This Time Forever Page 13

  Rebekka closed the door and went to the desk where her laptop sat. She pushed the button to bring it to life, and then rapidly added an extra line to her e-mail to Marc before sending it.

  P.S. Tonight Damon kissed me.

  What would he make of that? Would he feel as devastated as she had when he was dating that woman he’d almost asked to marry him?

  No, of course, not.

  As she lay in bed, sleep wouldn’t come. Her mind went over the events of the day in a continuous cycle. Despite her pleasant time with Damon, it was Marc’s letter that stood at the heart of her sleeplessness.

  He was right when he said I knew what I wanted in life. I have always achieved every goal—except to marry him.

  Her only failure. The thing that meant the most to her. What did all her achievements mean without a soul mate to share them with?

  “I will not cry for him.” Her voice was a tortured whisper in the darkness of her room.

  She forced her thoughts to Damon. Tonight he’d responded to her kiss. She didn’t fool herself that his passion had been for her, but at least he’d begun to see her as a woman. Damon had been in love and had lost, but he was ready to move on—a point of maturity that Marc had never reached.

  She, too, was ready to move on.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Weeks stretched into months for Mickelle, and she hardly realized their passing. More and more, she found it difficult to get out of bed. The boys took care of themselves quite well and didn’t need her except for the occasional dinner. They spent most of their time playing with cousins or friends. Their grandmother and aunts took care of Jeremy’s ninth birthday in August, buying him everything on his list except the motorcycle he’d seen in a magazine. Brionney even made him a cake and took him roller skating.

  Mickelle didn’t register for college as she’d planned, using her lack of money as an excuse. It was true she didn’t have funds, but she could have received financial aid—if she could have brought herself to fill out the papers.

  The lack of money was a constant source of pressure. Riley’s life insurance company had continued to refuse payment of the hundred thousand dollars she’d expected. The suicide clause was in effect for two years after purchase of the policy, and Riley had died three weeks too soon.

  At times when she was feeling perverse, Mickelle laughed at the irony of the situation. Three weeks more, and she and the kids would have been taken care of. It’s just like him. A responsible husband would have waited three weeks before killing himself. Then she would cry. She cried a lot. Sometimes she wondered where all the tears came from.

  An ocean of tears.

  A universe of tears.

  All her dreams gone.

  Donations from family, friends, and neighbors had buried Riley and paid immediate bills. Now she lived off a slim social security check. She knew she needed a job to make life good for the boys, but she simply couldn’t find it in herself to do anything.

  Her house was a mess—four months’ worth of mess. Each morning she awoke to Jeremy’s wet bed, new mounds of dirty clothes, and trash that needed to be taken outside. Books, toys, and games were on counters, floors, beds, and even the couch. She’d learned to overlook it all. Who cared about any of it? Not her. She did nothing about the housework, except for the flecks of burnt toast the boys scraped off their toast when they forgot and left it too long in the broken toaster. The black flecks stuck to the wet parts of the sink, covered the light-yellow countertops, and speckled the floor. She exerted herself enough to wipe them up, but silently berated the boys for not cleaning up after themselves, and herself for not making them.

  It was easier to stay in bed.

  “Mom! Mom!” A voice penetrated Mickelle’s sleepy brain. Jeremy rushed into her room. “Are you going to take me to school, or should I walk? Bryan says I gotta walk, but that I have to go with someone. Is that right?”

  Mickelle blinked at him. What was he talking about?

  He put his hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. “It’s school,” he explained patiently. “Today’s the first day.”

  “What? Oh, yeah.”

  Mickelle swung her feet out of bed. “I’ll take you both. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, I took a bath like you said.” He grimaced, and Mickelle felt guilty. She wished there was some way she could help him overcome his problem of wetting the bed. “And I’m wearing the new clothes Grandma bought me.”

  Mickelle hadn’t known her mother had bought him clothes, but seeing his cheerful face, she was glad someone had. “Did you eat?”

