The Sins That Bind Us

by Geneva Lee

  “What the fuck?” It’s all that comes up. Probably because it’s the one thing I really want to know. It’s not exactly that I need an explanation as to why he chose to come here. It’s more that I want to understand what I’m feeling. The truth is that I want to know why I’m here.

  Jude pivots around and stares at me with a fuzzy expression. The one you have when you’ve just woken up in a strange place. But his confusion isn’t the result of drinking because it quickly shifts to annoyance. The line of his jaw tightens as he regards me. “Did you follow me?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business”—It totally was—“but no. I saw you while I was driving home.”

  “And then you followed me?” He crosses his arms; his tattoos stretch over his contracting biceps.

  “I…I…”

  “Exactly, Sunshine” The harshness is gone from his tone, but his words remain firm.

  Frustration sparks into anger. “I guess I cared. Sue me. And don’t call me Sunshine.”

  I whip around, but I don’t make it one step toward the door before his hand catches my wrist.

  “I’m sorry,” he says softly. His apology freezes me to the spot. I should go. We both know that I have no right to be here.

  I turn back to him, but I don’t pull away. “We shouldn’t be here.”

  This time I’m the one who is right. First rule of staying clean is to actually stay clean, even alcohol was off-limits. Jude knows that, and even though his apology has stopped me in my tracks, I can’t ignore the indiscretion.

  “I have to be here, but you don’t.”

  Now I tug away, shaking my head. “Give me one good reason.”

  He pauses as if considering whether he wants to answer. A line appears between his eyes as he concentrates. Is he making up a story? Something that will appease my curiosity? The truth is simple enough. It’s merely a set of facts. Lies take more effort.

  “Don’t bother,” I snap. I haven’t known Jude long enough to know what kind of man he is, but I do know what kind of man I hoped he was. As usual the reality is a disappointment.

  “Faith, give me a chance—”

  “You think I haven’t?” He’s more delusional than I thought. “I’ve given you more of a chance than anyone.”

  Any man, at least. Furious heat flushes across my cheeks. I don’t know Jude Mercer and he doesn’t know me. End of story.

  “Wait!” he calls before I reach the exit. “You wanted one good reason?”

  I nod, bracing myself for whatever excuse he’s concocted.

  But he doesn’t speak instead, he takes my shoulders and turns me toward the bar. His lips whisper against my ear. “There’s your reason. She called me and I came to convince her to leave.”

  I didn’t see her when I walked in, but now I can’t tear my eyes off of her. Anne. But not Anne. This isn’t the woman valiantly holding herself together at meetings. Her hair, the suit, even the ostentatious Louis Vuitton she carried are all the same. But I’m staring at a barfly. A couple empties in front of her. Even from a distance her hand trembles as she raises her glass to her lips. Lips that still bore the faded remnants of lipstick. She made an effort this morning, that much was obvious from her appearance, but her day had since crumbled and her along with it. Her carefully styled hair is flat on one side and frizzy on the other. If her outfit had been ironed, I can’t tell now.

  “Shit.” There’s not much else to say.

  “I gave her my number a few weeks ago,” he explains.

  But I don’t hear anything else. I don’t have his number, and even as I gawk at a woman ruining her life in real time, I’m jealous. Further proof that I’m a terrible person.

  “So she called you?” I ask slowly, and he came.

  “Yes.” He sighs, sounding relieved that I’m finally catching up.

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to run into bars to save people.” It’s out of my mouth before I can swallow it down.

  Disgust flits over his face, but I spot it. Jude tenses visibly, his shoulders drawing up. He doesn’t look at me when he finally speaks through gritted teeth. “I used to think that, too. So I didn’t run and I didn’t save her. I’ve regretted it every day since.”

  “Jude, I…”

  “Go,” he commands, his voice scratchy. “I didn’t ask you to be here and I sure as hell didn’t ask you to judge me.”

