I feel like I've kept you guys waiting long enough after that last part--you know how I love my chapter cliffhangers--so I won't waste time. I'll cut straight to it.
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Part 80
Maria flinched. “What was that?” She’d heard something, and her maternal instinct immediately began palpitating.
“What was what?” Tess asked.
She waited a moment, then heard Michael yell from downstairs, “Maria, get down here!”
She set her laptop aside and sprang from the bed, running downstairs, Tess following her.
“What’s going on?” she asked, panicked. She scanned the room, but nothing looked wrong. “Is everything . . .” And that was when she noticed the object in Michael’s hand. A gun. A very realistic-looking gun. “What . . .” Why was there a gun in her house? She’d never even seen a real gun before. “Where did you get that?”
“Miley got it,” he said. “Out of her aunt’s purse.”
“What?” Maria whirled around, staring at her friend accusingly.
“Tess, what’s going on?” Kyle asked, his voice shaking with nervousness. “Why do you have that?”
“Is that thing real?” Maria shrieked, rushing into the living room to scoop Miley up into her arms. She didn’t look hurt, just worried that she was in trouble.
Tess wrapped her arms around herself, taking a few steps backward. Maria took that a yes.
“Is it loaded?”
“The-the safety’s on,” Tess stuttered.
“The safety?” That was a word that, in her mind, had no connection with a gun.
“And what if it gets switched off?” Michael asked.
“It won’t,” she assured him. “It’s safe.”
“Guns aren’t safe, Tess!” Maria roared, marching back towards her so-called friend. “Especially not when three-year old girls find them!” She turned to Michael and asked, “Did she pick it up?”
He nodded.
“Oh my god.” More drama in the young life of her daughter.
“I’m confused,” Ed joined in, rising slowly from the kitchen table. “When did you get a gun?”
“Yeah,” Kyle said, “that’s what I’d like to know.”
“Fuck that,” Maria snapped, unable to censor herself even with her kids in the room. “Why’d you bring it near my kids?”
“Um, you know, Miley,” Marty said, quickly getting up, “I’d love to go upstairs and listen to all your Hannah Montana CDs right now. Can we do that?”
Miley nodded slowly.
“You know, I’d like that, too,” Sylvia said, picking Macy up out of her highchair. “Come on, John.” They all followed Miley upstairs. Marty had to come back and drag Amy along with them.
When it was just the four of them and Ed, Michael asked, “Why do you have a gun, Tess?” He was obviously trying his hardest to stay calm, but Maria could tell he wasn’t.
“I bought it a couple days ago,” Tess replied quietly. “It’s for protection.”
“Protection from what?” Maria roared. There weren’t any dangers in her house, or at least there hadn’t been until now.
“Every woman should have one,” Tess said, sounding like a pamphlet. “You never know what could happen.”
“Have you been taking crazy pills?” There was no way this girl was the same girl from the friendship DVD they’d just been watching.
“It’s not crazy to think that something could happen,” she said. “It happened to you.”
“Oh, so if I’d had a gun, I would’ve, what, shot Max?”
“If you’d had the chance.”
“I don’t wanna be a part of this,” Kyle mumbled, shaking his head on his way towards the door.
“Kyle, stay here,” Maria barked. He was her husband. He had to be a part of it.
“No, let him go,” Tess said. “If he’s not mad . . .”
And upon hearing that, Kyle came marching back, his eyes blazing. “Are you kidding? Of course I’m mad. I’m furious. I’m so god-damned pissed at you right now, because you’ve changed so much. You’re like a stranger to me. I don’t even wanna look at you anymore, because all I see is the woman you used to be. And I’d do anything to have her back.”
Tess tried to blink back tears, but a few spilled over.
“You brought a gun into this house,” Michael said, staying on topic, “and none of us can even fathom why. I mean, it’s not like you need to be protected from anything here.”
“Well, what’s the point of having a gun if you don’t have it with you all times?” she argued.
“What’s the point in owning a gun if it’s gonna put your niece’s life in danger?” Maria shouted. “Do you even realize how serious this is?”
“Of course, but . . . nothing happened,” Tess whimpered.
“That’s not the point! God, I hate you so much right now!” She raked her hands through her hair, feeling lightheaded. This was just too much to deal with. It seemed too unbelievable to be real.
“I can’t even stand to hold this thing anymore,” Michael said, slipping it back inside her purse. He handed it back to her, and she slung it over her shoulder, thoroughly crying now.
“Tessie . . .” Ed interjected again. His voice was even, calm, and as always, fatherly. “Were you attacked?”
Tess immediately stopped crying. Hesitatingly, she sputtered, “What—what do you mean?”
“Did someone hurt you?” he rephrased.
She just stared at him for a moment, then laughed as though the suggestion were ridiculous. “No, of course not.”
Maria breathed a sigh of relief, although as much as she hated to admit it . . . she’d almost been hoping that was the case. Because then at least they’d be able to figure out what was wrong with her.
“Of course not,” Tess repeated evenly. “And I wanna keep it that way. That’s why I have the gun.”
Maria shook her head, so completely and utterly disappointed with the girl she considered to be her sister that she couldn’t even bear to look at her anymore. She leaned against Michael, worried that her legs were going to give out on her at any moment.
“I’m sorry,” Tess finally apologized. “I didn’t mean to cause any problems. I didn’t mean to ruin everything. I didn’t mean for Miley to . . .” She trailed off, and her eyes widened as the gravity of the situation seemed to hit her, the knowledge of what happened and what could have happened. “Oh god, I’m so sorry!” she cried, running out of the house. Sorry didn’t cut it, though. The depression and the dark hair and the failed intervention all paled in comparison to this. This was something unforgiveable.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was probably a good thing Kyle hadn’t gone ahead and bought the fudge considering the fact that Christmas dinner was cut short upon the discovery of Tess’s gun. Everyone left, and Maria pretty much cried from the moment they were gone onward. Michael wished he could say or do something to make her feel better, but he was still trying to make sense of the situation himself. He wasn’t quite as close to Tess as Maria was, but she was one of his best friends, too, and a part of his family. And she was unrecognizable.
He sat next to Maria on their bed that evening, rubbing her back while she sobbed into her pillow. He was hoping the crying would tire her out so that she could go to sleep and get some much needed rest, but she didn’t seem close to stopping.
“Mama?”
Maria kept crying, but Michael glanced up when he heard Miley come into the room. She was carrying the Barbies Kyle had given her and wearing the new Hannah Montana pajamas Marty had given her.
“Sweetie, what’re you still doing up?” he asked quietly, getting up off the bed. He took her outside and shut the door so that she didn’t have to see her mom crying. “It’s late, and you had a busy day. I thought you’d be fast asleep by now.”
She held her dolls tightly against her chest, looking down at the floor and pouting. “Is Mama sad?”
“Yeah. Yeah, she’s just a little sad.” Hell, he was sad, too, but he was trying not to show it.
“Is Aunt Tess in trouble?”
For such a little kid, she was extremely perceptive and clearly concerned.
“Uh, I . . . I don’t know,” he replied, not quite sure how to answer that. “Maybe.” They were going to have a long talk about the dangers of guns tomorrow and rehash the 911 system; of that much he was sure. “I don’t really know what’s going on with your aunt right now, but we’re gonna find out and help her get better, so don’t worry, okay?” He tried to smile encouragingly.
“Can I help?” she asked.
God, she was a sweet kid. “Yeah, you can-you can help a lot,” he promised. “You help everyone just by being who you are, you know that?”
She rubbed her foot in circles on the hardwood floor, mumbling, “Yeah.”
“Yeah?” He laughed a little. So she wasn’t modest. Didn’t need to be.
She yawned and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands.
“Come on, let’s get you back to bed,” he said, taking her hand and leading her down the hallway. Somebody in that house had to get a good night’s rest after everything that had gone down that day.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The next day, Maria got out of bed and trudged through her morning routine. Shower, dress, make breakfast, throw the laundry in. Usually she squeezed makeup in there somewhere, but since she was on Christmas break, she figured to hell with it. Why not go the natural route, especially since she was likely to cry it all off after going to see Tess?
While Michael took the girls to the park to play in the mountains of snow that were supposedly gathered there, she went over to Tess and Kyle’s. She could see Tess’s footprints in the snow from when she’d run back there yesterday after the incident, along with Kyle’s heavier footprints from when he’d followed her out a few minutes later.
Kyle was sitting out on his porch when she got there, pretending to blow out smoke into the air when, in reality, his breath was only showing in the cold. He attempted to smile when he saw her, but it came out more like a grimace.
She leaned against the porch railing, peering down at him. “Have you talked to her?”
He shook his head dejectedly. “Nope. Wouldn’t even know what to say. Ed tried talking to her all night last night, but . . . nothing. I practically had to shove him out the door this morning. He didn’t wanna go. He’s really worried about her.”
Maria nodded in understanding. If Ed came back to town in about a week just to check up on his daughter, she wouldn’t be surprised. He’d probably be calling her non-stop until then.
“He’s talking about getting her into rehab,” Kyle revealed.
That sounded so . . . unsettling and extreme. And possibly necessary. “Rehab for what?”
Kyle shrugged. “Whatever’s wrong with her.”
“But we don’t know what’s wrong with her,” she pointed out.
“Well, maybe that’s something they can figure out at rehab.”
Maria sighed heavily, hating the sound of this. Rehab. That was, like, a Lindsay Lohan place, not a Tess place.
“She won’t go,” she said, fairly certain that no one could make Tess do anything against her will right now.
“Then I don’t know what to do. Maybe we should just let her work it out on her own,” he suggested.
“Except that hasn’t worked so far.” They had to try something new. “I’ve known her longer than you have, Kyle. She’s never been like this. And I feel like we’ve just been sweeping it under the rug and deluding ourselves into thinking she’s getting better, but she’s not. And what if she never does?” It was a grim possibility, but a possibility nonetheless.
“Honestly?” Kyle said, looking away as if he were ashamed. “I don’t know if that’s something I can live with.”
Maria shuddered, not because of the cold, but because the reality of the situation finally hit her. Her family was potentially breaking apart.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Whenever Tess managed to get to sleep, she had a nightmare. It was the same one each time: Miley, picking up the gun, accidentally turning off the safety, and then shooting herself. She kept waking up from it quickly, but not quickly enough. The image of what could have happened was plastered on every corner of her mind.
She had just jolted awake from the fifth version of that same dream when Maria came into the bedroom, arms crossed over her chest, an angry scowl etched on her face.
“I’m really tired,” Tess murmured, pulling the covers up tighter around herself.
“Too bad,” Maria dismissed.
Tess grunted, surprised by this new approach her friend seemed to be taking: anger. But of course she had every right to be angry. “Look, I didn’t get any sleep last night.”
“Neither did I.” Maria sauntered into the room, looking around. “Where’s the gun?”
“In the drawer,” Tess said, motioning towards her nightstand. It was well within reach in case she needed it. “I’ll never bring it over to your place again, I promise.”
“Assuming you ever step foot in my house again, which, at this point, is uncertain.”
God, I hope she’s exaggerating, Tess thought desperately, but she wasn’t sure if she was or not. Maybe she really meant it. That would be . . . simultaneously distressing and relieving. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, feeling as though she couldn’t say it enough. What she had done was unacceptable, and she knew that.
“Me, too,” Maria said, “for calling you crazy. But I’m not sorry for reacting the way I did. You brought a loaded gun around my children.”
“I know.” She felt sick about it, about her carelessness.
“First the pool, now this?”
“I would never hurt them.”
“Not intentionally, no. But still . . .” Maria glared at her, her eyes brimming with tears. “I can’t trust you anymore. And you’re my best friend, the person I should be able to trust no matter what.”
“Okay, then, tell me . . . tell me, what can I do? What can I say to regain your trust?” Tess practically begged. “Tell me and I’ll do it.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if this is something I can forgive or forget,” Maria admitted tearfully. “I just . . . I want you to let me back in. Please. Did you do something, or was something done to you? I don’t . . .”
Tess flinched, but Maria didn’t notice it.
“I feel like I’m the only one making an effort here,” Maria said, sounding slightly angry again.
“So what’re you saying?” Tess asked. “If I’m not my usual blonde, bubbly self, we can’t be friends anymore?”
“If you’re not you,” Maria corrected, “then . . . yeah, maybe we can’t.”
Tess shuddered. Whoever had raped her had taken a lot more than her body that night. He was taking everything.
“And it’s not just me that feels this way, you know,” Maria went on. “It’s Kyle, too. He’s gonna leave you.”
Tess’s entire body clenched. Kyle. . .
“Not tomorrow, not the next day, but someday . . . he won’t be able to take it anymore,” Maria said sadly. “Can’t say I blame him.”
“Did he say that?” Tess asked.
“Not in so many words. He loves you, but not knowing you anymore . . . it’s killing him.”
The last thing she’d ever wanted to do was hurt Kyle. She knew she should open up to her family about what happened to her that night, but . . . for some reason, she just couldn’t. It was too hard, too painful. And she’d kept it a secret for so long now that the prospect of revealing it literally frightened her. Maria of all people should have understood secrets since she was keeping quite the substantial one of her own.
“You’ve basically got two options,” Maria said. “Either stay this way and end up alone or . . . don’t. It’s as simple as that.”
“It’s not simple,” Tess argued.
“So make it simple, whatever ‘it’ is,” Maria told her sternly. “Listen, in a few more months, I’m gonna have another baby. And since Michael’s an only child and my only sibling is a gay man, you’re this child’s one shot at having an aunt. If you decide that’s something you wanna be . . . we’ll be waiting.”
She watched Maria leave, wishing she could just be Aunt Tess again. But she felt like she’d forgotten how.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Max blew on his hands, rubbing them together to warm them up as he and Isabel walked through the cemetery that afternoon. The wind had picked up, making it feel colder outside than it actually was, and he hadn’t dressed warmly. Luckily this wouldn’t take long.
“Well, as far as Christmases go, this one . . . sucked,” he declared.
“Garret enjoyed it.”
“I guess that’s all that matters.”
Isabel smirked and mused, “I wonder what Liz did to celebrate. Or who.”
“Whom,” he corrected. That grammar slip-up right there was why he’d been valedictorian.
“You think she’ll meet any Brandons in Missouri?”
He clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “No. We’re not divorced; we’re separated.”
“So?”
“So, she’s not doing anyone. We’re gonna try to work things out when we . . . un-separate.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“Screw this,” he grunted. “I’m going home.” He didn’t even know why he’d agreed to come along in the first place. He hated spending time with his sister.
“No, we came to remove the VFW’s free wreath from Dad’s tombstone, and that’s exactly what we’re gonna do,” she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him back before he could walk away. “Remember that Christmas I asked for a cash register and he gave you one instead?”
He thought back. “Yeah. Root of all your problems?”
“No,” she said. “My problems started before that.”
He frowned, confused. They’d been four that year. How could she have had any problems any younger?
They got to his grave and stared at it for a few seconds. Neither of them had ever gotten to look down on their father prior to his death. Now they could only hope that he was looking up at them from the pit fires of hell.
Isabel removed the wreath the VFW had put on all the tombstones and noticed the damage Max had done the other day with the shovel. It was technically vandalism, even though it was his own dad’s grave. He was surprised no one had reported it yet.
“Well, looks like you did something right for a change,” his sister remarked bitingly. “You should’ve invited me along. We probably could’ve done a lot more damage together.”
We probably could’ve, Max thought, remaining at the grave after Isabel started back towards the car. Maybe if they’d teamed up all those years ago, they could have fought back against their father’s tyranny. But they hadn’t.
Max spit on the ground, hoping his father’s crusty skeleton could somehow feel it. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to be separated from Liz, yet they were. He did, on the other hand, want to be as separated from his father as he possibly could be. Yet they were still very much connected.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael went downstairs the next morning, yawning. He knew he had to go to the gallery for post-Christmas sales, but he wasn’t looking forward to it. He wanted to spend the day with Maria because he knew how upset she still was about Tess.
She was already awake. He found her in the living room, taking the decorations off their Christmas tree. She was so intent on what she was doing that she didn’t even hear him.
“You’re taking down the tree?” he said, phrasing it as a question even though the answer was obvious.
“Yep.”
He frowned confusedly. “Don’t we usually leave it up ‘til New Year’s?”
“Usually, but not this year.” She unwrapped a long strand of garland and coiled it up in a box atop the beads. “I wanna remove all reminders of that day.”
“But it was a good day,” he protested, a little sad to see their tree coming down so soon, “until . . . it wasn’t.”
She spun around, her eyes swirling with emotion. “Michael, I might look back at Christmas 2012 as the day I lost my best friend. It wasn’t a good day.”
Okay, he registered, taking a few steps back, she’s not in a good mood.
“Sorry,” she apologized reluctantly, “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just . . . I have a lot on my mind.”
“I’ve noticed.” He’d meant to ask her about it, but with everything going on with Tess, both their stress levels had multiplied. “Wanna tell me about it?”
“Oh, you know . . .” She trailed off and whirled her hands around in a circle. “Just the-the woes of student teaching.” She closed the decorations box and sat down on the arm of the couch, staring at the halfway disassembled tree. “Santa Fe South is gonna eat me alive. It’s this huge public school where half the seniors don’t graduate.”
He stood next to her, trailing his fingers through her hair. “Good thing you’re not teaching seniors then.”
“No, I’m teaching second-graders, which is, like, the worst grade. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Math. They do math in second grade.”
He laughed and pointed out, “They do math in every grade.”
“But I remember learning subtraction in second grade,” she wailed, “and it was the hardest thing ever. And my cooperating teacher sent me this email letting me know I should prepare some multiplication lessons, too. Multiplication? Seriously? Next thing you know, they’ll want me to do division. I’m not cut out for this!”
“Sure you are,” he assured her, draping his arm across her shoulders. “We’ll make you some flash cards. You’ll be fine.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Max’s hangover was in full force when he woke up to a knock on his door that morning. Throbbing, pulsating son of a bitch that hangover was. He hadn’t even drunk that much. Maybe he was becoming a lightweight. A pathetic lightweight. He got more and more pathetic all the time.
He stopped thinking about his hangover altogether when he opened the door to his trailer and saw Tess standing outside. She was bundled up in a puffy black coat that took away all her petite curves, and she still had the gothic hair and makeup going on. What a shame.
“Well, this is odd,” he remarked. “I thought you were scared of me.”
She gave him a confused look.
“Last time I saw you, you said, ‘Don’t touch me, you’re a rapist,’” he reminded her.
“Well, you’re not my rapist.” She slipped past him and came inside, making sure no part of her body came into contact with his. Maybe she wasn’t scared, but she seemed a little spooked.
“Your ex-boyfriend. What’s the difference?” he wondered.
She took off her coat and set it on the couch. “You’re the only person I can talk to right now without feeling ashamed.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s not,” she informed him readily.
“But I’ll take it that way.” The fact that she’d even referred to him as a person rather than a monster was a good thing.
“How did my life get this bad?” she groaned, raking her hands through her jet black tresses. “It used to be so good, and now . . .” She sighed and shook her head. “My dad actually thinks I should go to rehab. Can you believe that?”
“Rehab for what?” he asked. “Sex addiction? Alcohol?” He knew it wasn’t either of those things, so he waited a moment before saying, “Rape?”
She tensed up and didn’t say anything.
So she wasn’t ready to say it out loud. He knew it was true. “There’s nothing wrong with rehab,” he said with a shrug. “Hell, I’ve been thinking about checking myself in for a weekend. A little mental health evaluation never hurt anyone.”
“Let me save you the trouble: You’re mentally unhealthy, Max.”
“I know. I still might spend a weekend, though. I’d like to get out of this trailer for awhile.”
“Why don’t you get an apartment?” she suggested.
“Why don’t you get some guts,” he shot back, retargeting the conversation, “tell your family what happened to you?”
She rolled her eyes. “They wouldn’t understand.”
“Uh, Maria would,” he pointed out.
“No, she wouldn’t,” Tess insisted. “She wouldn’t understand why I could talk to you but not her. To tell you the truth, I don’t even understand.”
He suspected he did, though. “You don’t wanna tell them because then there’s no turning back,” he said. “They’ll wanna find the guy who did this to you and put him away. Which isn’t a bad idea, except that’ll drag out this whole thing and make it feel like it’s never gonna be over. They’ll want justice, but all you want is to forget it ever happened. Am I right?”
She swallowed hard, looking down at her feet.
“But you never will,” he promised. Hell, Isabel hadn’t forgotten about the Christmas cash register she’d never received. Some memories never went away. “You should tell them, Tess.” He could tell by the sullen look in her eyes, though, that he wasn’t getting through to her. He wasn’t especially helpful by nature, so offering up advice wasn’t easy. And it was even harder when he was trying to help someone who didn’t really want to be helped.
TBC . . .
-April
522 (CC/UC, AU, Adult, COMPLETE, 09/01/13)
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Part 81
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Ellie: You poor thing! Are you feeling better now? Being sick is no fun.
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Catherine: Hey, you! I'm glad to see you're still poking around this site. I didn't know you were reading. Are you still writing at all?
Thanks for the feedback! And thank you to anyone who nominated me for the fan fiction awards, whether it was for this fic, 521, the ficlet Car Crashes, or the made-you-pull-your-hair-out Passion. Thanks!
Part 81
Isabel took Alex’s favorite t-shirt out of the dryer and cringed. Yep, she’d definitely shrunk it. Oh, well. She couldn’t find it in herself to care.
She tossed the t-shirt into the heaping laundry basket without folding it, shut the dryer door, and spun around, nearly colliding with her husband.
“Whoa, sorry,” he said, stepping back. “Guess what, I’ve got good news.”
“Really?” This was intriguing. She set the laundry basket down, hoping it was a windfall of cash. “What?”
“My dad’s being released from prison.”
“Oh.” Definitely not a windfall. “When?”
“Two months.” He smiled from ear to ear. “Garret’s finally gonna have a grandparent.”
“And a white collar criminal one at that.” She understood that Alex and his father had had a very close relationship before the incarceration and all, but this wasn’t good news as far as she was concerned. Now she was going to have to deal with Chuck Whitman, who was an even bigger dork than his son was. And he was poor now, too, so it wasn’t as though he had anything to offer them. Just another burden.
“He’s reformed,” Alex informed her, “found God.”
“They always do.” If the man tried to indoctrinate Garret with some crazy Christian theology, they were going to have issues. She picked up the laundry basket again and walked past Alex, out into the living room to fold the clothes up before putting them away.
“You know,” Alex said, following her, “I was thinking, now that he’s getting out, this might be time for us to think about going back to Florida.”
She picked a washcloth out of the basket and folded it into four quadrants. “Like on vacation?”
“No, like permanently.”
She dropped the washcloth onto the floor.
“I always thought we’d move back there.”
The idea of moving away from Michael, being so far away from him geographically . . . she couldn’t handle it. “You did?”
“Yeah. I know we haven’t really talked about it, but now that we’re actually getting along again . . .” He trailed off, sounding hopeful.
“I don’t know if I really like Florida,” she said, picking the washcloth up off the floor. “The weather’s too . . . nice.”
He chuckled. “The weather?”
She continued folding the laundry, deliberately not looking at him. The state itself wasn’t a problem. She actually preferred Florida to New Mexico any day, as most people would. But the lack of Michael Guerin there was just intolerable. The fact that Alex even suggested such a ridiculous thing made it clear to her that he was becoming way too complacent.
“Come on, Isabel,” Alex urged, wrapping his arms around her waist. She wanted to chop those arms off in that moment. “We were happy there.”
You were happy, she wanted to say. I was pretending to be.
Much to her relief, Garret came galloping into the room with a toy airplane Max had given him for Christmas, making ‘vroom’ sounds.
“Hey, Garret,” Alex said before springing the obvious question on him. “How do you feel about moving to Florida?”
Garret stopped playing. “What’s that?”
“It’s another state, buddy, near the ocean.”
Isabel rolled her eyes. He was so clearly trying to entice him, so she added, “Sometimes it has hurricanes.”
Garret thought about it for a minute, then asked, “Is Uncle Max coming with us?”
“Uh, no,” Alex replied, “probably not.”
“Then I wanna stay here.” He raised his airplane in the air and started playing again.
Isabel breathed an internal sigh of relief. Saved by the son. She’d have to remember to thank him later. “Well, you heard him,” she said, confident that they wouldn’t be going anywhere now. After years of being a drunken, deadbeat dad, Alex owed it to his son to let him stay put.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
This was a mistake, Tess thought, rounding the block to Alvarado Street. She’d thought that she could take George out for a walk that evening and get back before the sun set, but he’d had to pee on every stop sign, fire hydrant, and bush he came across.
“Come on, George,” she said, nervously tapping her foot on the sidewalk while George sniffed at the neighbors’ mailbox. “It’s getting dark out.” Her house was just a little way down the street, but she hated the thought of being outside at all during the night. She remembered watching a documentary one time about why human beings feared the dark. It had something to do with the sense of sight being diminished or stripped away, sensory deprivation or something. That coupled with the new, deeply-rooted fear of being raped again made Tess extremely anxious.
Finally George did his business and they were on their way again. Tess walked quickly, tugging him along on his leash, but she startled when she heard footsteps joining hers. Instinct screamed at her to run, but determination told her to stay and fight off whoever it was. She reached into her purse, inconspicuously grabbed her pepper spray, and spun around, aiming it directly into the face of . . .
Maria?
“Whoa!” Maria shouted, jumping back. “You almost pepper-sprayed me!”
“Sorry.”
“I guess it’s better than a gun.”
Tess noted that she had Frank with her. “Looks like we had the same idea.”
“Yeah, well, he’s obese. He needs the exercise.” Maria continued on her way, and Tess walked along with her. The night wasn’t quite as scary when she wasn’t alone.
“So what’re you and Michael doing for New Year’s?” she asked, doing her best to small-talk. She couldn’t even remember the last time she and Maria had small-talked.
“I’m not sure. Kind of a big day for us, though.”
“Yeah.” New Year’s was also when Michael and Maria celebrated their anniversary, since they’d had their first kiss at midnight four years ago. “You should do something fun. No drinking, though.”
“Definitely not.” Maria rubbed her stomach, sighing. “I still haven’t told him yet.”
“Then you should tell him on New Year’s,” she suggested. “I mean, what a good way to start off 2013, right?”
Maria thought about it for a minute, then smiled a little. “You know, that’s actually a brilliant idea. I’ll do it. No backing out this time, because according to Sylvia, I’m already starting to show.”
“No, you’re not,” Tess assured her as they came upon her house. “Well . . .”
Maria gave her an awkward wave and continued up the sidewalk to her own house.
Tess sighed heavily. At least this hadn’t been a hostile encounter, although they hadn’t had their usual best friend vibe, either.
“Tess,” Maria called.
She spun around.
“You should take your own advice. Whatever you’re not telling us, tell Kyle on New Year’s, start 2013 off with a clean slate.”
Tess nodded slowly, but she knew she wouldn’t do it. The difference between Maria’s secret and hers was that Maria’s was good news. There was nothing good about disclosing she’d been raped.
They both went inside without another word.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Isabel pretended to be asleep already when Alex came into the bedroom that night and sat down at the computer. She watched through half-closed eyes as he first tried to upload his favorite porn website, then noticed a minimized Internet window at the bottom of the screen. He clicked on it and saw exactly what she wanted him to see: Billy’s Youtube video of the ‘Isabel’ song.
Alex turned the volume way down and listened to it for a minute, casting an inquisitive glance over at her. She pretended to stir and rolled over onto her other side so that he couldn’t see her face. It took everything she had not to let out cackling laughter. She hadn’t really been listening to that song, but it didn’t hurt to make Alex believe she had. He was getting way too comfortable with the current state of their marriage, first telling her he loved her and then suggesting a move to Florida. She had to keep him on his toes, had to make sure he always knew he wasn’t irreplaceable and that he definitely wasn’t powerful. Her husband was one of the few things in her life she still had control over, and she didn’t intend to let that control slip away.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael and Kyle both had the same idea the next morning: shoveling the sidewalk. It had snowed again last night, but the sun was beaming down now, helping to melt some of it.
“What’s with the weather?” Michael said, scooping a pile of snow up, throwing it down in his yard. Miley would probably want to build a snow fort out of it later, but he probably wasn’t going to have time. He had things to do. Important things.
“Yeah, one minute it’s snowing; the next . . . perfect weather,” Kyle agreed, breathing in deeply. “Smells like springtime.”
“Looks like wintertime,” Michael mumbled. He remembered loving snow as a kid, even though he’d gotten to experience it so infrequently. It was funny how, as an adult, he thought of things differently. Now whenever he thought of snow, igloos and sledding weren’t the first things that came to mind. Shoveling and driving on ice were.
“You know,” Kyle said, wiping pretend sweat off his brow, “they say weird weather’s a sign of the apocalypse.”
Michael gave him a look. “The apocalypse?”
“I’m just saying, we still have a few days left of 2012. It’s not too late for the world to end, for the Mayans to point their fingers at us and say ‘Told you so, dumbasses.’”
“Well, it’s nice that we have that to look forward to.” Michael lifted another mound of snow into his yard. This sucked. He didn’t have time for this. Couldn’t the weather just cooperate? “So, uh . . .” He tried to casually switch the subject. “What’re you doing for New Year’s?”
“I don’t know,” Kyle replied, digging his shovel into a tightly packed down pile of snow. “Usually Tess and I go out. Or stay in. You know, stay in. But somehow I doubt she’s gonna wanna do either of those things this year. So I guess I’ll just watch Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve, ‘cause mine won’t be so rockin’.” He shrugged, apparently accepting of that fact. “What about you?”
“Marty wants Maria and I to go to his club. Apparently he hired some Lady Gaga impersonator to sing . . . whatever Lady Gaga sings.”
“What, you don’t like Gaga?” Kyle looked offended.
“Not particularly, no.”
“Screw you, man. She’s a prophet.”
Michael laughed a little at his friend’s bad taste in music. “The thing is, since it’s our anniversary, too, I was kinda thinking we might do something . . . bigger.”
“Oh, yeah?” Kyle started shoveling again. “Like what?”
“Well, I was kinda thinking we might get married.”
Kyle dropped the shovel, nearly slipping the snow and ice. “Whoa. That’s . . . definitely bigger.”
Michael nodded in agreement.
“And this idea just . . . popped into your head?”
“Well, it didn’t exactly pop,” Michael said, wanting to make it clear that this wasn’t just some spur of the moment, not fully thought-out decision. “I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks now. Maria’s been so stressed, and she’s gonna start student teaching soon, so I don’t think she’s gonna have the time or energy to plan a post-graduation wedding like we talked about. Besides, we’ve been engaged for almost two years now. What’re we waiting for?”
“I don’t know, the right time, I guess.”
“Maybe the right time’s right now.” He couldn’t think of a better day for it than the day that not only started the next year of their lives but also celebrated the years they’d been together.
“This is huge,” Kyle said, grinning. “You talked to her about it?”
“Not yet. I want it to be a surprise.” It was possible that she’d resent him for not talking to her about it in advance, but he was kind of banking on her finding it cute. “I just . . . I wanna give her something special this year, something she really wants. And Maria only really wants three things.”
“Sex, her college diploma, and a wedding ring?” Kyle guessed.
“Pretty much. And hey, I can give her two out of the three, so . . .” He trailed off, feeling bad that he hadn’t married her sooner. Stuff just kept getting in the way. Mostly babies. “I know we’d have to wait ‘til summer to have a honeymoon, and I know it’s really last minute, but I figure we could sort of elope . . . except with the family there.” He made a face. That didn’t really make much sense. “You know, just the immediate family, everyone that was there for Christmas.”
“I still get to be best man, right?” Kyle asked.
“Of course. And Tess . . . you know, if she wants to . . .” He knew Maria pretty well, and he knew that, regardless of what friendship problems she and Tess were dealing with, there was no one else she’d rather have as her maid of honor. “I don’t know, I just . . . I feel like I’m already married to her, but we’ve never actually had a wedding. And she deserves that. I love the girl, you know? I should’ve married her years ago.”
“Hey, better late than never, right?” Kyle slugged him in the shoulder, laughing lightly.
“Yeah, I guess.” He felt sort of . . . embarrassed, though, for not marrying her right after finding out she was pregnant with Miley. It all worked out, but she’d waited longer than she should have had to. “So what do you think? Is it romantic or just stupid?” He started to second-guess the whole plan, suddenly wondering if it was even possible to pull off a wedding in such a short amount of time, even just a small one. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?”
“No, man.”
“It is. I should just get her a necklace and call it good.”
“Uh, listen, Michael . . .” Kyle cleared his throat and placed one hand on his shoulder. “I know I’m not the greatest at giving advice sometimes; but trust me, at this point in her life . . . there’s nothing that would make Maria happier than marrying you.”
Michael smiled. That did sound encouraging.
“Just go for it, dude,” Kyle suggested. “Make it a New Year’s to remember.”
He let out a nervous, yet excited, sigh. If this was something Maria decided she wanted to do, it would be the most memorable night of their lives.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Isabel sat at the kitchen table, sorting through all the bills. There were too many of them. She was going to have to pick up more hours at the video store if they were ever going to get their heads above the turbulent water of the Financial Sea. At least Alex wasn’t going to be squandering money on alcohol anymore, though. That would help a little it.
Speak of the loser, she thought as she heard him walking downstairs. He sat down beside her, a contemplative expression on his face, and she prayed to God he wasn’t about to offer to help her with the bills. With his lack of intelligence, he’d find a way to plunge them into debt.
“I talked to Max,” he started in. “He said he’s willing to watch Garret on New Year’s Eve, so . . . so we can spend it together.”
“Great.” She made a mental note to ask Ralph if she could work on New Year’s Eve.
Alex picked up the Internet bill, looked at it for a moment, noticeably unfocused, then set it back down and asked, “So-so whatever happened to that Billy guy?”
She gave him a raised eyebrow look.
“I’m just curious.” He was obviously trying to sound unthreatened, but his entire demeanor gave him away.
“Well, I heard he got a record deal out in California,” she said, loving that her little Youtube sting had made the desired impact. “His first single’s gonna be this song he wrote about me, so we’ll probably hear it on the radio all the time.”
Alex laughed nervously.
“Gosh, wouldn’t it be funny if Billy of all people ended up making it big and becoming this fabulously rich rock star?” She smiled. Didn’t hurt to make him fear the worst, that she’d leave him for someone richer.
“Sure would,” he said, his voice wavering. “Listen, what I said the other day about moving to Florida . . . I wasn’t serious.”
“You sounded serious.”
“It was just a thought,” he clearly lied, “and I was letting it pass. But I know you and Garret like it here, so we can stay as long as you want. Or we can go wherever you want. Whenever. It’s just . . . up to you.”
“I know.” She smirked. As if he could actually get her to leave New Mexico if she didn’t want to. She still wore the pants in their relationship. Always had, always would. It was her way or the highway.
“I was just thinking it’d be nice for me to be close to my dad again,” he said. “But maybe when he’s released, we can move him out here, get him a place nearby.”
The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Alex looked discouraged. “Why not?”
“Your dad went to jail for four years and almost took you along with him,” she pointed out. “If he moves here, he might threaten what we have going on for ourselves.” She reached over and placed her hand atop his, trying to act as though she cared about what they had. “I’d hate to see anyone derail us when we’re doing so good.”
Alex sighed and nodded slowly in agreement.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said with an overt amount of cheeriness in her tone. “Maybe a few times each year, you can fly out to Florida and visit him. That way you get dear old dad and the Sunshine state all rolled into one.”
Alex swallowed hard, seemingly accepting his defeat. “Yeah, that could . . . that could work.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Shut the fucking front door!” Marty exclaimed, holding onto the dresser to keep from falling down after Michael told him the New Year’s plans. “Are you serious?”
Michael nodded. He’d spent all day yesterday getting things ready, contacting the church and the minister.
“Well, I’ll be a rat’s ass!” Marty laughed. “I never saw this coming! Aren’t you just a little hunk of soon-to-be husband? Or . . .” He reached down and grabbed Michael’s crotch. “Not so little. Hmm.”
“Uh, okay, you just grabbed my package.”
“Oh, honey . . . I meant to. The groping of a groom’s groin before the big day . . . it’s a ritual in some places.”
“Such as . . . ?”
“San Francisco.”
“Oh, of course.”
Marty giggled and hugged him. “I’m so excited. My little sister’s finally gonna become a missus.”
“Yep. Finally.” He peered around the door to make sure Maria wasn’t coming upstairs. The last thing he wanted was for her to overhear them. “So you think she’s gonna like it?”
“Heck yes! How could she not? New Year’s, anniversary, and a wedding day? That’s, like, the trifecta of romance, Big Boy.”
“I just don’t wanna overwhelm her.”
“Oh, it’ll be overwhelming,” he promised, “but in a good way. I’d love to be overwhelmed like that. When are you gonna spring it on her?”
“Tomorrow morning. Really last minute, I know, but I gotta get everything ready before then.”
“My mom?” Marty asked.
“Yeah, she and Ed know. So do my parents. I talked to them about it at Christmas, so they’ll be here. But I still gotta go get my tux, gotta get all the flowers, gotta get the rings. Oh, and you’re gonna have to be the ring-bearer, ‘cause we really don’t have anyone else.”
“No problem.” Marty seemed excited by the prospect. “Did you seriously pick out the rings without her, though?”
“We picked ‘em out together way back in June. I just finished paying for them last week. Anyway, I just thought I’d better let you know, so . . . I know you’ve got plans at your club, but . . .”
“Oh, screw the club. I’ll have Lady Gaga run things.”
Michael gave him a confused look. “Wait, you’re gonna have your Lady Gaga impersonator run the club on New Year’s?”
“Oh, he can handle it,” Marty assured him. “He’s my best bartender.”
“Oh, I see. That’s . . . he?” Now Michael was even more confused. “Your Lady Gaga impersonator is . . . not a lady?”
“Well, he will be after the surgery.”
“Okay.” Michael shook his head, trying not to picture that. “That’s . . . interesting.”
“Not half as interesting as your impending nuptials, buddy.” Marty hugged him again, probably trying to cop a feel in the process. “Wow. So this is really happening. After four years.”
“Well, if she says yes.”
Marty rolled his eyes. “She will.”
All of a sudden, Maria came into the room. “I will what?”
“Maria!” Michael’s voice came out squeaky and high-pitched. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she returned, turning back to Marty. “I will what?”
“Uh, you will . . . give your man a blow job.”
Michael smiled dazedly. That didn’t sound half bad. He didn’t have much time to waste right now, but he could afford to waste all the time in the world for that.
“Well, not with you in the room,” Maria said, motioning for Marty to leave.
“My cue to skedaddle,” he recognized. “I’ll see you two tomorrow at . . .” He shot Michael a questioning look.
Behind Maria’s back, Michael took a pen out of his pocket and scribbled down the address of the church on the palm of his hand, holding it up for Marty to see.
“Right,” Marty said, squinting to make out the letters. “TTFN, bitches.” He waved goodbye and pranced downstairs.
Maria turned to Michael and gave him a wrinkled forehead look, clearly perplexed by her brother’s behavior. He just shrugged exaggeratedly and pretended to have no clue what was going on.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Kyle stood in the doorway to the bedroom, watching Tess tear through the closet. She kept taking out dresses, holding them up to herself, and then throwing them down on the floor in a heap. She looked frustrated. She still didn’t look like herself.
“Everything alright?” he asked, sidling into the room. He hadn’t slept there for the past few nights. He’d pretended to fall asleep on the couch when, in reality, he just wasn’t sure if she wanted to share a bed with him. He wasn’t sure about anything Tess-related anymore.
“I don’t know what to wear,” she groaned, holding up a bright pink dress broached with a rhinestone rose.
“What’s wrong with that dress?” he asked.
“It’s pink.”
“Yeah, your favorite color. Or did that change, too?”
She dropped that dress down onto her ever-growing pile. “It’s just that black looks so much better with my hair.”
“Black? Tess, it’s a wedding, not a funeral.”
“I know, but . . .” She threw a black dress down on the floor without even looking at it. “I used to be so good at this.”
You used to be a lot of things, he thought sadly.
Tess sat down on her pile of dresses, sighing dramatically. “Don’t you think this is happening fast?”
“No. They’ve been engaged for almost two years.”
“Okay, not fast. Sudden,” she corrected. “Two years, and then all of a sudden, it’s just happening. Not that I’m not happy for them; it’s just . . . Maria and I haven’t had time to patch things up yet. I don’t even know if she wants me to be her maid of honor anymore.”
“She does,” Kyle assured her. “I think.” Michael had seemed pretty sure about it, and Michael was usually right about stuff. “Look, I wish I could be more reassuring, but you’ve put us all through a lot lately. Closing your studio, changing your personality, buying that gun . . .”
“Oh, so it’s all my fault. Is that what you’re saying?”
“No!”
“If you’re gonna divorce me, Kyle, just do it.”
“What, divorce?” he shrieked. Sadly, the thought had crossed his mind lately, but . . . “I’m not gonna divorce you.” Hell, maybe Michael and Maria were the ones getting married this year, but he and Tess had taken vows a long time ago, and ‘for better or worse’ was a part of them. “But Tess . . . you can’t stay like this.” He wasn’t sure what they were going to do if she did.
He made his way over to her closet and took out a strapless, pale pink dress that wasn’t quite as . . loud as the other pink one had been. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “You’ll look great in this.” She still wouldn’t look like herself, but . . . there was no way he was letting her wear black to her best friend’s wedding.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The funny thing about people who rented porn was that, for the most part, they were very, very drunk. This made working at Cockadoodle-Doo entertaining, because many a time a man would be too hammered to realize he was renting a guy-on-guy movie when he wanted (or at least was pretending to want) girl-on-girl. But it was also risky, because the customers sometimes looked as though they were about to throw up. And indeed, that was what one guy in his mid-twenties had done. Right on Isabel’s pants. She tried to salvage them in the wash, but they were a lost cause, so she stopped at a clothing store on the way to work in order to pick up replacement khaki capris. Khaki capris. Gag. Cockadoodle-Doo needed a serious wardrobe change.
She was taking her time browsing through rows of pants, in no rush to get to work and suffer through another shift of sibling rivalry with Max, when she caught sight of Michael across the street at a place called Jansen’s Formalwear. Her entire body started to heat up. She felt like she hadn’t seen the man in years. Oh, what she would have given to wake up in Maria’s position every morning, beside him, in his arms. Safe and loved.
“Hello, ma’am,” an annoying clerk said, interrupting her staring. “Can I help you find what you’re looking for today?”
Isabel almost laughed, because she was looking right at exactly what she was looking for. “I’ve already found it,” she said, never taking her eyes off him. Oh, Michael . . . He was trying on a tuxedo, standing before a full-length mirror, adjusting the cuffs. He looked absolutely gorgeous.
“Okay, then.” The clerk slipped away, apparently sensing that she was one of those customers who did not want to be bothered.
She leaned against the store window, ignoring all the people walking by on the sidewalk. Most seemed confused, as if they didn’t know if she were a mannequin or a real person. She felt like a mannequin without Michael—lifeless. But with him, she felt so alive. She would have given anything to feel that way again.
She kept watching as Kyle sauntered out of one of the dressing rooms, also wearing a tuxedo. He looked a bit more haggard than Michael, like maybe life was finally starting to take its toll on him, but all in all, he and Michael both looked excited about something. It wasn’t until Michael took a small box out of his pocket and held up two rings that Isabel connected the dots and realized where that excitement was coming from.
Oh . . . fuck.
A formalwear store. Tuxedos. Rings. That could all only mean one thing.
It was finally happening. After all these years, Michael and Maria were finally getting married. She’d dreaded it from the moment she’d seen their engagement announcement in the paper. Even before that. From the second he’d walked out of her hospital room on the day of Garret’s birth, she’d known right then and there that he was going back to that bitch and planning on making it last forever.
Apparently forever was going to be pretty soon.
“Dammit,” she swore, turning away from the window. That could have been her. If she hadn’t gone and screwed things up, she could have been the one to eagerly await that ring on her finger.
She grabbed a pair of khaki capris and ran through the store back to the dressing room. She pushed a woman aside and took the last open room, slamming the door shut. She slumped against the mirror and started to cry, quietly at first and then louder and louder. For the first time since she’d known him, she felt completely powerless over Michael. Nothing that she could say or do would have any effect whatsoever. She was a non-factor in his life. He had moved on a long time ago, and she wasn’t able to.
It wasn’t fair. She could control Alex until the end of time, manipulate him, pull his strings like the little puppet he was. But Michael’s strings were no longer within her reach. Maybe they never had been.
She pictured Michael and Maria’s wedding, and the picture made her scream.
TBC . . .
-April
Yep, that's how I roll!Well, one horrible crisis averted but we're right smack bang into another one.
You can hug and I'll shake. Or vice versa.Poor Tess. How is anybody ever going to get through to her? Is she ever going to get the help she needs? I just want to hug her and shake her and I don't know which one I want to do more.
Novy:
She has a bad habit of getting into potentially disastrous situations, doesn't she?Oh Miley. I love that kid. I just know she'll have to use that 911 and now stay away from gun skills acquiring, someday.....
Aw, thank you! And I appreciate that you keep reading and riding the roller coaster. I went into this story knowing that it was not a fic for the masses, but rather a fic for the fringes. I think only a select few are cut out for reading it.I'm sitting here reading this and thinking; wow, what happened to the days when I was really mad at Tess for trying to trick Kyle into having a baby, and now I wish she would at least get that fight back in her. Only you April. It's been quite the roller-coaster. You never know what will happen. I love it. It's why I keep reading.
Ellie: You poor thing! Are you feeling better now? Being sick is no fun.
I think that, if I ever have a kid whose life is that dramatic, I'll have a heart attack before her fourth birthday.Anyway, I'm just grateful that Michael got to Miley before the ANYTHING happened with the gun. Thank GOD for that! That girl ... oy! She's gonna cause me to go gray before 36 ... and she's a fictional character, not a real life kid.
Neve:
I know. I think their lives have been so good for so long that it's almost hard for them to even remember that horrible things like this can happen. I don't think they want to even consider it.How could they not tell she was lying then? It was so obvious.
Oh, yeah. More on that in this part.All the while, I think that Isabel is slowly cracking too.
Catherine: Hey, you! I'm glad to see you're still poking around this site. I didn't know you were reading. Are you still writing at all?
I agree. If Tess is ever going to tell anyone (besides Max), it needs to be a private thing in a safe, non-combative environment.Someone (hopefully her dad) needs to sit Tess down in private and tell her what they think has happened to her. Christmas was a disaster because there were too many people (however much they love her) and Tess was alreday defensive about the gun.
Thanks for the feedback! And thank you to anyone who nominated me for the fan fiction awards, whether it was for this fic, 521, the ficlet Car Crashes, or the made-you-pull-your-hair-out Passion.
Thanks!Part 81
Isabel took Alex’s favorite t-shirt out of the dryer and cringed. Yep, she’d definitely shrunk it. Oh, well. She couldn’t find it in herself to care.
She tossed the t-shirt into the heaping laundry basket without folding it, shut the dryer door, and spun around, nearly colliding with her husband.
“Whoa, sorry,” he said, stepping back. “Guess what, I’ve got good news.”
“Really?” This was intriguing. She set the laundry basket down, hoping it was a windfall of cash. “What?”
“My dad’s being released from prison.”
“Oh.” Definitely not a windfall. “When?”
“Two months.” He smiled from ear to ear. “Garret’s finally gonna have a grandparent.”
“And a white collar criminal one at that.” She understood that Alex and his father had had a very close relationship before the incarceration and all, but this wasn’t good news as far as she was concerned. Now she was going to have to deal with Chuck Whitman, who was an even bigger dork than his son was. And he was poor now, too, so it wasn’t as though he had anything to offer them. Just another burden.
“He’s reformed,” Alex informed her, “found God.”
“They always do.” If the man tried to indoctrinate Garret with some crazy Christian theology, they were going to have issues. She picked up the laundry basket again and walked past Alex, out into the living room to fold the clothes up before putting them away.
“You know,” Alex said, following her, “I was thinking, now that he’s getting out, this might be time for us to think about going back to Florida.”
She picked a washcloth out of the basket and folded it into four quadrants. “Like on vacation?”
“No, like permanently.”
She dropped the washcloth onto the floor.
“I always thought we’d move back there.”
The idea of moving away from Michael, being so far away from him geographically . . . she couldn’t handle it. “You did?”
“Yeah. I know we haven’t really talked about it, but now that we’re actually getting along again . . .” He trailed off, sounding hopeful.
“I don’t know if I really like Florida,” she said, picking the washcloth up off the floor. “The weather’s too . . . nice.”
He chuckled. “The weather?”
She continued folding the laundry, deliberately not looking at him. The state itself wasn’t a problem. She actually preferred Florida to New Mexico any day, as most people would. But the lack of Michael Guerin there was just intolerable. The fact that Alex even suggested such a ridiculous thing made it clear to her that he was becoming way too complacent.
“Come on, Isabel,” Alex urged, wrapping his arms around her waist. She wanted to chop those arms off in that moment. “We were happy there.”
You were happy, she wanted to say. I was pretending to be.
Much to her relief, Garret came galloping into the room with a toy airplane Max had given him for Christmas, making ‘vroom’ sounds.
“Hey, Garret,” Alex said before springing the obvious question on him. “How do you feel about moving to Florida?”
Garret stopped playing. “What’s that?”
“It’s another state, buddy, near the ocean.”
Isabel rolled her eyes. He was so clearly trying to entice him, so she added, “Sometimes it has hurricanes.”
Garret thought about it for a minute, then asked, “Is Uncle Max coming with us?”
“Uh, no,” Alex replied, “probably not.”
“Then I wanna stay here.” He raised his airplane in the air and started playing again.
Isabel breathed an internal sigh of relief. Saved by the son. She’d have to remember to thank him later. “Well, you heard him,” she said, confident that they wouldn’t be going anywhere now. After years of being a drunken, deadbeat dad, Alex owed it to his son to let him stay put.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
This was a mistake, Tess thought, rounding the block to Alvarado Street. She’d thought that she could take George out for a walk that evening and get back before the sun set, but he’d had to pee on every stop sign, fire hydrant, and bush he came across.
“Come on, George,” she said, nervously tapping her foot on the sidewalk while George sniffed at the neighbors’ mailbox. “It’s getting dark out.” Her house was just a little way down the street, but she hated the thought of being outside at all during the night. She remembered watching a documentary one time about why human beings feared the dark. It had something to do with the sense of sight being diminished or stripped away, sensory deprivation or something. That coupled with the new, deeply-rooted fear of being raped again made Tess extremely anxious.
Finally George did his business and they were on their way again. Tess walked quickly, tugging him along on his leash, but she startled when she heard footsteps joining hers. Instinct screamed at her to run, but determination told her to stay and fight off whoever it was. She reached into her purse, inconspicuously grabbed her pepper spray, and spun around, aiming it directly into the face of . . .
Maria?
“Whoa!” Maria shouted, jumping back. “You almost pepper-sprayed me!”
“Sorry.”
“I guess it’s better than a gun.”
Tess noted that she had Frank with her. “Looks like we had the same idea.”
“Yeah, well, he’s obese. He needs the exercise.” Maria continued on her way, and Tess walked along with her. The night wasn’t quite as scary when she wasn’t alone.
“So what’re you and Michael doing for New Year’s?” she asked, doing her best to small-talk. She couldn’t even remember the last time she and Maria had small-talked.
“I’m not sure. Kind of a big day for us, though.”
“Yeah.” New Year’s was also when Michael and Maria celebrated their anniversary, since they’d had their first kiss at midnight four years ago. “You should do something fun. No drinking, though.”
“Definitely not.” Maria rubbed her stomach, sighing. “I still haven’t told him yet.”
“Then you should tell him on New Year’s,” she suggested. “I mean, what a good way to start off 2013, right?”
