by Vivien Vale
June
I don’t know where he is. I don’t know how long it will be until he’s home again.
I just hope he’s okay.
It’s a silly thing to worry about. If there’s one thing I can count on when it comes to Carter Abraham, it’s that he can take care of himself.
He’s strong. A protector. The kind of man who can come out of anything on the right side of it, even if he has to put up a fight.
Which doesn’t stop me from worrying. Not in the least.
Because if there’s one thing I can count on when it comes to Lawrence Abraham, it’s that wherever he goes, trouble follows—and then it’s Carter’s job to mop up the mess left in his twin’s wake.
I pull my robe around me tighter, relishing the feel of the pale blue satin against my skin. Ever since our child started growing in my womb, my body has entered a whole new world of experiencing sensation. Every cool breeze, every delicious smell, every pleasant sound seems to vibrate through my entire system with waves of pleasure.
It’s been making me freaking insatiable lately, if I’m being completely honest.
…god, I hope Carter comes home soon.
The way that goodbye felt, I thought for sure it would last me for a while.
And it did last me for a while—but that while has long since passed, and loneliness is creeping up at a surprisingly hasty pace.
Spreading my limbs out on the bed like a space-hungry starfish, it begins to hit me just how well that goodbye served me.
According to the unfathomably expensive-looking clock mounted to the wall by the bedroom door, it is now almost three o’clock in the morning.
Which means I spent hours basking in the lingering glow of our evening of gentle, loving wondrousness.
It’s an evening that’s been so wondrous indeed that only now am I beginning to realize that the wondrousness has been interrupted—and it’s yet to resume.
Just how late are the bars here open, anyway?
Bill’s Roadhouse—a Wheatfield institution since time immemorial—has a strict closing time of twelve-thirty, even on weekends. Rumor has it that some of the wilder places out in Omaha stay open until two some nights, but Manhattan isn’t Omaha.
It’s supposed to be sophisticated and cosmopolitan here, right?
Where is he?
So much for waxing poetic. That marvelous glow that kept me rapt on the bed for so long is taking in a new aura.
An aura of suffocating anxiety. I need to get off of this darn bed.
The city continues to buzz far below Carter’s bedroom windows. The faint, pulsing hum of traffic carrying who knows who to who knows where is starting to tie my stomach into knots.
The feeling of my bare feet making contact with Carter’s plush bedroom carpeting has a calming effect at first. The moment I begin standing up, and putting weight on those feet, I almost topple over.
It’s been an intoxicating evening, alright. And even though I had nothing to drink, I think the hangover’s starting to kick in.
Oh, Carter.
The intoxication could’ve lasted so much longer.
Hours longer.
Days, weeks…
Months.
There are nine of those in front of me now. This pregnancy is actually happening, but Carter just suddenly ending the celebration out of the blue…
It just doesn’t feel right.
Dragging myself to the en suite bathroom, I shake my head in disbelief at my own indignant thoughts.
Carter didn’t choose to end this evening. It was interrupted by outside forces.
June, come on, now. I scold myself out loud as I push through the bathroom door.
It wasn’t some sinister outside force.
It was family—and I encouraged him to do what was right.
“Family comes first,” I mutter while mindlessly twisting both the hot and cold spigot handles over the massive marble sink.
Rinsing my face, scrubbing vigorously with my hands, it suddenly becomes obvious.
The warmth I felt for so long after Carter’s departure wasn’t just about my evening with him or the goodbye we shared.
It was also about who I saw him being—somebody who was there for his family. Sure, it took some convincing on my part, but I could sense the urgency when he left.
His concern for his brother was as clear as a South Sioux City sky on a sunny day. He couldn’t hide it if he tried. It’s powerful to see someone care for their family like that.
And I guess it was powerful to see the way Carter obviously cares for his family.
With my face now beyond rinsed, I let my hands fall to my sides and watch the water run quietly down the drain.
His family.
But what about me?
The mother of his child?
Who, by the way, is still not all that familiar with this behemoth of a penthouse and doesn’t feel very much at home here by herself.
It’s like that whirlwind of confusion that marked my arrival in New York is coming back to life. Watching the spiral of water circling the drain, I’m astonished at how alone I feel.
I need to talk to somebody—someone who cares.
Since Carter has seemingly been swallowed by the vacuum of the city, I have precious few options.
After finally turning off the tap, I totter back out into the bedroom to check that clock and make sure that it’s for real.
The far-off traffic noise, a muted din that would usually be soothing, uncorks more fresh anxiety. Unthinkingly, I hold my hands lightly over my stomach.
There’s that clock on the wall again. It’s past three now, and it ain’t the freaking afternoon, either.
The feeling of aloneness and helplessness, which came on so abruptly, is still there, and it feels like it’s digging in for the long haul.
Waiting for Carter is no longer an option—I need somebody to talk to, and I think I know who that somebody is.
One more glance at the clock doesn’t change things. It’s still a couple minutes past three here in New York, which means that it’s a couple minutes past one back in western Nebraska.
