Ember Flowers (27 page)

***

The blue eyes
looked back at her through the half open door, she’d all but pushed
him down to get inside. Standing in his kitchen, he’d calmly closed
the door behind her, joining her, standing beside her on the
tile.

“Joanne..didn’t
we agree to call first?” His eyes flitted over her, the hostility
in her posture rolling off in waves.

Her nostrils
flared. He always said she looked beautiful when she was angry.

“You are
despicable. You are beyond..so beyond what I thought you were
capable of Owen. Your own daughter for Christ’s sake?”

He held his
hands up in defence. “Joanne, slow down?”

Her grey eyes
were hard. “No. You listen. Don’t interrupt me.” Owen stood still
where he was, looking at her. His mouth open but not moving, it
pulled slowly into a sneer he tried to hide.

“I talked to
Jean. You’re lying. You used your daughter like a pawn in your
fucked up little mind game. I should have known you’d do something
like this when I didn’t come crawling back.”

She bristled,
trying to keep control. Trying to make herself clear. Her concern
over his reaction suppressed by anger. “We’re done Owen. Done.
You’re Annabelle’s father, I can’t stop her from wanting you in her
life. But as far as we’re concerned, I’m filing those papers
myself. We’re done.”

Owen’s brows
shot into his hair. He shook his head. “I don’t believe it. You’re
siding with that woman? Over your own daughter? What did she do to
you?”

Jo crossed her
arms. “She loves me Owen. She didn’t do anything to me. I was the
one who was stupid enough to believe you. I should have listened to
my gut.”

A step closer
to her, he was always taller. “You’re fucked up Joanne. You think
any of that is real? This is real. Us. “

She looked him
up and down. “No Owen, this was a mistake. Annabelle was the only
good thing that came from ‘us’.”

He’d been too
surprised to raise his hand, but that had faded away. His eyes were
frozen over, and he tried his best to intimidate her. It had always
worked before. A hand gripped her shoulder. His mouth working,
trying to figure out what to say, his other hand shaking by his
side.

“She put her
hands on Annabelle, and you believe her, over me?” A breath
whistled in harshly through his nose, his hand crushing her
shoulder, the other clenching.

“Damn right I
do. Liar.” Her teeth gritted.

He raised the
back of his hand to her face. She squinted in reflex, bracing,
tensing. He’d been careful where he bruised her before, been too
cunning. That could change.

“Go ahead. Do
it! I’m not scared of you anymore. I’ll report you. Half the
station will see the marks you’ve left on me.”

He stood
perfectly still, his hand by her cheek. “You wouldn’t?”

“Try me.” Her
voice was low and resolute. She believed in herself now, knew it
wasn’t her fault. Jo kept eye contact, not backing down, not giving
an inch, daring him to do it.
He could hit her, knock her down,
but if he did.. he’d damn well answer for it.
The days of her
crying herself to sleep were over. She would never permit her
daughter to think this was OK
. Never.

Her husband
released her, and she rocked back on her feet, almost falling back
against the table. Her hands shot out to steady herself.

“You wait and
see. I’ll ruin her. Then I’ll ruin you.” His words were cold and
blood curdling. Coming out in a hiss over her face as she
straightened up her tall frame.

Jo shook her
head, her lips pulling into a bitter snarl. “No need. You won. She
broke it off.” He smiled slowly to himself, huffing softly in
triumph. It prompted a hostile glare.

“You got what
you wanted. Leave her alone. I hear anything, anything..about you
causing trouble and you’ll find yourself in shit up to your
neck...” 


***

Restless sleep
and no concentration since. A week of it and her eyes were
bloodshot. She’d stormed out after throwing around a few more
barbed jabs. Had made herself clear. It hadn’t made anything
better. They didn’t discuss custody, both too fired up for a
civilised conversation. Instead she made one last comment as she
was leaving: the house was going on the market. It was never a
home, anyway.

She was still
left with the sick feeling in her stomach. At least packing boxes
made the time pass by. Her empty life taped shut and sealed away.
His remaining belongings were in a neat stack on the sofa.

A knock at the
door. Joanne rolled her eyes.

