Wrong Question, Right Answer by Elle Casey
I walk over and snatch my phone up off the nightstand, sending out a text to Thibault.
Me: Lucky is being a drunk ass. Come get him.
I wait until I get a response, relieved when my brother texts back saying that he’s on his way over from the cottage to collect the idiot who had the audacity to propose while he was breathing alcohol stink all over me.
A knock comes at my door along with some heavy breathing. “Toni. Babe. I need to talk to you.”
I shout so he can hear me through the door. “Go away! I don’t want to hear anything you have to say right now! You’re an idiot!”
“Why are you so mad? I was gonna say something nice.” He runs his fingers down the door, making a scratching sound.
“Why am I mad? Don’t be stupid, Lucky. You know better. You don’t say anything like that to me when you’re drunk, you understand? If you want to talk nice to me, if you want to make plans with me about our future together, you do it when you’re sober.”
The sound of his clothing dragging down the door comes through to my room. I can tell he’s leaning on the door for support. It’s possible he’s sitting in the hallway and drooling on my door.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to say it sober, but I didn’t have the guts.”
I lift my chin and rest my hand on my belly. “Then you don’t have the guts to be with me either. Thibault’s coming to get you. I don’t want you sleeping here tonight.”
I start crying and my weakness only makes me more furious. How dare he be such a chickenshit? It makes me worry that he’s not up to the job of being a father, let alone a partner.
This crap isn’t just about us; it’s about his sister, too. Lucky’s like me in that he hasn’t moved on. He doesn’t have closure yet, and he’s weighed down by the guilt. The difference between him and me, though, is that he’s feeling terrible over something that wasn’t even close to being his fault. She was a sad girl for a really long time, and there was nothing anyone could’ve said to change that. We all tried, many times. Even Lucky tried, but he’s conveniently forgetting that so he can blame himself.
Maybe I should be more forgiving of his attitude, but I can’t right now. This is my life, and I need to get it straightened out. The urgency of the situation strikes me like a fist in my gut. I have a wedding to go to in a few days, and then I’m going to be too far along in this pregnancy to do anything about Charlie. It won’t be safe or smart to execute my plan so obviously pregnant; as it is, I can barely cover it up with a big shirt. This is my last chance to put things right.
Maybe if I can get this closure for myself, my bad luck will stop rubbing off on the father of my children and he’ll get his shit straight, too. My fear that happiness will only come to us if I can find a way to show Charlie’s mother how sorry I am has grown tenfold. Time is running out. I have to get this done.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
All of my research and recon has panned out. I know where Charlie’s mother Eunice is living, I know what time she gets home from her job, and I know that she’s alone most of the time. Sunday night she was tucked in front of her television with a TV dinner by six o’clock. It’d be pretty convenient if she eats at that time every night; this way, I can catch her before Lucky’s finished making our dinner. I assume we’ll go back to our normal routine starting Monday night.
I don’t see him all weekend or before I leave for work Monday, but he knows I don’t hate him. I brushed off his texts asking me to hang out and talk over the weekend, but I left him a note on the counter this morning that said, I’m not mad anymore. Let’s talk after work.
Lucky wants to apologize to me, but I’m not ready to hear it or discuss his seriously misguided proposal yet. I need time to get the specter of Charlie out of the house and out of my head. When Lucky came home drunk, it brought back a lot of bad memories, but I’m okay now. I have a plan and it’s going to fix everything. Until that happens, I feel like I’ll never be able to move on with my life and accept anything good Lucky might be offering.
A long weekend of slacking off and thinking about how far Lucky and I have come together has convinced me that he deserves a break. Everyone is allowed to make mistakes in a relationship, especially one as complicated as ours. Hell, we don’t even know what our relationship is. Lord knows I’m not perfect, and I’m bound to screw a bunch of stuff up. I’m going to want his forgiveness when that happens.
I spend part of Sunday at the mall, returning the dress that didn’t fit. Jenny was a little too enthusiastic the other day about my figure and apparently didn’t notice how big my belly is getting, even though she had her hand all over it. I suppose I should take it as a compliment, but all I’m doing now is mourning the loss of my waistline. It used to dip in on both sides, but this morning in the mirror I noticed that it goes straight down from my armpits to my hips. And the baby-pooch in front of me seems to be getting bigger by the day.
A blog written by a mother of twins keeps me busy reading for several hours on Sunday. It puts me in the loop about a lot of things I should be expecting, one of which is the rapid growth of my waistline. Most women are barely showing in their first pregnancy at twenty-four weeks, but I look like I’m a couple months away from giving birth, when I actually have four left.
While shopping, I help myself to a few pairs of jeans that have an elastic pouch in the front instead of a zipper and button. I’ve been keeping my regular jeans closed with a rubber band for several weeks now, but it’s starting to get uncomfortable. I breathe a sigh of relief when I slide my new preggo-jeans on Monday morning.
