Devotion: For Love or Honor, page 6
Nope. That is far from what I got instead.
“Marriage is hard work and what man is perfect. You have to look at the good against the bad. Look at what a wonderful provider your husband is and a well-respected family he has. Your children will never want for anything. And if you leave him, you will not be able to keep your job and stay here. What will you do? Surely, you don’t think you will move in with me. You will never get a teaching job in the middle of the year like this. Jenny, you have to work harder to make your marriage work.”
My heart hit the floor, the moment she opened her mouth, hurting me in ways that never seemed possible before. I have a good job, and I am quite capable of supporting myself. But although she never voiced what we both know will happen if I leave Martin. It would never be safe for me to remain in this town, where his family has entirely too much influence on anyone of power. Her complete denial of what I am enduring hits me to the core, while I miss my dad with every ounce of my being because I know in my heart if he were alive today, this conversation would have ended with a much different outcome.
So, I did what any daughter would do; I sucked it up, I kept to myself watching what I said and how I said it until she left the morning of New Year’s Eve, claiming she had promised to attend some friend’s party from her school, where she has managed to stay employed for twenty-five years. My mother was quick to point out to me many times throughout her visit.
New Year's Eve, and the second year for Martin to host his family, friends and business associates, which translates into I cook, clean and then stand-by to clean it up while he has fun. The past holidays, from engagement to married he had managed to control his drinking, but this year he went all out, getting pissing, drunk long before midnight, showing his true colors, while his family looked on as if there were no problems with his behavior.
Merrilee has made it known that the next time she comes to my house will be when she packs me up to move me out. I wonder how to tell her I feel that time is approaching faster each day.
Since Christmas, I have heard non-stop how his parents have five strapping boys to prove their fertility as also does Martin’s brothers. Between four of his siblings, there are twelve grandchildren and us well we have yet to be able to take care of a dog that doesn’t run away. I feel cursed and as inadequate as a girl can get. It doesn’t help that my husband never has anything nice to say about anything I do or say, a trait I realize is passed down from his father, something I did not recognize until after our wedding day. Oh, don’t get me wrong, my father-in-law adores his wife, but it is how he speaks to her that is my undoing.
#
Jenny
I apply extra concealer this morning to hide the deep purple hues of circles under my puffy eyes. Another sleepless night, made worse by yet another round of fighting, involving slamming doors and thrown objects, led to a night of tears. My eyes burn, as I fight the swelling to do my best to try to make myself presentable, forcing away the shaking in my hands as I dress for my day. I am more than ready to return to work, having my photography business kept me busy for much of my holidays, helping to avoid Martin and his family as much as possible. I hate to think, but I was relieved when my mother returned home, after days of pretending to be the dutiful wife.
“Are you ready to talk about it?” Merrilee opens my car door, ready for answers.
“What?”
“Jen, stop playing stupid. You need to tell me what is happening.” Hidden in my car with the daily tasks of lifting my bags for the day, a simple movement and yet it allows me the few extra breaths I need to tamp down on the fly away emotion bubbling inside of me. I should have known I would never be able to hide it all from my best friend, especially after yet another episode yesterday. Our eyes meet, I lock my car when she grabs my arm.
“Okay, okay. Here it is.” I confess. “He drank entirely too much on New Year’s. And I am sorry you had to be a witness to the insanity. I can never repay you for all your help cleaning up after that party. And we had another fight last night.”
“What about?”
“He wants to try to have a baby again.”
“Oh, Jenny. No. You would be the worst kind-of-fool to go there with him. I thought you finally saw the writing on the fucking wall back in the fall when you went back on your birth control.” I stopped my jaw dropped. “Do I need to spell it out to you? Your husband has an anger issue, and that is on top of the drinking. Get your head out of your ass, Jen. Please tell me it hasn’t always been like this and you have hidden it that much from me.” I shake my head.
“No. It hasn’t. If it was then I would have left. I know there is a problem. I see it. And I don’t need birth control anymore because I sleep alone at night because he passes out in the den. We haven’t had sex since June. And now I do not have to deal with the horrid side effects of taking the pill.” I lower my voice; my eyes burn with threatening tears at the embarrassment of having to admit how bad my marriage is, we walk into the building.
“Good morning Mrs. Stephenson.” I choke back the thick emotion, clogging deep inside my throat.
“Good morning Mr. Raines.”
Merrilee gives me a look, I ignore, opening the door before she can remark as I am readying the room for the day. She squeezes my hand before leaving the room; I hear her voice and a deep-throated response, then the door closes, leaving me alone with Ryan. I turn away from him, dabbing beneath my eyes.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“How were your holidays?” Mesmerized by his sincerity, the tenderness of his words and the little something that threatens to bubble closer and closer to the surface with each passing month.
“They were good. You?” The lie came all too easily across my lips.
“Yea, it was okay. I got those pics you wanted for the paper.”
