Tragic Renewal (13 page)

Scott finished snapping the buckles on Boyd’s rear-facing car seat. He rubbed Boyd’s tiny perfect cheek as he slept through the whole ordeal of fumbling hands and whispered swears. An ache started at Scott’s toes and raced through his entire body as he wished the baby was his. Soon he would confront Isabella about who the father was, but for now he couldn’t stop touching and looking at the newborn who was not his own.

Isabella slid gingerly into the front seat. Her body already resembling the one she had before pregnancy. The only remaining evidence of having given birth was a slight pooch to her belly and her engorged breasts. Scott considered reaching over to smack the full milk sacks to make her wince and jerk in surprise. All his tenderness was reserved for Boyd in the back seat. He found his mind focusing on hurting Isabella every time she was near. Every thought he had of her ended with her dying or disappearing.

He fantasized about raising Boyd on his own. Unbidden thoughts of raising him with Harper popped into his muddled mind. Even when they were married the thought of raising a child with her drove him to the brink of insanity. He could not figure out why his mind now conjured a family life with the woman he despised for her weakness. Her failed pregnancies ensured he never had to confront the reality of family life, but now his mind kept returning to an image conjured as it broke from reality.

The picture contained Scott, Harper, and little Boyd. In the picture Boyd was around three and Harper was back to her former svelte self. Her eyes no longer contained a lingering sadness and her body molded to his side like the other half of a couple sandwich. Boyd, with his dark skin and pitch black hair, easily mistaken for Harper’s Indian ancestry.

He shook the crazy thoughts from his head. Harper would never take him back, he could beg until death, but that part of his life was over. His mind had bigger ideas and worked on a plan forming in the dark evil recesses he struggled to hide from the world.

Scott’s eyes wandered to Isabella, her head leaned against the seat, eyes sealed shut, and body swaying with the car’s movement. When awake her beauty dazzled all those who laid eyes upon her sexy petite figure, natural blond hair, and gregarious personality. Asleep she managed to throw off a vibe of helpless vixen who needed rescuing. He had fallen hard for her, but soon grew tired of her whiny voice and annoying habits.

Her constant nagging and wheedling for more attention drove him to the edge of murder. His neat freak side cringed in revulsion at dirty dishes left unwashed, caps off toothpaste, dirty floors, and crumpled clothes. Isabella pushed his buttons when her annoyance with his pushy controlling attitude swelled to breaking. She would purposely leave his clothes in the dryer to wrinkle, spill red wine on the white carpet, and allow dishes to pile for days before cleaning house like a good wife was wont to do.

Chores were woman’s work, and he never broke that train of thought over twenty years of marriage. Harper followed his orders and kept a tidy house to his liking, any protests were quieted with narrowed eyes and veiled threats. He took sadistic pleasure in his easy control of her spirit, like a broken mustang, she bent to his will or he spurred her mentally until she obeyed. Her desperation to start a family drove her servitude and subservience. He kept her in a constant state of flux with fake apologies and grandiose promises of how he’d changed. The first time she’d caught him cheating he’d even manage to squeeze out a flood of tears. Her forgiveness came soon after she witnessed her strong man blubber like a baby and beg for a second chance.

Manipulating Harper became easier after the birth and death of each son. To the world he showed a grieving man who missed his chance at fatherhood, but inside he celebrated another victory. Until Boyd came along he didn’t realize what he’d been missing. The lifeless bodies of his sons never evoked an overwhelming sense of being a dad and destroying anything that came between him and the new life they should have represented. Boyd, though from the seed of another man, would be the son he never had. The son who would be raised by a loving dad.

Scott pulled into the drive and punched the button for the garage door. He stopped the car as the door slowly raised to reveal his man space. The walls were neatly arranged, everything in a particular order. Tools rested in designated marked spots, extension cords coiled into perfect circles and hanging from their hooks, bicycles hung from the ceiling their tires aligned perfectly, and the floor shone with polish. He’d spent entire weekends working on the floor perfecting the shine and scrubbing even the slightest scuff from its reflective surface.

