Текст книги "Forgive Us Our Trespasses"
Автор книги: M. L. Steinbrunn
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
Brooks
Fear, an all-encompassing, suffocating, hide-in-the-dark kind of fear has consumed me. It has invaded my subconscious, and everything I find myself doing revolves around a name I thought I would never hear again, Raymond Michaels. I swore to myself and to Vivian I would keep her safe and that I would choose her. I intend to keep that vow, no matter the cost.
The weeks since Charlotte’s arrival have been uneventful in regard to the man that haunts my past. He has been quiet, and went about his new life with little concern for those lives that he impacted 23 years ago. I have kept close tabs on his activity, hiring a private investigator to track his every movement. I refuse to risk the consequences of an accidental meeting. It could cost me everything, and I won’t let him take it away, not again.
My hope has been that he’ll make a dire mistake that will violate his strict parole terms. Him being sent back to a maximum-security facility is more than I could wish for though, so until he fucks it up, like he typically does, I stand back and watch from afar.
She’s guarded. Vivian tries to act carefree and forgiving about the entire situation, but I can tell that it’s a facade. She worries constantly. She’s ventured into Mama Bear protector mode, but with a big giant smile and a sugary ‘I’m fine.’ I don’t buy it for a second.
I have scanned through her computer history searches, and I know she is just as obsessed as I am. Although there wasn’t anything specific to Raymond Michaels, there were plenty of Google searches about parolees contacting victims’ families, and the location of the Greeley halfway house. She could probably get an A on the book report, or arrested for stalking…it can be such a fine line.
I’ve tried to set her mind at rest, but I’m extremely careful not to divulge too much. A detailed explanation would raise questions of history. She has never asked why I pushed her away ten years ago, and I have no intention of telling her. Her being in the dark about it keeps her safe. And, if she found out about the nightmare of my past, my biggest fear of losing her would more than likely become a reality.
There have only been a handful of times in my life when I wasn’t sure what the outcome would be. I am a driven man who goes after what he wants. With my business, if I want things done a certain way, or I need to coerce investors to see a project my way, I win. I always win. When it comes to Vivian, though, she’s a game-changer. She’s the curve ball when you have a full count and are expecting the fastball. I can’t predict how things will play out with her, and it drives me insane.
My auburn-haired beauty and her dusting of freckles bewitched me a decade ago, and I have spent the years since unsuccessfully attempting to expel her from my soul. In the short time since we have reconnected, she has found her way under my skin once more, but instead of trying to scratch her free, this time, I’m willing to use glue, staples, a wedding band, and any adhesive necessary to maintain our seamless bond. I cannot let her leave me.
Vivian is the only woman who I would ever consider marrying; all others have and would always be second-best. So, as I twirl the platinum and diamond ring between my fingers, my plan to make her mine grows. I’ve had the 1920s Pavé masterpiece for over a month. I found it through an antiques dealer that specializes in rare, high-end estate jewelry, and when I saw it, I knew it belonged on her delicate hand. I’ve had to contain myself from slipping it on her finger ever since, but I wanted to wait until Christmas. Since the news of Raymond Michaels hit our radars, though, I’ve had the constant nagging need to not only propose, but also marry her and make her officially, legally mine. I refuse to let her slip from my grasp again. She is mine, and I need it to be known, now more than ever.
My plan is to ask the kids this evening for permission, and then follow through with asking her over a trip to the mountains in two weeks. I know I’m gambling a lot on them not saying anything, but I feel like our kids need to be included in this. I’ve asked Katie to keep all of the kids, and I’ve let Amanda in on my intentions. She was actually supportive instead of serving me my balls–a favorite pastime she picked up from Jen. I reserved a cabin in Telluride for the weekend, and I have planned a romantic getaway for the occasion, which Vivian has no clue about.
When my phone buzzes, alerting me of an incoming message, I gently slide the miniature iceberg back into its box for safekeeping, and tuck it into my jacket pocket. Checking the screen, I see my lovely lady’s name and picture appear, provoking a grin I can’t even try to hide.
