“I’m going for a drive. Need to think.”
I crave to hang onto him. I wish I could say, “Don’t go,” but I don’t know how to. I hate myself all the more for being a fucking coward and not just admitting to what I’ve done, my feelings for Shane.
“When will you be back?” My voice is tiny and scared.
His face contorts, looking red and angry. “I don’t know.”
This is why you never, ever cheat. Not even in your heart. Oh, they say shitty things like, “The heart wants what the heart wants.” But isn’t that just an excuse to be jerks to each other? I’m such a disgusting jerk.
I want wine. I don’t like drinking a chardonnay cold this time of year. It’s not that it’s all that chilly outside, but there’s the promise of it, of a Wyoming winter that’s bitter and cold and makes you feel so isolated. So, I like to drink the white wine room temperature. I drink it in a coffee mug, like that will keep me warm and not so alone.
When Joe leaves, I’ll go to the big grocery store. I’ll buy a lot of wine. I might buy some beer too. I’ll drink it all. I’ll drink until I can’t feel this intense pain that’s killing me. I’ll drink until I can’t remember my name.
Joe does up his top button on his jeans, then looks at me. He sees straight through me. I know he does. And he’s leaving me.
“We’ll talk when I get back.”
I nod, the motions feeling robotic. I’m checking out, thinking of driving to the store to buy wine.
“I’ll be back soon.” He leaves my bedroom and finally tears surf down my cheeks.
I lost the man I love. I’m such a disgusting shit.
I’m going to get so fucking drunk.
27
I don’t know why, but I drive to my mother’s. It’s going to hurt even more to see her, to hear her call me Margaret. And what if she asks where my husband, Joe, is? God, it will kill me as much as watching him walk out of my house, not even a glance back as I cried.
A nurse tells me that my mother is in her room, and I walk through the sterile hallways, feeling robotic because there’s so much pain in my heart, vibrating out into my stomach and head, my throat, and all the way down to my toes.
Joe left me.
God, what have I done?
It’s a lovely warm day, the trees growing a tad golden on certain branches, but everything else seems like summer. It’s so warm I’m wearing one of my summer dresses. A blue thing that twirls when I spin. I love spinning with Liv. Maybe I’ll go over to Tony’s and hang out, be with my children, be with my ex. Try to be the doll I know he likes. Maybe that’s my place.
I round the corner into my mother’s large room, her hospital bed to one side with cushioned chairs here and there, all covered with doilies or afghans. My lovely mother is sitting in her recliner, knitting, a pile of dirty plastic bottles under her TV that’s mounted on the wall.
“Hello,” I say, noting how her knitting is strong and symmetrical. How can she knit so finely and not remember my children or me? Isn’t that just a tad too cruel?
My mother glances up and gasps. “Moira!”
She knows who I am, and I cry at my own name coming from my mum’s lips.
My mother pushes her knitting aside and rushes to me, hugging me, cradling me to her.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Tell Mummy all about it.”
I hold onto her, probably too tightly, but she lets me. I don’t know how long this moment will last and I’ve got to clutch onto it while I can.
We sit on her bed, right beside each other and I shake my head, trying to smile. “I just missed you, Mum.”
She wipes my face. “Ah, there’s a good girl. Always were such a good girl.”
I sniff. “Thank you.”
She smiles and shakes her head. “Ah, but something is bothering ye, isn’t it?”
“You know what? I’d rather just talk about you.”
“Me? Darlin’, ye know I’m a boring old lady. There’s nothing going on with me. But there’s something going on with ye.”
I swallow and out pops something I hadn’t intended to ever ask. “Why did you sell the grocery store, Mama?”
She inhales for a long moment, nodding. “I thought—I thought it too much pressure to run it yerself. Why, ye were just seventeen. Too young to weigh ye down with a life-long decision. Besides, ye always had yer voice and the piano for a career.”
“But I don’t like singing or playing the piano.”
“But ye’re so good at it.”
I sigh. I don’t want to confront my mother. This isn’t fair. Not to her. Not to me. I’ll never know what’s the truth and what’s a delusion. But do any of us?
