duck my head at my admission, worrying he’ll think I’m weak or silly.

  “Do you?” he asks, running his thumb across his bottom lip. “Or do you feel like you have to?”

  Confused, I gape at him, wondering why on earth he’d ask me that.

  Sensing that he upset me, Simon is fast to explain himself. “What I mean is, I don’t want you doing this out of a sense of obligation or because you think I want you to. We’re equals, Goldilocks, and I want to do as much for you as you do for me. I don’t ever want there to be an imbalance of power between us, you get me?”

  My heart softens at his words. This man, my God, this man.

  “I m-mean it, Simon. It makes me happy, and you do do a lot for me. Think of all the things you’ve helped me with. I love you, so let me do these little things for you, p-please?”

  “If it’s what you truly want, who am I to stop you? Just don’t complain or argue when I do shit for you.”

  Finally, a genuine smile stretches across my face. “Deal. Let’s eat before the cops get here.”

  Our conversation ceases as we both dig into the salad I made. Simon rinses our plates while I wipe down the table, and the knock on the door startles us both. We pause our current activities and head toward the entrance of the house.

  I stand slightly behind Simon as he checks the peephole then unlocks and opens the door. “It’s the same two from the other night,” he says as the officers come into view.

  “I thought the name dispatch gave me sounded familiar,” Officer Byrnes says in way of greeting.

  “Unfortunately,” Simon replies, stepping back to allow the duo to enter. “Let’s move this to the living room.”

  Once we’re all settled, they waste no time. “So, what exactly happened?” Officer Benson asks, pen and notepad in hand.

  Simon launches into recounting what happened, not skipping a single detail, and my heart takes off like a rocket. Midway through his story, I grab his hand and hold it to my chest. His touch does wonders to settle me, but I’m still worried and angry and sad.

  Most of all, I’m angry—so incredibly angry. How dare Grant take out his anger toward me on a complete and total stranger? Apparently, he is more than a monster; he’s a total sociopath.

  Officer Benson taps his pen against the cleft in his chin. “Did anyone other than you witness the incident?”

  “Yes, sir,” Simon replies. “My neighbors saw the whole thing.”

  Both cops nod, and after scanning his partner’s notes, Officer Byrnes speaks up. “And you’re sure it was a South Carolina tag?”

  “One hundred and ten percent. Myla Rose—my neighbor—said she saw a white palmetto on the plate. Only state with that is South Carolina.”

  “Do you have any enemies or any reason to believe someone would want to hurt you? Either of you? I know yesterday the lady”—he nods to me—“mentioned she thought it was her husband who tore her car up.”

  I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth before answering. “Yes. Last n-night, when I mentioned my husband, I thought I was just being p-paranoid, but the car they all saw matches his to a T.”

  “Any reason he’d be down here? Any reason he’d want to hurt either of y’all?” Officer Byrnes asks.

  A familiar shame heats my cheeks. The thought of having to confess my weakness to two practical strangers has me wanting to climb the curtains.

  “Uh, um…y-yes. He…he was…abusive thr-throughout our m-m-marriage.”

  “Abusive how? Mentally, physically?”

  “All…all of the above,” I confess, my voice small. “I r-ran away and n-never looked back after he al-almost k-killed me.”

  “You never reported him? Never told anyone?” Officer Benson asks, sounding appalled.

  Hanging my head in shame, I whisper, “No.” With my confession come my tears, streaking hot paths down my cheeks where they drip from my chin into my lap. “No one w-would’ve believed me. Grant is so r-rich and p-powerful, and I’m j-just the high school dropout he plucked from a d-dirty old sh-shack.”

  Simon wraps his arms around me, offering silent comfort. He runs his fingers over the skin of my upper arm, calming me.

  “So, no protection order was ever filed?” Benson asks.

  Still looking down, I shake my head, too embarrassed to meet their eyes.

  “Sad to say, there’s not much we can do about the domestic abuse allegations. I mean, if you wanted to file an order for protection here, you could, but…” Officer Byrnes’ unspoken words hang in the air.

  “But she would have to see him?” Simon asks.

  “No, not necessarily,” Officer Benson states. “If you file an ex parte OFP, you would have to petition a judge to grant it based on information you would provide without your husband having to appear in court.”

  “However,” Byrnes interjects, “if he requests a hearing to contest the order, you will have to see him.”

  “Do…do you th-think he would d-do that?”

  “That’s a hard question to answer, ma’am,” Benson says, treading carefully. “But, usually they do.” Noticing the worried look on my face, he adds, “It’s up to you.”

  “Y’all mind giving us a minute to talk about this?” Simon asks.

  Officer Byrnes is quick to reply. “Not at all. We’ll head down to take pictures of your mailbox and check out all of that.”

  “Thank you, officers.”

  Byrnes and Benson head out, leaving Simon and me alone. “I think you should do it, Goldilocks.”

  “R-really?”

  “I do. We need to start building a case against his ass, and at least this way, if you have to see him, it will be in a controlled environment.”

  “I-I guess that’s true.” I debate the pros and cons internally before finally deciding to trust Simon. I know he only wants the best for me, and if he thinks it’s a good idea, it probably is. “Okay.”