Vivian: Be there in 20 minutes, packing overnight bags now.
Me: Drive careful, but hurry. U should never leave my house, my love, and then I would never have to wait.
Vivian: Lol. Good luck with that, my dear sir. I have to come up for air at some point. See you soon!
Brook: Not soon enough, Clover.
Vivian: ☺
I lay my phone on my dresser and call out to Grace. She has been in her room, doing the typical magical princess girl-shit that I pretend to not enjoy. If anyone ever caught me wearing the tiara and feather boa that she demands that I wear during our tea parties, I would never live it down. Lakin already thinks that I’ve become pussified since I started dating Vivian; I couldn’t imagine the ration of shit that he would heap upon me for playing dress-up as well.
Decked out head-to-toe in Cinderella garb stands my three-foot-tall raven-haired beauty queen. Tapping her foot, she makes it obvious that I’ve interrupted something vitally important in the kingdom of Grace. I attempt to hide my amusement, which only serves to agitate my princess.
“What’s so funny, Daddy? The prince was just about to rescue my Barbie.”
I grab her and tickle her sides until her attitude melts into fits of laughter. “Really, is that right?” I say, continuing my attack.
She screams in between giggles, and I finally release her. Grace immediately straightens her gown, and I pick up the tiara that fell to the ground and place it on her head in a very majestic manner that I know she appreciates.
“There, perfect, Princess Grace,” I add with an extra bow.
“You’re so silly, Daddy. What’s up? I really need to go help Barbie.”
I sit down on my bed and pull her onto my lap. “I needed to talk to you about something important before everybody gets here. Besides, I’m sure Barbie can fend for herself. I saw her moves in Toy Story, and she can kick some butt.”
That earns me a heart-melting grin that throws my train of thought off for a second. I’m nervous about her reaction. I need her approval, just as much as I need Blake and Emma’s for my plan to move forward. This little girl is my absolute world. With all of the women that I have used as fillers, Grace has been my constant, and soon I will turn her world upside-down by almost tripling the size of our little family.
“Lovebug, how would you feel if Vivian, Blake, and Emma lived here with us?”
“Like our sleepovers?” she asks as she begins to twist my tie around her tiny fingers.
“Well, kind of, but instead of it being sometimes, they would be here all the time. Emma and Blake would be your new brother and sister.”
Grace drops my tie and looks up at me, her eyes huge and tears building in them. “You mean, Vivian would be my mommy?”
“Would that be okay with you?”
“I’ve never had a mommy; I would love for Vivian to be my mommy,” she says excitedly, but then her enthusiasm dwindles, and she begins to fiddle with my tie again.
I nudge her chin upward. “What’s the matter, baby?”
“It’s just, my own mommy didn’t stay; do you think Vivian would really want me?” I see the quiver in her lip, and I realize just how much I’ve fallen short. No matter how hard I’ve tried, nothing can replace a mother, and my little girl has felt the consequences of those actions. It tears at my heart, and I want more than anything to make this right for her.
“Oh, Lovebug, the woman that had you is not a real mommy.” I kiss her forehead and begin to stroke her silky hair as I try to ease her heartache. “Mommies do the things that Vivian does for Emma and Blake; they take care of their babies. The woman that had you isn’t your mommy, sweetheart. She is the woman who agreed to give me the best gift I’ve ever received. You. But I promise, Grace, Vivian would love to be your mommy, because she wants to take care of you forever.”
“You promise?” she asks; her voice is hopeful once more.
“Yes, baby. Vivian adores you, and she would love to be your mommy. But I don’t want to ask them to be a part of our family unless you want them to be. It has to be okay with you.”
“Are you gonna give her a pretty ring?” her eyes slide sideways, peering just over her lids like she is prepared to interrogate me. Her tiny little teeth reveal themselves past her cherry red lips, and I chuckle at her attempt to grill me.