“Anyway, I’m happy to see you.” I smile as brightly as I can.
“I’m happy to see ye too, my sweetheart. Leave it to yer brother to never visit. Always so fickin’ busy. Excuse my language, but that boy does irritate me senseless. Good thing he’s so charming. Otherwise, I might have beat him bloody.”
I chuckle. Oh, I’ve heard my mother swear before—get a few brandies in her and she’ll swear up a storm. With her Irish accent, to me, she makes even fuck sound elegant. It’s more like fick. It makes me smile every time. Although, it probably shouldn’t. Ah, the lovely painful dysfunction of families.
“Mum? Why are you collecting the plastic bottles?” God, I wish I could cap my mouth closed. I shouldn’t confront my mother at all. I know that while she’s sleeping the nurses will clean up the mess. But still…it’s my mama and while I have this moment of clarity I want to ask her everything about herself.
She smiles and jumps off her bed, like she’s spritely and young. Curling her finger, she coaxes me close to her small pile. She rummages through them then pulls out a square one, showing it to me like it’s a softball-sized ruby.
“Don’t ye remember, luv?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“Ye were…oh, ye were so little back then. Must have been four or so. And ye found one of these—” she shakes the bottle, “—in a field. It had this weird leaf in it, and ye wouldn’t let me throw it away. Ye said ye knew what it was supposed to do.”
My heart is spasming, wondering if any of this is real. It’s such a good story and how I long for it to have at least a semblance of truth to it.
My mother shakes her head, lifting her arm and showing the bottle off in the light. It’s just a mud-crusted bottle. But she’s looking at with such reverence.
“Sure enough,” she says, still holding the bottle in the light. “In just a few weeks the fat leaf opened, and out came a gorgeous little white moth. Ye let it go in the garden, yer da holding yer hand the whole time. I was so proud of ye I could hardly touch ye. Isn’t that strange? But I couldn’t believe ye knew that little lump of nothing would amount to something so beautiful. Ye just knew. Ye did that with everything ye put your mind to, even if ye didn’t want to. Ye sing and play the piano so well. Ye tried to make yer marriage work when it was falling apart, and yet ye turned what ye had with Tony into something new, something dazzling. He visits me, ye know? He’s selfish, but he still loves ye. It’s good ye left him and tried to find a man who could love ye the way ye deserve.”
I don’t know if she somehow found out about Joe, but I never know how much of her mind is based in reality. Regardless, I tell my mum everything. “I—I fucked up, Mama. I’m sorry for my language. But I made a mess of things with the man I now love.”
“Why?”
“Because I love another man too.”
She makes a scoffing noise. “Aw, well, who hasn’t been a tad in love with a couple different people at once?”
I wonder about my parent’s marriage, but I’d rather not know any details. “He’s—I think he’s leaving me.”
“Which one?”
“The one that I do love, the one I know for sure I love.”
“Why?”
“Because I think he knows I’m a tad in love with another man.”
My mother places
her hands over mine. “Then what are ye doing here, Moira? Go out there and find that man of yers and win him back.”
“But I don’t want to leave you.” My throat closes with the weight of all my emotions. “Ever.”
She smiles and tears form in her clear blue eyes. “Oh, luv, ye know I’m always here for ye. God, ye’re a good girl. And I was always so…scared of ye. Moira, ye saw butterflies when there were none. Ye made magic. The rest of us find dirty bottles full of nothing. But not ye. Ye find magic. Now, ye need to trust in yerself, and the magic will happen. It may not be what ye thought it should look like. After all, I think ye wanted a purple butterfly out of that cocoon and instead it was a white moth. But it will happen. Just trust yerself and fight for that magic, dear. Fight to keep making magic for yerself and my grand babies. So go out and find that man of yers. Besides, I’m tired now and need a nap.”
I tuck my mother into her bed, promising I’ll do as she asks of me. I stay with her, though, listening to her steady breathing, letting it calm me, comfort me.