Maria thought about it for a minute, then smiled a little. “You know, that’s actually a brilliant idea. I’ll do it. No backing out this time, because according to Sylvia, I’m already starting to show.”
“No, you’re not,” Tess assured her as they came upon her house. “Well . . .”
Maria gave her an awkward wave and continued up the sidewalk to her own house.
Tess sighed heavily. At least this hadn’t been a hostile encounter, although they hadn’t had their usual best friend vibe, either.
“Tess,” Maria called.
She spun around.
“You should take your own advice. Whatever you’re not telling us, tell Kyle on New Year’s, start 2013 off with a clean slate.”
Tess nodded slowly, but she knew she wouldn’t do it. The difference between Maria’s secret and hers was that Maria’s was good news. There was nothing good about disclosing she’d been raped.
They both went inside without another word.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Isabel pretended to be asleep already when Alex came into the bedroom that night and sat down at the computer. She watched through half-closed eyes as he first tried to upload his favorite porn website, then noticed a minimized Internet window at the bottom of the screen. He clicked on it and saw exactly what she wanted him to see: Billy’s Youtube video of the ‘Isabel’ song.
Alex turned the volume way down and listened to it for a minute, casting an inquisitive glance over at her. She pretended to stir and rolled over onto her other side so that he couldn’t see her face. It took everything she had not to let out cackling laughter. She hadn’t really been listening to that song, but it didn’t hurt to make Alex believe she had. He was getting way too comfortable with the current state of their marriage, first telling her he loved her and then suggesting a move to Florida. She had to keep him on his toes, had to make sure he always knew he wasn’t irreplaceable and that he definitely wasn’t powerful. Her husband was one of the few things in her life she still had control over, and she didn’t intend to let that control slip away.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael and Kyle both had the same idea the next morning: shoveling the sidewalk. It had snowed again last night, but the sun was beaming down now, helping to melt some of it.
“What’s with the weather?” Michael said, scooping a pile of snow up, throwing it down in his yard. Miley would probably want to build a snow fort out of it later, but he probably wasn’t going to have time. He had things to do. Important things.
“Yeah, one minute it’s snowing; the next . . . perfect weather,” Kyle agreed, breathing in deeply. “Smells like springtime.”
“Looks like wintertime,” Michael mumbled. He remembered loving snow as a kid, even though he’d gotten to experience it so infrequently. It was funny how, as an adult, he thought of things differently. Now whenever he thought of snow, igloos and sledding weren’t the first things that came to mind. Shoveling and driving on ice were.
“You know,” Kyle said, wiping pretend sweat off his brow, “they say weird weather’s a sign of the apocalypse.”
Michael gave him a look. “The apocalypse?”
“I’m just saying, we still have a few days left of 2012. It’s not too late for the world to end, for the Mayans to point their fingers at us and say ‘Told you so, dumbasses.’”
“Well, it’s nice that we have that to look forward to.” Michael lifted another mound of snow into his yard. This sucked. He didn’t have time for this. Couldn’t the weather just cooperate? “So, uh . . .” He tried to casually switch the subject. “What’re you doing for New Year’s?”
“I don’t know,” Kyle replied, digging his shovel into a tightly packed down pile of snow. “Usually Tess and I go out. Or stay in. You know, stay in. But somehow I doubt she’s gonna wanna do either of those things this year. So I guess I’ll just watch Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve, ‘cause mine won’t be so rockin’.” He shrugged, apparently accepting of that fact. “What about you?”
“Marty wants Maria and I to go to his club. Apparently he hired some Lady Gaga impersonator to sing . . . whatever Lady Gaga sings.”
“What, you don’t like Gaga?” Kyle looked offended.
“Not particularly, no.”
“Screw you, man. She’s a prophet.”
Michael laughed a little at his friend’s bad taste in music. “The thing is, since it’s our anniversary, too, I was kinda thinking we might do something . . . bigger.”
“Oh, yeah?” Kyle started shoveling again. “Like what?”
“Well, I was kinda thinking we might get married.”
Kyle dropped the shovel, nearly slipping the snow and ice. “Whoa. That’s . . . definitely bigger.”
Michael nodded in agreement.
“And this idea just . . . popped into your head?”
“Well, it didn’t exactly pop,” Michael said, wanting to make it clear that this wasn’t just some spur of the moment, not fully thought-out decision. “I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks now. Maria’s been so stressed, and she’s gonna start student teaching soon, so I don’t think she’s gonna have the time or energy to plan a post-graduation wedding like we talked about. Besides, we’ve been engaged for almost two years now. What’re we waiting for?”
“I don’t know, the right time, I guess.”
“Maybe the right time’s right now.” He couldn’t think of a better day for it than the day that not only started the next year of their lives but also celebrated the years they’d been together.
“This is huge,” Kyle said, grinning. “You talked to her about it?”
“Not yet. I want it to be a surprise.” It was possible that she’d resent him for not talking to her about it in advance, but he was kind of banking on her finding it cute. “I just . . . I wanna give her something special this year, something she really wants. And Maria only really wants three things.”
“Sex, her college diploma, and a wedding ring?” Kyle guessed.
“Pretty much. And hey, I can give her two out of the three, so . . .” He trailed off, feeling bad that he hadn’t married her sooner. Stuff just kept getting in the way. Mostly babies. “I know we’d have to wait ‘til summer to have a honeymoon, and I know it’s really last minute, but I figure we could sort of elope . . . except with the family there.” He made a face. That didn’t really make much sense. “You know, just the immediate family, everyone that was there for Christmas.”
“I still get to be best man, right?” Kyle asked.
“Of course. And Tess . . . you know, if she wants to . . .” He knew Maria pretty well, and he knew that, regardless of what friendship problems she and Tess were dealing with, there was no one else she’d rather have as her maid of honor. “I don’t know, I just . . . I feel like I’m already married to her, but we’ve never actually had a wedding. And she deserves that. I love the girl, you know? I should’ve married her years ago.”
“Hey, better late than never, right?” Kyle slugged him in the shoulder, laughing lightly.
“Yeah, I guess.” He felt sort of . . . embarrassed, though, for not marrying her right after finding out she was pregnant with Miley. It all worked out, but she’d waited longer than she should have had to. “So what do you think? Is it romantic or just stupid?” He started to second-guess the whole plan, suddenly wondering if it was even possible to pull off a wedding in such a short amount of time, even just a small one. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?”
“No, man.”
“It is. I should just get her a necklace and call it good.”
“Uh, listen, Michael . . .” Kyle cleared his throat and placed one hand on his shoulder. “I know I’m not the greatest at giving advice sometimes; but trust me, at this point in her life . . . there’s nothing that would make Maria happier than marrying you.”
Michael smiled. That did sound encouraging.
“Just go for it, dude,” Kyle suggested. “Make it a New Year’s to remember.”
He let out a nervous, yet excited, sigh. If this was something Maria decided she wanted to do, it would be the most memorable night of their lives.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Isabel sat at the kitchen table, sorting through all the bills. There were too many of them. She was going to have to pick up more hours at the video store if they were ever going to get their heads above the turbulent water of the Financial Sea. At least Alex wasn’t going to be squandering money on alcohol anymore, though. That would help a little it.
Speak of the loser, she thought as she heard him walking downstairs. He sat down beside her, a contemplative expression on his face, and she prayed to God he wasn’t about to offer to help her with the bills. With his lack of intelligence, he’d find a way to plunge them into debt.
“I talked to Max,” he started in. “He said he’s willing to watch Garret on New Year’s Eve, so . . . so we can spend it together.”
“Great.” She made a mental note to ask Ralph if she could work on New Year’s Eve.
Alex picked up the Internet bill, looked at it for a moment, noticeably unfocused, then set it back down and asked, “So-so whatever happened to that Billy guy?”
She gave him a raised eyebrow look.
“I’m just curious.” He was obviously trying to sound unthreatened, but his entire demeanor gave him away.
“Well, I heard he got a record deal out in California,” she said, loving that her little Youtube sting had made the desired impact. “His first single’s gonna be this song he wrote about me, so we’ll probably hear it on the radio all the time.”
Alex laughed nervously.
“Gosh, wouldn’t it be funny if Billy of all people ended up making it big and becoming this fabulously rich rock star?” She smiled. Didn’t hurt to make him fear the worst, that she’d leave him for someone richer.
“Sure would,” he said, his voice wavering. “Listen, what I said the other day about moving to Florida . . . I wasn’t serious.”
“You sounded serious.”
“It was just a thought,” he clearly lied, “and I was letting it pass. But I know you and Garret like it here, so we can stay as long as you want. Or we can go wherever you want. Whenever. It’s just . . . up to you.”
“I know.” She smirked. As if he could actually get her to leave New Mexico if she didn’t want to. She still wore the pants in their relationship. Always had, always would. It was her way or the highway.
“I was just thinking it’d be nice for me to be close to my dad again,” he said. “But maybe when he’s released, we can move him out here, get him a place nearby.”
The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Alex looked discouraged. “Why not?”
“Your dad went to jail for four years and almost took you along with him,” she pointed out. “If he moves here, he might threaten what we have going on for ourselves.” She reached over and placed her hand atop his, trying to act as though she cared about what they had. “I’d hate to see anyone derail us when we’re doing so good.”
Alex sighed and nodded slowly in agreement.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said with an overt amount of cheeriness in her tone. “Maybe a few times each year, you can fly out to Florida and visit him. That way you get dear old dad and the Sunshine state all rolled into one.”
Alex swallowed hard, seemingly accepting his defeat. “Yeah, that could . . . that could work.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Shut the fucking front door!” Marty exclaimed, holding onto the dresser to keep from falling down after Michael told him the New Year’s plans. “Are you serious?”
Michael nodded. He’d spent all day yesterday getting things ready, contacting the church and the minister.
“Well, I’ll be a rat’s ass!” Marty laughed. “I never saw this coming! Aren’t you just a little hunk of soon-to-be husband? Or . . .” He reached down and grabbed Michael’s crotch. “Not so little. Hmm.”
“Uh, okay, you just grabbed my package.”
“Oh, honey . . . I meant to. The groping of a groom’s groin before the big day . . . it’s a ritual in some places.”
“Such as . . . ?”
“San Francisco.”
“Oh, of course.”
Marty giggled and hugged him. “I’m so excited. My little sister’s finally gonna become a missus.”
“Yep. Finally.” He peered around the door to make sure Maria wasn’t coming upstairs. The last thing he wanted was for her to overhear them. “So you think she’s gonna like it?”
“Heck yes! How could she not? New Year’s, anniversary, and a wedding day? That’s, like, the trifecta of romance, Big Boy.”
“I just don’t wanna overwhelm her.”
“Oh, it’ll be overwhelming,” he promised, “but in a good way. I’d love to be overwhelmed like that. When are you gonna spring it on her?”
“Tomorrow morning. Really last minute, I know, but I gotta get everything ready before then.”
“My mom?” Marty asked.
“Yeah, she and Ed know. So do my parents. I talked to them about it at Christmas, so they’ll be here. But I still gotta go get my tux, gotta get all the flowers, gotta get the rings. Oh, and you’re gonna have to be the ring-bearer, ‘cause we really don’t have anyone else.”
“No problem.” Marty seemed excited by the prospect. “Did you seriously pick out the rings without her, though?”
“We picked ‘em out together way back in June. I just finished paying for them last week. Anyway, I just thought I’d better let you know, so . . . I know you’ve got plans at your club, but . . .”
“Oh, screw the club. I’ll have Lady Gaga run things.”
Michael gave him a confused look. “Wait, you’re gonna have your Lady Gaga impersonator run the club on New Year’s?”
“Oh, he can handle it,” Marty assured him. “He’s my best bartender.”
“Oh, I see. That’s . . . he?” Now Michael was even more confused. “Your Lady Gaga impersonator is . . . not a lady?”
“Well, he will be after the surgery.”
“Okay.” Michael shook his head, trying not to picture that. “That’s . . . interesting.”
“Not half as interesting as your impending nuptials, buddy.” Marty hugged him again, probably trying to cop a feel in the process. “Wow. So this is really happening. After four years.”
“Well, if she says yes.”
Marty rolled his eyes. “She will.”
All of a sudden, Maria came into the room. “I will what?”
“Maria!” Michael’s voice came out squeaky and high-pitched. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she returned, turning back to Marty. “I will what?”
“Uh, you will . . . give your man a blow job.”
Michael smiled dazedly. That didn’t sound half bad. He didn’t have much time to waste right now, but he could afford to waste all the time in the world for that.
“Well, not with you in the room,” Maria said, motioning for Marty to leave.
“My cue to skedaddle,” he recognized. “I’ll see you two tomorrow at . . .” He shot Michael a questioning look.
Behind Maria’s back, Michael took a pen out of his pocket and scribbled down the address of the church on the palm of his hand, holding it up for Marty to see.
“Right,” Marty said, squinting to make out the letters. “TTFN, bitches.” He waved goodbye and pranced downstairs.
Maria turned to Michael and gave him a wrinkled forehead look, clearly perplexed by her brother’s behavior. He just shrugged exaggeratedly and pretended to have no clue what was going on.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Kyle stood in the doorway to the bedroom, watching Tess tear through the closet. She kept taking out dresses, holding them up to herself, and then throwing them down on the floor in a heap. She looked frustrated. She still didn’t look like herself.
“Everything alright?” he asked, sidling into the room. He hadn’t slept there for the past few nights. He’d pretended to fall asleep on the couch when, in reality, he just wasn’t sure if she wanted to share a bed with him. He wasn’t sure about anything Tess-related anymore.
“I don’t know what to wear,” she groaned, holding up a bright pink dress broached with a rhinestone rose.
“What’s wrong with that dress?” he asked.
“It’s pink.”
“Yeah, your favorite color. Or did that change, too?”
She dropped that dress down onto her ever-growing pile. “It’s just that black looks so much better with my hair.”
“Black? Tess, it’s a wedding, not a funeral.”
“I know, but . . .” She threw a black dress down on the floor without even looking at it. “I used to be so good at this.”
You used to be a lot of things, he thought sadly.
Tess sat down on her pile of dresses, sighing dramatically. “Don’t you think this is happening fast?”
“No. They’ve been engaged for almost two years.”
“Okay, not fast. Sudden,” she corrected. “Two years, and then all of a sudden, it’s just happening. Not that I’m not happy for them; it’s just . . . Maria and I haven’t had time to patch things up yet. I don’t even know if she wants me to be her maid of honor anymore.”
“She does,” Kyle assured her. “I think.” Michael had seemed pretty sure about it, and Michael was usually right about stuff. “Look, I wish I could be more reassuring, but you’ve put us all through a lot lately. Closing your studio, changing your personality, buying that gun . . .”
“Oh, so it’s all my fault. Is that what you’re saying?”
“No!”
“If you’re gonna divorce me, Kyle, just do it.”
“What, divorce?” he shrieked. Sadly, the thought had crossed his mind lately, but . . . “I’m not gonna divorce you.” Hell, maybe Michael and Maria were the ones getting married this year, but he and Tess had taken vows a long time ago, and ‘for better or worse’ was a part of them. “But Tess . . . you can’t stay like this.” He wasn’t sure what they were going to do if she did.
He made his way over to her closet and took out a strapless, pale pink dress that wasn’t quite as . . loud as the other pink one had been. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “You’ll look great in this.” She still wouldn’t look like herself, but . . . there was no way he was letting her wear black to her best friend’s wedding.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The funny thing about people who rented porn was that, for the most part, they were very, very drunk. This made working at Cockadoodle-Doo entertaining, because many a time a man would be too hammered to realize he was renting a guy-on-guy movie when he wanted (or at least was pretending to want) girl-on-girl. But it was also risky, because the customers sometimes looked as though they were about to throw up. And indeed, that was what one guy in his mid-twenties had done. Right on Isabel’s pants. She tried to salvage them in the wash, but they were a lost cause, so she stopped at a clothing store on the way to work in order to pick up replacement khaki capris. Khaki capris. Gag. Cockadoodle-Doo needed a serious wardrobe change.
She was taking her time browsing through rows of pants, in no rush to get to work and suffer through another shift of sibling rivalry with Max, when she caught sight of Michael across the street at a place called Jansen’s Formalwear. Her entire body started to heat up. She felt like she hadn’t seen the man in years. Oh, what she would have given to wake up in Maria’s position every morning, beside him, in his arms. Safe and loved.
“Hello, ma’am,” an annoying clerk said, interrupting her staring. “Can I help you find what you’re looking for today?”
Isabel almost laughed, because she was looking right at exactly what she was looking for. “I’ve already found it,” she said, never taking her eyes off him. Oh, Michael . . . He was trying on a tuxedo, standing before a full-length mirror, adjusting the cuffs. He looked absolutely gorgeous.
“Okay, then.” The clerk slipped away, apparently sensing that she was one of those customers who did not want to be bothered.
She leaned against the store window, ignoring all the people walking by on the sidewalk. Most seemed confused, as if they didn’t know if she were a mannequin or a real person. She felt like a mannequin without Michael—lifeless. But with him, she felt so alive. She would have given anything to feel that way again.
She kept watching as Kyle sauntered out of one of the dressing rooms, also wearing a tuxedo. He looked a bit more haggard than Michael, like maybe life was finally starting to take its toll on him, but all in all, he and Michael both looked excited about something. It wasn’t until Michael took a small box out of his pocket and held up two rings that Isabel connected the dots and realized where that excitement was coming from.
Oh . . . fuck.
A formalwear store. Tuxedos. Rings. That could all only mean one thing.
It was finally happening. After all these years, Michael and Maria were finally getting married. She’d dreaded it from the moment she’d seen their engagement announcement in the paper. Even before that. From the second he’d walked out of her hospital room on the day of Garret’s birth, she’d known right then and there that he was going back to that bitch and planning on making it last forever.
Apparently forever was going to be pretty soon.
“Dammit,” she swore, turning away from the window. That could have been her. If she hadn’t gone and screwed things up, she could have been the one to eagerly await that ring on her finger.
She grabbed a pair of khaki capris and ran through the store back to the dressing room. She pushed a woman aside and took the last open room, slamming the door shut. She slumped against the mirror and started to cry, quietly at first and then louder and louder. For the first time since she’d known him, she felt completely powerless over Michael. Nothing that she could say or do would have any effect whatsoever. She was a non-factor in his life. He had moved on a long time ago, and she wasn’t able to.
It wasn’t fair. She could control Alex until the end of time, manipulate him, pull his strings like the little puppet he was. But Michael’s strings were no longer within her reach. Maybe they never had been.
She pictured Michael and Maria’s wedding, and the picture made her scream.
TBC . . .
-April
Last edited by April on Fri Feb 18, 2011 11:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.
LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
-
April
- Roswell Fanatic
- Posts: 1557
- Joined: Tue Sep 28, 2004 9:32 am
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Part 82
Ellie: Oh my god. You crack me up.
BB:
Novy: Look who's using a Tess icon!
Krista: My California girl! I've missed you! Glad to know you're still reading. Don't worry, I know real life gets in the way sometimes. I haven't even had much time to write lately because student teaching really demands a lot. Remind me, what kind of job did you get? You graduated, right?
Trixie: Hey there! Okay, you're a Glee fan, so I have to ask . . . do you have ANY idea what the writers are doing lately? Love triangles that shouldn't even exist are popping out of the woodwork! I am by no means a Finn/Rachel fan, so I really don't care if they're together or not, but . . . I don't know, it just seems like the writers have lost their way. What do you think?
Anyway . . .
I appreciate it.
THANK YOU FOR THE FEEDBACK!
Part 82
“Do you like the camera?”
“Yeah.” Michael held up the Samsung digital camera Maria had given him for Christmas, inspecting it closely. “I just wish I could figure out how to get the video component to work.”
Maria walked past him, flipped a button, and the screen changed from photo capture to video capture.
“Oh.” He grew red with embarrassment. “I was gonna do that.”
She rolled her eyes and sat down on the couch, sipping hot cocoa. He played around with the zoom for a bit, zooming in on her boobs and panning down to her legs before zooming back out and switching to a new subject. “Hey, Frank, smile. You’re on candid camera.”
Frank stuck his tongue out, panted a bit, then lay down on the welcome mat by the door for a nap before bedtime.
“Daddy, get me,” Miley said, jumping in front of the camera.
“Okay, I got you. Say something.”
“Uh . . .” She stopped jumping, drawing a blank.
“It’s almost the end of the year,” he narrated, trying to get the camera to focus. “What’d you do this year, Miley?”
“I-I played with Garret,” she sputtered, “and we runned away. And I falled in the pool and picked up a gun thing.”
“Uh, what else?” He didn’t want her to just look back on this year and remember the bad things.
“I played a lot,” she repeated, “and I painted.”
“You learned to write your name,” Maria added.
“Yeah, and I learned 911.” Her eyes lit up proudly. “And I sing Hannah Montana.”
“You danced, too. Will you dance for the camera?” he asked.
She immediately started twisting from side to side, throwing her arms and legs about.
“Wow, look at you. You’re awesome, you know that?” he praised her.
“I really wanna get her in a jazz class,” Maria said. “And maybe tap and ballet, too.”
“Why not throw in ballroom while we’re at it?”
“Yeah, the cool Latin stuff.”
While Miley kept dancing, he panned back to Maria, wondering how high quality this video would turn out. Maybe they could film the wedding on that camera, if there was enough free space on the memory card.
“Don’t aim that thing at me,” Maria said, shielding her face with her hand. “I look gross.”
“No, no, no, you look hot,” he assured her. “What’d you do this year?”
She slowly lowered her hand and set her cocoa aside on the end table. “Well . . . had another baby. Ow. And then I went back to college, did the unit plan. Watched my mom battle cancer.”
“And kick cancer’s ass,” he added.
“Totally. And . . .” She shrugged. “That’s about it.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Her eyes widened, and she stiffened. “No.”
“Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners,” he reminded her.
“Oh, right. Quite the culinary accomplishments.” She laughed. “Okay, go to Macy.”
“Macy?” He looked down and found her crawling on the floor near his feet. “Macy, how was your year?”
She pushed herself up to her feet, wobbling from side to side. “Da-da,” she cooed, a happy smile on her chubby little face.
“That’s right, you learned to say Da-da.”
“Learned to say Mama first,” Maria made sure to put in.
“You learned a lot this year.” He zoomed in on her, impressed that the camera could capture all the soft, fine hairs on top of her head. “You first year on the planet, wasn’t it? You learned to talk, learned to crawl, to walk.”
She tipped over.
“Somewhat.”
“Macy, come here you silly girl,” Maria said, holding out her arms.
“Mama!” Macy got back up and ran over to her as fast as her little legs could carry her.
“Oh, you’re gettin’ big.” Maria picked her up and held her on her lap, bouncing her up and down.
“Dog!” Macy exclaimed, pointing at Frank.
“That’s right. That’s Frank. He’s a dog,” Maria said, beaming with pride.
“Dog!” Macy yelped again, pointing at the coffee table this time.
“Uh, no, that’s the coffee table.”
“Dog!” she kept saying, pointing at Miley this time. Then at the staircase. Then at the fireplace. “Dog! Dog! Dog!”
Michael laughed at her extreme adorableness. “She looks so much like you,” he told Maria.
“Yeah, she does,” she agreed.
“Daddy, look at me,” Miley whined for attention. He brought the camera back around to her. She was still dancing. But after a few more minutes of that, she lay down on the floor next to Frank, using his oversized stomach as her pillow, and yawned.
“Oh, somebody’s tired. Time to go to sleep,” he said, turning off the camera. He was going to have to hook it up to the computer later so that he could view the video on a bigger screen, check and make sure it was as high quality as it seemed.
They put Miley to bed first. Macy drifted off about ten minutes later. “Don’t you wish you could fall asleep as fast as they do?” Maria asked him while she flossed her teeth in the bathroom that night.
“Yeah, that’d be nice.” He leaned against the sink, watching her. She was so diligent about getting every single tooth. Not that he minded. It was just sort of cute was all.
“We’d better try to get to bed, too,” she said.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”
“Yep, ringin’ in the new year at a club for gay men.”
“Well . . .” He paused, not sure if he should say anything. “Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?” She dropped her floss in the trash, giving him quite the confused look. “I thought that’s what we said we were gonna do.”
“Well, you never know what surprises I might have up my sleeve.”
“Really?” Her eyes glittered with intrigue. “What kind of surprises?”
“The surprising kind.”
“Seriously.”
“I am serious. I can’t tell you. Then it’s no longer a surprise.”
She groaned in frustration, folding her arms across her chest. “Well, how am I supposed to get to sleep now?”
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he mumbled, determined not to cave in and tell her about his idea just yet.
“You really shouldn’t.”
“It’s something good, though,” he promised.
“Well, duh.” She sighed heavily, staring straight up into his eyes. “You’re really not gonna tell me, are you?”
“Nope.” He really wanted to, because he was excited about it, and he wanted to see what she would say. But he forced himself not to.
“When will you?” She pouted.
“Oh, you’ll know it when it happens,” he assured her.
“Hmm. Well, I’ve got news for you, buddy.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, sliding her body up against his. “I’m full of surprises, too, and I might have one in store for you tomorrow.”
“Is that so?”
“So it is.” She smirked.
Well, he thought, now my interest is piqued. Maybe it was something deeply sexual. They weren’t going to get to honeymoon just yet, but Marty had agreed to watch Miley and Macy for the next couple of days if they wanted some newlywed time.
“So I will go to sleep,” she decided, “only because this is getting us nowhere. But . . .” She trailed her fingers down in between them and loosened the drawstring of his sweatpants. “I may need you to tire me out first.”
He grinned, his fingers immediately itching with the desire to roam over her skin. “I can do that.” And that was how he found himself on top of her ten minutes later, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands grazing over his shoulder blades and down his spine. Sheathed in latex and buried inside her as he rolled his hips forward, he was faintly aware that, when they did this tomorrow night, they’d be husband and wife.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dreams ricocheted through Isabel’s mind that night. No, not just dreams. Fantasies. All sorts of fantasies. The sexual kind, the romantic kind. Mostly the never-gonna-happen kind.
She dreamt through her whole relationship with Michael. Meeting him in college, going out on that first date, kissing him for the first time, sleeping with him and falling even more and more in love . . .
And then she came to that point in the dream where she knew she’d gone to Florida for spring break and cheated on him with Alex. But since this was a fantasy, it didn’t have to be that way. She fantasized that she never went to Florida, never even met Alex, never did anything to betray the only good man she’d ever known.
And from that point onward, the dream was make believe. She dreamt that Michael proposed to her the way he’d intended to, and she said yes. She dreamt that he tried on tuxedos for their wedding day, that she bought a gorgeous dress and he wasn’t able to take his eyes off her as she walked down the aisle. She heard the vows they would have said, felt the ring sliding on her finger, tasted the kiss. But even through her sleepy haze, she knew it wasn’t real.
Her eyes shot open at 2:12 a.m., before she could fantasize even further; but she knew how the rest of it would have played out. Children. His children. She would have had them. All of them. They would have been the perfect family living in the house with 522 on the front. Maria wouldn’t have been a blip on his radar. She would have been an old college acquaintance he waved to when he saw her at the grocery store. If that.
Isabel rolled over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling as Alex lay beside her, snoring lightly. What really was was exactly the opposite of what could have been: It was a nightmare, the kind she couldn’t wake up from.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There were a number of thoughts that ran through Maria’s mind as she slowly awoke in the morning: It’s New Year’s. It’s my anniversary. I totally got laid last night. I have to tell Michael we’re having another baby today. What’s that pokey thing behind me? Oh, well, there’s nothing wrong with a little morning wood.
She peeked at the clock. 8:30. Way too early to get out of bed just yet. She rolled over, the cool sheets caressing her skin. Michael was lying beside her, propped up on his left arm, smiling down at her.
“Hey,” she said, wondering how long he’d been awake.
“Hey,” he returned.
She reached out and smoothed her hands over the muscles in his arms. “Last night was . . .” She trailed off, unable to think of the right words to describe how amazing it’d been.
“It was,” he agreed. “Happy anniversary.”
“Happy anniversary.” She loved the sound of that. Who would have ever thought that she would grow up to have actual anniversaries with a great, kind guy? “I can’t believe it’s been four years.” In a way, it seemed like such a long time, but in another way, it seemed as if it’d just been yesterday that he’d come up to her at that frat party on New Year’s and given her the most incredible kiss of her life.
“About seventy of these anniversaries left to go,” he said, moving her hair behind her shoulder for her.
“So, what, you’re predicting we’ll live ‘til we’re eighty-five?”
He smiled. “Ninety-five.”
There was that damn math stuff again. “Whatever. When you’re old and saggy, all the years blend together anyway.” She scooted in closer to him, coiling her legs around his beneath the covers. “Will you still love me when I’m old and saggy?”
“Of course,” he answered without hesitation.
“Good, ‘cause . . . I think I’ll still love you,” she teased, giggling. “No, I will. I’ll love you ‘til the end of time, and even after that.” Anniversaries tended to bring out the poet in her.
He leaned forward and kissed her, that quick but meaningful kind of kiss people who had been in love for a long time did. “It’s gonna be a great day,” he promised.
“I hope so.” She wouldn’t accept anything less than great on a day like today.
“Although I’m curious,” he went on. “What kind of surprise do you have in store for me?”
Here goes nothing, she thought, her heart nearly tripling in speed. “Guess,” she said, turning back around so that they were spooning. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her midsection to pull her as close as possible, and she rested her arms atop his, entwining their fingers. “Come on, you can figure it out,” she urged, gazing at his hands atop her stomach, a stomach that would soon become rounded and be alive with little baby kicks.
“Uh, you have a long-lost identical twin and you wanna have a threesome?” he joked.
“No. Perv.”
“You won the lottery? No?”
She drummed her fingers atop his hands, wondering when he would start to get the hint. All he had to do was look and think about it a little.
“Okay, uh . . . I don’t know,” he confessed.
“Keep guessing.” She really wasn’t sure if she could just blurt it out, not after keeping it buried for so long.
“Give me a hint,” he suggested.
“Well . . . it’s really not all that surprising if you think about it.”
“What? Okay, now you’re just confusing me.”
“Seriously?” Michael was a smart guy. He could figure it out. But for now, it was fun to watch him grapple with it.
“Seriously, I don’t . . .” He trailed off, picking up her left hand. “Wait a minute.”
“What?” Had he figured it out?
“Where’s your ring?”
“My . . .” She glanced down at her hand and saw for the first time what he’d noticed, an incredible alarming sight. Her engagement ring wasn’t on her finger. “Where . . . where is it?” Suddenly, her entire hand felt odd and empty. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know; that’s why I asked you.”
“Well, it . . . I don’t know.” She rolled over onto her back and sat up, looking around the room frantically. “It has to be here. I never take it off.”
He shrugged. “You must’ve.”
“No, it was on last night while I was brushing my teeth. Maybe it fell off while we were screwing?” She started tossing blankets over the edge of the bed. “Check everywhere.”
“What if you lost it?” he asked.
“No, I didn’t.” She didn’t even want to think such horrible thoughts. “I couldn’t have. We went straight from the bathroom to here. It’s not like it got up and walked away.”
“Or did it?”
“Shut up and help me find it!” she yelped, getting worried now. She lifted up her pillow and looked underneath, but it was still nowhere to be found. She shook out the pillowcase. Again, nothing. “Michael, I’m serious. This is my engagement ring.”
“Okay, I’m lookin’.” He peeled back the sheet and felt around the mattress.
“It has to be here,” she kept assuring herself, even digging her hands through her hair. It was possible it’d gotten lost in there. Or maybe in Michael’s hair. She felt around his head.
“Hey, what’re you doin’?”
“Just help me find it!” She felt her chest starting to constrict with dread. That was the only engagement ring she’d ever have, and it was beautiful. What if she never saw it again? “I couldn’t have lost it,” she whimpered, nearly in tears. “I’ve never lost it. I . . .” And all of a sudden, when she turned to face Michael and rummage around on his side of the bed, there it was, in between his thumb and index finger, shining just as brightly as the day he’d given it to her. “Oh.”
He just smiled, twirling it around between his fingers.
“How’d you . . .” He hadn’t even been looking that hard. Not that she was complaining.
“Surprise,” he said, grinning.
That sparked her interest. Surprise?
“I took it off your finger while you were sleeping,” he explained.
“Why would you . . .” She couldn’t even form a sentence, because she didn’t understand what was going on.
He took a deep breath, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. He stood there for a minute, then mumbled, “I can’t do this while I’m naked,” and bent down to put on his boxers.
“Do what?” she asked. “Michael.” She kept her eyes glued to him as he walked around to her side of the bed and knelt down so that he was at eye level with her, holding the ring out in front of him and raising one knee.
“Oh my god.” Suddenly, she knew what this was. The proposal pose.
He smiled, licking his lips nervously. “Maria DeLuca, will you marry me?”
“Yeah,” she said, trying to process what was going on. He was proposing to her. Again. “Didn’t I answer this question, like, two years ago?”
“I mean right now,” he clarified. “Will you marry me right now?”
Her mouth gaped, and all she could manage to say was, “I have bedhead.”
He laughed and corrected himself. “No, not right now, but . . . now as in tonight. Marry me tonight in front of our family and friends.”
She stared at him in disbelief, wondering if she should pinch herself, because this had to be a dream. “But how can we? We haven’t even--”
“You have your dress,” he cut in, “I have my tux, we have the rings. Your mom’s gonna be here. My parents, too. I set everything up. It’s all ready to go if this is something you want. But if you still wanna wait, I understand. I can call it off.”
“Don’t you dare!” She scrambled down off the bed, practically falling into his lap, a tangled mess of her own limbs and the sheets. “Oh, Michael . . .” She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He was sweating. He was nervous.
He was the best man on the freaking planet.
“I can’t believe this,” she exclaimed, staring at him in astonishment. “This is unreal. Is this a dream?”
“No.”
“So we could really get married tonight?”
“If you want to.”
“On our anniversary?”
“It’s my gift to you.”
“And when the new year starts . . .”
“You could start it off as Maria Guerin.”
Maria Guerin. She loved the way that sounded. She’d been waiting for nearly four years to write that name on all her papers, to be able to tell her students to call her Mrs. Guerin. “Oh my god.”
“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he promised.
“Oh my god.” She was completely shocked. How had she been so completely oblivious to him planning this? “Michael, this is . . . this is, like, the most romantic thing ever.”
“Is that a yes then?”
“Yes, yes, that’s a yes!”
He lifted up her hand and slid the ring back onto her finger, its rightful place. She squealed in delight and cupped his face in her hands, kissing him excitedly and exaggeratedly. “Oh, Michael . . .” This was one hell of an anniversary gift. “I was starting to think this would never happen.”
“We’ve waited long enough.”
They most certainly had. And the real beauty of this was that they wouldn’t have to wait any longer. Nothing could derail them. Sure, she was pregnant again, but not noticeably pregnant yet. She’d still fit in her dress, and everything would still be perfect. “This is one of the best days of my life,” she told him.
“And it’s barely even started yet.”
“I know! We’re finally getting married.”
“Finally gettin’ married,” he echoed, rubbing her back with his large, strong hands. “Is this good? Is it okay that I did this?”
“Uh, it’s better than okay. It’s the most amazing thing. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He kissed her again, letting his lips linger on hers this time.
“Oh my god, I have to write my vows,” she realized, pulling away suddenly.
“Me, too,” he murmured, pulling her back in for more kissing, “but . . . maybe one last . . .” Kiss. “. . . pre-marital . . .” Kiss. “. . . roll in the hay first?” Kiss. “Please?”
“Michael!” She laughed joyfully as he clamored back up onto the bed, pulling her with him. Her heart sped up in anticipation when she thought of what they day had in store for them. The rest of their lives were starting right now.
TBC . . .
-April
He could have come out the victor, if only he wasn't so blinded by Isabel's gold-plated vagina! Seriously, what is it about her and that particular body part that has men loosing themselves? It's had more traffic than a NYC highway!
Oh my god. You crack me up.Yeah, I don't think Maria's going to be turning that idea down. I think she'd love to be married before she has this next baby.OMG ... Love, LOVE Michael more and more with each update. That is a totally sweet idea! I can't see Maria turning it down ... unless she wants to tell him about Número Tres beforehand.
BB:
Noted!I swear to Lucifer if Isabel finds a way to wreck this wedding and ruin Maria's day, I will kill her.
Ha ha ha! Yeah, and not only did she lose him, but she pretty much willingly gave him up. So that must sting.I love that Michael is planning a surprise wedding. I seriously love this Michael. Isabel's totally batshit insane obsession makes so much sense to me. To have him and to lose him, that would turn any woman crazy.
Novy: Look who's using a Tess icon!
I know. The poor kid. When Max is the healthiest role model you have in your life . . . bad. Just bad.I'm with Isabel on this one. I don't see Alex's dad coming around being a good thing. Poor Garret. If only he could have some healthy male role models in his life.
Aw, good! I'm glad the fic still surprises you. Not to get all foreshadow-y, but . . . the biggest surprises are DEFINITELY yet to come.81 parts in and I still can get surprised! I love that!
Krista: My California girl! I've missed you! Glad to know you're still reading. Don't worry, I know real life gets in the way sometimes. I haven't even had much time to write lately because student teaching really demands a lot. Remind me, what kind of job did you get? You graduated, right?
Trixie: Hey there! Okay, you're a Glee fan, so I have to ask . . . do you have ANY idea what the writers are doing lately? Love triangles that shouldn't even exist are popping out of the woodwork! I am by no means a Finn/Rachel fan, so I really don't care if they're together or not, but . . . I don't know, it just seems like the writers have lost their way. What do you think?
Anyway . . .
You know, I went into this fic knowing that most people wouldn't be able to stick with it, just because it does go to some very dark places. Like I said to Novy (I believe) last week: This is not a fic for the masses; it's a fic for the fringes. Only a select few people are cut out for reading this. And that's okay. Honestly, I've never pushed myself as a writer like I have with this. So thanks for the compliment.Congrats on your noms! I'm sorry to know that you've lost readers of this story due to the angst, but I want to say I appreciate how you are pushing the envelope with these issues. You're an amazing writer. Keep it up!
I appreciate it.THANK YOU FOR THE FEEDBACK!
Part 82
“Do you like the camera?”
“Yeah.” Michael held up the Samsung digital camera Maria had given him for Christmas, inspecting it closely. “I just wish I could figure out how to get the video component to work.”
Maria walked past him, flipped a button, and the screen changed from photo capture to video capture.
“Oh.” He grew red with embarrassment. “I was gonna do that.”
She rolled her eyes and sat down on the couch, sipping hot cocoa. He played around with the zoom for a bit, zooming in on her boobs and panning down to her legs before zooming back out and switching to a new subject. “Hey, Frank, smile. You’re on candid camera.”
Frank stuck his tongue out, panted a bit, then lay down on the welcome mat by the door for a nap before bedtime.
“Daddy, get me,” Miley said, jumping in front of the camera.
“Okay, I got you. Say something.”
“Uh . . .” She stopped jumping, drawing a blank.
“It’s almost the end of the year,” he narrated, trying to get the camera to focus. “What’d you do this year, Miley?”
“I-I played with Garret,” she sputtered, “and we runned away. And I falled in the pool and picked up a gun thing.”
“Uh, what else?” He didn’t want her to just look back on this year and remember the bad things.
“I played a lot,” she repeated, “and I painted.”
“You learned to write your name,” Maria added.
“Yeah, and I learned 911.” Her eyes lit up proudly. “And I sing Hannah Montana.”
“You danced, too. Will you dance for the camera?” he asked.
She immediately started twisting from side to side, throwing her arms and legs about.
“Wow, look at you. You’re awesome, you know that?” he praised her.
“I really wanna get her in a jazz class,” Maria said. “And maybe tap and ballet, too.”
“Why not throw in ballroom while we’re at it?”
“Yeah, the cool Latin stuff.”
While Miley kept dancing, he panned back to Maria, wondering how high quality this video would turn out. Maybe they could film the wedding on that camera, if there was enough free space on the memory card.
“Don’t aim that thing at me,” Maria said, shielding her face with her hand. “I look gross.”
“No, no, no, you look hot,” he assured her. “What’d you do this year?”
She slowly lowered her hand and set her cocoa aside on the end table. “Well . . . had another baby. Ow. And then I went back to college, did the unit plan. Watched my mom battle cancer.”
“And kick cancer’s ass,” he added.
“Totally. And . . .” She shrugged. “That’s about it.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Her eyes widened, and she stiffened. “No.”
“Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners,” he reminded her.
“Oh, right. Quite the culinary accomplishments.” She laughed. “Okay, go to Macy.”
“Macy?” He looked down and found her crawling on the floor near his feet. “Macy, how was your year?”
She pushed herself up to her feet, wobbling from side to side. “Da-da,” she cooed, a happy smile on her chubby little face.
“That’s right, you learned to say Da-da.”
“Learned to say Mama first,” Maria made sure to put in.
“You learned a lot this year.” He zoomed in on her, impressed that the camera could capture all the soft, fine hairs on top of her head. “You first year on the planet, wasn’t it? You learned to talk, learned to crawl, to walk.”
She tipped over.
“Somewhat.”
“Macy, come here you silly girl,” Maria said, holding out her arms.
“Mama!” Macy got back up and ran over to her as fast as her little legs could carry her.
“Oh, you’re gettin’ big.” Maria picked her up and held her on her lap, bouncing her up and down.
“Dog!” Macy exclaimed, pointing at Frank.
“That’s right. That’s Frank. He’s a dog,” Maria said, beaming with pride.
“Dog!” Macy yelped again, pointing at the coffee table this time.
“Uh, no, that’s the coffee table.”
“Dog!” she kept saying, pointing at Miley this time. Then at the staircase. Then at the fireplace. “Dog! Dog! Dog!”
Michael laughed at her extreme adorableness. “She looks so much like you,” he told Maria.
“Yeah, she does,” she agreed.
“Daddy, look at me,” Miley whined for attention. He brought the camera back around to her. She was still dancing. But after a few more minutes of that, she lay down on the floor next to Frank, using his oversized stomach as her pillow, and yawned.
“Oh, somebody’s tired. Time to go to sleep,” he said, turning off the camera. He was going to have to hook it up to the computer later so that he could view the video on a bigger screen, check and make sure it was as high quality as it seemed.
They put Miley to bed first. Macy drifted off about ten minutes later. “Don’t you wish you could fall asleep as fast as they do?” Maria asked him while she flossed her teeth in the bathroom that night.
“Yeah, that’d be nice.” He leaned against the sink, watching her. She was so diligent about getting every single tooth. Not that he minded. It was just sort of cute was all.
“We’d better try to get to bed, too,” she said.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”
“Yep, ringin’ in the new year at a club for gay men.”
“Well . . .” He paused, not sure if he should say anything. “Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?” She dropped her floss in the trash, giving him quite the confused look. “I thought that’s what we said we were gonna do.”
“Well, you never know what surprises I might have up my sleeve.”
“Really?” Her eyes glittered with intrigue. “What kind of surprises?”
“The surprising kind.”
“Seriously.”
“I am serious. I can’t tell you. Then it’s no longer a surprise.”
She groaned in frustration, folding her arms across her chest. “Well, how am I supposed to get to sleep now?”
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he mumbled, determined not to cave in and tell her about his idea just yet.
“You really shouldn’t.”
“It’s something good, though,” he promised.
“Well, duh.” She sighed heavily, staring straight up into his eyes. “You’re really not gonna tell me, are you?”
“Nope.” He really wanted to, because he was excited about it, and he wanted to see what she would say. But he forced himself not to.
“When will you?” She pouted.
“Oh, you’ll know it when it happens,” he assured her.
“Hmm. Well, I’ve got news for you, buddy.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, sliding her body up against his. “I’m full of surprises, too, and I might have one in store for you tomorrow.”
“Is that so?”
“So it is.” She smirked.
Well, he thought, now my interest is piqued. Maybe it was something deeply sexual. They weren’t going to get to honeymoon just yet, but Marty had agreed to watch Miley and Macy for the next couple of days if they wanted some newlywed time.
“So I will go to sleep,” she decided, “only because this is getting us nowhere. But . . .” She trailed her fingers down in between them and loosened the drawstring of his sweatpants. “I may need you to tire me out first.”
He grinned, his fingers immediately itching with the desire to roam over her skin. “I can do that.” And that was how he found himself on top of her ten minutes later, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands grazing over his shoulder blades and down his spine. Sheathed in latex and buried inside her as he rolled his hips forward, he was faintly aware that, when they did this tomorrow night, they’d be husband and wife.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dreams ricocheted through Isabel’s mind that night. No, not just dreams. Fantasies. All sorts of fantasies. The sexual kind, the romantic kind. Mostly the never-gonna-happen kind.
She dreamt through her whole relationship with Michael. Meeting him in college, going out on that first date, kissing him for the first time, sleeping with him and falling even more and more in love . . .
And then she came to that point in the dream where she knew she’d gone to Florida for spring break and cheated on him with Alex. But since this was a fantasy, it didn’t have to be that way. She fantasized that she never went to Florida, never even met Alex, never did anything to betray the only good man she’d ever known.
And from that point onward, the dream was make believe. She dreamt that Michael proposed to her the way he’d intended to, and she said yes. She dreamt that he tried on tuxedos for their wedding day, that she bought a gorgeous dress and he wasn’t able to take his eyes off her as she walked down the aisle. She heard the vows they would have said, felt the ring sliding on her finger, tasted the kiss. But even through her sleepy haze, she knew it wasn’t real.
Her eyes shot open at 2:12 a.m., before she could fantasize even further; but she knew how the rest of it would have played out. Children. His children. She would have had them. All of them. They would have been the perfect family living in the house with 522 on the front. Maria wouldn’t have been a blip on his radar. She would have been an old college acquaintance he waved to when he saw her at the grocery store. If that.
Isabel rolled over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling as Alex lay beside her, snoring lightly. What really was was exactly the opposite of what could have been: It was a nightmare, the kind she couldn’t wake up from.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There were a number of thoughts that ran through Maria’s mind as she slowly awoke in the morning: It’s New Year’s. It’s my anniversary. I totally got laid last night. I have to tell Michael we’re having another baby today. What’s that pokey thing behind me? Oh, well, there’s nothing wrong with a little morning wood.
She peeked at the clock. 8:30. Way too early to get out of bed just yet. She rolled over, the cool sheets caressing her skin. Michael was lying beside her, propped up on his left arm, smiling down at her.
“Hey,” she said, wondering how long he’d been awake.
“Hey,” he returned.
She reached out and smoothed her hands over the muscles in his arms. “Last night was . . .” She trailed off, unable to think of the right words to describe how amazing it’d been.
“It was,” he agreed. “Happy anniversary.”
“Happy anniversary.” She loved the sound of that. Who would have ever thought that she would grow up to have actual anniversaries with a great, kind guy? “I can’t believe it’s been four years.” In a way, it seemed like such a long time, but in another way, it seemed as if it’d just been yesterday that he’d come up to her at that frat party on New Year’s and given her the most incredible kiss of her life.
“About seventy of these anniversaries left to go,” he said, moving her hair behind her shoulder for her.
“So, what, you’re predicting we’ll live ‘til we’re eighty-five?”
He smiled. “Ninety-five.”
There was that damn math stuff again. “Whatever. When you’re old and saggy, all the years blend together anyway.” She scooted in closer to him, coiling her legs around his beneath the covers. “Will you still love me when I’m old and saggy?”
“Of course,” he answered without hesitation.
“Good, ‘cause . . . I think I’ll still love you,” she teased, giggling. “No, I will. I’ll love you ‘til the end of time, and even after that.” Anniversaries tended to bring out the poet in her.
He leaned forward and kissed her, that quick but meaningful kind of kiss people who had been in love for a long time did. “It’s gonna be a great day,” he promised.
“I hope so.” She wouldn’t accept anything less than great on a day like today.
“Although I’m curious,” he went on. “What kind of surprise do you have in store for me?”
Here goes nothing, she thought, her heart nearly tripling in speed. “Guess,” she said, turning back around so that they were spooning. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her midsection to pull her as close as possible, and she rested her arms atop his, entwining their fingers. “Come on, you can figure it out,” she urged, gazing at his hands atop her stomach, a stomach that would soon become rounded and be alive with little baby kicks.
“Uh, you have a long-lost identical twin and you wanna have a threesome?” he joked.
“No. Perv.”
“You won the lottery? No?”
She drummed her fingers atop his hands, wondering when he would start to get the hint. All he had to do was look and think about it a little.
“Okay, uh . . . I don’t know,” he confessed.
“Keep guessing.” She really wasn’t sure if she could just blurt it out, not after keeping it buried for so long.
“Give me a hint,” he suggested.
“Well . . . it’s really not all that surprising if you think about it.”
“What? Okay, now you’re just confusing me.”
“Seriously?” Michael was a smart guy. He could figure it out. But for now, it was fun to watch him grapple with it.
“Seriously, I don’t . . .” He trailed off, picking up her left hand. “Wait a minute.”
“What?” Had he figured it out?
“Where’s your ring?”
“My . . .” She glanced down at her hand and saw for the first time what he’d noticed, an incredible alarming sight. Her engagement ring wasn’t on her finger. “Where . . . where is it?” Suddenly, her entire hand felt odd and empty. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know; that’s why I asked you.”
“Well, it . . . I don’t know.” She rolled over onto her back and sat up, looking around the room frantically. “It has to be here. I never take it off.”
He shrugged. “You must’ve.”
“No, it was on last night while I was brushing my teeth. Maybe it fell off while we were screwing?” She started tossing blankets over the edge of the bed. “Check everywhere.”
“What if you lost it?” he asked.
“No, I didn’t.” She didn’t even want to think such horrible thoughts. “I couldn’t have. We went straight from the bathroom to here. It’s not like it got up and walked away.”
“Or did it?”
“Shut up and help me find it!” she yelped, getting worried now. She lifted up her pillow and looked underneath, but it was still nowhere to be found. She shook out the pillowcase. Again, nothing. “Michael, I’m serious. This is my engagement ring.”
“Okay, I’m lookin’.” He peeled back the sheet and felt around the mattress.
“It has to be here,” she kept assuring herself, even digging her hands through her hair. It was possible it’d gotten lost in there. Or maybe in Michael’s hair. She felt around his head.
“Hey, what’re you doin’?”
“Just help me find it!” She felt her chest starting to constrict with dread. That was the only engagement ring she’d ever have, and it was beautiful. What if she never saw it again? “I couldn’t have lost it,” she whimpered, nearly in tears. “I’ve never lost it. I . . .” And all of a sudden, when she turned to face Michael and rummage around on his side of the bed, there it was, in between his thumb and index finger, shining just as brightly as the day he’d given it to her. “Oh.”
He just smiled, twirling it around between his fingers.
“How’d you . . .” He hadn’t even been looking that hard. Not that she was complaining.
“Surprise,” he said, grinning.
That sparked her interest. Surprise?
“I took it off your finger while you were sleeping,” he explained.
“Why would you . . .” She couldn’t even form a sentence, because she didn’t understand what was going on.
He took a deep breath, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. He stood there for a minute, then mumbled, “I can’t do this while I’m naked,” and bent down to put on his boxers.
“Do what?” she asked. “Michael.” She kept her eyes glued to him as he walked around to her side of the bed and knelt down so that he was at eye level with her, holding the ring out in front of him and raising one knee.
“Oh my god.” Suddenly, she knew what this was. The proposal pose.
He smiled, licking his lips nervously. “Maria DeLuca, will you marry me?”
“Yeah,” she said, trying to process what was going on. He was proposing to her. Again. “Didn’t I answer this question, like, two years ago?”
“I mean right now,” he clarified. “Will you marry me right now?”
Her mouth gaped, and all she could manage to say was, “I have bedhead.”
He laughed and corrected himself. “No, not right now, but . . . now as in tonight. Marry me tonight in front of our family and friends.”