“Yes, I bought her a ring.” I pull it out of my jacket pocket and crack open the box; the light reflects off the stone, causing glimmers of white sparkles to bounce around the room. Grace inhales sharply and her eyes widen at the sight.
“It’s so sparkly!” she squeals. “She is gonna love it.”
“I hope so,” I say as she runs her pointer finger across the solitaire and down the band, examining each stone.
“Oh yes, she will; it’s so pretty. Will you buy me one, Daddy? My birthday is coming up, or maybe Santa could bring me one.”
“No, honey, these rings are special. When you are old, like forty, you will fall in love with a boy, and if I like him, I’ll let him buy you a ring like this.”
Grace backs away scowling, her nose scrunches in disgust. “No way, boys are gross!” she insists. “They fart all the time and play with bugs. One boy in my class picks his nose and eats it. No, Daddy, I don’t want to fall in love and get a ring from a boy.”
I stand and pat her on the head, thankful for her epiphany about the opposite sex. “Just keep thinking boys are nasty and we will be just fine, kiddo.” I laugh as I snap the box shut and place it back in its protective spot. “Come on, munchkin, they will be here soon; let’s get everything ready. And not a word about our conversation; this is supposed to be a special surprise. You can’t tell Blake or Emma, not even Katie, and especially not Vivian. Can you do that?”
“I pinky promise,” she says as she holds out her petite pinky for me to seal the oath.
“Okay, pinky promise. Now let’s get downstairs.”
Vivian
The second we pile through his front door, I can tell that something is off about Brooks. He seems nervous and jittery, he’s fumbling with his words, and he’s constantly rubbing his hands on his pants. I’ve asked him several times if he was feeling sick, but he reassures me that he is fine. I would push him more if it wasn’t for Grace, who has been glued to my side since our arrival. If she isn’t upset, then I figure that whatever is bothering Brooks must not be that big of an issue.
I never imagined when I saw Brooks again that he would have a child, nor did I ever think that I could be someone’s stepmother, but Grace is truly something special. She is sweet and funny, but has these feisty moments laced with attitude and spunk. She is the type of girl that forces a smile on your face no matter the situation. She is the most perfect little girl, and I have fallen in love with her, and if Brooks ever did ask me to marry him, I would be proud to call her my daughter. Blake and Emma both adore her, they and have taken her in as not only a friend, but like a sibling. Seeing the three of them together warms my heart and makes me hopeful about what our future could be like.
I can hear the three of them playing outside from the kitchen where I’m working on dinner. Their giggles filter into the house, creating a hum that’s like soothing music to my ears. After the year that we’ve had, my children are truly happy, and it feels so good to have found that place. I slide the pan full of burritos I had been working on into the oven, when Brooks’ footsteps break through the reverberating stream of laughter.
I turn around to see Brooks cross the kitchen, his usual confident demeanor slightly back into place; his illness or anxiety or whatever he had going on seems to be lessening. “Well hello, handsome, you look like you’re feeling better.”
He wipes his brow, but then smiles. “Yeah, I’m fine, really. Do you need any help in here with dinner?” he asks as he leans against the island worktop.
I hover over the opposite side of the island, reaching in until my lips find his. I give him a chaste but heartening kiss, one that signals my devotion, and that screams reassurance. I slowly move back to my side of the countertop and entangle my fingers with his, which are clawing into the granite. “I’ve got everything under control in here; why don’t you relax? You seem wound tight tonight. Is everything going well at work?”
He tilts his head to the side incredulously. “Work?” he laughs. “Work is fine; we actually just closed a multi-million dollar deal this week, and I was thinking of asking Amanda to do some of the advertising and public relations with the project.”
“She’s been very busy, but I’m sure she would be interested.” I pause for a moment, trying desperately to see into the eyes of the man before me. I attempt to read what’s plaguing him.
Brooks steps around the corner and draws me to him, his firm arms winding around my waist. “I know I seem a little off, but I promise, there isn’t anything wrong. I’m planning a surprise for you and the kids, and I’m just a little nervous that I won’t be able to arrange everything, but I promise there is nothing wrong, all right?”
