Where We Left Off
: Part 2 – Chapter 12

“I’ll take all four.” Cathy Broderick was a woman I loved doing business with, and her order was incredibly necessary music to my ears and my bank account. “You must have them delivered and someone will need to come down and arrange them. I don’t have time for that. And I’m not paying for any that show up damaged, even if they’re fixable. I don’t care that they’re being shipped across the country—absolutely no damage. And no charge for the shipping, nor handling.”

“Of course.” I nodded. It was more work and money on my end, but what I knew of Cathy was that she was a stiff, unrelenting broad and even if I attempt to renegotiate something reasonable into the contract, she wouldn’t yield. “Everything just as stated here.”

“Have them arrive on the twelfth. The walls will be ready.”

“Yes.” I stuffed my papers into my leather messenger bag. My hands were clumsy and shaky. The perfume thick on her skin nauseated me and I took several staccato breaths as though by avoiding breathing deeply, I could avoid the pungent aroma that twisted my stomach. I was a smart enough woman to know that wouldn’t do any good, but I did it still. “Thank you, again. Always a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Always a pleasure doing business with your father. He’s the real talent here.” Her lips were as tight as the black pantsuit she had on, firm and unmoving. Dark beady eyes lowered, casting a judgmental gaze. “You, my dear, are a hot mess.”

Cathy Broderick was an awful, pretentious woman, but Cathy Broderick was an observant woman. I was a mess. Carrying a fancy briefcase and dressing in the prettiest dress I owned—the one stuffed all the way in the back of my closet, years’ worth of must clinging to its fibers—did not a convincing businesswoman make. Even still, I’d felt beautiful as I slipped it over my small shoulders this morning. I’d hoped the charming apricot hue of roses patterned over the fabric would bring out the glow of my cheeks, accentuating them rather than the reddened rims of my eyes, the semi-permanent veins that crisscrossed the whites of them.

Of course, I’d been wrong.

I didn’t linger on Cathy’s comment. I was out the door after gathering my things and was smacked by the angry heat of triple digits. I reeled back, then adjusted the hem of my skirt, fluffed my hair, and pushed forward.

The car was parked two blocks over in an empty lot and my heels wobbled down concrete which was speckled with black circles of used gum spat onto its sidewalk. Urine stained the brick walls on buildings a century or more old. It could’ve been a lovely little town if someone took care of it, but I wasn’t sure whose responsibility that was. The mistakes of many have led to its current state. Words like revitalization and revamping got thrown around a lot, but they didn’t stick like the grime.

Cathy’s small gallery offered a bit of hope. Of all the tenants, she certainly brought in the most revenue, many thanks to my father. I knew her ostentatious lifestyle was also a direct result of the commission she made on his paintings. Everyone knew that. I didn’t have the heart to tell her these would be the last she’d ever purchase from our family.

Maybe it wasn’t the heart I didn’t have. Maybe it was the balls.

By the time I made it to my car, my skin was sticky with perspiration. I could feel the dampness of my underarms and frowned at the fact that I’d have to dry clean this dress. Back into the closet it was going to go. Now I had yet another bill to add to the pile.

I slammed the door to my car and sunk into the driver’s seat. It was the kind of heat that made you fight for breath, and I cranked the air on as soon as the key hit the ignition. Minutes went by before the blast was cool enough to do anything to my current body temperature. Dried sweat now chilled made me shiver, as did the tears that burned the backs of my eyes. I slammed the car into Drive and backed out of the parking lot.

The road home was under thirty minutes, but I didn’t remember much of it. There was a broken down vehicle on I-5 going north, I thought, because I remembered slowing for the first responders with their red lights as warning beacons, pulled off to the side to aid in the rescue. I remembered speeding back up again to keep up with the flow of traffic.

Keep up with the flow.

That’s what I’d been doing for the past year and a half. Keeping up.

My bottom lip quivered and I scolded it with my teeth. There was a permanent groove settling into the flesh there.

The tears won their way, spilling over and down my cheeks

I couldn’t keep up with the flow anymore.

I couldn’t keep up.

I didn’t know why I even tried.

Tori was on the couch when I got home, her neck bent at such an angle that her head was square with her chest. The way her fingers flew over the phone made me pause to take in the scene. I’d bet money that the good majority of Tori’s conversations with friends took place in written text rather than face-to-face. It made me wonder if she really did laugh out loud, or if it had merely become a three letter, typed reaction for her.

I pushed the garage entry door into the jamb with more force than necessary to startle her into awareness as I walked into the house.

“Mallory!” Tori jumped from the couch. Her curly blonde hair twirled around her face as she spun toward me. “You’re back early.”

