Ashes

by P. M. Briede

  At the base of one of the fountains in the park, the officiant walked us through vows we’d already memorized and said. When he pronounced us man and wife, I didn’t wait for permission to kiss her. I couldn’t. Throughout the ceremony her sparkling, dancing eyes had called to me like a siren on the high seas. I’d thought they’d grow misty, that I’d be the stoic one. In truth, it had been the other way around. Twice I’d taken a step to catch her luscious lips. Twice the infuriating, restraining hand cupped my shoulder. So when it was done, my arms captured Charlotte as I put every ounce of love and devotion into our first kiss as the public, and legally acknowledged, Mr. and Mrs. Wesley Breaux.

  As our guests ambled off towards the Pavilion of Two Sisters I was afforded a few moments of privacy with my wife before Celeste started taking pictures. “You’re pleased, Mrs. Breaux?” I inquired with my forehead relaxing on hers.

  Biting her bottom lip, she replied with the kiss I’d wanted to give her moments before but hadn’t been appropriate in front of the younger set of our guests. Done making demands of my mouth, Charlotte cooed against it. “Very, Mr. Breaux. I’m just flummoxed as to how you pulled this whole thing off.” I shivered as her tickling fingers ran along my hairline at the nape of my neck.

  She may have finished with me, but I wasn’t near done with her. This time I almost lost the battle for control when I opened my eyes, after she tore her lips from mine, to find hers had melted into liquid pools of emerald passion. Now regretting that I’d arranged for a small reception, the only thing I wanted to do was take Charlotte somewhere and make love to her until I again heard my name flung from those swollen, enticing lips of hers. I’d been denied the pleasure for too long. “Let’s just say I was able to borrow quite a few of Santa’s more productive elves.”

  But the evening needed to progress before the rest of my dreams could be realized. Celeste cleared her throat, signaling our time for intimacy was drawing to a close. Charlotte and I posed for a few pictures then joined the rest of our guests. As we walked into the pavilion it was like I was seeing them all for the first time that evening. I hadn’t registered a single face when I was waiting for my love. Most of the people there I’d been expecting: her colleagues from the school, a few local friends I’d made while working for Alexander, and our family. But when Alexander himself caught me by the shoulder and spun me around to offer his congratulations, I was astounded.

  He greeted me warmly. Regina was with Charlotte. But there was a sadness that clung to the both of them. Abigail had recently taken a position with Doctors Without Borders in Darfur and had been killed by an insurgent group. It was a danger everyone involved with the program was aware of and strove to protect against but that didn’t make the loss any better for the Wyatt’s, for any of us.

  Tristan and I had turned down positions in the White House. The demands the jobs would take to bring balance and peace after the chaotic fall we’d just experienced at the tail end of the campaign meant we’d never see our new wives. I’d never see my child. I just couldn’t commit to that kind of life anymore. But Alexander was making headway with the international heads of state and the world no longer seemed on the brink of all-out war.

  The reception was perfect. I couldn’t have asked for more. Paige and Celeste had handled every detail and were managing the caterers and wait staff. Charlotte’s water glass was never empty and by the end of the event most everyone had keyed into that fact and asked me if we were expecting. Part of me felt guilty for not having foreseen that outcome because I knew Charlotte would be embarrassed that some of the guests would consider this a shot-gun wedding. Yet, many just offered their heartfelt congratulations on our other joyous news and promised not to utter a word until she made an official announcement.

  Even when we were separated, Charlotte was never out of my sights and she looked breathtaking. She stopped my heart multiple times that evening. This was the woman I’d fallen violently in love with, the carefree, gentle spirit that had stolen my heart at the tender age of fourteen. Since we’d gotten home, she hadn’t been this at ease, ever. Gone was the grief over her faceless friend. Gone was the worry about the baby. I breathed a deep sigh of relief knowing this woman hadn’t disappeared, that she hadn’t been beaten down by tragedy.

