"This woman won't eat anything, and she wouldn't let me eat either," he complained.
"Earnest, if the place has a drive through it's not food. It's a heart attack wrapped in paper." Mother laughed, but nerves deepened the lines beginning around her eyes.
Father turned to Hannah who was trying to follow another worker up the stairs. "How about an early lunch?" he called.
She nodded and scurried into the kitchen to rush her husband preparing the food.
I followed William and my parents into the den. They discussed their own businesses and asked each other numerous questions. I was bored by the conversation but sat politely while waiting for lunch.
Father’s stomach interrupted the flow of conversation when the large chef entered to escort us to the dining room.
The food was about to be served when we heard the chime. Moments later our butler showed two guests into the dining hall.
I recognized one as our lawyer, and by William’s expression, he recognized the other. We all stood to greet them and made introductions.
Our lawyer, Mr. Taylor, sat beside Father. The other, Mr. Malone, sat at the end of the table across from Mother. It didn’t take long for the servants to bring us our food and the small talk was cut off abruptly.
“Ahem,” Malone cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. He was an older man with silver hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a large mustache. “Mrs. Fellows” he started nervously, addressing Mother.
We all stared at him as he glanced at William nervously.
“Your father’s will seems to have changed at the last second,” he looked at Mr. Taylor who was stroking his own light brown mustache.
“I appreciate you letting me know the details. How this pertains to me?” Mother looked between the attorneys and shrugged at William. “You didn’t need to drive all this way to tell me.”
“I came prepared for William to contest.”
Everyone looked to William who seemed oblivious to the conversation. He speared a Brussels sprout and eyed it as though afraid it might bite him. I realized the act in his movements and the feign of oblivion.
“What do you mean, ‘changed’?” Father asked.
Mr. Taylor seemed to feel his input was suddenly needed. “It appears he has left everything- his house, funds, vehicles, all to his daughter.”
Mother shook her head in shock. Nobody moved until Mother turned slowly and stared at William.
He glanced up to see her reaction and returned to shoving pasta salad into his mouth.
“Mr. Chainbers,” said his lawyer, “you do have the opportunity to contest. It wouldn’t be difficult to claim he was not of sound mind.” He peered over his glasses at my parents as if expecting them to argue. Mother seemed ready to laugh at the situation.
William shook his head at his attorney. “I didn’t want anything from him when he was alive, and I don’t want anything from him now. He owes Elizabeth so much though nothing can heal the things he put her through.” Mother looked as if she might cry. “I don’t want to contest,” he said simply with a shrug.
They looked at each other in surprise. “It's a large sum, William,” his lawyer almost whispered, leaning towards him. William shook his head firmly.
We finished our meal with more strained small talk. Father watched everyone the way I did. Mother continued to glare at William with suspicion. After fruit salad, our guests thanked us and left, leaving William to the wrath of Mother.
“Elizabeth, no!” William jumped back as Mother came around and thumped him on his forehead. He laughed as she thumped him over and over.
“How?” she yelled with every thump. “How?” She seemed to wear herself out until she was crying and he was holding her.
I had never witnessed Mother crying but saw the protector in him that Father mentioned.
I looked at Father. He stared at a small stack of papers left on the table. I moved closer.
Their father's signatures were a touch off on the updated version of the testament from the original, but not enough to be obvious. Someone had changed the will, and Mother knew who.
Mother pulled back from William, who still had her wrists in his hands.
“Why?” Mother asked.
"I know what he did to you, for the most part. I know you don't need the money," his voice commanded her to stay quiet as she opened her mouth to argue. "He needed to pay you back in some way."
Mother was speechless. I was speechless. Seeing Mother being submissive left me in awe. After a moment of contemplation, she laughed softly and kissed him on the head.
She patted his cheek and excused herself, trying to keep the emotional breakdown in check until she was in private. Father grunted before racing after her.
Chapter 9- Trellis
William tried to dry his damp eyes without me seeing while sneaking out of the side door.
I followed him as he headed down the path toward the garden. As we walked in silence my trembling fingers reached for his hand.
He grasped me with no hesitation. His steps quickened.
Soon he was pulling me, rushing through the winding walls of flowers. The determination in his gait made my heart pound with excitement.
As soon as the fountain was in sight he turned and dragged me to him. I gasped and pulled his head down to mine.
I lost the war with myself in that moment, realizing he had been waging the same one. We failed each other and ourselves with our recklessness. I sank into the white flag that was his kiss.
With every new thing I had learned about him, I accomplished the opposite of what I had intended. With every fight we had suffered I had drowned even deeper.
William groaned as his lips moved from across my temple. His arms tightened around me as he buried his face in my hair.
My thighs quaked as his sigh caressed my neck. I pressed a kiss against his jaw, fighting a gasp as he trembled.
I had one hand in his curls, the other crushed between us on his chest. His heartbeat quickened under my palm. My knees weakened as his hand slid down my back and lifted me.
His lips graced my chest and neck as he carried me. We lowered on the edge of the fountain and I wrapped my legs around him.
