Authors: Marlina Williams
Harper sat at the kitchen table sipping a glass of red wine, savoring the smooth liquid as it glided over her tongue. Cara’s letter freed Harper’s mind from the reality of an occasional glass of wine not making her a person with an alcohol problem. Enjoying wine no longer induced guilt, but instead a diffusing pleasure. Soft music piped through speakers and Ziggie slept curled under the table, his heavy head rested on her socked feet. Light snores rumbled through his body and tickled her feet with puffs of air. She refused to move for any chance of disturbing the content dog.
Her finger rolled the scroll wheel on her wireless mouse as she scrolled through page after page of gazebo plans. Noah had sent her the designs so she could choose one as a memorial for Cara. Harper had put off looking at the plans, afraid of the emotion that would go along with her choice. After a week of procrastination she chose this day because it was the three month anniversary of Cara’s death. As each day drew to a close Harper became more settled and satisfied with her decision to stay.
Harper sipped the wine and slowed her scrolling as one of the plans caught her eye. Noah had numbered each and a brief description was typed under the plans. Plan #17 gave her pause, its double roofline and inset benches spoke to Cara’s unique but traditional ideals. Harper read the description then double clicked so she could see a larger picture. Her heart rate picked up as the details loaded from the roof down. From the directional arrows with a horse topper on the roof to the expanding staircase encircling the footer, she knew this was the one.
Her mind’s eye envisioned the completed gazebo next to the majestic weeping willow. The willow’s pointy leaves fluttering in the breeze and its drooping branches gracefully brushing the roof. She could hear the rustle of leaves and see the pond from her perch inside the gazebo as she watched the pond ripple with life that would come as the months continued to warm.
She noted the number and fired off an email to Noah informing him of her decision and asking what she needed to purchase to get started, her purchase of supplies a small victory over Noah’s insistence he pay for the entire project. A weight lifted from her shoulders once the email was sent. She could now focus on planning the next stages of her garden.
Already the peas she planted waved their bright green tendrils and showed small white or pink flowers that would turn into a delicious treat in a short time. Soon she would gather her first harvest and attend the county’s spring farmers market. A niggling of nervousness flooded her with self-doubt when she considered supporting herself on selling home-grown veggies. She coached herself through self-doubt when she considered the money in her bank account, and the new influx of funds from the insurance settlement she expected any day now. With decent planning she could stretch the funds until the real primary crops started producing in a few years’ time.
Her garage now contained grow tables with shop lights hanging close to hundreds of tomato and herb seedlings. Soon the weather would warm and she would plant the sturdy plants in the garden. In her overzealous excitement she’d planted many more than even her large garden could contain, so extras would be sold alongside the many pounds of peas she hoped to harvest. Each day she checked the plants, enjoying rubbing her hands over their leaves and releasing their unmistakable scents. Her favorite aroma turned out not to be basil, oregano, or parsley, but the tomato plants’ fresh green scent.
Her mouth watered at the thought of eating fresh tomatoes from the garden. She’d followed Noah’s advice for the majority of the plants, but she’d also snuck in some giant heirloom varieties. She’d remembered her mom buying fresh tomatoes from a farmers market when Harper was young. Her favorite was always the giant oddly colored and shaped heirlooms. Harper’s concession was to create a single row and use something called a Florida weave to contain their rampant growth. After hours of research she found the plans for the weaving system that seemed simple enough, even for a complete garden newbie.
Ziggie’s head moved from her feet, leaving numb arches and cold skin. He made a light wuffing intonation and got to his feet, stretching and whining.
He ambled to the front door and sat. Harper followed, puzzled at his movement. “What is it boy?”
He watched her and blew out a snort of air. A flash of light caught her eyes, and she saw a vehicle rumbling down the dark driveway. Eventually she’d have to install lighting on the too dark strip of gravel, but for now she’d have to wait and see who was coming for a visit. She’d learned Ziggie’s reaction to familiar cars, but he seemed to be waiting to find out who their visitor was. He would put himself between her and the visitor until he determined the person was okay to be in his house. She’d watched him do the same when a UPS driver had approached with a package last week. Once Ziggie gave his approval, the person was okay to approach, but he kept a wary eye out for any funny business.