  The sound of heavy steps on the front porch alert us to the return of Benson and Byrnes, and we meet them at the door.

  “She wants to file.”

  Chapter Twenty

  SIMON

  After informing the officers that we plan to file for an order for protection, they explain that we need to go down to the courthouse tomorrow to do so, as it is technically a civil matter and not a criminal one.

  They also inform us that while they were checking out the road and mailbox, they saw Myla Rose and Cash return, so they would head over there to question them next.

  Officer Byrnes gives us the information we need to get the forms filled out tomorrow morning, and once I lock the door behind them, I make my way into the kitchen where my laptop is charging on the counter.

  I grab my sub list to find someone to cover me.

  I strike out with the first five names on the list, and I’m crossing my fingers number six can help me out. I’ve never worked with this substitute before, so really, it could go either way. The phone rings four times before she answers. “Hello?”

  “Hi. May I please speak with Ms. Garcia?”

  “This is she. May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Simon McAllister. I teach ninth grade history at Dogwood High and I’m real sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but I’m looking for someone to sub for me tomorrow. Any chance you’re available?”

  I hear some papers rustling,
along with her sharp intake of breath. “Yes!” she exclaims into the phone. “I mean, yes,” she says at a more normal decibel. “Sorry, I just got my certification, and I’m really excited.”

  Ah, that explains why her name was unfamiliar—she must’ve recently been added to the list. I breathe out a sigh of relief. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear that! Thank you so much.” We go over everything she needs to know, and I let her know the lesson plan will be waiting for her on my desk.

  Once I end the call with Ms. Garcia, I dial up my department head. She answers almost immediately. “Mr. McAllister, how may I help you this afternoon?”

  “Sorry to call you on a Sunday, Mrs. Brynolf, but I won’t be in tomorrow and was hoping you could print out my lesson plan in the morning and leave it for the sub?”

  “Certainly. Is everything all right?”

  Sighing, I debate how to answer her. I’d known the question was coming. Growing up in a small town, it’s hard for people not to want to know your business, and Mrs. Brynolf has been at Dogwood High since I was a kid.

  “Yes, ma’am, my girlfriend and I just have to go down to the courthouse to take care of some things regarding her ex.” I keep my answer short but honest, hoping it’s enough to squelch her nosiness.

  “Goodness. Well, thank you for letting me know. I’ll get your lesson plan on your desk first thing in the morning, and we will see you Tuesday.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. B. I appreciate it,” I say, ending the call.

  “All done?” Magnolia asks, and I turn around to face her, backing her against the kitchen island.

  “All done.” Running my fingers through her long, silky locks, I nuzzle my nose into the small dip in her collarbone. “What do you say to us skipping dinner and callin’ it a night? We can cuddle up in my bed and watch movies until we fall asleep?”

  Magnolia stretches, rising up on her tippy-toes, the action pressing her breasts into me. “Mmm, sounds good. Should we t-talk to everyone first?”

  “That’s what group texts are for,” I murmur, dragging my lips up her neck until they land on her mouth. Our kiss revs from zero to sixty faster than a Mustang, and before I know it, we’re so caught up in one another everything else fades away.

  I’ve managed to get Magnolia up onto the island with me situated between her legs, and I’m kissing my way down her throat when a pounding at the door scares the shit out of us both.

  My racing heart slows when I hear the muffled sound of Myla Rose yelling from the front porch. “Simon McAllister! I know you’re home!”

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “Talk about timing.”

  Painfully, I pull away from Magnolia before helping her down from the countertop. “So m-much for a group text,” she says, laughing lightly.

  “I’m nowhere near finished with you,” I growl in her ear, causing her to shiver. “Let’s go talk to them then send them on their way.”

  Magnolia lingers in the kitchen while I answer the door. Sure enough, our whole crew is basically camped out on my damn porch.

  With sarcasm seeping from every pore, I hold the door open for them. “Please, come in.”

  One by one, they file inside. The only upside to their interruption is that Drake holds a brown paper bag I know is full of fried chicken from Danny’s—the best chicken fingers in town.

  “H-hey, y’all.” Somehow Magnolia manages to greet our friends pleasantly, like they aren’t all the biggest cockblocks around.

  Seraphine rushes to her cousin. “What is going on, Mags?” she asks, sounding hurt that she’s out of the loop.

  “Oh G-God, I don’t even know where t-to start.”

  “The beginning would be good,” Seraphine replies. “Come, sit.” She takes Magnolia by the hand and leads her to the living room. I smile when I see Magnolia claim my chair as her own.

  Drake begins unpacking the food, arranging the grease-spotted boxes of chicken fingers, fries, and fried okra onto the island. Guess it’s a good thing Magnolia and I didn’t make it any further before they arrived—sanitary reasons and all.

  I dish up a little bit of everything onto three different plates, carrying two out to the living room—one for my girl and one for Seraphine—before retreating and grabbing the one for myself.

  Once we’re all seated, our plates balanced on our laps, Magnolia launches into the painful tale of her past. By the time she’s finished, there’s not a dry eye in the room. Cash and Drake do better at holding back their emotions, but if their clenched fists are any indicator, they’re struggling.

