by Pat Tucker
“Kyle, you’re not supporting your daughter! What does that have to do with me and any man? She is your financial responsibility,” I said.
“No, she’s our financial responsibility, and even though you allowed me to stop making monthly payments, I support my daughter. I’m present in her life. She spends time with me at my home. Our relationship is healthy. You’re mad because I’m no longer footing the bill for your weekly drink fest with your girls. I’m not paying for your designer shoes, clothes, and your hair weaves!”
“Kyle, we need to talk about this some more. I had no idea I was signing that bogus letter, and you know it. You intentionally got me drunk and tricked me into signing it.”
“Listen. My wife is calling me, so I need to wrap this up. I hope everything works out for you,” he said. “Oh, and don’t be talking about me getting you drunk, and bogus anything. If it’s that easy, then maybe you have yourself a drinking problem.”
Drinking problem, my ass; it was clear what Kyle had done. I felt like he was being cold toward me because of the way I abruptly ended the action in the back seat of the car. It wasn’t that I didn’t want the sex, but I wanted the madness to stop. Kyle knew what he was doing by showing up at the house on Thursday night. To him, being present, and adding vodka, was a guarantee for easy ass. I was fed up.
I sighed. “Well, I guess I’m gonna have to do what I have to do to survive. I realize you need to run, but when you get some time, we need to talk about my new living arrangements. Since my man is moving in, you’re really gonna need to give me advance notice to pick Kendal up and visit with her.”
“Your what? Oh, ain’t no man moving into a house with my daughter under the same roof,” he barked.
“Look, I need to run, too, Kyle. I can’t maintain this household alone without your financial support. Either we’re moving him in here, or he’s gonna move us into his place, but you’d better go since your wife is calling. We’ll have to catch up some other time.”
Before Kyle could protest or say another word, I ended the call.
I should’ve been fighting fire with fire a long time ago. Thoughts of my conversation with Kyle pissed me off so much, my body shook after the call. What really lit a fire under me was the commercial that came on the small TV mounted beneath my kitchen cabinets.
“Oh, no she didn’t!”
My mouth dropped to the floor, and I could hardly believe my eyes or my ears.
39
DARBY
Chandler and I were at a standoff after what was quickly becoming our regular weekly meeting. The conversation was not going well and I hated to end our time this way.
“I didn’t ask for this. Do you think I planned this? How could you even think I’d choose this? Where we are right now? I mean, look at how we’re doing this. I’m not stupid. It makes no sense, but I can’t bring myself to stop. It’s like you’re…like you’re a drug or something, and I can’t get enough.”
I regretted the words as soon as they spewed from my lips. But what was done was done. It wasn’t like it was a big secret or anything. He knew the power he held over me. He knew it, and I knew it.
I sniffled now as I heard the words rolling around in my head. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I should’ve walked out, made a dramatic exit, but I had to do it. I had to pour my heart out. And look where it had gotten me—nowhere. Now I was driving home alone with tears and love songs blaring through my speakers. I felt like a fool, but back there at the hotel, my mouth had definitely written a check my heart wasn’t prepared to cash.
I thought back to the rendezvous that left me wallowing in misery instead of pleasure like it should have. This was dysfunction at its worst, and I knew it. I wasn’t a simple woman. I was well-educated with common sense, but I also knew what I couldn’t deny. The heart wants what the heart wants, and mine wanted Chandler Buckingham.
“Why are you trippin’?” his deep husky voice had asked.
I looked deep into his eyes. He couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t be. But he was. He was, and that made it hurt even more.
“I’m not trippin’. I wanna know what’s going on between us. Really, what’s happening here?” I gestured with my arms to emphasize my words.
Chandler looked at me in that way that always made me weak. I inhaled a rugged breath and tried to understand why he had such power over me. Honestly, everything about him was too much for me to handle. It was those dark, hazel eyes, and the way they held me and threatened to pierce right through the armor I hid behind. His lips always looked incredibly inviting, but still flinched ever so slightly. He was sexy. Those strong hands were included in every single thing I loved about him—right down to that little scar above his left eye. It gave his face character.
I knew what he was thinking. As a matter of fact, I knew him better than he knew himself. I knew his thoughts before he could even formulate them into words. His handsome face always gave him away.
Our story was tragic, forbidden, and now there was a serious disconnect. Something had to give.
“You come here only able to spare a few hours, get what you want, then you expect me to be grateful for what little I got,” he said.
We’d had this discussion before, and he was right, but what could I do? What could I say? Was I wrong to long for the passion we’d shared? More and more, it made me feel like Kevin and I were going through the motions.
“What we have is real. I recognize what I feel. This isn’t a game for me,” I said.
The silence was so thick it felt like I could slice it with a dull butter knife. It hung in the air until I felt like I had to say something else, to bring sound back into the room.
“There are no guarantees. You can say it’s all about missed opportunities, but the truth is, something brought us close in this way,” I said. “I wish we…”
“You wish we could what, Darby?”