I’m up early for work, but instead of going directly to the port, I head over to the cemetery to pay a visit to Charlie’s grave. So many things are going to happen to me this week, but it seems like none of them will have any meaning until I do this one thing first.
I haven’t been to his resting place in a long time, but it seems appropriate, since I’m going to be seeing his mother tonight, and soon I’ll be watching my life change into something it never could have been with him in it. I have the sense that I’m finally ready to say a real goodbye to him.
I sit down next to his headstone and pluck little blades of grass, building up the courage I need to say the things that have finally become clear in my mind. A slight breeze blows strands of hair over my face as I talk. “Hey, Charlie. Hope you’re okay. I’m sure you are.” I always assumed Charlie went to heaven. Even though he was a shit to me sometimes—okay, maybe a lot of times—he wasn’t all bad. We shared some good times. I wouldn’t have stayed with him for five years if that weren’t the case. He never stooped so low as to kill anyone, unlike me.
I pluck more blades of grass. “I don’t know if you bother checking on my life, but it’s gotten pretty crazy.” I pause, considering the fact that I’m talking to a ghost who probably wants to haunt my sorry ass. I wait to see if I feel anything or sense his presence. Nothing comes, other than some jostling from the babies. They seem to like it when I talk, so I continue.
“I’m pregnant with twins. You’re probably not too shocked to know that Lucky is the father. I know you were always jealous of him and you used to accuse me of having an affair with him, but you were always wrong about that. I never did anything with him until you were gone. Long gone.” I sigh, feeling like I’m sitting in a confessional. It’s not the worst feeling I’ve had.
“Since I’m being honest, I should probably admit that I’ve had feelings for Lucky for a long time. Since before you and me.” My smile is sad when I think about how things worked out. Maybe I shouldn’t have walked away from Lucky all those years ago, but it’s too late to change that now. “He’s the reason I went with you. I had to get him and that kiss we shared out of my head, and you were the answer. You were the only thing strong enough to snuff that out. I guess you were too good at it.” I sigh. “I’m sorry I used you that way, Charlie. It wasn’t fair at all.”
My mind struggles with what to say next. I believe that people who’ve passed
“I have a plan, Charlie. I’m going to go visit your mother.” Just saying the words aloud makes my heart race with both anticipation and fear. “I know she never really liked me when you were alive, and after what I did, she hates me, but I feel like I really need to do it anyway.” A flash of memory hits me: the night I called Rowdy from the bar. “I could apologize to one of your brothers, but it wouldn’t be the same. I’m going to be a mom soon, and I think I get it now. You were a part of her, and I took that away. I stole you from her like a thief. No matter what you did to me, that fact still stands. Our abusive relationship has no bearing on what I did to her.” I’m angry at myself that it took me so long to figure this out. Self-defense or not, it makes no difference to Eunice; her son is dead and I’m the one who took his life. I need to apologize for that.
“If I can look her in the eye and tell her I’m sorry, get her to see how much I regret what I did and that I understand where her pain is coming from, I feel like maybe I could finally think about finding some peace in my life. I know she won’t forgive me—I mean, how could she, right?—but maybe it will help her to know that I get it and that I wish I could take it all back.” I smile sadly. “Or maybe it’ll just piss her off. I don’t know. But I can’t know unless I try. And if she spits in my eye and tells me to go to hell, I’ll walk away. I promise I will. I won’t do anything physical against her, even if she says what’s on her mind or slaps me across the face.”
I lay my hand on my belly. I haven’t even seen these babies yet, but I could almost imagine what it would be like if someone were to take one of them from me with violence. I’d kill them, plain and simple. Hopefully, Charlie’s mother has more forgiveness in her than I do. She was always going to church, and she sure forgave her own husband enough of his violence over the years. Maybe she won’t decide to take an eye for an eye.
Movement catches my attention, so I look up. Across the cemetery there’s a group of people gathering around an open grave. Their body language is stiff, their heads tipped down. Most of them are wearing black. A few of the older women in attendance have fancy hats with veils.
I didn’t go to Charlie’s funeral; I was in the county jail. But I can imagine what it was like. He had a lot of friends and family. Most of them are now in jail themselves. I read in the news that his mother was there and that she threw herself on his coffin, screaming his name. When I asked my brother for details, he refused to give them to me. He told me I had to walk away and let it go.
Sorry, Thibault. Can’t do it.
I get up from my spot on the ground and place the handful of grass I picked on Charlie’s headstone. I stay there until the wind has blown away the last blade. “I’m so, so sorry for what I did to you, Charlie. You didn’t deserve to die. There were a hundred other better ways I could have handled our disaster of a relationship, but I failed. I snapped, and I’ll never not feel terrible about that. But I’m going to try to do something for your mom. I want her to know how sorry I am. She deserves to hear that from me, at least. Maybe it’ll make a difference to her.”
I walk away, headed for work. I’m going to execute my plan tonight, after I leave the port and before I head home to make up with Lucky. For the first time in too many years, I feel like I’m on the cusp of moving forward instead of falling backward or running in place.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
May comes in late, looking almost green when she sits down in the cubicle next to me. I pause the recording I’m listening to and look over at her.
