by L. D. Davis
"I don't want your money, Walter."
"I have a confession, Miss Grayne," he said, pouring himself another drink. "It's really not my money or company money."
Now it was really turning into a soap, except I didn't need the TV guide to let me know who the possible culprit could be.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The bracelet sparkled in the sunlight, as I turned my wrist back and forth. Back and forth, back and forth, sparkle, sparkle. I twisted and sparkled until my arm got tired, and then I regressed to absent mindedly fondling the bracelet, while staring at the rolling green French country side, dotted with the occasional house.
I spoke French as well as I spoke Klingon, and I only knew some very bad Klingon words. Fortunately, the family that I was staying with spoke fluent English and wasn't at all offended by my lack of language skills. Helene and Marcus were friends Donya had acquired in her travels as a model years ago. When I literally needed to escape my life in America, Donya brought me to Helene and Marcus.
Helene was a photographer by profession and for kicks. Often, when I wasn't paying attention, she would snap pictures of me. There were several pictures with my hand resting on my pregnant belly, and just as many of me looking at the bracelet on my wrist. I didn't look happy in any of the pictures. I didn't look sad either, but I didn't look like my mind was anywhere in the country.
Helene's husband Marcus was from old money and didn't really have a profession, but he tinkered with various things: painting, writing, trying various musical instruments and during my stay his hobby of choice is designing clothing for my unborn child. Usually the item was missing something fundamental to wearing it, like an arm, or the hole for the head. One time the shirt had an extra arm. I always kindly pointed out the mistakes to Marcus. He would curse in Italian and sometimes try to rip it apart. I didn't take it personally. I once witnessed him destroy a flute because he couldn't master a certain song, and there were a few paintings around the house that had obviously received a swift kick from a hefty foot.
My time in France wasn’t anything to marvel at, nothing exciting to report. Even though I had Helene and Marcus and their occasional visitors, I felt completely alone. I was very pregnant without a father for my baby. No Luke and no Kyle. I was financially able to care for my baby, but raising a child isn't something that I ever wanted to do alone, at least not under these circumstances. My heart was shattered and I sometimes wondered if there was enough of it left to care for a needy child. I was sure that I loved my baby, but I always questioned whether or not my feelings would shrink into resentment. The thought was unnerving, but I could not succeed in completely pushing it out of my head.
Sometimes I didn't really want to go back to the states, back to the nightmare I created. I didn't want the stares of pity or to hear the sighs of disappointment, but my return was inevitable. My family and doctor insisted upon it, and truthfully, I didn't think Helene and Marcus wanted to deal with a screaming infant and the child's depressed mother. So, two and a half months after I arrived, my mother came to retrieve me. After more than half a day on a plane with her, though, I was ready to face whatever was on the ground for me in America.
***
I missed Kyle. I missed kissing him, with his fingers entwined in my hair, pressing on the back of my skull, reminding me that he was in control, and I always conformed with weak knees and bated breath. I missed his hand on the small of my back, guiding me in whatever direction he wanted. I missed his laughter, his smile, and his perfect brown eyes. I even missed the way he would look at me in a crowded room, in a way that only I understood: "I love you...I want you" and when times were rough "I miss you, I'm sorry."
The last time I saw Kyle was New Years morning. At the company New Years party, he had given me those looks, loaded with unspoken words and emotions after kissing Jessyca at the stroke of midnight. When she put her hand on his face, a dazzling diamond ring that could be seen from the moon nearly blinded me with grief. I had turned away, weaved through the bodies of people kissing or singing Auld Lang Syne, pressed through the drunkards and the single lonely people and flung myself out into the night. I stood on the sidewalk, watching people on the street celebrating the New Year, listening to cars honking. In the distance, at Penn's Landing, fireworks were booming in the sky.
I had forgotten my coat in my haste to get out of the party, and shivered violently in the night air while I waited for the valet to get my car. The coat was expensive but I wasn't going back in that place. I didn't want to run into Kyle or Jess or anyone else for that matter. People were already looking at me lopsided before, but the baby bump I was sporting gave people reason to openly stare at me and whisper with me in hearing range. Now Jess was rocking that rock, and I wasn't going back in there unless I wanted everyone to see how humiliated I was.
I dug my ticket out of my purse and handed it to the valet who was standing nearby.
"Do you want to wait just inside until I bring your car around?" He asked kindly.
"Oh, hell no. I'm not going back in there. I'll be fine."
He shrugged and trotted off to retrieve my car. I hoped he wouldn't take too long so that I could leave before Kyle came out. Other party goers came out, some to smoke, others to also leave. No one paid me any mind, and I was fine with that. My car appeared at the same time Kyle stepped up next to me.
I glanced at him, but said nothing before stepping off of the curb and squeezing myself behind the wheel. He leaned on the door, preventing me from closing the door. I stared straight ahead, swallowing constantly, trying to keep the lump in my throat from exploding.
"I'm sorry," he whispered so no one out on the sidewalk could hear. "There's a lot you don't understand, that you don't know about. Jess has me by the balls -"
"Clearly," I said, my tone sharp and insensitive, even though his was genuinely pained.