She stared at him in disbelief, wondering if she should pinch herself, because this had to be a dream. “But how can we? We haven’t even--”
“You have your dress,” he cut in, “I have my tux, we have the rings. Your mom’s gonna be here. My parents, too. I set everything up. It’s all ready to go if this is something you want. But if you still wanna wait, I understand. I can call it off.”
“Don’t you dare!” She scrambled down off the bed, practically falling into his lap, a tangled mess of her own limbs and the sheets. “Oh, Michael . . .” She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He was sweating. He was nervous.
He was the best man on the freaking planet.
“I can’t believe this,” she exclaimed, staring at him in astonishment. “This is unreal. Is this a dream?”
“No.”
“So we could really get married tonight?”
“If you want to.”
“On our anniversary?”
“It’s my gift to you.”
“And when the new year starts . . .”
“You could start it off as Maria Guerin.”
Maria Guerin. She loved the way that sounded. She’d been waiting for nearly four years to write that name on all her papers, to be able to tell her students to call her Mrs. Guerin. “Oh my god.”
“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he promised.
“Oh my god.” She was completely shocked. How had she been so completely oblivious to him planning this? “Michael, this is . . . this is, like, the most romantic thing ever.”
“Is that a yes then?”
“Yes, yes, that’s a yes!”
He lifted up her hand and slid the ring back onto her finger, its rightful place. She squealed in delight and cupped his face in her hands, kissing him excitedly and exaggeratedly. “Oh, Michael . . .” This was one hell of an anniversary gift. “I was starting to think this would never happen.”
“We’ve waited long enough.”
They most certainly had. And the real beauty of this was that they wouldn’t have to wait any longer. Nothing could derail them. Sure, she was pregnant again, but not noticeably pregnant yet. She’d still fit in her dress, and everything would still be perfect. “This is one of the best days of my life,” she told him.
“And it’s barely even started yet.”
“I know! We’re finally getting married.”
“Finally gettin’ married,” he echoed, rubbing her back with his large, strong hands. “Is this good? Is it okay that I did this?”
“Uh, it’s better than okay. It’s the most amazing thing. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He kissed her again, letting his lips linger on hers this time.
“Oh my god, I have to write my vows,” she realized, pulling away suddenly.
“Me, too,” he murmured, pulling her back in for more kissing, “but . . . maybe one last . . .” Kiss. “. . . pre-marital . . .” Kiss. “. . . roll in the hay first?” Kiss. “Please?”
“Michael!” She laughed joyfully as he clamored back up onto the bed, pulling her with him. Her heart sped up in anticipation when she thought of what they day had in store for them. The rest of their lives were starting right now.
TBC . . .
-April
LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
-
April
- Roswell Fanatic
- Posts: 1557
- Joined: Tue Sep 28, 2004 9:32 am
- Location: Somewhere. Anywhere.
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Part 83
Updating today because I believe I'm going home for the weekend tomorrow. Yay!
Lilah:
Ellie:
Novy:
Trixie:
BB:
Thank you for the feedback!
Gettin' musical again today: I'm recommending "Innocence" by Avril Lavigne. I know, right? Avril Lavigne? I'm not exactly a fan, but I like some of her songs, and this is one of them. For some reason, it was always playing in my head when I envisioned a certain montage of scenes. You can listen to it here or click on
when you see it if you'd like to listen.
Part 83
“Did you guys know about this?”
Tess glanced up from her blueberry pancakes when Maria came bursting through the door that morning, looking completely wired.
“About what?” Kyle asked between bites.
“This.” She held out her hand, pointing at her engagement ring.
“Uh, yeah, you’ve been wearing it for the past two years,” Kyle pointed out.
“No, I mean the re-proposal. You knew, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. I was the first to know.” Kyle smirked.
“It’s kinda like how everyone knows you’re pregnant except Michael,” Tess explained. “Everyone knew he was planning on marrying you tonight except you. Although I didn’t know he was gonna re-propose. That’s so cute.”
“I know,” she agreed. “Well, kudos for keeping it a secret, because I had no clue.”
“Honestly, part of me wondered if you’d be pissed that he planned the whole thing by himself,” Kyle admitted, returning his focus to the bowl of cereal in front of him. “I guess you’re not, though.”
“Marty helped with the color scheme,” Tess informed her.
“Well, that’s good to know. And I’m so not pissed. I just wanna marry the man. I don’t care where or how.”
“The ‘where’ is pretty adorable,” Tess assured her. Michael had given her the name of the church, and she’d looked it up online last night. “It’s this little chapel about ten miles out of town. You’ll love it.”
“Oh, the minister who marries you is gonna be the same guy who baptized Macy,” Kyle added on.
Maria’s face lit up. “Pastor Babcock?”
Kyle tried to smile, but failed. “Babcock?”
“Yeah, weird name, I know, but he’s the nicest guy in the world. I always wanted him to marry us. How did Michael . . .” She held one hand over her heart, grinning blissfully, closing her eyes. “He knows me so well. He’s extraordinary.”
“She’s having a mental orgasm. Watch out,” Kyle cautioned.
Her eyes snapped back open again. “Oh, I’ve already had the real kind this morning. Twice.”
Good for you, Tess thought, wondering if she’d ever have an orgasm again. Or sex, even. The last time she’d had sex . . . had been with Kyle. Rape didn’t count. But she didn’t want to think about that today.
“Ooh, I’m so excited,” Maria exclaimed, clapping her hands giddily. “This is the best day. And everyone’s gonna be there.”
“Yeah, my dad called. He and Amy should be here in a few hours,” Tess told her. When he’d called, he’d said they were in the airport.
“Awesome. But wait a minute. Lucinda.” Maria’s expression suddenly shifted to one of alarm. “My friend Lucinda from school. She should be there.”
“You have other friends?” Kyle asked, sounding surprised. “Cool, I was beginning to think we were all socially retarded.
“Lucinda’s gonna be there,” Tess assured her. “Michael already got a hold of her.”
“He did?” Maria started to mental orgasm again. “He’s spectacular.”
“She’s bringing her husband and kids. She’s got an eight year old son who agreed to be the ring-bearer, and she said she could be your second bridesmaid if you want.”
“Perfect.”
“Yeah, ‘cause otherwise Marty was gonna have to do it,” Kyle said. “The ring-bearer, not the bridesmaid thing. Although he probably would’ve enjoyed being a bridesmaid.”
Tess laughed a little. “I think he’s disappointed that his job was reassigned to someone younger and cuter.”
“But he’s still gonna be a groomsman, right? And Kyle, you’re still the best man?”
He puffed up his chest and nodded proudly. “That’s me.”
“And you’re . . .” She turned to Tess, looking truly uncertain for the first time. “Are you . . . will you still be my maid of honor?”
The hoard of butterflies that has settled in her stomach ever since she’d heard about these wedding plans flew away in an instant, and relief swept over Tess like a warm blanket. Thank God. “There’s nothing I’d like more in the world,” she said, so grateful that their disputes lately weren’t getting in the way of this.
“Good,” Maria said. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” She knew her friend had just given her an incredible gift: a second chance. “Congratulations, Maria.”
“Thanks, I’m so excited.” She glanced at the clock and bolted for the door. “Gotta go. I have to be wedding-ready by midnight.”
“Before, technically,” Kyle called after her as she ran out the door. He turned to Tess and noted, “You look happy.”
“I am,” she admitted. “It makes me happy to see her happy.” Maria had gone through some rough, unexpected stuff over the years, as they all had. She deserved a fairytale like this.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Isabel slipped into her new khaki capris, disappointed that they didn’t fit quite right around her waist. They gapped out in the back because the damn clothing manufactures didn’t make pants for women who had butts. She had to put on a belt just to keep them from falling down. Stupid things.
“Hey, you are gonna love this,” Alex announced, barging into her room while she was changing her shirt. “I made a reservation for us at the Olive Garden. You, me, candlelit booth, the VIP treatment.”
“Oh.” She cringed, putting on her work shirt. “I really wish you hadn’t done that.”
“Well, I know it’s a little expensive, but . . .”
“No, I mean . . . I just found out I have to work tonight.”
“On New Year’s Eve?”
“Yeah, the store’s open three-hundred and sixty-five days a year. Darn the luck.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and headed downstairs, securing her hair in a ponytail as she walked.
“Well, are you sure?” He sounded desperate as he followed her. “Maybe you could get someone to trade shifts with you.”
“Alex, nobody wants to work on New Year’s Eve.” Except me, she added to herself. She heard Max walk in the front door, and he spoke up before she could stop him.
“I thought that Rebecca chick was scheduled to work alone tonight.”
“Max.” She turned around, glaring at him. “You thought wrong.” Rebecca had been mighty pleased when Isabel had called her up and offered to take her shift. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I get paid time and a half.” And I don’t have to sit at the Olive Garden with Alex and pretend I’m enjoying his company.
“I guess I’ll just cancel our reservation then,” Alex said, sounding disappointed. “You here to pick up Garret, Max?”
Max nodded mutely.
“I’ll go get him.” Alex went back upstairs.
“Hmm,” Max said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Work on New Year’s Eve? That doesn’t sound like the sister I know and hate.”
“I need something to do to keep my mind off of what’s happening tonight,” she told him.
“And what’s happening?”
She lowered her head, ashamed that she hadn’t found a way to stop it. “Michael and Maria are getting married tonight.” The words left a bitter taste on her tongue. She was pretty sure it was tonight. From what she remembered, it was their anniversary, and Michael a knack for grand, romantic gestures like this sometimes.
“Oh.” Max didn’t sound very sympathetic. “He really loves you, you know.”
“Who, Michael?” Had he noticed something she hadn’t?
“No, him.” Max motioned behind her. She turned around and saw Alex carrying a very tired Garret downstairs.
“Yeah,” she muttered, “I know.” But Alex’s love couldn’t hold a candle to Michael’s. It never would.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael wrote until his hand hurt, until it cramped up and he couldn’t write anymore. “Here,” he said, handing the third draft of his vows to Marty for inspection. “What do you think?”
Marty read for a minute, then said, “Wow.” He read a little more and said it again. “Wow. Wow.”
“Good?” Michael asked hopefully.
“No, uber-cheesy.” Marty handed the paper back to him.
“Dammit,” he swore. He’d been working on his vows for a few hours now. The entire family had shown up, and all the men were hanging out downstairs in the living room while all the women were congregating up in the bedroom, with the exception of Miley, who was with the boys cramming in lessons at Kyle’s made up Flower Girl School.
“I can’t do this,” he groaned, wishing he’d found the time to write them a few days ago. “It’s either too wordy, too cheesy, or too graphic.”
“I liked the graphic one,” Kyle piped up. “Sounded like a smut novel. Uh, Miley, you’re not on Top Model just yet. Let’s take the diva out of that walk and try again.”
Miley frowned and got down on her hands and knees to recollect her flowers before she started over.
“Son, just write from the heart,” Michael’s father urged. “Let your feelings speak for you.”
His feelings were speaking loud and clear. It was just the writing that was difficult. “You know, English is the one subject I was never very good at. I got a B+.”
“Ooh, smart equals sexy!” Marty exclaimed. “Love you, Big Boy.”
“Thank you.”
John leaned forward in his chair, helping Miley pick up her flowers. “This isn’t English, Son,” he pointed out. “It’s your wedding day.”
Michael mulled that over for a minute, and once he let it sink in, he knew exactly what his vows were going to be.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Why am I still all red?” Maria wailed, staring in horror at her reflection in the mirror. She prayed to God she wasn’t have an allergic reaction to something.
“You’re just nervous,” Tess replied semi-calmly, standing behind her while the curling iron heated up. “Or something. Fan. Fan, fan.”
Maria flapped her hands in front of her face, trying to generate some gusts of air to cool herself off. “I don’t feel nervous, though. I’m excited.”
“Oh, honey, on your wedding day, the two go hand-in-hand,” her mother assured her as she sifted through her closet. “Trust me, I’ve done it twice.”
“Well, my ticket to marriage is strictly one-way. No offense.”
“None taken. I’m just glad I’m here to see it.”
“Me, too.” Not all that long ago, she’d doubted if her mom would even be alive to see her walk down the aisle. Now, not only was she alive, but she was also healthy. And that was even more amazing than the wedding itself. “Okay, who wants to hear my vows?”
“Go for it,” Sylvia urged. She was sitting on the bed, playing with Macy.
“Okay.” She cleared her throat, unfolded the napkin she’d been using as a sheet of paper, and squinted as she tried to make out her own handwriting. “Michael, you are my strength when I’m not strong. You hold me up when I’m falling and make me feel like I can do anything, like I can conquer everything. You make me feel safe and beautiful. And alive. And brave. You make me feel brave, because even when I’m not strong, I know you’ll be strong for me, and . . . why am I talking about this? Strong?” She made a face. “We’re not weightlifters.”
“No, it’s nice, keep going,” Sylvia urged.
“I’m totally rambling. I suck at this.”
Tess wrinkled her forehead in confusion. “Wait, that’s not how you’re gonna end it, is it?”
“No, I don’t know how I’m gonna end it because I don’t know how I’m gonna start it or flesh it out in the middle.” She groaned, frustrated. “God, why did we decide to write our own vows? I can’t even string a coherent sentence together half the time!”
“Sure you can,” Tess assured her.
“Try telling that to Mrs. McHenry. Freshman Comp., remember? Whenever she handed my essays back, they were bleeding red ink.”
“Good thing this isn’t an essay then,” Amy said, taking a thin, white shawl out of her closet. “Are you going to wear this tonight?”
“No.”
“It could be cold.”
“I don’t care.” Oh god, am I turning into a Bridezilla? she wondered. She really felt the bitchiness boiling up. “Oh god, I should’ve started on this months ago. Michael’s probably already done with his by now. It’s probably like poetry, like Pope or whatever.”
“The Pope?” Tess asked.
“No, not the pope. Pope, the guy. The dude. He wrote . . . what did he write again?”
“Rape of the Lock,” Sylvia chimed in.
Tess flinched. “That sounds . . .”
“It’s about hair,” Maria informed her, surprised she even remembered the story. “Anyway, Michael’s vows are probably really good, and mine suck.”
“They don’t suck,” Sylvia promised her. “Don’t panic, Maria. You’ve got seven and a half hours left to work on it.”
“Seven hours and fifteen minutes, actually,” she corrected. “The wedding starts at 11:45 so that we can hopefully say ‘I do’ right at midnight.”
“Right at . . .” Sylvia held her hand to her chest, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, that is adorable. And Michael really planned all this by himself?”
Maria nodded, so damn proud of her man.
“Well . . . maybe he could teach his father a few things about romance.”
“And Kyle,” Tess added.
“And . . . well, Ed does okay,” Amy acknowledged. “Although we are still in that newlywed phase.”
“It’ll wear off,” Tess and Sylvia said in unison, high-fiving each other when they did.
“I have to admit, though, this is a whole new level of getting the anniversary right,” Amy said, rehanging Maria’s shawl for her.
“Yeah,” Maria agreed, “I sort of feel like a princess. Like a red, red princess with floppy hair.”
“Just stay still,” Tess said, picking up the curling iron. She held her hand close to it to test the heat, then lifted a section of Maria’s hair and began the curling process. “I’ll stop the flop. I just need a little time.”
“We don’t have time!” Maria shrieked, feeling the Bridezilla coming back out.
“We have seven hours and fifteen minutes, remember? That’s plenty of time.”
“Not when I have vows to write!”
“Just . . . write while I curl.”
“Oh . . .” Maria held one hand to her stomach. All of a sudden, it was churning. “Okay, now I’m starting to get nervous. What if my hair’s not done on time? What if I don’t get my vows done? Or what if I do, but I forget ‘em? Or what if I get so tongue-tied up there that Michael can’t even understand what the hell I’m saying, and then I have to, like, pantomime my vows or something? Oh! And what about the ‘something borrowed, something blue’ spiel?”
Amy closed the closet and came to stand behind her, looking at her in the mirror. “Well . . . the dress is new.”
“Right.”
“And the ring is technically old,” Tess added, releasing her hair from the grip of the curling iron. It didn’t look particularly curly. “Something old, something new . . .”
“Okay. And?”
They both looked at Sylvia.
“Uh . . .” She looked herself up and down from head to toe, then seemed to have an epiphany. “Oh, I know!” She unclasped a small blue pendant from around her neck and walked it over to Maria. “Something borrowed. My mother gave it to me on my wedding day, and her mom had it before her. I was supposed to give it to my daughter, but . . . well, Michael doesn’t really have the parts to qualify for that. So you should have it. I think of you like a daughter anyway, and pretty soon you will be.”
Maria took the necklace from her, holding it up with admiration. “Thank you.” It was beautiful and, most of all, meaningful.
“And it’s blue. Two in one,” Sylvia pointed out.
“Yes. Perfect. But . . . if you’re giving it to me, it’s not really borrowed, is it?”
“Here.” Tess kicked off her white shoes embroidered with fake—but very authentic-looking—diamonds and said, “I know you love these shoes.”
“Something borrowed,” Maria said, picking them up and setting them down on her lap. “And possibly something stolen because I love them that much.”
Tess rolled her eyes and smiled, one of those genuine smiles that was all too rare from her these days.
“Thanks, you guys,” Maria said gratefully. “And thanks for being here. I know this is all really last-minute, but . . . you know, I’m kinda glad it is. In a few months, I won’t even be able to fit into my dress.”
“That’s right,” Sylvia said, locking eyes with Amy. “Just how many grandchildren do you think we’ll end up with?”
Amy shrugged. “They could end up with their own reality show. Michael and Maria Plus Eight, perhaps?”
“Five,” Maria said emphatically. “We’re not having any more than five.”
“Speaking of having kids . . .” Tess picked up another section of hair and wrapped it around the curling iron, holding it incredibly close to her scalp. “You haven’t told him yet, have you? You said you were gonna tell him today.”
“Day’s not over,” she pointed out. “I’m gonna tell him after the wedding, when we’re all alone and cuddling up for a nice long night of . . .” She trailed off, her lips poised with the ‘f’ sound. “Frampton,” she blurted. It was the first ‘f’ word that came to mind besides the one she’d truly been thinking of. “Peter Frampton.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Amy said, laughing.
“Yes,” Sylvia agreed. “Everybody knows what you and my son do in your spare time..”
“Darn, and here I thought we were doing such a good job of keeping it a secret,” she joked right along with them.
“The word you were looking for was ‘fucking,’ by the way,” Tess said. “Fucking.”
“Thanks, Tess.” Her face grew even redder, this time with embarrassment.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Not surprisingly, very few people came to Cockadoodle-Doo to rent any videos that night. Most people had better things to do on New Year’s Eve. Isabel took out the portable DVD player and watched a few movies that night, one where porn stars dressed up as nuns and got ass-fucked in a church and another called Black Boys Like to Gangbang. She was about to pop in the sequel, which featured Asian boys, when the door chime sounded. She turned around and saw someone way worse than the average customer come inside: her husband.
“Hey,” he said, smiling.
She ejected the DVD, wondering what he was doing there. “Hey.”
They stood in awkward silence for a minute, and finally he asked, “You close at 11:00 tonight, right?”
“Yep.” The store hours were right there on the door.
“Cool, cool. So we can still ring in the new year together at midnight.”
She didn’t want that, because she knew the way you rang in the new year was the way you spent the entire year. The thought of giving Alex that symbolic kiss as midnight made her feel uneasy to say the least. “Well, I have to prepare the bank deposit, though,” she informed him, “and I have to vacuum, set the security alarm, lock up the store. That all takes time.” She was hoping to discourage him, even though she could probably do all that in ten minutes flat.
“I’ll help you,” he volunteered, not getting the point. “I’ll vacuum.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
( )
She sighed in resignation, turning around so that she could mouth ‘fuck’ without him noticing. Was this really what the rest of her life was going to be like, day in and day out with a guy she couldn’t stand half the time? She wished she could yell at him to leave her alone, to let her be; but she couldn’t risk upsetting him, because she’d lose control over him. And she so loved control. She supposed, in that sense, she was under his control in return.
He came around the counter and stood behind her, placing his hands on her waist. She could feel the beginning bulge of an erection pressing against her ass, and she knew where this little visit was going before it even began.
He turned her around to face him, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. As he kissed her, he trailed his hand down in between them and slid his zipper down. She heard it, and she did nothing to stop it. Instead, she made fake moaning sounds as he kissed his way down to her neck, sucking on her skin like a vampire. As much as she didn’t want to screw him, at least it was a distraction from what Michael and Maria were doing tonight.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Maria whirled around, her dress flapping around her like a cool breeze. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror, all the way from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. Up until now, she hadn’t fully allowed herself to believe this was happening; but now that she was actually ready to go, dressed in her strapless gown, makeup on, hair done up, she realized that she was actually a bride. No longer was her wedding something that would happen someday. It was something that was happening now.
She clutched the necklace Sylvia had given her, her breath catching as she stared at herself. She looked and felt more beautiful than ever. She really was glowing, in more ways than one.
She turned around when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Michael poked his head into the room, his mouth gaping when he saw her.
“What’re you doing? You’re not supposed to see me in my dress,” she said. “That’s bad luck.”
“Ah, that’s just a superstition,” he dismissed, coming into the room. He looked amazing in his black tuxedo, like James Bond or something. “Wow,” he said, staring at her intently.
“Wow back at you.”
“Thanks, but you’re really . . . really wow.”
She laughed, blushing. How was it that, after all these years, he could still make her blush so much?
He stood in front of her, lifting up her right hand, pressing his palm to hers before wrapping his fingers around hers. “You nervous?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. But then she remembered how she’d already forgotten her vows and admitted, “Maybe a little.”
He lowered her hand in his but didn’t let go of it. “We’d better go,” he said. “Everyone’s already there, waiting on us.”
“Sorry,” she apologized, “my hair took longer than I thought it would.” Tess had ended up fixing her hair in a wavy half-ponytail. Simple, but elegant.
He ran his free hand through her tresses. The simple gesture set her heart on fire. She leaned him slowly to meet his lips in a kiss, brushing the tip of her tongue against his. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that this was the last time they’d kiss before they were pronounced husband and wife, but mostly, all she could think about was him. Sometimes she felt like she loved him more than it was possible to love someone.
Ooh, that was a great line for her vows.
He pulled away slowly, smiling at her. He looked just as excited to be her husband as she was to be his wife. “Come on,” he said, squeezing her hand.
She grabbed her veil off the bed, and he led her out of the bedroom.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The flowers in the church were beautiful, and no doubt one of Marty’s contributions. Tess strolled down the aisle, brushing the bouquets decorating the end of the pews with her fingertips. They were white roses tipped in lavender, and they made the church smell amazing and look gorgeous. Michael and Maria were going to have an unforgettable wedding.
Tess sensed that Kyle was watching her every movement, and when she glanced up, he was indeed staring at her. He looked . . . wistful, like he was remembering their own wedding day and wishing they could get back to being the couple they had been once upon a time. She’d been thinking about it a lot, too. It was hard not to. And as she stood there, gazing into his warm, comforting eyes, she wanted to tell him everything that had happened to her. She wanted to cry on his shoulder, feel his arms around her, and make the decision to be the girl she once had been. But it just wasn’t that easy, and this wasn’t at all the time or place for it.
He looked away from her when Lucinda’s husband came up to him, shook his hand, and started talking. Tess bent down and smelled one of the roses, making a secret promise to herself that she’d come clean with him before the new year got too far underway.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Max lit an illegal firework he’d managed to save from the 4th of July, then backed away to watch it shoot up into the sky and explode in a bright burst of gold and purple. The look on Garret’s face was more rewarding than the firework itself, though. He stared up at the sky as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing was real. He was absolutely mesmerized and having a great time, and that made Max’s heart swell with pride.
He had a heart. Didn’t hurt to keep reminding himself of that.
His oh-so-classy trailer park neighbors opened their doors and started yelling at him to stop shooting off fireworks. They threw in a few choice words that Garret didn’t need to hear and pick up on, so Max motioned him over and covered his ears.
“You’re such a good uncle, Max. Too bad you weren’t a better husband.”
He could have sworn he heard Liz say those words, and when he turned around, he pictured her standing in the doorway, her dark hair flapping around her in the wind, her mouth turned up at the corners to form a smile as she watched him and his nephew together. But he knew she was just a figment of his imagination. She was somewhere else, ringing in the new year without him. So was Tiffany.
Thank God he had Garret. Right now, he was the only reason Max cared to be around for another year.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The fact that they were going to be the last ones to show up at their own wedding wasn’t lost on Michael. He’d sent Kyle and everyone else there early to make sure things were ready to go, and he’d just received word that Lucinda and her family had shown up. Now all that was missing was the bride and groom and flower girl. And Macy. She didn’t really have a job except sitting in Amy’s lap and not crying during the ceremony.
He strapped Macy into her backwards-facing car seat, then hooked Miley into her larger, front-facing one. Maria held up the train of her dress and climbed into the passenger’s seat of her car, and he got behind the wheel, gripping it tightly with sweaty palms. He was nervous. Really nervous, which was probably natural no matter how much you wanted to marry the person.
“I should’ve rented a limo,” he said, frustrated that he hadn’t thought of that. That would have been more glamorous even though it would’ve also been more expensive.
“It’s okay,” Maria assured him. “This feels right.”
As long as everything felt right for her, it was good enough for him. “Alright, then.” He stuck the key in the ignition and brought the car to life. “Let’s go get married.”
She grinned from ear to ear, her happy smile brighter than any star in the night sky. He loved that smile. He loved everything about that woman.
“Da-da,” Macy cooed from the back, miraculously still awake. He took that as a hint to get going, backed out of the driveway, and drove in the direction of the church.
TBC . . .
-April
Lilah:
I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to write a re-proposal scene.Nice update, was kind of hoping that we would get to the wedding so that they could finally be married before more drama attacked, but no such luck lol
Ellie:
It's the secret that never comes out, isn't it? At this rate, she'll be six months along before he even begins to suspect anything!Now, all that's left is for Maria to tell Michael about numero tres and then they get married.
Novy:
I think it's making a lot of people nervous.I hope they get down the aisle and get married without any troubles. (Isabel's fantasizing makes me nervous)
I sort of feel ashamed that I haven't finished writing it yet. Usually I do a novel per year. I hate that I broke my streak. Oh, well, though. I'm still invested in it.It's almost year since you started posting this sequel. I'm so glad it's still going on.
Trixie:
I have to put all those in to counteract the angst.What a happy happy family. So glad M+M have a lot of blissful moments.
I really enjoy them, too.I love the Brittany + Artie angle on the show, even if they don't have angst potential. I enjoy how they're so into each other; they are hotness.
Couldn't have said it better myself. I agree. I'm not losing hope, though. A lot of shows go through this during the second season.In terms of the writers, I don’t think they lost their way per se, but I think they’re having too much fun experimenting. What I’m frustrated about is the flimsiness of the storylines + story development. A lot of the characters come off as shallow, while the romantic angles develop in an unbelievable pace.
BB:
Well, I am still planning major angst. The question is, who does the angst involve?Because this fic isn't nearly over, and because you have been promising serious angst and because Isabel is a psycho bitch, I'm not going to let myself get excited about the wedding yet. Not until it's done.
There isn't really anything she can do to stop it, so . . .Please, please don't let Isabel ruin their day. Can she just let them have this one?
Thank you for the feedback!
Gettin' musical again today: I'm recommending "Innocence" by Avril Lavigne. I know, right? Avril Lavigne? I'm not exactly a fan, but I like some of her songs, and this is one of them. For some reason, it was always playing in my head when I envisioned a certain montage of scenes. You can listen to it here or click on
when you see it if you'd like to listen.Part 83
“Did you guys know about this?”
Tess glanced up from her blueberry pancakes when Maria came bursting through the door that morning, looking completely wired.
“About what?” Kyle asked between bites.
“This.” She held out her hand, pointing at her engagement ring.
“Uh, yeah, you’ve been wearing it for the past two years,” Kyle pointed out.
“No, I mean the re-proposal. You knew, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. I was the first to know.” Kyle smirked.
“It’s kinda like how everyone knows you’re pregnant except Michael,” Tess explained. “Everyone knew he was planning on marrying you tonight except you. Although I didn’t know he was gonna re-propose. That’s so cute.”
“I know,” she agreed. “Well, kudos for keeping it a secret, because I had no clue.”
“Honestly, part of me wondered if you’d be pissed that he planned the whole thing by himself,” Kyle admitted, returning his focus to the bowl of cereal in front of him. “I guess you’re not, though.”
“Marty helped with the color scheme,” Tess informed her.
“Well, that’s good to know. And I’m so not pissed. I just wanna marry the man. I don’t care where or how.”
“The ‘where’ is pretty adorable,” Tess assured her. Michael had given her the name of the church, and she’d looked it up online last night. “It’s this little chapel about ten miles out of town. You’ll love it.”
“Oh, the minister who marries you is gonna be the same guy who baptized Macy,” Kyle added on.
Maria’s face lit up. “Pastor Babcock?”
Kyle tried to smile, but failed. “Babcock?”
“Yeah, weird name, I know, but he’s the nicest guy in the world. I always wanted him to marry us. How did Michael . . .” She held one hand over her heart, grinning blissfully, closing her eyes. “He knows me so well. He’s extraordinary.”
“She’s having a mental orgasm. Watch out,” Kyle cautioned.
Her eyes snapped back open again. “Oh, I’ve already had the real kind this morning. Twice.”
Good for you, Tess thought, wondering if she’d ever have an orgasm again. Or sex, even. The last time she’d had sex . . . had been with Kyle. Rape didn’t count. But she didn’t want to think about that today.
“Ooh, I’m so excited,” Maria exclaimed, clapping her hands giddily. “This is the best day. And everyone’s gonna be there.”
“Yeah, my dad called. He and Amy should be here in a few hours,” Tess told her. When he’d called, he’d said they were in the airport.
“Awesome. But wait a minute. Lucinda.” Maria’s expression suddenly shifted to one of alarm. “My friend Lucinda from school. She should be there.”
“You have other friends?” Kyle asked, sounding surprised. “Cool, I was beginning to think we were all socially retarded.
“Lucinda’s gonna be there,” Tess assured her. “Michael already got a hold of her.”
“He did?” Maria started to mental orgasm again. “He’s spectacular.”
“She’s bringing her husband and kids. She’s got an eight year old son who agreed to be the ring-bearer, and she said she could be your second bridesmaid if you want.”
“Perfect.”
“Yeah, ‘cause otherwise Marty was gonna have to do it,” Kyle said. “The ring-bearer, not the bridesmaid thing. Although he probably would’ve enjoyed being a bridesmaid.”
Tess laughed a little. “I think he’s disappointed that his job was reassigned to someone younger and cuter.”
“But he’s still gonna be a groomsman, right? And Kyle, you’re still the best man?”
He puffed up his chest and nodded proudly. “That’s me.”
“And you’re . . .” She turned to Tess, looking truly uncertain for the first time. “Are you . . . will you still be my maid of honor?”
The hoard of butterflies that has settled in her stomach ever since she’d heard about these wedding plans flew away in an instant, and relief swept over Tess like a warm blanket. Thank God. “There’s nothing I’d like more in the world,” she said, so grateful that their disputes lately weren’t getting in the way of this.
“Good,” Maria said. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” She knew her friend had just given her an incredible gift: a second chance. “Congratulations, Maria.”
“Thanks, I’m so excited.” She glanced at the clock and bolted for the door. “Gotta go. I have to be wedding-ready by midnight.”
“Before, technically,” Kyle called after her as she ran out the door. He turned to Tess and noted, “You look happy.”
“I am,” she admitted. “It makes me happy to see her happy.” Maria had gone through some rough, unexpected stuff over the years, as they all had. She deserved a fairytale like this.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Isabel slipped into her new khaki capris, disappointed that they didn’t fit quite right around her waist. They gapped out in the back because the damn clothing manufactures didn’t make pants for women who had butts. She had to put on a belt just to keep them from falling down. Stupid things.
“Hey, you are gonna love this,” Alex announced, barging into her room while she was changing her shirt. “I made a reservation for us at the Olive Garden. You, me, candlelit booth, the VIP treatment.”
“Oh.” She cringed, putting on her work shirt. “I really wish you hadn’t done that.”
“Well, I know it’s a little expensive, but . . .”
“No, I mean . . . I just found out I have to work tonight.”
“On New Year’s Eve?”
“Yeah, the store’s open three-hundred and sixty-five days a year. Darn the luck.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and headed downstairs, securing her hair in a ponytail as she walked.
“Well, are you sure?” He sounded desperate as he followed her. “Maybe you could get someone to trade shifts with you.”
“Alex, nobody wants to work on New Year’s Eve.” Except me, she added to herself. She heard Max walk in the front door, and he spoke up before she could stop him.
“I thought that Rebecca chick was scheduled to work alone tonight.”
“Max.” She turned around, glaring at him. “You thought wrong.” Rebecca had been mighty pleased when Isabel had called her up and offered to take her shift. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I get paid time and a half.” And I don’t have to sit at the Olive Garden with Alex and pretend I’m enjoying his company.
“I guess I’ll just cancel our reservation then,” Alex said, sounding disappointed. “You here to pick up Garret, Max?”
Max nodded mutely.
“I’ll go get him.” Alex went back upstairs.
“Hmm,” Max said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Work on New Year’s Eve? That doesn’t sound like the sister I know and hate.”
“I need something to do to keep my mind off of what’s happening tonight,” she told him.
“And what’s happening?”
She lowered her head, ashamed that she hadn’t found a way to stop it. “Michael and Maria are getting married tonight.” The words left a bitter taste on her tongue. She was pretty sure it was tonight. From what she remembered, it was their anniversary, and Michael a knack for grand, romantic gestures like this sometimes.
“Oh.” Max didn’t sound very sympathetic. “He really loves you, you know.”
“Who, Michael?” Had he noticed something she hadn’t?
“No, him.” Max motioned behind her. She turned around and saw Alex carrying a very tired Garret downstairs.
“Yeah,” she muttered, “I know.” But Alex’s love couldn’t hold a candle to Michael’s. It never would.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael wrote until his hand hurt, until it cramped up and he couldn’t write anymore. “Here,” he said, handing the third draft of his vows to Marty for inspection. “What do you think?”
Marty read for a minute, then said, “Wow.” He read a little more and said it again. “Wow. Wow.”
“Good?” Michael asked hopefully.
“No, uber-cheesy.” Marty handed the paper back to him.
“Dammit,” he swore. He’d been working on his vows for a few hours now. The entire family had shown up, and all the men were hanging out downstairs in the living room while all the women were congregating up in the bedroom, with the exception of Miley, who was with the boys cramming in lessons at Kyle’s made up Flower Girl School.
“I can’t do this,” he groaned, wishing he’d found the time to write them a few days ago. “It’s either too wordy, too cheesy, or too graphic.”
“I liked the graphic one,” Kyle piped up. “Sounded like a smut novel. Uh, Miley, you’re not on Top Model just yet. Let’s take the diva out of that walk and try again.”
Miley frowned and got down on her hands and knees to recollect her flowers before she started over.
“Son, just write from the heart,” Michael’s father urged. “Let your feelings speak for you.”
His feelings were speaking loud and clear. It was just the writing that was difficult. “You know, English is the one subject I was never very good at. I got a B+.”
“Ooh, smart equals sexy!” Marty exclaimed. “Love you, Big Boy.”
“Thank you.”
John leaned forward in his chair, helping Miley pick up her flowers. “This isn’t English, Son,” he pointed out. “It’s your wedding day.”
Michael mulled that over for a minute, and once he let it sink in, he knew exactly what his vows were going to be.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Why am I still all red?” Maria wailed, staring in horror at her reflection in the mirror. She prayed to God she wasn’t have an allergic reaction to something.
“You’re just nervous,” Tess replied semi-calmly, standing behind her while the curling iron heated up. “Or something. Fan. Fan, fan.”
Maria flapped her hands in front of her face, trying to generate some gusts of air to cool herself off. “I don’t feel nervous, though. I’m excited.”
“Oh, honey, on your wedding day, the two go hand-in-hand,” her mother assured her as she sifted through her closet. “Trust me, I’ve done it twice.”
“Well, my ticket to marriage is strictly one-way. No offense.”
“None taken. I’m just glad I’m here to see it.”
“Me, too.” Not all that long ago, she’d doubted if her mom would even be alive to see her walk down the aisle. Now, not only was she alive, but she was also healthy. And that was even more amazing than the wedding itself. “Okay, who wants to hear my vows?”
“Go for it,” Sylvia urged. She was sitting on the bed, playing with Macy.
“Okay.” She cleared her throat, unfolded the napkin she’d been using as a sheet of paper, and squinted as she tried to make out her own handwriting. “Michael, you are my strength when I’m not strong. You hold me up when I’m falling and make me feel like I can do anything, like I can conquer everything. You make me feel safe and beautiful. And alive. And brave. You make me feel brave, because even when I’m not strong, I know you’ll be strong for me, and . . . why am I talking about this? Strong?” She made a face. “We’re not weightlifters.”
“No, it’s nice, keep going,” Sylvia urged.
“I’m totally rambling. I suck at this.”
Tess wrinkled her forehead in confusion. “Wait, that’s not how you’re gonna end it, is it?”
“No, I don’t know how I’m gonna end it because I don’t know how I’m gonna start it or flesh it out in the middle.” She groaned, frustrated. “God, why did we decide to write our own vows? I can’t even string a coherent sentence together half the time!”
“Sure you can,” Tess assured her.
“Try telling that to Mrs. McHenry. Freshman Comp., remember? Whenever she handed my essays back, they were bleeding red ink.”
“Good thing this isn’t an essay then,” Amy said, taking a thin, white shawl out of her closet. “Are you going to wear this tonight?”
“No.”
“It could be cold.”
“I don’t care.” Oh god, am I turning into a Bridezilla? she wondered. She really felt the bitchiness boiling up. “Oh god, I should’ve started on this months ago. Michael’s probably already done with his by now. It’s probably like poetry, like Pope or whatever.”
“The Pope?” Tess asked.
“No, not the pope. Pope, the guy. The dude. He wrote . . . what did he write again?”
“Rape of the Lock,” Sylvia chimed in.
Tess flinched. “That sounds . . .”
“It’s about hair,” Maria informed her, surprised she even remembered the story. “Anyway, Michael’s vows are probably really good, and mine suck.”
“They don’t suck,” Sylvia promised her. “Don’t panic, Maria. You’ve got seven and a half hours left to work on it.”
“Seven hours and fifteen minutes, actually,” she corrected. “The wedding starts at 11:45 so that we can hopefully say ‘I do’ right at midnight.”
“Right at . . .” Sylvia held her hand to her chest, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, that is adorable. And Michael really planned all this by himself?”
Maria nodded, so damn proud of her man.
“Well . . . maybe he could teach his father a few things about romance.”
“And Kyle,” Tess added.
“And . . . well, Ed does okay,” Amy acknowledged. “Although we are still in that newlywed phase.”
“It’ll wear off,” Tess and Sylvia said in unison, high-fiving each other when they did.
“I have to admit, though, this is a whole new level of getting the anniversary right,” Amy said, rehanging Maria’s shawl for her.
“Yeah,” Maria agreed, “I sort of feel like a princess. Like a red, red princess with floppy hair.”
“Just stay still,” Tess said, picking up the curling iron. She held her hand close to it to test the heat, then lifted a section of Maria’s hair and began the curling process. “I’ll stop the flop. I just need a little time.”
“We don’t have time!” Maria shrieked, feeling the Bridezilla coming back out.
“We have seven hours and fifteen minutes, remember? That’s plenty of time.”
“Not when I have vows to write!”
“Just . . . write while I curl.”
“Oh . . .” Maria held one hand to her stomach. All of a sudden, it was churning. “Okay, now I’m starting to get nervous. What if my hair’s not done on time? What if I don’t get my vows done? Or what if I do, but I forget ‘em? Or what if I get so tongue-tied up there that Michael can’t even understand what the hell I’m saying, and then I have to, like, pantomime my vows or something? Oh! And what about the ‘something borrowed, something blue’ spiel?”
Amy closed the closet and came to stand behind her, looking at her in the mirror. “Well . . . the dress is new.”
“Right.”
“And the ring is technically old,” Tess added, releasing her hair from the grip of the curling iron. It didn’t look particularly curly. “Something old, something new . . .”
“Okay. And?”
They both looked at Sylvia.
“Uh . . .” She looked herself up and down from head to toe, then seemed to have an epiphany. “Oh, I know!” She unclasped a small blue pendant from around her neck and walked it over to Maria. “Something borrowed. My mother gave it to me on my wedding day, and her mom had it before her. I was supposed to give it to my daughter, but . . . well, Michael doesn’t really have the parts to qualify for that. So you should have it. I think of you like a daughter anyway, and pretty soon you will be.”
Maria took the necklace from her, holding it up with admiration. “Thank you.” It was beautiful and, most of all, meaningful.
“And it’s blue. Two in one,” Sylvia pointed out.
“Yes. Perfect. But . . . if you’re giving it to me, it’s not really borrowed, is it?”
“Here.” Tess kicked off her white shoes embroidered with fake—but very authentic-looking—diamonds and said, “I know you love these shoes.”
“Something borrowed,” Maria said, picking them up and setting them down on her lap. “And possibly something stolen because I love them that much.”
Tess rolled her eyes and smiled, one of those genuine smiles that was all too rare from her these days.
“Thanks, you guys,” Maria said gratefully. “And thanks for being here. I know this is all really last-minute, but . . . you know, I’m kinda glad it is. In a few months, I won’t even be able to fit into my dress.”
“That’s right,” Sylvia said, locking eyes with Amy. “Just how many grandchildren do you think we’ll end up with?”
Amy shrugged. “They could end up with their own reality show. Michael and Maria Plus Eight, perhaps?”
“Five,” Maria said emphatically. “We’re not having any more than five.”
“Speaking of having kids . . .” Tess picked up another section of hair and wrapped it around the curling iron, holding it incredibly close to her scalp. “You haven’t told him yet, have you? You said you were gonna tell him today.”
“Day’s not over,” she pointed out. “I’m gonna tell him after the wedding, when we’re all alone and cuddling up for a nice long night of . . .” She trailed off, her lips poised with the ‘f’ sound. “Frampton,” she blurted. It was the first ‘f’ word that came to mind besides the one she’d truly been thinking of. “Peter Frampton.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Amy said, laughing.
“Yes,” Sylvia agreed. “Everybody knows what you and my son do in your spare time..”
“Darn, and here I thought we were doing such a good job of keeping it a secret,” she joked right along with them.
“The word you were looking for was ‘fucking,’ by the way,” Tess said. “Fucking.”
“Thanks, Tess.” Her face grew even redder, this time with embarrassment.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Not surprisingly, very few people came to Cockadoodle-Doo to rent any videos that night. Most people had better things to do on New Year’s Eve. Isabel took out the portable DVD player and watched a few movies that night, one where porn stars dressed up as nuns and got ass-fucked in a church and another called Black Boys Like to Gangbang. She was about to pop in the sequel, which featured Asian boys, when the door chime sounded. She turned around and saw someone way worse than the average customer come inside: her husband.
“Hey,” he said, smiling.
She ejected the DVD, wondering what he was doing there. “Hey.”
They stood in awkward silence for a minute, and finally he asked, “You close at 11:00 tonight, right?”
“Yep.” The store hours were right there on the door.
“Cool, cool. So we can still ring in the new year together at midnight.”
She didn’t want that, because she knew the way you rang in the new year was the way you spent the entire year. The thought of giving Alex that symbolic kiss as midnight made her feel uneasy to say the least. “Well, I have to prepare the bank deposit, though,” she informed him, “and I have to vacuum, set the security alarm, lock up the store. That all takes time.” She was hoping to discourage him, even though she could probably do all that in ten minutes flat.
“I’ll help you,” he volunteered, not getting the point. “I’ll vacuum.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
(
)She sighed in resignation, turning around so that she could mouth ‘fuck’ without him noticing. Was this really what the rest of her life was going to be like, day in and day out with a guy she couldn’t stand half the time? She wished she could yell at him to leave her alone, to let her be; but she couldn’t risk upsetting him, because she’d lose control over him. And she so loved control. She supposed, in that sense, she was under his control in return.
He came around the counter and stood behind her, placing his hands on her waist. She could feel the beginning bulge of an erection pressing against her ass, and she knew where this little visit was going before it even began.
He turned her around to face him, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. As he kissed her, he trailed his hand down in between them and slid his zipper down. She heard it, and she did nothing to stop it. Instead, she made fake moaning sounds as he kissed his way down to her neck, sucking on her skin like a vampire. As much as she didn’t want to screw him, at least it was a distraction from what Michael and Maria were doing tonight.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Maria whirled around, her dress flapping around her like a cool breeze. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror, all the way from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. Up until now, she hadn’t fully allowed herself to believe this was happening; but now that she was actually ready to go, dressed in her strapless gown, makeup on, hair done up, she realized that she was actually a bride. No longer was her wedding something that would happen someday. It was something that was happening now.
She clutched the necklace Sylvia had given her, her breath catching as she stared at herself. She looked and felt more beautiful than ever. She really was glowing, in more ways than one.
She turned around when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Michael poked his head into the room, his mouth gaping when he saw her.
“What’re you doing? You’re not supposed to see me in my dress,” she said. “That’s bad luck.”
“Ah, that’s just a superstition,” he dismissed, coming into the room. He looked amazing in his black tuxedo, like James Bond or something. “Wow,” he said, staring at her intently.
“Wow back at you.”
“Thanks, but you’re really . . . really wow.”
She laughed, blushing. How was it that, after all these years, he could still make her blush so much?
He stood in front of her, lifting up her right hand, pressing his palm to hers before wrapping his fingers around hers. “You nervous?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. But then she remembered how she’d already forgotten her vows and admitted, “Maybe a little.”
He lowered her hand in his but didn’t let go of it. “We’d better go,” he said. “Everyone’s already there, waiting on us.”
“Sorry,” she apologized, “my hair took longer than I thought it would.” Tess had ended up fixing her hair in a wavy half-ponytail. Simple, but elegant.
He ran his free hand through her tresses. The simple gesture set her heart on fire. She leaned him slowly to meet his lips in a kiss, brushing the tip of her tongue against his. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that this was the last time they’d kiss before they were pronounced husband and wife, but mostly, all she could think about was him. Sometimes she felt like she loved him more than it was possible to love someone.
Ooh, that was a great line for her vows.
He pulled away slowly, smiling at her. He looked just as excited to be her husband as she was to be his wife. “Come on,” he said, squeezing her hand.
She grabbed her veil off the bed, and he led her out of the bedroom.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The flowers in the church were beautiful, and no doubt one of Marty’s contributions. Tess strolled down the aisle, brushing the bouquets decorating the end of the pews with her fingertips. They were white roses tipped in lavender, and they made the church smell amazing and look gorgeous. Michael and Maria were going to have an unforgettable wedding.
Tess sensed that Kyle was watching her every movement, and when she glanced up, he was indeed staring at her. He looked . . . wistful, like he was remembering their own wedding day and wishing they could get back to being the couple they had been once upon a time. She’d been thinking about it a lot, too. It was hard not to. And as she stood there, gazing into his warm, comforting eyes, she wanted to tell him everything that had happened to her. She wanted to cry on his shoulder, feel his arms around her, and make the decision to be the girl she once had been. But it just wasn’t that easy, and this wasn’t at all the time or place for it.
He looked away from her when Lucinda’s husband came up to him, shook his hand, and started talking. Tess bent down and smelled one of the roses, making a secret promise to herself that she’d come clean with him before the new year got too far underway.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Max lit an illegal firework he’d managed to save from the 4th of July, then backed away to watch it shoot up into the sky and explode in a bright burst of gold and purple. The look on Garret’s face was more rewarding than the firework itself, though. He stared up at the sky as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing was real. He was absolutely mesmerized and having a great time, and that made Max’s heart swell with pride.
He had a heart. Didn’t hurt to keep reminding himself of that.
His oh-so-classy trailer park neighbors opened their doors and started yelling at him to stop shooting off fireworks. They threw in a few choice words that Garret didn’t need to hear and pick up on, so Max motioned him over and covered his ears.
“You’re such a good uncle, Max. Too bad you weren’t a better husband.”
He could have sworn he heard Liz say those words, and when he turned around, he pictured her standing in the doorway, her dark hair flapping around her in the wind, her mouth turned up at the corners to form a smile as she watched him and his nephew together. But he knew she was just a figment of his imagination. She was somewhere else, ringing in the new year without him. So was Tiffany.
Thank God he had Garret. Right now, he was the only reason Max cared to be around for another year.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The fact that they were going to be the last ones to show up at their own wedding wasn’t lost on Michael. He’d sent Kyle and everyone else there early to make sure things were ready to go, and he’d just received word that Lucinda and her family had shown up. Now all that was missing was the bride and groom and flower girl. And Macy. She didn’t really have a job except sitting in Amy’s lap and not crying during the ceremony.
He strapped Macy into her backwards-facing car seat, then hooked Miley into her larger, front-facing one. Maria held up the train of her dress and climbed into the passenger’s seat of her car, and he got behind the wheel, gripping it tightly with sweaty palms. He was nervous. Really nervous, which was probably natural no matter how much you wanted to marry the person.
“I should’ve rented a limo,” he said, frustrated that he hadn’t thought of that. That would have been more glamorous even though it would’ve also been more expensive.
“It’s okay,” Maria assured him. “This feels right.”
As long as everything felt right for her, it was good enough for him. “Alright, then.” He stuck the key in the ignition and brought the car to life. “Let’s go get married.”
She grinned from ear to ear, her happy smile brighter than any star in the night sky. He loved that smile. He loved everything about that woman.
“Da-da,” Macy cooed from the back, miraculously still awake. He took that as a hint to get going, backed out of the driveway, and drove in the direction of the church.
TBC . . .
-April
LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
-
April
- Roswell Fanatic
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Part 84
THANK YOU so much for the feedback:
BB
Ellie
Novy
Lilah
Claire
Christina
Krista
Also, a HUGE thank you for these:
Supporting Portrayal of Max
Supporting Portrayal of Alex
Alt Portrayal of a Canon Character (Isabel)
Author of a Kyle/Tess Fanfic
Author of a Candy Fanfic
Part 84
Having sex in between rows of porn DVDs wasn’t exactly the most romantic thing in the world. It could have been exhilarating had she not been with Alex. Isabel had closed up the store awhile ago and turned off all the lights, and now she found herself backed up against a shelf, her right leg wrapped around Alex as he pounded into her. He’d said he thought public sex would be cool, but she just wanted to get it over with. Didn’t he understand that she didn’t want to start her new year off feeling like a slut? If they were going to do this, she would have rather been at home in bed. Romantic. Michael would have found a way to make even porno sex romantic.
She whimpered as she thought about Michael, about what he was doing tonight.
“What?” Alex asked, pausing. He looked around the darkened store.
“Keep going,” she told him. The sooner they finished, the sooner they could leave.
He bent his knees to add extra force to his thrusts. “Oh, Isabel, I love you,” he said, burying his face in her neck. “I love you so much.”
She dug her hands into his shoulder blades, remembering her first New Year’s with Michael. He’d made her cum at midnight. She pictured his eyes, his hands, his chest, his mouth . . . every inch of him. Every inch of perfection.
“I love you, too,” she moaned, the pleasure becoming real as she thought about him. “Michael . . .”
Alex’s entire body halted mid-thrust. He lifted his head, glaring at her accusingly. “What?”
Oh, crap. Why did she always do this? Just when she got a situation under control, she lost control over it because she said something or did something that sabotaged her. Dammit. Alex was not going to be happy about this, and there was really no excuse she could give for saying Michael’s name.
“You said . . .” Alex stepped back, sliding out of her, yanking his pants up. “I’m not him.”
