Beyond Shattered Dreams: (Sequel to Just Below the Surface), page 8
I sigh. “Yeah, I know. But in his state of mind, I highly doubt that returning Penny’s car is high on his list of priorities.”
We enter the room and hand over our passes. The guy standing near the front shows us to our spots.
“Oh!” I say excitedly. “How cool.”
There are folded aprons, towels, paints, brushes, a clean canvas, and little bottles of sparkling blackberry water.
I can’t help myself. I let out a tiny squeal. “This is just the cutest!”
Ben rolls his eyes. “Painting is cute?” He laughs. “You need help.”
I swat his arm. “C’mon. Let’s put our aprons on.”
Ben unfolds his to see little tulips on the front. “Trade me,” he says.
I laugh and hand him my plain beige one. We put the aprons on and have a seat, waiting for the instructor to begin. People are still coming in and finding their seats.
“Anne, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
Ben hesitates, then says, “What if things don’t work out? With you and Prescott, I mean.”
“Ben,” I begin, my face showing dread in answering his question.
He holds up his hand defensively. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. I just wonder if you’ve thought about it.” The he adds softly, “I know I have.”
I look at him for a moment, taking in the longing I see in his deep brown eyes. Ben would make a fantastic boyfriend or even husband for someone. Of that I’m sure. But I know that someone isn’t me.
“Ben, I appreciate your friendship so much. You’ve been there for me and I’m so grateful.” I swallow. “But right now, I don’t want to think about things not working out between me and Prescott. I love him.”
He gives a quick shake of his head and says, “That was unfair of me, Anne. I’m sorry.”
I touch his arm gently and smile. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I value our friendship more than you can know. I’m just…” I try to find the right words, not wanting to hurt him for all the world. “I don’t want to do or say anything that jeopardizes our friendship right now. I need your support.”
“I understand.” He gives me a sheepish grin. “Can’t blame me for trying, right?”
I laugh. I can feel myself relax. “Ben, you are one awesome friend.”
“Yeah,” he says, as the instructor is getting everyone’s attention to start the session. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
I grin and turn to the instructor, paintbrush in hand.
* * *
I pull up to my apartments, still laughing about Ben’s painting. The picture we painted tonight was a moonlit path with a leafless tree. Ben’s had such a creepy look to it that I told him he needed to paint the headless horseman into it somehow. We couldn’t stop laughing about it. The harder he tried to “soften up” the painting, the worse it got. I chuckle to myself as I kill the engine and step out of my car.
“Well, well. Look who’s finally home.”
Startled at the gravelly voice, I turn to find Prescott leaning against Penny’s car, staring at me with hard eyes.
“Prescott! Oh my gosh! Where have you been? Your family has been freaking out waiting to hear from you!”
I reach him and when the smell of alcohol hits me, I immediately take a step back.
Prescott is standing before me, drunk.
Chapter 12
I’m horrified. “Prescott. You don’t even drink.”
“Well,” he slurs, “maybe I do now.”
“You need to get inside. Now. We’re calling Penny.” I reach to grab his right arm, still skittish about touching his injured one, and he yanks it away. If it weren’t for the car behind him, he’d fall on his behind.
“I don’t need to talk to Penny. I need to talk to you.”
“We can talk,” I assure him in a calm voice. “Inside.”
This seems to satisfy him, and he walks with me into my apartment.
“Sit down,” I say, not too nicely. I toss my keys onto the table, a little harder than necessary, and they land loudly. I don’t care. I turn to face him.
He sits on the couch, staring up at me, eyes blazing and glassy.
“What is the matter with you?” I ask before I can stop myself. I stand staring at him with my hands on my hips like I’m scolding a child.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” he holds up his left arm, “I’m a mutilated freak now.” Only, in his drunken state, the word “mutilated” comes out “mute-a-led.”
“Are you kidding me?” I nearly yell. “You went out drinking and then drove a car, putting yourself and others in danger, because you’re having a pity party?” I put my hand to my forehead in frustration. “Really, Prescott, you are so much better than this.”
He stands from his seat and it takes him a moment to steady himself. He takes a step toward me, and he reeks of liquor.
“You don’t know me,” he sneers. “Maybe this is how I have a good time.” He grins and it’s not attractive. “I’m living a little.”
I pull my phone from my purse and find Penny’s number. It rings while Prescott sits back down after nearly losing his balance. When she answers I waste no time.
“You and Will need to get to my apartment. Prescott is here, and he’s drunk,” I spit out. I don’t intend to sound so harsh, but I assume Penny knows my anger is not aimed at her.
After her initial shock, Penny says they’re on their way and we end the call.
I sit in my chair, facing him on the couch. “I don’t even know where to begin with you,” I say, looking at him in disgust.
“Begin by telling me how much you missed me,” he says, sporting that annoying grin again.
I take a breath. “Of course I missed you. It’s been torture knowing you’re a few miles away and you won’t even see me. I can’t take much more of this.”
Prescott stands, grabs my hands, and pulls me up. “I’m right here now, baby.”
I push myself away from him. “Are you insane?” I look at him in shock. “What are you doing?”
