Wife Number Seven

by Melissa Brown

  “Mother, don’t you miss me?” he pressed, desperate to know the answer.

  “No.” Her eyes bored into his, and he knew. She had no regrets. She stood by her decision to remove him from the Hammond family.

  Once again, he was wounded. He was the young boy standing on the street corner, watching his mother drive away from him. Watching her withdraw her love.

  “You were supposed to love me,” Porter cried. “More than Father, more than the prophet. I’m your child.”

  “You were.” Alice’s words were cold, calculated, rehearsed. “You were my child.”

  Her words stung more than anything had in Porter’s life. But before he could even attempt to recover from the pain of her words, she continued. He braced himself as she began to speak.

  “But now you’re just a stranger. A stranger who needs to leave my home.”

  Porter’s teeth clenched so tightly his jaw ached. Her words shocked and destroyed him. Seething, he replied, “You were supposed to protect me from the evils of the world, not become one of them.”

  Alice swallowed hard, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Porter didn’t care. He wanted to hurt her, to cause her pain the way she’d caused an insurmountable amount of pain for him and his life in the outside world.

  “How do you live with yourself?” Porter shook his head, fighting back the tears that were building. He couldn’t let her see the emotion that was expanding within his chest. “You’re a despicable human being, and I’m better off without you.”

  “Leave, please,” his mother begged.

  He knew he’d affected her. He’d finally broken through her tough exterior to expose her lies, her hypocrisy, her selfishness.

  “No problem,” he snapped before punching the front door. His knuckles made contact, denting the wood. “I’m outta here!”

  Porter heard the door slam behind him. He knew that in just a few short hours, his mother would block out their entire interaction, as if it had never happened. His decision to confront her was a disastrous mistake. He didn’t think it was possible for his mother to wound him more than she had years ago in his father’s truck.

  But she had. Her cold reaction to him standing in her doorway destroyed him. The way she looked at him, the cutting bite of her words. Now, more than ever before, he knew he was an orphan in this world.

  Alone.

  And then his phone buzzed from the pocket of his jeans.

  With tears burning his eyes, he trudged through the mud to seek out the only person he could trust. The single, solitary person who actually loved him. Who wasn’t ashamed of his existence. The only person in the world who understood him and loved him just the same. Despite his faults, despite every shitty decision he’d ever made in his lifetime.

  She was the only one who mattered.

  Chapter 28

  My mouth dropped open and guilt attacked my body like a swarm of vicious wasps. As Porter finally revealed what had happened that night, my heart plummeted to my feet. I’d doubted him, thought the worst of him when he needed me the most. I could only hope he’d forgive me.

  “Is it my fault?” I asked.

  “You’ve never even met my mother, Brin. How could it be your fault?” His eyes were dull, lifeless, as shell-shocked as if he’d survived a war.

  “I mean, the reason you went back. Was that because of me? Because you thought you had to or something?” I couldn’t quite process why he’d made the decision to see his mother again.

  “Of course not. I just—being with you, it got me thinking. And since I’ve been clean . . . or, I was, anyway.” He groaned. “When I’m clean, my thoughts go back there. I don’t know why.”

  “I’m sorry. I feel awful that I bring you back there, you know, in your head.”

  “None of this is your fault,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye and clearing his throat. “I know I’m not her son anymore. I just wish she loved me as much as I still love her.”

  “You still love her?” My heart broke in two.

  He chuckled, but it came out sad, melancholy. “Against my better judgment, yes.”

  “They don’t deserve you,” I whispered, rubbing his thigh. “Not one bit.”

  He pressed his lips into a fine line as he shook his head. Then he took a deep breath as he avoided my eyes. “My brain knows that, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “What if it’s true, Brin? What if I really am damned?”

  “Don’t even say that!” I snapped, jerking my body away when he attempted to hold my hand.