“Oh. That is good.” Even I can recognize how fake my voice sounds.
“Are you sure you are okay?”
The words hover, floating, time pauses, surrounding us in the small intimate space; I jump, when the first bell rings expecting the door to open at any minute filling with students.
“I am good. Thank you, Ryan.” Maintaining distance between us as I turn away before he knows more from simply looking deeper.
#
Ryan
February
February is a particularly rough month around the Raines house. Between Valentines, which is the anniversary of my parents wedding and my mom’s death all in a span of twenty-eight days is not hard enough but it was the very same month, same year of her death that my brother made a stupid kid mistake by stealing a car and killing a family man, a dad of two sons. The irony not lost on me that my father of two sons is sitting at our kitchen table right now pouring his soul over a stack of worn photo albums, with a warm half-drank beer beside him as he loses himself in memories of the life we had before that fateful month two years ago. If I could go back and change anything, it would be that my brother Rob’s stupid mistake would have happened after my mom’s death. To watch her knowing that death was imminent and yet to also see her baby arrested and knowing he would spend a long time behind bars is a sight I doubt I will ever be able to get out of my mind.
There is nothing I can do to ease my dad’s pain, even though I do everything he asks, devoting my life to our family he still is alone and I would give anything to bring her back if just for a day to see my dad smile again. I do as I did last year, I get up each morning and go to school and hope February moves by quickly, for by the time March begins, my heart starts to heal a little bit more.
The words linger on my tongue with the need to tell Jenny my story. Each day I am in her classroom, I participate more, answering her questions, she addresses towards her students. We speak for a few minutes each day after class, never long enough compared to the hours I long to hear the words, her story. What makes her happy and more importantly, why is she sad? And why does her sadness appear more evident with each passing of time? These are things I yearn to learn.
I am tired today, but nothing will prevent me from attending school, only five more days left of this month to endure.
“Good Morning Mrs. Stephenson.”
“Good Morning Mr. Raines.”
Today she is dressed up, silky red shirt and black pants hugging all the right places as she walks past me. Class begins I fight to keep from getting agitated with Karyn and Christie as they insist on teasing. Why is it when high school girls flirt their voices get higher, and they say ridiculous things? I shake my head while listening to the lecture. We have an assignment for a story each person is to submit by Friday.
“Mrs. Stephenson.”
“Yes, Karyn,” Jenny answers with a bit of snark I have not heard leave her lips before.
“Can we work in groups on the story?”
“No. This needs to be individual work. I want a complete article by everyone to turn in on Friday. No less than one hundred and fifty words, preferring two hundred words. The five best articles will be printed in the next edition. Class pay attention. This is a major test grade. So, take this seriously.”
Karyn huffs in frustration. My girl smiles before she turns her attention away from my table to answer some questions. I pull up my latest project photos to show her when the bell rings. My two table mates attempt to hold back, their objective apparent until I ignore their comments, relieved when they leave.
For the spring semester, I have been doing a work-study program instead of athletics or participating in other sports. I already work for my dad’s mechanic shop, but now I get out of school earlier, and it takes more of a load off my father with the added help I can give. He is a usually easy-going boss, and when I tell him I need a bit of time for my photography for this class, he is good with it. I am fortunate to have not wasted time in high school, getting all my core classes out of the way which gives me two courses and working for the entire semester. Since I am not heading to a university after graduation, there is no need to waste my time sitting in classes I do not need.
“Are these your latest?”
“Yes.”
“This is good. You might try increasing the saturation level; it will pull out the light on the water.” Using the mouse, rolling over the editing menu bar to the side, I hesitate. My girl leans over my shoulder until I can feel the brush of heated flesh against mine. “Over here, if you point, click, then there is a drop-down bar. Click on the plus sign or use the meter control to slide until you get the desired effect.” She went and said the word desire. Shit, I desire her, more than I ever dreamed possible for any girl and it grows each day. She hovers near me.
“You look beautiful in red,” I whisper. She smiles. Our bodies are close, close enough that if I dare, I could kiss her with only the slightest of movement. But that is a line I will not cross, yet.
“Thanks. Um.” Her small pink tongue darts out, leaving moisture along her bottom full lip. A groan threatens to pass from deep within me. “Ryan, I never got to tell you how much I love the dove. Thank you. It means a great deal to me. I will cherish it always.”
I leave class a short time later, with a smile and a fuzzy warm feeling deep inside my chest, cherishing the longest uninterrupted alone moment in much too long.
#
Ryan
The first week of March begins before I can complain about February taking much too long. I continue to get excited each Monday morning because I know today is the day, I will get to see Jenny. Three times a week varying by the week is not near enough time to spend with her. I can’t help but mark the calendar every night before I go to bed, crossing off the day as a conquering warrior counting down to the day when I have triumphed over my internal war. Except my prize is graduation and with crossing the stage on May twenty-fifth, I will be free, for that weekend is my only chance to tell her how I truly feel. See I have decided since returning to school after the holiday break, seeing her eyes filled with her tears, and dark circles under her pretty hazel eyes I can feel her pain.