  When the music got underway I went to collect her. But the sound of strings that sailed through the space had already told her it was time and Charlotte was heading to me. We met on the dance floor and I enveloped her in my arms just as Etta James belted out her first lyric. Lights were flashing all around us as everyone captured the moment with their cameras. Charlotte shifted closer to me. “I’m happy you picked this song,” she whispered in my ear as her fingers ran along my hairline. I didn’t say anything, I didn’t need to. Of course I’d choose the song that had put her in my arms for a dance for the first time. At the time it had been hard to believe I’d never known the sheer joy of dancing with her but given her proficiency and my reticence, I later realized it shouldn’t have been. All I did was bring our foreheads together in that way Charlotte always said was uniquely ours to fully appreciate this moment. There were other dances that night, and throughout our lifetime together, but none would haunt my memories as this one did or bring me the same joy.

  As the party drew to a close someone exclaimed, “It’s snowing!” Clinging to my hand, Charlotte raced to the edge of the pavilion and gazed out at the tiny flakes floating to the ground. It made absolutely no sense. This winter had been uncharacteristically warm and even this evening it was still in the low sixties. Yet seeing my bride’s smile as she giddily stepped into it, watching the light powder coat the ground and her face, something told me this meant more to her than just a simple meteorological marvel. I wrapped my arms around her and had just put my face to hers when I heard her whisper. “Blue is for grace, redemption.”

  The inauguration blew by, as did Mardi Gras and Valentine’s. Charlotte was definitely showing now and I thanked God every day for blessing me with the image of seeing my wife beautifully round. Then I’d pray he’d make it easier on her. By the end of March she was growing more tired every day, and more irritable. Even some of the joy most couples experience during the twenty week ultrasound was lost when the baby refused to cooperate, keeping its sex to itself. I hoped I was a good husband who didn’t make the time any more difficult than it already was. But there were many tense moments Charlotte would regretfully apologize for at night when she’d curl up in my arms for sleep.

  The doctor was growing a little more concerned as Charlotte started the third trimester. She’d gone from a healthy weight to what even I was forced to admit was more an over-inflated balloon waiting to burst. A lot of medical terms were thrown out but she was insistent she wanted to try and finish the school year. She was prescribed some more medication and the doctor emphatically demanded stress remain out of her life.

  Which is why I felt so guilty when my temper got the better of me and I interrogated Charlotte about an envelope I’d found in her desk in our shared office. The day before I’d interrupted her talking to a man in there. Just before I’d walked in she’d challenged him. “Those flames were blue. I know what I saw. You said some are imbued with grace.” Her words made no sense. Charlotte and the man stood as I walked into the room and she stuffed a thick envelope in her desk drawer.

  The man approached me. His face was common but his eyes trapped mine. They were blue and looking into them I knew I’d done so before. I just couldn’t place where. “Congratulations on your nuptials and upcoming birth of your child, Mr. Breaux. I’m Christopher Methos. I was just finalizing some legal matters with your wife.” He didn’t say anything else to either of us but walked out the room. I looked at Charlotte but she just brushed past me, following him to the front door.

  They didn’t wait for me to join them. I was halfway down the hall when I heard his voice but not his words. “He doesn’t remember a thing. No one does but me,” Charlotte responded sadly. She must not realize how the va
ulted ceiling of this old house carries sound across a room.

  Christopher nodded and left. What didn’t I remember? What wasn’t Charlotte telling me? She obviously wasn’t going to tell me, which is why I went searching for the envelope the next day when I thought she wasn’t home.

  When I found it I pulled the papers out. The top was a letter from the lawyer summarizing the documents enclosed. There was a deed to the house behind ours, a title to a couple of vehicles and a boat, a trust that was set up with our child as the beneficiary, and a few addresses to some storage units and banks. Everything was in Charlotte’s name. A copy of a receipt for payment of services rendered was stapled to the back.

