by Marni Mann
But I never thought I would lose my Emma, either.
I leaned my face close to her ear. I closed my eyes. My mouth opened and the words seem to fall out on their own. Good-bye, Mom. I love you, and I hope to make you proud.
***
During one of our trips to the hospital, Lilly had told me she didn’t want to be buried. She said she was too claustrophobic to be in something so small, and then embedded in the ground. She wanted to be cremated, and to have her ashes spread somewhere beautiful. She wanted to finally be free. So when Dallas drove me to pick up her remains, I asked him to take me to the public gardens.
“In the city?”
“Yes,” I said.
“That’s really where you want to go?”
I looked down at the brown box that I held in my hands. It was hard to believe she fit in something the size of a coffee container, that I was holding Lilly—my mother.
“Yes,” I said. “That’s where I want to go.”
He turned on his signal, heading toward the Mass Turnpike. “Why is that place so special to you. To her?”
I stared out the window; trees and telephone poles passed outside the glass. I glanced at each for a second, admiring their details before my eyes moved on. “Lilly was ill one morning. She made me stay home from school to take care of her. About mid-day, she kicked her hangover and got the idea to take me on an adventure. So we went to the city.”
I remembered how she had leaned against the door of the train; her shoelaces were untied, and she was missing an earring. Once we got onto the platform, I bent down to tie her laces, but she told me to ignore them. If they were too tight, they’d pinch her toes. She grabbed my hand and skipped up the steps; we were in such a rush.
“She brought me to the Public Gardens and had me sit on a bench. She told me she’d be back by the time I counted to a thousand. Then she left me there, and I counted—all the way to three thousand, I think. When she got back, she reeked of booze, but she was ready to have some fun, and she took me over to the pond. A man nearby was selling bread to feed the swans, but she didn’t have any money, so we just watched. And she told me to pretend that I was feeding them.” I took a deep breath. The knot was back; it was churning in my throat, making it difficult for the air to pass through. My bottom lip quivered. “She left me again and ran over to one of the flower beds. She twirled in circles and sang, ‘Isn’t this beautiful, Charlie? So much beauty.’ I complained that she was acting weird and that people were staring. ‘Fuck them,’ she said. ‘It’s me and you, baby girl, and the city.’”
“See?” Dallas said. “She did care.”
“In her own way, yes…she did. I was young, but I knew enough to know that the way she was acting was wrong, that she smelled and looked like a mess. But it was one of the few times she tried to have fun with her baby girl, so I went along with it. And it was the only place she ever called beautiful.”
“How old were you?”
I didn’t have to think about it. “I was nine.”
“Did you know at that age that she was an alcoholic?”
“It was around that time when I realized it, maybe a year before.”
“So that’s where you’re going to spread her ashes, then…at the pond?”
I looked down at the box again. “It’s the only place that feels right.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When Sandy dressed me in a cotton pajama set and only covered my lashes with mascara, I knew the Doctor had reserved me for the evening. He usually didn’t stay more than a few hours, and because we never double booked, I would be sent home early tonight. After several long nights with almost no sleep, I was looking forward to the lighter shift.
I waited for him on the bed, a blanket wrapped over my feet and my back pressing against two pillows. A chair had been placed by the nightstand, where two bottles of water stood. No music played. He entered a few minutes after Sal’s signal, dressed in jeans, a polo, and loafers. He never wore his white lab coat when he was in my wing. He was my most casually dressed client. I wasn’t sure if I could even call him that; he still hadn’t touched me. He never sat on the bed if I was on it, never gazed at my body, never asked me to engage in anything more than conversation. By the way he strolled over to the chair, his eyes meeting mine with a harmonious light, I had a feeling this session wouldn’t be any different.
He got comfortable in the chair. “Good evening, Cee.”
I didn’t know how old he was; I guessed mid-forties. His hair was silver, but I had a feeling that it had grayed prematurely because his skin was tight, hardly wrinkled, and he didn’t have age spots like some of my older clients. I pictured him to be the type of man who wore glasses, but because of the mask he was forced to cover his hazel eyes with contacts. He had a quiet elegance to him. His speech was refined, sophisticated, and the way he moved with grace, spoke of a long pedigree of excellence.
“Hello,” I said.
“Where’s your smile?”
I forced my lips to part, to let my teeth show. Sometimes I felt like a kid; I played that role without even thinking when I was around him.
“Something feels off tonight. You seem…different. Is everything all right?”
Only a few days had passed since Lilly’s death. I hadn’t told Victoria or the Doctor, and I hadn’t requested any time off. I wasn’t ready to open up yet. And I worried that if I paused my life long enough to think about her being gone, the regrets, the things Dallas had told me, I wouldn’t be able to stop. So I shoved it all behind my mask and kept moving. I thought I had hid it well, so I was surprised that the Doctor felt something was off. Maybe he already knew.
That was most likely the case.
“I lost someone,” I said. “Someone close to me.”
And just like that, the words suddenly seemed to flow out on their own. It was eerily similar to the last time I had spoken about Lilly. When she was the topic of discussion, my mouth needed very little direction.