  His expression softened and he trailed his fingers down my cheek. “I told you, you’re my heaven. If I burn when I die, that’s fine. I’m a selfish man and I want my heaven now.”

  “And I told you, you have a beautiful soul. You’re not going to burn.”

  He shrugged, releasing a sigh. “You’re the only one who seems to think so.”

  “You need to think so too. How can you love me if you don’t love yourself?”

  His hands fell to his lap as he pondered my question. “Loving you is just . . . it’s the simplest thing I’ve ever done. Loving myself? Totally different story.”

  I shifted to rest my head in his lap. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll show you how deserving you are.”

  “I’m a junkie,” he muttered. “You deserve better.”

  Shaking my head, I gripped his bended knee. “No. I deserve a man who will love me, protect me, and cherish me. A man who would climb through my window to give me a way to communicate with him. A man who will put me first.”

  “Sounds like quite the guy.” He chuckled, stroking my hair. “I’ll let you know if I run into him.”

  “Silly man,” I said with a roll of my eyes, and continued to massage his knee. “You’re all I need. You know that.”

  “You know what my biggest fear is?”

  “Tell me.”

  “That one day you’ll agree with my mother.”

  My muscles went rigid and I recoiled, pushing up to my knees, facing him head-on. “Never. Do you hear me? I could never see you the way they do.”

  “Who’s to say you won’t?” His eyes were vacant again, as if he were already mentally preparing for my exit from his life. “You were ready to leave earlier.”

  “I was trying to make a point. You’re always telling me to stick up for myself, to stick to my guns, as you say. That’s what I was doing. But if you think that even for a second I wanted to leave, then you don’t know me at all.”

  He closed his eyes tightly, releasing tears that fell from his cheeks. He nodded, again and again, and I could only hope that he was finally hearing me. That he was hearing how much I truly cared for him. This wasn’t about sex, and it wasn’t about rebellion. This was about a woman loving a man so much she’d do just about anything to prove it.

  “I love you, Porter,” I whispered, crawling into his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck. I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck, feeling his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

  “I love you,” I whispered. “I love you.”

  Again and again I said the words, urging him to believe me. Urging him to believe that he was worthy of love, of love that was reciprocated, of love that was real and honest. Love that was right in front of him.

  He finally spoke, the raspy voice that always gave me goose bumps. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving my love to you,” he finally said.

  “Show me now,” I whispered, feeling bold.

  No verbal response was needed. Porter’s strong arms wrapped around my bottom and he hoisted me in the air, placing me on my back, then he kissed and licked my neck as he stripped me of my heavy garb. Instinctively, my hands went to his boxer shorts. I removed them quickly before he was even finished with the first two buttons of my dress.

  “Someone’s eager,” he teased.

  “It’s your fault. You’ve done this to me.” I laughed, running
my fingers through his silky hair.

  “I’ve created a monster, huh?” The life was returning to his eyes, and it filled me with relief and endless amounts of adrenaline.

  “Yes.” I nodded. “And I need you. Right now.”

  Porter stripped my dress from my body, removing the long underwear and undergarments. For the first time, I ripped the condom packet open and rolled it onto him. He exhaled loudly as I did.

  “I’m impressed,” he said with a tilt of an eyebrow.

  “Make love to me,” I pleaded. I needed to connect with him, to feel the weight of him on my chest. And I wanted it to last as long as possible. “Go slow.”

  Porter’s eyes never left mine. Gently he entered me, gliding in and out in a gradual and deliberate motion. His elbows dug into the mattress, just above my shoulders, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Pressure built within me almost immediately and with each stroke, it continued to build. With each kiss, each tender smile, I was pushed further toward the edge. I reached down to grip Porter’s bottom, my fingers digging into his skin. He released a moan, his lips curling up in pleasure.

  “Hurry, Brin, I can’t . . .” He groaned as he pumped into me. “I can’t wait much longer.”