He inhaled deeply and let it out in a huff.
"Look, I will come over around nine and we'll talk."
"I won't be there."
"What time is good for you then? When will you be home?"
Looking at him with hard eyes, I said "Whatever time I had for you has been used up, sucked dry. You're out of time. I won't be there when you get there." A horn blew behind me. "Consider this my resignation - from my job, from you, from all of this. I'm done. Now step away from my car."
He stared at me open mouthed, holding on to the door, until someone blew again, longer, and louder. He stumbled back and watched me drive away.
When I got home, I immediately started packing. I was only taking necessities now, and would have to return later to retrieve other items. While I packed, I had the airline on speaker phone, trying to book a flight to Louisiana. I didn't necessarily feel like dealing with my mom, but I needed to take a couple of days to figure out what to do next, and doing it here was impossible. I knew Kyle wasn't going to just leave me alone, and I knew that had virtually no defenses if he wanted to keep me. He was my drug, and I his. The only way to solve the problem was to remove the source.
I managed to book a nine-thirty flight. It wasn't as early as I wanted, but I took it anyway. When the call ended, I saw that I had several text messages and missed calls from Kyle. I was surprised and relieved when they didn't continue, and after another hour when he had not shown up, I relaxed a little. I didn't look at the texts or listen to the voicemail. It wasn't going to help anything to see or hear what he had to say. If this was the only self-control I could have, then I was going to keep it.
I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing, and my heart was breaking off piece by piece every minute that passed. I let a few tears slip by, but I refused to bawl. I would allow myself a good cry at a later time. I found some empty boxes in the garage and decided to start the tedious task of packing up some of my personal items that I could have someone ship to me later. I turned some music on and lost myself in the task for a couple of hours. I was so involved in what I was doing that I never heard the front door or his appro
ach. I was in my bedroom, standing at my bed packing some things from my closet when he spoke, making me drop everything I was holding and jump backwards, frightened by his sudden appearance.
Kyle stood in the doorway, clearly drunk. He reeked of alcohol, the smell easily wafted across the room. His bowtie was gone, several buttons unbuttoned on his shirt, and parts of it hung out of his pants, wrinkled.
"What are you doing?" He quietly demanded.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to slow down my heart with a few even breaths. I picked up the things I had dropped and resumed packing.
"What are you doing?" He asked again, staggering into the room.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" I said, not looking at him.
"I wanna talk to you."
"I don't want to talk anymore."
"Look at me!" He bellowed, gripping my wrist.
I looked at his hand on my wrist, the same wrist he had broken not that long ago. I wasn't getting a good vibe from him, and for a few seconds, I thought he was going to break it again.
"What is this?" He used his free hand to start rifling through the box. "What is this shit? You're trying to leave for good?"
When I didn't answer, he yanked me away from the box and then threw it on the floor. Yelling, most of it incoherent, he grabbed my open suitcase and dumped it out on the floor.
"What are you doing!" I yelled, grabbing his arm.
"You're not leaving!" He yelled in my face.
I stepped around him, picked up the suitcase and mindlessly started to reload it. I felt a panic surging inside of me, but struggled to keep it contained.
"No!" He yelled, and grabbed me from behind by shoulders, spinning me around.
"Stop being a dick!" I yelled in his face as I slapped his hands away from me.
At first, I couldn't figure out why I was seeing stars and why the left side of my face stung and hurt so badly. Not until my vision began to clear did I see Kyle standing over me, with his hand still raised and breathing erratically, with an animalistic expression on his face. I tasted blood and then I realized he had hit me.
End of Part One
Dear Luke,
I have rewritten this letter a dozen times already, but I feel there is no smooth way to lead up to what I have to say, so here it is: You are the father of a five month old, beautiful baby boy. His name is Lucas, in honor of his father, and he was born May 18th.
I didn't tell you because I know you hate me, and my biggest fear is that you will hate my son, too. Maybe that fear is unreasonable, but I have had a very hard time getting past it.
I am in Chicago for a day or so, at the Fairmont, room 317. If you would like to meet your son, I will be here all day today.
I am sorry for keeping this from you, and I am sorry for forcing my mother to keep this from you. Please don't be angry with her. It is my fault entirely.
Sincerely,
Emmy
Chapter Thirty-Four
The letter was sent off first thing on a Friday morning through a carrier service. Luke had to sign for it, so that I would know it was received, and he had signed for it an hour after I sent it.
I waited with jumbled nerves for the better part of the day. I didn't leave the room at all, ordering room service if I was hungry. Lucas kept me grounded with his need for entertainment and diaper changes and other things babies needed and wanted. I was happy to oblige.
He was a good baby (are there really bad babies?), rarely cried, and always happy. He talked a lot, and I pretended to understand what he was talking about. I was never without him, he was my whole life, and if Luke chose not to come, my baby would always have me.
By the time night fell upon us, I knew Luke wasn't coming. I was sadder than I thought I would be about it. At ten o'clock that night, I went to bed feeling grief stricken by Luke's lack of response. I wanted to call my mother and tell her I told her so, but I didn't really feel like talking to her. Somehow I found the resolve to go to sleep.