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Was it sudden?”
I shook my head. “I knew it was going to happen, but not when. I was the one who found her, and the one who scattered her ashes.”
Why was I telling him this? There wasn’t a rule that stated I had to share anything about my personal life with him or Victoria. But I felt a sense of security here, in this bed, with him sitting close by. During our brief respites, I felt like Charlie, not Cee. Maybe that was because our time together was normal, like when I was in Professor Freeman’s office. Professor Freeman, the Doctor, and Cameron were the only men I knew who didn’t touch me.
He crossed his legs, resting his foot on his thigh. Then the foot on the floor began to bounce. “Was scattering her ashes the closure you needed?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to close those wounds.”
“You mean, the hole she left?”
“Well that, yes…but the holes she created before she left, too. It was a complicated relationship that lasted twenty-three years.”
“I see.” His legs uncrossed, both feet went flat on the mirrored floor. He leaned forward slightly. It seemed as if those all-seeing hazel eyes were digging for something. Was he waiting for me to unravel?
“So where does this leave you? Are you finding fulfillment?” he asked.
Sex and art briefly waylaid my emptiness, but I didn’t believe I had ever found fulfillment. Lilly dying didn’t change that. But as of lately, I seemed to be craving intimacy even more. I wished I could sleep in my wing; our apartment just didn’t feel right. I needed to move, to find a place that didn’t have so many memories. I would be able to do that after a few more paychecks. I needed money in order to start fresh, and the mansion gave me that. No one else would pay me what Victoria did.
“I enjoy my time here,” I said. “The richness of the costumes, the way Sandy pampers me, knowing I have Victoria if I need her…and the money. So that’s what I’m focusing on, along with my interests outside the mansion.”
His arms crossed, and his fingers moved to his chin. His expression also changed; the lines in his forehead deepened. “I’m happy to hear that.”
His words didn’t match his face.
Did I detect sympathy in his eyes, or remorse behind his stare? Was he disappointed in my answer?
“I’m glad you feel so comfortable in your surroundings,” he said, “that you’re able to continue working and accomplishing given the trauma you’ve experienced so recently.”
My time with the Doctor was different than most of the other hours in my week. This was our fourth session and, like the first, he had gotten me to purge. I didn’t feel contrite over the words I had shared, but it was confusing. All the other men wanted to fuck, and my job was to please them. I wasn’t Charlie then; I had even learned how to separate myself from Cee and go somewhere else during those sessions. But with the Doctor, I couldn’t escape. He pulled me, Charlie, into this room and opened her up. I wasn’t sure this was what I wanted today, especially after what had come in the mail this morning. I wanted to lose myself, allow my brain to shut off, to surrender. But this escape never lasted. I always had to come back at some point.
“There’s something else bothering you,” he said, his focus sharpening. “Please tell me what it is.”
How did he know? I used their cell phone for all of my calls so there was plenty they could find out if someone was listening. But not this. I hadn’t shared this with anyone because I hadn’t had time to.
“I received my credit card statement this morning, and on it was a charge for Lilly’s cremation—” I froze, realizing I had said her name, that I had exposed even more of my personal life. But the Doctor’s lips didn’t move. Neither did his eyes or cheeks. I had a feeling the mansion knew my mother’s name, and that the Doctor had already known she’d died even before I told him. His unflappable demeanor only proved that further.
The pain circled again like it had this morning, when I’d seen the fee for turning her body into ashes. Mom’s body. It was the only charge on the bill, the only time I had used my card since she wracked up all the debt. It might as well have been printed in her blood.
“How did that make you feel?” he asked.
“Not good.”
“Did it suddenly become more real?”
I nodded.
“And when you saw the company’s name in print, did you relive your decision, and question it as the right thing to have done?”
I nodded again.
“Did you blame yourself, maybe?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “It’s what she wanted, but it didn’t feel right. None of it feels right.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but it will get easier with time.”
The last person to say that to me was my physical therapist when the full-length cast was removed from my leg. She told me walking would become easier with time, which it did. But the accident had taken Emma, too, and that hadn’t become easier at all.
The flutter had been building since the moment he’d asked if I was finding fulfillment. It seemed to intensify the more we had discussed death. I wanted the thoughts gone. I needed to douse the sensation with my finger…or his. But he seemed so far away and not just in proximity. I didn’t know if I was the only girl he booked time with or if there were others…if he fucked them, or just engaged in conversation like he did with me.
Did he not find me attractive?
I slid my feet to the floor, spread my legs, and played with the buttons of my pajama top, my bra threatening to burst through the gaps between each hole. He straightened in his chair, and his arms crossed over his stomach. My advances didn’t seem like they were enough. I needed to tell him what I wanted.
I walked to his lap and straddled his legs, gently bouncing over the air between us, grinding my hips with each dip. “I want you to touch me.”
“No,” he said. He pushed the chair back a few feet, but he didn’t stand. “This isn’t what you want.”
I stepped toward him again. “Yes, it—”
“You don’t need someone to fuck you. You need someone to listen. I want to be that person for you.”
