by Josie Wright
The smile quickly freezes when I hear Ben talking to someone.
“No, I can’t come and see you right now. It’s not possible. I don’t know what to tell her.” There is silence for a few seconds and I’m guessing whoever he’s talking to, is speaking at the moment.
I’m trying not to make any assumptions, but I fail miserably. My heart is thudding so hard, I feel like it’s going to burst out of my chest. He’s keeping someone a secret from me. This must be the reason that he’s not telling me about his time away, because there was someone else. There still is. That’s probably the reason he left in the first place. Oh, God. I don’t understand why he would be playing games with me. But it’s obvious he does.
That realization hits me like a ton of bricks. The reaction is physical, making me take two steps back, thumping into the wall behind me. My breath is coming out in short bursts and I feel like I’m suffocating. I close my eyes, willing everything to go away. When I open them again, I look towards the stairs, making sure no one’s witnessing him ripping my heart out of my chest again. And because my heart isn’t aching enough yet, I stay where I am—the need to hear what else he will say overwhelming. It doesn’t take long.
“No, it’s not that. I’m not ashamed of you. I just don’t know how she’ll react.”
Tears are starting to pool in my eyes, fighting to escape. My hand is over my mouth to keep me from making any noises.
He’s not ashamed of her. Great, maybe we can be one big, happy family with me as the laughing stock. The hurt and rejection I feel yet again are starting to transform. I can feel the anger buzzing inside of me. Anger at myself for falling for him, and anger at him for everything he has done. How could I be so stupid? I’ve caught him on the phone a few times in the past weeks, ending the call as soon as I entered the room. But the part of me that wanted to believe in a future chose to ignore it—telling myself it could have been anyone. Even going as far as making myself believe maybe he got in trouble and this was his probation officer. In that case it would be understandable if he was embarrassed and didn’t want me to know. When I hear what comes out of his mouth next, I realize that was an unlikely scenario.
“Yeah, I’d love for us to spend Christmas together. But I can’t. Not this year. Hopefully next year.” There is another moment of silence. “Yeah, I want you to meet Archer as well.”
I see red. When you hear that phrase from people, you think it’s only a metaphor. But now my vision blurs and everything seems a bit hazy for a moment. I don’t care that I should ask him what this was about. Maybe give him a chance to explain. The thought of him lying to me, pretending to be interested in me for the past few weeks is making my blood boil. And he wants to introduce our son to her and have them spend next Christmas together—the thought cuts through me like a knife. I feel the physical pain of his betrayal, nearly making me double over. My vision is swimming with tears when I step into his room—giving him a look of pure disgust. The moment he sees me, he tenses up. His body goes rigid, his shoulders straightening.
“Listen, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call later.” With that, he hastily hangs up the phone, then turns his attention toward me.
“Hey babe, you okay?” His eyes roam my face questioningly, no trace of guilt or regret marring his features.
I ignore the question, instead making sure I have myself under control.
“Who was that?” My voice is so eerily calm, it even scares me.
“Oh, that. No one. Nothing important.” He seems uncomfortable, the look on his face one of uncertainty, like he can sense the storm brewing. But it’s nothing compared to what I’m feeling—like the world just spun off its axis, making me lose my footing.
“No one important, huh?” I cross my arms, partly to create a distance, a barrier for whatever is to come, but also to keep myself from falling apart. Lying to me is one thing, but not being man enough to admit it when I catch him, that’s pathetic.
“Yeah, how was your day?” He’s trying to put on a casual face, but I can tell it’s strained. The situation is anything but casual.
And that’s when I start losing my shit. I don’t handle it well when someone tries to make a fool out of me. Definitely not when it’s the second time around.
“Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Ben? You know, playing dumb really doesn’t suit you.” My voice is hard, cold, and loud.
“What? Of course not. What are you talking about?” His brows draw together in confusion, as he shakes his head slowly from side to side. If I wouldn’t know better, I might even buy his act.