“Trust me, I’m aware of that.” She rubbed her middle finger in circles over her clit, closing the distance between herself and orgasm. She smiled dazedly, wishing Michael was the one standing there, watching her spill all over her own hand.
“You were thinking about him.” His eyes widened with devastation.
“Is that really such a surprise?” She pulled her pants up, fastening them. “I’ve been thinking about him for the past four years. You know that.”
“But I thought . . .” He swallowed hard, his eyes brimming with tears. “I thought we were starting over. I thought things were gonna be better this time. They’ve been better.”
“They’ve been boring,” she corrected.
“But I don’t wanna bore you. You don’t . . . you don’t bore me.” He balled his hands into fists, clenching his jaw, growing red with anger. “God, Isabel. Why can’t you just forget about him and be in love with me?”
She shrugged. “I just can’t. It’ll never happen.”
“Dammit, Isabel!” He whirled around and pushed the entire shelf of DVDs, knocking a handful of them onto the floor.
“I’ll be your wife and the mother of your child—I’ll even be the bitch you like to fuck if that’s what it takes to keep the peace,” she said. “But I will never be in love with you. You just have to accept that.” She knew how hypocritical she sounded since she refused to accept that Michael would never love her again, but . . . whatever.
“No. No, I don’t want to,” Alex argued, storming towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Where do you think?” The bell chimed as he exited, and he set the security alarm off.
Isabel sighed, feeling just the slightest bit guilty, not because she’d hurt Alex’s feelings, but because he didn’t know what to do with those feelings. He was going to revert to alcoholic form once again, and Garret deserved a better father than an alcoholic.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex drove to his favorite bar, Rodeo’s, in a haze. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. One minute, he and Isabel had been having sex in the video store, and the next, she was saying that name. That name that made it impossible for them to ever have a functional marriage. Michael. Was it wrong to hate a nice, good guy like Michael? Because he did. The sad part was, even though he couldn’t believe she’d said that . . . he’d been expecting it.
He parked across the street from Rodeo’s and crossed to the other side without even looking. He almost got hit by a car, and part of him wished he had. What reason did he have to keep going? Isabel didn’t want him, and Garret didn’t even like him. That was why he needed to drink. His relationship with alcohol was the only relationship he’d ever been able to maintain.
****
So this was what a bar looked like. Alex strolled into a place called Rodeo’s, wondering why it smelled so bad. Was it the cigarette smoke, even though smoking wasn’t allowed in there? Was it B.O.? Most of the guys standing around the counter didn’t look to have showered in awhile. Or maybe it was just the potent smell of hopelessness, something they could probably all relate to.
He sat down at the counter, wondering when his father had taken his first drink. And his uncle and his grandfather and his cousins. They were all drunks, regardless of how they seemed on the outside. Now he was about to do something he’d never thought he would: He was about to be like them.
It was all her fault. He loved her, but it was her fault. She talked in her sleep, and she always said Michael’s name. Always. Never his. She didn’t want him.
“You’re new,” the bartender said as he approached him. “Not much of a drinker, are you?”
That was an understatement. He’d never had one drink in his life. “How can you tell?”
“I’m a bartender. It’s a gift,” he replied with a shrug. “What can I get you?”
So far in his life, Alex had managed to stay so far away from alcohol that he didn’t even know what his options were. “Just start me off with a beer,” he said, fully intent on moving onto something stronger later.
“You got it.” The bartender poured him a glass and slid it across the counter. “There you go, man.”
“Thanks.” Alex didn’t even hesitate. He brought the rim of the glass to his lips and chugged the bitter liquid, knowing he was going to regret this.
****
Alex sat down on a cracked stool. Years later, here he was. Same old bar, same old bartender, even. And the same old story as far as his marriage was concerned.
“Alex, long time no see,” Lou, the bartender, greeted him. He’d gone grey over the years, lost some hair on top his head. “Where you been? Tryin’ the sobriety thing?”
“Was.” He should have known he couldn’t handle it, though, should’ve never deluded himself into thinking Isabel wanted him. But he’d wanted to believe so badly.
“And how’s that working out for you?” Lou asked skeptically. When Alex didn’t respond, he said, “Man, I’m sorry to hear that. What’s your pleasure?”
Pleasure? he thought, almost laughing. There was no pleasure in his life. Just pain. “Give me the strongest thing you got,” he said, hoping he could get hammered to the point where he forgot everything about this night. As stupid as it was, he wanted to delude himself again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Kyle got to talking with Lucinda’s husband Kevin that night. Even though he was nearly twice his age, they got along right from the start. Kevin was a cool guy, and he and Kyle could relate on a lot of things, especially their issues with the women in their lives.
“And what about the whole leaving-the-toilet-seat-up thing?” Kevin said.
“Really, do wives get an instruction manual on things to complain about?” Kyle wondered aloud. “Because that . . . all the time.”
“All the time.”
“And they don’t understand that, as men, our bathroom situations are pressure-filled enough as it is. Gotta aim, gotta control the splatter.”
“Leaving the toilet seat up makes it feel more . . .” Kevin trailed off.
“Comfortable,” Kyle filled in.
“Exactly. Plus, I’m too lazy to put it back down every time.”
“Me, too. Hell, half the time I just piss in the bushes after I get home.”
“It’s the way nature intended.”
Kyle chuckled. “Oh, and how about when they tell us not to drink directly out of the carton?”
Kevin made a face. “I hate that. I’m the only one who drinks milk in my house, so it’s my carton.”
“And you should be able to do with it what you want. Why dirty any unnecessary cups, right?”
“I’ve tried explaining that to Lucinda, but then she starts talking about the dishwasher and how it’s needed to be fixed for a year now.”
“That’s dangerous terrain, man,” Kyle cautioned.
“I know.”
“Wives are smart.”
“Definitely,” Kevin agreed. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em, huh?”
Kyle nodded in agreement.
“You know, Kyle, I’m really glad we had this talk. It’s nice to be able to vent to somebody without worrying about the ramifications.”
“Hey, that goes both ways,” Kyle assured him, happy to have had the time to do a little male bonding. “My wife has . . . put me through a lot lately.” He cast a sideways glance over at Tess. She was talking to Amy and Sylvia, smiling. But he knew that, if it wasn’t for Michael and Maria’s wedding tonight, she wouldn’t be smiling at all.
“That’s her?” Kevin asked.
“Uh-huh. She used to be a blonde. She used to be a lot of things.”
“You guys got any kids?”
“No. Not yet.” He still wanted kids someday, though, and deep down, he suspected Tess did, too. She was just putting on a front. But after all the drama it had caused between them, it would probably be a few more years before either of them was ready to take that plunge again. “What’s it like to be a dad?” he asked his new friend. “I’ve asked Michael, but he usually gives me this idealized version of it.”
“Well, sometimes, it is ideal,” Kevin acknowledged. “And sometimes it’s really hard. I think it’s all worth it in the end, though. I love watching my kids learn and grow. They’re great.”
“Yeah, my nieces are pretty cool, too,” Kyle agreed.
“Miley and . . .”
“Macy.”
“That’s right. I’ve never met anyone in your family, but I hear a lot of things from Lucinda. She’s never met ‘em, either, but she says she feels like she knows ‘em because she hears so much from, uh . . .”
“Maria,” Kyle filled in.
“Right. God, I don’t even know the bride’s name. What kind of wedding guest am I?”
Kyle chuckled. “That’s okay. If she gets wasted enough, she won’t know her own name, either.”
“Oh, is she . . .” Kevin made a drinking gesture with his hands.
“Oh, no. She used to be a little outta control, you know, but she’s better now. And pregnant, so . . .”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. And she and Michael are the real deal. Not many relationship problems for them. They should be here soon.”
“I hope so,” Kevin said. “I think my son’s getting tired, and I don’t want him to fall asleep when he’s carrying the rings down the aisle.”
“No, they’ll be here,” Kyle assured him. “They’ve been waiting for this wedding for a long time. No way are they gonna back out now.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex stared at the last few sips of alcohol settled in the bottom of his glass. He didn’t even know what he was drinking at this point. Probably The Whitman, the drink Lou had created and named after him. It was horrible.
“You think you’ve had enough?” Lou asked, wiping off the counter space around him.
“No. Never.”
Lou shook his head. “I think you have.”
“Just one more,” he pleaded.
“Go home, Alex. Sleep it off. Things will look better in the morning.”
But they wouldn’t. Things never looked better. Not in the morning, not at night . . . never.
“Want me to call you a cab?” Lou asked.
“No, I got it.” He was definitely tipsy, but that was nothing new. He could make it home by himself. Maybe Isabel would be there when he got there. Maybe not. Maybe she’d be sticking the remote up her ass and saying Michael’s name, since that was a name she liked to say so much. “Thanks, Lou. I’m gonna do what you said. I’m gonna sleep it off.”
“Get home safe.” Lou headed on down to the other end of the bar to refill drinks for his other customers.
Alex pretended to turn and walk away, but when Lou wasn’t looking, he made his way back to the bar, reached over it, and pulled out the first bottle he felt beneath the counter. “Just one more,” he said, unscrewing the lid as he headed out the door.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tess flipped her phone shut and cupped her hands around her mouth so everybody could hear her announcement. “Okay, Maria just called. They got pulled over for speeding, so they’re running a little late, but they should be here in about ten minutes.” She gave Pastor Babcock and apologetic look, but he didn’t seem to mind the delay.
“Oh, no,” Lucinda said, “they won’t get to say ‘I do’ at midnight.”
“Well, close enough.” Tess extended her hand in greeting. “I’m Tess, by the way.”
Lucinda did the same. “Hi, I’m Lucinda. Sorry I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself before.”
“No, you’re busy watching over your kids.” Lucinda and her husband had brought along with them not only the little boy, Ben, who was supposed to be the ring-bearer, but also his twin sister Bianca, who had a missing front tooth and the cutest curly blonde hair ever. “They’re adorable, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Lucinda said. “I have one who just started high school, too.” She told them to settle down when they started making too much noise chasing each other through the pews, and they obediently sat down and started flipping through the Bible for funny verses.
“They’re so great,” Tess said, staring at them adoringly. She had to remind herself she didn’t want kids anymore.
“So you’re Maria’s best friend,” Lucinda said. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Good things?”
“Of course.”
Tess breathed a sigh of relief, because there were plenty of bad things to tell nowadays.
“But you know, for some reason, I always pictured you as a blonde.”
Tess reached up and touched her hair self-consciously. “Yeah, I used to be. This is a new color for me.”
“I love it.”
“Really? You’re about the only one.”
“I wish I could get my hair that color, but it makes the greys too noticeable,” Lucinda lamented. “Oh, the pitfalls of being old.”
Tess laughed. “Well, it was really nice of you and your family to come and spend your New Year’s this way. I’m sure you and your husband had some romantic evening planned.”
“Actually, that’ll be next week,” Lucinda informed her. “Our anniversary.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Our twentieth. Wedding anniversary, that is. We’ve been together since we were sixteen.”
“Wow, that’s . . . a really long time to be with somebody,” Tess said, envious. “Kyle and I will be lucky if we make it to our second wedding anniversary.”
“Oh, you will,” Lucinda assured her. “The way he looks at you . . . you’ll be together for many years to come.”
I hope so, she thought. Her hair couldn’t get much darker, but her personality could. And it would if Kyle wasn’t with her. “How do you do it?” she asked, desperately seeking some advice. “Make marriage work, I mean.”
“Well, there’s no handbook. It’d be a lot easier if there were,” Lucinda admitted. “I guess . . . you learn from the bad times, and cherish the good. That’s really all you can do.”
Tess nodded, wishing she had more good times as of late to cherish. “I think marriage has just . . . disappointed me. Because I thought mine would be perfect, and it’s not.”
“Oh, it’ll feel perfect sometimes,” Lucinda said knowingly, “but it can’t be perfect all the time. If it was . . . well, then, it wouldn’t be very perfect at all. You need the bad times to keep from getting bored.”
“But what if the bad times are really bad?” she pressed. “Like really bad?”
Lucinda sighed. “Then you have to try to work through them together. That’s what Kevin and I do.”
Together, Tess thought. We have to work through them . . . together. And that was really the biggest problem she was having. She was trying to work through what had happened to her on her own, and it wasn’t working out at all. “You’re very wise,” she told Lucinda.
“No, just very old,” Lucinda claimed. “Trust me, though, perfection isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Because nothing can stay perfect forever.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael turned onto Highway 2, teasing his family when he said, “Here we go, driving off into nowhere.”
“So it’s like a secluded church?” Maria asked.
“Yeah.”
She smiled. “I like that. I like all of this. Just a small, intimate wedding. It’s perfect for us. Why didn’t we think of this sooner?”
“I don’t know,” he said, switching the headlights to their brighter setting. “Maybe we were too busy dealing with con artists and guns and unit plans and cancer.”
“Could be,” she agreed. “I can’t believe you got pulled over. Tonight of all nights.”
“I know, I’ve never been pulled over before.” At first, he hadn’t even been sure what to do when he’d heard the sirens and saw the flashing lights behind him. He’d thought they were going to pull over someone else. “I was only going forty-five in a twenty-five.”
“Only?” she echoed laughingly. “Oh, almost-husband, you should’ve known better. The cops are out thick on New Year’s Eve. Gotta catch all those boozin’ drivers.”
“At least he let me off with a warning.” They’d made him get out of the car and do a breathalyzer, though, just to make sure he hadn’t been drinking. Breathalyzer. Great, now he was going to have to explain what that was to Miley.
“I think the bridal attire helped,” Maria speculated. “How could anyone ticket you when you’ve got a girl in a wedding dress sitting beside you? He probably knew you were just trying to get me to the church on time.”
“Which isn’t even gonna be possible now,” he grumbled, shaking his head as he looked at the clock in the car. It was almost midnight. Getting pulled over had really slowed them down. “We’re late for our own wedding.”
“We were gonna be late no matter what,” Maria reminded him. “Now we’re just . . . later. It’s my hair’s fault. It refused to cooperate.”
“No, it’s my lead foot’s fault,” he conceded. “Oh, well. We’ll time it pretty close to midnight.”
“Midnight!” Miley exclaimed for now reason from the backseat, clapping her hands excitedly. “Where are we going, Daddy?”
“To the church, to get married.”
“Oh, yeah.” She yawned.
“Sorry to keep you up so late, sweetheart,” he apologized. “It’s this whole symbolism thing.”
“That’s okay, Daddy,” she assured him. “I don’t wanna go to sleep ever again. Ever ever ever ever.”
“Ha, that’ll change when you’re older,” Maria mumbled. “Floor it, Guerin. I wanna marry you, like, now-ish.”
“I can’t floor it. I’ll get pulled over again.” He put the car in cruise control right at the sixty-mile an hour speed limit and watched the highway roll on by. They passed one other car, but that was it. It felt sort of deserted out there, which was cool. It felt like they were living in their own perfect world.
“It looks nice, by the way,” he said to Maria.
“Huh?”
“Your hair.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“Yeah, Mama, you look pretty,” Miley agreed, leaning forward towards the front seat.
“So do you, girly. You ready to be the flower girl?”
“Yeah. I did it before, ‘member?”
“Right, Max and Liz’s wedding.” She made a disgusted face.
“Ours is gonna be a lot better than theirs,” he promised her.
“Good, because theirs was pretty much horrendous. No wonder they’re probably gonna get a divorce.”
“What’s that?” Miley asked.
“A divorce? Something you’re never gonna have to worry about,” Michael answered, “because your mom and I are gonna be together forever.”
“Good,” Miley said.
“Good,” Maria agreed, reaching over to squeeze his hand, letting it go quickly. She reached up to smooth down her hair, and her engagement ring sparkled in the dark car. He couldn’t wait to see how bright it shone when it was joined by her wedding ring.
Wedding. They were really getting married tonight.
“Are we there yet?” Miley asked impatiently. “I have to pee.”
“About five more minutes,” Michael told her as they drove by the Sherwood Campgrounds. They were deserted now that it was winter, but he really wanted to spend the weekend there with his family this summer.
“I’m getting excited,” Maria said in a sing-song voice.
“Me, too,” he agreed, though he couldn’t remember a word of his vows. Oh, well, he’d have to wing it. He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Miley unhooking her seatbelt, crawling down out of her car seat onto the floor. “Hey, what’re you doin’ back there? Put your seatbelt back on,” he told her, trying to sound stern even though he was secretly impressed with her ability to work the seatbelts already.
“I dropped my flowers,” she said.
Maria turned around in her seat and reached back onto the floor to help her recollect the petals. “Is Macy asleep?” she asked.
“She’s always asleep,” was Miley’s swift response. “But I’m not gonna sleep ever again. Ever ever.”
“We heard you the first time, sweetie. Get back in your car seat.”
Miley climbed back up but leaned over to nudge Macy before putting her seatbelt back on. “Wake up, Macy.”
“Ah, let her sleep,” Michael said. “Babies aren’t supposed to be up ‘til midnight, not even on New Year’s Eve.”
“What’s midnight?” Miley asked, leaning forward again.
“It’s when the lines on the clock point up at the twelve and it’s dark outside, like it is now,” Maria explained. “It’s the start of a new day.”
“The start of a new year tonight,” he added. “In fact . . .” He glanced down at his watch, squinting to make out the second hand in the darkness. He watched it tick past the number nine, and then started a countdown. “Ten, nine, eight, seven . . .” He tilted his head back, grinning at his little girls in the backseat.
Maria joined him with, “Six, five, four . . .”
“Three! Two!” Miley chimed in giddily.
And then all of a sudden, Maria grabbed the dashboard and yelled, “Michael, watch out!”
Blinding headlights zoomed straight towards them. He swerved to the right, slamming on the breaks, trying to avoid hitting the other car. The tires screeched as they tried to stop, and his daughter’s screaming pierced through the night as the car flipped and plummeted down an embankment.
TBC . . .
-April
BB
Ellie
Novy
Lilah
Claire
Christina
Krista
Also, a HUGE thank you for these:
Supporting Portrayal of Max
Supporting Portrayal of Alex
Alt Portrayal of a Canon Character (Isabel)
Author of a Kyle/Tess Fanfic
Author of a Candy Fanfic
Part 84
Having sex in between rows of porn DVDs wasn’t exactly the most romantic thing in the world. It could have been exhilarating had she not been with Alex. Isabel had closed up the store awhile ago and turned off all the lights, and now she found herself backed up against a shelf, her right leg wrapped around Alex as he pounded into her. He’d said he thought public sex would be cool, but she just wanted to get it over with. Didn’t he understand that she didn’t want to start her new year off feeling like a slut? If they were going to do this, she would have rather been at home in bed. Romantic. Michael would have found a way to make even porno sex romantic.
She whimpered as she thought about Michael, about what he was doing tonight.
“What?” Alex asked, pausing. He looked around the darkened store.
“Keep going,” she told him. The sooner they finished, the sooner they could leave.
He bent his knees to add extra force to his thrusts. “Oh, Isabel, I love you,” he said, burying his face in her neck. “I love you so much.”
She dug her hands into his shoulder blades, remembering her first New Year’s with Michael. He’d made her cum at midnight. She pictured his eyes, his hands, his chest, his mouth . . . every inch of him. Every inch of perfection.
“I love you, too,” she moaned, the pleasure becoming real as she thought about him. “Michael . . .”
Alex’s entire body halted mid-thrust. He lifted his head, glaring at her accusingly. “What?”
Oh, crap. Why did she always do this? Just when she got a situation under control, she lost control over it because she said something or did something that sabotaged her. Dammit. Alex was not going to be happy about this, and there was really no excuse she could give for saying Michael’s name.
“You said . . .” Alex stepped back, sliding out of her, yanking his pants up. “I’m not him.”
“Trust me, I’m aware of that.” She rubbed her middle finger in circles over her clit, closing the distance between herself and orgasm. She smiled dazedly, wishing Michael was the one standing there, watching her spill all over her own hand.
“You were thinking about him.” His eyes widened with devastation.
“Is that really such a surprise?” She pulled her pants up, fastening them. “I’ve been thinking about him for the past four years. You know that.”
“But I thought . . .” He swallowed hard, his eyes brimming with tears. “I thought we were starting over. I thought things were gonna be better this time. They’ve been better.”
“They’ve been boring,” she corrected.
“But I don’t wanna bore you. You don’t . . . you don’t bore me.” He balled his hands into fists, clenching his jaw, growing red with anger. “God, Isabel. Why can’t you just forget about him and be in love with me?”
She shrugged. “I just can’t. It’ll never happen.”
“Dammit, Isabel!” He whirled around and pushed the entire shelf of DVDs, knocking a handful of them onto the floor.
“I’ll be your wife and the mother of your child—I’ll even be the bitch you like to fuck if that’s what it takes to keep the peace,” she said. “But I will never be in love with you. You just have to accept that.” She knew how hypocritical she sounded since she refused to accept that Michael would never love her again, but . . . whatever.
“No. No, I don’t want to,” Alex argued, storming towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Where do you think?” The bell chimed as he exited, and he set the security alarm off.
Isabel sighed, feeling just the slightest bit guilty, not because she’d hurt Alex’s feelings, but because he didn’t know what to do with those feelings. He was going to revert to alcoholic form once again, and Garret deserved a better father than an alcoholic.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex drove to his favorite bar, Rodeo’s, in a haze. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. One minute, he and Isabel had been having sex in the video store, and the next, she was saying that name. That name that made it impossible for them to ever have a functional marriage. Michael. Was it wrong to hate a nice, good guy like Michael? Because he did. The sad part was, even though he couldn’t believe she’d said that . . . he’d been expecting it.
He parked across the street from Rodeo’s and crossed to the other side without even looking. He almost got hit by a car, and part of him wished he had. What reason did he have to keep going? Isabel didn’t want him, and Garret didn’t even like him. That was why he needed to drink. His relationship with alcohol was the only relationship he’d ever been able to maintain.
****
So this was what a bar looked like. Alex strolled into a place called Rodeo’s, wondering why it smelled so bad. Was it the cigarette smoke, even though smoking wasn’t allowed in there? Was it B.O.? Most of the guys standing around the counter didn’t look to have showered in awhile. Or maybe it was just the potent smell of hopelessness, something they could probably all relate to.
He sat down at the counter, wondering when his father had taken his first drink. And his uncle and his grandfather and his cousins. They were all drunks, regardless of how they seemed on the outside. Now he was about to do something he’d never thought he would: He was about to be like them.
It was all her fault. He loved her, but it was her fault. She talked in her sleep, and she always said Michael’s name. Always. Never his. She didn’t want him.
“You’re new,” the bartender said as he approached him. “Not much of a drinker, are you?”
That was an understatement. He’d never had one drink in his life. “How can you tell?”
“I’m a bartender. It’s a gift,” he replied with a shrug. “What can I get you?”
So far in his life, Alex had managed to stay so far away from alcohol that he didn’t even know what his options were. “Just start me off with a beer,” he said, fully intent on moving onto something stronger later.
“You got it.” The bartender poured him a glass and slid it across the counter. “There you go, man.”
“Thanks.” Alex didn’t even hesitate. He brought the rim of the glass to his lips and chugged the bitter liquid, knowing he was going to regret this.
****
Alex sat down on a cracked stool. Years later, here he was. Same old bar, same old bartender, even. And the same old story as far as his marriage was concerned.
“Alex, long time no see,” Lou, the bartender, greeted him. He’d gone grey over the years, lost some hair on top his head. “Where you been? Tryin’ the sobriety thing?”
“Was.” He should have known he couldn’t handle it, though, should’ve never deluded himself into thinking Isabel wanted him. But he’d wanted to believe so badly.
“And how’s that working out for you?” Lou asked skeptically. When Alex didn’t respond, he said, “Man, I’m sorry to hear that. What’s your pleasure?”
Pleasure? he thought, almost laughing. There was no pleasure in his life. Just pain. “Give me the strongest thing you got,” he said, hoping he could get hammered to the point where he forgot everything about this night. As stupid as it was, he wanted to delude himself again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Kyle got to talking with Lucinda’s husband Kevin that night. Even though he was nearly twice his age, they got along right from the start. Kevin was a cool guy, and he and Kyle could relate on a lot of things, especially their issues with the women in their lives.
“And what about the whole leaving-the-toilet-seat-up thing?” Kevin said.
“Really, do wives get an instruction manual on things to complain about?” Kyle wondered aloud. “Because that . . . all the time.”
“All the time.”
“And they don’t understand that, as men, our bathroom situations are pressure-filled enough as it is. Gotta aim, gotta control the splatter.”
“Leaving the toilet seat up makes it feel more . . .” Kevin trailed off.
“Comfortable,” Kyle filled in.
“Exactly. Plus, I’m too lazy to put it back down every time.”
“Me, too. Hell, half the time I just piss in the bushes after I get home.”
“It’s the way nature intended.”
Kyle chuckled. “Oh, and how about when they tell us not to drink directly out of the carton?”
Kevin made a face. “I hate that. I’m the only one who drinks milk in my house, so it’s my carton.”
“And you should be able to do with it what you want. Why dirty any unnecessary cups, right?”
“I’ve tried explaining that to Lucinda, but then she starts talking about the dishwasher and how it’s needed to be fixed for a year now.”
“That’s dangerous terrain, man,” Kyle cautioned.
“I know.”
“Wives are smart.”
“Definitely,” Kevin agreed. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em, huh?”
Kyle nodded in agreement.
“You know, Kyle, I’m really glad we had this talk. It’s nice to be able to vent to somebody without worrying about the ramifications.”
“Hey, that goes both ways,” Kyle assured him, happy to have had the time to do a little male bonding. “My wife has . . . put me through a lot lately.” He cast a sideways glance over at Tess. She was talking to Amy and Sylvia, smiling. But he knew that, if it wasn’t for Michael and Maria’s wedding tonight, she wouldn’t be smiling at all.
“That’s her?” Kevin asked.
“Uh-huh. She used to be a blonde. She used to be a lot of things.”
“You guys got any kids?”
“No. Not yet.” He still wanted kids someday, though, and deep down, he suspected Tess did, too. She was just putting on a front. But after all the drama it had caused between them, it would probably be a few more years before either of them was ready to take that plunge again. “What’s it like to be a dad?” he asked his new friend. “I’ve asked Michael, but he usually gives me this idealized version of it.”
“Well, sometimes, it is ideal,” Kevin acknowledged. “And sometimes it’s really hard. I think it’s all worth it in the end, though. I love watching my kids learn and grow. They’re great.”
“Yeah, my nieces are pretty cool, too,” Kyle agreed.
“Miley and . . .”
“Macy.”
“That’s right. I’ve never met anyone in your family, but I hear a lot of things from Lucinda. She’s never met ‘em, either, but she says she feels like she knows ‘em because she hears so much from, uh . . .”
“Maria,” Kyle filled in.
“Right. God, I don’t even know the bride’s name. What kind of wedding guest am I?”
Kyle chuckled. “That’s okay. If she gets wasted enough, she won’t know her own name, either.”
“Oh, is she . . .” Kevin made a drinking gesture with his hands.
“Oh, no. She used to be a little outta control, you know, but she’s better now. And pregnant, so . . .”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. And she and Michael are the real deal. Not many relationship problems for them. They should be here soon.”
“I hope so,” Kevin said. “I think my son’s getting tired, and I don’t want him to fall asleep when he’s carrying the rings down the aisle.”
“No, they’ll be here,” Kyle assured him. “They’ve been waiting for this wedding for a long time. No way are they gonna back out now.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex stared at the last few sips of alcohol settled in the bottom of his glass. He didn’t even know what he was drinking at this point. Probably The Whitman, the drink Lou had created and named after him. It was horrible.
“You think you’ve had enough?” Lou asked, wiping off the counter space around him.
“No. Never.”
Lou shook his head. “I think you have.”
“Just one more,” he pleaded.
“Go home, Alex. Sleep it off. Things will look better in the morning.”
But they wouldn’t. Things never looked better. Not in the morning, not at night . . . never.
“Want me to call you a cab?” Lou asked.
“No, I got it.” He was definitely tipsy, but that was nothing new. He could make it home by himself. Maybe Isabel would be there when he got there. Maybe not. Maybe she’d be sticking the remote up her ass and saying Michael’s name, since that was a name she liked to say so much. “Thanks, Lou. I’m gonna do what you said. I’m gonna sleep it off.”
“Get home safe.” Lou headed on down to the other end of the bar to refill drinks for his other customers.
Alex pretended to turn and walk away, but when Lou wasn’t looking, he made his way back to the bar, reached over it, and pulled out the first bottle he felt beneath the counter. “Just one more,” he said, unscrewing the lid as he headed out the door.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tess flipped her phone shut and cupped her hands around her mouth so everybody could hear her announcement. “Okay, Maria just called. They got pulled over for speeding, so they’re running a little late, but they should be here in about ten minutes.” She gave Pastor Babcock and apologetic look, but he didn’t seem to mind the delay.
“Oh, no,” Lucinda said, “they won’t get to say ‘I do’ at midnight.”
“Well, close enough.” Tess extended her hand in greeting. “I’m Tess, by the way.”
Lucinda did the same. “Hi, I’m Lucinda. Sorry I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself before.”
“No, you’re busy watching over your kids.” Lucinda and her husband had brought along with them not only the little boy, Ben, who was supposed to be the ring-bearer, but also his twin sister Bianca, who had a missing front tooth and the cutest curly blonde hair ever. “They’re adorable, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Lucinda said. “I have one who just started high school, too.” She told them to settle down when they started making too much noise chasing each other through the pews, and they obediently sat down and started flipping through the Bible for funny verses.
“They’re so great,” Tess said, staring at them adoringly. She had to remind herself she didn’t want kids anymore.
“So you’re Maria’s best friend,” Lucinda said. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Good things?”
“Of course.”
Tess breathed a sigh of relief, because there were plenty of bad things to tell nowadays.
“But you know, for some reason, I always pictured you as a blonde.”
Tess reached up and touched her hair self-consciously. “Yeah, I used to be. This is a new color for me.”
“I love it.”
“Really? You’re about the only one.”
“I wish I could get my hair that color, but it makes the greys too noticeable,” Lucinda lamented. “Oh, the pitfalls of being old.”
Tess laughed. “Well, it was really nice of you and your family to come and spend your New Year’s this way. I’m sure you and your husband had some romantic evening planned.”
“Actually, that’ll be next week,” Lucinda informed her. “Our anniversary.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Our twentieth. Wedding anniversary, that is. We’ve been together since we were sixteen.”
“Wow, that’s . . . a really long time to be with somebody,” Tess said, envious. “Kyle and I will be lucky if we make it to our second wedding anniversary.”
“Oh, you will,” Lucinda assured her. “The way he looks at you . . . you’ll be together for many years to come.”
I hope so, she thought. Her hair couldn’t get much darker, but her personality could. And it would if Kyle wasn’t with her. “How do you do it?” she asked, desperately seeking some advice. “Make marriage work, I mean.”
“Well, there’s no handbook. It’d be a lot easier if there were,” Lucinda admitted. “I guess . . . you learn from the bad times, and cherish the good. That’s really all you can do.”
Tess nodded, wishing she had more good times as of late to cherish. “I think marriage has just . . . disappointed me. Because I thought mine would be perfect, and it’s not.”
“Oh, it’ll feel perfect sometimes,” Lucinda said knowingly, “but it can’t be perfect all the time. If it was . . . well, then, it wouldn’t be very perfect at all. You need the bad times to keep from getting bored.”
“But what if the bad times are really bad?” she pressed. “Like really bad?”
Lucinda sighed. “Then you have to try to work through them together. That’s what Kevin and I do.”
Together, Tess thought. We have to work through them . . . together. And that was really the biggest problem she was having. She was trying to work through what had happened to her on her own, and it wasn’t working out at all. “You’re very wise,” she told Lucinda.
“No, just very old,” Lucinda claimed. “Trust me, though, perfection isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Because nothing can stay perfect forever.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael turned onto Highway 2, teasing his family when he said, “Here we go, driving off into nowhere.”
“So it’s like a secluded church?” Maria asked.
“Yeah.”
She smiled. “I like that. I like all of this. Just a small, intimate wedding. It’s perfect for us. Why didn’t we think of this sooner?”
“I don’t know,” he said, switching the headlights to their brighter setting. “Maybe we were too busy dealing with con artists and guns and unit plans and cancer.”
“Could be,” she agreed. “I can’t believe you got pulled over. Tonight of all nights.”
“I know, I’ve never been pulled over before.” At first, he hadn’t even been sure what to do when he’d heard the sirens and saw the flashing lights behind him. He’d thought they were going to pull over someone else. “I was only going forty-five in a twenty-five.”
“Only?” she echoed laughingly. “Oh, almost-husband, you should’ve known better. The cops are out thick on New Year’s Eve. Gotta catch all those boozin’ drivers.”
“At least he let me off with a warning.” They’d made him get out of the car and do a breathalyzer, though, just to make sure he hadn’t been drinking. Breathalyzer. Great, now he was going to have to explain what that was to Miley.
“I think the bridal attire helped,” Maria speculated. “How could anyone ticket you when you’ve got a girl in a wedding dress sitting beside you? He probably knew you were just trying to get me to the church on time.”
“Which isn’t even gonna be possible now,” he grumbled, shaking his head as he looked at the clock in the car. It was almost midnight. Getting pulled over had really slowed them down. “We’re late for our own wedding.”
“We were gonna be late no matter what,” Maria reminded him. “Now we’re just . . . later. It’s my hair’s fault. It refused to cooperate.”
“No, it’s my lead foot’s fault,” he conceded. “Oh, well. We’ll time it pretty close to midnight.”
“Midnight!” Miley exclaimed for now reason from the backseat, clapping her hands excitedly. “Where are we going, Daddy?”
“To the church, to get married.”
“Oh, yeah.” She yawned.
“Sorry to keep you up so late, sweetheart,” he apologized. “It’s this whole symbolism thing.”
“That’s okay, Daddy,” she assured him. “I don’t wanna go to sleep ever again. Ever ever ever ever.”
“Ha, that’ll change when you’re older,” Maria mumbled. “Floor it, Guerin. I wanna marry you, like, now-ish.”
“I can’t floor it. I’ll get pulled over again.” He put the car in cruise control right at the sixty-mile an hour speed limit and watched the highway roll on by. They passed one other car, but that was it. It felt sort of deserted out there, which was cool. It felt like they were living in their own perfect world.
“It looks nice, by the way,” he said to Maria.
“Huh?”
“Your hair.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“Yeah, Mama, you look pretty,” Miley agreed, leaning forward towards the front seat.
“So do you, girly. You ready to be the flower girl?”
“Yeah. I did it before, ‘member?”
“Right, Max and Liz’s wedding.” She made a disgusted face.
“Ours is gonna be a lot better than theirs,” he promised her.
“Good, because theirs was pretty much horrendous. No wonder they’re probably gonna get a divorce.”
“What’s that?” Miley asked.
“A divorce? Something you’re never gonna have to worry about,” Michael answered, “because your mom and I are gonna be together forever.”
“Good,” Miley said.
“Good,” Maria agreed, reaching over to squeeze his hand, letting it go quickly. She reached up to smooth down her hair, and her engagement ring sparkled in the dark car. He couldn’t wait to see how bright it shone when it was joined by her wedding ring.
Wedding. They were really getting married tonight.
“Are we there yet?” Miley asked impatiently. “I have to pee.”
“About five more minutes,” Michael told her as they drove by the Sherwood Campgrounds. They were deserted now that it was winter, but he really wanted to spend the weekend there with his family this summer.
“I’m getting excited,” Maria said in a sing-song voice.
“Me, too,” he agreed, though he couldn’t remember a word of his vows. Oh, well, he’d have to wing it. He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Miley unhooking her seatbelt, crawling down out of her car seat onto the floor. “Hey, what’re you doin’ back there? Put your seatbelt back on,” he told her, trying to sound stern even though he was secretly impressed with her ability to work the seatbelts already.
“I dropped my flowers,” she said.
Maria turned around in her seat and reached back onto the floor to help her recollect the petals. “Is Macy asleep?” she asked.
“She’s always asleep,” was Miley’s swift response. “But I’m not gonna sleep ever again. Ever ever.”
“We heard you the first time, sweetie. Get back in your car seat.”
Miley climbed back up but leaned over to nudge Macy before putting her seatbelt back on. “Wake up, Macy.”
“Ah, let her sleep,” Michael said. “Babies aren’t supposed to be up ‘til midnight, not even on New Year’s Eve.”
“What’s midnight?” Miley asked, leaning forward again.
“It’s when the lines on the clock point up at the twelve and it’s dark outside, like it is now,” Maria explained. “It’s the start of a new day.”
“The start of a new year tonight,” he added. “In fact . . .” He glanced down at his watch, squinting to make out the second hand in the darkness. He watched it tick past the number nine, and then started a countdown. “Ten, nine, eight, seven . . .” He tilted his head back, grinning at his little girls in the backseat.
Maria joined him with, “Six, five, four . . .”
“Three! Two!” Miley chimed in giddily.
And then all of a sudden, Maria grabbed the dashboard and yelled, “Michael, watch out!”
Blinding headlights zoomed straight towards them. He swerved to the right, slamming on the breaks, trying to avoid hitting the other car. The tires screeched as they tried to stop, and his daughter’s screaming pierced through the night as the car flipped and plummeted down an embankment.
TBC . . .
-April
LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
-
April
- Roswell Fanatic
- Posts: 1557
- Joined: Tue Sep 28, 2004 9:32 am
- Location: Somewhere. Anywhere.
- Contact:
Part 85
Part 85
Where am I?
Michael’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t in his bed. He was on something hard. The ground. A street. Gravel.
Where are they?
He thought his vision was blurry when he managed to open his eyes, but he soon realized it was smoke. From the car. He could see light through the smoke. Not natural moonlight, but an orange glow. Fire.
Disoriented, he rolled over onto his back, trying to put the pieces together. He remembered another car. It had been in his lane. He’d had to swerve so he didn’t hit it, and . . .
Oh, god.
He coughed, forcing himself up into a sitting position. He felt sore, but not to the point where he couldn’t move. He had to move. He had to find them.
“Maria!” he yelled. His own voice sounded muffled. He hit the side of his head a few times, and it cleared up. Full sound rushed back to his ears, and the first thing he heard was screaming. Not Maria’s, but Miley’s.
“Miley!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet. He followed the sound of her voice away from the fire. “Miley, where are you?”
She just kept screaming. She sounded hurt, and that terrified him.
“Miley!” He squinted through the darkness and saw her halfway lying/halfway sitting against a tire that had rolled off the car. He rushed to her and touched her tear-soaked face. “Miley, Miley, it’s me. I’m here.”
She kept screaming, shaking.
“Are you alright?” he asked her. “Can you move?”
She looked around frantically, her eyes flooded with fear.
“Miley, look at me,” he said as calmly as he could. “Are you alright?”
Her crying suddenly deceased, and she croaked out, “Daddy?”
“I’m here. I’m here.” He hugged her, holding her head against his chest while she started crying again. He started coughing uncontrollably as the smoke filled his lungs. “Maria!” he managed to yell. “Maria, answer me!”
She didn’t. Had she been thrown from the car, too? And what about Macy?
“Shh,” he said to Miley, trying to quiet her while he listened for them. What if they were trapped?
“Mama!” Miley yelled suddenly.
“Where?”
She pointed behind him. He turned to look and saw the smoke clearing. In the middle of the deserted gravel road, their car lay upside down, smashed near the back. Flames lapped at it on the driver’s side.
“Oh my god,” he said, staring in horror. Were they still in there?
“Mama!” Miley cried again.
“Shh.” He looked up at the embankment they’d just fallen down from. He could make out the lines of the highway up there, but there were no cars. No one had stopped, and no one was driving by. They were all alone out there.
“Miley, I need you to help me,” he said, pulling away from her so he could look her in the eye. “I need you to stay right here while I go get them, okay?”
“Don’t go!”
“I’ll be right over there. I have to get them out.”
“Daddy!”
He took off his tuxedo jacket, feeling around inside the pockets for his phone. It was still there. Thank God. He flipped it open, but it didn’t turn on. “I need you to call 911,” he told his daughter as kept pressing the power button. “Remember, like we practiced?”
She just kept crying and breathing rapidly.
“You remember?” he asked again.
She whimpered, nodding.
“Okay, you tell them we had a car crash. Can you say that?”
“Car crash,” she repeated.
“Off Highway 2.”
“Highway 2.”
“By the campgrounds.”
“Camp . . . campground.”
He breathed a sigh of relief when his phone finally turned on. “There we go. You tell ‘em we rolled off onto another road. Can you tell them that?”
“Roll off . . .’nother road.”
“Good. Good. Okay, you tell them that. Car crash, highway 2, campgrounds. And they’ll come help us. We’re gonna be okay.”
“I’m scared,” she said.
“I know.” He dialed 911 and handed her the phone. “Here you go. I have to--”
“Daddy, I can’t feel my legs!”
He just stared at her, not sure if he’d just heard her correctly or not. He didn’t want to believe that. He couldn’t. He wished he could stay and comfort her, but there wasn’t any time. “I’ll be back,” he promised, running away from her in the direction of the car. “Maria!” he shouted, praying to God he’d get some kind of response. “Macy!” He stopped on the passenger’s side and peered down at the wreckage, fearing the worst. He couldn’t even see Macy in the back, but Maria was hanging upside down, strapped in by her seatbelt. Shards of glass from the shattered windows were embedded in her stomach, and red blood seeped into her white dress.
“Oh god.” Why wasn’t she moving?
He had allowed himself to fear the worst when she suddenly gasped, her eyes snapping open. She started to cough, her body straining itself against the seatbelt.
“Maria?” He threw his tuxedo jacket down and slid onto the ground, breaking the few remaining shards of glass in the passenger’s side window with his elbow. “Maria, can you hear me?”
“Michael?” She sounded confused. “What . . . what happened? It hurts.”
“We crashed. I’m gonna get you outta here. It’s gonna be alright.” He tried to look past her seat into the backseat, but the car was just so crushed. “Macy . . .” He reached back there, feeling her car seat, but he didn’t know if she was still in it.
“Macy?” she said. “Miley? Where are they?”
“Miley’s out there,” he told her. “Come on, you gotta get out of this car.”
“Macy,” she repeated. “Where’s Macy? Where is she?”
The realistic part of him knew there was no way she’d been thrown out of that car. He hadn’t seen her, and she’d been strapped in tightly. “She’s here,” he choked out.
“Why isn’t she crying?”
He didn’t say anything as a sinking feeling settled into his stomach.
“Why isn’t she crying?” Maria shouted, yanking on her seatbelt to loosen it. “Michael . . .”
“I don’t . . .” He stared helplessly at the crushed backseat. “I can’t . . .”
“Get her,” she growled. “Get her out now.”
He felt helpless. He didn’t know what to do.
“Michael!”
He jerked himself out of his panicked daze, forcing himself to focus. “Okay. Okay, I . . .” He crawled as far as he could into the window, Maria suspended above him as he tried to reaching behind her seat into the back of the car. “Macy?” He stretched his fingers to the tips, managing to feel around the side of the car seat. He felt her. He felt his little girl. But she wasn’t moving. “Macy . . .” He wasn’t sure if she was breathing or not, but he could feel her arm. Her tiny arm.
He swallowed hard. “Maria, I . . .”
“Get her out of the car, Michael! Just get her out, please.” She pressed hard on the release mechanism of her seatbelt, but it wouldn’t let go of her.
“Daddy!” He heard Miley yelling. He slithered back out the window and looked over at her. She was still crying, but she still had the phone up to her ear and was talking to the 911 operator.
He breathed heavily, feeling as though he were about to pass out. Too much. There was too much. He didn’t know which one of them to worry about first. But he had this gut feeling that Macy . . .
“Let me help you,” he said to Maria, reaching over her lap to try to unlock the seatbelt. The car was so hot he could barely breathe.
“No, get Macy!” she roared again. “Get her, Michael. Don’t worry about . . .” She trailed off, seemingly noticing the glass wedged into her stomach for the first time. “Oh!” she whimpered, tears streaming from her eyes. “No.”
“Don’t move. I got you.”
“No, no, no. No!” she cried, shaking hysterically. “Michael . . .”
“I got you.” He lay beneath her, pulling violently on her seatbelt, but it just wasn’t releasing her. “I got you.” He heard a trickling sound, and he knew what it was before he even turned to the side and saw it. Fuel was leaking from the car, forming a puddle. And flames were crawling towards it.
“Shit,” he swore. “We have to get you out of here now.”
“Macy!” she yelled, clutching her stomach and grimacing as the pain raged through her. “Ah!”
He picked up one of the glass shards from the windshield and tried to cut through the seatbelt. “We have to move!”
“No, get her out!” she wailed. “You have to get her out!”
“She’s not . . .”
“Get her!”
He kept slicing on the seatbelt, but he pictured his little girl’s face in his mind, smiling, laughing, calling him Da-da, and that propelled him. He handed the piece of glass to Maria and crawled as far as he could into the backseat. “Macy!” He reached around the sides of the car seat, barely able to move his arms because of how smashed the car was. He felt the seatbelt on her lap, and unlike Maria’s, he managed to get it unhooked right away. “Come on, Macy.” He tried to lift her body—no, her—out of the car seat, but he couldn’t.
“She stuck!”
Maria just cried, finally releasing herself from her own constraint. She crashed down hard next to him, landing wrong on her arm, and screamed in agony.
“She’s stuck!” He looked back out at the puddle and the flames. They were so close. “Maria, you have to move! Get out of here.”
“I can’t!” she cried, struggling to crawl out of the car. She only made it about an inch before her body gave out on her.
“Go!” He pulled on the entire car seat as hard as he could, but it wouldn’t budge. “Ah!”
“Michael!”
“I can’t get her!”
“Michael?”
He let go of the car seat and pushed himself backward, halfway hanging out the window. The whole car was going to blow any second. “Maria, go!” He lifted her over him, managing to get her head out of the car. He slid out the rest of the way and pulled her along with him.
“NO!” she screamed, struggling against him as he lifted her up. “I won’t leave her!”
“Miley, get down!” he shouted as he picked Maria up and ran, carrying her away from the wreckage. “Get down!” And suddenly, the car exploded into flames. The impact sent him and Maria flying to the ground. He threw himself on top of her, shielding her as debris shot out into the air. The ground literally shuddered, and the heat from the flames felt as if it were right on top of him. The thundering boom ricocheted through his ears even after it was done.
Michael felt as though the wind had just been knocked out of him. He started to cough again as smoke filled his lungs. He rolled off Maria and landed with a thud on the road. The sky looked like it was on fire.
Fire.
He sat up and was confronted with the most horrific sight he’d ever seen. The entire car was ablaze with roaring, cackling flames.
“MACY!” He shot to his feet and ran towards the vehicle, trying to figure out a way to get her out now when he couldn’t before. “Oh, god!” He tried in vain to use his jacket to put out the fire, knowing in his heart that it would never work. “NO!” He got as close as he could to the flames, even trying to reach inside the inferno, but it was too hot. He couldn’t. He just . . . couldn’t.
A wind gust picked up and blew the flames in his direction, sending him stumbling backward. He fell on the ground, hopelessness washing over him as he stared at the burning car. Burning Macy.
He pushed himself back up to his feet and staggered away from the wreck, heading back towards Miley and Maria. Miley looked too scared to cry anymore. Her hands were shaking, still holding his phone, and she said “I called 911, Daddy. I called 911.”
He just stood there for a moment, unable to move, unable to think, and even unable to feel. He kept expecting to wake up from this nightmare. He wanted to wake up.
“Is Mama dead?” Miley asked fearfully.
He snapped back to reality and looked down at Maria. She hadn’t moved since the explosion. “Maria?” He turned her over onto her back. Her eyes were closed. “Maria, wake up. Maria!” He bent down, checking to see if he could feel her breath against his cheek. But he didn’t.
“No.” His entire body clenched with determination. “No!” He put one of his hands on top of the other and pressed the base of his palms into her chest, praying he remembered CPR. “Wake up!” He tilted her head back, plugged her nose, and covered her mouth with his, blowing air into her lungs. “Maria!” He heard sirens in the distance but refused to be distracted. He kept doing chest compressions, begging her to come back to him. “Please wake up. Please wake up.”
When the ambulance got there, the commotion only continued. Firefighters came to put out the fire, and it went out slowly. The police came, too, and started to ask him questions about what had happened. He told them everything he knew. The cops kept saying “hit-and-run” to each other and asking what kind of car the other driver had been driving. Michael didn’t know. Black. All he knew was that it was black. Or it could’ve been dark blue.
They loaded Maria onto the first ambulance and took her away before he even knew what was happening. They put Miley on the second one, and he climbed in with her, holding her hand, letting her know he wasn’t going anywhere. As they drove away, he looked out the back window of the ambulance and watched as the last flickering flames near the car died out.
TBC . . .
-April
Where am I?
Michael’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t in his bed. He was on something hard. The ground. A street. Gravel.
Where are they?
He thought his vision was blurry when he managed to open his eyes, but he soon realized it was smoke. From the car. He could see light through the smoke. Not natural moonlight, but an orange glow. Fire.
Disoriented, he rolled over onto his back, trying to put the pieces together. He remembered another car. It had been in his lane. He’d had to swerve so he didn’t hit it, and . . .
Oh, god.
He coughed, forcing himself up into a sitting position. He felt sore, but not to the point where he couldn’t move. He had to move. He had to find them.
“Maria!” he yelled. His own voice sounded muffled. He hit the side of his head a few times, and it cleared up. Full sound rushed back to his ears, and the first thing he heard was screaming. Not Maria’s, but Miley’s.
“Miley!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet. He followed the sound of her voice away from the fire. “Miley, where are you?”
She just kept screaming. She sounded hurt, and that terrified him.
“Miley!” He squinted through the darkness and saw her halfway lying/halfway sitting against a tire that had rolled off the car. He rushed to her and touched her tear-soaked face. “Miley, Miley, it’s me. I’m here.”
She kept screaming, shaking.
“Are you alright?” he asked her. “Can you move?”
She looked around frantically, her eyes flooded with fear.
“Miley, look at me,” he said as calmly as he could. “Are you alright?”
Her crying suddenly deceased, and she croaked out, “Daddy?”
“I’m here. I’m here.” He hugged her, holding her head against his chest while she started crying again. He started coughing uncontrollably as the smoke filled his lungs. “Maria!” he managed to yell. “Maria, answer me!”
She didn’t. Had she been thrown from the car, too? And what about Macy?
“Shh,” he said to Miley, trying to quiet her while he listened for them. What if they were trapped?
“Mama!” Miley yelled suddenly.
“Where?”
She pointed behind him. He turned to look and saw the smoke clearing. In the middle of the deserted gravel road, their car lay upside down, smashed near the back. Flames lapped at it on the driver’s side.
“Oh my god,” he said, staring in horror. Were they still in there?
“Mama!” Miley cried again.
“Shh.” He looked up at the embankment they’d just fallen down from. He could make out the lines of the highway up there, but there were no cars. No one had stopped, and no one was driving by. They were all alone out there.
“Miley, I need you to help me,” he said, pulling away from her so he could look her in the eye. “I need you to stay right here while I go get them, okay?”
“Don’t go!”
“I’ll be right over there. I have to get them out.”
“Daddy!”
He took off his tuxedo jacket, feeling around inside the pockets for his phone. It was still there. Thank God. He flipped it open, but it didn’t turn on. “I need you to call 911,” he told his daughter as kept pressing the power button. “Remember, like we practiced?”
She just kept crying and breathing rapidly.
“You remember?” he asked again.
She whimpered, nodding.
“Okay, you tell them we had a car crash. Can you say that?”
“Car crash,” she repeated.
“Off Highway 2.”
“Highway 2.”
“By the campgrounds.”
“Camp . . . campground.”
He breathed a sigh of relief when his phone finally turned on. “There we go. You tell ‘em we rolled off onto another road. Can you tell them that?”