He steps closer until my legs are backed against the chair and I can’t move away from him. He leans over me and the smell of alcohol makes me hold my breath while he talks.
“I’m reuniting with my girl. I’d think after all this time, you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me.”
“Move,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “Get away from me, Prescott.”
“That’s not what you want,” he says, not budging.
I stand my ground. “Never in a million years did I think I’d see this kind of behavior from you. Now move,” I repeat.
Suddenly his face is coming at me and he smashes his lips against mine in a haphazard, unromantic kiss.
So I shove him. Hard.
He grunts and flies backward, stumbling in his drunken state over the corner of the couch. Then he completely loses his balance and falls, his left shoulder catching the corner of the end table. He cries out in pain as he hits the floor.
I rush over to him, dropping to my knees. His eyes are closed and I wonder if he just passed out.
Oh, God, I pray. Help me. I don’t know what to do.
I shake his arm and he doesn’t respond. I see his steady breathing and I know he has passed out. I look him over to see if he hurt himself falling and see that the shoulder he hit on the corner of the table has a nice-sized gash and is bleeding. His blue T-shirt is torn.
“Oh, geez,” I say out loud to no one. “Penny, please hurry.”
I wait another twenty minutes until I hear my door buzz. I jump up and let Penny and Will into the building. I yank open the door, and by the time they step into my apartment I have tears in my eyes.
Penny hugs me as Will makes his way to Prescott, kneeling next to him.
“I think he passed out from drinking,” I say, shaking from anxiety. “I mean, he fell, but I don’t think he hit his head. Just his shoulder.”
“This is not your fault,” Penny says, hugging me tightly.
I squeeze her back, needing the embrace. “I know, I just… I just wish I had not let him—”
“Stop,” Penny interrupts, pushing away and holding me at arm’s length to make me look at her. “This is all Prescott’s doing. Now,” she says, using a motherly tone that somehow calms me. “Tell me what happened.”
I recount the events, starting with pulling up and seeing a drunk Prescott standing at her car and ending with me pushing him down after his rude attempt at a kiss.
“Oh my gosh. Anne, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I say. “It’s not your fault, either.”
We hear Prescott grunt as Will lifts him off the floor to sit on the couch.
“Make some coffee, please, Anne,” Will says.
I nod and rush to my little kitchenette to start a pot.
Penny asks for a first aid kit, and after she finds it, Will tends to the cut on Prescott’s arm. I hear Prescott curse, and I spin around, angry now.
“How dare you speak that way,” I snap, locking eyes with Prescott. I begin to walk toward him. “You know how I feel about that kind of language, and I won’t tolerate it from you or anyone else while you’re in my home.” I reach the couch and look down at him. His eyes are bloodshot and angry. “I don’t know who you are right now, or what you’re trying to prove. But I do know this: this Prescott,” I gesture to his whole body with my hand, “is not welcome here. Now, if you decide you want to put on your big boy pants and have a conversation, we can do that. But don’t you dare come in here drunk as a sailor and cursing like one and expect any kind of respect from me!”
I don’t realize I’m shouting until I see Penny and Will both looking at me, wide-eyed.
“Well said,” Will states simply.
I hear the coffee pot gurgle and I turn on my heel to fetch Prescott a cup of the steaming, strong brew. Black. No cream or sugar, and I silently dare him to complain.
* * *
An hour later, Prescott is somewhat sober. He and Will are sitting silently on the couch, while Will flips through news channels.
Penny and I stand in the kitchen. About a half hour ago, Penny sent me to go shower, just to try to relax and take a few moments for myself. I gladly obeyed.
Now, I stand in fresh sweats and a T-shirt, sipping on a cup of chamomile tea.
“What do we do?” I ask Penny, keeping my voice low.
Penny takes a breath and sips her own tea. “He needs counseling,” she answers, just as quietly. “He’s going to destroy his life.”
I nod. “I never expected this out of him.”
“He’s like a different person right now,” Penny agrees. “I’ve never seen him drink. Not once.”
“Has he opposed counseling?”
“Our Pastor has offered. But Prescott doesn’t want to talk to someone he knows.”
“I could talk to my Pastor,” I offer.
“That would be great,” Penny says, and I see a little hope in her eyes. “Now we just have to get Prescott to agree to see him.”
I nod.
Will stands. “Let’s get him home.”
Penny agrees, and hugs me as she says, “Don’t stop praying.”
“Never,” I whisper back.
Will thanks me for everything and tells me goodbye.
Prescott says nothing as he walks out the door.
* * *
That night I lie in my bed, thinking. And praying. And if I’m honest, worrying. I toss and turn, trying to find a position comfortable enough to allow me to fall asleep. I don’t. No matter how comfortable my body is, my mind won’t rest.
I finally get out of the bed and head to the kitchen to make some hot tea. It’s a little after midnight. Prescott left over an hour ago, but I can feel his presence lingering.
I absentmindedly wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, frowning. Prescott and I have shared more than a few kisses; always sweet and respectful. This evening, when he smashed his mouth against mine, I felt nothing but displeasure. It was a feeling I never want to experience again.