I close the distance between us and get right in his face. All the anger, hurt, and unrequited feelings I have for him are bubbling to the surface.
“I’m talking about you, you asshole.” At this point I’m yelling, not even trying to remain cool.
“You skulk off regularly to talk to someone on the phone, yet every time I enter the room you promptly end the conversation. And now I hear you talking about not being able to meet up for Christmas, to introduce our son.
“It’s not what you think.” He starts to interrupt, but I don’t let him. I’m too far gone in this moment—pain coursing through my veins, mixing with anger so potent I wouldn’t be surprised if the house came down with it. When he tries to soothingly put his hands on my shoulders, I shrug them off, taking a step back.
“I hope to God you don’t think you can bring some random slut to be around my son and to play family together.”
I watch him as he recoils from my words, as if I just slapped him across the face.
“How can you say that? I’d never do that. You know me, Frankie.” His voice is now laced with hurt and anger as well, but it only fuels my rage. How does he dare being angry at me?
“Do I? Do I fucking know you? I don’t know shit since you won’t tell me anything. I know nothing of what happened while you were gone. I don’t know why you left. Although now, I think I might have a bit of an idea.”
“You don’t have the slightest clue. What happened while I was gone has nothing to do with you. How about you fucking trust me? I don’t keep asking you about what you were doing while I was gone, do I?” That was a low blow and he knows it, regret instantly washing over his face.
“Fuck you, Ben.” I can’t stop the tears now. They run in rivulets down my face, but I don’t bother wiping them away.
“I was here, pregnant with your child. And with a broken heart after you left me behind like some cheap whore. How dare you to even question me?”
I’m so angry that I shove him in the chest, but he’s too strong. I don’t even move him an inch, which does nothing to quell my anger.
“Frankie, if you’d just calm down and listen to me,” he pleads, attempting again to take hold of my shoulders.
But I don’t want to listen to any more lies, any more excuses of him needing time. I don’t want to make a fool of myself any longer.
“You know what, I don’t care. We’re not together. Never were. You don’t owe me an explanation. You don’t owe me anything. You can do whatever the fuck you want. Or whoever you want. I’m done with this. I thought I could deal with your secrets, telling myself you needed time, you’re not ready. I realize now it’s all bullshit. I’m done being taken for a fool. I’m done pretending every day like there isn’t an elephant in the room. Like you aren’t keeping things from me, only allowing me to see the parts you want me to see. I’m done putting my trust in you. I’m done with you. Go spend Christmas with whoever the hell you want to spend it with. I’m done.”
He tries to grab my arm when I turn to storm out but I yank it away, not giving him a chance to say another thing.
I run down the stairs, past Dean and Alex who have just come back and glancing at their faces I know they have heard the emotional meltdown. Mrs. Walsh is looking at me with a mix of sympathy, pity, and reproach. Before I’m out the door, I turn to Dean. I don’t need to say anything; he already knows what I’m about to ask.
He n
ods. “I’ll watch Archer.”
That’s all I needed to hear. Without hesitation, I grab my jacket and keys, ignoring the pounding of Ben’s steps down the stairs. “Frankie, wait!”
I rush out the door. Once I’m in the car, I take a shaky breath. Without looking back, I let the car roll out of the driveway and make my way into Amherst, trying hard not to cry. I don’t turn on any music, not wanting to forever have another song ruined for me by him.
My phone has been ringing nonstop since I left the house, but I ignore it. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. Instead, I pull into the parking lot of the Wildwood Cemetery. No, I’m not suicidal or dramatic, I just like to come here to think, to find my balance. There is no other place like a cemetery to do that. There is a sense of peace and quiet that you can’t find anywhere else. This one here is not merely a cemetery; it’s nature all around—fields, woods, and a pond. It’s beautiful. And it helps to put things into perspective. At the end of your life, what will be the things that really mattered?
