Текст книги "Suit"
Автор книги: Jettie Woodruff
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter Three
My eyes opened to darkness. Thick, navy-blue curtains kept the light from spilling into the room. First, I assessed the pain. Most of it was gone. At least the shooting pains in my hips and lower back had departed. My ribs and chest hurt a little, but not too terribly.
Pressure with my hand against the mattress helped me sit up as I blinked away blurriness in search of the nearest bathroom. The pain did become almost unbearable when I had to bend to reach my crutches. I wouldn’t be doing that again. I’d make sure they were propped close by, not on the floor.
I hobbled my way toward a door, opened it, and scanned the space.
What a beautiful bathroom, yet it did confuse me. Unfamiliar makeup, perfume, and Jewelry blanketed a magnificent vanity on one wall. A girl’s dream come true. The shower was big enough for five people, complete with a bench, situated right in the center and topped by multiple showerheads. I looked forward to that luxury.
I grimaced as I lowered myself to the toilet, careful with where my crutches were placed. The thong panties had gone unnoticed until I slid them over my hips, pulling the thin line from the crack of my ass. I didn’t feel like they were me. None of this felt like me. A deep inhalation and a glance up to the ceiling kept me from crying. In order to keep myself together and not lose it, I chose to think about something else. I had to. At least until I figured out what to do. This couldn’t be my life.
It took nearly five minutes for me to maneuver my panties up and over my hips to stand, but the pain subsided once I stood. It was the getting there that killed me.
I flushed the toilet and shuffled back to my room, the room that didn’t feel like mine, either. I would have never chose the dark blues with white. I liked light tones. Earthy colors like tans and greens.
My confusion rose higher when I opened the walk-in closet. Amazing. White shelves lined one wall, full of folded jeans, shoes, purses, and T-shirts. Beautiful dresses with an assortment of outfits hung neatly on the other side. I gawked at the few evening dresses, but mostly casuals, the sundresses, long-flowing maxi-dresses, and sandals—lots of sandals in all colors—filled the closet space. As soon as I flipped on the light, it all went away, everything in my closet. I couldn’t see anything but me.
Round white lights circled a full wall mirror. Like something you would see in a Hollywood dressing room. That’s not what had my attention. The ghost standing before me held that. I had a weak and broken appearance with hollow eyes, a lost soul with nowhere to go. I knew it wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right. I didn’t belong here. Some people live a life with a feeling of void, but I was the one who felt obsolete. I was the missing link, the broken one that didn’t fit anymore. Again, I reverted my attention to something else…just like my mother had always preached.
Wait. My mother? How did I know that?
I flipped off the light and pondered my sudden realization. That was real. That premonition had been real, but not clear. I knew that I had been taught not to ever feel bad, to focus on something else. Something happy. However, I couldn’t have been taught how to do that without a memory. My earliest memory consisted of a handful of nurses, most of them nameless. I hadn’t seen them enough to remember or cared enough to try learning their names. I hadn’t even been able to remember my own name in the hospital, for Christ’s sake.
My confusion continued when I opened the long chest of drawers. Everything was mine, nothing was his. Feminine bras with matching thongs were folded neatly in every color possible. Not much black. I felt like I gravitated more toward black. Wait? I did? Paxton was the void in the room. No male items existed here. Not one. Did we have separate rooms? Given the fact that Paxton was a pervert. That surprised me. Wow. We didn’t share a room, and that excited me. I had to admit that had been one of the fears on my mind when I’d had no other choice but to leave with him. I didn’t want to sleep in the same bed with him, but it was still weird. Not that the whole mess wasn’t weird or anything. I shrugged it off with a heavy sigh and tried to open the armoire doors. The double doors and all four drawers were locked.
“I have the key. I don’t think you’re ready for that just yet. Maybe later.”