  While all of that was shocking enough, the most surprising document was a letter written in a man’s hand. It was pages long and skimming through it, it rambled on about things that made no sense but tickled at my memory banks. It opened with gratitude that Charlotte had remembered him. It spoke of love for my wife, of never forgetting and always being grateful for the love she’d given him. It recalled cherished memories they’d shared and I could tell by the details they’d occurred while I was on the campaign trail with Alexander. Then it spoke of a gift he’d given her, hoping she’d one day fulfill her dreams of having a baby. Was it possible the child Charlotte carried wasn’t mine? I didn’t want to believe it but the letter spoke of intimate knowledge of her, things that though I couldn’t believe were true, I somehow knew were.

  All of this had been from the man she’d been mourning for months. The man she’d ordered me not to concern myself with. The man she’d promised was nothing for me to worry about. Suddenly, I found myself gripping the back of the chair as the papers I’d been holding scattered across the floor. What was I going to do? Could Charlotte really have betrayed me?

  “What in the hell do you think you are doing?!” Her fuming voice broke my train of thought as Charlotte emphasized each syllable. I spun around to see the rage in her eyes. She knew what I’d found. I could tell by the way her eyes flickered among the papers, almost as if she was cataloguing each one. But there was something else there. I couldn’t understand why beneath the primary furious emotion holding her captive, terror was absolutely evident.

  I couldn’t help it. I knew it was the worst thing to do to her. I knew, somewhere deep down, this wouldn’t change how much I loved her. That the baby meant the world to her and no matter what mistake Charlotte may have made she deserved that baby for every shitty thing she’d been through. I knew all of this yet I still exploded. “You dare ask me what the hell I’m doing! Explain to me, my dear wife; explain to me why the assets of the man who you told me was a good, lovely man that I don’t need to concern myself with, who you’ve been grieving over for months, were bequeathed to you along with an extremely detailed love letter. And while you’re at it, explain why you’ve been hiding THEM FROM ME!” I’d stuttered and run on in my red-eyed frenzy. There was an actual creak in the wood from my grip on the chair.

  With glassy eyes Charlotte squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She’d grown stronger, I could only assume from the kidnapping, and she didn’t cow easily. When she responded to me, there was no contrition or remorse in her voice, only disappointment. “How much of my letter did you read?”

  Crazed out of my mind, I took two steps towards her before realizing it was out of malice, not love. I brought myself up short to keep her from being within arm’s reach. “Is that all you have to say to me?! I read enough of it! Is the child even mine, Charlotte?!”

  My accusation acted as the needle that popped her ire filled balloon. She still didn’t offer me an explanation but the fury from earlier slowly seeped out of her. “You think I’d let you believe it was if it wasn’t?” With a shake of her head Charlotte turned her back on me. “It seems you’ve already made up your mind,” she acknowledged over her shoulder, “but yes, Wesley, the baby is yours. If you require genetic proof of that after the birth, fine.” With that she walked away shaking and the next thing I heard was a door slam then the car engine roar. Stewing in my own heartache over how much everything had changed, the persistent sound of the car’s horn brought me back to this wretched reality. That couldn’t be good.

  And it absolutely wasn’t. Once in the garage, the scene playing out in front of me stripped away every bit of the hurt and anger I’d been drowning in before. No matter what, Charlotte was still my wife and she was convulsing against the steering wheel of her car with her eyes rolled back in her head. Panicked I raced to her, stuffing my hand in my pocket to retrieve my phone. Problem was it wasn’t there. Used to making snap decisions, my mind just couldn’t work this one out. I was too worried about her and the, no my, baby. If she said the baby was mine, it was. I knew her well enough to know she was right. She wouldn’t lie to me about that.

  As I carefully freed her from the car, I saw her purse. Her phone would be in it. I grabbed it but before I could make the call for an ambulance, I had to make sure her airway was clear. The doctor had warned too much stress could result in a seizure and had prepared me just in case. I’m sure having your husband accuse you of cheating and trying to pawn another man’s baby off as his would qualify as stress. I’m such an ass. And to top it all off, while I was waiting for the ambulance to arrive, our baby moved for the first time, and Charlotte had missed it!

