My Peace

  surprised he hasn’t stationed National Guard soldiers at my door.”

  “Don’t give him ideas,” she cautions. “I’m going to take Zu to the zoo today, if that’s ok with you. There’s a new otter exhibit. I think she’ll love it.”

  My heart twinges because I’d love to take her to that, but I can’t be selfish. I don’t want her sitting at home worrying about her mama.

  “That’s fine,” I tell her. Zuzu is excited, and kisses me goodbye, and when they leave, my room is so quiet.

  I’m so bored.

  I text Maddy and Pax. I pick up a book. I scan through channels.

  I wasn’t made to lie still.

  It’s an hour or so before Natasha knocks softly, then pokes her head in.

  “M’am?”

  Even though I know Pax wasn’t doing anything with her, something about her grates at me.

  “Yes?”

  “I came to see what you want for breakfast.”

  She is subdued.

  “Scrambled eggs and fruit would be lovely,” I answer. I force myself to be friendly. She hasn’t done anything to me. My instincts are clouded by my pregnant hormones.

  “Coming right up,” she says, and she smiles. “Can I get anything for you?”

  “Yes, actually. If you could get my hairbrush from the bathroom, I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Of course.” She scampers in to get it, and I try to pretend to myself that I didn’t send her in there to see Pax’s note which is still taped on the mirror. It takes her a couple of minutes, and I’m sure she’s reading it.

  I don’t know what’s come over me, but I’m satisfied by that. I’ve never been jealous before.

  When she re-emerges with my hairbrush, she is nonplussed, and on her way out the door, I call after her.

  “Could you grab a sketch pad on your way back? I’m dying of boredom.”

  “Of course,” she nods, and she’s gone.

  Her perfume lingers though, and it’s sweet, floral. I try to put my finger on what it is. Jasmine? No.

  Rose? No.

  It’s not until he comes back with my breakfast that I decide.

  It’s honeysuckle.

  13

  Chapter Twelve

  Pax

  Work is uneventful, even the dreaded meeting with Peter first thing in the morning.

  By afternoon, I’m tired again. The lack of sleep thing is taking its toll.

  At three o’clock, Sasha buzzes me.

  “Mr. Tate, you have a phone call.”

  “From?”

  She hesitates. “From the Marion Correctional Facility.”

  My heart thuds dully in my chest, because Leroy Ellison is there.

  The son-of-a bitch who killed my mother.

  “Put him through,” I tell her, and my voice is like wood, and what the hell is that fucker calling me?

  “Hello?”

  An elderly man is in my ear, and I haven’t heard this voice in a long, long time.

  “What do you want?”

  There’s a laugh now, and it sounds wet, like he needs to cough.

  “Well, now, son. Is that any way to greet your long lost Uncle Leroy?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I tell him. “Why are you calling me?”

  “Do you still have your X, kid? His voice is so craggy and I look at the base of my thumb, where it meets my hand. A jagged scar in the shape on an X is there, carved by Leroy’s knife so long ago, right after he killed my mother.

  X marks the spot.

  “I can still find you, you know,” he adds.

  I wait.

  “You know you’re the one who bumped the trigger. I shouldn’t be here. It should be you.”

  “You son of a bitch,” I spit. “I was a kid, and you were forcing yourself on my mother. I was trying to save her.”

  “Regardless,” he continues, as they he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I shouldn’t be here. Think on that.”

  He hangs up, and I’m stunned.

  What the hell was that all about?

  I’m in shock as I sit in my rich leather chair and stare out the wall of windows to my left. Below me, Hartford bustles around on it’s busy streets and I suddenly feel all alone.

  My mother’s killer called me at work. So he somehow knows that I’m working here, and probably knows my grandfather is dead.

  Of course, he could’ve gotten that from the newspapers.

  He must not have much to do in prison.

  I’m suddenly burning with rage that he would dare to contact me. What gives him the right to even fucking speak to me?

  I pick up the phone to call Mila, because that’s what I would normally do. We share everything.

  Only… today... Mila is at home in bed with our unborn child, trying to ensure that it lives.

  She’s got more to worry about than an old dumbass who is sitting in prison trying to get a rise out of me. I put my phone back down.

  I’ll tell her about it later. Next week, when she’s up and around again.

  With a sigh, I try to call my father instead, but he’s in a meeting.

  Fuck, the adult world sucks sometimes.

  I focus on work documents, scanning contracts, rubbing my knee.

  And then, right before I decide to close-up shop to go home, Sasha comes in with the mail.

  “It’s late today,” she tells me, as she puts the pre-opened stack in my inbox. She opens them, scans them, and flags them for me, categorized by color. Yellow means it can wait, Green means it needs a signature, and Red means it’s very important, and those are on top.

  I only have one red flag today.

  Sitting back in my chair, I grab it.

  It’s a letter.

  My eyes are glued to it as I read it from start to end, the scrawling handwriting clearly masculine.

  Pax,

  I hope this letter finds you well.

  I think you’ll be interested in what I have to say, it you give me a few minutes to say it.

  Would you like to know what your mother said to me about you before she died?

  I’m the only one who knows, and I can tell you.

  The price is small.

  Best regards,

  Leroy H. Ellison

  My breath hitches in my throat and I read it again, then again.

  The envelope is clipped to the letter by a paper clip, and it is stamped INMATE CORRESPONDENCE.

  Son of a bitch.