My head snapped toward the door, toward Paxton. My husband. He leaned against the threshold, arms folded and ankles crossed. Basketball shorts covered long legs and he was in bare feet. The five o’clock shadow was gone, replaced with a clean shave and a nod. It had to be the looks. He definitely had that going for him.
“What’s in it?”
“You’ll see. They’re waiting. I can’t hold them off any longer.”
“Oh, okay,” I said in a high-pitched tone, suddenly even more anxious. I leaned on my crutches and prayed I didn’t screw it up, that I could fake this mom business without them noticing A long breath of air filled my lungs and I wondered whether or not I should pretend to remember them.
Paxton uncrossed his arms and waved them in.
My lips turned up before I ever saw them, and a fake smile was planted. As soon as I saw them it was gone, replaced with confusion. The younger one looked like a mini me, soft black hair, straight as a board except at the ends. They curled up, just like mine. Her eyes were tinted in the same smoky gray as mine. She had natural dark skin, and her legs were long, just like me. The height difference between the girls appeared miniscule. Not even an inch difference and I sensed without confirmation that the taller one was the youngest. She belonged to Paxton and me. I could see mostly me in Ophelia, but she did have his features, too. Rowan did not. She belonged to me, yet I wasn’t sure who else.
Confused, I shifted my gaze to meet with Paxton’s cold stare, then back to the girls. Rowan was just a tad shorter with long, honey-butter hair. Bright, blue eyes and pale skin. Her eyes were the color of the ocean, teal blue with a touch of pearl. They stared up at me with a tinge of insecurity, causing me to suppress a choke. I did belong here. I was consciously aware of a bond, I belonged with them. No matter where it was, I belonged with them. My Clydes.
Wait. What? Clydes?
“Come here,” I whispered with the sweetest voice I could muster. They both scurried to me with instant grins and hugged me, squeezing between my crutches, wrapping their arms around my legs. I was indisputably in love.
“Daddy said you wouldn’t benember who we were. He said the African made you forget,” my little blondie tattled and my heart fluttered. The sweetest angelic sound I had ever heard floated through her lips.
Even Paxton’s laugh was real. Not the fake one I had already became accustomed to.
“Accident. The accident caused her to forget. Not African,” he clarified.
“That’s what I said.”
“I could never forget you. I have a hard time remembering some things though, so you’ll have to help me out, okay?” I asked with fingers gliding through her soft hair.
“And me, too, right, Mommy? You know me, too.”
The impulse to drop to one knee and hug them both disappeared as soon as I thought about it. I would never get up, not without a bottle of strong narcotics, anyway. I lifted her chin with a finger instead.
“Of course I remember you, Phi.”
Ophelia giggled and gave me a wide, toothy grin while the amused expression on Paxton’s face changed. He went from showing his own white teeth, to pissed off, just like that. What the hell, dude?
“We helped daddy cook your favorite supper,” Rowan exclaimed, excited about her involvement in the meal preparation. My heart filled to the brim with love when they each placed their little hands around my wrists and led me to the table. They were more in the way than anything. I could barely maneuver my crutches, but I didn’t tell them that. They took great pride in helping me.
I hobbled along, stopping at the door for them to move in front of me. My eyes locked with Paxton’s and he smiled. A show for the girls, I thought, and then I understood. His expression chilled over like icy fog on a windowpane. As soon as they were ahead of us, he stuck his leg right in front of me. The pain instantly shot up my ribs, knocking the breath right out of me when my body was forced to bend at the waist.
Paxton assisted me with a hand to my back when the look on my face changed, expressing the pain from the sudden jolt. For a quick second I thought maybe I saw remorse in his eyes. His words were in a mocking tone, lips close to mine. “Her name is Ophelia. Remember? She was named after my grandmother. Ophelia Pierce. Ring any bells? The Mayflower? She was a passenger on the Mayflower? Came with a widowed man.”
“Come on, Daddy,” Rowan called.
I peered over his shoulder to get a glimpse of them, my girls. They both stared back at us in anticipation.