Her heart rate picked up and her breath shortened when she caught sight of the bar of lights across the roof of the car. A weak porch light illuminated the man’s face casting a long shadow behind as he approached the door. Ziggie gave a soft grumble but gave no indication the man was a threat as he knocked lightly on the door. The light knock helped slow her tripping heart rate. If it was an emergency, the cop would have pounded.
Harper opened the door a crack. “Hi, officer, what can I do for you?”
He stepped further onto the porch bringing his middle aged features into clear focus. “Hi Ma’am, Sheriff Jenkins.” His hand shot out toward the door crack. Ziggie sniffed the proffered hand, and gave a single wag of his tail, approving the sheriff with a single movement.
Something about the man looked familiar. Harper’s mind churned through details of why, if she’d never met him.
When she didn’t respond he spoke again. “I’m sure I look familiar, after all I was on TV acting like a total idiot after your friend’s car crash.”
Suddenly a ton of bricks smashed her heart as she recognized the crazy cop from the accident scene. She pulled the door open and indicated he come inside.
As he entered Ziggie continued to sniff and judge, but never showed any hesitation letting the armed man into his home. A sense of relief washed over Harper when Ziggie gave his final approval. She invited the sheriff to sit at the kitchen table and offered to put on a pot of coffee. He nodded his head in agreement and sat quietly waiting for her to take a seat.
She placed a cup of coffee in front of him and wondered if he’d want a donut, then mentally kicked herself for buying into the cliché. The sheriff was trim and fit and filled out his uniform with toned arms and a well-developed chest. Harper almost laughed out loud at her out of character assessment. Years of Scott’s veiled jealousy had taught Harper to view people of the opposite sex in an almost androgynous light. Free of that veil she noticed the finer details blurred under that previous guise.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve been putting off coming to see you, but today I finally have an excuse. I’ve been so ashamed of the way I acted that day, and of course it was caught on camera for the world to see.”
Harper nodded and waited for him to continue, sensing he had something to get off his chest.
“I met Cara once, she seemed like a nice person, and I looked forward to having a u-pick farm practically in my back yard. My wife and I love fresh fruit and would have been regular customers once it was up and running. Sorry, I’m getting off-track here. I came to let you know they finished the insurance settlement. I asked Brianna to notify me so I could tell you in person. I feel somewhat responsible for what happened that day.”
He took a deep shuddering breath fraught with emotion which raised Harper’s curiosity.
“Why?” she asked, puzzled at his connection.
“Well, this is tough. The drunk driver was my friend. We grew up together, and I knew he drove when he was drinking, but he’d never had an accident. The day before the accident, his girlfriend of three years broke up with him because he refused to make a commitment. She was tired of waiting. Anyway, that’s irrelevant and seems like I’m making excuses for what he did. He cost three people their lives and there will never be an apology that makes up for that. I’m so sorry it happened.” His head hung as the relief of confession unburdened his shoulders. “And my wife told me I had to apologize if I ever hoped to get a full night’s sleep again.”
Harper smiled and reached to place a hand over his clenched fist resting on the table. He sipped coffee and his eyes dripped tears into the mug and down his ruddy cheeks.
“I appreciate the apology. I’ve already forgiven the man who killed Cara. It was a terrible set of circumstances that led to the crash, and no amount of words will ever bring any of them back. I miss Cara every day, but I’m thankful she died fast and didn’t suffer.”
He sat there allowing the tears to continue streaming down his face. Harper sensed his apologizing was cathartic, a weight he’d carried for months. She imagined the pain he must have bottled inside and the guilt that must have been building to an explosion. The release of pressure flowed with his tears, setting off a stream from her eyes.
She laughed at what the two of them sitting at her kitchen table would look like to an outside observer. “Are you feeling better now?” She asked as her hand continued to rub and pat his now slack hand. She hopped up before he responded. “Here take a few.” She tossed a box of tissue on the table, snagging a handful before sitting back in her chair.
