Damage Done (25 page)

"I was dead until
now," Dylan said, his voice husky and drained, "It's never been like
this, Rachel. Not with anyone."

"Have there been
many?" she asked, wrapping her legs around his to keep him from leaving.

"A few."

"A few three or a few
fifty?"

He laughed, brought his lips
to hers, their sweat mingling, something she'd always hated with Kenneth. With
Dylan she'd have stayed there for hours, unconcerned with the aftermath of
making love, wanting only to prolong the intimacy.

"Somewhere in
between," he said, "Have there been many for you?"

"A few."

"A few three or a few
fifty?"

"A few three."

"Really?" he
asked, pulling his head up to look at her.

"Is that too few or too
many?"

"It's neither, I
suppose."

"Does it bother you?"

He pulled away to sit up, his hand settled affectionately
on her leg.

"Of course not, Rachel.
I don't expect that you spent sixteen years living as a nun, you are married
with two kids. I mean, I cringe thinking of another man fucking you, but now that
I have you here with me again, I'm not too proud to just accept it for what it
is. You had every right to live your life. I didn't understand it then, but I
understand it now."

She sat up next to him,
their naked bodies still glowing, and took his hand into hers,
“It's never been like this for me either.”

She wanted to tell him that she’d always been afraid, that
she’d never known how to share herself with anyone else, but the words wouldn’t
come. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed each of his fingers softly.

“Do you love him?” he asked.

She hesitated and looked
away, “I’m not in love with him, but he was good to me. And he’s a good father.”

"Leave him, Rachel.
Come home with me."

His eyes burned through her, demanding this one obedience.
She let go of his hand and stood, frowning.

"Dylan, I will leave
him, but not today. It's not that simple. We've been married for twelve years,
we have two children. He deserves better. And this is going to destroy
him."

 She walked towards the bedroom, the garden tub calling to
her, exhaustion setting in.

"Rachel!" Dylan
called after her, "I see you haven't grown out of walking away from
conversations that make you uncomfortable!"

She waited for the water to
warm, sat on the edge of the tub and twisted up her hair. She still hadn't gone
to the salon, still hadn't confronted her mother, still hadn't stopped putting
off the inevitable. She was still walking away.

Dylan came into the bedroom
but stopped at the bathroom door, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning
against the frame.

“Rachel, every night since I
lost you that summer, each night I crawled into my bed without you, the world
we created cracked into a million pieces. I felt myself eroding away, your
absence was like waves digging away at the rocks. And each morning I woke up
without you beside me, I swore to forget you, to leave you where you belonged,
in another life. But now you're here with me, and I'm sorry, but I don't know
how to wait, I can't send you home to him. It makes me fucking crazy to think
about, and I've got so many other things to think about, I need you, too. God
knows I don't want to fucking need you, Rachel, but I do.”

"Dylan, I hear you. I
want to be with you. I just can't leave yet."

"When?"

"I don
’t know.”

“That’s not good enough for
me, Rachel.”

“Dylan- you have to
understand, he saved me.”

“Do you think you’re the
only person who needs saving?”

Dylan left her in the tub and turned on some music while he
threw dinner together, but when she was still in the tub half an hour later, he
slipped in behind her wordlessly and wrapped his arms around her. His chest
pressed into hers with every breath, she ran her hands along his legs, and his
dick responded. She reached up with her toe to turn the hot water back on and
rested her head against him.

He was meeting Chrissy and
Jeremy at noon the next morning. The judge had signed off on the motion to
terminate Michael's life support, and he was desperate for Rachel to come with
him to meet Chrissy and her husband. He needed her, they were outlining a plan
for when to pull the ventilator and for the first real time in his life, Dylan
was afraid.

What if he couldn't go
through with it? What if the doctors were wrong and there was a chance Michael
might recover? If any kid was strong enough or bullheaded enough to defy the
odds, it was Michael. He was fucking amazing, did whatever he set his mind to.
He was brilliant and kind and always looking out for other people, he had one
of those enormous selfless hearts Dylan stopped believing could exist until
he'd stumbled upon Michael, that kid had made him believe in love again.

Dylan had picked him up one
night from Chrissy's apartment, he was about seven years old, and they'd been
driving to grab some pizza when Michael saw a homeless man sitting at a
stoplight.

"Dylan, what's that man
doing?" he'd asked from the backseat.

"He's hanging out,
hoping somebody will give him some money."

"What's he need money
for?"

"I don't know, Mikey,
maybe for food or a new coat or something."

"Why doesn't he have a
job?"

He'd asked questions the
whole way to the pizza place and when they'd hit the arcade while they waited
for their order, Dylan thought Michael had finally forgotten about it. But
hours later after they'd seen a movie and were heading back to Dylan's
apartment, Michael asked him to drive back to where they'd seen the homeless
man.

"I'm gonna give him my
pizza. And you can give him your coat, Dylan. You can just go buy a new
one."

Dylan had laughed and teased
him, "You can give him your pizza, dude, but I'm keeping my coat."

Michael made him drive
around for twenty minutes looking for that homeless man. When they hadn't been
able to find him and Dylan finally insisted they go home, Michael sat on the couch
and cried.

"But what if he's still
hungry?"

They'd stayed up late into
the night stuffing brown paper lunch bags full of bottled water and cereal bars
so they'd have them the next time they saw a homeless person at a stoplight.
Michael's idea.