“If your grandmother came over here on the Mayflower you would be at least three hundred years old. I highly doubt it was the Mayflower. Although you could be a vampire. That would explain it.”
“This mouth is going to get you in trouble. Brings back old memories, huh?” His lips met mine and his tongue dove in. One moan and a quick kiss and he let me pass him.
“Troll,” I mumbled to myself.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.”
He was like a troll. A troll who told me when I could cross the bridge, what bridge I was allowed to cross, and for how long. I must have been insane when I agreed to marry this man. Maybe I’d had a brain injury back then, too.
“Look, it’s your favorite, Mom,” Rowan exclaimed, dramatically opening her hand and making a sweeping gesture across the table of food. A salad in the middle and three covered dishes surrounded the main course.
“Hmmm, I love salad,” I said with a smile and a stroke down her long blond hair.
Rowan snorted, showing me her Colgate smile. Not perfect, but white. The tooth that twisted a bit above her upper left lip insured braces. My tongue glided over my own teeth in search of the same trait. Nope. Straight as straight could be.
“That’s not your favorite. It’s under there, silly,” she explained with a point to the third covered dish.
Paxton lifted the lid from the middle pan, wearing his own smile. His was not as sweet as Rowan’s. Ugh. I hated chicken.
Wait. I did?
“My favorite is chicken?” I questioned as Paxton pulled my chair out and took my crutches. I eased my way into the seat, using the edge of the table for support, feeling the pain shoot down my leg.
“Dad cooked it on the grill,” Ophelia offered. I pressed my lips together, trying not to snarl my nose. I didn’t like chicken. That was a damn fact. It appeared Paxton knew that detail, too. Either that, or the man wore a constant smug.
I ate around the chicken, and I nibbled on my salad, rice, and steamed asparagus, listening to the girls tell me stories about their lives during my time away. I’d missed a lot. Rowan had lost her first tooth. Bottom front. She’d scored a touchdown in tee-ball, and she’d skinned her knee. She even showed me the proof. Ophelia had been just as busy. She too had a boo-boo on her elbow. She didn’t get a touchdown because she had fallen, and she insisted she was going to lose her tooth when she turned six, too.
My bottom lip sucked in several times and I bit down to keep from laughing. Paxton did correct them on the touchdown, trying to hide his own laughter behind a bite of chicken, straight off the bone. Yuck. As hungry as I was, I couldn’t eat it. I didn’t even touch it.
“We’re going to show you a book. It’s a picture book so you can benember,” Rowan explained.
Paxton slid her drink away from her plate and corrected her with the right way to say remember. I personally liked benember better.
“What a great idea,” I replied. Maybe that would help. I mean, who could forget their own kids, right?
Wrong. Paxton saw to baths while I sat on the sofa and waited for them. Even though I felt better, I couldn’t do much more than that. Walk a few steps and sit down. That quickly became my new life.
“You think you can at least brush out their hair?” Paxton asked with the tone that I didn’t get. The guy hated me.
“Are you like a full-blooded misogynist, or is it just me you hate?”
Paxton appeared beside me on the sofa in the blink of an eye. His hand went around my throat, expression matching the anger. He squeezed my jaw and told me how it was. Again…
“You’re pushing it. I don’t buy this shit for one second. You’re full of shit. You think I didn’t catch the look in your eyes? The expression on your face when you saw how different they were? I saw it, Gabriella. You suck. Show biz is not one of your strong points. Why don’t you be a good little slut and tell me where you were. Why were you that far from home?”
My lips moved to talk, but Paxton stopped me. “No, no. Shhh. Just do what you’re told and shut the fuck up. Now!” he ordered with angry words against my lips.
From my current predicament, there was nothing else to do. Not until I figured out who the hell I was, anyway. It wasn’t this. That I knew for sure. I was stuck with nothing to do, but obey, and wait. Wait for what, I didn’t know. A memory and then a way out. Rowan and Ophelia made it all better. I struggled with Rowan between my legs, trying to brush out her golden locks. If I used my right hand it hurt my wrist. If I used my left hand it hurt my shoulder.
