Flaw Less (4 page)

“
We've perfected phoniness so much at
church and around our friends that you're
starting to believe the bull we're putting
out to the rest of the world.”

—
Sullivan Webb

 

 

“Charles?” called Sullivan as she entered the ornately decorated foyer of their spacious contemporary Victorian home. “Are you here?”

“Yeah, I'm in the study,” he shouted back.

She wasn't surprised to find him there. Charles was spending more and more time in the study. There was a time when he would have been waiting to greet her as soon as she entered the door from one of her many shopping sprees or salon appointments. These days, however, she was more likely to be greeted by the housekeeper, Mavis, than her husband. It wasn't that he was avoiding Sullivan; it just seemed that his life had moved on without her.

Sullivan walked into the study and found Charles staring into his computer's monitor from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Hey.”

“Hello, sweetheart. How was dinner with the girls?”

“The girls were great, Reggie's dinner, on the other hand, left a lot to be desired.”

Charles chuckled a little. “I guess you've got to give Sister Reggie credit for trying.”

“She needs to try harder. I'm starving,” whined Sullivan, rubbing her hand across her toned stomach, which was a stark contrast to her husband's portly belly. “I think there's still some of that casserole left from yesterday. I can warm some up for you too if you'd like.”

Charles still hadn't taken his eyes off of the computer long enough to look at her. “No, don't trouble yourself. I'm not really hungry.”

“How about a bottle of water?” she offered.

“I'm fine, Sullivan.”

Sullivan stood by idly a little longer, waiting for him to strike up a conversation or otherwise acknowledge her existence. It didn't take long for her to conclude that she was waiting in vain. “I think I'm going to eat, then turn in. Should I wait up for you?”

“No, darling, you go on to bed.” He heaved himself out of the chair and kissed her on the forehead. “I'll see you in the morning.” Charles seemed anxious for her to leave and slightly annoyed, which
greatly
annoyed her.

Sullivan pressed her lips together and folded her spindly arms across her chest. “Are you sleeping down here again?”

Charles hunkered back down in his seat. “This research paper is due by seven in the morning. It's probably going to be late when I finish up here, and I don't want to wake you.”

“So I take that as a
yes
. I hate it when you sleep down here, Charles, and you know it. That bed is too big for me to be in all alone.” She curved her lips into a seductive smile and sashayed over to him. “Besides, you still haven't seen me in the oh-so-naughty lingerie I bought last week.” She set her glossy pink lips on his neck and ran her hands through his salt-and-pepper hair.

Charles affectionately patted her hand before pulling away. “As tempting as that sounds, I'm going to have to pass. For a few hours, at least.”

It was an immediate blow to Sullivan's ego, but she wasn't going to stoop to begging, no matter how much she wanted to be near her husband that night.

Frustrated, she snapped off the computer's monitor. “You said you'd forgiven me, Charles,” she blurted out.

He looked up from his computer. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you'd forgiven me for having the affair with Vaughn.”

“And I have. We agreed to work on our marriage, and that's what we're doing.”

“Then why doesn't it feel like it?” she snapped.

Charles stood up and calmly faced his wife. “What does it feel like, Sullivan?”

“It feels . . . fake and forced, and it has for the past several months. You don't look at me the same way, you barely even touch me anymore.”

He sighed. “Sullivan, I love you, and I'm trying, all right? It's just going to take some time for things to get back to the way they used to be.”

“And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?” she demanded, temper still flared.

“We keep praying and going to our marriage counselor. We take positive steps toward rebuilding the trust in our marriage, but like I said, it's gonna take some time.”

Sullivan rolled her eyes. “How much time?”

“I can't answer that, sweetheart. All I can tell you is that I'm trying.”

Sullivan bore holes into him with doubtful eyes. “Really, Charles? Camping out here on the couch, eating in silence—this is your idea of trying?”

Charles exhaled. “I can't get into this with you right now. I have this paper—”

Sullivan cut him off and threw up her hand. “Yeah, you have your paper, you have the church, you have orphans in Africa that need to be fed, souls that need to won for Christ, drowning polar bears that need to be rescued, and whatever else you can think of to avoid our marriage. I get it, Charles.”

“Please don't act like this way,” he pleaded. “I'm trying, Sullivan, I really am. I honestly think things are getting better between us.”

