Claiming Her_A Romance Collection

by R. R. Banks

  "Look," he said. "I'm sorry about the crack about the hall pass."

  "I appreciate that. But that's not enough to just make the situation go away. You had ample time to finish this assignment during class. In fact, you are the only one in class who appears to not have finished, and that's not acceptable. Come here at the end of the day, get it done, and we'll start with a fresh slate tomorrow."

  I looked down at my desk and started grading the first of the papers, putting an end to the conversation. Jason let out an exasperated sound and stomped out of the classroom. In the brief moment of silence between those students leaving and the next coming in, I heard the buzz from inside my drawer that indicated I had gotten a text message. I opened the drawer and peeked in.

  "Hi," the message said. "The boys say thank you for the trifle. They wish that they were here last night."

  Well, I'm certainly glad they weren't.

  Two hours later I sat at the desk, waiting for Jason to show up after his last class of the day.

  Half an hour after that I was fairly certain that he wasn't going to show up.

  Ten minutes after that, I was pissed.

  Chapter Seven

  Garrett

  I was staring into the Chinese takeout container I was holding, contemplating life and its direction as it may be told by the remaining Lo Mein noodles in the bottom of the box when my phone rang. Jason was chewing his way through what seemed like his twentieth egg roll, and he didn't pause when he reached for my phone where it sat on the table beside him. He grabbed it and handed it to me, where I sat, on the floor across from him. The dining room table was still covered with boxes and I told myself that I was going to have to spend my first day off unpacking. I wasn't looking forward to that, but it was better than the prospect of spending all of my meals at home sitting on the floor.

  "Hello?" I said into the phone.

  "Mr. Allen?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "This is Mr. Jefferson, from the high school."

  "Oh, yes, Mr. Jefferson. How are you?"

  "I'm doing all right," he said. "The wife is especially making meatloaf for this evening, and that's one of my favorites, so I'm looking forward to getting home. She has one of her shows on tonight, so I'll probably be spending most of my time in my study getting through some of those books I always say I'm going to finish."

  I nodded as I finished another bite of my food.

  "That sounds good," I said. "What can I do for you this evening?"

  "Oh," the principal said as if he had forgotten why he had called me in the first place. "I'm calling about your son."

  "Jason?" I asked.

  I wasn't sure why I asked that. He was my only son.

  "Unfortunately, yes. His teacher, Miss Martin, tells me that he did not report for his detention this afternoon."

  "Detention?" I asked. "Why did he get detention?"

  "She didn't share that information with me," Mr. Jefferson said. "She came into my office this afternoon to report that she had told Jason to stay after school with her to discuss a behavioral issue that he had today, and to complete an assignment that he failed to turn in, but he didn't come."

  "I'm sorry about that," I said. "I'll have a talk with him."

  "Please do that," the principal said. "He is facing more serious disciplinary action if this can't be handled."

  "Don't worry," I said. "I will make sure that it's handled. Thank you for calling me. Enjoy your meatloaf."

  "Thank you. Have a good night."

  I ended the call and glared at Jason. He looked back at me with an expression that told me that he knew exactly why I had received that call. He let out a dramatic sigh and set his takeout container down in front of him.

  "I couldn't go," he said before I even had the chance to tell him about the call.

  "Jason, he said you had detention. You can't just not go to a detention."

  "I had to, Dad. There was a workout this afternoon with the baseball team."

  "You skipped detention with one of your teachers so that you could go run laps around a baseball field?" I asked.

  "You make it sound like it doesn't matter," he said.

  "That's not what I'm saying, Jason. I do know how important baseball is, but I also know how important school is."

  Jason rolled his eyes.

  "I didn't say that school wasn't important, Dad. But I had to go to the workout this afternoon. The team is really, really good and if I want any chance at all of getting on to it before this spring I need to show 100% dedication and commitment to the team. Not showing up for a workout would look like I just didn't care or like I thought that I was going to get some sort of special treatment because of you."

  "What do you mean by that?" I asked.

  "A couple of the guys on the team were saying that I better not get on the team just because you're the new fire chief. I wanted to make sure that I earned my way onto the team. I want to be in the best shape that I can be, and I want to show how dedicated I am, even if all these workouts aren't mandatory."

  I had to admit that I was impressed by my son. I'd been angry when the principal said that he hadn't shown up to his detention, expecting that Jason had just decided that he didn't need to go because he didn't feel like it. Now that I heard how earnest he was in his explanation of why he didn't go to the detention, though, I was more frustrated at the principal. It was obvious that this was extenuating circumstances and they should have been able to be more flexible with him.

  "Did you tell your teacher that you needed to go to baseball practice this afternoon?" I asked.

  "I did," he said, nodding. "I told her that I was trying out for the team and that I needed to go to the workout."

  "Why did she give you a detention in the first place?"

  "She didn't like my attitude and I didn't get an assignment done that she gave us during class. I even apologized for the way that I talked to her, but it didn't matter."

  "You apologized to her? And she still wouldn't reschedule or just let it go?"