My mother visited me today. That’s such a rare gift. Not only that, but she told me something so beautiful. She weaved a magical fairy tale about me. As I watch my mother’s shoulders move from her steady breathing, I gather the courage to get Joe back. Or at least, to confess to him my feelings for his brother. If Joe leaves me, I’ll understand. I left Tony for fucking around. I doubt Tony felt much for any of the women he was sleeping with. So, what I’ve done might be considered worse.
All the same, it’s time for honesty. It might not be magical, but it will set things right. I hope.
* * *
I wait at my house for many hours, baking a pie, then calling Tony and asking how the kids are doing, making him wonder if I’m okay. I’m just out of my head, dear ex-husband, I almost said. Thank god I didn’t. He might think I was being literal.
Finally, as the sunset blasts cherry-red hues through my house, I jump in my car and drive to Shane’s, hoping Joe’s there. I did look at Eva’s for the green pickup or the motorcycle. Neither of which were parked nearby.
I’m shaking as I get closer to Shane’s. I need to talk to Joe, see if I can win him back. If not, I’ll say goodbye to both Whitaker boys. My kids might be angry at me for it, but I have to do something right. For once. I just wish I knew what felt truly right in this circumstance.
The big thing is, as much as I’m dying to drink, I’m choosing not to. I need to think of ways to counter this urge until my pain is over. I’m managing the grocery store—that takes up a lot of my time. And I’ll get a hobby. Maybe many hobbies. I’ll stay busy, numbing myself with activities rather than wine. Jeez, do we ever want to stop and feel the pain? That’s all it takes to let deep-rooted wounds go—acknowledging it, feeling it. But it sure is ingrained to run from it.
I pull into Shane’s long drive, the sun setting, making the tall grass of his fields look golden and sparkle. I love this land. Love the house, but I have to say goodbye to it all. I know I do.
The green pickup is parked in front of the large shed where Shane stores just about every tool a man would ever be in want of. Liv loves playing with his Shopvac, making Shane laugh and shake his head. I’ll miss that.
By the time I park and get out of my car, Shane’s standing on his porch. He’s wearing worn and dirty blue jeans and an even dirtier plain white t-shirt. He doesn’t have shoes or socks on, and, god, I think his bare feet are so sexy. His brother’s huge feet are sexy too for that matter. But there’s something about seeing Shane like this that makes me feel like he’s being vulnerable with me. My heart speeds up a little too fast.
“Look at the mums, Moira.” He points to the stones we’ve placed in his front yard for a walkway. Alongside those big, flat river rocks are the red, orange, and brown chrysanthemums Liv, Jamie, and I planted. With the sun slanted the way it is, the flowers’ blooms are that much more radiant—vibrant scarlet, earthy orange, and gold like that in Shane’s eyes.
I swallow as I walk through the flowers, noting how beautiful everything is. Glancing up, I try to memorize Shane’s smile, the way he’s opening his screen door, inviting me in.
“I like the red ones,” he says as I climb the stairs and stop a few feet in front of him.
I nod. “Is Joe here?”
He winces as if I pricked him with a pin. Shaking his head, he looks at the driveway. “No, I thought he was maybe still in your car.”
I shake my head. “He knows.”
“Knows what?”
“How I feel about you.”
Shane bends his head toward me. “I don’t know how you feel about me. How could he know—get inside. Tell me what’s going on.”
Being the gentleman that he is, he waits until I’m inside to follow. God, I adore this house. The front is one large room where, because of my input, there’s one couch and a hidden TV in a beat up bureau and huge pillows that Jamie and Liv take naps on. Next to the living area is a gorgeous old-fashioned table with six mismatched chairs. Each chair I worship with their last-century craftsmanship. The kitchen is next to that—a wood-burning stove to one side, a gas range that I love making grilled cheese sandwiches on, and the fifties-style refrigerator. There’s four bedrooms tucked behind this huge room as well as three baths, and I wanted to live here since the moment I first saw it.
So much for fairy tales.
I turn around in the middle of the living area, between a couple giant pillows. “He told me about Abby.”
Shane stops walking, halting, and frowning.
