“So, she’s hot, right? Nice tits? You totally mentioned her tits, so I bet they’re really nice.” It was like she hadn’t registered one single thing I’d said. “Do I get to meet her when I come visit? I swear I won’t mention that you banged the whole high school cheerleading squad back home.”
“I DIDN’T BANG THE WHOLE HIGH SCHOOL CHEERLEADING SQUAD!” I shouted as I teetered on the brink of losing my cool, forgetting that Monroe was still bearing witness to the disastrous debacle. “I DIDN’T BANG ANY OF THE CHEERLEADERS! AS A MATTER OF FACT, I WASN’T BANGING ANYONE IN HIGH SCHOOL, NOR AM I BANGING ANYONE NOW. NOT THAT IT’S ANY OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS!”
The absurdity of the entire scene had risen to Mach-5 level, and I realized that I had been sorely mistaken, for God had not forgiven me at all. The purpose of the phone call wasn’t to save me from anything; it was punishment for my errant, immoral thoughts and for breaking a good chunk of his sacred rules. I mean, there were only ten of them, and in the five days I’d been around Monroe, I managed to cover coveting my neighbor’s wife, adulterating (to a certain degree) with said wife, lying to the wife about my true thoughts, secretly idolizing the wife, and using God’s name in vain on a pretty regular basis. While I was thinking about it, I’m pretty sure one of the first things my Dad taught me once I was old enough to know what he was talking about was, “Don’t ever stick your finger in another man’s honey, son.” So by nature of the whole adulterating thing, I was also disobeying my parents in the process. Hey, at least I had no plans to bear false witness or murder anyone anytime soon, right?
“Dude, Uncle Ollie, chill out. I’m just messing with you, because I heard a girl laughing in the background earlier,” Callie snickered. “Geez, maybe you do need to get laid though. You sound way uptight.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. “No, I’m good, Cal. Thanks for caring about your good ol’ uncle though,” I gritted out. “Now, can we please get back to the reason you called in the first place?”
Totally unfazed by it all, she jumped right into telling me that PawPaw (my dad) had already booked her a flight from Nashville to Boston the Sunday before Thanksgiving, and that she’d stay with me until that Wednesday, when the two of us would fly together to St. Louis for our normal family holiday weekend. By that point, I didn’t have it in me to bring up how I would’ve liked to be included in the planning before flights were actually booked, nor how I was actually supposed to be working the Monday and Tuesday she would be visiting, so I just told her it sounded great and that I couldn’t wait to see her.
After disconnecting the call and tossing the phone off to the side, I plopped back down in my dining room chair and face-planted onto the table. I was done. Finished. Terminado. Finito. All of that shit. I just wanted the day over. But I couldn’t be so lucky . . .
“Your niece . . . she seems like a nice girl.” Monroe’s voice broke through the buzz of static running between my ears, prompting me to lift my head and gaze over at her sincere, compassionate smile. “Yes, it sounded crazy, but you forget: I know teenagers. And I could really tell at the end of the call how much you love her. I’m sure you guys are gonna have a blast when she comes to visit.”
Taken aback by both her understanding and perceptiveness, my body slackened in my chair as I blew out a huge breath of relief. “She’s the reason I do this, ya know? The Mending Hearts stuff.”
“Really?” Leaning back in her chair, her eyes grew wide with curiosity. “Is it something you mind talking about?”
I shrugged and grabbed the unopened water bottle from in front of me. I was thankful the sexual charge in the room had all but dissipated, but the story I had to tell was on the complete other end of the spectrum from the mood prior to and during Callie’s phone call. “I don’t mind. It’s just not a very pretty story,” I cautioned, pausing for a much-needed drink in my dry mouth. “But if you’re interested, I’ll give you the abridged version.”
Monroe nodded, mirroring my actions with her own water bottle. “I’d love to know Callie’s story.”
Inhaling a deep breath for a small boost of confidence, I began telling her the story of my family’s nightmare—a story I hadn’t told in over a decade. “First, I’ll give you a quick background of my family. I’m the third of four kids—the only boy—and all of us are exactly two years apart, just like my mom wanted it. We were raised in a tiny blip on the map in Western Illinois called Kinderhook, where my mom owned a dance studio in a nearby town, right down the street from where my dad owned a small music shop. It was one of the places where everybody knew everybody and no one locked their doors, not at night or during the day. Crime didn’t exist in our world. It was unfathomable for our neighbors to worry about anyone doing anything to hurt anyone else, so all of us were just living our happy-go-lucky lives, when my younger sister Charlotte got pregnant at thirteen.”
A long hiss passed through Monroe’s lips as she realized quickly where the story was heading, and I used the moment to take another swig of my drink.
“Not to dwell on the absolute repulsive part of the story,” I continued, my voice shaking slightly with the rage I still felt nearly twenty years later, “but it turned out that her best friend’s father—and a close friend of our family for years—had been molesting her since she was ten, pretty much every time she spent the night at their house, threatening that he’d hurt our other two sisters if she told. When she first admitted the truth to my parents, he was out of town on a business trip for a couple of days, so there was nothing much they could do until he got back. They wanted to wait to file the police report, so that neither he nor anyone else in his family caught wind of it before he returned to town and came up with some sort of alibi. So, he got home late that Friday night and texted Charlotte to come spend the night with Tara, and lo and behold, my dad showed up instead.”