He pulled a wad of tissue from the box and blew his nose, a screeching honk escaped the muffling tissue.
Ziggie whined at the odd noise, causing both Harper and the sheriff to crack up with relieved laughter. Tension drained away as they sat in quiet contemplation.
“Ms. Thompson, I have to thank you for being so understanding. This has weighed on my shoulders since the day of the crash. I hardly sleep anymore. Nightmares of the crash keep me awake as I try to avoid replaying the scene from every angle. I question my motives for not doing more to stop him driving drunk.”
Harper shook her head. “You can’t go on blaming yourself. There’s only one person responsible for that crash, and he paid with his life.”
She watched acceptance wash over his face. The realization of placing responsibility where it belonged allowed him to remove blame from his own front door.
He pushed his chair back and carried the heavy coffee mug to the sink. After rinsing he placed it in the dish drainer then turned back to Harper. “I can’t tell you how much it helped me coming here tonight. I thought I was coming here to help you, I never imagined it would be you helping me.”
She walked him to the front door.
He walked down the steps, a brisk wind ruffled his hair, when he turned back a smile lit a face puffy from crying. “If there’s anything I can do help get the farm up and running let me know. I’m easy to find in town… you know the big brick building with Sheriff on the sign. Oh, that reminds me.” He hurried back to the steps, his left hand clutching a small white card. “Here’s my card, if you ever need to talk give me a call. My personal cell is on there for emergencies.”
She thanked him and waved as he pulled his door closed with a dull thunk accompanying the move. Headlights bounced as he drove up the long drive and turned onto the rutted main road. Her eyes stayed glued to the car until dust blurred it from sight.
With a sigh she pulled the door closed and flicked off the porch light, happy and sad about being reminded of the crash again. Vivid details played out on a cloudy viewfinder in her mind. She rubbed her eyes then retreated to the table to finish her abandoned glass of wine.
In the weeks since Scott had discovered Isabella’s lie about the man who fathered Boyd, they had again reached a comfortable peace within their house. At times Scott felt like he was on the edge of a precipice ready to jump. He took it day by day, controlling his fury toward Isabella and putting on a façade of ignorant husband, while he continued delving for details. His mind never rested as bits and pieces of the puzzle Isabella created tried to fit together.
Pieces spun and twisted, their edges blurry, the picture fuzzy. Something about the day they met scattered beyond his grasp. Try as he might he couldn’t catch the fleet-footed memory that escaped each time he thought he had it cornered.
The blast of a car backfiring as it passed by their house distracted him from his memory chase. He shook his head and tried to clear his mind, but the backfire had jiggled something loose. It floated out of reach. Eyes closed in concentration of why a noisy car would mean anything to him.
Like smoke clearing in the wake of a stiff breeze the truth knocked him in the head and scattered the pieces even further. The day he met Isabella an old run-down car sat in the parking lot of the bar. In the car sat two people, but he didn’t get a good look at them. He concentrated harder, honing his memory of that day and why the car held significance. Pushing his memory to focus on the car’s occupants he stared hard at the car and noticed something about the female passenger. She looked familiar in a vague way, but his focus that day was on getting in the bar and getting laid, not some random person in a crappy car.
Just as his mind was filling in the details, etching reality over assumptions he heard a noise that pulled him from his reverie. With a groan he let the memory go, shoved somewhere to the back of his mind where he could examine it later.
Boyd cried, cementing Scott’s distraction and pushing him into action of diaper or hunger checks. By the time he reached Boyd, Isabella had already gathered up the fast growing boy and held him to her crinkled nose. She looked at Scott and smiled. “This is one stinky kid.”
Scott managed a grimace fitting of the situation and offered to do the dirty work. He held his breath as he took Boyd from Isabella. Boyd grinned, exposing pink gums and enhancing a deep dimple in his left cheek. Scott made a face and stuck out his tongue. Boyd wiggled and kicked his feet while he giggled. “Alright mister, let’s get you changed.”
Scott turned to Isabella before leaving the room. “How about we go to Toys R Us after he’s clean?” His smile never reached his eyes as he waited for her to answer.