“Roll off . . .’nother road.”
“Good. Good. Okay, you tell them that. Car crash, highway 2, campgrounds. And they’ll come help us. We’re gonna be okay.”
“I’m scared,” she said.
“I know.” He dialed 911 and handed her the phone. “Here you go. I have to--”
“Daddy, I can’t feel my legs!”
He just stared at her, not sure if he’d just heard her correctly or not. He didn’t want to believe that. He couldn’t. He wished he could stay and comfort her, but there wasn’t any time. “I’ll be back,” he promised, running away from her in the direction of the car. “Maria!” he shouted, praying to God he’d get some kind of response. “Macy!” He stopped on the passenger’s side and peered down at the wreckage, fearing the worst. He couldn’t even see Macy in the back, but Maria was hanging upside down, strapped in by her seatbelt. Shards of glass from the shattered windows were embedded in her stomach, and red blood seeped into her white dress.
“Oh god.” Why wasn’t she moving?
He had allowed himself to fear the worst when she suddenly gasped, her eyes snapping open. She started to cough, her body straining itself against the seatbelt.
“Maria?” He threw his tuxedo jacket down and slid onto the ground, breaking the few remaining shards of glass in the passenger’s side window with his elbow. “Maria, can you hear me?”
“Michael?” She sounded confused. “What . . . what happened? It hurts.”
“We crashed. I’m gonna get you outta here. It’s gonna be alright.” He tried to look past her seat into the backseat, but the car was just so crushed. “Macy . . .” He reached back there, feeling her car seat, but he didn’t know if she was still in it.
“Macy?” she said. “Miley? Where are they?”
“Miley’s out there,” he told her. “Come on, you gotta get out of this car.”
“Macy,” she repeated. “Where’s Macy? Where is she?”
The realistic part of him knew there was no way she’d been thrown out of that car. He hadn’t seen her, and she’d been strapped in tightly. “She’s here,” he choked out.
“Why isn’t she crying?”
He didn’t say anything as a sinking feeling settled into his stomach.
“Why isn’t she crying?” Maria shouted, yanking on her seatbelt to loosen it. “Michael . . .”
“I don’t . . .” He stared helplessly at the crushed backseat. “I can’t . . .”
“Get her,” she growled. “Get her out now.”
He felt helpless. He didn’t know what to do.
“Michael!”
He jerked himself out of his panicked daze, forcing himself to focus. “Okay. Okay, I . . .” He crawled as far as he could into the window, Maria suspended above him as he tried to reaching behind her seat into the back of the car. “Macy?” He stretched his fingers to the tips, managing to feel around the side of the car seat. He felt her. He felt his little girl. But she wasn’t moving. “Macy . . .” He wasn’t sure if she was breathing or not, but he could feel her arm. Her tiny arm.
He swallowed hard. “Maria, I . . .”
“Get her out of the car, Michael! Just get her out, please.” She pressed hard on the release mechanism of her seatbelt, but it wouldn’t let go of her.
“Daddy!” He heard Miley yelling. He slithered back out the window and looked over at her. She was still crying, but she still had the phone up to her ear and was talking to the 911 operator.
He breathed heavily, feeling as though he were about to pass out. Too much. There was too much. He didn’t know which one of them to worry about first. But he had this gut feeling that Macy . . .
“Let me help you,” he said to Maria, reaching over her lap to try to unlock the seatbelt. The car was so hot he could barely breathe.
“No, get Macy!” she roared again. “Get her, Michael. Don’t worry about . . .” She trailed off, seemingly noticing the glass wedged into her stomach for the first time. “Oh!” she whimpered, tears streaming from her eyes. “No.”
“Don’t move. I got you.”
“No, no, no. No!” she cried, shaking hysterically. “Michael . . .”
“I got you.” He lay beneath her, pulling violently on her seatbelt, but it just wasn’t releasing her. “I got you.” He heard a trickling sound, and he knew what it was before he even turned to the side and saw it. Fuel was leaking from the car, forming a puddle. And flames were crawling towards it.
“Shit,” he swore. “We have to get you out of here now.”
“Macy!” she yelled, clutching her stomach and grimacing as the pain raged through her. “Ah!”
He picked up one of the glass shards from the windshield and tried to cut through the seatbelt. “We have to move!”
“No, get her out!” she wailed. “You have to get her out!”
“She’s not . . .”
“Get her!”
He kept slicing on the seatbelt, but he pictured his little girl’s face in his mind, smiling, laughing, calling him Da-da, and that propelled him. He handed the piece of glass to Maria and crawled as far as he could into the backseat. “Macy!” He reached around the sides of the car seat, barely able to move his arms because of how smashed the car was. He felt the seatbelt on her lap, and unlike Maria’s, he managed to get it unhooked right away. “Come on, Macy.” He tried to lift her body—no, her—out of the car seat, but he couldn’t.
“She stuck!”
Maria just cried, finally releasing herself from her own constraint. She crashed down hard next to him, landing wrong on her arm, and screamed in agony.
“She’s stuck!” He looked back out at the puddle and the flames. They were so close. “Maria, you have to move! Get out of here.”
“I can’t!” she cried, struggling to crawl out of the car. She only made it about an inch before her body gave out on her.
“Go!” He pulled on the entire car seat as hard as he could, but it wouldn’t budge. “Ah!”
“Michael!”
“I can’t get her!”
“Michael?”
He let go of the car seat and pushed himself backward, halfway hanging out the window. The whole car was going to blow any second. “Maria, go!” He lifted her over him, managing to get her head out of the car. He slid out the rest of the way and pulled her along with him.
“NO!” she screamed, struggling against him as he lifted her up. “I won’t leave her!”
“Miley, get down!” he shouted as he picked Maria up and ran, carrying her away from the wreckage. “Get down!” And suddenly, the car exploded into flames. The impact sent him and Maria flying to the ground. He threw himself on top of her, shielding her as debris shot out into the air. The ground literally shuddered, and the heat from the flames felt as if it were right on top of him. The thundering boom ricocheted through his ears even after it was done.
Michael felt as though the wind had just been knocked out of him. He started to cough again as smoke filled his lungs. He rolled off Maria and landed with a thud on the road. The sky looked like it was on fire.
Fire.
He sat up and was confronted with the most horrific sight he’d ever seen. The entire car was ablaze with roaring, cackling flames.
“MACY!” He shot to his feet and ran towards the vehicle, trying to figure out a way to get her out now when he couldn’t before. “Oh, god!” He tried in vain to use his jacket to put out the fire, knowing in his heart that it would never work. “NO!” He got as close as he could to the flames, even trying to reach inside the inferno, but it was too hot. He couldn’t. He just . . . couldn’t.
A wind gust picked up and blew the flames in his direction, sending him stumbling backward. He fell on the ground, hopelessness washing over him as he stared at the burning car. Burning Macy.
He pushed himself back up to his feet and staggered away from the wreck, heading back towards Miley and Maria. Miley looked too scared to cry anymore. Her hands were shaking, still holding his phone, and she said “I called 911, Daddy. I called 911.”
He just stood there for a moment, unable to move, unable to think, and even unable to feel. He kept expecting to wake up from this nightmare. He wanted to wake up.
“Is Mama dead?” Miley asked fearfully.
He snapped back to reality and looked down at Maria. She hadn’t moved since the explosion. “Maria?” He turned her over onto her back. Her eyes were closed. “Maria, wake up. Maria!” He bent down, checking to see if he could feel her breath against his cheek. But he didn’t.
“No.” His entire body clenched with determination. “No!” He put one of his hands on top of the other and pressed the base of his palms into her chest, praying he remembered CPR. “Wake up!” He tilted her head back, plugged her nose, and covered her mouth with his, blowing air into her lungs. “Maria!” He heard sirens in the distance but refused to be distracted. He kept doing chest compressions, begging her to come back to him. “Please wake up. Please wake up.”
When the ambulance got there, the commotion only continued. Firefighters came to put out the fire, and it went out slowly. The police came, too, and started to ask him questions about what had happened. He told them everything he knew. The cops kept saying “hit-and-run” to each other and asking what kind of car the other driver had been driving. Michael didn’t know. Black. All he knew was that it was black. Or it could’ve been dark blue.
They loaded Maria onto the first ambulance and took her away before he even knew what was happening. They put Miley on the second one, and he climbed in with her, holding her hand, letting her know he wasn’t going anywhere. As they drove away, he looked out the back window of the ambulance and watched as the last flickering flames near the car died out.
TBC . . .
-April
LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
-
April
- Roswell Fanatic
- Posts: 1557
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Part 86
Hello, readers. Thanks to everyone who sent me birthday wishes. I can't believe I'm yet another year older.
I am an awful, AWFUL person. I know that last part was devastating. I was devastated when I came up with the idea, and shocked when I actually decided to write it. I guess I'm living up to that "Angstiest Author" award I snagged during the last rounds of RF awards, huh?
That last scene was probably the most difficult scene I've ever written. Ever. But it's like I said way back in the author's note for this story: It's meant to challenge me as a writer and even challenge you guys as readers. I know not everyone can stick with this, and that's okay. (Sadly, I think we've lost BB to the angst.) Although I do feel the need to point out that, if you stop reading now, the story will forever have a tragic ending in your mind, and if you keep reading, it will likely get better. I'm not gonna lie, there is a TON of angst in store, so just prepare yourselves.
Thank you for the feedback.
Part 86
“What’s taking them so long?” Amy bit her nails nervously, pacing back and forth through the pews. “They should’ve been here by now. Did you try calling her again?”
“Yeah.” Tess closed her phone. “She didn’t answer.”
Amy looked to Kyle.
“Uh, neither did Michael,” he said. “That’s okay, though. That just means they’re on Highway 2. There’s no service out there.” He hoped Amy couldn’t tell that he was lying through his teeth. He just didn’t want to worry her.
“Maybe they got pulled over for speeding again,” Lucinda speculated.
“Maybe,” he agreed, though he doubted it. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure where Michael and Maria were, but it was already almost 12:30 now. 2013 had started and they had yet to be married as they’d planned.
“No, I don’t like this,” Amy fretted.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Marty comforted her, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sure they’re fine. They’re probably just having one last premarital screw.”
“But Miley and Macy are with them,” she pointed.
“If they really wanna get it on, they’ll find a way. Come on, let’s go get a drink.” He ushered Amy behind the altar, took out the wine used for communion, and opened it, handing the bottle straight to her.
Kyle sighed, trying Michael again. He still just got his voicemail. What was going on? They definitely should have been there by now. They should’ve been there twenty minutes ago.
“Hey, listen,” Tess said quietly, “when we get home tonight, I was kinda thinking we could talk . . . about everything.”
Everything? he thought, wondering if she would really tell him everything. “Sure,” he said, not about to turn down one of the few offers she’d made to communicate with him over the past month.
“Okay.” She let out a heavy breath and smoothed the wrinkles in her dress. She had that look of anxiety in her eyes, the same one he felt in his gut. Everyone was going to be a little on edge until the bride and groom showed up.
“There they are!” Sylvia announced suddenly, peering out the window. They all ran to her side and looked out as headlights crept down the highway. They waited in silence for it to turn off and pull into the small parking lot outside the church, but it drove right on past. It wasn’t them.
“Sorry,” Sylvia said. “I thought that was them.”
“Oh, I have a bad feeling,” Amy said, holding one hand to her stomach. “Something’s wrong.” Ed and Marty took her to sit down, and John did the same with Sylvia.
“I have a bad feeling, too,” Sylvia whispered to her husband, but Kyle overheard her. He didn’t want to add to the uneasiness, so he didn’t say anything.
After Lucinda and her family walked away from the window, Tess turned to Kyle and asked, “They’re okay, right?”
He wanted to be able to reassure her, even if he wasn’t sure at all. “Yeah,” he said, trying to keep his voice from wavering, trying to smile. He knew something must have happened to delay Michael and Maria. Hopefully it was nothing too serious.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The emergency room was busy, but it got ten times busier when Maria and Miley came in. The doctors swarmed Maria and rushed her off into surgery right away. They took x-rays of Miley’s back before they started operating on her, though. She still couldn’t feel her legs.
Michael stood outside Miley’s operating room, trying to look inside. There was only a small, rectangular window on the door, but it was big enough to see through. He watched as the doctors took a piece of glass out of her back. They kept shaking their heads and pointing to her spine before they started to stitch her up.
He walked down the hallway in a daze, barely able to think coherently. Part of him felt like he wasn’t even there, like he was living someone else’s life. But deep down inside, he knew it was all happening. It was all real.
He stopped in front of the door to Maria’s operating room, almost afraid to look inside. The paramedics had told him they’d been able to resuscitate her in the ambulance, but she still had the stomach injuries to deal with. She’d been bleeding so much. What if it was too much?
When he looked inside, he couldn’t even see her because there were so many doctors around her. She wasn’t wearing her wedding dress anymore, though. Somebody had taken it off her and draped it over a chair. It was covered in blood.
This wasn’t how their wedding night was supposed to be.
One of the doctors came out of the operating room and approached him, removing his surgical mask. “Mr. Guerin?”
“Is she gonna be okay?”
“We’ve managed to stabilize her,” the doctor said calmly, “but she lost a lot of blood. She needs a transfusion. Do you know her blood type?”
“Uh . . .” His brain was too stuck on the word transfusion to think clearly. “I don’t . . . I don’t remember.” He felt guilty for not remembering. This was something he was supposed to know, just in case.
“We can run a test to find out,” the doctor told him.
And suddenly, his brain decided to cooperate again. “Oh, it’s, uh . . . positive. O positive.”
The doctor nodded. “That’s good. Don’t worry, she’s gonna be okay.”
“She is?”
“Yes.”
He breathed a gigantic sigh of relief. “Thank God.” He couldn’t lose anyone else, not after he’d just lost . . .
“Her arm’s fractured, but that’ll heal,” the doctor informed him. “Unfortunately . . . we tried everything we could, but we were unable to save the baby.”
Michael flinched. “The what?”
“The baby,” the doctor repeated. “There was nothing we could do. The damage was too severe.”
Michael was confused. He just didn’t understand. “You mean Macy? She’s . . .” He stopped before he allowed himself to speak about her in the present tense. “She was in the car. She . . . died there.” How could Macy die?
The doctor stared at him for a moment, looking similarly perplexed. “Mr. Guerin,” he said softly, “your wife was pregnant.”
At first he stood there, too busy thinking about Macy to comprehend the words. But when he finally did, he almost fell over. Pregnant?
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” the doctor sympathized before he put his mask back on and headed back into the operating room.
Loss. The word seeped through every inch of Michael, twisting and turning his insides. He’d already lost Macy. Now they were telling him he’d lost someone else, too? Someone he hadn’t even gotten the chance to know?
He leaned back against the wall and sank down onto the floor, feeling as though every bit of strength had disappeared from his body. The initial rush of adrenaline he’d felt in the aftermath of the accident had worn off now, and he felt like a depleted battery. It had to be nothing compared to the way Miley and Maria felt, though. They were the ones who had serious injuries. All he had were some bumps and scrapes. Shouldn’t he have been banged up a little more? He’d gotten thrown out of the car, and the doctors were telling him he didn’t even have a concussion. How was that possible?
Maybe if Macy had been thrown out of the car, too, she would’ve made it. After all, he and Miley were both still here.
He looked down at his clothes and his hands. Maria’s blood was all over him. All over him. No wonder she needed a transfusion. She’d bled so much. He couldn’t even stand to look at it. It made him feel sick and made him wonder if Macy had bled at all. Or cried. Or felt anything.
Macy . . .
He managed to get up and make his way down the hallway and into the bathroom. He locked the door, turned on the light, and stared at himself in the mirror. His face was covered with soot. He looked exhausted, and there was a cut above his eyebrow that had already crusted over with blood. His own blood this time, not Maria’s.
He washed his hands, watching the swirls of red liquid disappear down the sink. Even after it was gone, he still felt like it was there, so he washed some more. He couldn’t help but notice how empty his left ring finger looked. He was supposed to have been wearing a wedding band. He would’ve been if he’d been paying more attention to the road, if he hadn’t been stopped for speeding, if the driver of that other car had never been driving to begin with . . .
He had to stop himself before all the what-ifs became too much.
After he finished up in the bathroom, he went back out into the hallway and got on the phone. He wasn’t even sure who he should call. They were all together, though, so it wouldn’t matter. He dialed Kyle’s number and waited for him to answer.
He didn’t have to wait long. Kyle answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“Hey. Hey, man, where are you? We were worried. You almost here?”
“We’re at the hospital,” he said, his voice barely loud enough. “All three of us.”
Kyle was silent for only a few seconds before he started to question. “The hospital? What? Michael . . .”
Michael hung up the phone, unable to say any more. When they got there, he would tell them. It would all seem more real by then.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Kyle stared at his phone even after Michael had hung up on him, trying not to assume the worst. But . . . all three? All three of them? At the hospital? Even if Michael hadn’t said those words, Kyle would’ve known something horrible was going on. He could tell just by the sound of his friend’s voice. He’d sounded . . . stunned.
Everyone circled around him, looking at him expectantly. Sylvia was the first to ask what he’d heard. “Well?” she said. “What is it?”
“Where are they?” Amy joined in. “Are they on their way?”
He slowly put his phone back in his pocket, not sure how he was supposed to tell the rest of the family what Michael had just told him.
Tess came to stand in front of him, picking his hands up in hers. “Kyle?” she said quietly, looking him right in the eye.
It was easier just to talk to her than it was to talk to everyone else, so he whispered, “I think something really bad happened, Tess.” Nobody else had to hear him, though. They all understood there wasn’t going to be a wedding tonight, even if they didn’t understand why.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex drove home at a speed of about twelve miles per hour. Literally. By the time he got there, his heart had stopped pounding a little. Just a little. He pulled up out front and got out of the car, checking to see if there was any noticeable damage to the front. He couldn’t see in the dark, though, so he used a small flashlight dangling from his keychain to inspect it. His hands were still shaking, so he could barely keep himself steady enough to get a good glimpse. From what he could see, nothing had been severely dented, but there was an obvious scrape on the front bumper.
“Shit,” he swore, not because he particularly cared about his piece of crap car, but because it was evidence.
He wanted to take a closer look, but there were other cars driving by, and he didn’t need to be acting suspiciously. So he headed inside, hoping and praying that the sound of screeching breaks would stop echoing in his ears. It was all he could hear.
He shut the front door quietly and crept into the darkened kitchen, stopping in front of the refrigerator. He opened it up and reached for a can of beer, but there weren’t any. He’d emptied it out a few weeks ago, back when he’d convinced himself he could actually clean up his act and be a good guy.
He slammed the refrigerator too loudly, knowing he’d probably woken Isabel up. I don’t need to drink anyway, he told himself. Not anymore. Bad things happened when alcohol was involved. Really bad things.
He trudged upstairs and into the master bedroom, watching Isabel as she slept for a moment. She wasn’t stirring, so maybe he hadn’t woken her up after all. Good. If she was still asleep, he could lie and tell her he’d gotten home earlier than he had. An alibi. It was always good to have one of those.
The bedsprings squeaked when he sat down on the side, and that squeaking brought the tire screeching sound back. The sound triggered a mini-movie began to play in his head: headlights. Headlights and tires screeching. And then just the open road. No turning back. No turning back.
“Are you drunk?”
“Jesus,” he startled, practically jumping off the bed. “No.”
After a pause, she said, “Liar,” and rolled over onto her back.
“I sobered up, alright?” He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans, refusing to look over his shoulder and see that glare of condescension in her eyes.
“Look, I’m sorry about earlier,” she apologized flippantly, “but we can still be a semi-functional couple. Plenty of married people don’t really love each other.”
“Whatever.” He couldn’t dwell on any of that right now.
“Whatever?” she echoed, sounding surprised. “That’s it? No whining, no crying, no begging me to open up my heart to you?”
“Isabel, I don’t care anymore,” he snapped. “I just don’t care. I just wanna go to sleep and forget this day ever happened.” He knew it wasn’t possible, though. He’d never forget. And neither would whoever had been driving that other car.
“Fine,” she mumbled, turning back over onto her side, so clearly not giving a damn about him.
He stood back up and headed for the door. No way could he sleep next to her tonight. No way could he sleep. Period. He was definitely going to lie awake all night, and if that was the case, he wanted to do it alone. Guest room it was. Part of him had always known he’d end up back in that small twin bed.
“Happy new year,” she bit out sarcastically, stopping him dead in his tracks.
New year. His mind wrestled around with the idea. This was how he’d started the new year of his life, by getting into a hit-and-run? Every year got worse and worse. He just hoped the people in the other car were okay.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
How was it possible to get thrown out of a moving vehicle and have no major physical wounds? Michael couldn’t figure it out. He was a little bit sore, but other than a few cuts and bruises, he was physically fine. Not even a broken bone. Why wasn’t he hurt when the people he loved were being cut open on operating tables?
It wasn’t right. Nothing about this was right.
The doctors had insisted he get the cut above his left eyebrow stitched up, but he didn’t even care. They didn’t give him much of a choice, though. They sat him down in the pit and assigned an intern to take care of him. She didn’t seem to know what she was doing.
“Ow,” he said, wincing as she poked his flesh with the needle.
“Sorry.”
This was taking too long. He was getting impatient. “Look, I don’t need stitches. I’m fine.”
“Oh, but you do need stitches, Mr. Guerin. Three, in fact.”
How many stitches were Maria and Miley going to have?
“I just wanna be there when my daughter gets out of surgery,” he said. If she woke up and he wasn’t there, she was going to be so scared.
“You will be,” the intern assured him, finishing up with her work. “There we go. Good as new.”
Good as new? There was nothing good about any of this, but it was definitely new.
“You should sit for a minute,” she suggested. “You’ve been through a lot.”
“I don’t wanna sit.” He tried to stand up, but she pushed on his shoulder and kept him down with surprising strength.
“You need to,” she repeated. “I’ll go check on your daughter, let you know when she’ll be out of surgery. She’s the one with the spinal injury, right?”
He closed his eyes, the words hitting him like bullets to the chest. “Right.”
“I’ll go check on her.”
Once she was gone, he took a minute to think about where he was. The emergency room. There were doctors rushing around in every direction and patients in pain as far as the eye could see. But what had happened to his family was so far beyond an emergency, he didn’t even know what to call it. Part of him was still holding onto the last shreds of hope that it might all just be a nightmare.
He looked down at his hands. The blood was gone now, but the feel of Macy’s little arms wasn’t. He could still feel her, stuck in that car seat. He’d touched her. He’d touched her. Now there was . . . nothing left to touch.
His stomach started to churn as he imagined what had happened to her. He tried not to picture it in his mind, but he couldn’t stop it. He pictured her little limbs on fire, her hands, her face . . . Would he really never see that face again?
Would they even have a body to bury? She’d been . . . incinerated.
He grabbed the first trash can he saw and threw up in it, the thoughts too much for him to handle. Oh god, please let her have died because of the crash, not the fire, he begged. Please. She was just a little girl. She didn’t deserve all that agony.
He set the trashcan back down just as he heard what sounded like a stampede of buffalo running down the hall. He heard people calling for him and recognized his mother’s voice right away. He just sat there and waited for them to find him.
At first, they all ran right by the pit, but Tess saw him and said, “Wait, he’s in here.” They all rushed towards him, everyone that was supposed to have been there to witness the wedding. Even Lucinda and her husband were there. Their two kids stared at the scar on his forehead inquisitively, and all he could think about were his own kids. He hadn’t even known he’d had three to worry about. And now he only had one.
One.
“Michael?” his mother said, stroking his cheeks with her soft, warm hands. “Oh, baby, what happened? Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”
“Where’s Maria?” Amy asked.
“And Miley and Macy,” Tess added, glancing around concernedly as though she’d expected to find them all together.
He flinched. Macy. Where was she? Was there really such a thing as heaven, or was that just something he’d told Miley about because his own mother had once told him?
There had to be a heaven. Had to be. He couldn’t stand the thought of her being anywhere else.
“Son?” his father prompted.
How am I supposed to tell them? he wondered. They wouldn’t be expecting any of this.
He swallowed hard and started in, knowing it needed to be done. And better they hear it from him than some nurse or doctor who didn’t even know how Macy was. “We were driving,” he said, once again staring down at his hands. “I was driving. We were only a few minutes away. We were counting down ‘til midnight.” He smiled shakily, trying to cherish that one last memory, because it was quite possibly the last time any of them would ever be happy. “There was another car. It was in our lane. I didn’t see it until it was too late.”
“Oh my god,” Amy said, her voice full of fear and panic.
“I swerved, and we rolled down a hill.” He pictured Macy being jostled too much by the impact, and even though it was disturbing, it was better than the fire. “When I came to, I was outside the car. Me and Miley both. We were thrown.”
“Goodness, is she okay?” his mother asked tearfully.
“She called 911 while I went back to the car. They were . . . they were still in the car.”
“Maria and-and Macy?” Tess stuttered.
“Where are they?” Amy cried. “Are they okay?”
“Maria was trapped. By her own seatbelt. Macy was . . .” Dead, he thought. As morbid as it sounded, he wanted her to have already been dead. “I couldn’t get to her.” He could still feel his muscles straining to pull the car seat out of its confinement. “I tried, but I couldn’t get to her.” Whether she’d been dead already or not, he still should have saved her from those flames. There was no excuse for not being able to.
“So the paramedics had to?” His mother’s voice was full of that desperate kind of hope. And despair.
“The paramedics weren’t there yet.”
Marty seemed to get where he was going with this before the others, because he gasped and held his hand over his mouth.
“I could feel her,” he said, “but she wasn’t crying. And I couldn’t . . .” He shook his head, hating himself for not being stronger, faster, braver. “I got Maria out right before the car exploded, but Macy . . .” He trailed off, unable to say it out loud.
Amy’s started to crumble as realization dawned on her. “Oh god. Oh god!” She fell against Ed, unable to stay standing on her own.
“What’re you saying?” Tess whimpered. “She’s . . .” She couldn’t say it, either, but she didn’t need to.
“No,” his mother wailed. “No!” She collapsed against her husband as well, her entire body heaving with sobs.
Kyle spun Tess towards him and hugged her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, even though her face was frozen in a shocked expression.
“Oh my god,” Marty cried, lowering himself to the floor. He buried his face in his hands and let it all out. Everyone was crying, even Lucinda and her husband, and they’d never even met Macy.
“Miley and Maria are in surgery,” he told them, feeling as though he couldn’t catch his breath. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what’s gonna happen now.”
His mother untangled herself from his father and threw her arms around him, holding him tightly against her as his own tears started to fall. He hadn’t really allowed himself to cry up until now, not like this. But once he started, he thought he’d never stop. It hurt so much. Not physically, but emotionally. When he pictured her smiling face or tried to remember how it sounded when she said ‘Da-da,’ his insides felt like they were being ripped out and torn apart; he couldn’t even tell if his own heart was beating anymore. It was like a part of him was missing, and he’d never get it back.
TBC . . . .
-April
I am an awful, AWFUL person. I know that last part was devastating. I was devastated when I came up with the idea, and shocked when I actually decided to write it. I guess I'm living up to that "Angstiest Author" award I snagged during the last rounds of RF awards, huh?
That last scene was probably the most difficult scene I've ever written. Ever. But it's like I said way back in the author's note for this story: It's meant to challenge me as a writer and even challenge you guys as readers. I know not everyone can stick with this, and that's okay. (Sadly, I think we've lost BB to the angst.) Although I do feel the need to point out that, if you stop reading now, the story will forever have a tragic ending in your mind, and if you keep reading, it will likely get better. I'm not gonna lie, there is a TON of angst in store, so just prepare yourselves.
Thank you for the feedback.
Part 86
“What’s taking them so long?” Amy bit her nails nervously, pacing back and forth through the pews. “They should’ve been here by now. Did you try calling her again?”
“Yeah.” Tess closed her phone. “She didn’t answer.”
Amy looked to Kyle.
“Uh, neither did Michael,” he said. “That’s okay, though. That just means they’re on Highway 2. There’s no service out there.” He hoped Amy couldn’t tell that he was lying through his teeth. He just didn’t want to worry her.
“Maybe they got pulled over for speeding again,” Lucinda speculated.
“Maybe,” he agreed, though he doubted it. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure where Michael and Maria were, but it was already almost 12:30 now. 2013 had started and they had yet to be married as they’d planned.
“No, I don’t like this,” Amy fretted.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Marty comforted her, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sure they’re fine. They’re probably just having one last premarital screw.”
“But Miley and Macy are with them,” she pointed.
“If they really wanna get it on, they’ll find a way. Come on, let’s go get a drink.” He ushered Amy behind the altar, took out the wine used for communion, and opened it, handing the bottle straight to her.
Kyle sighed, trying Michael again. He still just got his voicemail. What was going on? They definitely should have been there by now. They should’ve been there twenty minutes ago.
“Hey, listen,” Tess said quietly, “when we get home tonight, I was kinda thinking we could talk . . . about everything.”
Everything? he thought, wondering if she would really tell him everything. “Sure,” he said, not about to turn down one of the few offers she’d made to communicate with him over the past month.
“Okay.” She let out a heavy breath and smoothed the wrinkles in her dress. She had that look of anxiety in her eyes, the same one he felt in his gut. Everyone was going to be a little on edge until the bride and groom showed up.
“There they are!” Sylvia announced suddenly, peering out the window. They all ran to her side and looked out as headlights crept down the highway. They waited in silence for it to turn off and pull into the small parking lot outside the church, but it drove right on past. It wasn’t them.
“Sorry,” Sylvia said. “I thought that was them.”
“Oh, I have a bad feeling,” Amy said, holding one hand to her stomach. “Something’s wrong.” Ed and Marty took her to sit down, and John did the same with Sylvia.
“I have a bad feeling, too,” Sylvia whispered to her husband, but Kyle overheard her. He didn’t want to add to the uneasiness, so he didn’t say anything.
After Lucinda and her family walked away from the window, Tess turned to Kyle and asked, “They’re okay, right?”
He wanted to be able to reassure her, even if he wasn’t sure at all. “Yeah,” he said, trying to keep his voice from wavering, trying to smile. He knew something must have happened to delay Michael and Maria. Hopefully it was nothing too serious.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The emergency room was busy, but it got ten times busier when Maria and Miley came in. The doctors swarmed Maria and rushed her off into surgery right away. They took x-rays of Miley’s back before they started operating on her, though. She still couldn’t feel her legs.
Michael stood outside Miley’s operating room, trying to look inside. There was only a small, rectangular window on the door, but it was big enough to see through. He watched as the doctors took a piece of glass out of her back. They kept shaking their heads and pointing to her spine before they started to stitch her up.
He walked down the hallway in a daze, barely able to think coherently. Part of him felt like he wasn’t even there, like he was living someone else’s life. But deep down inside, he knew it was all happening. It was all real.
He stopped in front of the door to Maria’s operating room, almost afraid to look inside. The paramedics had told him they’d been able to resuscitate her in the ambulance, but she still had the stomach injuries to deal with. She’d been bleeding so much. What if it was too much?
When he looked inside, he couldn’t even see her because there were so many doctors around her. She wasn’t wearing her wedding dress anymore, though. Somebody had taken it off her and draped it over a chair. It was covered in blood.
This wasn’t how their wedding night was supposed to be.
One of the doctors came out of the operating room and approached him, removing his surgical mask. “Mr. Guerin?”
“Is she gonna be okay?”
“We’ve managed to stabilize her,” the doctor said calmly, “but she lost a lot of blood. She needs a transfusion. Do you know her blood type?”
“Uh . . .” His brain was too stuck on the word transfusion to think clearly. “I don’t . . . I don’t remember.” He felt guilty for not remembering. This was something he was supposed to know, just in case.
“We can run a test to find out,” the doctor told him.
And suddenly, his brain decided to cooperate again. “Oh, it’s, uh . . . positive. O positive.”
The doctor nodded. “That’s good. Don’t worry, she’s gonna be okay.”
“She is?”
“Yes.”
He breathed a gigantic sigh of relief. “Thank God.” He couldn’t lose anyone else, not after he’d just lost . . .
“Her arm’s fractured, but that’ll heal,” the doctor informed him. “Unfortunately . . . we tried everything we could, but we were unable to save the baby.”
Michael flinched. “The what?”
“The baby,” the doctor repeated. “There was nothing we could do. The damage was too severe.”
Michael was confused. He just didn’t understand. “You mean Macy? She’s . . .” He stopped before he allowed himself to speak about her in the present tense. “She was in the car. She . . . died there.” How could Macy die?
The doctor stared at him for a moment, looking similarly perplexed. “Mr. Guerin,” he said softly, “your wife was pregnant.”
At first he stood there, too busy thinking about Macy to comprehend the words. But when he finally did, he almost fell over. Pregnant?
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” the doctor sympathized before he put his mask back on and headed back into the operating room.
Loss. The word seeped through every inch of Michael, twisting and turning his insides. He’d already lost Macy. Now they were telling him he’d lost someone else, too? Someone he hadn’t even gotten the chance to know?
He leaned back against the wall and sank down onto the floor, feeling as though every bit of strength had disappeared from his body. The initial rush of adrenaline he’d felt in the aftermath of the accident had worn off now, and he felt like a depleted battery. It had to be nothing compared to the way Miley and Maria felt, though. They were the ones who had serious injuries. All he had were some bumps and scrapes. Shouldn’t he have been banged up a little more? He’d gotten thrown out of the car, and the doctors were telling him he didn’t even have a concussion. How was that possible?
Maybe if Macy had been thrown out of the car, too, she would’ve made it. After all, he and Miley were both still here.
He looked down at his clothes and his hands. Maria’s blood was all over him. All over him. No wonder she needed a transfusion. She’d bled so much. He couldn’t even stand to look at it. It made him feel sick and made him wonder if Macy had bled at all. Or cried. Or felt anything.
Macy . . .
He managed to get up and make his way down the hallway and into the bathroom. He locked the door, turned on the light, and stared at himself in the mirror. His face was covered with soot. He looked exhausted, and there was a cut above his eyebrow that had already crusted over with blood. His own blood this time, not Maria’s.
He washed his hands, watching the swirls of red liquid disappear down the sink. Even after it was gone, he still felt like it was there, so he washed some more. He couldn’t help but notice how empty his left ring finger looked. He was supposed to have been wearing a wedding band. He would’ve been if he’d been paying more attention to the road, if he hadn’t been stopped for speeding, if the driver of that other car had never been driving to begin with . . .
He had to stop himself before all the what-ifs became too much.
After he finished up in the bathroom, he went back out into the hallway and got on the phone. He wasn’t even sure who he should call. They were all together, though, so it wouldn’t matter. He dialed Kyle’s number and waited for him to answer.
He didn’t have to wait long. Kyle answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“Hey. Hey, man, where are you? We were worried. You almost here?”
“We’re at the hospital,” he said, his voice barely loud enough. “All three of us.”
Kyle was silent for only a few seconds before he started to question. “The hospital? What? Michael . . .”
Michael hung up the phone, unable to say any more. When they got there, he would tell them. It would all seem more real by then.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Kyle stared at his phone even after Michael had hung up on him, trying not to assume the worst. But . . . all three? All three of them? At the hospital? Even if Michael hadn’t said those words, Kyle would’ve known something horrible was going on. He could tell just by the sound of his friend’s voice. He’d sounded . . . stunned.
Everyone circled around him, looking at him expectantly. Sylvia was the first to ask what he’d heard. “Well?” she said. “What is it?”
“Where are they?” Amy joined in. “Are they on their way?”
He slowly put his phone back in his pocket, not sure how he was supposed to tell the rest of the family what Michael had just told him.
Tess came to stand in front of him, picking his hands up in hers. “Kyle?” she said quietly, looking him right in the eye.
It was easier just to talk to her than it was to talk to everyone else, so he whispered, “I think something really bad happened, Tess.” Nobody else had to hear him, though. They all understood there wasn’t going to be a wedding tonight, even if they didn’t understand why.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex drove home at a speed of about twelve miles per hour. Literally. By the time he got there, his heart had stopped pounding a little. Just a little. He pulled up out front and got out of the car, checking to see if there was any noticeable damage to the front. He couldn’t see in the dark, though, so he used a small flashlight dangling from his keychain to inspect it. His hands were still shaking, so he could barely keep himself steady enough to get a good glimpse. From what he could see, nothing had been severely dented, but there was an obvious scrape on the front bumper.
“Shit,” he swore, not because he particularly cared about his piece of crap car, but because it was evidence.
He wanted to take a closer look, but there were other cars driving by, and he didn’t need to be acting suspiciously. So he headed inside, hoping and praying that the sound of screeching breaks would stop echoing in his ears. It was all he could hear.
He shut the front door quietly and crept into the darkened kitchen, stopping in front of the refrigerator. He opened it up and reached for a can of beer, but there weren’t any. He’d emptied it out a few weeks ago, back when he’d convinced himself he could actually clean up his act and be a good guy.
He slammed the refrigerator too loudly, knowing he’d probably woken Isabel up. I don’t need to drink anyway, he told himself. Not anymore. Bad things happened when alcohol was involved. Really bad things.
He trudged upstairs and into the master bedroom, watching Isabel as she slept for a moment. She wasn’t stirring, so maybe he hadn’t woken her up after all. Good. If she was still asleep, he could lie and tell her he’d gotten home earlier than he had. An alibi. It was always good to have one of those.
The bedsprings squeaked when he sat down on the side, and that squeaking brought the tire screeching sound back. The sound triggered a mini-movie began to play in his head: headlights. Headlights and tires screeching. And then just the open road. No turning back. No turning back.
“Are you drunk?”
“Jesus,” he startled, practically jumping off the bed. “No.”
After a pause, she said, “Liar,” and rolled over onto her back.
“I sobered up, alright?” He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans, refusing to look over his shoulder and see that glare of condescension in her eyes.
“Look, I’m sorry about earlier,” she apologized flippantly, “but we can still be a semi-functional couple. Plenty of married people don’t really love each other.”
“Whatever.” He couldn’t dwell on any of that right now.
“Whatever?” she echoed, sounding surprised. “That’s it? No whining, no crying, no begging me to open up my heart to you?”
“Isabel, I don’t care anymore,” he snapped. “I just don’t care. I just wanna go to sleep and forget this day ever happened.” He knew it wasn’t possible, though. He’d never forget. And neither would whoever had been driving that other car.
“Fine,” she mumbled, turning back over onto her side, so clearly not giving a damn about him.
He stood back up and headed for the door. No way could he sleep next to her tonight. No way could he sleep. Period. He was definitely going to lie awake all night, and if that was the case, he wanted to do it alone. Guest room it was. Part of him had always known he’d end up back in that small twin bed.
“Happy new year,” she bit out sarcastically, stopping him dead in his tracks.
New year. His mind wrestled around with the idea. This was how he’d started the new year of his life, by getting into a hit-and-run? Every year got worse and worse. He just hoped the people in the other car were okay.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
How was it possible to get thrown out of a moving vehicle and have no major physical wounds? Michael couldn’t figure it out. He was a little bit sore, but other than a few cuts and bruises, he was physically fine. Not even a broken bone. Why wasn’t he hurt when the people he loved were being cut open on operating tables?
It wasn’t right. Nothing about this was right.
The doctors had insisted he get the cut above his left eyebrow stitched up, but he didn’t even care. They didn’t give him much of a choice, though. They sat him down in the pit and assigned an intern to take care of him. She didn’t seem to know what she was doing.
“Ow,” he said, wincing as she poked his flesh with the needle.
“Sorry.”
This was taking too long. He was getting impatient. “Look, I don’t need stitches. I’m fine.”
“Oh, but you do need stitches, Mr. Guerin. Three, in fact.”
How many stitches were Maria and Miley going to have?
“I just wanna be there when my daughter gets out of surgery,” he said. If she woke up and he wasn’t there, she was going to be so scared.
“You will be,” the intern assured him, finishing up with her work. “There we go. Good as new.”
Good as new? There was nothing good about any of this, but it was definitely new.
“You should sit for a minute,” she suggested. “You’ve been through a lot.”
“I don’t wanna sit.” He tried to stand up, but she pushed on his shoulder and kept him down with surprising strength.
“You need to,” she repeated. “I’ll go check on your daughter, let you know when she’ll be out of surgery. She’s the one with the spinal injury, right?”
He closed his eyes, the words hitting him like bullets to the chest. “Right.”
“I’ll go check on her.”
Once she was gone, he took a minute to think about where he was. The emergency room. There were doctors rushing around in every direction and patients in pain as far as the eye could see. But what had happened to his family was so far beyond an emergency, he didn’t even know what to call it. Part of him was still holding onto the last shreds of hope that it might all just be a nightmare.
He looked down at his hands. The blood was gone now, but the feel of Macy’s little arms wasn’t. He could still feel her, stuck in that car seat. He’d touched her. He’d touched her. Now there was . . . nothing left to touch.
His stomach started to churn as he imagined what had happened to her. He tried not to picture it in his mind, but he couldn’t stop it. He pictured her little limbs on fire, her hands, her face . . . Would he really never see that face again?
Would they even have a body to bury? She’d been . . . incinerated.
He grabbed the first trash can he saw and threw up in it, the thoughts too much for him to handle. Oh god, please let her have died because of the crash, not the fire, he begged. Please. She was just a little girl. She didn’t deserve all that agony.
He set the trashcan back down just as he heard what sounded like a stampede of buffalo running down the hall. He heard people calling for him and recognized his mother’s voice right away. He just sat there and waited for them to find him.
At first, they all ran right by the pit, but Tess saw him and said, “Wait, he’s in here.” They all rushed towards him, everyone that was supposed to have been there to witness the wedding. Even Lucinda and her husband were there. Their two kids stared at the scar on his forehead inquisitively, and all he could think about were his own kids. He hadn’t even known he’d had three to worry about. And now he only had one.
One.
“Michael?” his mother said, stroking his cheeks with her soft, warm hands. “Oh, baby, what happened? Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”
“Where’s Maria?” Amy asked.
“And Miley and Macy,” Tess added, glancing around concernedly as though she’d expected to find them all together.
He flinched. Macy. Where was she? Was there really such a thing as heaven, or was that just something he’d told Miley about because his own mother had once told him?
There had to be a heaven. Had to be. He couldn’t stand the thought of her being anywhere else.
“Son?” his father prompted.
How am I supposed to tell them? he wondered. They wouldn’t be expecting any of this.
He swallowed hard and started in, knowing it needed to be done. And better they hear it from him than some nurse or doctor who didn’t even know how Macy was. “We were driving,” he said, once again staring down at his hands. “I was driving. We were only a few minutes away. We were counting down ‘til midnight.” He smiled shakily, trying to cherish that one last memory, because it was quite possibly the last time any of them would ever be happy. “There was another car. It was in our lane. I didn’t see it until it was too late.”
“Oh my god,” Amy said, her voice full of fear and panic.
“I swerved, and we rolled down a hill.” He pictured Macy being jostled too much by the impact, and even though it was disturbing, it was better than the fire. “When I came to, I was outside the car. Me and Miley both. We were thrown.”
“Goodness, is she okay?” his mother asked tearfully.
“She called 911 while I went back to the car. They were . . . they were still in the car.”
“Maria and-and Macy?” Tess stuttered.
“Where are they?” Amy cried. “Are they okay?”
“Maria was trapped. By her own seatbelt. Macy was . . .” Dead, he thought. As morbid as it sounded, he wanted her to have already been dead. “I couldn’t get to her.” He could still feel his muscles straining to pull the car seat out of its confinement. “I tried, but I couldn’t get to her.” Whether she’d been dead already or not, he still should have saved her from those flames. There was no excuse for not being able to.
“So the paramedics had to?” His mother’s voice was full of that desperate kind of hope. And despair.
“The paramedics weren’t there yet.”
Marty seemed to get where he was going with this before the others, because he gasped and held his hand over his mouth.
“I could feel her,” he said, “but she wasn’t crying. And I couldn’t . . .” He shook his head, hating himself for not being stronger, faster, braver. “I got Maria out right before the car exploded, but Macy . . .” He trailed off, unable to say it out loud.
Amy’s started to crumble as realization dawned on her. “Oh god. Oh god!” She fell against Ed, unable to stay standing on her own.
“What’re you saying?” Tess whimpered. “She’s . . .” She couldn’t say it, either, but she didn’t need to.
“No,” his mother wailed. “No!” She collapsed against her husband as well, her entire body heaving with sobs.
Kyle spun Tess towards him and hugged her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, even though her face was frozen in a shocked expression.
“Oh my god,” Marty cried, lowering himself to the floor. He buried his face in his hands and let it all out. Everyone was crying, even Lucinda and her husband, and they’d never even met Macy.
“Miley and Maria are in surgery,” he told them, feeling as though he couldn’t catch his breath. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what’s gonna happen now.”
His mother untangled herself from his father and threw her arms around him, holding him tightly against her as his own tears started to fall. He hadn’t really allowed himself to cry up until now, not like this. But once he started, he thought he’d never stop. It hurt so much. Not physically, but emotionally. When he pictured her smiling face or tried to remember how it sounded when she said ‘Da-da,’ his insides felt like they were being ripped out and torn apart; he couldn’t even tell if his own heart was beating anymore. It was like a part of him was missing, and he’d never get it back.
TBC . . . .
-April
LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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April
- Roswell Fanatic
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Part 87
Ellie: 
Novy:
Krista:
Student teaching and job applications are still consuming my life.
Lilah: You comedian.
Lou: Hey, there! A new feedbacker. Woohoo!
Sam:
Thank you for the feedback and for sticking with this. I know it's a difficult fic.
Part 87
Luckily the waiting room wasn’t crowded. The supposed-to-be wedding party settled in there after they learned the horrible news. Michael and his father stayed out in the hallway to keep an eye on how Maria and Miley’s surgeries were progressing. The rest of them spent the half an hour following the revelations crying and trying to comfort each other to no avail.
Amy was the most obviously hysterical, and Sylvia wasn’t far behind her. They clung to each other and sobbed, trying to remind each other of all the good Macy memories they had while Ed watched helplessly. Marty sat in the corner by himself, his legs pulled close to his chest, rocking back and forth steadily. Tess sat beside Kyle, neither one of them saying or doing much for the time being. Tess’s eyes felt dry, like there were no more tears left. She was trying to hold it together, but she felt all her emotions right there, right there on the edge.
Even though Macy hadn’t been related to her by blood, she’d been her niece in every sense of the word. She was her god-daughter, someone she’d felt so incredibly close and connected to. She and Kyle had been there for all the important moments of her far too brief life: her birth, her baptism, her first Thanksgiving and Christmas. She’d been hoping to be there for all the other ones, too, like her first birthday. But now she’d never have one.
“I think we’re gonna go,” Lucinda announced quietly, rising to her feet. It was almost 3:00 a.m. now, and her kids had fallen asleep on her husband’s lap. “This is a family time.”
No one could even say anything, so Kyle cleared his throat and stepped up to the plate. “Thanks for staying so long,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse. He’d cried a lot, too.
“Of course,” Lucinda said. “I’ll probably come visit Maria in the next few days, if that’s okay.” She sighed shakily. “We’ll keep all of you in our prayers.”
“Thanks,” Kyle mumbled again as they headed on out. He reached over to the end table, picked up a tabloid magazine, opened it once, then closed it and set it back down again. “They’re nice people,” he said.
“Yeah.” Tess looked around at her broken family, so unsettled by how empty the room felt. It seemed like Macy should have been there, crawling around on the floor, sucking on her pacifier and trying to say new words. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right that she wasn’t there. If anyone deserved to be there, it was the little, innocent girl who’d never done anything wrong.
“How could this happen?” she whispered to Kyle, not wanting anyone else to hear her and get even more upset than they already were. “I mean, we were just with her not even six hours ago. She was happy; she was fine. How can she just be gone?”
Kyle shrugged, at a loss, and replied, “It just happened. It was an accident.”
“Accidents don’t just happen; somebody lets them happen,” she growled, praying the police would find whoever had done this before dawn. “I didn’t know . . . I didn’t know I’d never seen her again.” She was going over her last memory of Macy in her mind, trying to remember the last expression she’d seen on her chubby little face. It’d probably been a smile. Macy had always been happy.
“We played peekaboo today,” Kyle murmured, staring down at his lap. “Oh god.”
Tess felt tears trickling from the corners of her eyes, and she couldn’t stop them. “She was so cute,” she reminisced. “And so little. So little. Why did this have to happen to her?” The sadness took over, and she started to cry again. She just wanted to hold her and tell her she loved her one last time.
“Come here.” Kyle put his arm around her, pulling her against him. She rested her head on his shoulder, letting it all out, letting herself feel what she needed to in that moment, even though it felt horrible.
“I don’t know why this happened, Tess,” he admitted. “They say everything happens for a reason, but if you ask me . . . there’s no reason for this.”
“No,” she agreed. There couldn’t be. What reason could the universe possibly have for killing someone who’d barely even gotten time to be alive? It was wrong. It was just plain wrong. “Okay,” she said, suddenly sitting up. She wiped the tear tracks from her cheeks, smearing eye makeup as she did so. “I’m not gonna do this. I can’t cry anymore.”
“You can cry all you want,” Kyle told her.
“No, I wanna be strong for Michael.” He was dealing with so much right now. He was a father who had just lost his child. And he still had Maria and Miley to worry about. She needed to toughen up and not be such a basket case, because he was going to need a lot of help for a long time.
“You don’t have to be strong,” Kyle said, stroking her hair.
“Neither do you,” she pointed out. He was trying not to cry, too.
He stared at her for a moment, and then his bottom lip quivered and the tears spilled over. “God,” he said, lowering his head to cry into his hands. “I’m really gonna miss her.”
She placed her hand on his back and rubbed. She wasn’t the only one who’d lost a god-daughter tonight.
When Michael came back into the waiting room with his father, everyone immediately stopped crying. Kyle looked away and rubbed at his eyes before asking, “Any news?”
“Uh . . .” It took Michael a few seconds to answer. He still seemed dazed, and could anyone blame him? It was a wonder he was still standing at this point. “Yeah, they’re both out of surgery. They moved ‘em up to room, uh . . .”
“319 and 323,” John filled in for him. He was like a rock at his son’s side, but his eyes were glossy, as though he could break any minute.
“Can we see them?” Amy asked.
“I think so,” Michael said, “but they’re not awake yet, so . . .”
“I need to see Maria.” Amy started to get up.
“Before you do . . .”
She stared at Michael warily, slowly sitting back down.
“There’s some more stuff I need to tell all of you,” he said, “and it’s not good. I didn’t tell you right away ‘cause . . . there was already enough bad news.”
Tess felt her chest tighten. What now? Could any of them take anymore?
“What is it?” Sylvia asked fearfully.
Michael sighed heavily, his voice quiet and flat when he said, “Maria was pregnant.”
They all sat there, looking at each other in silence until Tess informed him, “We kind of already knew that.”
“Oh.” He barely even had the strength to look surprised. “Well, I didn’t.” He swallowed hard and said, “She’s not anymore. She lost the baby.”
Tears sprung back to the forefront of Tess’s eyes, and she had to clasp her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. No.
“Oh!” Amy cried, once again turning to Sylvia. “Oh!” The two grandmothers hugged each other, each sobbing against one another. Beside Michael, John just lowered and shook his head as though he couldn’t believe this was real.
“Could things get any worse?” Marty mumbled tearfully.
As if to answer that question, Michael added, “And Miley hurt her back pretty bad, so we’ll have to wait and see if she’s able to walk again.”
“Miley!” Amy wailed, her face the very picture of agony.
“Miley?” Tess whispered, instantly picturing the active little girl she knew and loved so well rolling around in a wheelchair, unable to dance when she heard music, unable to walk when she wanted to get somewhere. Kyle was right. There was no reason for any of this.