“Why? Because we've said at least two words to each other in the past twelve hours? Or maybe we've perfected phoniness so much at church and around our friends that you're starting to believe the bull we're putting out to the rest of the world.”

“Is that what you're doing? Being phony?”

She let out a deep breath. “Sometimes . . . when I'm in public smiling when I really want to scream or when I pretend not to notice that you don't look at me like you used to. It hurts, Charles. I know I screwed up royally, but how long do I have to be punished for my sins?”

“Nobody's trying to punish you, honey, and I love you as much as I always have. It's just a busy season for us right now, but don't read more into it than that.”

“How can I not? Truthfully, Charles, I think the only reason you took on all this extra responsibility is to have an excuse to evade me and our issues.”

“Maybe at first,” he confessed. “But that was when I was still dealing with the affair and the fallout from the election. God has dealt with me on that, and I'm over it now, but I still have obligations and commitments to fulfill.”

“Including the ones you have to me!” she interjected. “I love you, Charles. The doctor has already warned you about taking on too much and getting stressed out. I just think the focus right now should be on our marriage and having a baby. Before everything blew up with Vaughn, you had babies on the brain. Since then, you've been quiet about it. You know I want to have all of my children by the time I'm thirty-six. After that, I'm closing up shop, so time is of the essence, especially if we're going to have more than one.”

“Honey, we're still five years away from your deadline. Honestly, once you made it clear that you didn't want any kids, I accepted it and put it out of my mind. I've never known you to be a baby person, Sullivan. In fact, you've been very vocal about detesting children, and I know how much you hate directing the children's choir at church.”

“I never said I hated children. My issue has always been the fear that I'd be the kind of mother that Vera was to me. Lord knows I wouldn't wish anything that traumatic on any child. I've moved beyond that, though. People can change. Isn't that what you're always preaching to the congregation?”

“Maybe you were right the first time. Perhaps some couples are just meant to be a blessing to other people's children.”

Sullivan got riled up again. “What are you saying, Charles? Are you going to deprive me of having children?”

“Have I ever deprived you of anything, Sullivan?”

Sullivan cracked a smile, easing the tension. “There
was
that Louis Vuitton croc I wanted a few years ago.”

He chuckled. “You mean the $14,000 purse that you tried to convince me was an
investment
?”

“Charles, I can't help but think that a baby is just what we need to get things back on track between us.”

“I'm not saying I don't want to have children, not at all. I think children are a blessing from God, but we don't need a baby to fix our marriage, not to mention that it's not fair to put that kind of responsibility on a child. It's up to us and the Lord to fix whatever is wrong in our marriage.”

“Whether it's a baby or you taking on a less strenuous workload, something has to change. Our marriage won't survive if we continue on like this,” cautioned Sullivan.

Charles cupped his hands around her arms. “We're fine, Sullivan. If you want, I'll stop what I'm doing and spend an hour or two with you, then come back and finish. If you're hungry, I'll take my beautiful wife out to eat instead of having you warm up day-old casserole. If you're tired, I'll take you upstairs and rub your feet, okay?” He planted a kiss on her lips.
“We are fine, honey
.
”

Sullivan exhaled and fell into her husband's loving arms, almost convinced that their marriage would be okay.

“There's that pretty smile I wanted to see,” said Charles, standing back to look at her. “We're good. Stop looking for trouble.”

At that, Sullivan's smile began to fade. The problem wasn't that she looked for trouble. The problem was that it always managed to find her.

—
Angel King

 

 

Angel hurried home from dinner with the girls to prepare dinner for
her
girls after picking them up from a play date. She quickly slipped out of her Sunday best, donned one of her mother's old aprons, and forced her natural ringlets of curls into a bun. Had she known they were going to murmur and complain like the children of Israel, she would've served them Reginell's half-baked leftovers.

Miley's pouty lips soured into a frown, and she tossed her fork on the plate after sampling Angel's spaghetti. “I don't like it. It doesn't taste like Mommy's.”

Angel sighed. It wasn't the first time “not like Mommy's” was hurled at her and probably wouldn't be the last. Who knew there was an art to making spaghetti?

“Where's the bacon?” asked ten-year-old Morgan, digging through the noodles. “Mommy always put bacon in it.”