I let my eyes penetrate his crystal blue irises, looking for any ounce of deceit, but there is nothing evident. I relax into his arms and sigh. “Okay, but if something was wrong, you would tell me, right?”
“Of course, I don’t want to ever keep things from you, if I can help it,” he says as he bends down to kiss my lips. My tension releases and I melt into his arms. He finally pulls away, but I follow his lips, searching for more contact. He laughs and plants a soft kiss on my forehead before breaking away completely.
“I’m going to go outside with the kids; I need to talk to them about something. Holler out if you need me for anything.” He grabs my waist once more and yanks me towards him, causing me to stumble into him. “I need a little more of you before I go,” he whispers in my ear before crashing down on my lips.
The gentle, soft Brooks is gone, replaced with my urgent and greedy man. He took everything that I was willing to give and still searched for more. Chaste and overpowering, when he finally pulled away and walked out the backdoor like nothing had occurred, I was left fighting to catch my breath, my lips tingling and swollen, my stomach’s butterflies in hyper speed. The man could make me go from zero to one hundred in a matter of seconds with only a look, and damn if I didn’t love him for it.
I slowly make my way to the fridge, my wobbly legs struggling to aid in the task. Gathering the tomatoes and lettuce to garnish our Mexican feast, I take them to the sink to prep them, but my actions are halted when I see Brooks with the children outside. I watch out the window at my boys playing catch with a football, and the girls standing to the side cheering them on. I can’t help but smile at the thought of how this really could be our life if we took the next steps forward.
I know I really love Brooks, and I can see a future with him but, there are still unanswered questions for me–questions that I have been too afraid to ask. I have never pried about what happened between us ten years ago. He’s never told me why he not only led me to believe that he cheated, but then left school completely. At the end of the semester, I assumed he transferred, and I had heard that it was to the University of Northern Colorado, which was only a town away in Greeley, but those were only rumors.
Not discussing it and not revealing the old secrets has allowed my mind to run rampant as to why he would do it. Thoughts of a drug problem and Brooks checking into a rehab center were at the top of the list. However, when I really think back, I did not see any signs of drug use. He acted strange towards the end, but nothing that led me to believe he was doing drugs.
I desperately want to let it go, pretend that it does not matter. I know I have already forgiven him for his actions, and I know he was trying to protect me from whatever it was he was hiding. No matter how hard I try, though, the thoughts of what could have caused his extreme behavior nags at my brain like nails on a chalkboard. It’s preventing me from completely wanting to take the next step. He says the issues of the past are gone, but what worries me more is that he’s never taken it upon himself to explain what happened. Maybe I’m overreacting, and maybe I’m acting too much like an emotional girl, or maybe the foreboding feeling I have about the situation should push me to be strong enough to ask him. More than anything, I need him to tell me on his own accord. I don’t want to have to ask; I want him to want to tell me.
I look out the window once more while I shake the vegetables dry from the thorough rinsing I had given them. My worries ease as I glance out at the sight of Brooks huddled in a circle with all three kids. The way that he is with them tugs at my heart, he has stepped in to fill the hole that Will left behind. No matter what he’s hiding, I’ll still always be grateful for how he treats my children. He has taken them in like his own, loving them no different than Grace.
It is almost unbearably cold outside this afternoon. While the sun is still out providing slight warmth, a cold front has made its way through the state in preparation for a wintery Thanksgiving. The evergreens are the only trees with needles or leaves left on them, and other than the occasional deer you might see on Brooks’ property, wildlife was pretty scarce. The chill is taking effect, and Brooks attempts to warm the girls by wrapping his arms around them both. They are all bundled in coats and hats, but Grace’s wide grin can still be spotted from under the mountain of fleece.
All three are intently listening to whatever story Brooks is sharing with them, but Grace’s smirk leads me to believe that she knows the tale already. I finally see Blake nod and Emma throw her arms around Brooks, knocking him back into the dead dry grass.