“I can’t take this,” Sylvia said, clutching her stomach. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick.” She got up and rushed out of the waiting room down the hallway to the bathroom. Michael told his father to go after her, and John followed her.
“I . . . can’t take this . . . either,” Amy said, struggling to get the words out. She was literally panting for air.
“Amy, I think you’re hyperventilating,” Ed said concernedly.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, though she clearly wasn’t.
“You’re not fine. Nurse?” He waved someone into the room.
A nurse approached Amy, took one look at her, and declared, “She needs oxygen.”
“No,” Amy argued adamantly.
“Yes,” Ed insisted.
“Amy, please just take care of yourself,” Michael pleaded.
“Come with me,” the nurse said, ushering her out of the room. “Let’s try to calm you down.” Amy looked frail, as though her entire body could snap apart with one more sob.
“I’m gonna go with her,” Ed told Tess. “Is that okay?”
She nodded. She’d be fine as long as Kyle was with her. Besides, she didn’t want anyone to worry about her, not when there was so much else to worry about.
Once the room had sufficiently cleared out, Michael sat down next to Tess. He looked limp and defeated and didn’t say a word.
Marty kept rocking back and forth for a moment, then slapped his hands against his legs, stood up and asked, “Alright, how can I help?”
Michael just looked at him. “What?”
“I can’t just sit here,” he explained. “I need to do something.” He thought about it for a moment, then proclaimed, “Clothes. You’re gonna need clean clothes. And so are Maria and Miley. I’ll go to your house and get some stuff.”
Michael nodded slowly. “Thanks, Marty.”
“No problem.” Marty started to head out, then turned back around, ran towards Michael, bent down, and hugged him, for once not trying to cop a feel as he did so. Michael hugged him back weakly, and Marty left without another word. That left Kyle and Tess alone with Michael. Silence settled over them, and Tess felt guilty for not knowing what to say. If anyone should have been able to comfort Michael, it should’ve been her and Kyle, because they spent the most time with him out of everyone in the family. Besides Maria, of course.
He just sat there with his hands on his knees, looking at the floor with glazed-over eyes and a heartbreakingly lifeless expression on his face. It took everything Tess had not to burst out crying as she looked at him. She couldn’t imagine what he was going through. His pain had to have been like her pain multiplied by a thousand.
She looked to Kyle, wordlessly asking him if they should do something, maybe go get him something to eat or try to tell him it was all going to be alright. But Kyle just shrugged cluelessly.
I can’t take this, Tess thought, tilting her head back to keep the tears inside. It’s too sad. Her eyes stung, and she bit her bottom lip, shaking.
“Go ahead, Tess,” Michael said, not even looking at her.
She choked out a wretched sob, hating that she couldn’t keep it together. But her heart was breaking for him, for Maria, for Miley, and especially for Macy. It was breaking into a million pieces and falling out in the form of a million tears. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, wishing she could be stronger. She reached over and placed her hand on top of his, squeezing gently just to let him know she was there for him, even if she was weak. Kyle reached across both their laps and held both their hands, and the three of them just sat there, letting it all sink in.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Okay, ma’am, I want you to take deep breaths,” the nurse instructed Amy as she placed an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. “Just focus on that breathing, okay? Deep breaths.”
Amy breathed in and out a few times, her oxygen levels showing up on a machine next to the hospital bed.
“Good,” the nurse said as her levels steadily approached normal again. “Just like that.”
“Thank you,” Ed said, relieved to at least have his wife’s panic attack somewhat under control.
“I’ll let you two have a moment,” she said. “Just holler if you need anything.” She smiled sympathetically at Amy, then pulled the curtain shut around their bed and went to help another patient.
Ed pulled a chair up beside her bed and asked, “Feeling better?” He realized after he asked it what a stupid question it was. She was clearly feeling the worst she had in her life.
Amy removed her oxygen mask and said, “It should’ve been me.”
“What?”
“It should’ve been me that died.”
She wasn’t making any sense. “Amy . . . you weren’t even there.”
“I had cancer,” she reminded him, as though he could ever forget. “I had cancer, Ed, but I fought through it so I could see those little girls grow up, and now one of them never will. It’s not fair!” She put the oxygen mask back on, breathed in a few times, then took it back off and kept going. “I’m old; I’ve lived my life. She was only alive for ten months. Ten months, Ed. It isn’t fair!”
“I know. I know it isn’t.” He knew Maria was technically only his stepdaughter, but having been with Amy for so many years now, he thought of Miley and Macy as grandchildren. This hurt him, too.
“I would rather battle cancer every day for the rest of my life than have to go through this,” Amy said. “What if she died because I didn’t? What if-what if I was meant to, but she had to take my place?”
He stroked her forehead with the back of his hand. “This isn’t your fault.”
“She should be here. I wanna switch places. I wanna switch places!” she cried.
“Shh.” He crawled into bed beside her, holding her close to him as her body shook.
“I wanna switch places.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Morning came, and things didn’t look better. In fact, they only looked worse. It started to dawn on Michael that Macy really wasn’t coming back. They could cry all they wanted to, but she was gone. For all time. And he was still there.
He’d been up all night, even though he was mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted. He kept going back and forth between Miley’s room and Maria’s, sitting with them, talking to them, trying to figure out how on earth he would tell them what had happened when they woke up. He wasn’t even sure if Miley was old enough to understand, and he was afraid to tell Maria because she was already wounded and losing Macy might kill her. But he knew he didn’t have a choice, and he wasn’t going to let them hear it from anyone else.
At about 7:00, the sun started to rise. It peeked through the blinds, but it was too bright, made his eyes water up even more than they already were. He closed the blinds, then sat back down next to Maria’s bed, watching her chest rise and fall as she slept. A cast encased her left arm, and she was hooked up to all sorts of machines. The consistently beeping heart monitor was the only noise in the room. She was wearing a pale blue hospital gown now, too, instead of a wedding gown. They’d hung her dress in the closet for her, but it was torn and stained. Ruined. Everything was ruined now.
“You still look really pretty, you know that?” he told her, holding her hand tightly between both of his. The last time he’d watched her sleeping in a hospital like this was when she’d given birth to Macy. He really wished he could go back to that.
He traced his thumb over her knuckles and noticed that she wasn’t wearing her engagement ring. He looked around the bed, but it wasn’t there. He pulled open the nightstand drawer and found it in a plastic bag marked Patient Belongings. It was cut in half. He didn’t exactly understand why. Maybe her fingers had been swelling and the doctors had had to cut it off so it didn’t cut off her circulation. They must have had a good reason. They wouldn’t have just cut off somebody’s engagement ring just for the hell of it.
He put the ring back in the bag and put the bag back in the drawer. It was depressing to look at that ring, to know what they almost had last night. Almost.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, holding her hand against his mouth as he stared at her stomach. It was still really flat. Tess told him she’d only been about a month and a half along, and he didn’t know how developed babies were at a month and a half. Had it had a heartbeat? Fingernails? A face? Had it been able to feel pain?
Had it been a boy? Or another angel like Macy?
“Mr. Guerin?”
He looked up when a detective came into the room. It was the same detective he’d spoken to immediately after the accident, during the commotion when the police, fire department, and paramedics had been there trying to get things under control.
“Hi, I’m Detective Rawley. We spoke on scene.”
“I remember.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“Did you find the person who hit us?” he asked hopefully. It wouldn’t make him feel much better, but maybe a little.
“No,” Detective Rawley replied disappointedly, “we’re still looking. I was wondering if I could go over the details of the accident again with you.”
Michael looked back at Maria, sort of wishing he could just sit with her and not rehash everything again. All he’d been doing was thinking about the accident, and he didn’t want to feel pressured into thinking about it in even more detail. These detectives and police officers and doctors were so busy dealing with the logistics of everything—the what, where, when, and how—and he was still trying to adjust to the fact that it wasn’t just a bad dream.
“I realize it’s difficult,” the detective said as though he could tell what he was thinking, “but in situations like these, sooner is better if we wanna stand a chance at catching the guy. And until she wakes up, you’re the only eyewitness we have.”
He sighed, resigning himself to it. “Okay.” Whoever had been driving that other car deserved to pay, and if he could further the investigation along, he had to. “What do you need to know?”
The detective pulled up a chair beside him and sat down, taking out a notepad and turning on a tape recorder. “Let’s just review what you told me before, make sure I’ve got everything straight. Now you said you were going north on Highway 2.”
“Yeah.” He kept hold of Maria’s hand, raking his free hand through his hair as the anxiety of reliving the entire thing crept over him.
“How fast?”
“Fifty-five, sixty miles an hour.”
“And you were heading . . .”
“To the church.” He winced. “We were gonna get married.” If he’d just married her years ago, they never would’ve been on that road.
“You were the one driving, your wife—I’m sorry, your girlfriend—was in the passenger’s seat, and your daughters were in the back. Is that right?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“In car seats?”
He shifted uncomfortably, picturing Macy’s car seat trapped in the back. “Yeah, but Miley got out of hers and unhooked her seatbelt. They said my seatbelt malfunctioned or something.”
“That explains why you two were both thrown from the car,” the detective thought out loud. “At approximately what time did you encounter the other vehicle on the road, Mr. Guerin?”
“Midnight,” he answered quickly.
“Right at midnight?”
He nodded. “Yep. I took my eyes off the road for just a minute . . .” God, there were so many things he’d done wrong. “. . . and then Maria yelled something. It came straight at us in our lane.”
“And can you give me any concrete description of the vehicle, anything at all? Make, model, color?”
He closed his eyes, trying to picture it, trying to mentally situate himself back behind that steering wheel despite how difficult it was. “I don’t know. It all happened so fast, and it was dark out.”
“Just try,” the detective urged. “Do you know if it was a car, truck, SUV?”
“It was a car,” he said, sure of that much. “I think it was black. Maybe. I don’t know. And I don’t know what kind. I didn’t see who was driving. I . . .”
“It’s okay,” Detective Rawley cut in. “Was there any collision?”
“There might’ve been.” God, I suck at this. “Yeah, I think . . . I think we might’ve scraped against it before I swerved off the road.”
“And you swerved in which direction?”
“To the right. We flipped over and rolled down onto that other road. The next thing I remember, I’m waking up outside the car.”
“About how many feet away?”
“I don’t . . .” It wasn’t as though he’d taken the time to measure. “I don’t know, maybe twenty or thirty feet. I don’t know.”
“And the other vehicle and its driver were nowhere in sight?”
He shook his head angrily. “No.” He clenched his free hand into a fist, wishing he could get his hands on that person, whoever it was, and throttle him. Or her.
“Horrible,” Detective Rawley said, shaking his head disgustedly. “Now this is gonna sound weird, but is there anyone who may have done this to you on purpose, anyone who has a vendetta against your or your family?”
“No. No, Maria and I . . . we’ve made a good life together. We don’t have those kinds of enemies.”
“Well, on New Year’s Eve there’s about a ninety-nine percent chance it was a drunk driver, but it doesn’t hurt to check.”
“It was an accident.” That didn’t make it any better, though. In fact, that almost made the driver of the other car even worse, because they should’ve stopped no matter what.
“Well, I think that’s all I need for now,” the detective declared. “I’ll be in touch.” He put his tape recorder and notepad away and pushed his chair back to the other side of the room. He stopped on his way out and said, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Michael returned all his attention to Maria once he was alone with her again. Sorry. Everyone was sorry. The doctors, the detective, his whole family . . . and him. They were all so sorry, but was that other driver? It didn’t really even matter, did it? All the sympathy in the world wouldn’t bring Macy or the other baby back.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When Isabel awoke and peeked into the guest room that morning, Alex wasn’t there. Weird. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up before 8:00 when he hadn’t had to.
She took a shower, dried her hair, got dressed, then went downstairs to see what he was up to. Which wasn’t much. He was just sitting in front of the TV, flipping back and forth between news channels. He was barely on one channel long enough to see what was being reported when he flipped to the next one, and he didn’t even seem to hear her come down.
“Since when are you so into the news?” she asked.
He startled, still as jumpy as he’d been last night. “I like to know what’s going on in the world,” he grumbled, his eyes never leaving the television screen.
So why are you watching the local news? she wondered, studying him skeptically. He could get his fix of world news on a show like Good Morning America or the Today show, plus some juicy celebrity gossip mixed in. He seemed completely set on what he was doing, though, and he looked completely disheveled, was still wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing last night. His hair was sticking out in all directions, and there were huge bags under his eyes. What a train wreck.
“I’m gonna go get Garret,” she announced, thinking that might get some kind of reaction. Did Alex even realize his own kid was still stuck in Max’s crappy trailer?
“Good for you,” he mumbled, still channel-surfing.
She made a face, slightly offended by his complete dismissal of her. Whatever. He’d ignore her for awhile, then revert to pathetic form and beg for her forgiveness. And her ass.
She grabbed her purse, slipped on her shoes, and headed outside, bracing herself against the cold wind. At first she was going to take her car, but it had bad brakes, and bad brakes didn’t mix well with icy roads. So she decided to take Alex’s car instead. Its brakes weren’t much better, but at least it looked cool. It was an old convertible, but the top no longer went down. It was pretty much the one nice thing he’d retained after his father’s business went under.
She circled around the vehicle, checking to see if anything looked odd. There was a scrape on the front that she couldn’t recall seeing before, and that piqued her interest. But only a little bit. When she got in the car and saw an empty lying on the passenger’s seat, though, her interest piqued more. She’d known that Alex had gone out and gotten drunk last night, even though he’d told her he hadn’t—he was predictable like that. But that coupled with the scrape on the car, added to the fact that he was flipping through news channels so intently . . .
She turned the key in the ignition, and the car roared to life. She shrugged, deciding not to care what was going on with him. He’d probably just run into somebody’s mailbox or something. The car had started up just fine, so whatever he’d been involved in couldn’t have been too bad.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael tugged down on the sleeves of his shirt, glad to at least be out of that blood-stained tux. He left Maria’s room when Amy and Ed came in, making sure they knew to come get him if she happened to wake up. He made the now familiar trek down the hall to Miley’s room, and when he got there, Tess, Kyle, and Marty were decorating. They were putting out balloons, flowers, and stuffed animals. Some of them said “Get Well” and were clearly from the gift shop downstairs, but some were her own animals. And dolls, too. And even the little easel she liked to paint on.
“Hi,” Tess said.
“I brought a lot of her stuff from home,” Marty explained. “I thought she might be more comfortable when she wakes up if things looked . . . familiar. Is that okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He was glad they’d thought of that. “Could I have some time alone with her?”
“Of course.” Tess set a heart-shaped pillow under Miley’s arm and stopped to hug him on her way out. “I love you, Michael,” she said, almost as if she just wanted to make sure he knew that.
“Ditto,” Marty said, patting him on the back.
When Kyle was the last one left, he said, “I’d say it, too, but it’d sound gay, so . . .”
Michael managed to smile a little. Kyle didn’t have to say it. He knew they loved each other like brothers.
“You should get some sleep,” Kyle suggested. “You look beat, man.”
“I will,” he promised, though he had no intention of doing that if he could help it. He was definitely tired, but he didn’t want to sleep until both Miley and Maria had woken up.
He closed the door after Kyle walked out, then approached Miley’s hospital bed and bent down to kiss her forehead. She looked so small lying there, so young. Sometimes he forgot how young she was because she was so smart and she’d already had to go through so much in her life. But as he watched her, waiting for her to wake up, he couldn’t help but feel like she was as small as she’d been when she’d first been born.
****
The nurse came in, reached her hand through a hole in the incubator, and poked a needle into Miley’s foot, drawing blood. Miley immediately started to squirm and cry. For lungs that weren’t fully developed, she managed to get pretty loud.
Maria winced and looked away as the nurse withdrew the needle and left the room. “Do you think she’s gonna be okay?” she asked.
He put his hand on her shoulder and rubbed gently. “Yeah.”
“Are you just saying that?”
“No.” He was worried, sure, but the doctors had taken good care of her so far, and they said her vital signs kept getting stronger. “They’re born a month early all the time, usually end up just fine.”
Maria sighed nervously and poked one finger through the opening on the side, reaching in to stroke their daughter’s palm. “I just wanna be able to take her home already.” Miley stopped crying and squeezed Maria’s finger.
Michael smiled at her adorableness. “Me, too.” He couldn’t wait to put her to sleep at night in the nursery they’d decorated for her, couldn’t wait to start wiping baby food off all his clothes. “I can’t believe we have a baby,” he said, staring down at her in astonishment. “We’re parents.”
“I know. If you think about it, a year ago, we weren’t even together yet. I had just moved in.”
He laughed a little. Yeah, they hadn’t exactly taken things slow. He bent down and kissed the top of Maria’s head, so proud of her for bringing Miley into the world. She’d given him the greatest gift he could ever imagine, because that little girl was so amazing and so beautiful. He could barely even fathom that she was a part of him.
“We have to take really good care of her,” Maria said determinedly. “We have to be the best parents we can possibly be. She deserves to have a really good life.”
“She will,” Michael promised. He loved his daughter more than life itself already. He’d do anything for her, protect her from anyone or anything that wanted to do her harm. “She’s gonna be happy and healthy for a long, long time.”
****
Michael didn’t even realize he had nodded off until he felt Miley’s hand twitching in his. He lifted his head from the side of her bed and watched her slowly open her eyes.
“Miley? Hey. Hey, sweetie.” He kissed her forehead again, barely able to look at her without getting worked up. He was fairly certain he’d never loved her more than he did in that moment.
“Daddy?”
“I’m here. Daddy’s here.” He stroked her cheek, tracing his fingers over a scrape. “How are you? How do you feel?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “Hungry.”
“Hungry?” He smiled. “Well, we’ll have to get you something to eat then.”
She looked in all directions of the room, frowning confusedly. “Where am I?”
“Uh . . .” His stomach knotted with apprehension. “You’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?”
She just kept looking around, not answering. He could practically see the wheels of her mind spinning, though. She remembered something, though she probably didn’t understand any of it.
“Where’s Mama?” she asked fearfully.
“She’s still sleeping,” he replied. “She’s in a different room. You can see her later.”
“What about Macy?”
He couldn’t even think of anything to say. He couldn’t lie to her, but how was he supposed to tell her the truth?
Luckily, Miley’s doctor came into the room, buying him some time with that dilemma. “Well, look who woke up,” she greeted. “Hi, Miley. I’m Dr. Kennedy.” Dr. Kennedy was an unbelievably pleasant woman who’d definitely found her calling working in pediatrics. From what Michael had observed, all the children thought of her more like a babysitter than a doctor, and that made them less afraid of her.
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” Miley mumbled.
“It’s okay, you can talk to her,” Michael told her, squeezing her hand gently.
“Wow,” Dr. Kennedy gasped, pretending to be amazed by all Miley’s toys, “you have a lot of nice things. Are these all your dolls?”
Miley nodded proudly.
“Do you have a favorite?”
“Hannah Montana!”
“Hannah Montana? My daughter loves Hannah Montana, too.” She picked up the Hannah doll and brought it over to Miley. “How about you hold onto her while you’re staying here, okay?”
Miley hugged her doll, seeming to like that idea.
Dr. Kennedy made her way around to the foot of the bed and pulled the blankets up, draping them across her knees. “So Miley, how old are you?” she asked to distract her while she rubbed her feet.
“This much.” Miley held up three fingers.
“Three? Wow, you’re a big girl then.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you like being three?” Dr. Kennedy dug her fingers into Miley’s heels, obviously trying to elicit some sort of response.
“Uh-huh,” Miley answered eagerly. “Sometimes I play with Garret, and sometimes I play with Macy.”
Michael flinched, hoping she didn’t notice.
“What do you like to do when you play?” Dr. Kennedy asked.
“Paint and sing and dance.”
Dammit, Michael swore internally. Would she ever get to dance again?
“Cool, that sounds fun.” Dr. Kennedy took a sterilized needle out of her pocket and said, “Hey, Miley, can you tell me something? Can you tell me if you feel that?” She stuck the tip of the needle into Miley’s heel, not pushing it in all the way.
“Feel what?” Miley asked.
Michael sighed, trying not to feel too discouraged, but he could tell by the look on the doctor’s face that this wasn’t a good sign at all.
TBC . . .
-April
If you leave now, then the story will forever have a tragic ending.I'll be honest, a part of me wants to flee and forget that I've read any of this - but the other part is dying to see how you fix it or work it out so that everyone comes thru on the other side.
Novy:
For sure. Even though he isn't injured, this is just as horrific for him as it will be for Maria.I'm guessing Michael's emotional wounds are going to make up for his lack of physical ones.
I'll admit, I've never done angst like this before. This is new territory for me. But yes, the next fic will be much more light-hearted. Although you know me, I have to have at least some angst.You definitely deserve that angst award. You've made it into an art form. I hope you challenge yourself to write a really happy story for your next one.
Krista:
I haven't finished writing it yet!Can you just send me the rest so I can read all at once? When it takes you too long to post the next part, I start to get stressed out.
Student teaching and job applications are still consuming my life.Lilah:
Ummmm.....April, I think there was a typo in this last chapter...because no where did I read "And Michael woke up from his terrible nightmare and all was right with the world" if you could just correct that I'd really appreciate it.
You comedian.Lou: Hey, there! A new feedbacker. Woohoo!
Alex definitely didn't mean to hurt anyone, not even Michael. What he did was clearly wrong, but he doesn't know the severity of it yet. You'll just have to wait and see how he reacts.See, what I'm looking forward to is Alex's reaction when he finds out who was in the car he hit, and the consequences of his actions. Will it turn him to drink even more? Or will it sober him up for life? Because the way I see it, it'll do one or the other. Whether he gets caught or not, he still has to live with the knowledge of what he did- and for most people, that knowledge would be more punishment than any jail term. He KILLED a baby- two, really- and possibly paralyzed his son's best friend. He may be angry at Isabel for thinking about Michael all the time, but I bet he never meant to hurt Michael for it.
Oh, yeah. Michael and Maria have a lot of difficult conversations ahead of them, and this is one of them.The thing I'm not looking forward to is the conversation that has to happen between Michael and Maria about why everyone else knew about Number 3 apart from him
Sam:
Oh, thank you! What a compliment. That means a lot. I hope you come out of lurkerdom more often.April, I want to come out of lurkerdom and let you know that this is some of the best writing on the Board. Its emotional and raw and I have to say I look foward to your updates every week.
Thank you for the feedback and for sticking with this. I know it's a difficult fic.
Part 87
Luckily the waiting room wasn’t crowded. The supposed-to-be wedding party settled in there after they learned the horrible news. Michael and his father stayed out in the hallway to keep an eye on how Maria and Miley’s surgeries were progressing. The rest of them spent the half an hour following the revelations crying and trying to comfort each other to no avail.
Amy was the most obviously hysterical, and Sylvia wasn’t far behind her. They clung to each other and sobbed, trying to remind each other of all the good Macy memories they had while Ed watched helplessly. Marty sat in the corner by himself, his legs pulled close to his chest, rocking back and forth steadily. Tess sat beside Kyle, neither one of them saying or doing much for the time being. Tess’s eyes felt dry, like there were no more tears left. She was trying to hold it together, but she felt all her emotions right there, right there on the edge.
Even though Macy hadn’t been related to her by blood, she’d been her niece in every sense of the word. She was her god-daughter, someone she’d felt so incredibly close and connected to. She and Kyle had been there for all the important moments of her far too brief life: her birth, her baptism, her first Thanksgiving and Christmas. She’d been hoping to be there for all the other ones, too, like her first birthday. But now she’d never have one.
“I think we’re gonna go,” Lucinda announced quietly, rising to her feet. It was almost 3:00 a.m. now, and her kids had fallen asleep on her husband’s lap. “This is a family time.”
No one could even say anything, so Kyle cleared his throat and stepped up to the plate. “Thanks for staying so long,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse. He’d cried a lot, too.
“Of course,” Lucinda said. “I’ll probably come visit Maria in the next few days, if that’s okay.” She sighed shakily. “We’ll keep all of you in our prayers.”
“Thanks,” Kyle mumbled again as they headed on out. He reached over to the end table, picked up a tabloid magazine, opened it once, then closed it and set it back down again. “They’re nice people,” he said.
“Yeah.” Tess looked around at her broken family, so unsettled by how empty the room felt. It seemed like Macy should have been there, crawling around on the floor, sucking on her pacifier and trying to say new words. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right that she wasn’t there. If anyone deserved to be there, it was the little, innocent girl who’d never done anything wrong.
“How could this happen?” she whispered to Kyle, not wanting anyone else to hear her and get even more upset than they already were. “I mean, we were just with her not even six hours ago. She was happy; she was fine. How can she just be gone?”
Kyle shrugged, at a loss, and replied, “It just happened. It was an accident.”
“Accidents don’t just happen; somebody lets them happen,” she growled, praying the police would find whoever had done this before dawn. “I didn’t know . . . I didn’t know I’d never seen her again.” She was going over her last memory of Macy in her mind, trying to remember the last expression she’d seen on her chubby little face. It’d probably been a smile. Macy had always been happy.
“We played peekaboo today,” Kyle murmured, staring down at his lap. “Oh god.”
Tess felt tears trickling from the corners of her eyes, and she couldn’t stop them. “She was so cute,” she reminisced. “And so little. So little. Why did this have to happen to her?” The sadness took over, and she started to cry again. She just wanted to hold her and tell her she loved her one last time.
“Come here.” Kyle put his arm around her, pulling her against him. She rested her head on his shoulder, letting it all out, letting herself feel what she needed to in that moment, even though it felt horrible.
“I don’t know why this happened, Tess,” he admitted. “They say everything happens for a reason, but if you ask me . . . there’s no reason for this.”
“No,” she agreed. There couldn’t be. What reason could the universe possibly have for killing someone who’d barely even gotten time to be alive? It was wrong. It was just plain wrong. “Okay,” she said, suddenly sitting up. She wiped the tear tracks from her cheeks, smearing eye makeup as she did so. “I’m not gonna do this. I can’t cry anymore.”
“You can cry all you want,” Kyle told her.
“No, I wanna be strong for Michael.” He was dealing with so much right now. He was a father who had just lost his child. And he still had Maria and Miley to worry about. She needed to toughen up and not be such a basket case, because he was going to need a lot of help for a long time.
“You don’t have to be strong,” Kyle said, stroking her hair.
“Neither do you,” she pointed out. He was trying not to cry, too.
He stared at her for a moment, and then his bottom lip quivered and the tears spilled over. “God,” he said, lowering his head to cry into his hands. “I’m really gonna miss her.”
She placed her hand on his back and rubbed. She wasn’t the only one who’d lost a god-daughter tonight.
When Michael came back into the waiting room with his father, everyone immediately stopped crying. Kyle looked away and rubbed at his eyes before asking, “Any news?”
“Uh . . .” It took Michael a few seconds to answer. He still seemed dazed, and could anyone blame him? It was a wonder he was still standing at this point. “Yeah, they’re both out of surgery. They moved ‘em up to room, uh . . .”
“319 and 323,” John filled in for him. He was like a rock at his son’s side, but his eyes were glossy, as though he could break any minute.
“Can we see them?” Amy asked.
“I think so,” Michael said, “but they’re not awake yet, so . . .”
“I need to see Maria.” Amy started to get up.
“Before you do . . .”
She stared at Michael warily, slowly sitting back down.
“There’s some more stuff I need to tell all of you,” he said, “and it’s not good. I didn’t tell you right away ‘cause . . . there was already enough bad news.”
Tess felt her chest tighten. What now? Could any of them take anymore?
“What is it?” Sylvia asked fearfully.
Michael sighed heavily, his voice quiet and flat when he said, “Maria was pregnant.”
They all sat there, looking at each other in silence until Tess informed him, “We kind of already knew that.”
“Oh.” He barely even had the strength to look surprised. “Well, I didn’t.” He swallowed hard and said, “She’s not anymore. She lost the baby.”
Tears sprung back to the forefront of Tess’s eyes, and she had to clasp her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. No.
“Oh!” Amy cried, once again turning to Sylvia. “Oh!” The two grandmothers hugged each other, each sobbing against one another. Beside Michael, John just lowered and shook his head as though he couldn’t believe this was real.
“Could things get any worse?” Marty mumbled tearfully.
As if to answer that question, Michael added, “And Miley hurt her back pretty bad, so we’ll have to wait and see if she’s able to walk again.”
“Miley!” Amy wailed, her face the very picture of agony.
“Miley?” Tess whispered, instantly picturing the active little girl she knew and loved so well rolling around in a wheelchair, unable to dance when she heard music, unable to walk when she wanted to get somewhere. Kyle was right. There was no reason for any of this.
“I can’t take this,” Sylvia said, clutching her stomach. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick.” She got up and rushed out of the waiting room down the hallway to the bathroom. Michael told his father to go after her, and John followed her.
“I . . . can’t take this . . . either,” Amy said, struggling to get the words out. She was literally panting for air.
“Amy, I think you’re hyperventilating,” Ed said concernedly.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, though she clearly wasn’t.
“You’re not fine. Nurse?” He waved someone into the room.
A nurse approached Amy, took one look at her, and declared, “She needs oxygen.”
“No,” Amy argued adamantly.
“Yes,” Ed insisted.
“Amy, please just take care of yourself,” Michael pleaded.
“Come with me,” the nurse said, ushering her out of the room. “Let’s try to calm you down.” Amy looked frail, as though her entire body could snap apart with one more sob.
“I’m gonna go with her,” Ed told Tess. “Is that okay?”
She nodded. She’d be fine as long as Kyle was with her. Besides, she didn’t want anyone to worry about her, not when there was so much else to worry about.
Once the room had sufficiently cleared out, Michael sat down next to Tess. He looked limp and defeated and didn’t say a word.
Marty kept rocking back and forth for a moment, then slapped his hands against his legs, stood up and asked, “Alright, how can I help?”
Michael just looked at him. “What?”
“I can’t just sit here,” he explained. “I need to do something.” He thought about it for a moment, then proclaimed, “Clothes. You’re gonna need clean clothes. And so are Maria and Miley. I’ll go to your house and get some stuff.”
Michael nodded slowly. “Thanks, Marty.”
“No problem.” Marty started to head out, then turned back around, ran towards Michael, bent down, and hugged him, for once not trying to cop a feel as he did so. Michael hugged him back weakly, and Marty left without another word. That left Kyle and Tess alone with Michael. Silence settled over them, and Tess felt guilty for not knowing what to say. If anyone should have been able to comfort Michael, it should’ve been her and Kyle, because they spent the most time with him out of everyone in the family. Besides Maria, of course.
He just sat there with his hands on his knees, looking at the floor with glazed-over eyes and a heartbreakingly lifeless expression on his face. It took everything Tess had not to burst out crying as she looked at him. She couldn’t imagine what he was going through. His pain had to have been like her pain multiplied by a thousand.
She looked to Kyle, wordlessly asking him if they should do something, maybe go get him something to eat or try to tell him it was all going to be alright. But Kyle just shrugged cluelessly.
I can’t take this, Tess thought, tilting her head back to keep the tears inside. It’s too sad. Her eyes stung, and she bit her bottom lip, shaking.
“Go ahead, Tess,” Michael said, not even looking at her.
She choked out a wretched sob, hating that she couldn’t keep it together. But her heart was breaking for him, for Maria, for Miley, and especially for Macy. It was breaking into a million pieces and falling out in the form of a million tears. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, wishing she could be stronger. She reached over and placed her hand on top of his, squeezing gently just to let him know she was there for him, even if she was weak. Kyle reached across both their laps and held both their hands, and the three of them just sat there, letting it all sink in.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Okay, ma’am, I want you to take deep breaths,” the nurse instructed Amy as she placed an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. “Just focus on that breathing, okay? Deep breaths.”
Amy breathed in and out a few times, her oxygen levels showing up on a machine next to the hospital bed.
“Good,” the nurse said as her levels steadily approached normal again. “Just like that.”
“Thank you,” Ed said, relieved to at least have his wife’s panic attack somewhat under control.
“I’ll let you two have a moment,” she said. “Just holler if you need anything.” She smiled sympathetically at Amy, then pulled the curtain shut around their bed and went to help another patient.
Ed pulled a chair up beside her bed and asked, “Feeling better?” He realized after he asked it what a stupid question it was. She was clearly feeling the worst she had in her life.
Amy removed her oxygen mask and said, “It should’ve been me.”
“What?”
“It should’ve been me that died.”
She wasn’t making any sense. “Amy . . . you weren’t even there.”
“I had cancer,” she reminded him, as though he could ever forget. “I had cancer, Ed, but I fought through it so I could see those little girls grow up, and now one of them never will. It’s not fair!” She put the oxygen mask back on, breathed in a few times, then took it back off and kept going. “I’m old; I’ve lived my life. She was only alive for ten months. Ten months, Ed. It isn’t fair!”
“I know. I know it isn’t.” He knew Maria was technically only his stepdaughter, but having been with Amy for so many years now, he thought of Miley and Macy as grandchildren. This hurt him, too.
“I would rather battle cancer every day for the rest of my life than have to go through this,” Amy said. “What if she died because I didn’t? What if-what if I was meant to, but she had to take my place?”
He stroked her forehead with the back of his hand. “This isn’t your fault.”
“She should be here. I wanna switch places. I wanna switch places!” she cried.
“Shh.” He crawled into bed beside her, holding her close to him as her body shook.
“I wanna switch places.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Morning came, and things didn’t look better. In fact, they only looked worse. It started to dawn on Michael that Macy really wasn’t coming back. They could cry all they wanted to, but she was gone. For all time. And he was still there.
He’d been up all night, even though he was mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted. He kept going back and forth between Miley’s room and Maria’s, sitting with them, talking to them, trying to figure out how on earth he would tell them what had happened when they woke up. He wasn’t even sure if Miley was old enough to understand, and he was afraid to tell Maria because she was already wounded and losing Macy might kill her. But he knew he didn’t have a choice, and he wasn’t going to let them hear it from anyone else.
At about 7:00, the sun started to rise. It peeked through the blinds, but it was too bright, made his eyes water up even more than they already were. He closed the blinds, then sat back down next to Maria’s bed, watching her chest rise and fall as she slept. A cast encased her left arm, and she was hooked up to all sorts of machines. The consistently beeping heart monitor was the only noise in the room. She was wearing a pale blue hospital gown now, too, instead of a wedding gown. They’d hung her dress in the closet for her, but it was torn and stained. Ruined. Everything was ruined now.
“You still look really pretty, you know that?” he told her, holding her hand tightly between both of his. The last time he’d watched her sleeping in a hospital like this was when she’d given birth to Macy. He really wished he could go back to that.
He traced his thumb over her knuckles and noticed that she wasn’t wearing her engagement ring. He looked around the bed, but it wasn’t there. He pulled open the nightstand drawer and found it in a plastic bag marked Patient Belongings. It was cut in half. He didn’t exactly understand why. Maybe her fingers had been swelling and the doctors had had to cut it off so it didn’t cut off her circulation. They must have had a good reason. They wouldn’t have just cut off somebody’s engagement ring just for the hell of it.
He put the ring back in the bag and put the bag back in the drawer. It was depressing to look at that ring, to know what they almost had last night. Almost.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, holding her hand against his mouth as he stared at her stomach. It was still really flat. Tess told him she’d only been about a month and a half along, and he didn’t know how developed babies were at a month and a half. Had it had a heartbeat? Fingernails? A face? Had it been able to feel pain?
Had it been a boy? Or another angel like Macy?
“Mr. Guerin?”
He looked up when a detective came into the room. It was the same detective he’d spoken to immediately after the accident, during the commotion when the police, fire department, and paramedics had been there trying to get things under control.
“Hi, I’m Detective Rawley. We spoke on scene.”
“I remember.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“Did you find the person who hit us?” he asked hopefully. It wouldn’t make him feel much better, but maybe a little.
“No,” Detective Rawley replied disappointedly, “we’re still looking. I was wondering if I could go over the details of the accident again with you.”
Michael looked back at Maria, sort of wishing he could just sit with her and not rehash everything again. All he’d been doing was thinking about the accident, and he didn’t want to feel pressured into thinking about it in even more detail. These detectives and police officers and doctors were so busy dealing with the logistics of everything—the what, where, when, and how—and he was still trying to adjust to the fact that it wasn’t just a bad dream.
“I realize it’s difficult,” the detective said as though he could tell what he was thinking, “but in situations like these, sooner is better if we wanna stand a chance at catching the guy. And until she wakes up, you’re the only eyewitness we have.”
He sighed, resigning himself to it. “Okay.” Whoever had been driving that other car deserved to pay, and if he could further the investigation along, he had to. “What do you need to know?”
The detective pulled up a chair beside him and sat down, taking out a notepad and turning on a tape recorder. “Let’s just review what you told me before, make sure I’ve got everything straight. Now you said you were going north on Highway 2.”
“Yeah.” He kept hold of Maria’s hand, raking his free hand through his hair as the anxiety of reliving the entire thing crept over him.
“How fast?”
“Fifty-five, sixty miles an hour.”
“And you were heading . . .”
“To the church.” He winced. “We were gonna get married.” If he’d just married her years ago, they never would’ve been on that road.
“You were the one driving, your wife—I’m sorry, your girlfriend—was in the passenger’s seat, and your daughters were in the back. Is that right?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“In car seats?”
He shifted uncomfortably, picturing Macy’s car seat trapped in the back. “Yeah, but Miley got out of hers and unhooked her seatbelt. They said my seatbelt malfunctioned or something.”
“That explains why you two were both thrown from the car,” the detective thought out loud. “At approximately what time did you encounter the other vehicle on the road, Mr. Guerin?”
“Midnight,” he answered quickly.
“Right at midnight?”
He nodded. “Yep. I took my eyes off the road for just a minute . . .” God, there were so many things he’d done wrong. “. . . and then Maria yelled something. It came straight at us in our lane.”
“And can you give me any concrete description of the vehicle, anything at all? Make, model, color?”
He closed his eyes, trying to picture it, trying to mentally situate himself back behind that steering wheel despite how difficult it was. “I don’t know. It all happened so fast, and it was dark out.”
“Just try,” the detective urged. “Do you know if it was a car, truck, SUV?”
“It was a car,” he said, sure of that much. “I think it was black. Maybe. I don’t know. And I don’t know what kind. I didn’t see who was driving. I . . .”
“It’s okay,” Detective Rawley cut in. “Was there any collision?”
“There might’ve been.” God, I suck at this. “Yeah, I think . . . I think we might’ve scraped against it before I swerved off the road.”
“And you swerved in which direction?”
“To the right. We flipped over and rolled down onto that other road. The next thing I remember, I’m waking up outside the car.”
“About how many feet away?”
“I don’t . . .” It wasn’t as though he’d taken the time to measure. “I don’t know, maybe twenty or thirty feet. I don’t know.”
“And the other vehicle and its driver were nowhere in sight?”
He shook his head angrily. “No.” He clenched his free hand into a fist, wishing he could get his hands on that person, whoever it was, and throttle him. Or her.
“Horrible,” Detective Rawley said, shaking his head disgustedly. “Now this is gonna sound weird, but is there anyone who may have done this to you on purpose, anyone who has a vendetta against your or your family?”
“No. No, Maria and I . . . we’ve made a good life together. We don’t have those kinds of enemies.”
“Well, on New Year’s Eve there’s about a ninety-nine percent chance it was a drunk driver, but it doesn’t hurt to check.”
“It was an accident.” That didn’t make it any better, though. In fact, that almost made the driver of the other car even worse, because they should’ve stopped no matter what.
“Well, I think that’s all I need for now,” the detective declared. “I’ll be in touch.” He put his tape recorder and notepad away and pushed his chair back to the other side of the room. He stopped on his way out and said, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Michael returned all his attention to Maria once he was alone with her again. Sorry. Everyone was sorry. The doctors, the detective, his whole family . . . and him. They were all so sorry, but was that other driver? It didn’t really even matter, did it? All the sympathy in the world wouldn’t bring Macy or the other baby back.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When Isabel awoke and peeked into the guest room that morning, Alex wasn’t there. Weird. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up before 8:00 when he hadn’t had to.
She took a shower, dried her hair, got dressed, then went downstairs to see what he was up to. Which wasn’t much. He was just sitting in front of the TV, flipping back and forth between news channels. He was barely on one channel long enough to see what was being reported when he flipped to the next one, and he didn’t even seem to hear her come down.
“Since when are you so into the news?” she asked.
He startled, still as jumpy as he’d been last night. “I like to know what’s going on in the world,” he grumbled, his eyes never leaving the television screen.
So why are you watching the local news? she wondered, studying him skeptically. He could get his fix of world news on a show like Good Morning America or the Today show, plus some juicy celebrity gossip mixed in. He seemed completely set on what he was doing, though, and he looked completely disheveled, was still wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing last night. His hair was sticking out in all directions, and there were huge bags under his eyes. What a train wreck.
“I’m gonna go get Garret,” she announced, thinking that might get some kind of reaction. Did Alex even realize his own kid was still stuck in Max’s crappy trailer?
“Good for you,” he mumbled, still channel-surfing.
She made a face, slightly offended by his complete dismissal of her. Whatever. He’d ignore her for awhile, then revert to pathetic form and beg for her forgiveness. And her ass.
She grabbed her purse, slipped on her shoes, and headed outside, bracing herself against the cold wind. At first she was going to take her car, but it had bad brakes, and bad brakes didn’t mix well with icy roads. So she decided to take Alex’s car instead. Its brakes weren’t much better, but at least it looked cool. It was an old convertible, but the top no longer went down. It was pretty much the one nice thing he’d retained after his father’s business went under.
She circled around the vehicle, checking to see if anything looked odd. There was a scrape on the front that she couldn’t recall seeing before, and that piqued her interest. But only a little bit. When she got in the car and saw an empty lying on the passenger’s seat, though, her interest piqued more. She’d known that Alex had gone out and gotten drunk last night, even though he’d told her he hadn’t—he was predictable like that. But that coupled with the scrape on the car, added to the fact that he was flipping through news channels so intently . . .
She turned the key in the ignition, and the car roared to life. She shrugged, deciding not to care what was going on with him. He’d probably just run into somebody’s mailbox or something. The car had started up just fine, so whatever he’d been involved in couldn’t have been too bad.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael tugged down on the sleeves of his shirt, glad to at least be out of that blood-stained tux. He left Maria’s room when Amy and Ed came in, making sure they knew to come get him if she happened to wake up. He made the now familiar trek down the hall to Miley’s room, and when he got there, Tess, Kyle, and Marty were decorating. They were putting out balloons, flowers, and stuffed animals. Some of them said “Get Well” and were clearly from the gift shop downstairs, but some were her own animals. And dolls, too. And even the little easel she liked to paint on.
“Hi,” Tess said.
“I brought a lot of her stuff from home,” Marty explained. “I thought she might be more comfortable when she wakes up if things looked . . . familiar. Is that okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He was glad they’d thought of that. “Could I have some time alone with her?”
“Of course.” Tess set a heart-shaped pillow under Miley’s arm and stopped to hug him on her way out. “I love you, Michael,” she said, almost as if she just wanted to make sure he knew that.
“Ditto,” Marty said, patting him on the back.
When Kyle was the last one left, he said, “I’d say it, too, but it’d sound gay, so . . .”
Michael managed to smile a little. Kyle didn’t have to say it. He knew they loved each other like brothers.
“You should get some sleep,” Kyle suggested. “You look beat, man.”
“I will,” he promised, though he had no intention of doing that if he could help it. He was definitely tired, but he didn’t want to sleep until both Miley and Maria had woken up.
He closed the door after Kyle walked out, then approached Miley’s hospital bed and bent down to kiss her forehead. She looked so small lying there, so young. Sometimes he forgot how young she was because she was so smart and she’d already had to go through so much in her life. But as he watched her, waiting for her to wake up, he couldn’t help but feel like she was as small as she’d been when she’d first been born.
****
The nurse came in, reached her hand through a hole in the incubator, and poked a needle into Miley’s foot, drawing blood. Miley immediately started to squirm and cry. For lungs that weren’t fully developed, she managed to get pretty loud.
Maria winced and looked away as the nurse withdrew the needle and left the room. “Do you think she’s gonna be okay?” she asked.
He put his hand on her shoulder and rubbed gently. “Yeah.”
“Are you just saying that?”
“No.” He was worried, sure, but the doctors had taken good care of her so far, and they said her vital signs kept getting stronger. “They’re born a month early all the time, usually end up just fine.”
Maria sighed nervously and poked one finger through the opening on the side, reaching in to stroke their daughter’s palm. “I just wanna be able to take her home already.” Miley stopped crying and squeezed Maria’s finger.
Michael smiled at her adorableness. “Me, too.” He couldn’t wait to put her to sleep at night in the nursery they’d decorated for her, couldn’t wait to start wiping baby food off all his clothes. “I can’t believe we have a baby,” he said, staring down at her in astonishment. “We’re parents.”
“I know. If you think about it, a year ago, we weren’t even together yet. I had just moved in.”
He laughed a little. Yeah, they hadn’t exactly taken things slow. He bent down and kissed the top of Maria’s head, so proud of her for bringing Miley into the world. She’d given him the greatest gift he could ever imagine, because that little girl was so amazing and so beautiful. He could barely even fathom that she was a part of him.
“We have to take really good care of her,” Maria said determinedly. “We have to be the best parents we can possibly be. She deserves to have a really good life.”
“She will,” Michael promised. He loved his daughter more than life itself already. He’d do anything for her, protect her from anyone or anything that wanted to do her harm. “She’s gonna be happy and healthy for a long, long time.”
****
Michael didn’t even realize he had nodded off until he felt Miley’s hand twitching in his. He lifted his head from the side of her bed and watched her slowly open her eyes.
“Miley? Hey. Hey, sweetie.” He kissed her forehead again, barely able to look at her without getting worked up. He was fairly certain he’d never loved her more than he did in that moment.
“Daddy?”
“I’m here. Daddy’s here.” He stroked her cheek, tracing his fingers over a scrape. “How are you? How do you feel?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “Hungry.”
“Hungry?” He smiled. “Well, we’ll have to get you something to eat then.”
She looked in all directions of the room, frowning confusedly. “Where am I?”
“Uh . . .” His stomach knotted with apprehension. “You’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?”
She just kept looking around, not answering. He could practically see the wheels of her mind spinning, though. She remembered something, though she probably didn’t understand any of it.
“Where’s Mama?” she asked fearfully.
“She’s still sleeping,” he replied. “She’s in a different room. You can see her later.”
“What about Macy?”
He couldn’t even think of anything to say. He couldn’t lie to her, but how was he supposed to tell her the truth?
Luckily, Miley’s doctor came into the room, buying him some time with that dilemma. “Well, look who woke up,” she greeted. “Hi, Miley. I’m Dr. Kennedy.” Dr. Kennedy was an unbelievably pleasant woman who’d definitely found her calling working in pediatrics. From what Michael had observed, all the children thought of her more like a babysitter than a doctor, and that made them less afraid of her.
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” Miley mumbled.
“It’s okay, you can talk to her,” Michael told her, squeezing her hand gently.
“Wow,” Dr. Kennedy gasped, pretending to be amazed by all Miley’s toys, “you have a lot of nice things. Are these all your dolls?”
Miley nodded proudly.
“Do you have a favorite?”
“Hannah Montana!”
“Hannah Montana? My daughter loves Hannah Montana, too.” She picked up the Hannah doll and brought it over to Miley. “How about you hold onto her while you’re staying here, okay?”
Miley hugged her doll, seeming to like that idea.
Dr. Kennedy made her way around to the foot of the bed and pulled the blankets up, draping them across her knees. “So Miley, how old are you?” she asked to distract her while she rubbed her feet.
“This much.” Miley held up three fingers.
“Three? Wow, you’re a big girl then.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you like being three?” Dr. Kennedy dug her fingers into Miley’s heels, obviously trying to elicit some sort of response.
“Uh-huh,” Miley answered eagerly. “Sometimes I play with Garret, and sometimes I play with Macy.”
Michael flinched, hoping she didn’t notice.
“What do you like to do when you play?” Dr. Kennedy asked.
“Paint and sing and dance.”
Dammit, Michael swore internally. Would she ever get to dance again?
“Cool, that sounds fun.” Dr. Kennedy took a sterilized needle out of her pocket and said, “Hey, Miley, can you tell me something? Can you tell me if you feel that?” She stuck the tip of the needle into Miley’s heel, not pushing it in all the way.
“Feel what?” Miley asked.
Michael sighed, trying not to feel too discouraged, but he could tell by the look on the doctor’s face that this wasn’t a good sign at all.
TBC . . .
-April
LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
-
April
- Roswell Fanatic
- Posts: 1557
- Joined: Tue Sep 28, 2004 9:32 am
- Location: Somewhere. Anywhere.
- Contact:
Part 88
Leila:
Lilah:
Novy:
simplyshiny: Oh, it just so happens that Jack Shepherd is my least favorite television character of all time, so . . . not so much! Although his compulsive need to fix everything would be good for Miley. She definitely needs to be fixed. They all do in some way or another.
Thank you for the feedback on this immensely tough stuff.
Part 88
Tess, Kyle, and Marty went to the hospital cafeteria for lunch, but none of them was able to stomach much food. Tess had a couple bites of salad and that was it. Not hungry. She was going to smuggle a couple of cookies out for Miley, though. And for Michael, because he wasn’t making taking care of himself a priority. He hadn’t eaten, drank, or slept much in hours.
“How are you guys doing?” Marty asked, his voice hoarse from crying. “Honestly.”
“Honestly? I have no idea,” Tess admitted. All the sadness and anger and confusion had coalesced into one gigantic emotion, and she wasn’t sure what to call it.
“I kinda feel like . . . like it hasn’t sunken in yet,” Kyle said. “But I think it will in the next few days.”
“Yeah,” Marty agreed. “You know, I don’t mean to take away from what my mom and Michael’s parents are feeling, or to diminish their pain in any way, but you guys saw Macy almost every single day. You were this huge part of her life, and she was a huge part of yours.”
Tess nodded sadly. Macy had always managed to make her feel better.
“I feel like I should’ve been a better uncle,” Marty said regretfully, “like I should’ve spent less time with Jimmy and focused less on the club, spent more time with her instead.”
“No, Marty, you were really good with her,” Tess assured him.
“I think it’s kinda natural to look back now and say, ‘Oh, I should’ve done this. I wish I’d done that,’” Kyle related, “but we all really cared about her, and I’m sure she sensed that.”
“I know,” Marty said, tears dripping down off his cheeks into his coffee cup. “I just can’t imagine how Michael feels right now. Or how Maria’s gonna feel when she wakes up.”
Tess let out a shaky breath. Maria was a mother. For a mother to lose a child . . . there couldn’t be anything worse than that. “I keep thinking about this accident as the thing that killed Macy, but . . . it killed two innocent kids, one who was alive and one who never got to be. No parent should have to go through that, especially not Michael and Maria.”
“Thank God Miley’s . . .” Marty opened his mouth as if to say ‘okay,’ then changed his mind and said, “Thank God she’s . . . here.”
“I think Michael and Maria would just die if she wasn’t,” Tess said. That little girl was going to be the only thing keeping them going for awhile.
“Well, happy new year, guys,” Marty said sarcastically, raising his coffee in a mock toast. He set it back down without taking a drink, though.
I can’t believe it’s all starting this way, Tess thought. Her old year had ended horribly, what with the rape and all, and the new year had started horribly. She would have rather been raped every day for the rest of her life than have anything happen to Macy, though.
She felt like she had to do something, something more than she was doing now, something to help get everyone—including herself— get through this heartbreaking, dark time. It was so dark. It was too dark and depressing.
She picked up a few strands of her hair and had an idea.
“What is it?” Kyle asked.
“Nothing, I just . . . I have to get out of here for awhile,” she announced.
“You wanna go home? I’ll take you,” he offered.
“No. I just . . . I have to do something, but I’ll be back.” She got up from the table and grabbed her purse.
“Tess, where are you going?” Kyle asked.