Dylan lay with Rachel in the
tub, despondent, thinking back on that amazing little boy who'd taught him to
believe in humanity again after what had felt like a lifetime of pain.

Had he ever been so fucking low? Losing Rachel and their
baby had wrecked him, he'd never been able to get over it. But this was
different. How was he supposed to watch them turn the life off on his little
man? How was he supposed to stand there and not protect him and not kill the
person who stepped in to turn that machine off?

He needed her. He knew she'd
come with him if he asked, but he couldn't burden her like that. Not with
everything else she'd learned about her crazy mom, and knowing she was leaving
her husband to be with him. How could he ask her to watch him fall apart like
that when she already had so much on her plate?

He couldn't. He'd have to
dig for the strength to get through this shit for the next few weeks without
leaning on her, and pray to fucking God this heartbreak wouldn't last forever

He made love to her again
before they slept, their legs curled together, her face on his chest and his
arms wrapped tightly around her.

***

When the sun shone through
the window and she realized he was gone, she felt her throat go tight, fearing
he'd left her again forever, angry at her refusal to leave Kenneth immediately.
She made her way into the kitchen and found a note sitting next to the coffee
pot.

People will say it's crazy, that our
relationship is contemptible, we are selfish and immoral. They'll say we missed
our chance, that we're too old, it's been too long. They'll call you a whore,
and me a homewrecker.

But I say we're sane, they'll envy our passion, and misunderstand the
sacred communion between two people who long to be one together. 

And is it not immoral to choose war
over peace? Or sorrow over joy? Regarding love, only a fool will say there is
virtue in sacrifice. Fight for your own happiness, Rachel, don't sit around
waiting to be blessed with it.

Loving you is as natural for me as
pulling air into my lungs, and I won't apologize for that. Even if it makes me
selfish. Or immoral. Or a homewrecker.

Fuck everybody else. I only want to
love you. Like I've always loved you. Ask yourself, "What do I want?"
and then reach out and take it.

Always, Dylan

Sadness replaced anger,
realizing that no matter how quickly she moved, nor how delicately, someone was
leaving with a broken heart, and she'd be plagued with yet another festering
emotional wound.

Dylan would never leave her again, he'd never left her to
begin with. He loved her, and she knew it in a way she hadn't known before her
mother spent weeks convincing her she'd been wrong.

Remembering Savannah's
deception left her feeling gross, she stepped into the shower and let the water
scald her skin while she combed out the tangled curls, and scrubbed away tears.
She cried because she was angry, afraid it would take her the rest of her life
to forgive her mother.

But if Rachel ever wanted to find true peace of mind, she
knew she'd have to forgive her, not for Savannah's sake, but for her own.

***

Early Sunday she pulled into
the gravel driveway and began unloading her few bags, still tired. But beyond
telling Kenneth she wanted a divorce, she was nowhere closer to developing a
plan for how to move on with her life.

She took a deep breath and considered the almost-empty
bottle of Valium. Her cell in hand, she brushed the bottle away and scrolled to
find the number, then hit the "call" button before she lost her
nerve.

"Hey, dumplin'!"
Savannah said, honey dripping from her tongue.

"Mother, are you home
today?"

"Aren't you well,
dumplin'? You sound upset."

"I am upset, but I'd
rather not discuss it over the phone."

"Why ever not, Rachel?
Is everything alright?"

"No. But it will
be," she stilled the tremor in her voice, "I want to come over and
talk. Are you home today?"

"Yes, we're home. We're
just about to have brunch, Jameson has a noon tee-time. You're worrying me,
Rachel, are the children okay?"

"They're fine, Mother.
I'll be there in about an hour, please let the gate know to expect me."

She played over what she'd
say, the questions she'd ask, and wondered if her mother would fly off the
handle, if she'd deny everything or simply admit what she'd done. Rachel wasn't
sure she was ready to hear the truth, it scared her. But she had to ask, and
she needed Savannah to know that she'd uncovered her deception.

The gate to the small
community was enormous, a wrought iron monster stretching forty feet across the
stone paved road that led to a five thousand acre spread covered in million
dollar homes, tennis courts, and private stables. Three golf courses and a
private polo field brought in the high rollers who wanted to escape the bustle
in Houston. Jameson had purchased one of the first homes for Savannah before
they were married near the end of Rachel's senior year in high school. They'd
moved in only a few days before graduation.

The acne-faced security
guard smiled and waved her though, and the gate rolled back to give her access.
She pulled up to their house and stared up at ten thousand square feet of brick
pomp and overindulgence daring her to dismantle the years of carefully
constructed deceit. She was petrified.

She needed a Valium, but didn't want to dull the rage that
fueled her confidence. Stepping onto the marble stoop, she pressed the doorbell
and waited for the housekeeper to greet her. When Jameson opened the door
instead, she instantly regretted leaving the Valium in her car.

"Hey kiddo. What's up?"

"Hello Jameson,"
she said politely, stepping through the door and into the lion's den where
Savannah waited, martini in hand, wearing her Sunday's finest.

"Well, dumplin', come
on in, you've got me worried," she said, "Let's go back to the
sunroom, can we get you a drink?"

"No, I'm fine, thank
you."

Jameson excused himself to
his library and the women made their way through the jungle of pageantry before
they settled in the small sunroom off of the kitchen. It overlooked the custom
designed swimming pool, and a scenic shot of the golf course sat just beyond
the pool house. A flicker of a smile crossed her lips as Rachel imagined her
mother giving Jameson head, seducing her way into the home she'd always dreamed
of.