  Curling my body toward his sent me over the edge and I cried out, throwing my head back into the pillow beneath me. Porter continued to thrust several times before groaning and collapsing onto my chest. Instead of rolling to his side, Porter remained above me. His fingertips traced soft lines from my forehead to my chin as he studied my face.

  “You have two tiny freckles above this eyebrow.”

  “I do?” I played along. Of course, I was aware of them. When you spend your life not wearing makeup, you become quite aware of each and every facial feature you possess.

  “Yeah.” He smiled before kissing the freckles. “They’re beautiful. Just like you.”

  “I think you’re beautiful too.”

  He paused with a subtle smirk. “You mean hot, right? Guys don’t want to be beautiful.”

  “Yes, hot,” I replied, forcing the word from my mouth. I’d grown used to the slang of the outside world, but there were certain words that still felt odd to say. Porter told me that I was “hot” quite often, but it wasn’t something I was comfortable repeating.

  “Hey,” he said, his eyes turning serious. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About being ready to leave?”

  “Yes. I’m absolutely certain. I can’t stay there.”

  “That’s awesome. Seriously, the best thing you’ve ever said.” His grin turned boyish, giddy.

  “But I can’t stay with you, not if you keep using.”

  “You’d seriously live with Tiffany instead of me?” His tone turned hateful quickly, a symptom of coming down from the high. I hated that I knew the pattern, recognized the mood swings, but I did. Despite my desire to soothe him, I had to stay firm.

  “Yes, I would.”

  “And if I get clean? For good?”

  “Then I’d want nothing more than to live with you, in the house that you’re building.”

  “Okay, then,” he replied, his voice calmer. He rolled to his side and perched on his elbow. “I can do it. I promise you, Brin.”

  “Don’t promise me,” I insisted. “Promise yourself. Do it for yourself, not me.”

  “All right,” he said, and nodded.

  “And I’m leaving for me. I don’t belong there. I see that now. Finally.”

  “Thank God. I’ve been waiting for this day,” he said. “Seriously.”

  “Me too,” I said with a smile. “Me too.

  • • •

  Walking home, I was in such a daze and lost in my own thoughts that when I reached the front door of the Cluff house, I didn’t even recall how I arrived there. I thought of lazy mornings with Porter, my legs resting in his lap as we read the morning newspaper while we sipped orange juice and feasted on pastries from the local bakery. No screaming children, no sister wives barking orders. Just him and me. Together.

  My mind was so occupied with thoughts of peaceful days away from the compound, that I didn’t notice the sullen faces of my family. The house was quiet, eerily so. But I didn’t notice that either. Not until later when I heard the dreadful news.

  When my shoes hit the tile of the entryway, Rebecca yanked on the sleeve of my dress and dragged me to her bedroom, jerking me inside the room and slamming the door behind her.

  “What did you do?” she demanded. Her cheeks resembled the skin of two plump tomatoes. They were damp with tears, but I had no idea why.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He’s gone,” Rebecca choked out.

  “Who? Who’s gone?”

  “Burt,” she spat out, her nostrils flaring. “He’s gone.”

  Admittedly, Burt Jameson hadn’t taken up my thoughts in quite some time. I’d accepted Rebecca’s choice. I’d accepted her swollen belly and her ambivalent attitude toward my presence in her life. But seeing her body language, her agony, I knew something horrible had happened.

  “He left?”

  She shook her head vigorously, her lips twisted as more tears fell from her puffy eyes.

  “No, you foolish girl.” She sneered. “He’s dead.”

  Dead. Gone. Buried.

  Visions of Burt with lifeless eyes permeated my brain, and I scrunched my eyes tight to make them stop.

  “What?” I cried out in shock, then reached for her hand. Despite her cold exterior the past several months, I still yearned to comfort my sister wife and former friend. But she yanked her hand away, holding it close to her chest.

  “W-what happened?” I stammered.

  “They found him hanging from the beams.” Her tears overpowered her vocal cords and she began to sob, sitting on the edge of her bed and hanging her head in her hands.