  He’s not saving anyone tonight. He’s chasing ghosts. Maybe Anne will get home safely, but he can’t fix her. He knows that. I know that. I should go. Instead I take a step toward the bar and wait for him to follow. Tonight he won’t face his demons alone. When we reach Anne, I don’t know what to say. I push away the memories trying to surface—memories of bars and lost time and worse. So much worse.

  Jude takes the lead. She looks up as he places a hand on her shoulder, but his consoling effect disappears when she sees me.

  “You called her.” She doesn’t speak so much as form words and breath, but it’s clear what she means.

  “I can go.”

  “No.” There’s a finality to Jude’s edict that I don’t dare question. “Faith wants to make sure you get home.”

  “Home?” Anne croaks, reaching for her drink. I consider taking it away, but decide she’ll probably throw it at my head. “I’m living in a motel. Did he tell you that? Did he tell you that my husband didn’t leave me? He kicked me out. My own children aren’t allowed to see me.”

  I’m stuck, backed into a corner. I’ve underestimated Anne. Mostly because my perception of her and who she is in this moment are on opposite ends of the personality spectrum. I’m not talking to Anne, I remind myself. I’m talking to the booze and the ugliness it’s unleashed inside her.

  “He didn’t tell me anything.” But my attempt to soothe falls flat.

  “Then you’re fucking him?” she guesses. “Careful there. You’ve got a kid? A husband? That’s what mine nailed me on. He caught me cheating, but he couldn’t leave it there. He told my girls that I had relapsed. He couldn’t deal with the idea that I might just want to fuck someone else.”

  “I’m not…sleeping with him, and I’m not married.” The clarification rushes out of me.

  Her eyes narrow, the lids drooping under the lethargic effects of the alcohol. “If you aren’t married, why aren’t you fucking him?”

  “Let’s get you out of here,” Jude interrupts before she can continue her line of questioning. He tosses a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and pushes the empty glass out of her hand. It takes both of us to get her on her feet. By the time, we reach the Jeep, she’s crashed. I cram myself into the back seat, shooting off a quick apology to Amie for being late.

  Amie: No worries. Little man was already fast asleep when I got here.

  I thank her and promise to be home soon, but guilt tugs at me. I wasn’t there to tuck him in or kiss him goodnight. Instead I’m here with two people I hardly know. I may have been wrong about why Jude was here, but I can’t deny that the man has my priorities seriously out of whack.

  The motel is on the outskirts of the city, away from the cute, tourist-friendly downtown. Like so much of the town, it’s run down. There are no quaint, brick streets only pot holes and crumbling asphalt. The highway leads directly into downtown so that visitors don’t have to see poverty and struggle. A neon sign buzzes as mist begins to pebble on the windows, the light reflects off Jude’s dark hair.

  Anne might worry that I’ll judge her if she even remembers tomorrow, but if she knew the places I’ve been and the floors I’ve slept on, she wouldn’t. After we get her inside and lock the door, we drop the key with the manager, who acts like this is routine. I guess it might be here.

  When we reach the Jeep, we stand in the rain, fog curling around us, and wait for the other to speak.

  “Thank you.” It’s sincere, but I don’t know why he’s grateful to me.

  I accused him, questioned him, and basically scoffed at the idea that I would fuck him to his face. I’m not entirel
y certain which one of those things he would thank me before. I don’t know what to say, so I shrug. “No big deal.”

  And somehow I know that isn’t true. Being here is a big deal. I can’t quite ignore my racing heartbeat or how, even in the wet night, I’m not cold.

  “Now the important question.” He’s suddenly solemn and I hold my breath. “Do I need a restraining order?”

  “Do you want one?” I blurt out, immediately horrified at my response and then more horrified by the implication of his question. “No. No! Like I said, I saw you going into the bar and well, and I don’t know why I stopped last week, but it was raining and you just looked cold so I stopped—”

  “Faith! I’m kidding.” He smiles to confirm this. “I definitely don’t want a restraining order. I might like it if you stalked me.”

  “I’m not stalking you!” I have achieved maximum embarrassment.