If he was at Bill’s Roadhouse tonight, he should just be wandering in about now. If not, he’s already asleep for sure.
Life on the farm doesn’t allow for too many late nights, but I know my father feels like he’s earned the occasional night out with a couple beers and a few old friends. He will never hear a disagreement from me on that point.
If I end up waking him up, then I end up waking him up. It’s not like I have a choice right now—it’s like I’m lost in a strange alien universe and the only thing that can save me is the sound of a familiar voice.
Tears are threatening to well up in my eyes as I prepare to enter the dark abyss of the hallway outside the master bedroom. The size of this apartment seems majestic when Carter’s here, but it’s beyond overwhelming when I’m alone—or, at least it is tonight.
The hallway isn’t as dark as I anticipated—there’s a low light coming from a nearby metal wall sconce.
Follow your instincts, June. They rarely lead you astray.
My instincts lead me through a doorway on my left. Overhead lighting—probably hooked up to a motion sensor—switches on as I enter to reveal a sizable home office.
Across from me is a picture window with a stunning view, but the desk in front of the window—with a desk phone—is of much more interest to me.
Traffic noise comes through the window as I sit down in the big leather desk chair. This time it does sound soothing—even more so as I dial the number I’ll always know by heart.
After I dial, the ringing starts immediately, and calm sweeps over me. My newfound sense of calm recedes a bit as the phone keeps ringing, though.
Oh, well. My dad is sleeping soundly, but just dialing the number and hearing the ring is enough to make me feel so much—
“Hello?”
The groggy yet instantly familiar voice coming through the receiver summons
those long-threatening tears right down my cheeks. A couple brief sobs also escape as I cover the mouthpiece and try to compose myself.
“Dad…”
“Junebug…why are you calling at this hour? Are you okay?”
With a deep breath, my last sob evaporates, and I’m finally able to talk.
“Dad, yes, I’m okay.”
My dad waits for more of an explanation, but gives up after a couple seconds.
“Well, that’s good. I’m just happy to hear from you, Junebug. It’s been a long time since I’ve known life here without you. It’s like a whole new world, and to be honest, I don’t much care for it.”
I take another deep breath to fight another round of tears. Thankfully, this one doesn’t materialize.
“I know, Dad. It just…couldn’t last forever.”
“I’m well aware of that, June. And I’ll get used to it. Are you ready to tell me why you’re calling at…what time is it there?”
“Dad, I-I don’t know if I can go into all the details.”
“There’s no need, Junebug. Just stick to the ones I need to know. If there’s anything on this Earth I trust, it’s your judgment. But…should I be worried?”
“No, Dad. There’s nothing for you to worry about…”
“Is there something for you to worry about, then?”
There’s the question, laid bare, that’s been eating at me since I glanced at the clock.
“Tonight…out of nowhere…he left.”
At the worst moment, I’m suddenly unable to speak. I hear my dad sighing.
“No, Dad,” I continue, regaining my voice, “not like that. He left me alone here at his place. It’s really nice, but…”
“What do you mean he left you alone? At his place? Did you have a fight?”
“No…”
“Is he galivantin’ around town with someone else?”
“Just his brother.”
Another, slightly different sigh comes through the phone line.
“I think I might need some more details after all, Junie.”
“Supposedly, there’s some kind of problem—those are details I’m not sure of—and he had to go meet his brother…at a bar of all places, and it was like four hours ago, and he’s still not back.”
My last few words are overtaken by sobs, and my father stays silent.
“It was supposed to be a special night for us. And it was, but then…”
“But then what, Junie?”
“But then…it was just over.”
“What was just over? Some plans you had? What are you really upset about?”
As upset as I feel, I don’t know if I can answer that question clearly.
I can try, though.
“If he’s just willing to run out on me tonight, and just leave me in this huge, strange place…what does that mean about our future?”
“How did he run out on you, Junie? What did he say?”
“He said…goodbye.”
“So, he did leave you.”
“No, he actually said see you later, and he blew me a kiss. And I’m at his place, remember. And…I had to convince him to go. But he never came back.”
“It’s a long leap from a few hours to never, Junebug.”
“Does this all sound ridiculous to you?” I ask in a soft voice. I’m sure it does sound absurd, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.
“It doesn’t at all, Junebug. These things you feel—that everyone feels—around people that they care about…in that way, well, it’s the most powerful thing in this world. It gets out of control real easy, and it can get hard to get a hold of, darn near impossible…”
He sounds convinced of everything he says, but he sounds so calm.
“But I’m talking about this situation, Dad—the one that’s happening to me right now.”
“There’s a time I woulda said the same thing, June...”
“When?”
“Back when I was first courtin’ your mother.”
Darn, I should’ve known that subject would come up. I’m emotional enough already.
“Not courtin’, sorry,” he continues, “This was after we had first gotten married, in fact. Your mother was working at the five-and-dime…”
“The one that closed down last year?”