  “Uh-huh. Cereal. Can we go now?”

  She glanced at the clock. “You have an hour and a half before you need to leave. You’re on second track so you don’t have to be there till nine-fifteen. But you can come with me while I take Bryan. Let me get dressed, and I’ll be right out.” Five minutes passed while she hunted in a pile of black clothing for a pair of relatively clean black jeans and a black shirt with tiny white buttons. In the bathroom, she dragged a comb through her limp hair.

  Bryan eyed her with relief when she emerged from the bedroom. “I thought Jeremy would have to go alone.”

  “I know the way,” Jeremy said.

  “You’re too little to go by yourself.”

  Jeremy threw his brother a scathing look. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “I just meant you should go with Mom or your friends.”

  “I’m big enough!”

  “Are not!”

  “Mom! Bryan’s being mean!”

  “I wasn’t trying to be mean, stupid.” Bryan banged his open hand on the counter. “Ooh! You make me so mad!”

  Wouldn’t they ever be quiet? All they did was chatter constantly, whether fighting or playing, leaving her no room to think her own thoughts. Their young voices had never bothered her before, but since Riley. . .

  “Bryan’s right, Jeremy,” Mickelle interjected, forcing her thoughts away from her husband. “If you walk, you have to walk with somebody, same as last year. But I can take you in the Snail today.”

  “The Snail?” Jeremy asked, puzzled.

  Bryan laughed. “The station wagon. Mom, that’s too funny! It does drive like a snail.”

  “I get it,” said Jeremy, grinning.

  “Don’t you have to be to school by eight?” Mickelle asked Bryan.

  “Eight-fifteen.” He glanced at the door. “I want to ride the bus with my friends. We planned to go together.”

  The first day of junior high school. Mickelle understood. “That’s fine. But behave yourself.”

  Bryan took a step toward the door and then paused, looking at her carefully. “You gonna be okay, Mom? I mean, you’re not depressed, are you?”

  He looked so much like Riley that she had to force a smile. Not Riley during the bad times, but Riley when things were good between them, when his love had shone through his insecurities. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Now get going.” She kissed his cheek and he ran out the door, a new dark blue backpack over his shoulder. Another present from her parents, most likely.

  “I don’t want to walk.” Jeremy began to organize his school supplies.

  “But you told Bryan you did.”

  “No, I said I knew the way. I just don’t like him acting like I’m a baby. I’m not five or six—or seven anymore.”

  “He’s just worried about you.”

  Jeremy’s eyes stared into hers. “Can’t you go with me today, Mom? I mean to school. Can’t you stay there?”

  “No.” Mickelle took a bowl from one of the old dark cupboards that were caked with grime so thick in spots that she could scrape it off with her fingernail. In fact, scraping was the only way to remove the thirty years of greasy buildup; washing the cupboards simply wasn’t enough. She had always planned to replace them, but how could she now?

  “But what if you miss me?”

  “Then I’ll come see you.”

  “You’re not going anywhere, are yo
u?”

  Mickelle finally perceived his worry. School was their first extended separation since Riley had died. One parent had left and never returned, and he was afraid of losing her, just as Bryan was. She sat on a kitchen chair and drew his thin figure into her arms. “Jeremy. I’m not ever going to leave you. Not if I have anything to say about it. And you’re going to have so much fun in the fourth grade that you’ll hardly know how the day went so fast.”

  His face brightened. “Okay. Then you’ll pick me up?”

  “Yes, but only today. We’re close enough for you to walk with your friends.”

  He hugged her. “Can we go?”

  She certainly admired his exuberance. Once, she had felt that way about going back to college.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” Jeremy’s voice was tense, and Mickelle forced her face to relax.

  She smoothed his hair. “Nothing. I was just thinking that I should go to school, too.”

  “You should. It’s fun. So can we go now?”

  She groaned. “Not for another hour at least. You’re too early.”

  Jeremy got another bowl out of the cupboard. “In that case, I’ll eat some more cereal.”