“I wish we could make the best of it. I don’t want to fight with you.” I moved closer to him, but he pulled away. It was subtle. He turned his cheek ever so slightly, but still I noticed it—felt it—and he may as well have slapped me clear across the face. That’s how much it hurt.
“Don’t do this. Don’t mess up what we have here,” I urged.
That really made him pull away. He turned and walked to the other side of the room. From there, he stood and looked at me. He wore nothing but his briefs. His skin was still covered with a thin layer of sweat. My sweat, our sweat. I couldn’t fathom why it had to end like this.
“What do we have, Darby?”
The tone of his voice was so cold and disconnected, it shook me to my core. Moments before, that same voice was whispering hot and heavy explicit words in my ears.
“Is this what you like?” It had asked, in sensual whispers.
“Right there? Is that your spot?” It teased.
“Tell me it’s mine.” It insisted.
Now, he stood across the room, looked at me like he needed me to make a choice. A choice he knew deep inside I couldn’t make.
“Seriously.” He chuckled. “Tell me. What do we really have here?”
“Don’t do this,” I begged.
“Don’t do what?” Now his tone had changed. He was angry. He frowned as he spoke.
I inched a bit closer, but I didn’t want to crowd him. I wanted him to remember what we had shared. How could he love me like that, then minutes later look at me with such disdain in his eyes? Yes, there was definitely a serious disconnect.
I couldn’t help myself. Despite the tension in the room, my eyes quickly glanced down at my watch.
“That’s the kind of shit I’m talking about!” he snapped.
I already knew what he was talking about, but what could I do? This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to rush, get dressed, and hit the road. Who knew he’d choose this moment to have a complete melt down?
“You should go,” he finally said. He sounded frustrated and through.
I didn’t want to lea
ve him like this. I needed to comfort him, to tell him whatever might get him back on board. There was no way I could walk out and leave him like that, despite the fact that I needed to go.
“We need to talk,” I said.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. It was as if he thought our situation was hopeless, and that was the very last thing I needed. What happened to the loving and understanding we had shared?
“Go on home. Go home to your husband before he calls again and you expect me to be quiet.”
As luck would have it, the moment I exhaled, my cell phone rang. Without saying another word, I looked at Chandler, shook my head, pressed the talk button, and walked out of the hotel room.
“I’m on my way,” I answered.
40
IVEE
As I sat at my desk, on the phone, a sobering thought flooded my mind. I was very close to the point where I could say I hated my life. It seemed like every day there was a new stipulation related to the damn DWI charge.
“I don’t understand why I have to do all of this, and I have an attorney. And let’s not forget, it’s not like I’ve admitted guilt. I haven’t even had my day in court or anything like that.”
“Ivee, I tried to explain this process to you. This is all part of the fighting process.”
“How is me going to a drug rehab part of the fight? I don’t understand. That’s like saying I’m guilty!” I yelled.
I heard Ted exhale on the other end, but I didn’t care. He was my lawyer. He was the one being paid to make the mess go away, and instead, all he had done was come back with one stipulation after another—none of which had been good for me. What in the hell would’ve happened if I had gone at it alone?
“It’s not drug rehab. It’s DWI education classes. There is a huge difference. You simply need to take some alcohol education courses. They’re not that expensive, and in all honesty, it’s three, four-hour sessions. You can knock that out in one week.”
My eyes burned. I didn’t want to go to drunk-driving classes, and I damn sure didn’t want to have to pay for the misery of going.
“First, I’m treated like a criminal, handcuffed, and sent to jail. Then, even with a lawyer, I’ve gotta pay all these damn fines, plus I have to blow into a freakin’ device just to start my car, and now I have to go to some meeting like I have a drinking problem. This is all too damn much, and I’m not doing it!”
“And you don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. But if you want to be able to drive at your own free will, you will need to complete the ignition interlock program. And, if you want to qualify for probation instead of jail, you will have to show the judge proof that you’ve successfully completed the alcohol education courses. Then once you get probation, it’s still not over. You will get community service, in addition to whatever fine the judge slaps you with.”
I allowed his words to sink in. The lengthy summary made it all hard for me to swallow.
“So many other people have more of a drinking problem than me. I made one mistake. My girlfriend—she carries a flask in her purse,” I said.
Ted chuckled. “Yeah, that’s probably a person with a problem, but the difference between you and that person is, she didn’t get arrested and charged with DWI. You did. I’m trying to work with you here, Ivee, but if you don’t think my services are up to par, I will gladly refer you to another attorney. I’ve handled enough of these cases to tell you this—gone are the days when you get caught with a DWI and get a slap on the wrist.”
“I’m not looking for a slap on the wrist. All I’m saying is there’s all of these stipulations, and I haven’t even been convicted yet,” I stressed.
“And you don’t want to be either. I’m working on a diversion program, but, Ivee, even with that, you will still have to come out of pocket, and the judge can still decide to do whatever he wants. That is the reason we are taking all of these precautions. It’s our hope that when we go before the judge and he sees what we’ve already put in place, there will be no doubt in his mind that you’ve learned your lesson, and that you would be a perfect candidate for probation.”
