The Other F-Word (20 page)

“So what are you working on?”

“Memory removal,” I said.

“What does that mean?”

“I have to make the house look anonymous so people won’t know it was lived in. That it was loved. That’s sad, isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “It’s a psychological necessity. People don’t want anything used. They want a house to build a future in, not relive someone’s past…no matter how wonderful those memories were.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

Then he said the three words that every woman longs to hear. The ones that can cause your heartbeat to quicken while your lungs take in a deep sigh. “Let me help.”

“Is it because you want to, or is that one of those guy statements—obligatory ambiguity?”

“Is that a real question or a girl question?”

I laughed. “Both.”

He put his hand over mine. “I love playing games with you, baby, but I’ll always be honest.”

I gathered up our plates. He helped me, walking with me to the kitchen.

“I have to tell you, I’m not used to being in a relationship like this. I haven’t been with someone in so long, and my past relationships were horrible. My only frame of reference is the occasional chick flick.”

He chuckled. “God forbid, the chick flick.”

“Better than the dick flick.”

He chuckled harder, wrapping his arms around me. “You mean pornos?”

I slapped his chest. “Of course you’d think that. I was talking about action movies.”

“Oh, you call action movies dick flicks?”

“I guess I do.”

“You don’t like them? I mean how can you not like
Die Hard
or
Rambo
?”

“I guess I just never really watched them.”

“Well, this weekend let’s do a marathon. I’ll watch a chick flick if you watch some…dick flicks. Sound good?”

“Yes,” I said, burying my face into his chest, sure I was blushing like a tomato.

Once we’d cleaned up the dishes, we started working on storing away all my photos. They were a hodgepodge of frames, different styles and sizes, but each one was special. The photos I chose to put out on display were welcoming invites or maybe even insights for others to come into my life. Damien studied each one before wrapping it up and handing it to me as we listened to
Like Janice
by Rodriguez. It seemed the perfect song for my life story.

“Was this you with your parents?”

I took the silver frame and giggled at the photo of my ten-year-old self in the stupid, poppy-patterned Pucci-style dress with my hair in pigtails. “God, I was a dork.”

“You were cute. You’re gorgeous now, but you were cute then.”

“This was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I became the worst child in the history of the world.”

“Jessie, you say that, but I doubt you were that bad.”

I swallowed, feeling the laughter die out in my throat. “I was.”

“Why? Because of your dietary choices?”

“I told you that story, but there was so much more. Every time I did something rebellious, my father wouldn’t just punish, he would retaliate so in turn I’d do something worse. It was a horrible cycle. I understood why he did what he did when I became a parent, but it seemed like he never wanted to listen to me or get to know me.”

“What exactly did you do?”

“When I was sixteen, I ran away and went across the country with my boyfriend and his biker friends.”

Damien’s golden eyes widened so the flecks of green all but disappeared. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. Like I said, I was no angel. My father found me and sent me away to an all-girls military boarding school. He wouldn’t even talk to me.”

“I assume it didn’t straighten out your delinquent ways.”

“No, when I was seventeen I ran away from that school, and travelled with the Dead for a whole summer.”

“You were just seventeen? How did you survive?”

“I made bracelets and sold them. We camped out and sometimes we didn’t eat. We lived on the music. Crap, that sounds cheesy even to me, but that’s what it felt like when I was seventeen.”

“I think you’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

“Right back at ya,” I said, finally wrapping the photo. I ran my finger over my dad’s face first though. I missed him.

“What was the retaliation for that?”

“He put me in juvenile hall. He said if I was going to act like a criminal, I could live with them. I served time with girls who’d been raped, beaten and stabbed…and even worse, they had perpetrated those crimes as well.”

Damien turned his back to me. I saw his shoulders shudder slightly.

“It’s funny. You’d think that would teach me to fly right, but it didn’t. I escaped from juvie when I was eighteen. I sneaked out the window, bypassed the security guards and jumped the fence. I was on the run for several months. I finally came home…pregnant.”