  “Relax,” he advises me, but he can’t keep the laughter out of his voice. “I’m going to stop teasing you now.”

  “Sorry.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t have much experience with teasing.”

  “No big brother? Sister?”

  “Not really.” My mouth goes dry. It’s mostly the truth, but the less complicated version. “I can’t believe this happened.”

  Time to switch the topic away from me. Jude takes my cue, glancing back to the room where we left her sleeping.

  “Maybe I should have checked for bottles or drugs,” he muses. “I probably should have stayed. It just didn’t feel right. I don’t want to get her in more trouble with her husband.”

  “That sounds like a chivalry dilemma: protect her virtue or ensure her safety,” I say, but his dark knight routine impresses me more than I like to admit.

  A cocky grin pulls at the corner of his mouth, but he sidesteps my characterization. “How well do you know her?”

  “Anne and I never really existed in the same sphere. Our worlds overlapped at NA. I thought she had it together, but it sounds like she screwed up pretty badly.” I don’t mean it as a slight. A long time ago I decided to call a spade a spade. It never helps to pretend you have a different card than the one in your hand.

  “Do you actively try to find the worst in people? That’s fucked up, Faith.” He spits my name at me, turning such a personal possession into an insult.

  I plant my hands on my hips and refuse to budge. “You’re right. I don’t see the good in people. I don’t believe that people are basically kind.”

  “Why?”

  The question nearly knocks me off my feet. “Why do you care?”

  “Because I do. You aren’t as cold as you want people to believe. You’re cautious, but you care.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.” I will it to be true. The drizzle mists my face. Tiny droplets collect on my skin and lashes, slowly merging into fat drops that roll down my cheeks.

  He steps forward and there’s nowhere to go but the dark, rain-slick street. Instead I stand my ground even as he moves close enough that his chest brushes across my breasts. I feel the contact through my sweater, through my bra, through my very skin as it awakens sensations I’d erased from my memories.

  “I know that you picked up a stranger, who was too stupid to wear a jacket, and drove him home. I know that you’ll throw on an apron and take orders even though you’re clumsy. And I know that boy of yours thinks you hung the moon, and you can’t fool kids.” His words dance across my face, and his warm body so near mine that I can feel him has nothing to do with the wet heat between my legs.

  “Kids don’t know better,” I whisper. “Someday when Max learns the mistakes I’ve made, he won’t think that highly of me. When he learns the truth, he’ll see me as I really am.”

  “Kids see better than anyone. They haven’t learned to lie to themselves. It’s a gift and a curse. Believe me, I loved my father but I knew he was a monster.”

  He doesn’t have to say more. I don’t need him to share those stories. He carries his memories like scars and now that I’ve truly seen him, I can’t ignore the truth. It’s in his eyes—the part of him that he can’t keep guarded. In the dark, they are midnight blue and distant, trapped in another place and time. But I want him here with me—challenging me, scaring me, thrilling me—and I don’t think. I just act. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I tilt my head toward his face and the storm overhead. I offer him my lips and with them a choice: to stay trapped in the past or to find his way to me.

  I wait an eternity, and when his mouth finally finds mine, I know my life will never be the same. Jude moves tentatively until I open to him and then he takes—my tongue, my body. His strong arms coil around me, erasing the last space between us. His embrace is possessive, but I don’t try to break away. Rather I melt into his protection, even as conflicting emotions swirl inside me. Then my back is against the Jeep. Rain soaks through my thin shirt and I don’t care. Because Jude is kissing me and what’s a little water, when you’re already drowning. His hands clutch my hips as he breaks away.

  “How do I hold onto you?” he asks gruffly.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Yes, you are.” He presses his forehead to mine, and I want more. More contact. More time. More of him. “One day you are going to find all the joy you’re capable of, and then you’re going to fly, Sunshine.”

  This time I like when he calls me Sunshine as if I could be the bright spot he needs in his life.