She stood
behind the door as she pulled it ajar. Her mother.
Wonderful.

“Hi Mum.” The
policewoman awkwardly opened the door for her. She’d left Pamela’s
house without even saying goodbye that day. Too much on her mind,
her mother waiting to harpoon her with questions the least of her
concerns.

“Joanne, I came
to see how you were feeling? You were very..stressed last time I
saw you..”

“I wonder
why?..” Grumbled under her breath as she walked to the kettle.

Pamela looked
around, noting the congregated furniture and stacked boxes. She’d
seen the sign out front.

“House on the
market dear?”

“Yes. It was
time.”

“I see.” She
watched her daughter's tense movements across the room. Joanne
glanced at the older woman, who was nervously fiddling with her
handbag.

“Mum. I’m
fine.” The grey eyes looked defeated.

“Do you want to
talk about it Joanne? Owen?”

Joanne sighed.
They had never been close. “If you want to know if what he said
about Annabelle is true, it’s not, she’s fine.”

The green eyes
remained fixed on her. Pamela nodded slowly, seemingly relieved.
“It gave me quite a start. Why would he say something like that? It
makes no sense.”

Jo leant her
back against the kitchen counter. Bracing herself. “Sure it does.
He wanted me end my relationship. He got what he wanted.”

Her voice slow
and measured. “So this Jean is more than a friend then? You
were..involved with her?” Her eyes said it all.

Jo nodded.
Breathe.
“Yes.”

Her mother
looked uncomfortable, and almost guffawed at her answer. “You’re
not one of those Joanne. I’d know.”

The tall
policewoman’s brow quirked in agreement. “Jean is the only woman
I’ve ever..felt that way about. Trust me, I was as shocked as you
were.”

There was a
silence for a moment. Tact sometimes took time. “Well, perhaps this
was a sign that it wasn’t to be.”

A soft sigh. “I
didn’t think it would hurt so much.”

Her mother
looked genuinely surprised. “You spent a lot of time together? With
this..woman?”

Jo smiled
sadly. “I have a key to her house Mum.”

Her mother’s
blonde bob tussled as she nodded. It was a hard thing to hear, as
hard as it was for Joanne to tell her. Strangely, Jo felt none of
the expected embarrassment in doing so. She had braced herself for
the judgemental looks. For the hissed whispers. Even from her own
friends and family. Instead her mother’s attitude was measured
equally by her concern. At least it implied she still cared.

“Your daughter
will no doubt be confused?”

“She’s confused
about not being able to see her anymore.”

Pamela smoothed
the table linen. “I meant about you..seeing another woman?”

Jo’s eyes were
icy for a moment. “Kids don’t learn judgement until they’re
older.”

“Perhaps.
Joanne what were you thinking? What would this mean?
Getting..complicated with a woman? What would your friends
think?”

Her daughter
shut her eyes for a moment. “What does it matter? It’s over now.
You don’t have to worry about what people think of you.”

“Of me?” Both
shaped brows raised, crinkling the older woman’s forehead.

Jo tidied the
counter angrily. Basic utensils were yet to be packed. “Yes. You.
Your friends at the golf club would have a fit. I’m sure you’d just
change the subject if they asked about me?”

Pamela tried
her best to feign innocence. “Nonsense. I would merely tell them
you were well..going through a difficult time. It would be
true.”

Her daughter
rolled her eyes, hurting. “It’s over. It doesn’t matter
anymore.”

“So you
confronted her about Annabelle? What did she say?” Her eyes
flitting over her daughter.

“Jean was
horrified. Like I knew she would be. It made me feel awful.”
Studying the ground. She still felt a deep sense of shame.

Her mother
seemed unaffected. “It was your daughter. Sometimes you have to ask
difficult questions. Annabelle comes first.”

The tall blonde
sighed. “I just, miss being around her. She always made me feel so
at home. So cared for. Makes me sad to think I’ll never have that
again.”

Her mother rose
to stand beside her. “Oh Joanne, don’t be silly. You’ll have that
again. This..Jean woman was just an interlude, a rebound. You’re
going through a difficult divorce?”

Jo shut her
eyes tightly. “Then why am I so upset?”