“What did he make you do?” He gripped the new photo frame in his hands tightly.

“He gave me a choice. I could have an abortion or he would banish me for good. It wasn’t an option for me. I loved Marley the moment I found out she existed. It’s strange that you can feel that love even before you feel a child’s presence.”

His eyes grew darker then, and he was quiet for a long time.

“Hey, is my story making you sad?” I rubbed his back.

“How did you survive?” His voice was slow and weak, as if it was difficult to form the words for him.

“This happened a long time ago. Obviously, everything’s fine.”

“That’s not an answer, Jessie.”

“I didn’t for a while. The boyfriend wanted nothing to do with a baby. He didn’t even want me to have her. I told him I’d do it on my own and he didn’t have to pay me a dime. So there I was with no money, no support and no home. I lived in a shelter for a while, but I swore that by the time Marley got here, I’d find us a place and I did. I worked two jobs, and none of it was easy, but I did it.”

“And this is Marley?” he asked, handing me the photo of the two of us. She was dressed in pink and I was wearing a man’s suit.

I covered my face. “Yes, this was the Daddy-Daughter dance she had in second grade.”

“You escorted her?”

“I didn’t want her to miss out and her father had no desire to have anything to do with her, so I went. I borrowed a suit from a neighbour.”

“And this is Stevie?” he asked, handing me a photo of Stevie with her softball uniform from fifth grade.

“Yes, Marley was better at softball, but they had a sibling rivalry so Stevie had to try out. She made the team, only because her sister helped her. It’s kind of funny how they fight like mortal enemies. In the end, they’re each other’s strongest allies.”

“She looks like you,” he said.

“Yes, she’s like a younger version of me in many ways.”

“I would say more like your twin.”

“I coached the team, you know.”

“You coached softball?”

“I sucked at it, but Marley helped me out. She was very good.”

“So I take it you and the boyfriend reconciled?”

My sad smile began to droop. I wouldn’t keep anything from him—I wasn’t a liar or embarrassed about my past. It was those experiences that had made me the person I was today, but some of the memories were like sharp pains, clawing inside me. “No, I never made up with him. All of my girls have different fathers.”

The revelation silenced him, and I wondered if he was thinking what everyone else did.

“People assume I’m a slut.”

He chuckled. “You’re a sexy, shy librarian who was liberated a few times.”

“That’s an interesting way of putting it. I should never have judged you, Damien. I know all about judging a book by its cover.”

“You said you were married once. Was it Stevie’s dad?”

“No, I actually just worked like crazy after Marley was born. A guy who stopped by the diner frequently asked me out, and I was able to get a babysitter. I thought I deserved some fun. He used a condom, but well…it wasn’t effective.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope, nine months later Stevie was born. Her father and I weren’t compatible on any level, but he was there for her. Considering we’ve never been a couple, he’s been a very good father to Stevie.”

“And this is Billie?” he asked, handing me a photo of twelve-year-old Billie, with her blonde hair in a long braid, wearing her Little Miss Hair pageant crown.

“She wanted to win this so badly. I couldn’t refuse her. Her father, Peter, and I were married. He’s an artist.”

“How did you meet him?”

“He posted an ad for a model. I applied for the job. I didn’t realise it was a nude model.”

“You modelled for him?”

“I was going to refuse, but Marley needed braces and Stevie wanted to take dance classes. Those things cost a great deal. Peter never painted my face—just my body. I didn’t want my girls to see my portrait one day and recognise me. I didn’t want to scar them with that image.”

“How many paintings did you pose for?”

I shrugged. “At least a dozen before we were married. Maybe a dozen more after. I loved him. He said I was his muse. God, this is weird. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

“Why?”

“I think I’m breaking the first rule of relationships. Don’t bring up exes.”

He shook his head. “Did you learn that from a chick flick?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Let’s break all the rules. I want to know. Besides, there’s nothing traditional about us anyway. Tell me what happened.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“So I can avoid the same mistake.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the lump form in my throat. “It turns out a man can have more than one muse.”