  “I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

  “He killed himself, Brinley!” she screeched. “He hung himself in the house he was building! The workers . . . they found him.”

  “Why?” I asked. But it was a question that didn’t need to be asked. We both knew the answer.

  “Because he couldn’t be with me! He left a note. He couldn’t go on . . . wouldn’t live his life without me.”

  “Oh no.”

  My entire body felt as if I’d been hit by a speeding train. I knew he was miserable . . . I did. But what more could I have done? Could I have saved him?

  “He knew I was pregnant. How did he know that, Brinley?”

  A gasp left my lips. Was she blaming me for Burt’s death?

  “I-I didn’t . . .” I stammered, “I didn’t say a word! I promise you!”

  “I don’t believe you.” She was seething, glowering at me, but I didn’t understand her wrath. Yes, I’d spoken to Burt when he’d approached me. But I wasn’t deceitful, nor did I seek him out to share information regarding Rebecca’s new life with Lehi. And I didn’t understand why she thought that I had.

  “Leandra showed me the note! He knew I’d moved on, that I was pregnant. And he couldn’t go on.” Rebecca stopped, stared off into space, and whispered words, presumably from the suicide note. “I can’t go on without you. I’m a pathetic man.”

  “He wasn’t pathetic,” I argued.

  “I didn’t used to think so. But to be willing to leave his wives, his children? I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  “You said Leandra gave it to you? How did she—”

  “Burt’s other wives gave it to Lehi. They were hoping he’d help pay for funeral services, but he refused. So, there’ll be nothing but shame and embarrassment for them.”

  “Why would Lehi pay—”

  “Because,” she screamed, “they said it’s my fault! It’s all my fault. And Lehi’s responsible for me now.”

  “Oh.”

  Rebecca paced the floor, her words cracking as she walked. “You’ve done nothing but meddle since I joined this family. Why did you have to push?”

  “I swear
to you, Rebecca, I didn’t tell him anything. Yes, he pulled me aside a few weeks ago. But he just wanted to know about his boys, that’s all. I promise you.”

  “Weeks ago? How many times have you spoken to him?”

  “I-I don’t know. He’d approach me, ask me questions. I didn’t know what to say—”

  “He knew! He knew I was pregnant.” She pushed herself up from the bed, threw her hands up in the air, and stormed toward me.

  “You’re showing!” I exclaimed. “It’s obvious to the world, Rebecca. Someone, anyone could have told him.”

  “No, you told him. I know it, I feel it in my bones. Months and months ago, you gave me that note. The note he wrote. Anyone else would have destroyed it. But not you.”

  “He loved you,” I said softly. “It was obvious in every expression, every word he spoke to me. And you missed him too. Of course I gave you the letter. How could I not?”

  “Don’t you understand? It wasn’t your place!”

  “You loved each other! I just wanted you to be happy. I didn’t want you to move on with Lehi if there was still a chance that you could be happy.”

  “Don’t you understand? I had no choice!”

  “That’s not true.” I shook my head back and forth with vigor. “We always have a choice. You could’ve met him under that tree. You could have run away, given your boys a future with two parents who loved them. But you didn’t.”

  “That would have been sinful . . . and selfish.”

  “Abandoning the one you love so you can get to heaven is selfish, not following your heart.”

  She scoffed, looking me up and down. “You’re still seeing him, aren’t you? The angry boy who lives above the coffee store.”

  I wasn’t expecting her to mention Porter. He had nothing to do with any of this.

  “That’s not any of your business.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest and glared at her.

  “Oh, please.” She sneered, wiping the top of her nose with her hand. Then she stopped, clutched her belly, and stared at me with wide eyes. “Just whose child are you carrying, Brinley?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said contemptuously, attempting to dismiss her accusation. But I couldn’t let my eyes meet hers. I could feel her studying me as we stood in silence.