I take my cup of steaming water and dip a lavender and chamomile tea bag into it gently, then walk to my chair. Setting the teacup down to steep, I fall into the chair, covering my legs with the mauve throw blanket Billie got me for my birthday. I tuck myself in, getting comfortable. I reach for my Bible I keep on the coffee table and turn to one of my favorite Psalms.
Psalm 51:10-12. “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me away from Your presence, and do not take Your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of Your salvation and uphold me by Your generous spirit.”
I think about all the times I’ve prayed this very prayer. All the times I’ve failed God. All the times I’ve felt too ashamed to come to Him and make it right. Is that how Prescott is feeling? What has made him turn to these mind-numbing things like alcohol? Something has happened to make him run from the only hope of making him whole.
I begin to feel a burden rise up in me for Prescott. I feel the Holy Spirit pressing me on his behalf.
And right here, in my chair with my cup of tea, I begin to pray. I pray for Prescott as I would pray for my own self if I were lying in the spiritual pit I know he’s in now. It comes from deep in my soul, and I allow the Holy Spirit to guide me.
Soon, I fall asleep here, in the chair, with tears still fresh on my cheeks.
Chapter 13
The first week in August, I get a call from Felicia. There is another child. I am so thankful for this call I nearly cry with joy. I’ve got to have something to keep my mind from constantly wandering to thoughts of Prescott—where he is, what he’s doing… if he’s thinking of me. This child is just what I need.
I begin by asking her the typical questions. Boy or girl, name, age, etcetera.
“It’s a little girl. She’s four. Her name is Posey.”
I smile, excitement building in me at the information. But before I can say a word, Felicia goes on.
“She’s special, Anne.”
I tip my head in question, even though she can’t see me.
“She… she was born without hands.”
I’m hit with a wave of surprise and sadness. What that little girl must’ve gone through in her four short years of life.
“Oh,” I say, suddenly unsure. “Can I… will I be able to—”
Felicia gently cuts me off. “Anne. You’ve got this. This has been Posey’s condition since birth. She’s never known life another way. She’s very smart and clever. You should see the inventive ideas she comes up with to do everyday tasks.”
I take a deep breath and blurt out, “I want her.”
Felicia laughs softly. “I knew I had a good feeling about this. God knows what He’s doing, doesn’t He?”
“When?” I ask with a nervous excitement.
“Today. Can I bring her over around noon?”
“Yes. Absolutely,” I say, getting up from my chair and looking around for anything that needs to be tidied up or cleaned. “I’ll be ready.”
We end the call and I take a deep breath, trying my best to calm the fluttering in my stomach. I turn in circles, not knowing what to do first. It’s Saturday, so I don’t need to call Mabel or Al.
I look around, suddenly feeling like my apartment is a death trap. I didn’t feel this way when Demarcus came. Maybe because the whole thing was new and he came in like a little capable firecracker. I smile at the thought of Marc. I still pray for him and his grandma.
But somehow, this feels different. Will I be enough for Posey? What if I say or do something wrong? What if she hurts herself because of my ignorance?
I sit in my chair once again and pray for the strength to handle this whole situation.
Then I wait.
* * *
Posey is the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen. Her cheeks are round and bright, and her blue eyes are an exquisite contrast to her almost-black hair, which is pulled tightly into a ponytail high on her head. She’s wearing a little mint-green sundress with watermelons on it and flip flops. Her toes are painted pink.
“We had a little fun with her at the office,” Felicia says, shrugging innocently, Posey in her arms. “Her neighbor brought her to us early this morning. “She, uh…” she hesitates. Then she mouths to me, She was abandoned.
I hide my look of shock and disgust at the thought of someone taking off and leaving their child, and I smile at Posey.
“Hello,” I say in the sweetest tone. “I’m Anne. Come on in!”
I wave the girls in, stepping back from the door to allow them entrance.
I cannot help but glance a time or two at Posey’s little arms. Her left one ends at the wrist, but her right one is more like a hand missing its fingers. I don’t let my eyes linger long, but I offer her some lemonade and sugar cookies I made the night before, and her eyes light up.
Then I look at Felicia in a panic. “The glass…”
Felicia smiles. “It’s okay, Anne. She’ll be fine.” She sets Posey in a chair at the dinette table.
I grab a pink plastic cup from the cupboard and pour the lemonade, filling the cup about halfway. I set the cup in front of Posey and turn to get the cookies.
When I turn back around, Posey is holding the cup comfortably, sipping away. I sigh in relief.
“This is new to you, but not her,” Felicia says softly, while Posey sets her bright eyes on the plate of cookies.
We watch as she reaches with her right arm, sliding her cookie toward her. Then she holds it with both hand and wrist, bringing it easily to her mouth and taking a bite. She munches happily, swinging her feet and humming.
While she snacks, I nod my head to Felicia to join me in the kitchen. She follows me, and I stand where I have a clear view of Posey.
I keep my voice low. “I expected a child more like Marc, nervous, emotional…” I wave my arms. “You’ve brought me Shirley Temple!”
Felicia laughs. “I know. She’s the cutest. Anne, all children are different. All situations are different. All children cope with their circumstances differently.”