  At nine o’clock, Mickelle drove Jeremy to Forbes Elementary. She walked him to his fourth grade class, where he was immediately swept up into his circle of friends. To be sure he was going to be all right, she waited and watched, but he seemed to have forgotten she was there.

  In the car, loneliness and despair settled once more on her shoulders. She didn’t return to the house, but drove aimlessly. Somehow, she found herself on the freeway driving twenty miles over the speed limit. Dangerous thoughts popped into her head, insidious whisperings promising immediate relief. How easy it would be to end it all by driving the car off an overpass, or to turn around and drive into oncoming traffic. If she was lucky, she might die before she felt any pain. All her suffering would be over in an instant.

  What am I thinking? Horror seeped into every pore of her body.

  Was this how desperate Riley had felt?

  Never. I am not a coward. I have not yet lost sight of reality.

  Aloud she said, “I’m sorry, Bryan, Jeremy. I’m sorry for even thinking it.” But she admitted to herself that it wasn’t the first time since Riley’s death that she had thought of joining him and leaving her too-painful existence behind.

  Mickelle took the next off-ramp and turned the car around. Using the Alpine Highway, she drove methodically back to American Fork.

  The sound of a siren abruptly broke her concentration. With surprise, she saw a police car behind her, its lights whirling. Her heart started pounding as she glanced at the speedometer. No, she wasn’t going too fast. Why was he pulling her over?

  Her pulse increased again, and she fought against the panic rising in her chest. The world around her began to spin. Her chest constricted and she couldn’t breathe. Her vision dimmed. The terrible thumping of her heart in her ears continued loudly. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

  A panic attack. She’d been suffering them since the day she had learned she was not pregnant. Sometimes they were severe, but usually she could ease them by avoiding stressful situations. Knowing the cause of her symptoms was comforting, but how could she get rid of them altogether before she became completely agoraphobic? Wasn’t she reluctant enough to leave her home already?

  Another thought came, even more disturbing. How could she possibly pay for a traffic ticket and the resulting insurance hike?

  The officer still sat in his car behind her. She knew he was calling in her license plate and checking her record. Thank heavens it was clean, and the delay gave her time to recover enough to speak.

  Finally the police officer emerged from his car, carrying a pad. He motioned for her to roll down the window.

  “Was I speeding?” she asked timidly. “I didn’t think I was.”

  “No.” He peered at her carefully. “You were just driving rather slowly, and I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  Mickelle understood what he was not saying: he’d suspected she was drunk. She remembered learning once in a health class that drunk drivers often compensated for their impaired senses by driving more slowly than usual. “Are you going to give me a ticket?” She knew desperation colored her voice.

  “No, I . . . hey, I know you.” He thought a moment. “Oh, you’re the lady whose husband . . .” He trailed off, looking apologetic.

  Mickelle put aside her fear enough to recognize him as one of the young officers who had come to her house with the news of Riley’s suicide—the one with blue eyes and brown hair. She nodded. “I remember you,” she said, peering at his name tag, “Officer Lowder.” He’d been kind—very kind—and she had never thanked him. “You were nice that day. Thank you.”

  He put the pad in his pocket. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I just drove my son to school, and I was being careful because I didn’t want to get into an accident. My boys need . . .” Without warning, her eyes filled and tears spilled onto her cheeks.

  “Look, is there something I can do?” His gaze was earnest, his voice rich with compassion.

  She wiped her face with both hands. “No, really. Thank you. Just don’t give me a ticket.” She tried to grin.

  His answering smile sent a ray of sunshine into her heart. “I won’t. But you go home now, okay? And be careful.”

  “Thank you.”

  Officer Lowder stepped back and watched as she put the old station wagon into gear and drove away. She glanced in the mirror and saw that he was still staring after her. Nice man.