He turned off the car and looked at Isabella. “Time to get out of the car, sweetheart.” His voice dripped a jaw clenching sweetness.

Her sleep addled eyes found his. Behind the bright blue a fear lingered that couldn’t be shielded from his view. He enjoyed knowing she was uncomfortable and would enjoy watching sanity leak from her animated eyes.

The car seat snapped from the base with a light click. He lifted it, then leaned back in the driver’s door. “You’re on your own honey buns, I’m taking our baby inside. Good luck not ripping any stitches.” He sniggered as he slammed the car door, muffling her cry of protest at the jab.

She pushed the car door open and grabbed the outside of the car to steady her ginger exit from her seat. A small cry escaped her lips when she lost her balance before tightening her grip and standing. Her face flushed from the light exertion, Scott watched her struggles, feeling no need to rush to her side. She glared at him when she caught him watching. “Seriously, you’re that heartless? I had a kid less than a day ago and you can’t give me a hand? You can be a real pisser you know that?”

His smiled deepened as he adjusted the baby seat in his hand. “I’m enjoying watching the ho who couldn’t keep her legs closed.”

She had the audacity to paste on a pained expression before drilling Scott with a stare of death that should have felled him where he stood. “If I had the energy to argue with you I’d tell you what was what, but right now I’m exhausted and sore… from delivering our son so it’ll have to wait.”

He let out a deep guffaw, then glanced at Boyd. Boyd stirred and sucked his lips, before he settled back into sleep. “Our son? Seriously? Guess what, we’ll save this conversation for later. You luck out… this time.”

Scott sneered at her before continuing inside the house and depositing the still sleeping Boyd on the kitchen table. The seat rocked before settling when he flipped the legs down to hold it still. Boyd slept through the motion and remained undisturbed from the clicking of the legs falling into place.

Isabella grunted as she heaved her tired body through the garage door. She turned to slam it with decisive force hard enough to cause framed pictures to rattle against the walls.

Scott snaked his head in her direction when Boyd let out a tremulous squall. His vision tunneled then retreated when Boyd continued to voice his mouse-like newborn cries. He hurried to the table to unbuckle the squirming baby and lift him into his arms. Scott cradled Boyd with utmost care, rocking him back and forth in an effort to sooth. Fat tears slid down Boyd’s cheeks and his eyes pooled with new tears. His unfocused eyes darted from side to side.

Boyd continued to protest while his mouth rooted around trying to latch onto Scott’s shirt. With reluctance he realized Boyd needed to eat, and he’d have to hand off the hungry infant to his mom.

Scott shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “You need to feed him.” He held Boyd toward Isabella who had made her way into the kitchen while Scott struggled to calm the baby.

“I’m not an idiot, you know.” She reached to take Boyd.

Scott relaxed his grip when he was sure Boyd was safe in her arms. He watched with fascination as she unbuttoned her shirt and shoved the nursing flap down from her bra. He wondered how she seemed so experienced at breastfeeding with Boyd being her first baby. A thread of suspicion ran through his mind, but he chose to smother it while he watched.

Boyd rooted around then latched his pink lips onto his mom’s nipple. Instinct drove his suckles as his belly expanded and eyelids drifted closed. Isabella broke the connection to move him to the other breast, he protested the move, but latched on and continued nursing.

Scott couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight. Unfamiliar tender emotions shot through his body and soothed his rage over Isabella’s infidelity. A glance at her face told him how in love she already was with the baby at her breast. Her eyes were curtained by long thick lashes as she stared with adoration at Boyd. He watched her mentally telling her to look up, to meet his gaze. His mental commands got through and her eyes drifted up to meet his.

A vulnerability he’d never seen in her before, lay exposed for his interpretation. A tear slipped from her eye. The moisture magnifying the startling bright blue and causing his heart to lurch. He reached for her face. His large hand engulfed her elfin features and dwarfed her cheek as his thumb swept away the wetness from her tears.

Scott’s mind conjured images of them as a family. Isabella was holding little Boyd. Boyd’s dark skin contrasted against her pale features, Scott’s arm holding them both in a protective embrace. The perfection of the image faded and broke apart as he studied his imagined harmony. Two white people could not have a biological child that was a different race.

