Brian Freeman - Spilled Blood

‘No, I’d like that. Are you sure I wouldn’t be getting in your way?’

‘Of course, you would,’ she said, smiling again.

Her face disappeared, and he heard the shower door open and close. He studied the bedroom, which was nothing like the modern room they’d shared in the suburbs. The furniture was second-hand oak, its stain fading. The queen bed had a hand-made quilt thrown casually across the duvet cover. She had pictures of Olivia on her dresser at every stage of the girl’s life. There were other, older pictures, too. Hannah’s parents. Her brother in Ohio. There was even a picture of himself, but it wasn’t one he found particularly flattering. He was younger, unshaved, wavy-haired, with a grin a mile wide. That was the man she’d chosen to remember.

The pipes of the shower went silent. He heard Hannah’s voice again. ‘What do you want for breakfast? Bacon and eggs, I suppose.’

He stood beside the door and called to her. ‘I’ve been steering clear of the good stuff lately. Some cereal and fruit would be fine if you have it.’

‘I have homemade granola.’

‘Great.’ He added, ‘What does Olivia usually have?’

‘Bacon and eggs. Who does that sound like?’

‘She’s lucky she got your skinny genes,’ he said.

‘You’re getting pretty skinny these days, too, Chris. I told you that you looked great, didn’t I?’

‘You did. Thanks.’

‘I admire your willpower. I suppose it’s a lot easier without me nagging you about it.’

‘I don’t recall that,’ he said.

‘Liar.’

He laughed.

‘I hope Olivia makes a more understanding wife than I ever did,’ Hannah added.

‘Oh, I don’t know. She’s a lot like you. That’s a pretty good start.’

‘Remind me to warn her future husband,’ she said.

‘I said Olivia would make a good wife,’ Chris replied, chuckling, ‘but I never, ever said you would make a good mother-in-law.’

There was no reply from inside the bathroom. He was afraid she had taken him seriously.

‘Hannah?’

He still heard nothing. Seconds ticked by.

‘Hannah, it was a joke.’ Chris nudged the door open but remained on the threshold. ‘Are you okay?’

She was there, but she was silent.

‘Hannah, I’m coming in.’

He took a step into the bathroom. Steam hung in the air, making the small space warm and close. Hannah stood in front of the pedestal sink, holding it with both hands. She was naked. Water droplets clung to her bare skin. She’d removed the wig she used in public, and her skull was bald and smooth, paler than the rest of her body. Her back was familiar to him, her curving spine like train tracks. He saw the scar on her shoulder from a childhood burn and the inside of her knees where she liked to be kissed.

She sobbed quietly.

She stared at her face in the mirror as if it were the face of a stranger, and she cried, with her shoulders trembling. Tears ran like shower water. He came up behind her and said nothing; he laid cool hands on her neck and eased her backward into his chest. Her mouth fell open as she tried to breathe. He caressed her bare head with a gentle touch, and he turned her around and gathered her up in his arms and felt her cling to him and pour out her despair.

‘I’ll never see it,’ she murmured, her words barely audible. ‘I won’t be there.’

He knew what she meant. Olivia married. Thanksgiving dinners. Grandchildren. The future.

‘You will.’

She stared up at him, her eyes laced with red. ‘Look at me.’

‘I am. You’re beautiful.’

‘Don’t lie to me.’

‘I don’t lie. I’m a lawyer.’

She laughed through her tears.

He tilted her head with a finger on the underside of her chin. He cupped her neck with his other hand. He leaned in and kissed her, a kiss lasting only a second, a kiss that was like thousands of other simple kisses they had shared together in their lifetimes. And yet it was different. It was like their first kiss. It was their most important kiss.

It made her cry harder and push him away. ‘You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to pity me.’

‘Are you kidding?’

He pulled her to him and kissed her again. He was conscious of her bare skin under his hands and her wet torso trapped against his chest, and he quickly grew aroused. She responded, too. They didn’t lose themselves in their passion; they knew who they were. They weren’t kids, and they weren’t newlyweds. They were a not-quite-young divorced couple in the middle of a world going crazy, and for a moment, they needed an escape.

She helped him peel off his clothes, which were wet now, too. She led him to her bed, guiding him with an arm around his waist. They didn’t hold hands. She was saying she needed him; she wasn’t necessarily saying she loved him. It didn’t matter. They lay in bed together, and he let her lead, descending on him, pinching her mouth shut to keep her cries muffled. That was the way parents made love, in hushed silence behind a closed door. She bent forward, her petite hands on his chest, her small breasts swaying. Her face was different without her long hair caught in the sheen of sweat on her cheeks, but her mouth was just as he remembered, forming an oval as it fell into a breathless smile. Her eyes were the same, too, wide open as she neared climax, not letting his stare go. It had always been the most intimate, erotic sensation of his life, making love to Hannah with open eyes.

When they were both spent, when she lowered herself onto him with her face in the crook of his neck, he had a fleeting thought about what would happen next between them. She must have had the same doubts, but neither wanted to spoil it by talking. Her breathing grew steady as she drifted into sleep. He was content to hold her. He tried to stay awake to treasure the sensation, but he realized he was weary to the point of exhaustion, and he slept, too. It was the most restful sleep he’d had since he arrived in St. Croix.

Olivia lay on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. She was conscious of all the places where her body hurt. When she moved, she was reminded of what they’d done to her. Her skin bore their marks. Even so, she refused to think about it. She didn’t care about herself or about the ugly bruises. Those would fade and heal. Instead, she thought about Ashlynn in the park. That was the injury that would always be with her. That regret never went away.

She imagined Ashlynn on the corner of the bed, alive, luminous, still maddeningly beautiful, the way she would have been right now if Olivia had driven her home.

‘You left me,’ Ashlynn reminded her, with sadness in her voice.

Olivia said nothing, because Ashlynn was right. It didn’t matter that she was angry and jealous at this girl for taking Johan away. It didn’t matter what secrets Ashlynn had kept. She’d asked for help, and Olivia had rejected her. That was what Olivia had to live with. That was the person she’d become, someone who deserted a girl who desperately needed her help.

‘You left me,’ Ashlynn said again.

She never said anything else. It was always the same. You left me. You left me. You left me.

Olivia closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Ashlynn was gone. Her guilt tunneled a mile deep, as if it could reach to China. All she could think about was ways to make it stop. Stupid ways. She went to her open closet, staring at the clothes arranged neatly on the rod. On the far back of the closet shelf, she spotted a slim gold box. She brought it to the bed and removed the top. The box contained a silk men’s tie. Three years ago, she’d bought it as a gift for her father, but in the wake of the divorce, she’d never given it to him.

She draped the tie over her fingers, stretching the soft fabric. She pushed her pink lips together with such force they turned white. She looped the tie around her neck, just to see how it would feel. Taking both ends, she pulled it tighter, until the pressure began to hurt. It would have to be much tighter. She would have to knot it so she couldn’t pry it loose with her fingers. A knot on one end. The other end tied to the clothes rod.