Sins of September (24 page)

I’m wondering if it’s the whole Venus and Mars thing. Funny, but it’s never been evident before now.

We hadn’t made love—
or fucked
—since Saturday night. That’s certainly not typical for us to go that long between except of course when I’m on my period.

Which I’m not.

So it was just after midnight this morning when he came into my room.

Finally.

My instincts tell me I should refuse him—force him to talk to me in a language that I can understand, but my body has other plans.

Neither one of us said a word.

How unusual.

Our bodies do all of the talking for once, and the message is loud and clear—at least it is for me.

This is our
good-bye
fuck.

Jesse can’t say those words, but with every touch I can feel the intent, the undercurrent, and the finality of it. It’s bittersweet and fragile. It’s a finely tuned instrument that is complicated to play but has the sweetest and most melodious sound emanating from it at the same time. It’s an exquisitely composed opera, pure rapture until the final act when the fat lady will take the stage.

Three orgasms later, she has sung and he leaves my bed with a whisper that carries no promise. “I love you.”

I have a lot to accomplish today, but I got the ball rolling on Monday. I’ve rented a furnished efficiency near campus. It’s in an old Victorian-looking house, a bit run down, but for four hundred dollars a month, it’s mine.

I’ve also secured a waitressing job at a steakhouse close to campus. More hours, better tips and no one knows me there. I start next week.

I drag boxes from the garage and set about packing my stuff up. I debate as to whether to take my laptop and printer, but rationalize that they were both
gifts,
therefore mine to take.

Everything I own fits into the trunk and backseat of my Honda. I won’t even need to make two trips.

I check everything in the house, making sure I’ve cleaned the room that was mine, including laundering the sheets and remaking the bed.

Our bed.

Not anymore.

Everything is neat and clean. There’s no reason for me to linger. I pull the house key off of my key ring, placing it along with my cell phone on the kitchen table. Jesse pays my cell phone bill so I’m not taking it. I’ll get a new one. I make sure to delete all texts, call history and contacts from it.

I look around one last time at the home that’s been mine for more than a year. It’s hers now. At least that’s what I think.

I push the button on the lock and close the door behind me, heading towards my car with one last box of shoes that I place in the front passenger seat.

“Well, well,” a familiar voice rings out, startling me. I shut the door of the car and look over to see Casey, arms crossed, a sardonic grin plastered on her face. “What have we here? Has Jesse come to his senses and banished the little Lolita from his kingdom?”

“Fuck you, Casey.”

“Oh honey, you can do better than that, right?”

I don’t give her the satisfaction of a response, climbing into the driver’s side, and shutting the door. Unfortunately, my window is still down and she’s going to take every advantage of it. “I’m just glad to see that he finally figured out what a manipulative and conniving little whore you are. Just like your mother. I’ve been wishing for him to wise up for a year now.”

I start the engine, and turn to look at her standing there in all of her pathetic glory. “Be careful what you wish for, Casey. It just might come back to bite you in the ass. Although, it
is
tempting to stay here and see how you and my mother get along, I think I’ll pass. I can see it getting
real
ugly. Turns out she wasn’t dead. Looks like you’ll have another new neighbor soon.”

And I put the car in reverse, taking special delight in watching Casey standing there, her jaw dropped, mouth hanging open trying to figure out if I’m being honest or merely fucking with her one last time.

I take off for my new home, my heart freshly broken, and hopefully, my lesson finally learned. When has ever trusting love worked out for me?

Certainly not with my mother.

Obviously not with Jesse.

I must focus on my goals for now. College, career, and then someday—
maybe
a relationship. That’s not my top priority at the moment, though because my heart has been fractured. It’s in pieces.

I feel a warm tear roll down my cheek, and then another. They keep spilling out, until I finally pull over to the curb and allow myself the luxury of mourning my loss within the privacy of my car.

I feel better, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. My resolve is taking over now, giving me some semblance of strength.

I put my car in gear, and head out leaving the neighborhood I used to call home. I was much younger then; a naïve brat, clueless in the intricacies of the human heart, and the fabric of adult relationships.

Jesse has taught me so much more than just the mechanics of sex. He has schooled me well in what happens when a foolish heart is given so easily and freely to another. To one who isn’t in a position to give back with the same degree of commitment and intensity.

Jesse’s given me a life lesson.

And for that I must feel grateful.

“Delay is the deadliest form of denial.” - C. Northcote Parkinson

Jesse

As soon as Scout and I are ushered into Henry and Ruth’s place, I spot Libby, sitting on their plaid sofa. She’s aged more than I would’ve guessed in five years, yet she still has a hint of that rare beauty that first attracted me to her. The same rare beauty that September wears like a veil draped all over her exquisite body.

Libby seems meek, nervous. Her hair is still long, halfway down her back, and it flows in soft waves. She’s extremely thin, too thin, and her brown eyes look like saucers deeply set into her pale face.

She wears no make-up, which makes the biggest difference in her appearance. But she looks freshly scrubbed. Ruth no doubt helped her be presentable. She’s wearing a flowered cotton skirt that falls well below her knees, and a white cotton sleeveless shirt. Both are too big for her tiny frame.

Nothing is reminiscent of her previous style.

She’s introduced to us as ‘Sarah’ though, and Ruth whispers her assurance that it’s just going to take some time.

“Sarah, this here is Jesse Ryan,” Ruth says, nodding towards me. “Do you remember Jesse?”