  I don’t know what to do. All I know is what I want to do, and that is drive to the Marion prison and punch this fucking guy’s throat in.

  What. The. Fuck.

  I can’t even think clearly.

  I stalk out of the office, knowing that Sasha will call for the car. I’m right. Roger is waiting at front doors to usher me into the back.

  “Home, sir?” he asks as he climbs in the driver’s seat.

  “No. Drive around for a while, please. I need to clear my thoughts.”

  “You got it.”

  The limo noses out of the lot into the street, and I stare absently out the window, at the traffic, at the trees, at the people walking on the sidewalk.

  I should put Leroy Ellison out of my head.

  There’s nothing he can offer me that makes speaking with him worth it.

  Except… what had my mother said?

  It doesn’t matter. She’s gone now, and probably anything he says would be a lie. I can’t trust him. I know that. As I think, I rub at the scar on my hand, the scar he gave me, back when I was a little boy and couldn’t fight back.

  I’d watched him sexually violate my mother when I was shoved into the closet, and then… well, she’d died.

  I don’t know what, if anything, she said in between. I was in the closet, hiding like the scared little boy I was.

  What had she said?

  Damn it. I’m pissed because this is exactly how he wants me to feel, and I don’t want to play into his hands.

  I’m not going to play int
o his hands.

  I’m not.

  Fuck him.

  Nothing my mother said will change the fact that she’s gone.

  I pull out the bottle of muscle relaxers that Natasha gave me and toss a couple into my mouth. Then, I wait. The pain dulls, relaxation comes. They must be pretty strong, because it happens quickly and brings with it a rush of dizziness.

  “We can go home now.”

  Roger turns toward home, and the drive goes quickly, because he’s taking me to my wife.

  I climb out, and I’m through the door, and I’m down the hall, ignoring the pain of walking, ignoring the bullshit from Leroy, and I’m walking through the bedroom doors, and Mila is smiling at me.

  She’s in the bed where she’s supposed to be, and her face lights up when I enter the room.

  “Babe,” she exclaims. “I missed you.”

  My heart floods with warmth, and everything melts away when I see her. She’s everything. She’s all I need.

  I sit next to her, gathering her into my arms.

  “You feel skinnier,” I fret. “Are you eating?”

  “Yes,” she nods. “A lot.”

  “Are you resting?”

  “Yes. You’ve got Natasha, Chelcie and Maddy checking on me. I couldn’t go anywhere if I tried.”

  I pull her to me, inhaling her skin, my lips pressed to her neck. Lavender, vanilla, and everything good. That’s what she smells like. Sunshine and rain, earth and the sun. I hold her close, gripping her tight. She threads her fingers through my hair, and then she pulls back a little.

  “Are you ok?” she asks gently. “What’s wrong, babe?”

  “Nothing,” I lie. “Nothing at all. Everything is ok.”

  It does seem to be, when I am with her. It’s corny as hell, but true.

  “Zuzu and I were just getting ready to have a picnic in here,” Mila tells me. “For dinner. It seemed like you might be late, so I wanted to feed her.”

  “I brought plenty,” Natasha says as she comes in the door with a giant basket and my daughter. Zu bounds into my arms, bouncing on the bed.

  “Calm down, sweet,” I tell her. “You can’t jostle mommy around right now.”

  “Because of the baby in her tummy?”

  My gaze flies to Mila and she shrugs. “Natasha didn’t realize that Zu didn’t know. The cat is out of the bag.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Natasha tells me. “I can’t believe I was so dumb.”

  “It’s ok,” Mila tells her, and I can tell it’s not the first time Natasha has apologized. “She had to know eventually.”

  “I’m going to have a sister,” Zu tells me seriously.

  “Or a brother,” I answer. “One or the other.”

  “It’s a sister,” she says confidently. “I know it.”

  Mila and I laugh, and our entire family is on this bed. Natasha pauses at the foot.

  “Hop down, sweetheart,” she tells Zuzu. “I’m going to set up dinner.”

  And she does. She spreads a picnic tablecloth and lays out a picnic spread befitting of a royal family.

  “This is lovely,” Mila tells her, reaching for a piece of cheese. “Thank you.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  Natasha breezes past me and out the door, and I once again feel like I know her, but I don’t know from where.

  It doesn’t matter.

  I’m with Mila and Zuzu now. That’s what matters.

  We eat, the cold fried chicken and the biscuits and the cheese. I feed Zuzu pieces of grapes and Mila licks her fingers.

  “This is perfect,” she says happily.

  “Are you doing ok? No pain?” I ask her. She shakes her head.

  “No pain, no blood. Stop worrying.”

  “As if.”

  She shakes her head, and I look at our daughter, who is already yawning.

  “Chelsea took her to the zoo,” Mila explains. “She’s worn out.”

  “I’ll get her ready for bed,” I tell her. “Seven o’clock isn’t too early, is it?”

  “Not for such a long day,” she answers. “Thank you.”

  I read Zuzu her favorite book twice, then turn on her lamp. I tuck her favorite stuffed tiger in next to her and kiss her forehead.

  Then I head back to Mila.

  “I’m going to take a shower, then join you,” I tell her.

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  I let the hot water pour down on me, and put most of the weight on my good leg. The steam builds up and drains most of my tension, and by the time I towel off, I feel much better.

  To be on the safe side, I pop a couple more muscle relaxers before I join my wife in bed.

  She welcomes me with open arms, and I mold my body to hers, because this is where I belong.