“He cheated on you?”

I nodded. “It’s funny the things you get to know about a person. He didn’t even have to tell me. I saw the portrait of the girl in his studio and I just knew. An artist doesn’t create something that passionate without personal feelings for the subject. I should know.”

“I don’t have to worry then. That’s something I’d never do. I know I seem like the kind of guy that may not be legitimate in his emotional ties.”

“A man-whore, you mean?”

His lips turned up in an amused smile. “Is that a psychological term?”

I pulled my legs underneath me. “Like I said, I derive all my information from chick flicks and the occasional steamy novel.”

“Well, I’m sure this will be clichéd then, but here it goes. I haven’t felt this way in a very long time. I can’t believe another man would betray your trust like that, but I hope you believe me when I say I never will.”

“I do, Damien, but thank you for saying it.”

“Did you leave him as soon as you found out?”

“Peter is a good man. He made a mistake. He begged me for forgiveness and I tried. Not just for me, but because he was a good father, and not just to Billie. He was good with all the girls. In the end though, I was too weak to find the forgiveness.”

“You think it makes you weak to walk away from a relationship with a cheater? I think it makes you strong.”

“Sometimes the line between selfish and selfless is very thin and blurry. It was weak because I knew my girls would miss him, but I couldn’t look him in the face or share a bed with him after that. I never told Billie. I didn’t want her to think less of her father, and we are cordial to each other for her sake.”

He wrapped the last frame. “Did you ever talk to your parents again?”

“When my father was sick, I went to see him. The man was on his deathbed and I thought we’d make amends. I begged for his forgiveness. I told him about how I understood his choices now. That I was a different person and I was sorry for what I’d put him and my mother through.”

“What did he say?”

“Just one sentence. It was enough that I turned around and walked out. He asked how my daughters were, and if I was raising them to be whores like I was.”

Damien sat next to me.

I leaned my head against his chest and felt the salty tears working their way down my cheeks. I cursed them.

“It doesn’t matter what you did. There is nothing that should make a man turn his back on his child.”

“I don’t know why I’m crying. I just—”

He rubbed his thumb under my eyes and kissed me, wrapping me up in his arms. “Don’t apologise for what you feel, baby. Not to me.”

We sat in silence for a while. I felt the words of Rodriguez’s
To Whom it May Concern
soothe me.

“What about your mom? Did she pass away too?”

My laugh was cynical and I felt the bitterness deep in my throat. “My father left me a decent sum of money when he died. Enough so I could buy this house and quit one of my jobs. Things were a lot easier economically after that. I thought it was a peace offering for what he’d said, so I invited mom to Billie’s birthday. She said she didn’t think my father would approve. I reminded her he’d passed away, and she said that didn’t mean she’d go against his wishes. I sent her Christmas cards, invites and even pictures the girls had drawn, but I never got a response. Eventually, I just stopped the conversation. It was one-sided anyway.”

“I don’t know what would cause a parent to abandon a child.”

“Jesus, this is more like a therapy session than anything else. I can’t believe I’ve just told you my whole life story.”

He smiled. “I asked.”

“What’s your mom like?”

“She’s awesome, but I don’t really want to do this,” he said with a wry smile.

“Do what?”

“You’re reciprocating, but I didn’t ask you all those things because I want a carbon copy conversation.”

“There’s something I do want to know.”

“What would you like to know?” He twisted a strand of my hair around his finger.

“Who are Annabelle and Sarah?”

His smile disappeared and his muscles tensed at the question. He let go of me. “You found the names.”

“They’re hidden but not impossible to locate in the pattern of your tattoo.”

He sucked in a deep breath. “No one’s ever found them because I rarely let anyone get that close.” He stood. “Annabelle was my wife. She died seven years ago in a car accident.”

“You were only twenty-three,” I said, repeating his words in my head to make sure I’d heard them.

He walked over to the ceiling fan, staring at the swirling blades, with his hands resting at his hips. “I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. It’s not something I talk about to anyone. And I never talk about Sarah.”