People would know Isabella had screwed another guy and chosen to carry his bastard child tricking her idiot husband in the process. The family picture ground to dust and floated away, carried on a river of lies and trickery. Only one thing would fix the current crazy state of his life, but that fix did not include his little she-devil wife.

Isabella sensed his change in mood and pulled back from the hand gripping her face. His hand tightened before she could escape, his thumb hooking under her jaw. She gasped in shock. The pain he caused registered on her face as she winced and stilled to prevent further damage to tender flesh.

“Where you going honey?” He leaned his head down and roughly kissed her lips, grinding her lips against her teeth.

She struggled to free herself and protect the baby cradled in her arms. He heard muffled words. His head pulled back, curious what she could have to say.

When she opened her mouth to speak her teeth had a thin coat of blood marring their bleached white surface. Her cheek bloomed a red stain where he had gripped. She moved her jaw back and forth working the kinks caused by his vise of a hand. “The baby. Don’t hurt him. Do what you need to me, but it’s not his fault.”

A load of truth fell on his head at her words. He took several steps back with the realization that he could have hurt Boyd by hurting Isabella. His eyes drifted down to check on the now content baby. Isabella held him to her chest gently patting his back. A giant burp ripped from his tiny body causing her to titter at the rudeness coming from such a small person.

Her eyes lifted to meet Scott’s. A thread of merriment dashed through her eyes, now dry of tears. Scott’s heart softened in another whirlwind of an emotional beat down. If he didn’t make up his mind he was heading toward an insane asylum riding a bullet train on the fast route to hell.

“Scott, I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be, but can we please call a truce for now? If you can’t do it for me, do it for Boyd.” She pleaded without begging, which Scott took as a sign of her strength and resolve. Her words pulled a twig of respect from his staunch tree.

Before answering, he paused, allowing long minutes to pass, asserting his weak control, but reassuring himself he still had a semblance of character. “I’m willing to call a truce for now. But I promise it’s precarious at best, so you better clamp down on the bitch you like to be. I will never hurt this baby of that I swear. You, on the other hand…” He inserted a tone of joking, trying to break the tension he was rebuilding with his words.

Isabella smiled. The smudge of red was now gone from her teeth. “Deal, Hubby.” She stuck her hand out ready to shake like they’d made some business deal. “Now, I need to go change this little stink bucket.”

Scott shook her hand and followed her to the nursery. He was both curious and revolted by changing a dirty diaper.

Isabella made short efficient work of changing Boyd’s diaper and replacing it with a clean one. Her experienced efficiency once again puzzled Scott. He couldn’t understand how a first-time mom could change her newborn in seconds, as though she’d done it thousands of times before.

Harper smiled and waved as Noah’s truck disappeared in a cloud of dust. Her legs ached deep in her thigh muscles and her butt screamed from hours of riding. Her mind though, was content and free of clutter. The experience of horseback riding had never been so fulfilling. At some point in her life she’d heard a saying by Ronald Regan that
there's nothing so good for the inside of a man as the outside of a horse
. In her case she was pretty confident it was also the company she rode with, but a full day of riding was the best thing she’d experienced in years.

Ziggie greeted her with a soft woof when she entered the house. He wrapped around her legs like a giant cat and begged for chin scratch. She scratched his chin while he groaned his appreciation. “Silly dog. How about we go sit on the couch?”

He followed as she walked with bowed legs to the couch. She sat gingerly as she tried to protect her rear from more pain. The soft cushion absorbed her weight and padded the unused muscles. Her head fell back as she pulled her legs onto the couch. Ziggie crawled up beside her and placed his head in her lap. His amber eyes sought hers as he stretched his body into a more comfortable position. She shifted her weight to accommodate the dog that was way too big to be a lap dog.