Feeling like I’m eavesdropping on a special moment, I turn from the window to begin chopping the vegetables on the cutting board laid out on the center island. Slicing my way through a tomato, I continue my assault on the lettuce, careful not to chop off a finger. I’m not exactly handy with a knife. The laughter from outside fills the atmosphere once more and I can’t help but feel the warmth of the situation, even with the glitches that it contains.
Bringing my knife up to settle on the top of the head of lettuce, my blade stops when the sound of the doorbell reverberates through the house. I consider stepping outside to let Brooks know, but I decide not to interrupt the special time he’s having. So instead, I set the butcher knife down carefully on the counter and head towards the front door.
I brush off any wayward food from my shirt, and wipe my hands on my jeans before reaching for the latches on the door. The solid oak door is heavy, and I have to use effort to even open it. Standing on the steps is Brooks, thirty years from now. The tall man before me is slim and has a haggard appearance, but the resemblance is undeniable; he without a doubt is related to Brooks. The dark hair that has sprinkles of white mixed throughout, and the same sapphire eyes that I love are peering back at me. I feel like I should know who he is; he seems familiar to me, but I can’t place him.
He looks nervous, shifting from one foot to the next, his hands deep in his pockets. “I’m sorry to bother you, miss,” he says, almost stuttering the words.
“Oh, no worries at all, sir, what can I help you with?” I ask. I try to alleviate some of his apprehension.
“Um, I believe my son lives here, Brooks Ryan. I was hoping to speak with him.”
Brooks has never shared much of his family dynamic with me, and this situation has caught me off guard. But I try to hide my confusion. I know that his mother and stepfather raised him, but I have never met either of them; Lakin is the only family member that I’ve ever met. I really have no idea whether this possible reunion will be a happy one or not. I haven’t talked to Brooks about the situation surrounding his real father since college.
I swallow down the hesitation that is settling in my stomach like a pile of rocks. Giving the tired man before me one more once-over, I hold the door open further and ask him to come inside. “Please, let me take your jacket. Can I offer you anything to drink before I go get Brooks?” I ask closing the door.
“No thank you, I’m just hoping to speak with him,” he says, handing over his dingy blue coat that’s lined with wool; it’s obviously warm, but has definitely seen better days. The rest of his clothes look relatively new, dark jeans and a green flannel button down shirt. I get the feeling that this is his version of dressy and he’s gone to the trouble for just this occasion.
I hang his jacket on the coat hooks in the entry hallway and lead him into the living room. I look over my shoulder to ask if Brooks was expecting him.
“No, miss, I haven’t seen him in many years, and I’ve tried contacting him recently, but I could never reach him. I thought my only chance would be to show up here. I don’t want to cause any problems; I just wanted to see him.” His voice tapers off at the end; his gait slouched in defeat. I don’t know why they don’t have a relationship, and it’s not my place to meddle, but in this moment, I feel pity for both of them to have missed out on the bond that a son shares with his father.
I gesture for him to take a seat on the couch, and he obliges. I stay standing, ready to gather everyone from outside. Dinner has to be close to being ready, so I’ll keep the kids in the kitchen with me while Brooks and his dad discuss whatever he came here for. I turn to leave, realizing that I hadn’t even asked him his name. I face him once more.
“I’m sorry; I’ve completely lost my manners,” I say, reaching for his hand. “My name is Vivian; I don’t believe I caught yours.”
He smiles at me and lets his hand meet mine. “Nice to meet you; my name is Raymond. Raymond Michaels.”
As the name that has been embedded in my mind my entire life rolls off his tongue, I feel my body go completely rigid. Everything clicks into place as images of the mug shots, police line-up, and evidence photos flood my mind. He’s older and rougher around the edges, but I can now see the man from those photos in the man sitting before me. Every bit of my air is knocked out of my lungs, and I can feel the color drain from my face. The knots in my stomach feel like boulders weighing me down, and I try to hold myself up, but my shaky legs give out and I stumble backwards, hitting the arm of the couch, gripping it to steady myself.