  Back at home, she changed the sheets on Jeremy’s bed before reading the obituaries in the Daily Herald that arrived on her porch each morning. It was a free gift subscription someone had given her anonymously. She suspected it was a subtle hint from Brionney to find a job in the “Help Wanted” section, but she never got past the obituaries. Usually most of the dead were older, but today there was a thirty-year-old mother of four who had died of cancer and a toddler who’d been fished out of a canal. Mickelle wondered about the loved ones left behind, and if their lives had changed as much as hers.

  Sighing, she tossed the paper on the pile near Riley’s chair and went into the bathroom to pick up Jeremy’s wet pajamas. He’d left the water undrained as usual, and the ring in the tub was dark. She should clean it, but she couldn’t make the effort. Why did everything demand her attention? All she wanted to do was go back to bed and pull the covers over her head. No more demands. No feelings.

  Abruptly, the dimming of her vision and the rapid beating of her heart signaled another panic attack. She sank to the floor, dropping her head to her knees until the feelings subsided. At that moment, she wished more than anything that she didn’t have to pick Jeremy up that afternoon, that she could stay in the house forever.

  Leaving the bathroom, she went to her room and collapsed on her bed. The curtain was drawn, and only a small amount of light filtered through. Mickelle had never realized how comforting the dark could be. She let herself drift to where she could feel no pain.

  A persistent ringing sound jolted her awake. The doorbell. She glanced at the clock. It was already after noon. “Go away,” she muttered, turning over.

  The ringing continued. At last it stopped, but she heard someone in the hall. “Mickelle? Are you here? Mickelle, it’s Brionney. I’ve brought you some bulbs to plant for next year. Daffodils, and they had a clearance on roses. I bought red, white, and pink. They were out of yellow—that’s why I got the daffodils. I have no idea if this is an okay time to plant roses or bulbs, but I thought you might know. Mickelle?”

  Mickelle groaned and swung her feet out of bed for the second time that day. Why couldn’t people just let her sleep?

  “Mickelle!” Brionney had reached the door to her room. “Are you sick?” She eyed Mickelle’s black clothing with a grimace but didn’t comment on it.

  “No. I’m just tired.”

  Brionn
ey sighed and sat next to her on the bed. “I hear you. The twins both had something last night, and Jesse had to pull an all-nighter at work, so I was alone.” She jumped up. “Oh, that reminds me—Rosalie and the boys are still in the van. I have the alarm on, but I shouldn’t leave them there too long. Come and help me unload the plants, will you? There’s a lot of them!”

  Mickelle let herself be urged along by her sister’s enthusiasm. Outside, they let the children into the backyard to play before returning to the van for the plants.

  “Don’t you need any?” Mickelle asked.

  “I already dropped a whole bunch off at home on my way from the store. Damon has offered me the use of his gardener for a few days, so he’s planting them for me. Apparently Damon pays him a salary, and he didn’t have anything to do at his place this week.” Brionney lowered two rose bushes to the sidewalk next to the flower bed. “He’s a really nice man, Damon is.”

  Mickelle vaguely remembered that Damon was Jesse’s partner. “How’s the company doing?” She asked from habit, though some remote part of her knew that once she would have actually cared about the response.

  Brionney looked up from her squatting position. “Good. Today they’re meeting with a guy from another company to see about getting their programs into foreign countries. And the money is finally coming in. Jesse’s even taking a week off sometime soon. We can’t go anywhere since the kids are in school, but I’m excited anyway.”

  Mickelle sat down on the sidewalk, running her hands through the rich, moist soil, wondering who’d watered it for her. If she could find enough energy, she might even thank them. The smell of the earth filled her nose and she breathed it in, relishing the aroma and the memories of her childhood that the smell brought to her mind. The gritty feel of the dirt was somehow clean and refreshing.

  There was a long silence, and Mickelle searched her mind for something to say. “So is the partner taking a week off, too?” Not that she cared in the slightest.

  Brionney brushed her hands against her jeans. “Not a chance. He doesn’t have much interest in taking a vacation. His children are in school and he’s not married. I mean, he’s a widower. You know what? I think you should go out with him. He’s really nice.”