“I can help you, Mommy,” Ophelia offered in a sweet angel voice. She took the brush from my hand and sat on the floor. Rowan perched in front of her and crossed her legs. That was the first premonition that I had about anything so vivid.
Two little girls sat just like Rowan and Ophelia. Their outfits matched. White sundresses and natural dark skin, a Mediterranean heritage maybe. They looked alike. Exactly alike.
“What’s wrong?” Paxton questioned. The vison of the little girls vanished with my blinking eyes.
“Nothing, I was just—.”
“Go get the two books we talked about,” Paxton said to the girls, cutting me off mid-sentence. He leaned over the back of the sofa with a handful of my hair and kissed my neck. “Unless you’re about to tell me you’re done with this shit, and tell me where you were, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care.”
I didn’t respond. I already knew he didn’t want a reply. Paxton ran his hand over my breast and pinched, producing a hard bead behind my shirt.
“I can’t wait to bathe you,” he whispered with another twist. The whimper that escaped without permission was from pain, not arousal. Paxton kissed my cheek and backed away when both girls came bouncing in, carrying photo albums.
Anxiety filled my nerves, sending a chill down my spine. I tried to swallow the dry lump, only to have it get stuck half way down.
“You girls help Mommy remember while I go clean up the kitchen.” His fingers poked Ophelia’s ribs as he walked by. I laughed, but not at him. At her. She dropped straight to the floor on her knees to get away from him. She was like me. I hated to be tickled, too.
I did?
“Me first,” Rowan said, her little body sliding next to me. I could smell the strawberry shampoo in her wet hair, and the scent of Lavender from her summer pajamas. Mmmm. I loved lavender. I didn’t even question why. I had a lot of those things, premonitions that I didn’t understand, I knew things, but I didn’t know how. Like lavender and hating to be tickled.
“No, I’m going first. Dad! You said I could!” Ophelia shrieked, body flopping to the floor with a loud shrill. Jesus. Cute and adorable into a full-blown meltdown in a flash. Paxton glared at me and I gave it right back to him. If he thought I knew what to do, he was crazy. I didn’t. He dropped to one knee and patted her tummy.
“Hey, we just talked about this. You don’t get what you want by throwing yourself on the floor. You can’t scream when you get mad.”
Ophelia settled but continued to whine. “But, I already did it.”
“I know, and I don’t like it. Next time, you’re going to timeout. Okay? You can take turns flipping the pages at the same time.”
I watched Paxton scoop her up and pat her on the butt. He picked up her album and she settled in beside me. I tugged on her nightgown and covered her bare legs while, relaxing into the back of the sofa. My heart melted with love.
“You can open yours first, Rowan,” Paxton offered. His stern glare to Ophelia made her recant the whining she was ready to share. She whimpered and nestled into my arm. I hugged her close and kissed her wet hair, the fresh scent of strawberry and lavender, satisfying my senses.
Rowan smiled up at me, teal eyes gleaming. “This was when I was a baby,” she began as her hand turned the cover. A hospital photo of her, Paxton, and someone that wasn’t me. A stunning blonde held her in her arms. “That was my first mommy, but she left.”
My eyes moved to Ophelia’s album when she insisted it was her turn. I looked at the first page with my mind still on Rowans, a newborn. I held her in my arms and Paxton held Rowan. Ophelia had more hair than her, but I could tell it was Rowan. White fuzz stuck straight up on her little head. They were very close in age. Maybe a year apart.
Paxton’s expression from one photo to the next was incomparable. He was in love with the blonde and the newborn in Rowan’s book. He was in love with Rowan and Ophelia in her book. Not me. The next few pages were much the same…up until about six months old. Rowan’s baby book abruptly changed stories. The photos went from happy photos of a beautiful family to photos of me. The new mommy.