  "No."

  Jason looked dejected and any frustration and anger that I had felt toward him was now directed at this teacher.

  "What's this woman like?" I asked.

  He shrugged.

  "Pretty miserable, I guess. She's old and dowdy and always in a really bitchy mood. If I had to make a guess, I would say that she probably doesn't get a whole lot of male attention."

  "Jason," I scolded.

  He shrugged and reached for his food again.

  "It's the truth," he said. "I'm just saying it as I see it. I think if she got a little bit more companionship she would probably be nicer, and the school would be a better place."

  I stared at my son and realized with a sinking feeling in my belly that this was my doing. His perceptions about women and his willingness to be so callous and disrespectful were my fault. He had been shaped by watching the end of my marriage to his mother and how I had handled any other interaction with women since then. I watched Jason continue to eat, unfazed by the bitterness that he had just expressed about his teacher. My mind went to the moments that had created this in him and what had given him these perceptions.

  Ten years earlier…

  I'd never driven so fast through the base. I had never broken any of those posted rules or done anything that might threaten my position. Being in the military had been the only thing that had saved my young family, that had saved me, and I didn't want to do anything that might threaten the future that it held for me. That night, though, the only thing that was on my mind was the words of the man in the mess hall. I had heard him mutter my wife's name and it brought my attention to the conversation he was having at the table beside me. I hated the nights when I was on duty and wasn't able to be at home to have dinner with Valerie and Jason. There were many days when I was up and out of the house before my young son was awake for the day, and by the time I got back, he was already in bed for the night. The times when I was able to be home and have
dinner with them were cherished. They were the times when I was able to spend time with Jason and actually be a part of his nighttime routine. It was rare, however, and there were more nights than not when I had to work and wasn't able to be there for him. This was one of those nights but hearing what the man had said about Valerie had taken all of my attention away from my duties for the night.

  I had my suspicions. I couldn't help but notice the way that her personality had changed, and the odd things about our home over the last few months. I had come home several times to a stripped bed and sheets that were in the washing machine. A few times I had found more than one glass in the sink, or a cigarette butt outside when she wasn't a smoker. Valerie had always been able to explain those things away. Jason had an accident and wet the bed. They had been watching a movie together and he spilled his juice. Some of the other wives had come over for a drink and had stepped outside to have a smoke. I accepted every excuse that she gave me. I felt like I didn't really have another option. If I didn't accept what she said and convinced myself that each one of them was plausible, it would force me to deal with the reality that I knew was there. It would force me to come to terms with what I had already figured out was happening.

  Hearing the man at dinner repeating what he had heard about my wife's skill in the bedroom was too much. I couldn't get past that. I couldn't pretend that I didn't hear it or that maybe he was talking about somebody else. There were too many details, details that nobody else should know about her. I did something that night that I’d never done before and approached my superior to say that I was sick so that I could go home. I couldn't wait several more hours to confront her. My suspicions, and the anger behind them had been building up for so long that I felt as though I might explode if I didn't get a chance to talk to her about them. Despite that, there was a part of me that was trying to talk myself out of my suspicions as I drove through the base back towards our house. There was a voice in the back of my mind that was trying to call me down, trying to tell me that I needed to turn back around and go back to work. That voice told me that rumors were just that. Rumors. It didn't mean that they were true, and it didn't mean anything more than that the men around me were vulgar and inappropriate. That voice was trying to protect me. It was trying to convince me that I hadn't given up my life and my future for a woman who would do this to me. I hadn't sacrificed everything to get married far too young and join the military when I had never had any intention of serving before, so that I could take care of her and our child, just to be disrespected and humiliated like this.

  I already knew that that voice was full of shit by the time I got home. There was a car sitting in front of our house that shouldn't have been there. I knew exactly who it belonged to because I had seen it sitting there countless times before. It had taken up that spot. It had sat there in front of my house many nights, but every time it had been there, I had been in the house. That was because that car belonged to my best friend.

  I pulled up behind Patrick's car, and I was out of my seat belt before I had even turned off the engine. The sound of the car door slamming was explosive in the still air and I knew that inside the house they could hear it. They knew that I was coming. But I didn't care. I wanted them to know that I was there. I wanted them to feel their stomachs turn and their hearts drop. They hadn't even bothered to lock the front door.

  I stormed into the house and the first thing that I saw was my tiny son sitting in the middle of the living room floor, staring at the TV. He was wearing nothing but the little superhero underwear that he had just graduated into from his diapers. In front of him was a paper plate, Cheerios overflowing onto the carpet. He was picking each up with his little chubby fingers and putting them in his mouth as his eyes eagerly took in the cartoon playing out on the screen in front of him. He jumped slightly when I came into the house and looked up at me. His eyes were wide, but then they narrowed as his mouth curved up into a smile.

  "Hi, Daddy," he said.

  "Hi, buddy," I said. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

  He shook his head.

  "I'm watching cartoons," he said.

  He said it with the same seriousness as someone would report that they were in an important business meeting and I nodded in agreement.