“Okay,” she said.
Scott hurried through the now-familiar task of changing a dirty diaper. Boyd squirmed and kicked his feet as a fountain of pee shot up when Scott pulled the dirty diaper from his bottom. Scott laughed and covered the stream with a rag from a pile they kept next to the changing table for that purpose. The soft rag tickled Boyd’s tummy making his feet kick ever faster.
“Listen, you’re making this harder. Let me finish so we can go to the toy store.”
Boyd stilled at Scott’s voice and shoved his tiny fist in his mouth while Scott finished fastening the diaper. Scott scooped him up eliciting a tiny giggle that made Scott’s heart lurch. Boyd had Scott wrapped in a bubble of love reserved for babies and children.
On the way to the toy store Boyd entertained himself with toys hanging from his rear-facing car seat. Scot spied on him with glances in the baby mirror every few seconds. Isabella sat in the passenger seat staring at the springtime scenery flashing by her car window.
“Why so quiet?” he asked when her attention never moved from stoic concentration. He knew nature didn’t interest her, so something had to be on her mind. Her normal small talk babble shut-up by whatever thoughts were in her head.
She shook her head and smiled at him. The smile seemed forced, painted onto lips already painted in bright red lipstick. “Nothing babe. Just thinking.”
“Care to bring me in on it?”
“Oh, um, I was wondering what we should get at the toy store. You’re spoiling that kid.”
Scott forced his aggravation at her calling Boyd
that kid
to the back of his mind. She spoke of their baby like some random child they saw on the street. Her hesitation in answering and stuttered response puzzled him. He waited several beats before responding, Boyd’s presence insured his voice stayed even and negativity was held in check.
Scott forced a fake smile and reached for her hand. “I know, but I can afford it and he deserves to be spoiled. After all, his real dad is dead.” The hook of her original lie glistened like a fat worm squirming on the line.
Isabella glanced at him with a barely contained look of dread washing over her pristine features. Fine lines were visible near her made up eyes. Lines that hadn’t been there when they first met showed themselves more as the days passed. In a flash he fantasized over killing her, feelings he’d had tight control over since Boyd’s birth. Unbidden, he saw himself wrapping his large hands around her delicate throat. He imagined tightening his grip and feeling the frantic pulse of her heart trying to force blood through restricted veins.
The look on his face must have revealed some of what he was thinking. A blanching wash of terror crossed Isabella’s features in a fleet race to revealing her inner turmoil. Before either could respond they arrived at Toys R Us. The parking lot was crowded with weekend shoppers. Harried parents filled the store. Kids yelled and ran like wild animals released from the zoo. Scott stared with scorn at the out-of-control kids. How dare their parents let them loose and expect others to deal with the resultant chaos.
They made their slow way down crowded aisles. Scott navigated the cart with slow precision, threading through the barest of gaps and avoiding seemingly parentless children. Boyd watched Scott from his car seat secured in the shopping buggy. He giggled and kicked his feet as toys swung with the buggy’s movement. Scott made faces at him, keeping them both entertained. As they made their way to the end of the baby aisle Isabella announced she had to go to the restroom and broke away before Scott could respond.
As she turned the corner Scott heard a young voice raised to be heard in the busy store. “Mommy.”
Though in a store packed with many children and moms, the proclamation caught Scott’s attention. A kid shouting for his mom in this store must happen every second, but this one stood above all others. Curiosity drove Scott to pick up speed and thread through a large group of kids gathered at the end-cap display.
He finished rounding the end-cap and stared in open-mouthed disbelief. Isabella stood with her arms wrapped around a little boy, a little boy that looked deceptively like an older version of Boyd. He had the same caramel colored skin, wavy black hair, and dark mocha eyes. Isabella leaned down and whispered something in the boy’s ear, then shooed him away with a flicking gesture. Scott faded back behind the group of kids and stooped low next to the cart. His mind was a whirling dervish of thoughts as he tried to connect random dots. His heart raced with the implication of her actions.