In the morning, I decided to get Lucas out of the room for a little while before making any plans to leave. We had been cooped up there all of the day before and even though it was cold out, the fresh air would be good for both of us. I bundled him up and we left for a morning of shopping.
Just after noon, when Lucas and I walked through the doors of the hotel, Luke appeared in front of us, holding a little stuffed whale. My heart caught in my throat when I saw him. He looked better than he did the last time I saw him and I was tempted to run to him, but I didn't. I kept cool and slowly approached him.
He looked at me with a mixture of disdain, sadness, and awe for a moment before registering the smiling baby boy in my arms. He inhaled sharply and stared at Lucas with absolute wonder and astonishment. He couldn't deny that he was his, he looked just like him. They both had the same shocking blue eyes and perfect nose. Lucas's hair was dark blonde now, but like his father's it would darken over the years to a medium shade of brown with some natural blonde highlights. I had seen Luke's baby pictures, and Lucas was the spitting image of what Luke had been as a baby.
Luke offered his son a finger and Lucas promptly started to put it in his mouth, but Luke pulled back, mumbling about dirty hands.
"You didn't come," was all I could muster out.
"Yeah, I'm sorry. I was out of town. My sister just happened to be in my apartment dropping off some things I left in her basement when the letter came. I didn't read it until this morning when I got in." He looked at me for approval, to see if I believed him.
"I understand," I said, shifting Lucas from one arm to another.
"Can I hold him?"
"Of course," I said and gingerly passed him his child and he passed me the stuffed animal. My heart lurched in my chest watching his face light up as he held Lucas. I felt such an overwhelming sense of guilt for keeping father and son apart that I had to try very hard not to collapse to the floor in a fetal position and cry. Maybe suck my thumb.
Instead, I suggested we go back to my room. I pushed the stroller and Luke carried Lucas.
Luke, apparently, was Super Dad. He talked to Lucas and answered when all he got was baby babble. He fed him, burped him, changed his diapers, got spit up on, held him, played with him on a blanket on the floor, and took picture after picture. When Lucas took a nap in the middle of the afternoon, Luke sat nearby, working on his laptop and making phone calls, virtually ignoring me and the conversation we needed to have. When he finished, he looked at me as if he just remembered I was there.
"You let your hair grow out," was all he had time to say before Lucas was up from his nap and he was back to being father of the year. He was in his glory, but I was feeling funny about sharing my son's attention.
It must have shown on my face, because after Lucas was down for the night, Luke looked apologetic.
"I'm sorry. I totally took over today."
"I'm not used to sharing him," I said, looking at my hands in my lap. I found it difficult to meet his eyes. My immense sense of guilt never faded, not even a little.
"I'm going to go pick up some dinner. We'll talk when I get back."
"Hold on," I said and shuffled into the bedroom. I returned with a second key to the suite. "You can let yourself back in. I'm going to take a shower."
When he took it from me, our hands touched, but he quickly pulled away and walked out the door. I exhaled for what must have been the first time since I first saw Luke in the hotel lobby. I checked on Lucas before getting into the shower, with the door open so I could hear him if he cried. I had such a long day, and my muscles ached from being so tense. I stayed in the shower much longer than I meant to. When I stepped into the bedroom, dripping wet in just a towel, I was startled to find Luke standing over Lucas watching him sleep.
"Sorry," he said, glancing over at me. "I'm just...amazed. He's perfect."
"Yes, he is," I agreed.
He looked for a moment longer and disappeared into the living room. I dress
ed in a tee shirt and pajama bottoms quickly, and brushed the tangles out of my hair. I found Luke seated on the couch with a few cartons of Chinese food on the coffee table. He handed me a carton. I didn't have to peek to know that it was Chicken Lo Mein.
My body knew it was time to eat, but my mind and emotions were playing tricks on me. I sat as far away on the couch from Luke as possible, picking at my food with my chopsticks, never actually taking a bite.
"I'm conflicted, Emmy," Luke said after a few minutes. I gave up trying to eat and put the container on the table and waited for the onslaught of angry words.
"I am so angry with you for keeping this from me," he continued. "But at the same time, I understand how you must have felt, I think. I could never hate Lucas, even if..." He didn't finish his sentence and looked away from me, but I knew what he was going to say.
"You mean even if you hate me," I said.
He inhaled slowly and let it out even slower.
"I don't hate you," he said softly. "But I haven't forgotten what happened. I'm not going to lie and say that it's okay or that it doesn't still bother me. It's been over a year and I still get bitter about it."
I squeezed myself so far into the corner of the couch, it may have looked like the couch was eating me. He was speaking in a soft tone, but his face was bitter and his eyes were hard.
"I still blame myself, too. I had this inflated idea of who you were and misjudged. It's not entirely your fault that you didn't live up to my expectations."
What he was saying to me was cruel. If I were at all the woman I used to think I was, I would have stood up to him and defended myself, but I had no defense, because he was right. Luke was only reinforcing some of the very thoughts I've had for over a year.
"You do love Lucas, though," he continued after a moment of staring at his General Tso's. "You're a good mother, I will give you that."