“That’s the girl—” I point to his arm, “—the Poe quote?”
His jawline flares. “It was. I figured I shouldn’t remove it because I’ll fall in love like that again. Maybe fall even harder.” His gold eyes aren’t wavering from mine, like he’s challenging me to see his true meaning.
I try not to cringe, replaying Joe’s words about how Shane falls hard. “He said how you weren’t nice to Abby when she first…when she—”
“She was my babysitter.” Shane laughs drily. “Don’t worry. She wasn’t a pedophile or anything. I was the one with the crush. Not her. She didn’t even see me until…we ran into each other when I was seventeen. She was back, Christmas break, from college. I liked the way she kept looking at me. Made me feel like I had turned into a man. Finally.”
I take a breath, listening to him talk about his past love. And I hate how jealous I am of a woman I’ve never met.
“We had sex.” Shane chuckles again. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I—it was my first time. It was special to me. She was special. I kept pursuing her. Even though we lived in separate towns, even though I heard rumors that she was with different men, I wanted her. I didn’t listen to what others thought of her. I didn’t care. I just wanted what I wanted.”
He’s looking at me, again, so intently, and I want to cry.
He smiles, but it’s a heartbreakingly lopsided grin. “Still do.” He shakes his head. “I have quite a talent falling for women who don’t want me.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Oh, Moira.” He takes a step closer, maybe turning a tad angry. His voice is low and raspy. “Yes, I really fucking do.”
I want to hit him because he’s scowling at me. No, I want to hit myself.
I shake my head. “No, you really fucking don’t.”
“What are you trying to say, hmm? That you want me as much as I want you? I don’t think—” He cuts himself off, staring at me, a bewildered look in his eyes. “No, you don’t.”
I don’t answer but slowly try to catch my breath.
“No, you don’t.” Shane’s getting loud. “No, you don’t.”
“You can yell at me all you want, but that doesn’t change the fact that—”
“No, you fucking don’t. You want Joe.”
“Yes, I do.”
“See, you don’t want me.”
I shake my head. “What part are you not understanding?”
“I mean
, sure, we talked. We—but you want Joe. Not me. And I don’t blame you. He’s a better man than me.” Shane’s yelling now but not angrily. His voice is cracking and strained. It’s like he’s trying to convince me of what he thinks I should feel. Desperately trying to convince me.
I look down at his bare feet, loving them all the more. “You’re both wonderful men.”
He holds onto my upper arms, pulling me against him. “No, no, no, Moira. He’s the wonderful one. Not me. I—I’ll be the gross brother-in-law, the one who’s always secretly in love with you, but I won’t do anything—”
“I don’t want to hurt Joe. How do you think I feel about this? I mean, what kind of sick woman falls not only for two men at once, but brothers?”
“What do you mean falls?” He shakes his head vigorously. “Never mind. Don’t tell me. We can’t.”
“And we’re not going to.” Now I’m shouting. “I will never hurt your brother. Or at least I’ll do everything in my power to never do that. But I can’t help the way I feel. Can you?”
He swallows.
“I—I think it best if I…stay away from you…for a while.”
Breaking my heart, he nods, while his eyes redden.
Something loud clanks on the front porch and Shane pivots around, hiding me from view, but I already saw what made the noise.
Joe’s framed by the screen door.
28
Shane takes a step away from me as Joe slowly walks in, looking at me then his brother. He’s not smiling. I wonder if I’ll ever see him smile again.
“I thought you might be here when I couldn’t find you at your home.” Joe’s voice is gravelly, slow.
“I waited for you, but I—I thought you might be here.”
He nods and walks around the couch, flopping on it like he’s lost all his strength.
“Joe, I—”
Joe cuts short Shane with a flick of his hand. “I fucking knew.”
“What?” Shane asks.
Joe looks at his brother. “I fucking knew you liked her, had a crush on Moira. I knew that night when I met her. You were such a dick.” He wryly chuckles. “That is your MO, isn’t it?”
Awake: Book 3 of the Wild Love Series Page 27