Pamela shrugged
her shoulders. “Perhaps you feel poorly for leading her on? But she
had to know that this would never have worked out.”

The
policewoman sniffled, hugging her arms over herself.

“There there
dear. You’re confused. That will pass. You have your daughter to
think about.”

Joanne huffed
to herself. “I’m not confused. I didn’t want it to end. She loves
me.”

Embarrassed by
the emotional statements her mother gave her a sigh of
exasperation. She touched her daughter’s face. “What’s done is
done. You’ll be happy again. You just need to give yourself time.”
A compassionate tilt of her head.

“No. I need to
make this right..somehow.”

Her mother
shook her head and was already gathering her things, this was a
little too much. “Joanne, get some rest. You’re not thinking
clearly and you need to look after Annabelle. Bring her to me if
you can’t do that.” She was heading for the door, a blush colouring
her cheek.

Chapter
38

It seemed like
as good a time as any to visit her father. Though Jean saw him once
a month, it seemed now more than ever, it would bring her peace to
see his face again.

The grounds
were made up to look as lovely as any formal garden, it was one of
the reasons why she’d picked the place. The community was a series
of Mediterranean style buildings, rendered white with deep red
rooves. She checked in at reception, signing her name and showing
her identification.

They were
familiar with her here, a nurse gave her a smile and wave as she
exited the building, heading toward the leafy, paved lane ways. Her
father lived in a self contained unit. A bedroom, kitchen, bathroom
and living space in a smaller package. It was the only way she got
him to agree, he knew his health was fading. He insisted on
independence. Tempers flared during the discussion, though he knew
it was time. After her mother died he lost more and more of his
memory, perhaps the routines and relationship kept him strong. She
was a doting daughter, even though they didn’t always see eye to
eye, Jean was still his beloved child.

She slipped off
her sunglasses, knocking the latch, standing on his doorstep. Notes
of soft jazz from inside. The door opened, an old man stood in the
doorway in a cotton shirt and dark sienna slacks, worn loafers on
his feet. A crucifix visible beneath his top button. He shared her
olive colouring, though her eyes were her mother’s. A broad smile
split his weathered, bearded mouth, his once lustrous hair a deep
grey combed back off his face.

Her father René
greeted her in accented English, he still carried his Chilean
homeland with him whenever he spoke.

“Yesenia! My
princess. Come in, come in.”

She smiled,
stepping up the two stairs and into his home, he enveloped her in a
hug, kisses on both cheeks. She’d changed her name to something
simpler a long time ago, but she would always be his little
‘flower’
. “Hey Papi, how you been?”

He went to the
stove with shuffling movements, urging her to take a seat. She
always sat on his sofa, otherwise he would struggle to pull out her
chair. Ever the gentleman. He looked over his shoulder at her.
“Café?” She shook her head, she’d had three already. He smiled at
her devilishly “Vino?”

She snorted
softly, checking her watch. “It’s ten in the morning?”

He shrugged his
shoulders, pouring them both cold glasses of juice. She would get
up and help him, but he would only fuss
. Better to let him keep
small tasks for himself.
He joined her, sitting beside her on
the colourful furniture, putting the drinks down with shaky
hands.

He reached
over, gently squeezing her chin. “So much like your mother. My
lovely girl.” It didn’t matter to him that she was in her forties,
it had been a while since someone called her that.

It made her
smile. Her mother was a country girl, swept up by his exotic charms
and machismo. Jean had learnt her phonetics and mannerisms from
her, had adopted her maiden name. Yet she retained her father’s
mischievous spirit and generous demeanour.

She rested her
hand on his knee. “How are things?”

“Good, good. I
cannot complain. They have nurses here you know? Some very pretty.”
He winked, giving her a gentle nudge in the ribs.

Jean chuckled
softly. “I know Papi, I saw them on the way through.”

His eyes
sparkled. “They say hello? There is this one, she is blonde. She
laugh at my jokes.”

“I bet. You’re
terrible Dad.”

He just
shrugged his shoulders, eyes twinkling cheekily, before patting her
on the leg. “And you my daughter? How is Natasha? She is no’ with
you today?”