“I used sausage instead,” said an exasperated Angel.

“I don't like sausage,” griped Miley.

“You ate three sausage patties this morning,” Angel reminded her.

The five-year-old sulked. “I don't like
this
kind. I like the patties.”

“Well, you don't have to eat it if you don't want to, but I'm not cooking anything else,” threatened Angel.

Miley poked out her mouth in silent protest. Then her hunger got the best of her, and she began taking small bites out of her plate of spaghetti.

“What time is Daddy getting home?” asked Morgan.

Angel poured glasses of juice for them. “He has to work late tonight. He won't be home 'til around ten.”

“Can we stay up and wait for him?” asked Miley.

“She's gonna say no,” muttered Morgan. “She always does.”

“Morgan, that's not true. But you have school tomorrow. If I let you stay up that late, you won't want to get up in the morning, then we'll be late. Remember what happened when I let you stay up waiting for him last week?”

Rather than admit defeat, Morgan found a new way to rile Angel. “Can we go see Mommy this weekend? I want to put some flowers on her grave.”

Angel bit her lip. She knew that the girls needed closure and still needed to feel close to their mother, but the weekly cemetery visits were starting to wear on her. “Wouldn't you rather do something fun, like go to the park or go skating?”

Morgan looked down at her plate. “I knew you were going to say no.”

“I didn't say no, I just . . .” Angel gave up and gave in. “If you want to put flowers on your mother's grave, that's what we'll do. I know you miss her.”

“I miss her all the time, like every day,” admitted Morgan.

“Me too,” replied her sister in a low voice.

Angel softened toward them. “I understand. She was my friend, and I miss her too. But she wouldn't want us to be sad all the time. She'd want us to be happy.”

Morgan pouted while Miley jabbed at her food with the fork as they ate in silence. All three were relieved when they looked up and saw Duke's smiling face. The girls sprang from the table and rushed into their father's arms.

“
Daddy!
” squealed Miley.

“Yea, Daddy's home!” sang Morgan.

Duke kissed them on their cheeks and tousled the afro-puffs sprouting out of the tops of their heads. “Yes, Daddy's home. How are my two favorite girls?”

“Good now,” squealed Miley. Angel wondered what they were before Duke got home.

Duke released his daughters and then bent down to kiss Angel on the top of her head. “And how's my
other
favorite girl?”

“Tired and exhausted but good now,” she replied with a simper, echoing Miley. “I thought you were working late tonight.”

“I was supposed to, but I decided that spending time with you guys was more important than making another dollar.” Duke grabbed a plate and sat down across Angel. “This looks good, babe,” he commented, reaching for the pasta.

“She didn't put any bacon in it like Mama,” grumbled Morgan.

Duke chuckled. “That's okay. There are a thousand different ways to make spaghetti, baby.”

“But Mama's way was the
best
way!” argued Miley.

Duke noticed how uncomfortable Angel looked and reached out to give her hand an encouraging squeeze. “Well, let's just see now . . .” He swallowed a forkful. “Honestly, girls, I can't tell whose is better. They're both delicious.”

Angel smiled a little. “Thank you.”

Morgan shrugged. “I guess it's okay,” she conceded, now that her father was on board.

Duke dug in for a second helping. “Um, babe, I noticed that the little end table in the foyer is missing. What happened to it? Did it break or something?”

“It's in the attic,” replied Angel. “I got tired of bumping into it when I come in with all my stuff after work. Having it gone makes it more convenient for me. Taking it out opens up the space more, don't you think?”

Duke shifted uneasily in his seat. “It's just that Reese loved that little table. It belonged to her grandmother. She called it her ‘what-not' table.” He stopped himself from elaborating. “You know what? This is your home too now, and if you think it shouldn't be there . . .”

Angel held up her hand. “No, it's okay. I'll put it back. I didn't know it meant that much to you.”

He seemed relieved. “Thank you, sweetheart. Maybe we can just move it to the other side so it'll be out of your way.”

Angel couldn't help feeling a little slighted that Duke had sided with his dead wife yet again. First, there was her picture that he insisted on keeping in their bedroom. Then there was his wedding ring that only came off when Angel threatened to break off their engagement a few weeks earlier. She also had to constantly fight the urge to slap Duke every time he slipped up and called her “Reese.” Now, she'd have to add Grandma's table to Theresa's growing list of posthumous victories.