“Yep. Changin’ times and all.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yep, before you were born. She worked behind the soda counter, and I had the farm, of course. She had the second shift, and she’d get home at seven-thirty every night, without fail. And I’d wait for her all the way out front by the rural route.”
“Every night, huh?” I allow myself a bit of a smirk. It’s a cute image, but it soon makes me sad for a myriad of reasons.
“You better believe it. It was the highlight of my day, the thing that made workin’ in the fields worthwhile.”
“So, she didn’t show up one night or something?”
“One night she didn’t. It was a Wednesday, I recall. She didn’t call or nothing—and they did have a phone in that part of town.”
“Did she get a flat tire or something?”
“Well…yeah. Also, her engine overheated. But you’re skippin’ to the end of the story. She was more than three hours late, because she couldn’t get to a phone…”
“He’s got a phone in his pocket, Dad, like everyone else most places.”
“Well, in those three hours,” he continues, ignoring me, “I was already on the phone with the biggest realtor in the county, readying to sell the farm.”
My gasp was loud enough to echo off the walls.
“But, why? I couldn’t imagine you ever selling it.”
“At the time, June, I only had one real reason to be here, with all these acres of land, toiling away like you wouldn’t believe.”
“So, that was Mom.”
“Correct, Junie. I knew your mother loved me. We were married, and she told me all the time. But those feelings can get so strong, and the fear can get ya so easy, I was convinced she left me, and I was ready to give it all up…until my reason for bein’ here finally showed up on foot. Junie, it was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen up to that point. Just in time, too—I was getting the deed ready.”
My dad’s story works. I’m silenced and lost in thought…for a few seconds, at least. Then I think of a question.
“Dad...was Mom really your only reason for having the farm?”
“She was for a while, Junie. Until another reason came along.”
“Okay, Dad, I appreciate it, but…I don’t know.”
“Just don’t break out any legal papers, Junebug. Not yet.”
“Okay, Dad…I love you.”
“I love you, too, Junebug. I need to sleep.”
Hearing my dad hang up, I don’t feel any better.
That story doesn’t translate. There are phones everywhere at every time.
And I love my mom more than life itself, but she wasn’t a super-wealthy playboy.
What if something happened to him?
I slam down the receiver, trying to quell the worst anxiety I’ve felt tonight.
It doesn’t work.
Chapter 25
Ford
Okay, so this is totally new fucking territory for me. Looking after an animal has not been one of my assignments so far.
I’m not sure how I’m going to go. I think I may not do well with this one.
And it’s not as if I hate them or hate being around animals; I just don’t do well being around things that are small and fragile and miniscule.
It fucking terrifies me to think I might hurt someone or something.
All my life my hands were used for strength. They were used to tackle sweaty dudes on football fields, change brake rotors, and endure the hot burn of steel after shooting a rifle.
I don’t have prissy Ivy League soft baby hands, and that’s just how it is. But the downside to that is I always feel nervous when I have to handle something ge
ntle.
It sounds so stupid, but I’m worried I’ll hurt someone. I’m like a baboon in a china shop, or however that damn saying goes.
As I cradle this little monkey thing—Adelaide keeps calling him Edgar for Christ’s sake, so I guess I got to get used to that—I keep thinking I’m going to do something wrong.
When we brought the monkey home yesterday, he screeched this squeaky whine all night. I mean all fucking night. Wouldn’t sleep unless he was swaddled like baby Jesus himself and cradled lovingly by either me or Adelaide.
Even now, I still don’t think I have the hang of it just yet. What if I grasp his body too tightly? What if I accidentally step on him? The little guy is barely larger than my hand.
As I continue my morning of Baby Monkeys 101, Adelaide comes into the hut.
She’s practically glowing and sporting a halo above her head, her face burning with a healthy flush that makes her look more angelic than usual. I’m so caught up by it that I don’t even notice the bundle of supplies she has in her hands.
“I found some more blankets and fruit for Edgar.” She drops the basket of goods on the cot. “I’ve also refilled his bottle.”
She hands me the bottle, which is so tiny I can practically crush it between my thumbs.
I must have a strange expression on my face, because now Adelaide is looking at me like she’s holding in a laugh.
Does she think I can’t handle this or something?
I glare at her and turn away.
Why do I feel so damn embarrassed?
I look down at little Edgar and even he has a smart ass grin on his face – judging me.
Adelaide tip-toes up behind me and rests her chin on my shoulder. I couldn’t resist when she’s cute like this.
“I have to head to work now.” Her breath is sweet as she whispers in my ear. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with being babysitter for the day?”
I look at her and force my most neutral expression. Hey, it’s easy when you have a beard that hides most of your face.
“I can handle it.”
Adelaide eyes me suspiciously.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just...”
Adelaide lingers at me, expecting me to get what she’s trying to say.
But honestly, the only thoughts in my head are pure panic. I want Adelaide to trust me, and unfortunately, that includes taking care of stupid baby monkeys who scream all the damn time.