He knew little of her life before they met. She had told him bits and pieces when he asked, but looking back much of what she told him seemed contrived. She claimed her entire family died in a house fire ensuring he never met anyone related to her. In their short time together she concocted the story piece by miniscule piece. She’d never been married or had kids, her childhood was rough and made it hard for her to trust people. Nothing in her stories seemed suspicious as she told her lies.
Just as pieces fell into place, the clouds parted, allowing him to glimpse fleeting memories, she returned from the bathroom. Her face was flushed and her eyes refused to meet his when he tried to look at her. She strode ahead of the cart, tossing toy after toy into the basket. Toys Boyd would be unable to play with for some time. Scott stopped the cart and waited for her to notice. She looked at him and he could see a slight tremble in her hand and she reached to brush her curls back from her face.
“I’m ready to go, this store is too crowded.” Scott spat the words forced through clenched jaws. He readied his resolve for the conversation they would have after Boyd was safe in bed, safe from the vitriol that wanted escape from his mouth.
Several hundred dollars poorer, they made their way home in the silent car. Neither Scott nor Isabella gave voice to the monster ready to rip their sham of a marriage to shreds.
Scott couldn’t stop his mind from gnawing on the reality of what he’d seen in the store. The kid she was hugging must be Boyd’s brother. Each time he got close to the truth his mind skittered away, unable to escape the truth of his situation.
Boyd sat in his car seat gurgling, happily batting at toys and grinning in the mirror when he caught Scott’s eye. Scott’s heart ached with unknowable knowledge. His mind conjured creative ways to kill Isabella and escape with Boyd.
The silence stretched the entire ride home. Tension in the car was heavier than summer humidity and pulverized nails through Scott’s skull. His pulse pounded a steady hard beat in his temple and his brain thumped with high blood pressure.
When they arrived home, each went their separate ways. Isabella to bed, likely to concoct a story, Scott scooped up Boyd and settled onto the couch to watch cartoons.
Hours later with Boyd secure and deep asleep in his crib, Scott settled on the couch to wait for Isabella and the inevitable conversation.
She made her meek way into the room, trailing the unfamiliar odor of cigarette smoke. Since Scott had known her she’d never mentioned being a smoker, but she must have a stash somewhere in the house.
Her eyes sought his as she settled on the couch, a sheen of tears glistened, and a flicker of terror lit her eyes from behind. She placed herself as far from him as possible. The distance creating a wide void of empty space to cross.
He chose not to play games and make her guess at the newest problem. “I saw you hugging that kid, and I heard him call you mommy.”
Her voice came out surprisingly strong. “I know, I saw you bend down as I told him to go.”
“How about you get to telling me what that was all about.”
“I can’t.”
Scott, incredulous, said. “You don’t seriously think that will be the end of our conversation. That I’ll let it go. Do you?”
Her head hung and her chest heaved, her enhanced breasts jiggling with the forced breaths. “Ok. I was married before, he’s my kid. Sorry.”
Scott stared at this woman he thought he loved, well, at least lusted. Murder fantasies popped into his head again. “How many lies you figure on telling me before you tell the truth? I saw that kid, he looked like an older version of Boyd.”
“Scott, you’re so smart, I knew you’d figure it out eventually. Boyd is my third child. I have a six year old boy, a three year old girl, and now Boyd. They all have the same father.”
Scott’s heart rate sped through his body on a rally course threatening to crash and burn. A sense of betrayal dug deeper than anger and fury, deep within his heart he was hurt. His hand reached to clutch his chest as an ache spread, enveloping his entire being. For the first time since he was a boy a tear slipped down his cheek.
Isabella gasped at the sight of her big strong man releasing such a base emotion. She cried out, scooted across the couch, and gathered him into her arms, burying his face in her ample bosom and patting his lurching back.
“It’s gonna be okay,” she soothed the beast within.
His response muffled. “No, it’s not.”
His hands reached for her bird thin throat and he pressed his thumbs into the delicate hollow above her collarbone. “Now, you’re gonna tell me the whole truth. This time don’t leave out any facts I may find important.”
She let out a light gasp as her face turned into a purple sheen of trapped blood as her mind fled the reality of her situation.