“Daddy, can we go upstairs and watch TV?” asked Miley after nearly cleaning her plate.

Duke smiled at his daughters. “Of course, you can.”

“After they put their dishes away,” stipulated Angel. Seeing as how their favorite television show was about to start, Angel's request was met with downtrodden looks but immediate compliance.

Duke grinned watching them scramble up the staircase after clearing the table. “That Miley looks more and more like her mother every day, doesn't she?”

Angel cleared her throat and steered the conversation in a new direction. “You know we're having that clothes drive at my church next week. Have you thought any more about my suggestion?”

Duke wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You mean donating Reese's clothes?”

Angel nodded. “Yeah, they're just in the closet taking up space. Theresa was such a giving person. I'm sure she'd want her clothes to go to someone who needs them.”

“Are you sure you don't want them?” offered Duke.

The thought of wearing Theresa's clothes was more disturbing than Duke siding with Theresa about the table. “Theresa and I aren't really the same size,” she answered, not sure exactly how to respond. “Theresa was so tall and lean, and I'm pretty average in size and height. I don't think her clothes would fit me.”

“I'm sure there must be one or two pieces that would fit you. I think you wearing her clothes would be a great way to honor Reese's memory.”

Angel sighed. “Baby, I just don't know how comfortable I'd be wearing your dead wife's clothes. It would be a little creepy, for lack of a better word.”

Duke nodded. “I understand, and I'm sorry. It was stupid for me to even suggest that.”

“It wasn't stupid,” she assured him. “Just because I can't wear them doesn't mean someone else couldn't get good use out of them. If you want, we can set a few things aside for the girls to grow into.” Duke didn't look convinced yet. “Just think about it, okay?”

“I will. Give me a couple of days to think it over.”

“Okay, but keep in mind that we're trying to move forward, not stay in the past. Sometimes doing that requires us to make painful choices.”

Duke was quiet for a few seconds. He loved his Theresa, but he also adored the woman seated across from him. “You're right, baby. I love you. Reese is gone, and you're the woman in my life now. If you want to donate the clothes, then that's what we'll do.”

Angel beamed. The living—one point; the deceased—3, 492.

Duke returned her smile, reminding Angel of one of the many things she loved about him. “So how are we coming with the wedding plans? Have you found a dress yet?”

Angel shook her head. “I haven't really started looking.”

“What's stopping you?” he asked, surprised.

Her body tensed. “Are you sure this marriage is still what you want?”

“Do you even have to ask?” Duke held up Angel's left hand. Her exquisite white-gold, 1.5-karat diamond engagement ring sparkled under the light. “This is a symbol of my commitment to you, our marriage, and this family. You never have to question whether this marriage is going to happen or my love for you.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if I'm going to lose you. I don't think I could survive that again.”

“You won't lose me,” he promised her, inviting Angel into his arms. “And I can't lose you again either. You know, baby, God allows strange things to happen. Obviously, I don't think my being unfaithful to you when we were married was a part of God's will, but I can't help but think that having Morgan and Miley was. While I regret hurting you, I don't regret having them. I don't think Reese having cancer was God's divine plan either, but I believe you coming here and being a part of our lives was. Reese's illness was the catalyst for us all overcoming years of hurt and unanswered questions. It's also what eventually brought us back together. Now, we have the family we always wanted. I know my girls can't replace the child that the two of us lost, but this seems like the life we were always meant to have.”

She nestled in Duke's arms. “I know, but a part of me wonders if you'll ever love me as much as you loved her.”

“Yes, I loved my wife,” Duke admitted. “But there's only room in my life for one Mrs. King.”

That much, she believed. However, the question remained whether he meant his last wife or his future one.

As Angel finished clearing the table, she watched Duke, who sat on the sofa deep in thought. She knew without his having to say so that he was thinking of Reese again. She knew that being threatened by a dead woman was foolish, at best, and borderline psychotic, at worst. Nevertheless, Angel couldn't help but feel like she was still competing with Theresa for Duke's heart. After all, Theresa had come between them before. Who was to say she couldn't do it again?