I get out of the car, leaving my purse behind and making my way past the old brick building housing the office, I follow down the path. Taking the route into the woods, I walk between huge oak trees until I arrive where the oldest tombstones can be found. This part is beautiful, so rich in history and meaning. I sit down on a wooden bench, ignoring the cold that seeps through my clothes. I close my eyes and inhale the crisp winter air. I’m hoping to find some balance before having to face the questions back home; before having to face Ben. I don’t know what to do next—what I know is that we can’t keep pretending. It might be best if he moves out. As much as this thought pains me, especially for Archer, I know this is the best decision. At least I’m trying to convince myself of it.
I’m not sure how long I sit here, with no phone or watch on me, but I feel like I’m slowly regaining some calm—enough to do what needs to be done. At this point I feel like I’m frozen to the bench, but I don’t want to leave yet. I don’t want to leave the serenity this place offers.
I startle when I suddenly hear footsteps. The cemetery is so big that I rarely run into people when I’m here—unless it’s a holiday. Turning around, I notice Ben walking in my direction and the peace I just felt seconds ago is replaced by a feeling of dread.
Chapter 26
The Truth
Ben seems like a man on a mission, his steps fast and steady, not faltering as he approaches me, but when I look up into his face, I see relief before it’s quickly replaced by anger.
“You can’t just run off like that, Frankie. We were worried sick.” He sounds strained, like every word is taking a huge effort.
“Funny coming from you,” I retort, venom lacing my voice despite my attempts to hold onto the balance I just worked so hard to regain.
Looking away from him, I wait for a comeback, some kind of excuse. But instead all I hear is a sigh when he sits down next to me. He’s so close I can feel the warmth of his body, yet he’s making sure to keep enough distance. It’s obvious I’m not in a cuddly mood.
“How did you find me?” I focus my eyes onto the trees in the distance, not looking his way.
“After we called Vince and you weren’t there, Dean suggested this place. He said you like to come here to think, to recharge your batteries. It’s a maze; I’ve been wandering around for the past 20 minutes trying to find this spot.”
Making a mental note to kick Dean in the shin, I turn to Ben.
“Maybe I didn’t want to be found,” I pause, letting my words sink in before I continue.
“Do you have an idea what it felt like? Waking up alone?” I watch him clench his jaw, his lips in a thin line. “I wasn’t even worth an explanation. It tore my fucking heart apart, Ben. And just when I was starting to let you in, you did it again.” I take a shaky breath, praying I can stop the tears from falling. I cried enough. He doesn’t say anything and his silence speaks louder than words.
“I’m done, Ben. I’m done talking. I’m done listening. I’m done caring. I can’t fall apart again. Archer needs me.”
Another long moment of silence follows. It feels like neither of us is going to speak. I guess Ben expected me to be a bit more forthcoming, but he can look for that indefinitely. I’m exhausted. I don’t have it in me to fight. I don’t even want to feel. I avert my eyes, looking at the trees in the distance.
“It was my dad.” Ben’s strangled voice breaks the silence. His statement baffles me and despite my plans to not give in, to not listen to him, I can’t stop myself.
“What? What are you talking about now, Ben?”
“I was on the phone with my father.”
Risking a glimpse at Ben’s face, he seems broken. A part of me wants to reach out and hug him. It’s the stupid part that seems to be a glutton for punishment. Only this time, I stop myself. I just told him I’m done caring and for once, I plan to see it through.
“Oh, come on, Ben. This is ridiculous. Why would you be hiding conversations with your father from me? And why would you have to tell me about him? I know him. I grew up next door, remember? This is complete bullshit.” The anger flares up in me again with him trying such a bullshit excuse. I’m about to get up, when his hand comes around my wrist, pulling me back down.
His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.
“Not Ron. My real dad.” He’s silent and I let the information sink in. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Ben, what do you mean?” I turn my body towards him, my eyes scanning his face, taking in the features that show pain and regret.