My hands began to shake. Tears blurred my vision. I swallowed, pushing the saliva down past the knot that had formed. “You don’t want me?”
“No. I don’t.”
Anger boiled in my stomach and shot into my fingers and I drew my arm back, my hands needing to feel the pain and sting from slapping his cheek. As my palm swung toward his face, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into his lap.
“You’re an asshole,” I shouted, sobs wracking my body. “Let go of me.”
He pushed my cheek against his chest and rubbed his hand over my head, starting at my forehead and ending at my neck. Then he did it again. “Just relax and breathe.”
“Screw you.”
“I’m not going to let you go until you calm down. Deep breaths. Please…for me.”
He held me tighter, and I curled in against him. I tucked my knees into my stomach, my body swaying back and forth with his. His words dug further the more I rocked, and with every tear that fell. The droplets never made it past my chin; he wiped away each one before they did.
“I’m not denying you for the reason you think, Charlie. I’m denying you because you need something more in your life…something more than just this. You need to feel your emotions and not bury them in sex. You need to forgive yourself, and you need to cry. You need to let go, and then maybe you’ll be able to forgive those who have wronged you. There will come a day when you’ll understand that forgiveness is about you and no one else.” He paused. “Will you think about what I’ve said?”
This was the first time he’d used my real name. I wasn’t surprised that he knew it; I was surprised by his response, the sincerity and honesty in his tone. He really wanted to help me. I didn’t understand why he wanted to give me more, or why he thought I deserved it. Why he wanted me to forgive, and to cry. But I used those questions to calm my anger, to stop my eyes from filling, and to breathe.
“Charlie?”
“Yes,” I said, and I nodded. “I will try.”
He released some of the pressure from his arms. He was no longer holding me against him, but he wasn’t pushing me off his lap, either. I slowly stood and moved over to the bed, crossing my legs after I took a seat. Then I wiped my face with my sleeves.
He scooted his chair back to its original place, at the side of the bed. “Now that we’ve gotten that settled, I want to hear about Cameron’s portrait. How is it progressing? I hope you’re feeling more confident with the piece.”
I exhaled; the tension in my body seemed to leave with the air. I didn’t know if he sensed my concern, but his questions answered my uncertainty. He still cared.
I hadn’t ruined anything.
***
It was just after midnight when Sal walked me downstairs, my mind and body raw from my little breakdown. Maybe it was time to learn how to trust again. Maybe what I needed was a friend. Did I want that, though: friendship…with the Doctor? And was that what he was offering me?
As Sal and I moved outside, I heard something in the distance. Woodlands surrounded the massive property, and a gate hemmed it in; the only sounds I ever heard outside were from nature. But this was a running motor, and it wasn’t from the limo. It was deeper, like a diesel engine, and the rumble got louder with every step I took.
Just before we reached the limo, I found the source: a coach bus, parked on the other side of the house. A pale yellow glow lit up the walkway, revealing shadows that moved from the bus into the mansion. Sal noticed where my attention was, and he blocked my view with his body. Then he hurried me along even faster, opening the door to the limo and ushering me into the backseat in one smooth movement. I didn’t ask him about the bus, who was on it, or why they were entering the house. I didn’t really care; my pussy tingled, and it needed Dallas.
I took a seat, searching through the Charlie-labeled bag, the blacked out
windows obstructing my view of anything happening outside. With my cell phone in my hand, I dialed.
“Where are you?” I asked when Dallas answered.
“Home, sleeping. What time is it?”
“I got out of work early; I’m coming over.”
“Not tonight, Charlie. It’s late…I really need my sleep.”
“I’ll see you in twenty,” I said, and hung up.
I wasn’t going to be denied twice.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dallas answered the door wearing only a pair of boxers. The sides of his hair stood up straight; he had his glasses on and pillow marks covered his cheek. His gestures were slow, a bit delayed…I really had woken him up. But he still looked as sexy as ever, like when he stood under the shower or when he wore the jeans I loved him in. His tattoos were waiting for my nails; his muscles were teasing my tongue.
I stopped in front of him, the top of my head meeting his collarbone, and breathed into his ear. “I need you.” My hands gripped the back of his hair. My nose brushed his chest, traveling between his abs and back up to his neck.
His hand still held the doorframe; his feet stayed planted. He didn’t close his eyes or moan or touch me anywhere. He had told me not to come over, but he knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t listen. I could deal with his anger and the chase that would follow, but I wasn’t going to be denied. Right now he owned the lower half of my body, and I needed him to claim it. So I reached under the elastic waist of his boxers and gripped his hardness as I bent to my knees.
He exhaled a puff of air through his lips. “Come here,” he demanded. His fingers clenched and released, signaling me to grab them so he could pull me up.
I ignored them, kneeling on the floor instead and pulling the cotton fabric down his legs. When I got mid-way to his thighs, he reached down and pulled them back up. Then he tucked his shoulder into my stomach and lifted me. His hands pushed into my ass while he carried me. I wanted them to tear through my shorts, and my panties.