I wanted to scream with my need for him. His hands were gliding over every inch of my dress. I wanted the touch of his skin on mine, to know it wasn’t a dream or a one-sided affection.
I groped for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. In one fluid motion, he tore the straps of my dress down, lowering it to my hips.
My hunger deepened as I felt his ribs and muscles under my hands, against me. His mouth was on my breast, moaning my name.
The warmth of the sun above us with the heat of him beneath drove me mad. I reached down and yanked his belt open. He gripped my face and kissed me hard as I fought with his zipper.
His scent blending with the warm breeze swirling the bouquet a million flowers intoxicated. I gripped his shoulder with my free hand, trying not to sway as his hands and mouth drained my vision.
It took me too long to realize the urgency in his voice had changed. I finally had his jeans opened when he grasped my wrist to stop me.
His kisses slowed from passionate to tormented.
“We can't,” he groaned, so soft and deep I thought I could pretend to have not heard it.
I whimpered in understanding, my mind comprehending what my body couldn't. He held me to him and stroked my hair.
✷✴✷
We held each other, absorbing comfort from one another.
Eventually, I slid from his lap and pulled my dress up. He watched me resentfully while buttoning his pants and tightening his belt.
My face burned as he let his eyes drag over me one last time.
He looked around, searching. I noticed the tattoo across his heart. I recognized it as Hebrew but didn’t know what it said. He knelt and looked on the ground. His entire back was a canvas. The detail and shading were gorgeous.
A crow sat on a skull in bla
ck and white shading. The sole colors were blood-red rose petals scattered around the bottom of the skull and a green olive branch in the crow’s mouth.
“Where is it?” William spun to me. His eyes were frantic as if we were about to get caught.
It took me a moment to register. “Oh, your shirt.” What had I done with it?
William followed my horrified stare directed into the fountain. We watched the barely blue fabric swirl around in the water.
He reached in and pulled it out, still shaking his curls. “How are we supposed to explain this?” he asked.
I considered our minimal possibilities for a moment before a brilliant idea caught flame.
“I'm sorry,” I told him, stepping close to him.
“No, it's ok, you didn’t mean to.” He tried wringing the shirt out.
“No. I mean I'm sorry for this.” He looked up in bewilderment.
I pushed him.
“What the hell!” He sputtered, still flailing. He got out of the fountain dripping and angry but god sexy.
“A wet shirt is questionable, but you being completely drenched says you fell into the fountain.” It was simple. Maybe I should have given him some warning but it wouldn’t have been as amusing.
He glowered but didn’t argue with my logic. He pulled his sopping shirt over his glistening torso and shook his hair like a dog.
“Seriously?”
“I'd push you in but that would be rude,” he said with a sniff. I stifled my laughter as he glared. We walked away slowly, thinking about what we had almost done.
“Thank you,” I said softly. His fingers brushed my hand.
We paused halfway through the garden and he kissed me shyly. The heat had been lowered and he seemed wary. He worried I would deny him once we were calm.
“If nothing else we have this gentle sin,” he murmured. “We would have regretted it if we had continued. I don't want to give you any reason to hate me.”
I sighed knowing he was right. Though I could never hate him, I feared I would have hated myself even more than I already did.
I released his hand and stepped away as we neared the mouth of the garden.
We walked towards the pool and listened to the sounds of splashing and laughter. As we neared I saw my mother and father swimming and playing. I had never seen Mother in the pool, and the black one-piece swimsuit looked new.
“What happened to you?” Mother called out when she saw us.
“Ruth was showing me the garden. There's a fountain in there,” William exclaimed as if that was the strangest place for one to be.
Mother laughed and we forced our own laughter with her. Father took the opportunity to splash her directly in the face and she sputtered. She tackled him and dragged him under the water.
William and I snuck away into the house. We climbed the stairs and he led me to his room.
He shut the door behind me and I sat on the edge of his bed. He reached into the closet for dry clothes and left for the bathroom. He closed the door behind himself and I looked around as I listened to the shower turn on.
He hadn’t added many decorations to the room. There was nothing to personalize it but for the now glassless picture of him at a young age with my mother. I picked it up and looked closer at her.
She was so beautiful but the side of her face turned away from the camera was lumpy as though swollen and her smile seemed pained.
I put the picture down and intended to ask about it when I saw a large black leather-bound book on the floor. I picked it up and something pale pink fluttered to the carpet.
I gingerly plucked the faded, brittle orchid bud and sat back on the bed. I fought the urge to cry. If I had known he was having the same thoughts, I wouldn't have gone through so much torment and self-abuse.
“What do you have?”
I hadn’t heard him turn the shower off. He leaned over and opened the book to the page the flower had been pressed.
It seemed to be a book of beautifully feminine, handwritten poetry with scrawls in the margins as if he used it as a journal. I saw the slight smear of the ink on the pages as he returned the bud to the book. He closed it and climbed onto the bed next to me.
He laid back and pulled me down to rest my head on his chest. I listened to his heart and steady breathing.