“Oh shit.”
“‘Oh, shit’ is right. Once my mom realized where Dad had taken off to without telling anyone, she had me—who only had my learner’s permit at fifteen—follow him to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid before she could get the cops there.” Closing my eyes, I could see the entire bloody scene laid out before me like it was yesterday. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing my first—and hopefully, only—dead person, nor will I ever forget the look of satisfaction that had settled in my father’s eyes as he stood victorious over that sorry fucking excuse for a human being.”
She probed further, her expression empathetic. “What happened then?”
“Dad was sentenced to ten years in prison, but he got out after seven. It sucked for me that he wasn’t there for the end of my high school years, but I understood why he did what he did, and if you asked him today whether or not he’d do it again, his answer will be yes a hundred out of a hundred times. It sucked the worst for Charlotte, obviously. Not only did she not have her dad for all of her teenage life, but she had to grow up real quick when she became a mom. The options of abortion and adoption were discussed at great lengths, but it all boiled down to neither of my parents could place blame on a small, innocent baby, and they always believed everything happened for a reason. Thus, Callie entered our lives, and she’s the light of all our lives . . .” I chuckled softly as I glanced down at the phone. “Well, before today she was.”
“So dealing with all of that is what made you want to work with abused kids?”
“Yep, like I told you before, it is who I am.” I nodded, surprised to feel much lighter after confiding in her with my defining-moment story.
I wasn’t sure why I’d initially been hesitant to tell her. I guess I’d been afraid she’d pass judgement on my family, but after thinking about it, I realized that was silly. She was just as connected and devoted to helping abused kids as I was. Which led me to wonder . . .
“Now, your turn,” I prompted, turning on my most charming smile. “What is it that made you want to do this?”
Lightning bolts of panic struc
k in her eyes the instant I asked the question, and immediately I knew the answer to my question, without her ever having to open her mouth. I also knew I wasn’t going to get an honest answer.
White-hot rage boiled in my bloodstream, but when it came to this, there was nothing I could do. I wouldn’t force her to tell me . . . shit, I wasn’t even sure if I can handle hearing her talk about it. So when she quickly recovered and gave me the bullshit line she recited in all of her interviews of how she knew it was her calling from the time she was a little girl, I nodded and accepted her answer.
But that night when I went to sleep, I dreamed in vivid detail that I murdered the man who had preyed upon Monroe as a child, and when I woke up the next morning, remorse for the satisfaction I’d felt in my dream was nowhere to be found. Because a hundred out of a hundred times, I’d break that Commandment too.
Because she was worth it.
“what do you
want me to say?
love is safe?
i will not spit out
those plastic words.
sometimes
love is taking
the train
because you
are terrified
of planes
but the train
derails
and blood is
spilled
anyways.”
–Christopher Poindexter
Monroe
AS I PULLED up in front of Oliver’s apartment building Sunday morning, I still wasn’t sure taking him to one of Colin’s games was a very good idea . . . for numerous reasons.
Sure, Colin and I had made up after he’d shown up at the children’s home and apologized, and once we’d gotten back home, we’d stayed up late talking about the enlivening yet terrifying feelings that were all so new to me. With a much more understanding attitude—and an even gentler tone—than the first time we’d discussed it, my husband expressed his valid concerns about the risks I’d be taking individually, and the ones we would face as a couple, if I pursued something with Oliver. And even though I promised him I wasn’t interested in heading down that road once I’d had a chance to think about it, Colin urged me to become friends with Oliver, to get to know him better, without allowing the kiss to cause any awkwardness between us, and to see if the attraction continued to grow.
But I already knew Oliver regretted what happened, and though I was pretty sure he felt a similar connection to me, he wasn’t interested in carrying around the burden of guilt in being ‘the other man’ any more than I wanted him to think of me as a cheating wife. And it wasn’t like we could tell him the truth about our marriage . . . as much as I secretly wished we could. Colin and I had made vows to each other, and even though they weren’t the traditional pledges that man and wife usually made, they were binding all the same. We’d keep each other’s secrets safe and be there for each other . . . to the very end.
That led to the next problem—my ‘secret’ that Oliver had asked about Friday afternoon. Everything was going great, excellent really, especially during the comedic showcase he put on with my juice-hunting in the refrigerator, and then his niece’s phone call. I’d felt like we were fully comfortable around each other again, when he had to go and not only share with me his family’s heart-wrenching story of devastation and perseverance, triggering an explosion of emotions inside my chest that left me feeling vulnerable and exposed, but then ask me about the one thing I can’t fathom talking about.