“I’ll be back.” She zoomed out of the cafeteria, hoping to see some light at the end of the tunnel.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Well, you’re definitely going from one end of the spectrum to the other, aren’t you?”
Tess rolled her eyes at the hairdresser’s patronizing tone. “Blonde’s my natural color. I just wanna get back to it.”
The hairdresser stood behind her, running a comb through her black locks. “Well, I can’t guarantee I’ll get you exactly back to your natural shade . . .”
“Just make me blonde again,” she said, not caring about the shade. She knew this was probably very stupid, didn’t make any difference in the scheme of things, but it was more than hair. When she’d dyed her hair, she’d committed herself to being this miserable, dreary person who had no hope for the future. Blonde hair symbolized something different, something more hopeful for her. “I can’t be dark right now,” she thought out loud. “I need to be light. They need me to be light.”
The hairdresser smiled, obviously an attempt to disguise the fact that she thought Tess was a loony person. “I’ll see what I can do.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Miley had gone back to sleep clutching her Hannah Montana doll tightly in her hands. Michael stayed with her, just sitting beside her bed and watching her like he had when she’d been in the incubator three years ago. She was a brave little girl, way braver than him. She didn’t know it, but she’d probably saved her mom’s life by talking to the 911 dispatcher in the midst of all that chaos. If she hadn’t made sure the paramedics got there, Maria might not have . . .
He couldn’t even finish the thought. It was too disturbing to imagine losing anyone else.
His father came into the room around noon, carrying a cup of coffee. “Here you go,” he said, “so you can keep not sleeping.”
“Thanks.” He took one sip and set it aside.
His father pulled up a chair beside him and sat down with his own coffee still in hand. “Have you slept at all?”
“I dozed off for a little bit, about half an hour.”
“Why don’t you get some rest?” he suggested. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“No, I wanna stay awake,” he responded decisively.
“Suit yourself.” John took a drink of his coffee, then reached out and rested one hand on Miley’s left leg. “Is she . . .”
“Yeah.” He didn’t even have to finish the question for Michael to know what he was asking. “She couldn’t even feel a pinprick on the bottom of her foot. They’re gonna run some tests to see if it’s something they can fix or something that’ll heal on its own.” He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he was really hoping she wouldn’t have to stay this way. She was alive and that was what mattered, but her life was going to be drastically changed forever is she had to spend the rest of it in a wheelchair.
“How is she otherwise?”
“Scared. She started crying when she realized she couldn’t feel her legs.” He’d held her for about an hour, trying to calm her down. “I haven’t even told her about Macy yet. I don’t know how I’m going to.”
“Cross that bridge when you come to it,” his father suggested. “Does she understand what happened?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how much she remembers. She saw the explosion, though. She saw . . . everything.” Even if she was able to regain function in her legs, she’d be scarred for life emotionally. He hadn’t managed to protect her from anything. “She’s gone through too much in her life. But hey, at least she’s still alive, right?” he muttered bitterly. “Nobody else is.”
“Maria is. You are.”
“I don’t even feel alive.” How could he live when Macy didn’t?
“Son, I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, but I think you’re incredibly strong to be going through this.”
He grunted. “It’s not like I have a choice.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t even know she was pregnant, Dad. I didn’t even . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. He was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around that fact. “Tess said she was gonna tell me last night, after . . . after we got married.” The misery of the fact that this had all happened on New Year’s, their anniversary, and the day they were supposed to have been wed for eternity wasn’t lost on him. “We’ve been together for four years. How could I not know?”
“Michael . . .”
“I didn’t just lose one child last night. I lost two . . . one I didn’t even know I had. What kind of dad does that make me? I mean, really, what kind of father am I?”
“A good one,” his father answered swiftly. “You did what you had to do last night.”
“No, I didn’t do anything,” he denied, replaying the events over and over in his mind. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You saved the woman you love, and you tried to save Macy.”
“I should’ve tried harder.”
“Son, you can’t blame yourself.”
“Who else am I gonna blame, huh?” he barked, causing Miley to stir. He lowered his voice and said, “They can’t even find the other driver.”
“But you blame that other person, whoever it is,” his father told him. “It’s no one else’s fault. It’s definitely not yours.”
Michael rubbed his forehead, wishing he could believe that.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It took Isabel forever to get Garret up and around that day. He was so sluggish that he’d slept on the way home from Max’s, practically fallen back asleep eating breakfast, and barely managed to stay awake during his morning bath. His morning bath that ended up taking place at noon because he was so slow-moving.
“Just how late did you stay up last night?” she asked as she helped him put on his clothes.
“Real late. We did fireworks.”
“Wow, that sounds so . . . illegal. I think you’re only supposed to do fireworks on the Fourth of July. I’ll have to have a word with your uncle Max about that.”
“No,” he whined. “It was fun.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Uncle Max misses Aunt Liz.” Garret pouted. “So do I.”
She made a face. “Don’t.” Liz wasn’t worth it. “Listen, why don’t you go downstairs and see if you can pry your dad away from the TV?”
“Okay. Daddy!” he yelled, running out of the room. That was about the most energy he’d had all day. She followed him downstairs, and when she got there, she was disappointed to see Alex seated exactly where he had been all day, in front of the TV, flipping channels. He hadn’t relaxed at all, which was odd considering he wasn’t doing anything too demanding or strenuous.
“Daddy,” Garret said, hitting him playfully with his wet bath towel, “we did fireworks. Me and Uncle Max did fireworks. Daddy, are you listening?”
“That’s nice, Garret,” Alex said, clearly not listening. “Good job.”
Isabel rolled her eyes. “I think somebody needs a nap. Garret, go back upstairs. I’ll come tuck you in in a minute.”
Garret looked away from his father, obviously upset that he wouldn’t listen, and trudged back upstairs, dragging his towel with him.
“God, be a little more of a deadbeat dad while you’re at it,” she bit out angrily. She wanted to say more, but when he was tuning her out, insulting him was boring. She started to head upstairs after Garret when, all of a sudden, Alex dropped the remote control onto the floor. She turned back around and saw what he was watching on TV. He finally seemed to have settled on a news station, and it was a station showing footage of firemen putting out a flipped over burning car.
“What you’re seeing,” a reporter’s voice said over the footage, “is real footage from the accident last night on 132nd Street just below Highway 2. Preliminary reports suggest a drunk driving accident that resulted in the wreckage and explosion of a car driven by twenty-five year-old Santa Fe resident Michael Guerin.”
Fear instantly gripped Isabel, and she slowly stepped up behind the couch, staring at the TV with wide, alarmed eyes. Was he dead? He couldn’t be dead.
“Mr. Guerin is a co-owner of a local art gallery and father to two young daughters who were in the car with him at the time of the crash,” the reporter continued, coming into screen in place of the crash footage. “Mr. Guerin’s girlfriend and mother of his children, twenty-five year-old Maria DeLuca, was also in the car. She sustained abdominal injuries and is currently in the hospital in stable condition. However, their youngest child, ten-month old Macy Guerin, was killed in the accident last night.”
Alex raked his hand through his hair, looking as though the world had just slipped out from underneath him.
“The specific cause of her death is yet to be determined. Now, sources tell me that Mr. Guerin is cooperating with the police investigation, but no suspects have yet been apprehended in this tragic New Year’s Eve hit-and-run. If you have any information that could further the investigation, please contact law enforcement at 555-0121. You could receive a one-thousand dollar reward. Tom?”
The news anchor came back on the screen, shaking his head as though he were really torn up by the report. “Tragic. Just tragic. Thank you, Sarah. In other news, a local dog show . . .”
Alex picked up the remote and turned the television off. His hands were shaking.
Isabel studied him, the complete nervous wreck that was him, and thought about the scrape on his car, the empty bottle in the passenger’s seat, his sudden obsession with the local news. When she put the pieces together, it all made perfect sense.
“What did you do?”
He just sat there, looking stunned.
“Alex, what did you do?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. And that said it all.
“Oh my god,” Isabel whispered in astonishment, seizing the remote from him so that she could turn the television back on. “Oh my god.” She flipped to the next station, and it was now running the same story.
“I didn’t . . .” Alex sputtered. “I didn’t mean to.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Stupid vending machine. Kyle tried to shake the potato chips out, but they were lodged in there, and the machine wasn’t letting go. Seventy-five cents down the damn drain. He put another three quarters in and entered the same item number onto the keypad, hoping he’d luck out and get the two bags of chips he so rightly deserved. But he just got one.
He was heading back into the waiting room, about to tear into the bag, when he saw Tess coming down the hallway. Only she didn’t look like Tess. Or . . . she did, but not the Tess he’d grown accustomed to seeing in recent weeks. She was blonde again, and she’d changed into a white sweater and jeans. She looked like an angel walking down that hallway. For some reason, he felt relief flood over him when he looked at her.
He tossed his chips in the nearest trashcan, walked towards her, and hugged her. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her floral scent. Without even trying, she could soothe him.
“I missed you,” he said, hoping she realized he hadn’t just missed her these last few hours that she’d been gone from the hospital. He’d missed her as a whole, this her.
“Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Valenti?”
They pulled apart when a man in uniform approached them. He held up a badge and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Detective Rawley. I’m leading the investigation into the accident. You’re the deceased child’s godparents, aren’t you?”
Tess tensed, and he Kyle put his arm around her, squeezing her to his side. “We’re Macy’s godparents, yeah,” he said, uncomfortable with referring to her as ‘the deceased child.’
“I was wondering if I could ask you two some questions.”
Tess looked up at him curiously, and he had to admit, he didn’t quite understand, either. “Um . . . sure,” he answered slowly, “but I don’t know how much help we’re gonna be. We weren’t even there when it happened, so . . .”
“I just like to cover my bases,” the detective explained, “gather as much information as I possibly can.”
Well, at least he’s being thorough, Kyle thought. If he and Tess could help the investigation in any way, they had to. They owed it to Macy. “Okay,” he said. “What do you wanna know?”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Isabel paced around the living room, trying to make sense of everything, forcibly restraining herself from throttling her husband. He just stayed on the couch, rocking back and forth whimpering, “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.” His mantra finally came to a stop for a moment, and she prayed it was over. But a few seconds later, he started in again. “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.”
“Shut up,” she snapped.
“Oh god. Isabel . . .”
“I can’t believe this,” she muttered angrily. “You almost killed Michael!”
He shot to his feet, his face flushed with a mixture of fury and fear. “Is that all you care about? I killed a child, Isabel, a baby. I killed Michael and Maria’s baby last night! Even you can’t be heartless enough to disregard that.”
“Oh, I’m regarding,” she assured him. “I’m just looking on the bright side, if there is one: At least you didn’t kill Michael. If you had, I would’ve personally strangled you as vengeance.” She was truly shaken up about this. For years now, she’d always thought of Michael as someone who would always be there, there in the world if not there in her world. But now she realized he could be gone at any minute, and then what would happen? If he ever died . . . she’d die.
“You’re insane!” Alex shouted.
“Well, you’re a murderer!”
“It was an accident!”
“It doesn’t matter! Somebody’s dead!” She stopped yelling when she heard the stairs creak. Garret was coming down, clutching his favorite blanket to his chest.
“Garret, go upstairs,” she told him. He didn’t need to overhear any of this.
He stared at her with big, confused eyes.
“Now!” she yelled, her shrill tone sending him flying back up to his bedroom.
“You scared him,” Alex remarked.
“Well, this is scary stuff.” Years of backstabbing and manipulating suddenly seemed so trivial now that death was involved. “Go through it again.”
Alex shook his head. “I don’t want to.”
“Alex . . .” She glared at him with warning in her eyes. She needed to hear it again to make sure she had all the facts straight.
He sighed reluctantly and sat back down on the couch. “I left the video store after you pissed me off . . . and I went to the bar.”
“Big surprise.”
“I got really wasted really fast. I shouldn’t have been driving. I know that now. But I’ve driven drunk plenty of times, and nothing’s happen. Nothing’s happened.”
She rolled her eyes, not in the mood for a pity party unless it was Michael she was pitying, because he was the true victim here.
“I didn’t even know what was going on. All of a sudden I saw myself heading straight towards this other car.”
“Not just some other car, Michael’s car,” she reminded him.
“Michael’s car. I was in the wrong lane; I don’t even know how I got there or what I was doing way out in the middle of nowhere on that highway in the first place. But I was there, and they were there and . . . I couldn’t react quick enough or something. He swerved off the road and . . . I just kept driving. I was scared. I didn’t know it was Michael and Maria. I would’ve stopped if I’d known; I would’ve helped ‘em.”
So he would have stopped to help people he knew but not strangers? “How heroic,” she mumbled sarcastically.
“I should’ve stopped no matter what. I can’t believe I did this. I didn’t even know I was capable.”
“Well, I always knew your drinking would get you into trouble, but I never pictured this.” It was a small, small world out there, and their lives were constantly colliding with Michael and Maria’s lives. And now the one person who’d probably been the only completely innocent one in all of this had paid the price. Isabel actually felt . . . really bad about it.
“Oh, poor Michael,” she moaned. “He must be so sad. He’s such a good guy; he doesn’t deserve this. Of course Maria’s still alive and kicking, though.” She made an annoyed faced. “Or, alive at least. And the news didn’t say anything about Miley, so that’s good. Good for Garret, primarily. She is his future wife and all. I didn’t really have any personal attachment to the other one, but she was just a little kid. It’s sad when bad things happen to good kids.” She thought about her father putting his hands on her, and the memory made her skin crawl. “She didn’t deserve that. She could’ve grown up to be somebody, but you . . . you took that away from her.” She wasn’t sure who she was talking to, Alex or her dad. “I guess it’s true,” she whispered, “that girls marry their fathers.”
“What?” he spat.
She pushed her dad out of her mind and focused on the crisis at hand. “She didn’t deserve to die. You killed her. You really, really killed her.”
“This isn’t making me feel any better.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not in the business of making you feel better.” If anything, she was in the business of making him feel worse. “But at least you did one thing right: You ruined their wedding day.”
His mouth dropped open, and he clasped his hand over it. “They got married last night?” he gasped.
“I doubt it. Would they be driving around with their kids on their first night as newlyweds? I don’t think so. They’d be fucking like bunnies. I mean, I know that’s what I’d be doing if I were his wife.”
“Here we go again,” he mumbled.
“I think you beat ‘em to the punch. Wow, that just adds a whole new layer of tragedy onto this whole thing, doesn’t it?”
“It just keeps getting worse,” he groaned. “I’m a horrible person.”
“Yeah, you are,” she agreed readily, “have been for awhile now.”
“Look who’s talking,” he grunted.
“Don’t try to turn this around on me. This is on you. You screwed up astronomically. A kid’s dead because of you, because of your irresponsible, reckless behavior. Put yourself in her father’s shoes. How would you feel?”
“I’d feel like killing me,” he admitted flat-out.
“Then there’s your answer: suicide.” She smiled.
“Would you quit joking around?”
“Who’s joking? If you off yourself, that’ll simplify my life so much.”
He stood up and went into the kitchen, bending over the sink to splash water onto his face. “What should I do?” he asked. “Besides suicide, ‘cause I’m not doing that.”
“Well . . .” She sauntered over to him, mentally weighing the pros and cons of the few options he had. “It’s a novel idea in this town, but you could tell the truth.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Accidental vehicular homicide. You’ll tough it out behind bars for a few years, get released on good behavior . . . simple as that.”
He tore a paper towel off the rack and patted his face dry. “No, I can’t go to jail,” he argued vehemently. “I’ve heard stuff about jail from my dad. I won’t survive there.”
“So you get butt-fucked a couple times. Big deal. At least you’ll still be alive, unlike a certain infant named Macy.”
“No, you don’t get it. I won’t survive without Garret,” he explained, actual determination coating all his words. “He’s the only thing keeping me going these days.”
She found that hard to believe. “Really? Because you don’t even notice he’s alive half the time.”
“Hey, just because I’m not a very good father doesn’t mean I don’t love my son.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what it means.” Fathers who truly loved their children found a way to be good role models and good parents no matter what obstacles lay before them. Fathers like Michael.
“Isabel, I know you don’t love me, trust me, or even like me most of the time, but you know me. You know me better than anyone else, and you know I love Garret.”
She shrugged, not seeing that as a reason to help him. “Michael loved Macy, and now he has to live without her. Why shouldn’t you have to do the same?”
“Please, Isabel, just help me,” he begged. “Please, tell me what to do.”
“Oh, okay, let me call on all my prior experience of covering up a murder,” she bit out sarcastically. “Not exactly my realm of expertise.”
“Oh, please, how many times have you claimed you can do anything?”
“I can do anything,” she stated confidently. “It’s not a question of ability; it’s a question of willingness. And I’m not willing to be a part of this. Unless . . .” She trailed off, an idea occurring to her.
“What?”
“I could tell Michael.” Her heart pitter-pattered excitedly within the confines of her chest. “I could tell him it was you. Oh my god, he’d be eternally grateful. I’d be like a hero in his eyes, sacrificing my family for what little is left of his.”
“Oh, give it up!” Alex shouted. “That’s never gonna happen. He’s always gonna see you as a bitch, as a lying, cheating, manipulative bitch who’s obsessed with him even though he’s in love with someone else.”
“You mean kinda like how you’re obsessed with me?” She grinned deviously, tilting her head to the side and twisting strands of her hair around her finger flirtatiously.
“Yes. No! Dammit, Isabel!”
She laughed. “Silly rabbit. Tricks are for kids.”
“When are you gonna realize I’m the only one who wants you? Without me, you have no one.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’m better off on my own.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.” She hadn’t actually gotten to be on her own for years now. It might be . . . refreshing. “I have nothing to gain by keeping you around anymore, Alex.”
“But you have something to lose if you rat me out,” he countered.
“Really? And what’s that?”
“Michael.”
She made a face, not following his path of warped logic. “You just said--”
“He doesn’t love you. We all know that. But right now, he doesn’t quite hate you, either. But if you tell him what you know, he will hate you. He’ll hate you more than you can possibly imagine.”
She knew she shouldn’t even entertain the idea, but she wanted to see where he was going with this. “Why? It’s not my fault. I wasn’t even in the car.”
“Sure you were,” he argued. “I was driving, and you were in my head, so in one way or another, you were there. You were all I could think about, Isabel. You make me so angry.” He clenched and unclenched his hands, slamming one fist against the wall. “That girl died because I was driving drunk, but I was driving drunk because of you. Because you make me so crazy.”
She shook her head adamantly. “No. No, don’t you dare try to blame this on me! I didn’t have anything to do with it!”
“You had everything to do with it!” he roared. “You’re the reason for everything I do! Everything! Good, bad . . .” He trailed off and lowered his voice. “You’re the reason.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, swallowing the lump in her throat. Don’t even listen, she told herself. She’d done this same thing countless times before, planted seeds of doubt in people’s minds.
“Michael’s down one daughter,” Alex said. “He’s gonna be lookin’ to blame everyone he can; so he’ll blame me . . .” He pointed to himself, then pointed at her. “And he’ll blame you.”
Don’t listen, she thought again, but it was hard not to. Perhaps Alex wasn’t planting a seed of doubt so much as he was nurturing a seed that was already there.
“So go ahead and tell him,” he said. “If you’re that confident in whatever remnants of a relationship you and he have . . . go for it.”
Alex wasn’t smart by any means . . . but he was onto something. Michael was a fiercely loyal father. He wouldn’t even look at her again if he knew she was in any way connected to his daughter’s death, let alone talk to her or touch her or give her any hope of being with him again. So maybe it was best for him to just not know. Then he would be grieving for such a long time, and she could comfort him.
“I’ll get rid of your car for you,” she offered, “but nothing else. If Michael asks me what I know, I’m telling him everything.” She wasn’t sure if she meant that or not, but it was good for Alex to believe it. He was more manageable when he was living in fear.
TBC . . .
-April
I know, right? And when you last left feedback, things were . . . well, still angsty, but nowhere near as angsty as this.I come back and all that happened is just sad and discouraging.
Lilah:
It's awful, I know. But things have to be really depressing for quite awhile. In some ways, this tragedy is the climax of the story, and everything else is resolution. Hundreds and hundreds of pages of resolution.I can't think of anything else to say until this gets better...
Novy:
Oh, there you go again with your trademark "poor dear" line.Well, I guess if there is any little girl who has enough strength to be paralysed it's Miley. The poor dear though.
Michael definitely needs her to wake up, because he needs to be going through this with her. But unfortunately she'll soon be waking up . . . to a nightmare.I hope Maria wakes up soon. Everyone has been so sweet and supportive.
simplyshiny:
can you give us a glimmer of hope? Can you bring Jack Shepherd in to fix Miley?
Oh, it just so happens that Jack Shepherd is my least favorite television character of all time, so . . . not so much! Although his compulsive need to fix everything would be good for Miley. She definitely needs to be fixed. They all do in some way or another.Thank you for the feedback on this immensely tough stuff.
Part 88
Tess, Kyle, and Marty went to the hospital cafeteria for lunch, but none of them was able to stomach much food. Tess had a couple bites of salad and that was it. Not hungry. She was going to smuggle a couple of cookies out for Miley, though. And for Michael, because he wasn’t making taking care of himself a priority. He hadn’t eaten, drank, or slept much in hours.
“How are you guys doing?” Marty asked, his voice hoarse from crying. “Honestly.”
“Honestly? I have no idea,” Tess admitted. All the sadness and anger and confusion had coalesced into one gigantic emotion, and she wasn’t sure what to call it.
“I kinda feel like . . . like it hasn’t sunken in yet,” Kyle said. “But I think it will in the next few days.”
“Yeah,” Marty agreed. “You know, I don’t mean to take away from what my mom and Michael’s parents are feeling, or to diminish their pain in any way, but you guys saw Macy almost every single day. You were this huge part of her life, and she was a huge part of yours.”
Tess nodded sadly. Macy had always managed to make her feel better.
“I feel like I should’ve been a better uncle,” Marty said regretfully, “like I should’ve spent less time with Jimmy and focused less on the club, spent more time with her instead.”
“No, Marty, you were really good with her,” Tess assured him.
“I think it’s kinda natural to look back now and say, ‘Oh, I should’ve done this. I wish I’d done that,’” Kyle related, “but we all really cared about her, and I’m sure she sensed that.”
“I know,” Marty said, tears dripping down off his cheeks into his coffee cup. “I just can’t imagine how Michael feels right now. Or how Maria’s gonna feel when she wakes up.”
Tess let out a shaky breath. Maria was a mother. For a mother to lose a child . . . there couldn’t be anything worse than that. “I keep thinking about this accident as the thing that killed Macy, but . . . it killed two innocent kids, one who was alive and one who never got to be. No parent should have to go through that, especially not Michael and Maria.”
“Thank God Miley’s . . .” Marty opened his mouth as if to say ‘okay,’ then changed his mind and said, “Thank God she’s . . . here.”
“I think Michael and Maria would just die if she wasn’t,” Tess said. That little girl was going to be the only thing keeping them going for awhile.
“Well, happy new year, guys,” Marty said sarcastically, raising his coffee in a mock toast. He set it back down without taking a drink, though.
I can’t believe it’s all starting this way, Tess thought. Her old year had ended horribly, what with the rape and all, and the new year had started horribly. She would have rather been raped every day for the rest of her life than have anything happen to Macy, though.
She felt like she had to do something, something more than she was doing now, something to help get everyone—including herself— get through this heartbreaking, dark time. It was so dark. It was too dark and depressing.
She picked up a few strands of her hair and had an idea.
“What is it?” Kyle asked.
“Nothing, I just . . . I have to get out of here for awhile,” she announced.
“You wanna go home? I’ll take you,” he offered.
“No. I just . . . I have to do something, but I’ll be back.” She got up from the table and grabbed her purse.
“Tess, where are you going?” Kyle asked.
“I’ll be back.” She zoomed out of the cafeteria, hoping to see some light at the end of the tunnel.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Well, you’re definitely going from one end of the spectrum to the other, aren’t you?”
Tess rolled her eyes at the hairdresser’s patronizing tone. “Blonde’s my natural color. I just wanna get back to it.”
The hairdresser stood behind her, running a comb through her black locks. “Well, I can’t guarantee I’ll get you exactly back to your natural shade . . .”
“Just make me blonde again,” she said, not caring about the shade. She knew this was probably very stupid, didn’t make any difference in the scheme of things, but it was more than hair. When she’d dyed her hair, she’d committed herself to being this miserable, dreary person who had no hope for the future. Blonde hair symbolized something different, something more hopeful for her. “I can’t be dark right now,” she thought out loud. “I need to be light. They need me to be light.”
The hairdresser smiled, obviously an attempt to disguise the fact that she thought Tess was a loony person. “I’ll see what I can do.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Miley had gone back to sleep clutching her Hannah Montana doll tightly in her hands. Michael stayed with her, just sitting beside her bed and watching her like he had when she’d been in the incubator three years ago. She was a brave little girl, way braver than him. She didn’t know it, but she’d probably saved her mom’s life by talking to the 911 dispatcher in the midst of all that chaos. If she hadn’t made sure the paramedics got there, Maria might not have . . .
He couldn’t even finish the thought. It was too disturbing to imagine losing anyone else.
His father came into the room around noon, carrying a cup of coffee. “Here you go,” he said, “so you can keep not sleeping.”
“Thanks.” He took one sip and set it aside.
His father pulled up a chair beside him and sat down with his own coffee still in hand. “Have you slept at all?”
“I dozed off for a little bit, about half an hour.”
“Why don’t you get some rest?” he suggested. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“No, I wanna stay awake,” he responded decisively.
“Suit yourself.” John took a drink of his coffee, then reached out and rested one hand on Miley’s left leg. “Is she . . .”
“Yeah.” He didn’t even have to finish the question for Michael to know what he was asking. “She couldn’t even feel a pinprick on the bottom of her foot. They’re gonna run some tests to see if it’s something they can fix or something that’ll heal on its own.” He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he was really hoping she wouldn’t have to stay this way. She was alive and that was what mattered, but her life was going to be drastically changed forever is she had to spend the rest of it in a wheelchair.
“How is she otherwise?”
“Scared. She started crying when she realized she couldn’t feel her legs.” He’d held her for about an hour, trying to calm her down. “I haven’t even told her about Macy yet. I don’t know how I’m going to.”
“Cross that bridge when you come to it,” his father suggested. “Does she understand what happened?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how much she remembers. She saw the explosion, though. She saw . . . everything.” Even if she was able to regain function in her legs, she’d be scarred for life emotionally. He hadn’t managed to protect her from anything. “She’s gone through too much in her life. But hey, at least she’s still alive, right?” he muttered bitterly. “Nobody else is.”
“Maria is. You are.”
“I don’t even feel alive.” How could he live when Macy didn’t?
“Son, I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, but I think you’re incredibly strong to be going through this.”
He grunted. “It’s not like I have a choice.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t even know she was pregnant, Dad. I didn’t even . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. He was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around that fact. “Tess said she was gonna tell me last night, after . . . after we got married.” The misery of the fact that this had all happened on New Year’s, their anniversary, and the day they were supposed to have been wed for eternity wasn’t lost on him. “We’ve been together for four years. How could I not know?”
“Michael . . .”
“I didn’t just lose one child last night. I lost two . . . one I didn’t even know I had. What kind of dad does that make me? I mean, really, what kind of father am I?”
“A good one,” his father answered swiftly. “You did what you had to do last night.”
“No, I didn’t do anything,” he denied, replaying the events over and over in his mind. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You saved the woman you love, and you tried to save Macy.”
“I should’ve tried harder.”
“Son, you can’t blame yourself.”
“Who else am I gonna blame, huh?” he barked, causing Miley to stir. He lowered his voice and said, “They can’t even find the other driver.”
“But you blame that other person, whoever it is,” his father told him. “It’s no one else’s fault. It’s definitely not yours.”
Michael rubbed his forehead, wishing he could believe that.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It took Isabel forever to get Garret up and around that day. He was so sluggish that he’d slept on the way home from Max’s, practically fallen back asleep eating breakfast, and barely managed to stay awake during his morning bath. His morning bath that ended up taking place at noon because he was so slow-moving.
“Just how late did you stay up last night?” she asked as she helped him put on his clothes.
“Real late. We did fireworks.”
“Wow, that sounds so . . . illegal. I think you’re only supposed to do fireworks on the Fourth of July. I’ll have to have a word with your uncle Max about that.”
“No,” he whined. “It was fun.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Uncle Max misses Aunt Liz.” Garret pouted. “So do I.”
She made a face. “Don’t.” Liz wasn’t worth it. “Listen, why don’t you go downstairs and see if you can pry your dad away from the TV?”
“Okay. Daddy!” he yelled, running out of the room. That was about the most energy he’d had all day. She followed him downstairs, and when she got there, she was disappointed to see Alex seated exactly where he had been all day, in front of the TV, flipping channels. He hadn’t relaxed at all, which was odd considering he wasn’t doing anything too demanding or strenuous.
“Daddy,” Garret said, hitting him playfully with his wet bath towel, “we did fireworks. Me and Uncle Max did fireworks. Daddy, are you listening?”
“That’s nice, Garret,” Alex said, clearly not listening. “Good job.”
Isabel rolled her eyes. “I think somebody needs a nap. Garret, go back upstairs. I’ll come tuck you in in a minute.”
Garret looked away from his father, obviously upset that he wouldn’t listen, and trudged back upstairs, dragging his towel with him.
“God, be a little more of a deadbeat dad while you’re at it,” she bit out angrily. She wanted to say more, but when he was tuning her out, insulting him was boring. She started to head upstairs after Garret when, all of a sudden, Alex dropped the remote control onto the floor. She turned back around and saw what he was watching on TV. He finally seemed to have settled on a news station, and it was a station showing footage of firemen putting out a flipped over burning car.
“What you’re seeing,” a reporter’s voice said over the footage, “is real footage from the accident last night on 132nd Street just below Highway 2. Preliminary reports suggest a drunk driving accident that resulted in the wreckage and explosion of a car driven by twenty-five year-old Santa Fe resident Michael Guerin.”
Fear instantly gripped Isabel, and she slowly stepped up behind the couch, staring at the TV with wide, alarmed eyes. Was he dead? He couldn’t be dead.
“Mr. Guerin is a co-owner of a local art gallery and father to two young daughters who were in the car with him at the time of the crash,” the reporter continued, coming into screen in place of the crash footage. “Mr. Guerin’s girlfriend and mother of his children, twenty-five year-old Maria DeLuca, was also in the car. She sustained abdominal injuries and is currently in the hospital in stable condition. However, their youngest child, ten-month old Macy Guerin, was killed in the accident last night.”
Alex raked his hand through his hair, looking as though the world had just slipped out from underneath him.
“The specific cause of her death is yet to be determined. Now, sources tell me that Mr. Guerin is cooperating with the police investigation, but no suspects have yet been apprehended in this tragic New Year’s Eve hit-and-run. If you have any information that could further the investigation, please contact law enforcement at 555-0121. You could receive a one-thousand dollar reward. Tom?”
The news anchor came back on the screen, shaking his head as though he were really torn up by the report. “Tragic. Just tragic. Thank you, Sarah. In other news, a local dog show . . .”
Alex picked up the remote and turned the television off. His hands were shaking.
Isabel studied him, the complete nervous wreck that was him, and thought about the scrape on his car, the empty bottle in the passenger’s seat, his sudden obsession with the local news. When she put the pieces together, it all made perfect sense.
“What did you do?”
He just sat there, looking stunned.
“Alex, what did you do?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. And that said it all.
“Oh my god,” Isabel whispered in astonishment, seizing the remote from him so that she could turn the television back on. “Oh my god.” She flipped to the next station, and it was now running the same story.
“I didn’t . . .” Alex sputtered. “I didn’t mean to.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Stupid vending machine. Kyle tried to shake the potato chips out, but they were lodged in there, and the machine wasn’t letting go. Seventy-five cents down the damn drain. He put another three quarters in and entered the same item number onto the keypad, hoping he’d luck out and get the two bags of chips he so rightly deserved. But he just got one.
He was heading back into the waiting room, about to tear into the bag, when he saw Tess coming down the hallway. Only she didn’t look like Tess. Or . . . she did, but not the Tess he’d grown accustomed to seeing in recent weeks. She was blonde again, and she’d changed into a white sweater and jeans. She looked like an angel walking down that hallway. For some reason, he felt relief flood over him when he looked at her.
He tossed his chips in the nearest trashcan, walked towards her, and hugged her. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her floral scent. Without even trying, she could soothe him.
“I missed you,” he said, hoping she realized he hadn’t just missed her these last few hours that she’d been gone from the hospital. He’d missed her as a whole, this her.
“Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Valenti?”
They pulled apart when a man in uniform approached them. He held up a badge and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Detective Rawley. I’m leading the investigation into the accident. You’re the deceased child’s godparents, aren’t you?”
Tess tensed, and he Kyle put his arm around her, squeezing her to his side. “We’re Macy’s godparents, yeah,” he said, uncomfortable with referring to her as ‘the deceased child.’
“I was wondering if I could ask you two some questions.”
Tess looked up at him curiously, and he had to admit, he didn’t quite understand, either. “Um . . . sure,” he answered slowly, “but I don’t know how much help we’re gonna be. We weren’t even there when it happened, so . . .”
“I just like to cover my bases,” the detective explained, “gather as much information as I possibly can.”
Well, at least he’s being thorough, Kyle thought. If he and Tess could help the investigation in any way, they had to. They owed it to Macy. “Okay,” he said. “What do you wanna know?”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Isabel paced around the living room, trying to make sense of everything, forcibly restraining herself from throttling her husband. He just stayed on the couch, rocking back and forth whimpering, “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.” His mantra finally came to a stop for a moment, and she prayed it was over. But a few seconds later, he started in again. “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.”
“Shut up,” she snapped.
“Oh god. Isabel . . .”
“I can’t believe this,” she muttered angrily. “You almost killed Michael!”
He shot to his feet, his face flushed with a mixture of fury and fear. “Is that all you care about? I killed a child, Isabel, a baby. I killed Michael and Maria’s baby last night! Even you can’t be heartless enough to disregard that.”
“Oh, I’m regarding,” she assured him. “I’m just looking on the bright side, if there is one: At least you didn’t kill Michael. If you had, I would’ve personally strangled you as vengeance.” She was truly shaken up about this. For years now, she’d always thought of Michael as someone who would always be there, there in the world if not there in her world. But now she realized he could be gone at any minute, and then what would happen? If he ever died . . . she’d die.
“You’re insane!” Alex shouted.
“Well, you’re a murderer!”
“It was an accident!”
“It doesn’t matter! Somebody’s dead!” She stopped yelling when she heard the stairs creak. Garret was coming down, clutching his favorite blanket to his chest.
“Garret, go upstairs,” she told him. He didn’t need to overhear any of this.
He stared at her with big, confused eyes.
“Now!” she yelled, her shrill tone sending him flying back up to his bedroom.
“You scared him,” Alex remarked.
“Well, this is scary stuff.” Years of backstabbing and manipulating suddenly seemed so trivial now that death was involved. “Go through it again.”
Alex shook his head. “I don’t want to.”
“Alex . . .” She glared at him with warning in her eyes. She needed to hear it again to make sure she had all the facts straight.
He sighed reluctantly and sat back down on the couch. “I left the video store after you pissed me off . . . and I went to the bar.”
“Big surprise.”
“I got really wasted really fast. I shouldn’t have been driving. I know that now. But I’ve driven drunk plenty of times, and nothing’s happen. Nothing’s happened.”
She rolled her eyes, not in the mood for a pity party unless it was Michael she was pitying, because he was the true victim here.
“I didn’t even know what was going on. All of a sudden I saw myself heading straight towards this other car.”
“Not just some other car, Michael’s car,” she reminded him.
“Michael’s car. I was in the wrong lane; I don’t even know how I got there or what I was doing way out in the middle of nowhere on that highway in the first place. But I was there, and they were there and . . . I couldn’t react quick enough or something. He swerved off the road and . . . I just kept driving. I was scared. I didn’t know it was Michael and Maria. I would’ve stopped if I’d known; I would’ve helped ‘em.”
So he would have stopped to help people he knew but not strangers? “How heroic,” she mumbled sarcastically.
“I should’ve stopped no matter what. I can’t believe I did this. I didn’t even know I was capable.”
“Well, I always knew your drinking would get you into trouble, but I never pictured this.” It was a small, small world out there, and their lives were constantly colliding with Michael and Maria’s lives. And now the one person who’d probably been the only completely innocent one in all of this had paid the price. Isabel actually felt . . . really bad about it.
“Oh, poor Michael,” she moaned. “He must be so sad. He’s such a good guy; he doesn’t deserve this. Of course Maria’s still alive and kicking, though.” She made an annoyed faced. “Or, alive at least. And the news didn’t say anything about Miley, so that’s good. Good for Garret, primarily. She is his future wife and all. I didn’t really have any personal attachment to the other one, but she was just a little kid. It’s sad when bad things happen to good kids.” She thought about her father putting his hands on her, and the memory made her skin crawl. “She didn’t deserve that. She could’ve grown up to be somebody, but you . . . you took that away from her.” She wasn’t sure who she was talking to, Alex or her dad. “I guess it’s true,” she whispered, “that girls marry their fathers.”
“What?” he spat.
She pushed her dad out of her mind and focused on the crisis at hand. “She didn’t deserve to die. You killed her. You really, really killed her.”
“This isn’t making me feel any better.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not in the business of making you feel better.” If anything, she was in the business of making him feel worse. “But at least you did one thing right: You ruined their wedding day.”
His mouth dropped open, and he clasped his hand over it. “They got married last night?” he gasped.
“I doubt it. Would they be driving around with their kids on their first night as newlyweds? I don’t think so. They’d be fucking like bunnies. I mean, I know that’s what I’d be doing if I were his wife.”
“Here we go again,” he mumbled.
“I think you beat ‘em to the punch. Wow, that just adds a whole new layer of tragedy onto this whole thing, doesn’t it?”
“It just keeps getting worse,” he groaned. “I’m a horrible person.”
“Yeah, you are,” she agreed readily, “have been for awhile now.”
“Look who’s talking,” he grunted.
“Don’t try to turn this around on me. This is on you. You screwed up astronomically. A kid’s dead because of you, because of your irresponsible, reckless behavior. Put yourself in her father’s shoes. How would you feel?”
“I’d feel like killing me,” he admitted flat-out.
“Then there’s your answer: suicide.” She smiled.
“Would you quit joking around?”
“Who’s joking? If you off yourself, that’ll simplify my life so much.”
He stood up and went into the kitchen, bending over the sink to splash water onto his face. “What should I do?” he asked. “Besides suicide, ‘cause I’m not doing that.”
“Well . . .” She sauntered over to him, mentally weighing the pros and cons of the few options he had. “It’s a novel idea in this town, but you could tell the truth.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Accidental vehicular homicide. You’ll tough it out behind bars for a few years, get released on good behavior . . . simple as that.”
He tore a paper towel off the rack and patted his face dry. “No, I can’t go to jail,” he argued vehemently. “I’ve heard stuff about jail from my dad. I won’t survive there.”
“So you get butt-fucked a couple times. Big deal. At least you’ll still be alive, unlike a certain infant named Macy.”
“No, you don’t get it. I won’t survive without Garret,” he explained, actual determination coating all his words. “He’s the only thing keeping me going these days.”
She found that hard to believe. “Really? Because you don’t even notice he’s alive half the time.”
“Hey, just because I’m not a very good father doesn’t mean I don’t love my son.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what it means.” Fathers who truly loved their children found a way to be good role models and good parents no matter what obstacles lay before them. Fathers like Michael.
“Isabel, I know you don’t love me, trust me, or even like me most of the time, but you know me. You know me better than anyone else, and you know I love Garret.”
She shrugged, not seeing that as a reason to help him. “Michael loved Macy, and now he has to live without her. Why shouldn’t you have to do the same?”
“Please, Isabel, just help me,” he begged. “Please, tell me what to do.”
“Oh, okay, let me call on all my prior experience of covering up a murder,” she bit out sarcastically. “Not exactly my realm of expertise.”
“Oh, please, how many times have you claimed you can do anything?”
“I can do anything,” she stated confidently. “It’s not a question of ability; it’s a question of willingness. And I’m not willing to be a part of this. Unless . . .” She trailed off, an idea occurring to her.
“What?”
“I could tell Michael.” Her heart pitter-pattered excitedly within the confines of her chest. “I could tell him it was you. Oh my god, he’d be eternally grateful. I’d be like a hero in his eyes, sacrificing my family for what little is left of his.”
“Oh, give it up!” Alex shouted. “That’s never gonna happen. He’s always gonna see you as a bitch, as a lying, cheating, manipulative bitch who’s obsessed with him even though he’s in love with someone else.”
“You mean kinda like how you’re obsessed with me?” She grinned deviously, tilting her head to the side and twisting strands of her hair around her finger flirtatiously.
“Yes. No! Dammit, Isabel!”
She laughed. “Silly rabbit. Tricks are for kids.”
“When are you gonna realize I’m the only one who wants you? Without me, you have no one.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’m better off on my own.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.” She hadn’t actually gotten to be on her own for years now. It might be . . . refreshing. “I have nothing to gain by keeping you around anymore, Alex.”
“But you have something to lose if you rat me out,” he countered.
“Really? And what’s that?”
“Michael.”
She made a face, not following his path of warped logic. “You just said--”
“He doesn’t love you. We all know that. But right now, he doesn’t quite hate you, either. But if you tell him what you know, he will hate you. He’ll hate you more than you can possibly imagine.”
She knew she shouldn’t even entertain the idea, but she wanted to see where he was going with this. “Why? It’s not my fault. I wasn’t even in the car.”
“Sure you were,” he argued. “I was driving, and you were in my head, so in one way or another, you were there. You were all I could think about, Isabel. You make me so angry.” He clenched and unclenched his hands, slamming one fist against the wall. “That girl died because I was driving drunk, but I was driving drunk because of you. Because you make me so crazy.”
She shook her head adamantly. “No. No, don’t you dare try to blame this on me! I didn’t have anything to do with it!”
“You had everything to do with it!” he roared. “You’re the reason for everything I do! Everything! Good, bad . . .” He trailed off and lowered his voice. “You’re the reason.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, swallowing the lump in her throat. Don’t even listen, she told herself. She’d done this same thing countless times before, planted seeds of doubt in people’s minds.
“Michael’s down one daughter,” Alex said. “He’s gonna be lookin’ to blame everyone he can; so he’ll blame me . . .” He pointed to himself, then pointed at her. “And he’ll blame you.”
Don’t listen, she thought again, but it was hard not to. Perhaps Alex wasn’t planting a seed of doubt so much as he was nurturing a seed that was already there.
“So go ahead and tell him,” he said. “If you’re that confident in whatever remnants of a relationship you and he have . . . go for it.”
Alex wasn’t smart by any means . . . but he was onto something. Michael was a fiercely loyal father. He wouldn’t even look at her again if he knew she was in any way connected to his daughter’s death, let alone talk to her or touch her or give her any hope of being with him again. So maybe it was best for him to just not know. Then he would be grieving for such a long time, and she could comfort him.
“I’ll get rid of your car for you,” she offered, “but nothing else. If Michael asks me what I know, I’m telling him everything.” She wasn’t sure if she meant that or not, but it was good for Alex to believe it. He was more manageable when he was living in fear.
TBC . . .
-April
LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
-
April
- Roswell Fanatic
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Part 89
I think every week I'm pushing more and more readers away with the angstiness of this. I'm sorry. I know some people got hooked and weren't prepared for this story to venture into this territory. I just had to push myself as an author with this one.
Novy:
simplyshiny:
Trixie:
Thank you for the feedback! At this point, trust me, it REALLY is as appreciated as ever because I had my doubts that anyone would still be reading.
Part 89
It was a bit unnerving to drive around in a car that had caused the complete destruction of a family, so Isabel took back roads to her destination to avoid being seen by any cops. It felt weird to be going to Billy’s house, even though he didn’t live there anymore. So many memories there. So many kinky, sexy memories.
She pulled up out front and chimed, “Oh, Lorenzo!” as she got out of the car.
He came to the door a moment later, holding what looked like a Teacup Chihuahua in his hand. “Isabel!”
She motioned to the dog. “New pet?”
“Yeah. Cute, ain’t he?” He set the dog down on the ground and hooked him up to a leash tied to the front porch. “Go pee, Paco.”
“Paco?” she echoed.
“Cool name, huh?”
She laughed. Lorenzo was really quite endearing for a loser drug addict.
“What’s up?” he said, eyeing her up and down. “Haven’t seen you in awhile.”
“I know, I’ve been . . . busy.”
“Yeah? How you been?”
She made a face, fairly certain she’d just answered that question. “Busy.”
“Besides that.”
“Oh, you know . . . bored.” She definitely wasn’t bored now, though. Now, she would’ve liked to have been bored instead of having to deal with all this.
“You talk to Billy lately?” he asked.
“No, but I heard he got a record deal.”
“First single’s hittin’ the radio sometime this month. I’m gonna road-trip to L.A. to see him. Wanna come?”
The thought of seeing Billy again . . . that wasn’t something she could think about. “Oh, I’d better not,” she declined politely. “Things are starting to pick up around here.”
“Suit yourself.” He lifted Paco up as he tried to pee on what looked to be a pathetic attempt of a snowman and moved him over beside a bush instead.
She cleared her throat, cutting to the chase. “Hey, listen, do you remember a few months ago when Billy got into that fender-bender, drove off, chucked his truck so he wouldn’t get caught and have to pay for that other driver’s neck surgery or whatever?”
“Uh, faintly. Why?”
“I was just trying to remember who he sold his truck to.”
“He didn’t sell it,” Lorenzo informed her. “He gave it away.”
“To who?”
“Little Nicky. Friend of mine. I don’t think you’ve ever met him. He kinda specializes in getting rid of . . . problematic cars, if you catch my drift. You know, cars that could land you behind bars if the cops ever get a good look at ‘em.”
She nodded. “Got it.”
“He takes ‘em free of charge if you’re in a bind, drives ‘em down to Paraguay--”
“Paraguay?” she interrupted. “The country?”
“Yeah, no joke, that’s where his main connection’s at. Anyway, he meets up with his dealer, trades in the cars for, like, the most mind-blowing drugs imaginable. And then he just keeps doin’ it again.”
“So somebody could just unload a car that ties them to some sort of . . . oh, I don’t know, accident or crime, and this Little Nicky guy would just . . . take care of it? For the sake of getting high?”
Lorenzo chuckled. “Pretty much. He’ll even split the drugs with you if he’s feelin’ generous. I’ve utilized his business a couple times. This one time . . .” He looked around as if he were afraid someone would overhear them, then bent down and covered Paco’s ears. “I think I ran over somebody’s dog, so I . . . well, anyway, he took care of it. Never had any problems, never saw the car again.”
“Sounds fantastic,” she decided. “Where could I find him?”
“He lives right on up the street.”
She raised a suspicious eyebrow. How was it possible to run such a lucrative, yet illegal operation right out in plain sight like this?
“Don’t worry, he’s very covert,” Lorenzo assured her. “I think he’s headin’ down for another batch tomorrow, so you’re timin’ it right if you wanna . . .” He trailed off and strode over to Alex’s car, tracing his hands over the hood as though it were something delicate. “You’re not gonna get rid of this, are you? It’s a thing of beauty.”
“It’s my husband’s,” she explained. “He loves it, and I kinda wanna piss him off, so . . .”
“You’re gonna get rid of his car without him knowing?”
“Something like that.” Actually, it was nothing like that, but whatever.
“Man, that’s cruel.” He chuckled. “But entertaining.”
“Well, like I said, I’m just so bored.”
“This should liven things up.”
“Hmm.” She gave Paco a little pat on the head, then said, “Well, Lorenzo, you’ve been a tremendous help. How could I repay you? Blow-job? Hand-job? Both?”
“Uh, it’s tempting, but I can’t. I got a new girlfriend now.”
“Really?” A lot could change in a month. “What’s her name?”
“Dunno,” he replied. “I just started datin’ her last night.”
“And yet you’re still turning down a blow-job? You must really like her.”
He blushed. “I do.”
She never would have imagined that he would actually make it in life, but now that he had the girlfriend, had the dog . . . it seemed like he was actually starting to settle down. If only he cut out the drugs, then he might actually be decent. “Good for you,” she said, hoping it worked out for him in ways it hadn’t worked out for her when she’d found somebody good, somebody worth living for. “Okay, then. I’ll just head up to Little Nicky’s and I’ll see you around. Don’t tell Billy I said hi.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, stepping in front of her as she tried to open the driver’s side door. “Nicky’s kind of a creep. He’d . . . well, he’d probably want more than a blow-job. Let me go with you.”
“Even better.” Being able to get rid of the car without having to perform any sexual favors was an unexpected bonus. “Thanks Lorenzo. You’re a really good friend.” And a really stupid friend, she thought. He was technically allowing himself to be an accessory to a crime here, but he wasn’t asking questions, didn’t seem to suspect a thing. Stupid friends could really come in handy sometimes.
As they drove down the street to Little Nicky’s, she got on the phone with Alex and said, “It’s done. Come pick me up near Billy’s. And try not to get into any car crashes on the way.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael pulled Maria’s blanket upward, covering her all the way to her shoulders. “You looked cold,” he said, even though she couldn’t hear him. “Or maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re warm.” He folded the blanket back down. “I don’t know . . .” He just wanted her to be comfortable, because when she woke up, she sure as hell wouldn’t be.
He poked his head out into the hallway and saw Maria’s doctor standing outside another patient’s room, discussing charts with a nurse. “Doctor?” he called.
“Mr. Guerin.” Dr. Port gave the chart to his nurse and approached Michael, smiling as though there were actually something to smile about. “What can I do for you?”
“I was just wondering if it’s normal for her to still be out like this,” he said, motioning towards Maria. The longer she lay there with her eyes closed, the more he feared she wouldn’t open them again.
“With the amount of blood loss she suffered, yes, it’s perfectly normal,” the doctor assured him.
“Well, when’s she gonna wake up?”
“Whenever she’s ready. Don’t worry, her vital signs aren’t indicative of a coma. Just give her time.” Dr. Port gave him a pat on the back and headed back down the hall, entering the room of the patient whose charts he’d just been looking over. He was a good doctor, and Michael knew he should just trust him, but he was going to feel a lot better when Maria came to again.
“Michael.”
He spun around to find Tess—a blonde Tess—and Kyle coming towards him.
“Hey, does she look cold to you?” he asked them, returning to Maria’s side. He pulled the blanket up over her torso again. “I wasn’t sure.”
“Michael, do you know Detective Rawley?” Tess asked.
“Yeah, he’s leading the investigation. See, I think she looks cold. Is it just me?” They didn’t answer him, so he pulled the blanket back down again. He wished she could communicate with him.
“We just got done answering a lot of questions for him,” Kyle went on.
“About last night?”
“No,” Tess said, looking worried, “about you, actually.”
Michael made a face, confused. “Me? But I’m fine.”
Kyle sighed. “He’s starting to think the accident wasn’t an accident.”
Not an accident? Michael couldn’t even process that thought. “What? Did he say that?”
“Not in those exact words,” Kyle admitted, “but he was dropping lots of little hints.”
“Lots of them,” Tess agreed emphatically. “He said he thinks it’s really weird that you got thrown from the car and aren’t even hurt.”
Michael flapped his arms, thrown for a loop by all this. “Well, I don’t know why I wasn’t hurt! I wish I had been.” A broken bone, a concussion, anything . . . him in Macy’s place . . . he wished it were so. “This is bullshit!”
“Shh,” Kyle hissed, motioning towards Maria.
But he couldn’t keep his voice down, not when it was sinking in that the very detective who was supposed to be helping him solve his daughter’s death was stupidly suspecting he’d played a willing role in it. “He thinks I crashed on purpose? I would never do that! I would never hurt Macy.”