“You look like crap.”
She unwraps a lollipop and sticks it in her mouth, dropping her purse on the ground next to her chair. “Thanks. I actually feel like doo-doo warmed over, so that’s perfect.”
“And a lollipop is going to help that?”
She nods, pulling it out and holding it up in front of me. “These are ginger lollies. Jenny bought me a huge bag of them. She said they’ll help with the morning sickness.”
“Ginger ale helped me, so I guess that makes sense.”
May nods her head and sticks her lollipop back in her mouth as she boots up her computer. “I can’t keep anything down, and I have no appetite either. Everything smells gross.”
“Yep. Been there, done that.”
May looks over at me. “When is it going to end? The nausea.”
“Very soon. How far along are you now?”
“Sixteen weeks.”
I shrug. “Any day now, you’ll be fine. At least that’s what my books say.”
May goes back to her computer. “I guess I should just thank my lucky stars I’m not having twins.”
I don’t have anything to say to that. She’s right. She is lucky.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” May leans over and puts her hand on my arm. Her lollipop dangles out of the corner of her mouth like a cigarette. “That was insensitive. I’m a jerk.”
I shake my head, putting my headphones back on. “It’s not a big deal. I totally get it. Believe me.”
May waves at me, telling me to take my headphones off. I remove one ear cover.
“What’s up with Lucky? Jenny hasn’t been able to reach him all weekend.”
I shrug, my attention back on my computer screen, even though there’s really nothing to look at. All I’m dealing with today are sound files. “He came home drunk after the bachelor party, and I told him to go sleep at Thibault’s. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Hooo, drama. Is he still in trouble?”
I shake my head. Maybe if I didn’t have a plan in place to move forward with my life, this crazy stuff with Lucky being drunk and stupid would bother me more, but right now, it’s taking the back seat in my carload of worries. “No. We’re going to talk about it tonight. It’ll be fine.” I’m not going to tell her about his botched proposal. Although the gossip it might generate could be a good cure for her morning sickness, I’m not willing to sacrifice my privacy to ease her pain.
“I’m going to text Jenny and tell her that she can reach Lucky through Thibault,” May says.
“Fine with me.”
I speed through the voice files and throw together the report in record time. We’re super close to nailing Marc Doucet. I just identified a conversation that I’m pretty sure was him recruiting a gangbanger from a rival group to deal with someone they’ve code-named Wolfman. I stand up at five o’clock, putting my headphones down on the desk with a thump. My report is on the server and an alert has been put in Ozzie’s inbox so he’ll know to check it out.
May looks up at me. “Are you done already?”
I turn off my computer and throw my bag over my shoulder. “Yep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Don’t forget the bachelorette party tomorrow.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” That’s not exactly true, but oh well. The sentiment is close enough. I know May and Jenny are excited about it, and it won’t be completely horrible. They can be really funny when they get on a roll.
I’m headed out of the cubicle area when May shouts out behind me, “Where are you going?”
“Home! See you later.” I hurry off, not wanting to encourage any further questions by making myself available. The less May knows about my plans the better.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
My mind races as I drive over to Eunice’s house. What’s going to happen? Will she slap me? Will she just tell me to leave? It doesn’t matter; I just want Eunice to know how sorry I am for what I did to her.
Charlie’s mother doesn’t live in a very good neighborhood, but I spent a lot of my youth around here, so it doesn’t bother me. Groups of boys and men stand on the corners of the main streets, some of them holding paper bags around beer cans. They get a cheap thrill out of being able to drink in public right under the local cops’ noses. So long as they don’t reveal the can under the bag, th
I tap the steering wheel with my thumbs to the beat of the song playing on the radio, running through various scenarios in my mind. I’m still trying to guess how Eunice will react to seeing me at her front door. I can’t imagine what I would do if my child’s killer showed up at my house years later apologizing. I’m trying to stay positive, but I worry that Eunice will be like me, incapable of accepting an apology.
My cell phone rings next to me and I glance down at the screen. Lucky’s calling. I don’t want to answer, because he’ll ask where I am and I’ll have to lie. I don’t want to lie to Lucky ever. Besides, we still need to resolve the issue of his drunken proposal, and that’s not going to happen over the phone. He can wait.
I’m just a few blocks away now and I’m starting to sweat. It’s especially humid tonight, which isn’t helping. The babies are kicking up a storm, having a little boxing match inside me. A beep comes from my phone as I rub my belly. I look down at it expecting to see the indicator telling me a voicemail is waiting for me, but instead there’s a text there. As I pull up to a stop sign, I grab the phone and hold it up in front of me.
Lucky: Where r u? We need to talk. I’m sorry.
Dammit. I was hoping to avoid this. I could ignore the text, but I don’t want him to call out a posse and come find me. They could easily track my phone; we all have the app loaded onto our cells for safety reasons. I quickly type out a response before I leave the stop sign.