What was even worse was when I managed to gather my wits about me and give him my standard, not-completely-untrue answer, I knew that he knew. His amber eyes bore straight through my earthly body to the depths of my soul, where the repugnant stains of shame still remained, no matter how many years’ worth of good deeds I’d tried to hide them behind. And although Oliver may have pretended to be satisfied with my response then, I knew without question that the conversation between us wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
As I typed out a text to let him know I was waiting for him downstairs in my car, I hoped and prayed he wouldn’t be eager to bring it up again so soon. Then, I decided if he did try, I’d just kiss him again to shut him up. That would kill two birds with one stone—redirecting his attention away from my past, and fulfilling the perpetual desire I had to feel his lips pressed against mine once again. Great plan, Monroe. That won’t set off any red flags in his mind at all.
I rolled my eyes at my own senselessness, but before I had time to derive another masterminded plan or to contemplate the other reasons us going to this game together was a terrible idea, Oliver emerged from the rustic brick building looking like he’d literally just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine. In a gray cashmere sweater over a plaid button-down and paired with khaki chinos, he appeared every bit the chick-magnet his niece had claimed he was. Put a damn saxophone in his hands, and my God, he could Michael Bolton me all night long.
My stomach flip-flopped as I watched him draw near, and to stave off the craving to bury my fingers in his dark, silky waves that glistened in the mid-morning sunlight the minute he got in the car, I white-knuckled the steering wheel until I was sure I had initiated the early stages of carpal tunnel syndrome. I really needed to get a grip on my out-of-control hormones before I completely lost my mind. I’d always thought that between the combination of my small bullet vibrator and my own fingers, I’d be able to keep my sexual needs sated, because before that point, it had been. Once or twice a month while reading one of my romance novels seemed to do the trick just fine, but I’d done it just the night before—two times in a matter of a few hours! And already, at the mere sight of Oliver, a tingling sensation surfaced between my legs and spread rapidly over my entire body, heating me from the inside out. Maybe I need a bigger vibrator.
“Good morning, Rizzo,” he greeted me with a warm smile as he lowered himself into my car. “You coulda warned me that it was freezing outside today. I probably should’ve brought my jacket. Maybe you have a Pink Ladies’ one in the back I can borrow?”
Returning the cheerful grin, I pointed at the two coffees nestled securely in the drink holder that I’d stopped to get on my way over. “Or you could be a big boy and look up the weather all by yourself,” I teased back. “There’s this new, really cool thing called the internet that provides all kinds of information, like the weather forecast in every city, including when cold fronts are blowing in. You should check it out sometime.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, smartass,” he chuckled as he reached for the steaming cup labeled ‘Sandy D.’ “And thanks for the coffee. I wasn’t sure if that was only a Monday through Friday perk of our friendship, or if I’d have to beg you to stop some place on the way there.”
Once he’d taken a sip and buckled his seatbelt, I shifted the transmission into drive and took off into the relatively light traffic in the direction of the highway before replying, “Friends don’t let friends go without caffeine. Plus, being such the rabid football fan you are and all, I figured you’d need something to help keep you awake.”
“Hey, now,” he retorted, pretending to be offended. “I’ll have you know I stayed up late when I got home last night to do a little bit of research so I didn’t completely embarrass you around your friends today. I know I may not be the coolest cat around, but it’s not from a lack of trying.”
His passing mention of having gone out the night before stung a little bit, though I wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t as if I expected him to never leave his apartment unless he was with me. The guy was going to be in town for half a year; he needed to get out and explore, make new friends, and meet women who didn’t have baggage like gay husbands and fucked-up childhoods.
“So you went out last night? Have a good time?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, the curiosity eating away at me.
Cutting his eyes over at me with a strange look on his face, he nodded hesitantly. “Yeah, I got out and walked around the neighborhood yesterday. I was mainly looking for som
e new places to eat, but I happened to stumble across this little jazz bar about three blocks over from me that was really chill. I went inside for a drink and to check it out, and ended up talking to the manager for a while. If he likes my stuff, I think I’m gonna get a weekly gig there on Thursday nights. The guy he had booked for that slot recently moved, so he’s been scrambling to find someone to fill in. Even though he knows it would be temporary, it gives him some time to find someone else for after I leave.”
“That’s awesome!” I exclaimed with full sincerity, more than a little relieved to hear he hadn’t been out trolling the local bars. Not that I had the right to feel any way at all, even if he had. “We didn’t get a chance to talk about it the other day after your niece mentioned it, but why hadn’t you told me before that you play the sax? I asked Allison about it when I talked to her yesterday, and she didn’t know either! Are you like some musical savant you don’t want any of us knowing about?”
He barked out a deep belly laugh as he threw his head back against the leather seat. “No, no, nothing like that. I assure you. My family tends to over-exaggerate my musical talent,” he shook his head, still amused from my question, “but I guess that’s what families usually do, right? Think you’re a lot better than you are at whatever it is you do?”
I pressed my lips together and nodded, pretending I knew what he was talking about. My mom definitely didn’t go out of her way to make me feel like I was good at anything but ruining her life, and according to her, I was amazing at that. “Yeah, but that’s still cool that you know how to play an instrument well enough to perform in a bar. My dad was apparently a stingy asshole who didn’t pass down any of his musical abilities to me,” I joked half-heartedly, pausing to take a drink of coffee. “I’d love to hear you play sometime. Maybe I can come watch your first Boston show?”