Sarah stands up and comes closer, studying my face intently, but there are no signs of recognition evident in her brown eyes. The same brown eyes as September’s.

She nods her head slowly back and forth. “I’m sorry,” she replies softly, “I don’t remember you. How did we know each other?”

I don’t know how to answer that—if I’m supposed to be honest and under the circumstances, if it’s wise to even open this can of worms.

“Jesse’s your husband,” Henry says, “Your last name is Ryan.”

“No,” she replies quickly. “My last name is Smith. I’m Sarah Smith. I don’t remember any husband, Daddy.”

It appears Sarah is now convinced Ruth and Henry are her parents; I wonder if their mission is to do the same with Scout and me.

As if on cue, “This here is Scout,” Henry continues, taking his granddaughter by the hand and pulling her in front of Sarah to present. “She’s your daughter—you and Jesse had a daughter together.”

“Hi,” Scout says, smiling up at her. “I don’t remember you either, Sarah. I guess we’re both in the same boat, huh?”

Leave it to my ten year-old to break the ice.

Sarah smiles down at her, and takes her hand. “Hi Scout,” she says, “You sure are pretty. You favor your daddy over there.”

“Uh huh,” she replies, “Everybody says that. But September looks a lot like you.”

And it’s then that Ruth and Henry realize she’s not with us. They’ve obviously been totally focused on Libby, and what’s best for her.

“September?” Sarah asks, looking around. “Who’s that?”

“Where
is
September?” Ruth asks.

“She didn’t come with us,” Scout answers.

Ruth looks to me for an explanation; I don’t have one to give. I merely shrug and give her a look that says I’m clueless.

“September is your other daughter,” Henry explains. “She’s eighteen. Just graduated high school.”

Sarah looks back at me, her eyes narrowing and for just a second, I think a flash of recognition is visible in her eyes. Just as quickly, it’s gone. “We have two daughters?”

“Ah . . . no. We just have Scout. September doesn’t belong to me.”

I feel as if I should clarify that for everyone because the truth is she
is
mine. I’ve claimed her; I’ve marked her, hell I’ve fuckin’ imprinted on her if you want to know the truth. September
does
belong to me, in every possible way. But no one here knows that and the truth is, that’s on
me
for hiding it.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember any of you,” Sarah whispers, somewhat distraught because she doesn’t.

“No worries, honey,” Ruth speaks up. “I brought more photo albums down for you to look at. Full of pictures of you, Jesse, Scout and September—of your lives together.”

Sarah’s brow furrows in confusion. “Why was I not with them?” she asks.

And there it is. The unasked question. I don’t wait for Ruth or Henry to give some sugar-coated answer to it.

“Because you walked out on us,” I say. I hear Ruth gasp behind me. Henry turns and shoots daggers at me with his eyes. I’m undeterred. “If you want her to remember, no sense in telling her fairy tales,” I say, turning to Ruth. “We’re not here to fabricate the past.”

“I did?” Sarah whispers, her eyes tearing up. “I’m
sorry.
I can’t remember anything. I don’t know why I would’ve done that, but I
am
sorry.” Her voice cracks and a sob manages to escape.

“Oh now sweetie, don’t cry,” Ruth says, going over and wrapping her arm around her while flashing me a glare.

“Dad,” Scout says quietly. “Don’t be a butthead to her.”

And now I’m the shit for being honest.

Fuck me.

I need to set a better example for my daughter at the very least. “Sarah,” I say to her, “I expect you had your reasons. I’m sorry about being so blunt and hurtful. It’s all in the past, so please don’t cry.”

She nods, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue that Ruth has given her. “Thanks for that, Jesse.”

Scout has wandered into the dining room and spots a puzzle on the table that looks to be in process. “Who’s working this puzzle?” she asks, trying to get everyone’s focus off of me and my spiteful comment.

“I am,” Sarah replies. “It’s a thousand pieces. Been taking me a while. I started yesterday afternoon.”

“Can I help?” Scout asks her. “I’m pretty good at these.”

I see Sarah brighten up at Scout’s offer. She smiles genuinely and that’s when I notice that she has an almost child-like quality about her.

“Sure, I’d love that, Scout.”

And so my daughter takes a seat at the table, next to the mother that doesn’t remember her, and they set about to finish the puzzle together.

“Are you and Scout staying here with us?” Ruth asks.

“Unless I’m no longer welcome,” I reply.

“Of course, you’re welcome, Jesse. I just don’t want to spring a lot of the negative stuff on Libby,” she says quietly. “If she never gets her memory back, then what purpose is served in dredging up the dirt? After all she’s been through, don’t you reckon she deserves some peace of mind?”

I nod, but I’m not at all sure I agree. I don’t have the luxury of amnesia to wipe my slate clean—why should she?

“What’s the deal with September?” she asks me.

“She had to work. She said she didn’t have a choice.”

“I see,” Ruth says, not convinced. I’m not saying any more. It’s not their business.

“Listen, I’m going to go and get our stuff outta the car.”

Ruth nods. “I’ve put Scout in Sarah’s room. There are twin beds in there. You can sleep in September’s old room.”

Fucking great.

Once outside, I call September’s cell. It goes to voicemail. “Hey there,” I say, “I just wanted to let you know that we got here. Your ma is well—different, but Scout seems to be okay with her, which is good. I love you. And I miss you like crazy. Everything’s going to be fine, September. You need to trust me on that, okay? I’ll try back later.”