It did not help that day; I overheard Miss Hargreaves asking her if things had always been that bad. A conversation I can only assume is about the husband. Since September, I have hung on every word between them, some good, some extremely embarrassing when Miss Hargreaves is discussing me, which I have come to ignore, except when it makes my girl blush.
In my mind, I think of her as my girl. I can’t help but wonder if this puts me in the stalker category. Does it? Wait, I check off the potential stalker checklist. Do I follow her home? No. Do I know where she lives? No. I don’t have her phone number. I have never heard her husband’s name. Have I checked them out on social media? No. I don’t use it myself no time, and I can’t imagine she does either.
No. I am not a stalker. Phew. What I am is a guy stuck in high school for a bit longer who happened to find a girl he is crazy about and she just so happens to be not only married but his teacher. Thankfully I was raised to be a very patient man, having taken a step further when I gave her the dove at Christmas, at first for no other reason then I wanted her to feel special. Something that I doubt is happening at home.
I push away thoughts about how bad life sucks to focus on the day ahead. I comb my hair check my shirt, my breath and stroll into high school like I own the damn place if only for a little while longer. I lean against the locker I rarely ever use other than to stand against if just to be the first one to see her each morning. From my vantage point, I get the best of both worlds, seeing her walking in each day, admiring what she is wearing, not only getting the front view but the back. And the best part I am rewarded each morning with a blush to her rosy cheeks, for me and that for now is more than enough until the day when I can tell her how I feel then wait for her to shoot me down, breaking my heart or what if I am wrong and she feels something also?
Today, I walked into her class only to hear familiar words between her and her friend once again. Her eyes are swimming with watery tears, and I did the only thing I could think of by handing her a tissue when I wanted to pummel the guy for making her cry but only after I held her in my arms until she smiled.
#
Jenny
“Geez, Merrilee you have to stop before someone hears you.” I set my bags down on my desk catching her admiring her latest manicure.
“What?” She feigns innocence, and my best friend is anything but inexperienced in life.
“You know what. Ryan.”
“Girl, you have it so bad for that boy you can’t see straight.” I scowl turning my back to her, hiding the smile I can’t help but escape when his name is mentioned. “Jen. You have been checking him out since the first day of school, and it has gotten worse since the holiday break.” I wave a hand at her obscene comments as I power up the computer. I bite my lip against the ever-increasing smile that will be much too hard to control while my cheeks are tinging in blushing heat.
“Merrilee. Ssh. Someone will hear you.”
“No one will hear me. The hall is full of loud students right now.”
“Look, there is nothing to say. Nothing good can come from even thinking about it.” Her long-manicured, nail points straight towards me, with narrowed eyes.
“Oh. Yes, there is something more there. I knew it.”
“It’s nothing just a stupid crush.”
“May have been. How many photos have you taken of Ryan this year? Huh.”
“Probably ten.” I bite my lip again with hope, she is not onto me.
“How many did you turn into me for the yearbook?” Shit, she has me now.
“I think five.”
“Now, tell me the truth,” I bury my head in my hands. Shit. I have it so bad. “And what about his gift?” I shake my head. I thought for sure Ryan’s crush on me would have died down by December. I never told my best friend about the gift.
“This is nuts. I have my hands full with Martin. The last thing I need to be thinking about is a crush on a high school senior.”
“Hey, all I am saying is dump Martin’s ass, move in with me, and wait for graduation night then you can screw the sexy boy’s brains out all weekend long, and life will be great.” My jaw drops, shaking my head in disbelief at the mere suggestion as crazy as it sounds, the thought of being alone in the muscular arms of Ryan Raines has me wishing I had a change of panties here with me at work. Merrilee gives me a look that is all too knowing, and that scares me to death. “Yep, you are thinking about it, and that means you have given it consideration.”
“So, not funny. Not funny. You are a bad influence. And I do not need any more trouble in my life. He will be in here any minute, and I have to look at Ryan for ninety minutes.” Merrilee laughs.
“What I wouldn’t do to have your problems.” I don’t know what it is about her admission that knocks me off my axis. My eyes fill with unshed tears, pain, sorrow, and pure frustration.
“Jenny, what did I say?”
“I know I have no reason to complain.”
She steps close until my watery eyes meet hers.
“Yes, you do. Don’t you see? This is what I keep attempting to show you. Your husband is an ass, and you deserve much, much better than him. He does not respect you. One day you will see you are deserving of a love that is off the charts, something so great that you will never doubt your worth. Do you hear me?” Biting my lip while trying to imagine a love she is describing, something that could rival the very best romance novel.
“I doubt real love like that exists.” Merrilee releases a throaty laugh.