Her hand rested on his head and rubbed his ears. Before long Ziggie snored on her lap his ears lay relaxed and perpendicular to his skull. She watched him sleep. His body twitched and paws raced an unknown opponent, short wuffs lifted his lips as air passed his teeth. Her heart expanded for the dog that was a depressed mess a few days before. Though she knew he still looked for Cara, each day that went by he became more her dog.

It seemed that a single hour could not pass without some thought of Cara sneaking into her mind. She noticed though, the thoughts were becoming less painful and more benign with each passing memory. The knife’s edge of new pain was becoming duller and softer in its flexibility. Her jaw tightened as she considered the memory she needed to confront. The memories in the nightstand folded within a white envelope, her name scrawled across the front. The memories called to her with a whisper of Cara’s voice.

Ziggie’s eyes popped open the second she attempted to wiggle her legs from under his heavy head. He groaned and stepped down from the couch. He shook hard and stretched his white legs, dirty from tramping through miles of trail. Bits of hair and dust flew through the air leaving a distinct dusty scent. “Alright mister, we may have to think about giving you a bath.”

He gazed at her with a look that could only be described as contempt. He must have recognized the word bath and knew what it meant. She hid her smile and patted his head as she stood. Her body protested the move from comfy couch, but she had things to do.

Her feet carried her aching body toward the bedroom, making a stop at the bathroom to run a hot bath. She would soak in the tub while she read Cara’s letter. With a bit of luck the heat would relax her sore muscles while her mind processed what it would read.

Letter in hand she sank carefully into the too hot water, holding the papers overhead, well out of water’s reach. As her body adjusted to the heat she sank lower, inch by inch, until her head rested on a bath pillow. She gripped the letter in both hands and started reading from the beginning.

Dear Harper,

If you’re reading this I’m either dead or have finally gotten the nerve to tell you my real feelings.

Harper wiped her brow as she searched for the resolve to continue reading. Ziggie pushed through the cracked bathroom door and lay beside her on the purple bath mat next to the tub. His presence gave her the courage to continue.

Over the years I’ve tried to control my feelings for you, and I’ve been successful, but now is the time I finally own how I truly feel.

I know you remember the first day we met. That day sitting on the bench by the pond I fell in love with you. I don’t mean love like a sister’s love, love like I want to spend my life with you. I want to make a family with you. I saw Cupid that day, and he pinned me with the biggest arrow in his arsenal.

I know you think I can be flighty and scattered, and yes, sometimes I am, but deep within my soul I’ve never doubted you are my soulmate. I’ve bitten my tongue more times than I can count when I heard of Scott’s mistreatment of you. I’ve wanted to rant and yell at you to get the hell away from that controlling psychopath, but I always stopped myself knowing you weren’t ready. The day you told me you were getting divorced I celebrated like I’d won the mega millions lottery.

My reality has always been that you are straight, that’s what held me back the most all these years, on top of not wanting to upset you. I would be happy living the rest of my life with you as roommates as long as you were near. The selfish part of me would never be fully happy with that though, especially if you had a boyfriend or lover. One day we talked about you moving here to live, which sent me over the moon with ecstasy, I was plunged back to earth when you mentioned meeting my neighbor. I took a hard dose of reality that day. I know you will never be gay any more than I will ever be straight, but I can’t convince my heart to stop loving you.

Every story I’ve told you about love at first sight was contrived and much more base than love. I needed love and took it from whoever offered it. I know Susan doesn’t really love me and she’s been using me this whole time, but she fulfills a void for as long as she sticks around. Soon she will be gone just like all the others I couldn’t offer my heart to. I’ve never told any of them my heart belongs to another, but more than one suspected and accused me of cheating. Owell, tough luck for them.

Before I finish writing, I have to tell you a few of the reasons I love you. I think the thing about you that makes me smile the most is your determination that you have a drug and alcohol problem - seriously honey, an occasional glass of wine and half an OTC sleeping pill doesn’t count as a drug and alcohol problem. Your self-deprecating humor both drives me crazy and makes me adore you. Your inability to see the effect you have on people when you walk in a room - I promise no one notices the few extra pounds you carry around. Your beauty is timeless and your eyes are the softest gentlest eyes I’ve ever seen.