There was silence.
I sighed hard. Based on what Ted had told me, it didn’t appear that I really had a choice. I always thought if I had an attorney, my chances of beating this whole thing would be easier. This all felt like stuff I couldn’t have gotten on my own or with a public defender. I couldn’t come right out and say that to Ted, but in my heart of hearts, I didn’t feel like we were getting our money’s worth.
“Probation is a privilege—not a luxury,” he said.
“Okay, Ted, I understand, but there’s something that’s really bothering me. With all due respect, what would this experience be like for me if I didn’t have a lawyer?”
“It wouldn’t be good, Ivee. It’s like I told you before, if you have any problem with the work I’m doing on your behalf, and you don’t think the services I provide are worth the discounted fee I’m charging, I’ll gladly refer you to another lawyer. The call is yours.”
I felt like crap after we ended the call. I wasn’t sure what I expected him to do. I was confused. I really thought this whole thing would play out differently. I thought with him as my front man, my life would barely be impacted. But as it stood, I rarely drove because of the embarrassment of the ignition lock, and I had all but turned into a hermit.
When my cell phone rang, I didn’t even want to answer it. I felt completely helpless. That single mistake had turned my entire life upside down. I thought about my friends and how much we enjoyed our time at happy hour. I rarely returned their calls, and they were probably wondering whether I had fallen off the face of the earth. Even after we talked at Peta’s house about not isolating ourselves, I simply didn’t feel like being bothered.
My eyes focused on Felicia’s name on my caller ID screen. Voicemail clicked in and the phone stopped ringing. Why had this happened to me? Before my mind could answer the question, the phone began to ring again. I rolled my eyes. It was Felicia again. Why couldn’t she take no for an answer? I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone.
The ringing stopped, and I decided to gather my things so I could wait for my ride.
As I picked up the folders from my desk, the cell phone rang yet again. And it was Felicia again.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Dang, Ivee, what’s going on with you these days? It’s so hard to catch you on the phone,” she complained.
Felicia spoke so fast it was as if she needed to get all of her thoughts out for fear she wouldn’t be able to reach me again.
“Lots going on. That’s all,” I said.
“Uh, who doesn’t have lots going on? You’re not the only person going through stuff, you know. When was the last time you talked to anyone? We haven’t had a good session for quite some time. It’s like happy hour is so dead these days.”
The sudden change in her voice gave me pause.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ivee. I didn’t mean to bring up happy hour.”
“Felicia, you can talk about alcohol. You can even talk about happy hour. I still drink. You act like I’m some delicate alcoholic. I made a simple mistake! How many times have we all stumbled out of the bar and gotten behind the wheel? We’ve taken that gamble multiple times. I’m no more of a drunk than Peta, Darby, or even you! The police happened to catch me, and now my life is a living hell,” I said.
When I looked up and saw Geneva who stood in my doorway, I nearly dropped the phone.
“Oh, damn!” I murmured.
41
PETA
The thick, dark curtains were drawn to keep the room gloomy to match my mood. I ignored one call after another, including Gordon’s. If I didn’t have a daughter who looked up to me, I would’ve stayed in bed for days at a time. Everything in my world had gone in the wrong direction, and I didn’t see a way out.
After the twentieth call in a row, I finally gave in and answered.
“I
t’s about time,” Darby greeted me. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Too much. She’s running commercials! I’ve seen them for the past two weeks, and I’m sick over this!” I barked into the phone.
“Calm down.”
For a while longer, Darby filled me in on details about her rendezvous. As she spoke, my mind was on all that was wrong in my own life. If it wasn’t Kyle skirting his responsibilities, it was Gordon bitching about me not calling.
“…so just roll with it, that’s what I’m doing,” said Darby.
We were supposed to be talking about the strange and awkward affair she was caught up in, but the scream I belted out when Pamela’s commercial came on again, brought that conversation to a halt.
“Pamela? Is that the same woman who kept calling you and asking all the doggone questions?”
“Yes, that’s her! I swore she was up to something, but for the life of me, I didn’t think she was trying to get next to me so she could become my competition. I’m so tired, Darby. I’m so tired. Every damn thing is falling apart. Kyle keeps trying to make me believe I wanted him to stop supporting his child, and this dirty trick stole my business idea right from under me! I don’t know how much more I can handle,” I cried.
“Wait, Peta, don’t talk like that. Here, I’m coming over.”
“Oh, God! No, please don’t. I’m in no condition to entertain company. My place is a mess. I’m low on food, and I wouldn’t make the best company right now.”
“You’ve got a lot on your plate, and I’m worried about you. You don’t get to become a recluse. It’s not gonna happen on my watch. Get up and wash your behind. I’ll be there in thirty minutes!”
The next thing I knew, the call had ended. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I didn’t need to vent. I should’ve kept the thoughts to myself.
It felt more like five minutes instead of thirty had passed when the doorbell rang.