  Thankfully the ambulance collected us quickly. Before I could fully register the danger I’d put my wife in we were at the hospital and I was being told they had her stabilized. While waiting for the doctor to arrive I called Paige. She got there just as the doctor was leaving. “Wesley Breaux, you had better be about to tell me that my dear friend and her baby are okay!” Paige shouted.

  “They are,” I said with a sigh. “You can hear their hearts on the monitors. But it’s officially Eclampsia now, so we aren’t leaving until the birth. The doctor says it’s too risky. The seizure was bad. He doesn’t think Charlotte will make it to term.” I couldn’t look at either Charlotte or Paige so I hung my head, staring at the floor with unseeing eyes.

  Her inquisitive tone told me which Paige was here. Her job was nothing but seeing through lies and picking out subtle clues in behavior. I wasn’t being subtle at all. “What did you do?” Paige accused.

  Best get it over with because concealing the truth from Paige would just make it worse. Besides I definitely deserved whatever consequence she was going to deliver on Charlotte’s behalf. “We had a fight,” I confessed. “I saw something that made me think she’d been with another man while I was on the campaign trail and that possibly the baby was his.” I’d planned on explaining myself further, telling Paige about Charlotte’s behavior and reticence about him, telling her about the love letter. I didn’t get the chance.

  Paige was on me like a wild honey badger, her fists raining blows on my body. “YOU DID WHAT!” Her physical attack ceased but her verbal one plowed on. “Do you have some form of amnesia or something? You two split for almost five months. It was a huge misunderstanding and that man made a play for Charlotte but it didn’t amount to anything in the end. Yet you accused your wife, who is in a very delicate condition, of that kind of atrocity!” My arms were still raised above my head as if to block every verbal assault Paige issued. How had I forgotten that? I had no memory of all the details but now that Paige said it I remembered Charlotte and I had both temporarily dated someone else.

  “Sweetheart, he feels bad enough as it is. Nothing you can say is going to make him feel worse.” Until he’d spoken, I hadn’t comprehended that Tristan had accompanied Paige and had been the one to end to her justified attack. “Remember Charlotte told us there are some holes in his memory.”

  Wait, what? Charlotte had told them but not me. “What are you talking about, holes in my memory?” I asked. Was it possible those nightmarish flashes I sometimes glimpsed weren’t fiction written by my mind?

  They both tried to tell me my wife should have this talk with me. But my wife was currently sedated and if she’d wo
rked so hard to keep this from me, I assumed being confronted with it again would send her back into seizures. Trouble was Paige and Tristan didn’t seem too clear on the details either. All they knew was someone had made it look to Charlotte like I’d left her to date them and I’d gotten word that she’d started seeing some teacher at the school. The lies became truth and by the time we both realized we’d never initially betrayed the other, we already had. The story seemed thin at first but quickly my mind seemed to accept this explanation and let go of my jealousy. It was now time to focus on the care of my wife and be as fiercely protective of our burgeoning family as she’d been of me almost five months ago.

  * * *

  “One more push ought to do it, Mrs. Breaux,” the doctor told Charlotte.

  With an arm around her back, I helped the nurse bend Charlotte in half. “You’re doing fantastic, love,” I offered in support. “It’s almost over.” Charlotte took a deep breath, determination etching her features. Following the doctor’s instructions, we were finally blessed with that welcoming cry every parent longs for.

  Collapsing into my arms, Charlotte at last looked at peace. The worst was over. It was May, the baby had come four weeks early but it had been more time than the doctor had thought Charlotte would progress to. Charlotte was swollen and drained but her eyes were glued to our child as she anxiously awaited the news. “Mr. and Mrs. Breaux, I’d like to introduce you to your daughter.” Then our daughter was laid in Charlotte’s arms and my heart swelled with love for the two most important women in my life.

  Though I wanted to meet the same peace my wife and daughter were experiencing, I was impatiently watching Charlotte’s heart monitor and the doctor. He’d mentioned to me that after the birth there was a risk Charlotte could seize again if the ordeal was too traumatic. I’d kept the information from her because I’d wanted her focused on this experience. Luckily for us, she seemed healthy and fine as the nurse helped her feed.