Unlike the photos before where Paxton had his arm around the girl in every picture, if his lips weren’t on Rowan, they were on her. Rowan wasn’t mine. Rowan was Paxton’s and hers. Whoever her was. I hesitated on asking Rowan, unsure of Paxton’s reaction to that. I refrained, deciding to ask him later instead. I was sure the girls had been through enough. Their mommy had up and left them in the middle of a storm and didn’t come back for two weeks.
Storm?
Instead of investigating, I looked at the photos. Nothing. I didn’t remember any of it. Not their first birthday parties, the people there, their first steps, their dance recitals, first haircuts, nothing. I didn’t remember any of it. We did a lot of family things, but they weren’t really family things. There was Paxton and the girls, and me and the girls. None of the photos were of the four of us—except those where the girls were between us. None of them were like the blonde. No physical contact between us whatsoever. No touching, hugs, or kisses.
I didn’t understand it at all. The man couldn’t walk by me without kissing, or touching me, but not in photos. No proof of that claim whatsoever.
I needed answers, regardless of setting Paxton off. There were some things he had to tell me. Like this. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t told me that Rowan belonged to another woman. I would have never guessed that. Not for one second. The instinct to protect her and love her was as strong as it was for Ophelia. I didn’t get it. It left me feeling sad, but I wasn’t sure why.
I lied to the girls each time they asked me if I remembered something. Like when Paxton taught them how to ride two-wheeled bikes in the street right out front. I assumed since I wasn’t in any of the pictures, I was the one taking them. There were a lot of those, photos of everything from swimming in the ocean to tea parties. Father-daughter banquets. Sports. Day camps. Park outings. Disney World. These girls had seen more in five years than most kids did in a lifetime. We were busy.
I couldn’t get away from either of them for the rest of the night. If I went to the bathroom, they waited outside the door. If I hobbled to the kitchen for a drink, they went with me. Even when it came time for bed. They begged to sleep with me. Of course, Paxton wouldn’t let them. They agreed when he explained that they might bump my bruises and hurt me. They didn’t want that.
I kissed them both goodnight, leaning down from my crutches, wanting more. I wanted to lay down with them, read them a story, and tell them I loved them. Because of Paxton’s intimidating stares, I didn’t allow my voice to sound cute or in the baby talk I longed to use.
Paxton followed me into the hall, telling both girls he would be right back for a story. I wanted to sit and listen, too, just be with them, but again, I didn’t speak up. I was in no shape to pick a fight. Hands down, I would lose. There wasn’t really much I could do, anyway. I was still trying to decipher what the hell kind of marriage I had.
“Don’t take your clothes off. I want to do it,” he whispered, kissing my neck just below my ear.
“And what if I don’t want you to?”
“Doesn’t matter. Go to your room.” His tongue darted into my mouth that time and I thought I might gag.
Two giggling girls cackled through the hall, hands covering shy mouths with hunkered shoulders.
Aahh! In spite of that gross kiss I’d just endured, the girls were too darn cute. I laughed a little, too, but only for a second.
Rowan broke the pleasantry with her remark. “Daddy loves Mommy.”
Ophelia followed her sister and chimed in, too. “K-S-N-G,” she sang while trying to spell out kissing. She missed a few letters. Paxton let me go and went after them, sending them both into a screaming frenzy. I smiled and continued on my way. At least he was good to them. That meant something. I didn’t know what, but something.
I was tired, ready to lay down and rest, and I still hadn’t had the chance to explore all of my surroundings. I hadn’t snooped through the house at all. I knew both girls’ rooms were dressed in little-girl things. Neat and clean. I loved the openness of the living and dining room, and that kitchen. Oh, my God. It was a chef’s dream—if you liked that sort of thing. I had a feeling I wasn’t much of cook. Besides the bathroom and my room, I hadn’t seen anything else. I didn’t care to that night. My nerves were too wired. I was exhausted, yet anxious. Anxious for my bath.