“Ron is not my real father. It was all a lie. That’s why I left—I wanted to know who my father is.”
Confusion and shock at his revelation wash over me, still unsure why he would hide this. But there is no doubt in my mind that he is telling the truth. It’s written all over his face.
Lifting my hand, I put it gently on his arm, not knowing what to say.
“Let’s go somewhere and talk. You’re freezing.” He stands up, waiting for me to follow.
Only then do I notice that I’m shivering and shaking from the cold.
The way back to the car is quiet. We don’t speak, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I’ve no idea what the whole story is, but things are starting to fall into place. Images of when I found him on my parents’ couch come to my mind, the words he said haunting me now.
“Everything is a fucking lie. All my life, everyone in it—all just a lie.”
Him refusing to talk to his mother. It all comes together now. I still don’t understand why he wouldn’t tell me about his real father. I’m just as confused as before, but the anger and hurt have lessened, making it possible for me to let him talk. Today can’t get any worse anyway. I might at least hear what he has to say. When we get to the parking lot, I see he has taken Dean’s car. A wave of guilt washes over me for just taking off and making everyone worry.
“I’ll quickly let Dean know I’m okay.”
“Already done that when I pulled up here and saw your car. Come on, let’s take Dean’s car and we’ll pick yours up later.” I only nod my head, unsure what to say or ask. The wind has been totally taken out of my sails with his confession and I’m drowning in a feeling of confusion.
When we get in the car, Ben turns on the heater right away and I appreciate the gesture. It’s really not the weather to be sitting outside for what was nearly an hour according to the clock on the dashboard. Ben runs his fingers through his hair, before rubbing his face with his hands as if to collect his thoughts or hold on to his sanity. I’m not sure what it is, but it makes me ache for him, despite the wariness I still feel.
“I shouldn’t have taken off like this,” I say, making the first step.
He laughs, but it’s not a happy laugh. It’s full of sadness.
“Me neither, Frankie.” Ben takes a deep shaky breath. “I’m sorry how I left. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I was a mess. My world felt like it was crumbling. The man I considered my fathe
r being nothing more than a liar. And my mom not being any better.” He shakes his head, as if trying to shake off the memory and I just react on instinct. I climb over the gears into his lap, hugging him close to me, my head in the crook of his neck. He’s still for a moment, before he hugs me back. Holding me in his arms, he doesn’t let go as he continues to tell me what happened.
“I came home from my classes that day to find a letter in the mailbox. It was from a lawyer in Tucson and addressed to me. I had no fucking clue what it was about, not a clue it would make the life I knew fall apart.” He takes another breath, reclining back against the seat and when I look up I see him leaning his head against the headrest, his eyes closed. His face is a mask of anguish, brought on by the memories he’s sharing with me.
“The letter informed me that I had inherited a house in Tucson from my grandmother—a woman I never heard of. I had no idea what it meant, only knew it wasn’t anything good. My mom came home a few hours later and found me in the kitchen, where I was still sitting at the table, the letter clutched in my hand. Fuck, Frankie, I hoped she would tell me it’s all a mistake, and has nothing to do with me. But when I confronted her, she told me she left my father when I was still a baby, divorcing him. She met and married Ron shortly after and he adopted me.” His hold on me tightens, my jacket clenched in his fists at my back. I rest my head on his shoulder again, the need to be close to him overwhelming me.
“When I asked her why she never told me, she said my father was a bad man and she didn’t want me exposed to him. I took off. I couldn’t stand being under the same roof as her for a minute longer. So I went to your parents’ place. That’s when you found me on their couch. I didn’t think anyone would be there, didn’t expect you to show up.”
The memory of the night hits me again, and I make a strangled sound, trying to keep the feelings at bay. He must notice the involuntary tension in my body since he removes his hand from my back, bringing it to my chin and tilting my head up, looking in my eyes.