  “I keep my feet on the ground,” I remind him. This—allowing Jude to kiss me—is the wildest thing I have done in years. “I don’t dream or wish. I can’t risk it, and I can’t fly.”

  “Then I’ll build you wings.”

  Chapter 8

  I skip two weeks of meetings and ignore phone calls from Sondra and Stephanie and a few other people that I don’t remember giving my number. No doubt word in group is that I’ve fallen off the wagon and I have, but it isn’t drugs or drinking. Nope, it’s the worst addiction of all. Him. And I haven’t even had a taste of him since that night. I’d be lying if I said I don’t hope he’ll appear in the restaurant or at my front door. Except he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t know where I live. He doesn’t have my phone number. His best bet is the bistro, but maybe he regrets that kiss as much as I do. Or maybe he’s smarter than me. He sent me away that day at his house and like it or not I am the one who keeps finding him.

  Because apparently I’m a crazy stalker. The truth sucks.

  “Go out,” Amie orders me over the phone.

  “And do what?” I fall back on the couch and stare at Max who’s happily playing with Legos on the floor.

  “It’s Saturday!”

  “So?”

  She doesn’t respond because I’ve called her bluff. Neither of us have any idea what to do on a Saturday. She always works and I stay home and catch up on laundry and television. But the laundry is done and the Netflix queue is spent since taking up a vow of celibacy. I’ve barely gone to the grocery store. The outside world feels like a land mine. One wrong step and I’ll land in Jude Mercer’s arms.

  “I’m going to stop buying milk,” Amie threatens. “You have to leave.”

  “I take Max to preschool.”

  “Wrong answer! I’m going to have to take drastic action.”

  “Bring it.” I hang up on her before she levels any more threats. An hour later I’ve hit a low point and turned on a made-for-TV movie. One of those terrible tearjerkers were a single mom falls in love with the dog groomer or some shit—and I can’t look away.

  Amie might be right about getting out of the house. Gathering my courage, I go into the bathroom and face the mirror. I look pale, but that’s common this time of year. Even if I hadn’t taken up hermitage, that would be the case.

  “Stop being a coward,” I order my reflection. A few minutes later, I’ve combed, deodorized and rehumanized. It’s not exactly an exciting package, but I won’t be embarrassed to be seen in public. Just as I’m tugg
ing on a fresh pair of jeans, Max bounces into the room and grabs my hand. I can’t get him to stop and tell me what’s wrong, so I let him drag me to the living room. The front door is wide open, and I fall to my knees and begin to sign rapidly.

  I don’t want you opening the front door, baby.

  Someone knocked and you didn’t come.

  I’m sorry. I don’t even bother to see if they’re still there. But Mommy still says no opening the door.

  “I wouldn’t let him let me in.” The screen door muffles Jude’s voice, but it does nothing to stifle the thrill that surges through me. My excitement is short-lived when I stand up and realize that I never got around to buttoning my pants. Whipping around, I zip and button and count to three.

  Jude is still there when I turn around.

  “Um, I’m sorry.” I rush to the door and try to open it. “It sticks.”

  “Another thing to fix.” He reclines against the doorframe, his gray, canvas jacket unzipped far enough that I can see the thin white t-shirt he’s wearing. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” I move back and gesture inside. “Watch out for Legos, and I can’t guarantee there’s no crackers on the floor.”

  I try to remember what a woman is supposed to do when a man comes over, but unfortunately the last time I asked a man into my house….Well, I can’t do that with Max home even if I wanted to, and I don’t want to with Jude. Or maybe I shouldn’t want to.

  Jude must have made quite the impression at the grocery store last month, because Max recognizes him immediately and takes advantage of my temporary shock to drag him into his room. Which is next to my room. The realization jolts me into action and I fly down the hallway and slam my bedroom door before he spots the dirty underwear littering my floor. But Jude is taking his tour far too seriously to notice my raunchy panties. When Max is finally done showing him every toy he owns, I’m breathing normally and I’m fairly certain I’m no longer the color of a tomato.