He stroked my hair and I looked up into his face. I felt miserable but not as much as when I had been fighting not to touch or feel, though I knew I hadn't battled myself for long. We laid there, absorbing our new boundaries together.
I was ecstatic to be able to touch him, to feel the bones of his chest and the hard muscles around them. I loved to be able to breathe deep and take in his scent. The way I fit perfectly in his arm gave me a comfort I hadn’t realized I needed.
A small part of me felt guilty for being weak and letting myself give in. I had dragged him into my darkness.
"Ruth, I'm sorry. I should have left days ago. I never meant to do this to you." He was staring at the ceiling. The shame and guilt in his face pulled at me.
I released a dry laugh and he grimaced as if I had hurt him. "Don't act as though I had no choice." I sat up, unsure if I felt insulted. He didn't move. The way he stared showed me that he thought he deserved any harsh words I could throw at him. "You regret it," I said, not asking. I could see the truth.
He sat up, his temper flaring again. "Don't you?"
"I tried to control the way I feel. It's not exactly possible." I was trying to keep my voice calm and steady. I refused to allow the hurt to surface.
He shook his head. "We can't control our emotions but we should be able to control ourselves."
I lifted my chin and inhaled sharply, trying to keep my eyes clear. "I won't give you another reason to blame yourself, or hate me, or whatever this is."
I stood from the bed and walked to the door as quickly as I could without running. I snapped the door open to see his hand slam it closed. He spun me around and pressed me to the door.
I glared up at him as he glowered down at me. "Do not ever say I hate you. I don't blame you. I don't hate you. I want nothing more than to kiss you again, right now. Don't be angry at me for being honest."
I didn't know if I wanted to kick him in the shin or attack him with affection. He placed a hand on either side of me, bracing himself against the door as if he knew I was going to fight him away.
"I don't want you to hate yourself. We’ve both had these feelings," I repeated as if trying to explain something difficult in a way of easy understanding. "I thought I was alone in this, and I was miserable. I was disgusted with myself, so I will understand if you regret touching me."
His face morphed from anger to sadness when he pulled me to him. He held me, his hands in my hair. "I don't regret anything with you. I've wanted to know you since the moment I saw you in that yellow dress. I regret being weak and what it could do to you."
I leaned my head back to look at him, but he met his lips to mine. I sighed as the warmth spread. It was no longer an inferno, but something stronger- not to burn out and leave us singed quite as quickly.
"What do we do?"
His voice was a deep whisper, "I don't know." I nodded and leaned against him. The hope I hadn't realized to be building in me died with his words and soft tone. "I think I should go back to Frankfort for a few days to give us time to calm down and think things through."
I pulled away gently, not wanting him to see how much it pained me. I nodded and tried to smile. I tried to turn away, but his hands were firm on mine.
"William, I'm going to leave now and let you pack." His eyes fell and he released me.
I turned and left the room, but before I closed the door I glanced back to see him staring at the floor. His hands were shoved in his pockets as his damp hair twisted around his head like a crown.
I left him alone to cry in pain for losing him and in exaltation for having had him, even if it had been for one minute moment.
I waited in my room while listening for the soun
ds of him. My back stiffened when his footsteps echoed in the hall. I wanted to go with him but knew we needed separation.
He stopped in front of my open door and looked in at me. "I let Elizabeth know I have to go back for a few days."
I didn't know why he was telling me. I ached and wanted nothing more than for him to leave so I could cry. I nodded and looked away.
"Ruth?"
I turned to see him falter. The words wanted to come, but his tongue denied them. He simply backed away and left.
Chapter 10- Dew
Mother picked at her dinner like a sulking child. As we ate Father chirped, obviously trying to distract Mother and put her back into a good mood. She seemed to ignore it well until halfway through the meal.
She cut off Father’s chatter as she leaned toward me. "Did he talk to you, Ruth? Does he not like it here?" Her voice was losing its tinkle. Her eyes were slipping back into those of a fearsome being.
"He didn't say. I'm sure he loves being here, though. Who wouldn't?" I forced a calm smile and soothing voice.
"He didn't have to go this often when he lived in Louisiana. Why would he have to now?" She stabbed at her dinner repeatedly.
Father reached across the table for her hand but Mother swatted him away. "I'm sure he's having to make up for the lost time. He'll be home soon and you can ask him then."
Her eyes narrowed but Father didn’t seem to notice.
"When is he due home?" Father asked. I wished he hadn't.
"He didn't say." I recognized the familiar snake her tone and harsh enunciation. I gulped and looked at Father, warning him to stop talking. He nodded in agreement as Mother rose huffily without asking to be excused, and stormed away.
Mother's heart seemed to sour and rot before our eyes. The cloud hovering over the house from William’s absence grew and darkened throughout the days.
When I woke before dawn and readied for breakfast on the third day without William I could feel it in the air. It was an electrical storm without the excitement and all the fear. I made sure to not put on any makeup, pulled my hair tight, and wore the navy blouse and skirt that Mother preferred.
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