You would have made the most amazing mother, and my heart aches for you every day knowing you lost your babies. Though I loathe writing his name, I hate Scott from the bottom of my soul, if I weren’t such a wimpy person I would have murdered him in a slow torturous way. I wanted to watch him bleed from all the agony he caused you. And Harper… don’t think I’m crazy on this one – but I think he had something to do with your miscarriages. Don’t ask me to explain it because I can’t, it’s a feeling I’ve had since you lost little Sammy. Please forgive me if I’m wrong.

I could write all night about qualities I love about you, but with aching hand and full heart it’s time for me to conclude.

Love Always,

Cara

P.S. I hope I found the nerve to hand this to you while I still walked this earth, if not I’m sorry from the bottom of my soul that I checked out before I could watch you read the words that have been bottled up for so long. I will love you forever sweet Harper.

Tears streamed down Harper’s face joining the cooling water in the tub. Ziggie stared at her from the side of the tub, his tongue hanging out dripping a small pool of saliva between his paws.

“How did I miss her feelings all those years? Am I really that naïve?” Harper spoke aloud, Ziggie’s ears twitched as he listened to her speak. She reached to stroke his head. “You knew didn’t you boy? I bet she told you all her deepest secrets.”

Her hands shook as she refolded the paper and placed it on the closed toilet seat. Her mind whirling from all the missed signals she must have glossed over. She’d known Cara for twenty years and never spotted her true feelings. She wondered if it was years of missed opportunity. All the time she wasted on Scott worrying through his infidelities could have been spent exploring how to help Cara move on to someone else.

In her heart she knew she could have never been the person Cara wished her to be, but Harper could have helped her come up with a viable solution for moving on. “Dammit Cara, why didn’t you tell me? We could have figured this out together.” Her voice echoed from the bathroom walls, muffled by the lingering steam of hot water. Ziggie let out a sharp bark, sensing Harper’s distress and voicing his opinion.

With resignation she stood from the tub, water sluicing from her body and splashing into the tub. A thread of determination traveled through her body as she realized Cara wouldn’t want her to wallow and feel sorry for herself. Life happened, Cara got a raw deal when it came to living. She’d wasted years yearning after Harper wishing for something that could never happen. A pinch of anger snuck into Harper’s awareness at Cara’s withholding of life-altering information.

Harper grabbed a towel and buried her face in its fluffy softness. Somehow she would get through this fresh pain of loss readied to rip the scab that had so recently formed over raw wounds. Her mind ran scenarios of what could have happened if Cara had admitted her feelings while she was still alive. Each concluded with the same response, Harper would have been so determined to help Cara that she would have sacrificed her beliefs and wants to make Cara happy. She would have told Cara anything she wanted to hear no matter the small voice inside her head saying it wasn’t true.

Cara had lived twenty years with unrequited love. The pain she must have endured every day knowing she couldn’t put voice to her love must have been pure living hell. While Harper lived her own hell and occasional jealousy over Cara’s free spirit, Cara lived a life of secrets. Secrets she kept from her best friend.

Harper shook her head trying to clear her mind of the suffering they both lived through. The seed Cara planted about Scott’s having a hand in her miscarriages was pushed into the far recesses of her mind. Such thoughts couldn’t see the light of day or they would grow into paranoia, one trait she was not ready to add to her laundry list of problems. Harper couldn’t conceive a single viable way he could have possibly had anything to do with the worst moments of her life.

She treaded carefully around any theorizing, because if she didn’t, next she’d be suspecting Scott somehow caused Cara’s death. Knowing there wasn’t even a vague possibility didn’t stop her mind from flashing to some conspiracy where he could have caused it. Eventually logic always reined in her morbid musings.

It seemed like nothing in her life could be quite as simple as she wanted it to be. She longed for a quiet happy life where she didn’t have to question herself over poor choices. At the end of each day she wanted to relax into a comfortable relationship and hear the happy pounding of kid feet running through her house.

Lately those thoughts had turned to a specific person and thoughts of his son’s feet being the ones she heard running through her house. Even for a person with a broken past the future still held possibilities.