“We tried telling him that, but . . .” Tess trailed off and shrugged.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered furiously. “As if I don’t have enough to deal with already, now the guy who’s supposed to be solving my daughter’s death is wasting time on me while the real person who did this gets away with it.” He curled his hand into a fist and hit the wall. “Dammit!”
“I know, it’s crazy,” Kyle agreed, “but as wrong as he is, he did get us thinking about something.”
“What?”
Kyle looked to Tess, and she slumped her shoulders as though she didn’t even want to pile any more onto him. “It was your wedding night, Michael,” she said reluctantly. “What if . . .” She sighed. “What if somebody didn’t want you to get married?”
Michael thought about it, as disturbing as it was to think that anything about this accident was non-accidental. When she put it like that, though . . . there was only one person that came to mind.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“You really think that guy was reliable?”
Isabel turned the corner onto their street, happy to be back in her own car and not driving around inside a murder weapon. “Who, Little Nicky? Yeah.”
Alex glanced in the backseat to make sure Garret was still sleeping, then mumbled sarcastically, “Because there’s no one more reliable than an addict.”
“That’s actually a true statement. You can always rely on an addict to do whatever he has to do to get his fix.” She smirked. “You proved that last night.”
“Don’t even joke about that.”
“Besides, Lorenzo wouldn’t steer me wrong.”
“Huh, you sleep with him, too?”
She didn’t say anything, knowing she wouldn’t need to.
He shook his head in disgust. “Maybe I should get myself tested.”
“Oh, please, you’re one to talk. I seem to recall a certain tryst with Caroline that would’ve resulted in a lovechild had her body not decided to . . . take care of it.”
“I don’t even wanna talk about that right now,” he grumbled. “I got enough on my mind.”
She rolled her eyes at his continued self-pity. He thought his life was bad? Well, he was the one who made it that way, even though she helped.
“It’s over now, right?” he asked hopefully. “The car was the only physical evidence tying me to the wreck, and it’s gone so . . . I’m home-free?”
She pressed down lightly on the brake pedal, her anxiety increasing as she approached their house. “I wouldn’t say that.” There was a police vehicle parked out front, and two cops were standing at the door, knocking.
“Oh, shit,” Alex swore, practically jumping out of his seat. “Shit, this is it. Isabel, you have to help me.”
“Just stay calm, act like you have nothing to hide,” she coached him, pulling up to the curb. The police officers turned to face them, and she prepared herself to put her acting chops to good use as she got out of the car. “Hello?” she said, making sure the greeting had the right amount of inquiry and confusion attached to it.
“Mrs. Whitman?”
“Evans-Whitman, yes.” She reached into the backseat and took Garret out of his car seat, rubbing his back while he continued sleeping. “What’s going on?”
“I’m Detective Rawley. This is my partner Detective Hawkins. We’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s okay with you.”
“Me? You’d like to ask me questions?” She shot Alex a look. He wasn’t trying to pin this on her, was he? No, he looked just as confused as she was. She handed Garret off to him and asked the detective, “Questions about what?”
“About an accident that occurred last night,” Detective Rawley replied. “Do you have the time?”
An accident. They were here about what had happened to Michael and . . . the rest of them. “Well, I guess I’ll make the time,” she said, not seeing that she really had a choice.
“I’ll just take Garret inside,” Alex said, shooting her a pleading look the detectives couldn’t see.
Isabel wasn’t sure whether they were going to ask her questions about Alex or questions about herself, so she tried to project a nurturing mother vibe right away. “Our son,” she said, staring at him adoringly as Alex carried him inside. “He’ll be four soon. Isn’t he precious?”
“Sure is,” the detective agreed without even taking a look at him. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Whitman. This shouldn’t take long.”
“No problem.” She watched a bit apprehensively as the other detective made is way towards her car and started taking pictures of it, completely oblivious to the fact that Alex's car had been the cause, not hers. “Do you mind telling me exactly what this is about, though?” she asked. “I’m a little lost.” And that was no lie. Why were they so interested in talking to her? They were detectives. Weren’t they detecting something a little off about Alex?
“Last night, there as an accident on Highway 2 involving a man and his family,” the detective said in a monotone voice, “one I’m told you’re acquainted with.”
“Oh, you mean . . . my ex-boyfriend Michael? And his family.” She nodded. “Yeah, I just heard about it on the news. It’s so awful. He’s okay, though, right? They made it sound like he’s okay.”
“He’s fine.”
“But they said he lost his daughter. Is that . . . is that really true?”
“I’m afraid so.”
It wasn’t hard to project sympathy, because she really did feel sympathetic towards him. “Oh god. That’s so . . . I mean, I can only imagine if something like that ever happened to my son . . .”
Detective Rawley took out a notepad and began to jot some things down, getting her back on track. “You said Michael’s your ex-boyfriend?”
“Yeah. We dated for two years back in college.”
“And when did you break up?”
“Summer of 2008.”
“Why?”
She swallowed her pride and confessed the truth. “I cheated on him.” The statement left a bitter, self-loathing taste in her mouth. “With the guy I’m married to now.”
Detective Rawley barely gave her time to answer one question before he asked another. “What’s the status of your relationship with Mr. Guerin these days?”
“Relationship?” she echoed. “Well . . . we’re not really friends, but we’re not arch enemies, either. Our kids are friends, so we’re . . . cordial, I guess you could say.”
“Are you still in love with him?”
She shifted uncomfortably, sensing where this was going. He thought she might have done this. “I’m sorry, but what does any of this have to do with that car crash?” she asked, pretending to act offended that he’d asked her such a personal question.
“Mrs. Whitman, I’ve spoken to several people who claim that your behavior towards Michael has become a bit . . . erratic and obsessive over the years. I also have a copy of a restraining order Michael and his girlfriend utilized against you last fall. What do you have to say about that?”
She couldn’t deny that it existed, so she pretended to be ashamed of it. “That . . . is something I’m not proud of. I felt like my marriage was falling apart, and I acted out.”
“How so?”
“Mainly just by lusting after Michael, trying to insert myself back into his life by urging our kids to be friends. Erratic behavior? Sure. Obsessive?” She shook her head. “No. The truth is, I still love the guy and I regret ever cheating on him. But I’m not some Fatal Attraction chick if that’s what you’re thinking. I know I don’t stand a chance with him. In fact, lately, I’ve been trying to move on. My husband and I have been trying to put our marriage back together. We just wanna be good parents, you know?”
“I understand. What’s your marriage like?”
Horrible, she thought. Completely and utterly horrible. “Oh, you know . . . good days, bad days,” she lied through her teeth. “We haven’t always gotten along, but we’re trying. It took almost getting a divorce to realize we wanted to make this work.”
“And when did you decide to reconcile?”
She shrugged. “About a month ago.”
“I see.” He jotted that down on his little notepad and said, “Alright, just a few more questions. Where were you last night?”
Now they were cutting to the chase. “I was at work,” she answered calmly, barely able to fathom that this guy was incompetent enough to let the real criminal slip right under his nose.
“Where do you work?”
“Um . . . Cockadoodle-Doo.”
He gave her a confused look.
“It’s an adult video store,” she explained, shocked that a had-to-be bachelor like him didn’t regularly visit the place. “Yeah, it’s a trip.”
“How long were you there?”
“Well, from 3:00 to 11:00 according to my timesheet, but I had to close up after that and . . .” She laughed a little, hoping it looked like she was blushing. “This is really embarrassing, but my husband and I stayed after hours and . . . celebrated the new year.”
He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Had sex,” she clarified. “In the store.”
“And when did you leave?”
“Well, he’s not exactly a marathon man, so it was probably like 11:20.” She didn’t feel too nervous answering these questions. Most of what she was saying was true.
“Where’d you go after that?” the detective asked.
“We came straight home,” she told him, including Alex in that only because she’d already gone through the effort of getting rid of his car. “To have more sex.”
“Did you go anywhere else?”
She shook her head. “No, we were here all night. My brother was watching Garret so . . . we actually had a night alone. It was good for us.”
“Okay. I apologize, ma’am, I know these questions are a little invasive . . .”
“No, I understand, you’re just doing your job.” She smiled. “Is there anything else?”
“I don’t think so. Could you just have your husband come out for a minute?”
“Sure,” she answered without hesitation, although now her stomach started to churn. Alex wasn’t as good at deception as she was. She went up to the front door, peeked inside, and called as uber-sweetly as she could, “Honey? Could you come outside for a minute?”
Alex sent her a panicked look and headed for the door.
“Relax,” she whispered. “We came home and had sex last night, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” She accompanied him outside and introduced him to the detective. “This is my husband, Alex.”
“Hi,” Alex said, extending his hand. “I’m . . . her husband.”
“Detective Rawley.” They shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to . . . meet you.”
The detective kept his notepad out, but his demeanor seemed to have shifted noticeably, and he no longer appeared so interested in the questioning. “Alex, can you tell me your whereabouts last night from 11:00 to 12:00?”
He’s probably just trying to verify my story, Isabel realized. There was nothing to worry about as long as Alex gave all the same answers she had.
“Well, at 11:00, I was . . . I was with her at the video store,” he said. “We were, uh . . .”
“I know, it’s embarrassing,” she squealed, hinting that it was okay to reveal the sex stuff.
“We, uh . . . we kinda got it on in the store after she closed up.”
Got it on? Isabel thought. Maybe he had.
“What time did you leave?” the detective asked.
“Oh, about 11:15, 11:20. We came home and . . . kinda just kept going. It was a great New Year’s.”
“Oh, stop,” she said, playfully hitting him in the arm.
“What? It was.”
“Well . . . I know.” It occurred to her that they probably seemed like a pretty happily married couple to the outside observer. They were putting on a fairly convincing and cohesive act.
“Well, I think that’s all I need from the two of you,” Detective Rawley decided.
“Okay,” Isabel said. “I hope we could help, or . . . I don’t know, I just hope Michael and his family are okay.”
“Me, too,” Alex added.
The detective nodded and motioned for his partner to head to the squad car. “You two have a nice day.”
“You, too,” they both returned in unison. They waited and watched as he drove off, and then Alex practically fell down where he stood. “Shit, that was a close call.”
“For me,” she said. “He didn’t even suspect you. He thinks I might’ve crashed into them on purpose. Can you believe that?”
“Yeah.” Alex headed back inside, holding the door open for her. “Thank you.”
She grunted. “Whatever.” It wasn’t that hard to fool somebody, not even if that somebody was a cop.
“No, not whatever. You’re really in it now, Isabel,” he pointed out. “Not only did you help dispose of the car, which technically makes you an accessory to the crime, but now you lied to a cop. We both did. So if we go down, we go down together.”
“We won’t,” she assured him. “We just have to stick to our stories and not turn on each other and we’ll be fine.” It was the not turning on him that might be kind of hard, but she could manage.
“Right,” he said. “I mean, the only snag we might hit is if they found out I went to the bar. But . . .” He started to smile. “They won’t because they’re not even looking into me.”
“They’re looking into me, but there’s nothing to find.”
“So this is gonna work.”
She nodded. It was gonna work. Poor, Michael, though. He had to have been so torn up by all this, and when the police turned up no suspects, he was going to have no resolution. He was going to be very sad for a very long time.
Somebody would have to make him feel better.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael shook his head as Detective Rawley showed him photos of Isabel’s car. “Nope. Not it. I knew it wasn’t her car.” He’d tried to tell him that earlier, but, as usual, the detective didn’t listen to him.
“She’s got an alibi, too. She was with her husband.”
Michael rubbed his forehead, wondering if this was what a migraine felt like. “I knew Isabel didn’t do this.”
“Then why did you-”
“Because you keep pressuring me to think of somebody who might’ve been out to get my family, and she’s the only person I could think of,” he explained hurriedly. “She’s crazy but she’s not that crazy. See, it was an accident, just like I’ve been saying this whole time.”
“I just like to look at things from all angles,” the detective reiterated, sounding somewhat irked with Michael’s attitude, but Michael didn’t care.
“Well, how about looking at things from the right angle for a change?” he bellowed, fed up with the lack of progress that was being made. “You’re wasting time trying to make this into some premeditated murder, and you’re definitely wasting time if you’re investigating me. Everyone knows I’d never do this on purpose. And meanwhile, the real culprit’s just going on living his life, nowhere close to being found as long as you’re working the case.”
“Mr. Guerin, I’m doing my best with what little information I have. But if I don’t get any new information soon . . . I may as well be looking for a needle in a haystack.”
Michael wasn’t about to take it easy on him, not in these circumstances. “Isn’t that your job, though? You’re a detective. You’re supposed to be able to detect the answer even when you don’t have a lot to go on.”
“It’s a skeletal case at best. Now I wanna find the other driver as much as you do, but--”
“No, you don’t,” Michael cut in forcefully. “I lost children last night. The one daughter I have left can’t feel her legs, and I’m pretty sure the woman I love is gonna sink into a depression over this. So you may wanna solve this case, but you do not wanna find the other driver as much as I do.”
Detective Rawley took a step back and nodded in acknowledgment of that fact. “I understand.”
“You don’t understand,” he muttered. “You can’t.” The only person who could understand what he was going through right now still hadn’t woken up yet, but when she did . . . she was going to feel like she was living in a whole new world. A worse one.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex sat on his front porch, his head in his hands. The initial anxiety and preoccupation of covering up what he’d done had worn off now, and the guilt was setting in harder than it ever had before. Michael and Maria were really good people, really good parents, and he’d gone and taken away one of their kids. Forever. There was no way he could ever fix this, no way they would ever get past it. Someone had been alive and wasn’t anymore. For all anyone knew, that little girl of theirs could have grown up to become president or stop global warming or do something else really great with her life; but no one would ever know what she would have amounted to, all because of his stupid, careless, recklessness. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind he was going to hell for this, and hell was now what he deserved.
“Rough New Year’s?”
He looked up when Max got out of his car and approached him. “What? No. It was fine,” he lied unconvincingly.
“You look tired.”
He felt the bags under his eyes and the stubble on his chin. “Well, you know, your sister wears me out.”
“Gross.” Max sat down beside him and groaned like an old man. “I had fun with Garret last night.”
“Yeah, I heard you two did fireworks.” Thank God Garret hadn’t been in the car with him.
“Man, he’s such a good kid,” Max said. “Nothin’ like me at his age. I was trouble. Big surprise, huh?”
“Right.” It suddenly dawned on Alex that, even though he was sitting next to his known-rapist brother-in-law, Max was a better person than him. Way better. “I was never trouble,” he recalled. “Everybody was pretty much always sure I’d grow up to do something great.” He thought about what he’d done last night and muttered, “Boy, were they wrong.”
“Well, your son’s the ‘something great,’” Max said. “At least you have him to be proud of. That’s more than I’ve got.”
Alex shook his head. That wasn’t true. At the end of the day, Max could say he helped Tiffany, saved her, got her out of a situation that could have ended her. Alex couldn’t even say he’d helped anyone. He hadn’t even stopped to help. What was wrong with him?
“It’s hard to be proud of anything when I have so many regrets,” he admitted.
Max reached into his coat pocket, took out a flask, and raised it up. “To regret,” he toasted. “Oh, wait, I forgot, you’re not drinking anymore. Is that like a permanent sobriety thing or what?”
Alex shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, I haven’t touched a drink for a month now,” he lied, wishing he’d had the willpower to stick to it. But Isabel just made him so damn crazy he couldn’t resist. But now he’d be able to. There was no way he’d drink anything ever again. He’d used alcohol as a crutch for too long, and it had gotten out of control, about as far out of control as it possibly could.
“Good for you, man,” Max said, taking a drink for himself. He looked around, frowning, and then asked, “Hey, where’s your car?”
“Oh, I . . . got rid of it,” he answered, thinking quickly. “Sold it to a guy. It just had so many miles on it, I had a feeling it wouldn’t last much longer anymore.”
“Nothing lasts forever,” Max said, taking another drink.
“Nope,” Alex agreed, although there was one thing that had to last forever: the conspiracy that he and Isabel were weaving. For the rest of his life, he’d have to wake up knowing what he’d done, hating himself for it, letting the truth eat away at him until there was nothing left. Maybe it wasn’t justice, but it was torture, and torture was something he deserved.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The closer it got to midnight, the more tightly Michael held Maria’s hand. She was still asleep, but he felt more awake than ever, even though his body was begging with him to get some rest. He watched the second hand on the clock on the wall above her bed tick past the nine, past the ten, past the eleven, and eventually past the twelve. He couldn’t believe it had only been twenty-four hours since the accident. It felt more like twenty-four years. How could it only have been one day? He’d felt more pain, anger, and disgust in that one day than he had in twenty-five years of life combined. He was trying to put on a front for his family and be strong, but he felt like he was dying inside. If one single day had been so hard, how was he supposed to get through all the days to come?
He was about to get up and head to the bathroom when he felt Maria’s hand twitch in his. He looked down at her curiously and saw her eyelids fluttering.
“Maria?” He sat back down, watching as she began to stir. “Maria?”
She opened her eyes slowly, squinting against the brightness.
“Hey.” He tried to smile and reached towards the light switch with his free hand to dim the light. “Hey, baby, you’re awake.” It was a relief to see her eyes open again, to see her looking around instead of just lying there like a . . . corpse; but at the same time, a new worry filled him, the dread of having to tell her what had happened.
She opened her mouth as though she wanted to say something, but no words came out.
“What is it?” he asked.
She slipped her hand out of his and touched her throat.
“Water?” he guessed.
She nodded.
He grabbed a full glass off the nightstand and brought it up to her lips for her, helping her tilt her head back and drink. “There you go,” he said, being careful not to spill all over her. When she seemed to have had her fill, he set the glass back down and waited for her to say something. Anything. He just wanted to hear her voice. He had this crazy idea that everything would be better when she just said his name.
“Michael?”
But it wasn’t. If anything, everything felt worse, only because he could hear the confusion and the fear in her words. She didn’t understand what was happening, but she would. And when she did . . .
She looked around the room, seeming to realize that she was in the hospital, and then gazed up at him. “Are they okay?”
Of course the kids would be the first thing on her mind. He knew she deserved to know the truth, but he didn’t even know how to tell her. “Maybe I should let the doctors know you woke up,” he said, rising to his feet.
“No.” She reached out and grazed the back of his hand with her fingertips. “Where are they?”
Slowly, he sat back down. She needed answers, and he couldn’t let her hear them from anyone else. As difficult as it was, he had to do this. “Maria . . .”
“I remember,” she managed to squeak out, “it was bad. It was . . .” She tried to sit up farther but grimaced and held her hand to her stomach as she did so.
“Just take it easy, okay?” he said, placing an extra pillow behind her head so that she wasn’t lying quite as flat. “Don’t try to do too much. You got hurt last night. You fractured your arm, see?” He tapped his knuckles against the cast on her left arm. “And you . . .” He allowed himself to stare at her stomach, knowing that if they were to peel back the blankets and look underneath the hospital gown, they’d see a line of stitches there. “You got cut.”
“Why aren’t they here?” she asked a bit more forcefully. “Michael, please, just . . .” She stared at him with a pleading look in her eyes.
He swallowed hard, clasping her hand in both of his again. “Miley’s in a room down the hall,” he revealed. “She already woke up. She’s asleep now. She’s gonna be fine.” He didn’t have it in him to tell her about the paralysis yet.
“What about Macy?”
There is no more Macy. The thought chilled him to the bone, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that to her.
“Is she okay?”
He felt his bottom lip tremble and the tears well up in his eyes. “No.”
She frowned, still not seeming to grasp just how okay she wasn’t. “But you . . . you saved her, right? She’s hurt, but you . . . you saved her.” She sounded as though she were trying to convince herself into believing that was true. “I remember, we were stuck, but you got me out. And you got her out, too.”
He wished he had. He wished he could just nod and say he had. “Maria . . .”
“No, it’s okay, I remember.” She smiled. “I . . .” But slowly, that smile faded away and morphed into a horrified look of astonishment as more of the memories seemed to come back to her. She flinched, and he had a feeling she’d just remembered the explosion.
“I couldn’t get her,” he choked out. “I tried.”
She shook her head, determined not to believe him. “No.”
“I don’t even know if she was still . . .”
“No.”
“I think she was already--”
“No!” she screamed. “Stop. Please stop.”
“She’s dead, Maria.” There. Just like that. The word left him feeling hollow inside. Dead. Dead.
“She’s not,” she argued. “She can’t be. You’re lying, or . . . or this is some kind of really sick joke, because she’s not . . .” She couldn’t even say the word. “No, she’s just . . . she’s just a little girl. She can’t . . .” Her entire body stared to shake. “Michael!”
He crawled into bed beside her and gathered her up in his arms as she finally accepted the truth and started to cry. She let out tortured sobs against his chest as he held her close, pushing her hair away from her face and rubbing her shoulder to try to soothe her.
“No!” she wailed, heaving with every breath.
He rested his head atop hers and whispered, “You lost the baby, too.”
She froze and stopped crying.
“You lost the baby,” he repeated, hating that he had to pile all this on her.
After a few seconds of shocked silence, she started crying again, curling up against him, her cast getting in the way of them getting as close as they could have otherwise.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m so sorry.”
“No!” she cried again, practically convulsing beside him. “Macy . . .”
He tried his best to cry quietly as he held her, but he didn’t do a very good job.
TBC . . .
-April
Novy:
I know it's awful. Both Max and Billy have gotten away with their crimes, and now it appears that Alex is going to get away with his. And what he did, what he's causing Michael and Maria to go through, is just so horrific that, even as I'm writing it, I can't really imagine just how devastating it would be. So there definitely needs to be justice . . . although I don't think there is such a thing for this.No April! My only saving grace of this whole thing was that Isabel would have gotten so mad that she would send Alex to jail right away when she found out. Now there will be no justice for this whole mess. I really hope you have something better planned for making Alex receive some justice and not let him get away with it all like Billy did.
simplyshiny:
Oh, yeah. Isabel is the worst person to find out what Alex did, because all it does it drive her further out of her mind.And the way she just threw Macy out as "the other one" and how Miley is Garrett's "future wife" she stil has a lot of crazy in her.
It was probably one of the hardest parts to write.I am terrified to read how Maria reacts to Macy's death. Its gonna be awful
Trixie:
I think it's safe to say you can definitely expect him to be feeling survivor's guilt. He and Maria are both going to be feeling . . . so much. Just so much.The pain that Michael and his family feels is heartbreaking, because it was supposed to be a good day. I'm afraid where this will take Michael.
Good.I'm feeling hopeful for Kyle and Tess.
Thank you for the feedback! At this point, trust me, it REALLY is as appreciated as ever because I had my doubts that anyone would still be reading.
Part 89
It was a bit unnerving to drive around in a car that had caused the complete destruction of a family, so Isabel took back roads to her destination to avoid being seen by any cops. It felt weird to be going to Billy’s house, even though he didn’t live there anymore. So many memories there. So many kinky, sexy memories.
She pulled up out front and chimed, “Oh, Lorenzo!” as she got out of the car.
He came to the door a moment later, holding what looked like a Teacup Chihuahua in his hand. “Isabel!”
She motioned to the dog. “New pet?”
“Yeah. Cute, ain’t he?” He set the dog down on the ground and hooked him up to a leash tied to the front porch. “Go pee, Paco.”
“Paco?” she echoed.
“Cool name, huh?”
She laughed. Lorenzo was really quite endearing for a loser drug addict.
“What’s up?” he said, eyeing her up and down. “Haven’t seen you in awhile.”
“I know, I’ve been . . . busy.”
“Yeah? How you been?”
She made a face, fairly certain she’d just answered that question. “Busy.”
“Besides that.”
“Oh, you know . . . bored.” She definitely wasn’t bored now, though. Now, she would’ve liked to have been bored instead of having to deal with all this.
“You talk to Billy lately?” he asked.
“No, but I heard he got a record deal.”
“First single’s hittin’ the radio sometime this month. I’m gonna road-trip to L.A. to see him. Wanna come?”
The thought of seeing Billy again . . . that wasn’t something she could think about. “Oh, I’d better not,” she declined politely. “Things are starting to pick up around here.”
“Suit yourself.” He lifted Paco up as he tried to pee on what looked to be a pathetic attempt of a snowman and moved him over beside a bush instead.
She cleared her throat, cutting to the chase. “Hey, listen, do you remember a few months ago when Billy got into that fender-bender, drove off, chucked his truck so he wouldn’t get caught and have to pay for that other driver’s neck surgery or whatever?”
“Uh, faintly. Why?”
“I was just trying to remember who he sold his truck to.”
“He didn’t sell it,” Lorenzo informed her. “He gave it away.”
“To who?”
“Little Nicky. Friend of mine. I don’t think you’ve ever met him. He kinda specializes in getting rid of . . . problematic cars, if you catch my drift. You know, cars that could land you behind bars if the cops ever get a good look at ‘em.”
She nodded. “Got it.”
“He takes ‘em free of charge if you’re in a bind, drives ‘em down to Paraguay--”
“Paraguay?” she interrupted. “The country?”
“Yeah, no joke, that’s where his main connection’s at. Anyway, he meets up with his dealer, trades in the cars for, like, the most mind-blowing drugs imaginable. And then he just keeps doin’ it again.”
“So somebody could just unload a car that ties them to some sort of . . . oh, I don’t know, accident or crime, and this Little Nicky guy would just . . . take care of it? For the sake of getting high?”
Lorenzo chuckled. “Pretty much. He’ll even split the drugs with you if he’s feelin’ generous. I’ve utilized his business a couple times. This one time . . .” He looked around as if he were afraid someone would overhear them, then bent down and covered Paco’s ears. “I think I ran over somebody’s dog, so I . . . well, anyway, he took care of it. Never had any problems, never saw the car again.”
“Sounds fantastic,” she decided. “Where could I find him?”
“He lives right on up the street.”
She raised a suspicious eyebrow. How was it possible to run such a lucrative, yet illegal operation right out in plain sight like this?
“Don’t worry, he’s very covert,” Lorenzo assured her. “I think he’s headin’ down for another batch tomorrow, so you’re timin’ it right if you wanna . . .” He trailed off and strode over to Alex’s car, tracing his hands over the hood as though it were something delicate. “You’re not gonna get rid of this, are you? It’s a thing of beauty.”
“It’s my husband’s,” she explained. “He loves it, and I kinda wanna piss him off, so . . .”
“You’re gonna get rid of his car without him knowing?”
“Something like that.” Actually, it was nothing like that, but whatever.
“Man, that’s cruel.” He chuckled. “But entertaining.”
“Well, like I said, I’m just so bored.”
“This should liven things up.”
“Hmm.” She gave Paco a little pat on the head, then said, “Well, Lorenzo, you’ve been a tremendous help. How could I repay you? Blow-job? Hand-job? Both?”
“Uh, it’s tempting, but I can’t. I got a new girlfriend now.”
“Really?” A lot could change in a month. “What’s her name?”
“Dunno,” he replied. “I just started datin’ her last night.”
“And yet you’re still turning down a blow-job? You must really like her.”
He blushed. “I do.”
She never would have imagined that he would actually make it in life, but now that he had the girlfriend, had the dog . . . it seemed like he was actually starting to settle down. If only he cut out the drugs, then he might actually be decent. “Good for you,” she said, hoping it worked out for him in ways it hadn’t worked out for her when she’d found somebody good, somebody worth living for. “Okay, then. I’ll just head up to Little Nicky’s and I’ll see you around. Don’t tell Billy I said hi.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, stepping in front of her as she tried to open the driver’s side door. “Nicky’s kind of a creep. He’d . . . well, he’d probably want more than a blow-job. Let me go with you.”
“Even better.” Being able to get rid of the car without having to perform any sexual favors was an unexpected bonus. “Thanks Lorenzo. You’re a really good friend.” And a really stupid friend, she thought. He was technically allowing himself to be an accessory to a crime here, but he wasn’t asking questions, didn’t seem to suspect a thing. Stupid friends could really come in handy sometimes.
As they drove down the street to Little Nicky’s, she got on the phone with Alex and said, “It’s done. Come pick me up near Billy’s. And try not to get into any car crashes on the way.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael pulled Maria’s blanket upward, covering her all the way to her shoulders. “You looked cold,” he said, even though she couldn’t hear him. “Or maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re warm.” He folded the blanket back down. “I don’t know . . .” He just wanted her to be comfortable, because when she woke up, she sure as hell wouldn’t be.
He poked his head out into the hallway and saw Maria’s doctor standing outside another patient’s room, discussing charts with a nurse. “Doctor?” he called.
“Mr. Guerin.” Dr. Port gave the chart to his nurse and approached Michael, smiling as though there were actually something to smile about. “What can I do for you?”
“I was just wondering if it’s normal for her to still be out like this,” he said, motioning towards Maria. The longer she lay there with her eyes closed, the more he feared she wouldn’t open them again.
“With the amount of blood loss she suffered, yes, it’s perfectly normal,” the doctor assured him.
“Well, when’s she gonna wake up?”
“Whenever she’s ready. Don’t worry, her vital signs aren’t indicative of a coma. Just give her time.” Dr. Port gave him a pat on the back and headed back down the hall, entering the room of the patient whose charts he’d just been looking over. He was a good doctor, and Michael knew he should just trust him, but he was going to feel a lot better when Maria came to again.
“Michael.”
He spun around to find Tess—a blonde Tess—and Kyle coming towards him.
“Hey, does she look cold to you?” he asked them, returning to Maria’s side. He pulled the blanket up over her torso again. “I wasn’t sure.”
“Michael, do you know Detective Rawley?” Tess asked.
“Yeah, he’s leading the investigation. See, I think she looks cold. Is it just me?” They didn’t answer him, so he pulled the blanket back down again. He wished she could communicate with him.
“We just got done answering a lot of questions for him,” Kyle went on.
“About last night?”
“No,” Tess said, looking worried, “about you, actually.”
Michael made a face, confused. “Me? But I’m fine.”
Kyle sighed. “He’s starting to think the accident wasn’t an accident.”
Not an accident? Michael couldn’t even process that thought. “What? Did he say that?”
“Not in those exact words,” Kyle admitted, “but he was dropping lots of little hints.”
“Lots of them,” Tess agreed emphatically. “He said he thinks it’s really weird that you got thrown from the car and aren’t even hurt.”
Michael flapped his arms, thrown for a loop by all this. “Well, I don’t know why I wasn’t hurt! I wish I had been.” A broken bone, a concussion, anything . . . him in Macy’s place . . . he wished it were so. “This is bullshit!”
“Shh,” Kyle hissed, motioning towards Maria.
But he couldn’t keep his voice down, not when it was sinking in that the very detective who was supposed to be helping him solve his daughter’s death was stupidly suspecting he’d played a willing role in it. “He thinks I crashed on purpose? I would never do that! I would never hurt Macy.”
“We tried telling him that, but . . .” Tess trailed off and shrugged.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered furiously. “As if I don’t have enough to deal with already, now the guy who’s supposed to be solving my daughter’s death is wasting time on me while the real person who did this gets away with it.” He curled his hand into a fist and hit the wall. “Dammit!”
“I know, it’s crazy,” Kyle agreed, “but as wrong as he is, he did get us thinking about something.”
“What?”
Kyle looked to Tess, and she slumped her shoulders as though she didn’t even want to pile any more onto him. “It was your wedding night, Michael,” she said reluctantly. “What if . . .” She sighed. “What if somebody didn’t want you to get married?”
Michael thought about it, as disturbing as it was to think that anything about this accident was non-accidental. When she put it like that, though . . . there was only one person that came to mind.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“You really think that guy was reliable?”
Isabel turned the corner onto their street, happy to be back in her own car and not driving around inside a murder weapon. “Who, Little Nicky? Yeah.”
Alex glanced in the backseat to make sure Garret was still sleeping, then mumbled sarcastically, “Because there’s no one more reliable than an addict.”
“That’s actually a true statement. You can always rely on an addict to do whatever he has to do to get his fix.” She smirked. “You proved that last night.”
“Don’t even joke about that.”
“Besides, Lorenzo wouldn’t steer me wrong.”
“Huh, you sleep with him, too?”
She didn’t say anything, knowing she wouldn’t need to.
He shook his head in disgust. “Maybe I should get myself tested.”
“Oh, please, you’re one to talk. I seem to recall a certain tryst with Caroline that would’ve resulted in a lovechild had her body not decided to . . . take care of it.”
“I don’t even wanna talk about that right now,” he grumbled. “I got enough on my mind.”
She rolled her eyes at his continued self-pity. He thought his life was bad? Well, he was the one who made it that way, even though she helped.
“It’s over now, right?” he asked hopefully. “The car was the only physical evidence tying me to the wreck, and it’s gone so . . . I’m home-free?”
She pressed down lightly on the brake pedal, her anxiety increasing as she approached their house. “I wouldn’t say that.” There was a police vehicle parked out front, and two cops were standing at the door, knocking.
“Oh, shit,” Alex swore, practically jumping out of his seat. “Shit, this is it. Isabel, you have to help me.”
“Just stay calm, act like you have nothing to hide,” she coached him, pulling up to the curb. The police officers turned to face them, and she prepared herself to put her acting chops to good use as she got out of the car. “Hello?” she said, making sure the greeting had the right amount of inquiry and confusion attached to it.
“Mrs. Whitman?”
“Evans-Whitman, yes.” She reached into the backseat and took Garret out of his car seat, rubbing his back while he continued sleeping. “What’s going on?”
“I’m Detective Rawley. This is my partner Detective Hawkins. We’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s okay with you.”
“Me? You’d like to ask me questions?” She shot Alex a look. He wasn’t trying to pin this on her, was he? No, he looked just as confused as she was. She handed Garret off to him and asked the detective, “Questions about what?”
“About an accident that occurred last night,” Detective Rawley replied. “Do you have the time?”
An accident. They were here about what had happened to Michael and . . . the rest of them. “Well, I guess I’ll make the time,” she said, not seeing that she really had a choice.
“I’ll just take Garret inside,” Alex said, shooting her a pleading look the detectives couldn’t see.
Isabel wasn’t sure whether they were going to ask her questions about Alex or questions about herself, so she tried to project a nurturing mother vibe right away. “Our son,” she said, staring at him adoringly as Alex carried him inside. “He’ll be four soon. Isn’t he precious?”
“Sure is,” the detective agreed without even taking a look at him. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Whitman. This shouldn’t take long.”
“No problem.” She watched a bit apprehensively as the other detective made is way towards her car and started taking pictures of it, completely oblivious to the fact that Alex's car had been the cause, not hers. “Do you mind telling me exactly what this is about, though?” she asked. “I’m a little lost.” And that was no lie. Why were they so interested in talking to her? They were detectives. Weren’t they detecting something a little off about Alex?
“Last night, there as an accident on Highway 2 involving a man and his family,” the detective said in a monotone voice, “one I’m told you’re acquainted with.”
“Oh, you mean . . . my ex-boyfriend Michael? And his family.” She nodded. “Yeah, I just heard about it on the news. It’s so awful. He’s okay, though, right? They made it sound like he’s okay.”
“He’s fine.”
“But they said he lost his daughter. Is that . . . is that really true?”
“I’m afraid so.”
It wasn’t hard to project sympathy, because she really did feel sympathetic towards him. “Oh god. That’s so . . . I mean, I can only imagine if something like that ever happened to my son . . .”
Detective Rawley took out a notepad and began to jot some things down, getting her back on track. “You said Michael’s your ex-boyfriend?”
“Yeah. We dated for two years back in college.”
“And when did you break up?”
“Summer of 2008.”
“Why?”
She swallowed her pride and confessed the truth. “I cheated on him.” The statement left a bitter, self-loathing taste in her mouth. “With the guy I’m married to now.”
Detective Rawley barely gave her time to answer one question before he asked another. “What’s the status of your relationship with Mr. Guerin these days?”
“Relationship?” she echoed. “Well . . . we’re not really friends, but we’re not arch enemies, either. Our kids are friends, so we’re . . . cordial, I guess you could say.”
“Are you still in love with him?”
She shifted uncomfortably, sensing where this was going. He thought she might have done this. “I’m sorry, but what does any of this have to do with that car crash?” she asked, pretending to act offended that he’d asked her such a personal question.
“Mrs. Whitman, I’ve spoken to several people who claim that your behavior towards Michael has become a bit . . . erratic and obsessive over the years. I also have a copy of a restraining order Michael and his girlfriend utilized against you last fall. What do you have to say about that?”
She couldn’t deny that it existed, so she pretended to be ashamed of it. “That . . . is something I’m not proud of. I felt like my marriage was falling apart, and I acted out.”
“How so?”
“Mainly just by lusting after Michael, trying to insert myself back into his life by urging our kids to be friends. Erratic behavior? Sure. Obsessive?” She shook her head. “No. The truth is, I still love the guy and I regret ever cheating on him. But I’m not some Fatal Attraction chick if that’s what you’re thinking. I know I don’t stand a chance with him. In fact, lately, I’ve been trying to move on. My husband and I have been trying to put our marriage back together. We just wanna be good parents, you know?”
“I understand. What’s your marriage like?”
Horrible, she thought. Completely and utterly horrible. “Oh, you know . . . good days, bad days,” she lied through her teeth. “We haven’t always gotten along, but we’re trying. It took almost getting a divorce to realize we wanted to make this work.”
“And when did you decide to reconcile?”
She shrugged. “About a month ago.”
“I see.” He jotted that down on his little notepad and said, “Alright, just a few more questions. Where were you last night?”
Now they were cutting to the chase. “I was at work,” she answered calmly, barely able to fathom that this guy was incompetent enough to let the real criminal slip right under his nose.
“Where do you work?”
“Um . . . Cockadoodle-Doo.”
He gave her a confused look.
“It’s an adult video store,” she explained, shocked that a had-to-be bachelor like him didn’t regularly visit the place. “Yeah, it’s a trip.”
“How long were you there?”
“Well, from 3:00 to 11:00 according to my timesheet, but I had to close up after that and . . .” She laughed a little, hoping it looked like she was blushing. “This is really embarrassing, but my husband and I stayed after hours and . . . celebrated the new year.”
He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Had sex,” she clarified. “In the store.”
“And when did you leave?”
“Well, he’s not exactly a marathon man, so it was probably like 11:20.” She didn’t feel too nervous answering these questions. Most of what she was saying was true.
“Where’d you go after that?” the detective asked.
“We came straight home,” she told him, including Alex in that only because she’d already gone through the effort of getting rid of his car. “To have more sex.”
“Did you go anywhere else?”
She shook her head. “No, we were here all night. My brother was watching Garret so . . . we actually had a night alone. It was good for us.”
“Okay. I apologize, ma’am, I know these questions are a little invasive . . .”
“No, I understand, you’re just doing your job.” She smiled. “Is there anything else?”
“I don’t think so. Could you just have your husband come out for a minute?”
“Sure,” she answered without hesitation, although now her stomach started to churn. Alex wasn’t as good at deception as she was. She went up to the front door, peeked inside, and called as uber-sweetly as she could, “Honey? Could you come outside for a minute?”
Alex sent her a panicked look and headed for the door.
“Relax,” she whispered. “We came home and had sex last night, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” She accompanied him outside and introduced him to the detective. “This is my husband, Alex.”
“Hi,” Alex said, extending his hand. “I’m . . . her husband.”
“Detective Rawley.” They shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to . . . meet you.”
The detective kept his notepad out, but his demeanor seemed to have shifted noticeably, and he no longer appeared so interested in the questioning. “Alex, can you tell me your whereabouts last night from 11:00 to 12:00?”
He’s probably just trying to verify my story, Isabel realized. There was nothing to worry about as long as Alex gave all the same answers she had.
“Well, at 11:00, I was . . . I was with her at the video store,” he said. “We were, uh . . .”
“I know, it’s embarrassing,” she squealed, hinting that it was okay to reveal the sex stuff.
“We, uh . . . we kinda got it on in the store after she closed up.”
Got it on? Isabel thought. Maybe he had.
“What time did you leave?” the detective asked.
“Oh, about 11:15, 11:20. We came home and . . . kinda just kept going. It was a great New Year’s.”
“Oh, stop,” she said, playfully hitting him in the arm.
“What? It was.”
“Well . . . I know.” It occurred to her that they probably seemed like a pretty happily married couple to the outside observer. They were putting on a fairly convincing and cohesive act.
“Well, I think that’s all I need from the two of you,” Detective Rawley decided.
“Okay,” Isabel said. “I hope we could help, or . . . I don’t know, I just hope Michael and his family are okay.”
“Me, too,” Alex added.
The detective nodded and motioned for his partner to head to the squad car. “You two have a nice day.”
“You, too,” they both returned in unison. They waited and watched as he drove off, and then Alex practically fell down where he stood. “Shit, that was a close call.”
“For me,” she said. “He didn’t even suspect you. He thinks I might’ve crashed into them on purpose. Can you believe that?”
“Yeah.” Alex headed back inside, holding the door open for her. “Thank you.”
She grunted. “Whatever.” It wasn’t that hard to fool somebody, not even if that somebody was a cop.
“No, not whatever. You’re really in it now, Isabel,” he pointed out. “Not only did you help dispose of the car, which technically makes you an accessory to the crime, but now you lied to a cop. We both did. So if we go down, we go down together.”
“We won’t,” she assured him. “We just have to stick to our stories and not turn on each other and we’ll be fine.” It was the not turning on him that might be kind of hard, but she could manage.
“Right,” he said. “I mean, the only snag we might hit is if they found out I went to the bar. But . . .” He started to smile. “They won’t because they’re not even looking into me.”
“They’re looking into me, but there’s nothing to find.”
“So this is gonna work.”
She nodded. It was gonna work. Poor, Michael, though. He had to have been so torn up by all this, and when the police turned up no suspects, he was going to have no resolution. He was going to be very sad for a very long time.
Somebody would have to make him feel better.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Michael shook his head as Detective Rawley showed him photos of Isabel’s car. “Nope. Not it. I knew it wasn’t her car.” He’d tried to tell him that earlier, but, as usual, the detective didn’t listen to him.
“She’s got an alibi, too. She was with her husband.”
Michael rubbed his forehead, wondering if this was what a migraine felt like. “I knew Isabel didn’t do this.”
“Then why did you-”
“Because you keep pressuring me to think of somebody who might’ve been out to get my family, and she’s the only person I could think of,” he explained hurriedly. “She’s crazy but she’s not that crazy. See, it was an accident, just like I’ve been saying this whole time.”
“I just like to look at things from all angles,” the detective reiterated, sounding somewhat irked with Michael’s attitude, but Michael didn’t care.
“Well, how about looking at things from the right angle for a change?” he bellowed, fed up with the lack of progress that was being made. “You’re wasting time trying to make this into some premeditated murder, and you’re definitely wasting time if you’re investigating me. Everyone knows I’d never do this on purpose. And meanwhile, the real culprit’s just going on living his life, nowhere close to being found as long as you’re working the case.”
“Mr. Guerin, I’m doing my best with what little information I have. But if I don’t get any new information soon . . . I may as well be looking for a needle in a haystack.”
Michael wasn’t about to take it easy on him, not in these circumstances. “Isn’t that your job, though? You’re a detective. You’re supposed to be able to detect the answer even when you don’t have a lot to go on.”
“It’s a skeletal case at best. Now I wanna find the other driver as much as you do, but--”
“No, you don’t,” Michael cut in forcefully. “I lost children last night. The one daughter I have left can’t feel her legs, and I’m pretty sure the woman I love is gonna sink into a depression over this. So you may wanna solve this case, but you do not wanna find the other driver as much as I do.”
Detective Rawley took a step back and nodded in acknowledgment of that fact. “I understand.”
“You don’t understand,” he muttered. “You can’t.” The only person who could understand what he was going through right now still hadn’t woken up yet, but when she did . . . she was going to feel like she was living in a whole new world. A worse one.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex sat on his front porch, his head in his hands. The initial anxiety and preoccupation of covering up what he’d done had worn off now, and the guilt was setting in harder than it ever had before. Michael and Maria were really good people, really good parents, and he’d gone and taken away one of their kids. Forever. There was no way he could ever fix this, no way they would ever get past it. Someone had been alive and wasn’t anymore. For all anyone knew, that little girl of theirs could have grown up to become president or stop global warming or do something else really great with her life; but no one would ever know what she would have amounted to, all because of his stupid, careless, recklessness. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind he was going to hell for this, and hell was now what he deserved.
“Rough New Year’s?”
He looked up when Max got out of his car and approached him. “What? No. It was fine,” he lied unconvincingly.
“You look tired.”
He felt the bags under his eyes and the stubble on his chin. “Well, you know, your sister wears me out.”
“Gross.” Max sat down beside him and groaned like an old man. “I had fun with Garret last night.”
“Yeah, I heard you two did fireworks.” Thank God Garret hadn’t been in the car with him.
“Man, he’s such a good kid,” Max said. “Nothin’ like me at his age. I was trouble. Big surprise, huh?”
“Right.” It suddenly dawned on Alex that, even though he was sitting next to his known-rapist brother-in-law, Max was a better person than him. Way better. “I was never trouble,” he recalled. “Everybody was pretty much always sure I’d grow up to do something great.” He thought about what he’d done last night and muttered, “Boy, were they wrong.”
“Well, your son’s the ‘something great,’” Max said. “At least you have him to be proud of. That’s more than I’ve got.”
Alex shook his head. That wasn’t true. At the end of the day, Max could say he helped Tiffany, saved her, got her out of a situation that could have ended her. Alex couldn’t even say he’d helped anyone. He hadn’t even stopped to help. What was wrong with him?
“It’s hard to be proud of anything when I have so many regrets,” he admitted.
Max reached into his coat pocket, took out a flask, and raised it up. “To regret,” he toasted. “Oh, wait, I forgot, you’re not drinking anymore. Is that like a permanent sobriety thing or what?”
Alex shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, I haven’t touched a drink for a month now,” he lied, wishing he’d had the willpower to stick to it. But Isabel just made him so damn crazy he couldn’t resist. But now he’d be able to. There was no way he’d drink anything ever again. He’d used alcohol as a crutch for too long, and it had gotten out of control, about as far out of control as it possibly could.
“Good for you, man,” Max said, taking a drink for himself. He looked around, frowning, and then asked, “Hey, where’s your car?”
“Oh, I . . . got rid of it,” he answered, thinking quickly. “Sold it to a guy. It just had so many miles on it, I had a feeling it wouldn’t last much longer anymore.”
“Nothing lasts forever,” Max said, taking another drink.
“Nope,” Alex agreed, although there was one thing that had to last forever: the conspiracy that he and Isabel were weaving. For the rest of his life, he’d have to wake up knowing what he’d done, hating himself for it, letting the truth eat away at him until there was nothing left. Maybe it wasn’t justice, but it was torture, and torture was something he deserved.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The closer it got to midnight, the more tightly Michael held Maria’s hand. She was still asleep, but he felt more awake than ever, even though his body was begging with him to get some rest. He watched the second hand on the clock on the wall above her bed tick past the nine, past the ten, past the eleven, and eventually past the twelve. He couldn’t believe it had only been twenty-four hours since the accident. It felt more like twenty-four years. How could it only have been one day? He’d felt more pain, anger, and disgust in that one day than he had in twenty-five years of life combined. He was trying to put on a front for his family and be strong, but he felt like he was dying inside. If one single day had been so hard, how was he supposed to get through all the days to come?
He was about to get up and head to the bathroom when he felt Maria’s hand twitch in his. He looked down at her curiously and saw her eyelids fluttering.
“Maria?” He sat back down, watching as she began to stir. “Maria?”
She opened her eyes slowly, squinting against the brightness.
“Hey.” He tried to smile and reached towards the light switch with his free hand to dim the light. “Hey, baby, you’re awake.” It was a relief to see her eyes open again, to see her looking around instead of just lying there like a . . . corpse; but at the same time, a new worry filled him, the dread of having to tell her what had happened.
She opened her mouth as though she wanted to say something, but no words came out.
“What is it?” he asked.
She slipped her hand out of his and touched her throat.
“Water?” he guessed.
She nodded.
He grabbed a full glass off the nightstand and brought it up to her lips for her, helping her tilt her head back and drink. “There you go,” he said, being careful not to spill all over her. When she seemed to have had her fill, he set the glass back down and waited for her to say something. Anything. He just wanted to hear her voice. He had this crazy idea that everything would be better when she just said his name.
“Michael?”
But it wasn’t. If anything, everything felt worse, only because he could hear the confusion and the fear in her words. She didn’t understand what was happening, but she would. And when she did . . .
She looked around the room, seeming to realize that she was in the hospital, and then gazed up at him. “Are they okay?”
Of course the kids would be the first thing on her mind. He knew she deserved to know the truth, but he didn’t even know how to tell her. “Maybe I should let the doctors know you woke up,” he said, rising to his feet.
“No.” She reached out and grazed the back of his hand with her fingertips. “Where are they?”
Slowly, he sat back down. She needed answers, and he couldn’t let her hear them from anyone else. As difficult as it was, he had to do this. “Maria . . .”
“I remember,” she managed to squeak out, “it was bad. It was . . .” She tried to sit up farther but grimaced and held her hand to her stomach as she did so.
“Just take it easy, okay?” he said, placing an extra pillow behind her head so that she wasn’t lying quite as flat. “Don’t try to do too much. You got hurt last night. You fractured your arm, see?” He tapped his knuckles against the cast on her left arm. “And you . . .” He allowed himself to stare at her stomach, knowing that if they were to peel back the blankets and look underneath the hospital gown, they’d see a line of stitches there. “You got cut.”
“Why aren’t they here?” she asked a bit more forcefully. “Michael, please, just . . .” She stared at him with a pleading look in her eyes.
He swallowed hard, clasping her hand in both of his again. “Miley’s in a room down the hall,” he revealed. “She already woke up. She’s asleep now. She’s gonna be fine.” He didn’t have it in him to tell her about the paralysis yet.
“What about Macy?”
There is no more Macy. The thought chilled him to the bone, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that to her.
“Is she okay?”
He felt his bottom lip tremble and the tears well up in his eyes. “No.”
She frowned, still not seeming to grasp just how okay she wasn’t. “But you . . . you saved her, right? She’s hurt, but you . . . you saved her.” She sounded as though she were trying to convince herself into believing that was true. “I remember, we were stuck, but you got me out. And you got her out, too.”
He wished he had. He wished he could just nod and say he had. “Maria . . .”
“No, it’s okay, I remember.” She smiled. “I . . .” But slowly, that smile faded away and morphed into a horrified look of astonishment as more of the memories seemed to come back to her. She flinched, and he had a feeling she’d just remembered the explosion.
“I couldn’t get her,” he choked out. “I tried.”
She shook her head, determined not to believe him. “No.”
“I don’t even know if she was still . . .”
“No.”
“I think she was already--”
“No!” she screamed. “Stop. Please stop.”
“She’s dead, Maria.” There. Just like that. The word left him feeling hollow inside. Dead. Dead.
“She’s not,” she argued. “She can’t be. You’re lying, or . . . or this is some kind of really sick joke, because she’s not . . .” She couldn’t even say the word. “No, she’s just . . . she’s just a little girl. She can’t . . .” Her entire body stared to shake. “Michael!”
He crawled into bed beside her and gathered her up in his arms as she finally accepted the truth and started to cry. She let out tortured sobs against his chest as he held her close, pushing her hair away from her face and rubbing her shoulder to try to soothe her.
“No!” she wailed, heaving with every breath.
He rested his head atop hers and whispered, “You lost the baby, too.”
She froze and stopped crying.
“You lost the baby,” he repeated, hating that he had to pile all this on her.
After a few seconds of shocked silence, she started crying again, curling up against him, her cast getting in the way of them getting as close as they could have otherwise.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m so sorry.”
“No!” she cried again, practically convulsing beside him. “Macy . . .”
He tried his best to cry quietly as he held her, but he didn’t do a very good job.
TBC . . .
-April
LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.