  Seraphine is the first to speak. “Mags, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “I…I d-didn’t want you to j-judge me.”

  “Oh, Mags,” Seraphine wails, wrapping her cousin in her arms. “Never, honey, never.”

  Myla Rose and Azalea waste no time huddling around my girl, slinging their arms around her and Seraphine in a group hug. After some time, they all pull back and return to where they were seated.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Drake asks.

  “Tomorrow morning, first thing, Magnolia and I are gonna file for an order for protection. Downside is we gotta wait for them to actually find that sack of shit before he can be served.”

  Looking as dissatisfied as I feel, Cash speaks up. “What about until then?”

  “Well, that’s where we need y’all’s help. I don’t want Magnolia at the salon alone—at all, ever.”

  “Agreed,” Cash and Drake murmur.

  “Her car should be ready by Tuesday, but I honestly don’t know how I feel about her driving alone.”

  “I can drive out here and carpool,” Seraphine offers.

  “Perfect. And y’all”—I address the entire room—“be fucking vigilant. Keep your eyes open. This dude is unhinged, and while I want to keep my girl safe, I don’t want anything happenin’ to any of you either.”

  Finally, everyone leaves, and Magnolia and I are alone again. Together we clean up the mess from dinner, shooting one another heated glances all the while.

  Once the living room and kitchen are spotless, we make our way back to my bedroom. I watch like a dog staring down a juicy steak as Magnolia strips and crawls into my bed naked as the day she was born. I fucking love this brave side of her, how she doesn’t hold back with me.

  Following suit, I scramble out of my clothes and climb in behind her, wrapping her in my arms. “Sure do love you,” I murmur before showing her just how much.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  MAGNOLIA

  Monday morning comes too soon, and before I know it, Simon and I are walking into the courthouse with the police report we picked up on the way. We pass through the metal detectors and make our way back toward the court administrator’s office.

  Even though the chairs in the waiting area are empty, Simon walks up to the take-a-number dispenser mounted to the wall and grabs a ticket. I glance at the piece of paper in his hand. It reads 4, and the large, digital display mounted on the wall reads 3. At least the wait won’t be long.

  Or so I thought. It honestly feels like we’ve been here an eternity. Other than the sound of typing from inside the office and the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall, it’s silent, and it’s killing me, giving me way too much time to think—or should I say rethink this decision, wondering if this is the right thing to do. The thought of facing Grant in court, even with my strong Simon by my side, terrifies me.

  Grant has this way about him. He somehow always managed to reduce me to nothing while making me feel ashamed and stupid for ever thinking I could be more. The thought of Simon seeing that side of me causes embarrassment to burn in my chest. Would he think less of me if he knew how weak I really was?

  “Simon,” I hiss out of the side of my mouth.

  “Sup, Goldilocks?”

  “Ev-everything’s gonna be okay, right?”

  He twists around in his chair so his knees are pointing my way then takes my hand in his. With his eyes never straying from mine, he nods,
and for some inexplicable reason…I believe him.

  After waiting long enough to watch paint dry, a high-pitched beep fills the room, signaling the number on the display changing from three to four. Simultaneously, Simon and I stand. Hand in hand, we walk back into the admin offices and over to the second desk.

  The woman seated there is a welcome sight: older, with kind eyes and a cheery smile. “Hello, how can I help y’all today?”

  “I-I’d like to file for an or-order for protection.”

  “Okey-doke.” The clerk rummages around her desk before producing a stack of papers. “Just fill these out, dear, and let me know if you have any questions.”

  Simon helps me fill out the forms, which are more complicated than you’d think. When I’m satisfied with my answers, I hand them back to the clerk. She scans over the pages before tapping them all together on her desk, forming a neat stack. “Is this everything? Can you think of any other important details?”

  “Um…we, um…” I struggle to collect my words, the clerk patiently waiting me out. Simon takes my hand in his, offering me his strength.

  Noticing my hesitation, the clerk glances back down to the forms and addresses me by name. “Magnolia, dear, I’m Gladys, and I want you to know you can tell me anything. There won’t be any judgment or condemnation. We just want to have as much information as possible to sway the judge to rule in your favor.”

  Gladys’ kind nature sets me at ease, and even though it’s hard, and it hurts to relive these memories—again—I share my story with her, doing my damnedest to remember approximate dates and any relevant facts.

  By the time I’m finished, Gladys is sniffling. She tries to hide it behind a cough, but I can see the glisten of unshed tears in her eyes. “My gracious. I’ll get this filed, and when the judge makes his decision, I’ll phone to let y’all know. Have a nice day, dear, and keep your chin up.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Simon says, shaking her hand before rising from his seat.

  I shake her hand after he does. “Thank you so m-much, Gladys.”

  Hours pass while waiting for Gladys to call, hours that feel like a lifetime. We kill time by grabbing lunch at Dilly’s, which is coincidentally where we met when Simon came to my rescue because some jerk was harassing me for bumping into his truck. Never, ever would I have guessed we’d be here now—together, in love, and blissfully happy. Never did I think something like this was in the cards for me.