Over the last month, I had given a lot of thought to this moment. What would I do if I ever came in contact with this man? What would I have the courage to say? I would pride myself on keeping my emotions in check. But with the realization that the monster of my childhood is not only in Brooks’ house, but is also his father, all of the bravery dissipates and I feel the overwhelming need to flee.
Raymond begins to stand, sensing my discomfort. “Vivian, are you all right; are you ill?” he asks, taking a step forward.
My knuckles are white, the upholstery straining under my vice-like grip. I try to compose myself by taking a deep breath. I move quickly before he can close any more of the distance between us. “I’m fine, just got a little dizzy. Let me go get Brooks for you.”
“Thank you, dear, it really was nice to meet you. You seem lovely.”
I simply nod; any words I have saved for this man fail to make it past my lips. I turn and rush into the kitchen. Without checking dinner, I shut off the oven and then open the backdoor.
“Brooks, you need to come inside; you have a visitor waiting for you. Kids, come on in; we need to go home.” I try to yell, but my voice is strained by the tears I’m keeping at bay.
Everyone turns to look at me in confusion. “Who could possibly be here?” Brooks says as the kids groan. “Do we really have to leave? We haven’t even gotten to eat dinner, and Brooks has a big surprise for you,” Blake adds.
Brooks gives him a stern look that relays the message, ‘say one more word and you’ll regret opening your mouth.’ I ignore them all, solely focusing on my objective of getting the hell out of this house and away from Brooks, who intentionally kept this information from me. I feel betrayed–again–and this time I’m not sure if I can forgive him.
“What’s going on? Who’s here, Viv; why do you guys need to leave?” Brooks implores, stepping in the direction of the house.
My emotions are hanging on by a thread, and when the final fiber breaks, my composure melts away. “Stop asking questions!” I shout. “Blake and Emma, get in this house; we need to leave now.” The children startle at my outburst, but Brooks glides towards me. He captures the backs of my arms just as a sob breaks free, and I quickly cover it with the back of my hand. I feel his eyes roaming my face, looking for an explanation, but I refuse to let my eyes meet his.
“Please,” he murmurs. “What’s going on?” The pleading in his voice feels like sandpaper scraping against my skin. I push away from him, out of the arms that have made me feel safe; away from the man that I love that has once again broken my heart.
The children move past us and into the kitchen; once they are beyond earshot, I finally make eye contact with Brooks. “I think you know why I’m leaving.” I try to be strong and confident with each word, but as the sentence tumbles from my lips, my voice sounds like a mere whisper.
His eyes widen when he realizes I’ve discovered his secret. He takes a step forward, trying in vain to reach for me once again. “No, please no!” he says as I move away from his grasp. “Please, let me explain; please don’t go.”
Swallowing down every bit of hesitation, I turn away from my defeated man. “I’ll take Grace with me; she doesn’t need to be here right now. I’ll call Katie and have her pick her up in the morning.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Brooks’ head down, his beaten posture slouched. He slightly nods, but I don’t move right away. I stand still, just looking at him for a moment, contemplating the gravity of the situation. I feel myself questioning my decision to leave him, to walk out the door. Can I really walk away? The reasons for his decade-long betrayal seep into my mind. Did he do it because of his love for me, or because of his fear of me not understanding?
Brooks brings his hands to his face, rubbing his palms harshly across his evening stubble. When he finally looks up to see me still standing there, my mind snaps back into the present. Finding my voice, steady and strong, I address him once last time. “When the lies run, Brooks, I hope the truth finally sets you free.” Before he can speak, I turn on my heel, briskly leaving the kitchen.
Brooks doesn’t follow me, and I don’t bother going back into the living room to give my goodbyes. I meet the kids at the door where all three have congregated. I let Grace know she’s staying at our house instead, and we all leave. It’s not until I hear the click of the door behind me that I finally let my tears run down my cheeks. I walk away from the house, believing I’m walking away from love.