I slipped my bag off my shoulder and my high heels from my feet. My arches ached as they flattened onto the cool tile and I paced across the kitchen toward her. “Well, you know Cathy Broderick. She’s nothing if not extremely efficient.”

“And extremely awful.”

“A little of that, too.” I laughed and placed three folded tens into Tori’s hand. She curled her fingers around the bills and then stuffed them into her jean shorts pockets, a toothy grin exposed under glossy pink lips. Her cheeks were so plump with youth they reminded me of when I was that age. When life was an exciting, intriguing, and naïve adventure. “How’d everything go?”

“Same as always. He made a mess with the paint again, but I think I got it all cleaned up this time.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” I gave Tori a tight hug, thankful to have her here. She’d been a godsend these past several years and I loved her like family. There were few people I could call on at a moment’s notice, but I knew Tori was certainly one of them. She’d been on the receiving end of several late night, incoherent phone calls and texts, and thinking back on those moments made me feel bad for criticizing her social skills. Sometimes the heart emoticons she’d send my way were exactly what I’d needed. “Same time tomorrow still work for you?”

“Sure thing.”

As I walked her to the door and watched her get into her brother’s metallic blue car, my heart squeezed, a vise grip of emotion taking hold. Her tires squealed faintly against the curb and the sedan rocked onto the street as she switched the vehicle into gear, the movement jerky and unpracticed. Tori tossed me a wave out of the rolled down window and I lifted my hand to return one of my own.

Then I got as far away from that window as I could. I’d spent countless days waiting by it and I wouldn’t do that again. With hasty movements, I dragged the curtains shut even though it was only six thirty-six. The rest of the neighborhood surely suspected things, the way the house was always buttoned up, the garage closed and blinds drawn. They must’ve thought something was going on inside this quiet place. The truth was, I didn’t know how to cope with what was going on outside of it. Sometimes shutting oneself in seemed an awful lot like shutting others out.

I backed away from the window and bumped squarely into a wall like it hadn’t been there for the past five years. Like I’d missed out on the remodel taking place and it was some new addition. My head rocked back and I leaned against the drywall, eyes closed.

I could hear him faintly on the other side.

It was enough to pull me from my stupor, from the trap of memories in my mind. More than enough. I jogged around the corner to the second bedroom on the right, and I pulled on the doorknob, rotating it softly so as not to make a sound. The room was dark, but he sensed me right away like always. The tightness tugging at my heart unraveled and my body filled with the warmth of unconditional love.

“Hello, my sweet boy. Did we have a good afternoon with Auntie Tori?” Two small coos answered my question. I heard his chubby legs kick, kick, kicking against the crib mattress, springs coiling squeakily in response.

I promised myself I wouldn’t fall asleep in the rocker again tonight, but as I lifted him from where he lay and we settled into our favorite space, Corbin’s sweet breath fanning against my neck, his tiny heart beating on top of mine, I knew there wasn’t any good reason to place him back into the empty crib to sleep alone. We had each other, and while most children sought their mothers for comfort and assurance, I relied on Corbin equally as much for those two things.

I was sure of the life I once owned when I looked into his eyes. He wore so much of his father on his cherub face, in his crooked smile and long, long lashes. They were the kind that would be the recipient of comments for the rest of his days. He’d grow tired of hearing how unreal they were, become annoyed at how jealous the girls got that a boy would have such beautiful and full eyelashes. He’d grow to hate them, but I’d make him learn to love them.

That was my job now. To make him learn to love him.

I wasn’t sure if it was innate. It could be one of those things where the stories told by firesides and dinner tables built an imaginary relationship where the real memories were missing. Layer upon layer added in like a tale from a book of fables. A book full of them. A book full of life.

“He wanted you so badly, Corbin,” and “He named you the minute I showed him the pregnancy test,” and “He planned to take you fishing at three, hunting at twelve. Already owned the rod and the rifle.”

Each milestone in my son’s life would be tagged with the disclaimer that his father would’ve “loved to be there for this.”

There would always be a missing piece, a gap in his future. Like playing chess without a king or making cookies when you’d run out of sugar, but on a scale not even measurable. Just this gaping, yawning, and noticeable hole where something wasn’t quite right.

My world had more missing pieces than usable ones, so of course I got it.

Mom.

Dylan …

I broke my promise and woke up the next morning with a slumbering baby on my chest, sleep lines from the rocker’s cushion pressed deep onto my cheek.

But I’d broken a lot of promises in my life.

I wasn’t sure it was actually possible for anyone to really keep one.