  "Where's your mama?" I asked.

  "Playing games in the bedroom," he said.

  I felt the color drain out of my face.

  "What do you mean?"

  "She's playing Monopoly," he told me.

  I knew that he didn't know what Monopoly was. I didn't even think that we owned a Monopoly board. I patted him on the head and leaned down to kiss his soft hair. Just then I heard a door open in the back of the house and I stomped toward it. I turned the corner into the hallway just in time to see Valerie and Patrick coming out of the bedroom. Patrick was still buttoning the buttons on his cuffs and Valerie's hair was tousled. I felt like I had swallowed a molten rock. My body started shaking and spots danced in front of my eyes.

  "Garrett," Valerie started.

  I held up a hand, wanting to stop her, not wanting to hear another word come out of her mouth. If I could have had my way, I never would have heard her voice again.

  "How could you?" I asked.

  I was struggling to keep myself as calm as possible. I was very aware of my son in the front room and I didn't want him to hear the screaming that was bubbling up inside me. I fought to control myself, but I could feel that control cracking even as I stood there and stared at them. Patrick and Valerie exchanged glances as if each thought that the other would somehow have something to say that would make the whole situation better.

  "It isn't what it looks like," Patrick finally said.

  "Seriously? That's the best you could come up with?" I asked. "I expected more from you."

  "What do you mean?" Valerie asked.

  "Don't play dumb," I said. "It didn't work for you in high school and it's not going to work now."

  "Actually," Valerie said, "it seemed to work very well for me in high school."

  I felt heat creeping up the back of my neck and my fist clenching beside me.

  "You think it worked out for you because I knocked you up and had to marry you?"

  "That's all you think of me, isn't it?" she asked.

  I couldn't believe the indignant reaction on her face. It was almost laughable.

  "Are you seriously going to stand there, still smelling like sex and act like you're the one who's been so offended?" I asked. "You're enough of a slut to fuck my best friend while I'm at work and my son is sitting in the living room watching cartoons and you have the nerve to act like you're some sort of innocent little girl who I led astray?"

  "Don't you talk about her like that," Patrick said, taking a step toward me.

  "I can talk about her any way that I want to," I said. "This is my house. She's my wife. Not that that matters to you at all."

  "Don't blame him," Valerie said. "It's not his fault."

  "Oh, really?" I asked. "Did someone drag him over here and shove his cock inside you?"

  "You don't have to be so disgusting," she said.

  I let out a mirthless laugh.

  "Yes, because I'm the disgusting one in this situation."

  "That's it," Patrick said. "I've had enough of your mouth."

  "Aw, I wish that you had said that to Valerie about twenty minutes ago. That could have saved us all a lot of shit."

  Patrick surged toward me before I had a chance to process what was happening. He smashed into me and I hit the ground, quickly regaining control and flipping him over onto his back. Valerie screamed as my fist made contact with Patrick's face and he returned the blow. He bucked against me and I landed on my side beside him. We both scrambled to our feet and continued to tangle. I could taste blood on my lips and felt the skin on my knuckles burning where it had split over the bones. The sound of Valerie screaming and Jason crying in the background blurred, but it was my son shouting for me that brought clarity to my mind and fin
ally took me away from pummeling Patrick. I stood and backed away from him, realizing for the first time that we had made it all the way into the living room. Awareness of what was happening settled over me. I could hear my own breath in my ears, each hard draw accented by the sobs of my son. There was blood on the carpet. Tears flowed down Valerie's face.

  Her hand was wrapped around Patrick's arm.

  "Get out," I said.

  My voice was low again. Calm and controlled. The emotion gone.

  "What?" Valerie asked.

  "Get out. Leave your rings here. You don't need them anymore."

  I expected her to say something. Anything. But she remained silent as she took the rings from her hand and dropped them to the carpet at her feet. She walked back into the bedroom with Patrick at her heels and returned a few moments later carrying a bag. She didn't pause to say goodbye to Jason before she left. As soon as the door closed behind her, I dropped to my knees. My son ran into my arms and I cradled him to me, rocking him until I didn't feel the tears on my neck anymore. I wouldn't say it, but I knew that it would be like that moving forward. Just us.

  Present day…

  That day had completely changed the way that I thought about women and relationships. I knew that my son now shared those perceptions, and while I hated to think about why, I didn't necessarily think it was a bad thing. I knew very well that day wasn't the only bad day in my marriage. It was a culmination of months of arguments, and I knew that he had witnessed too many of them. Even at his young age, he knew that there was something that was happening between the two of us, and he knew that even though I had been the one to tell Valerie to leave, it had been his mother's choice to walk out of the house without him. I couldn't expect that it wouldn't influence him. I couldn't expect that his perceptions of women and relationships would not be molded by having watched his mother cheat on his father, and then being abandoned by her. It was only natural that this would lead him to be distrusting and even somewhat critical of women. I could only hope that having witnessed that, I encouraged him to better protect himself and not get into the situation that I had.