Lacey Reynolds shook her head even as she answered the knock on the door. She knew who it was. She was expecting him. Her study partner from the night course that she was taking in counseling at the local college. They had a report to write but this time instead of meeting at the coffee on campus some craziness had possessed her to invite the man to her tiny apartment that she shared with her two small boys. They were with their dad this weekend so it made sense she had rationalized.
Except for the fact that nothing about this man sense. Sean was former military, though he never said which branch. He said surprisingly little, yet what he left unsaid said as much about him as any words could. She felt it. The man was in that class for the same reason that she was. He wanted to help others back from the edge. For her it was domestic abuse. Oh, her ex had never hit her. He did not have to. Despite that stupid saying about sticks and stones, words could and did hurt you. But for Sean, she felt it was PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, that drove him. It built a common ground upon which their class projects and friendship had built over the past few months.
But whatever had possessed her to invite him here? No one came into the home that she shared with her sons. It was hers. Her refuge after a decade of the constant barrage of complaints that had marked her marriage. The house was never clean enough, the dinner never warm enough, his shirts never crisp enough. It never ended until she was lost. Lost herself into trying to please another...an impossible task.
The gentle rapping at the door was getting louder. She looked around the place, trying to see it through the eyes of another. Toys filled every single nook and cranny. The furniture was all salvaged from second hands stores, that recycling website, or as a last resort bought as cheaply as possible. Her quilts on the back of couch and the matching pillows added a feminine touch to what could only generously be called shabby chic. With the emphasis upon shabby as she was reminded every single time her ex dropped the boys off to complaints of 'his' sons living in such a dive when he had provided them with a fine house in the best neighborhood and a big backyard. Lacey had learned to smile and nod as she took their bags. His words no longer held the power they once had, but they still hurt.
But she had no magic wand. She could not wave it and turn this place suddenly into something it was not. Like her, it was a case of what you see is what you get. So why had she done this? Invited another man to pass judgment upon her...find her wanting and lacking. But the knock reminded her, she had. And short of being rude she must now face the very real consequences...with him. Leather as she thought of him because of the old worn jacket that he always wore and that smelled of something dark, deep and mysterious...every time she made the mistake of getting too close.
She sighed and forced her hand to turn the knob. To seal her fate...
***
Sean was just about ready to turn and leave. Perhaps he had gotten the time wrong? Perhaps the woman had simply changed her mind about having the likes of him in her house? It would not be the first time. He had long since lost count of the number of doors that had been slammed on him his whole life long. That was what happened when you were just a foster kid...a nobody from nowhere.
Only the Marines had ever been home to him. But in the end, they too had turned their back on him. Closed the door in his face with a medical discharge with the nightmares got so bad that his screams woke the whole damned platoon. Not that he blamed them. How could they trust him to do what had to be done when he could not trust himself. It had been a long road back from those darkest days. A road that he knew he would travel the rest of his life. A long, winding, lonely road.
And she had become his only bit of sunshine. The shy, little dove in the back of the class that barely spoke a word. But wow, when you finally got her talking, damn, but the girl was smart. And funny. And pretty. And not for the likes of someone like him, he reminded himself.
He was turning to go when the door finally opened. Well, more like a crack appeared with her face looking as lost as he felt and her eyes looking at the ground, not even daring to met his. He thought for a long moment that she truly had changed her mind, that she was going to send him away, slam that door hard in his face. Why did that thought hurt him like nothing since the night that the social worker took him and his little sister away? Like holding those discharge papers had?
But then she stepped back reluctantly and whispered, "I know it isn't very fancy, but come in..."
As she ushered him into his fantasy. He choked on thin air and felt a tightening in his chest as he saw the yellow dump truck in the corner. How many Christmases had he asked Santa for that exact same toy? But it was never to be. Anymore than the black, red and green bikes that were leaned against the wall in the corner. But when his eyes lit upon the bright yellow quilt that he knew in his gut she had sewn herself his heart stopped. It might be covering a couch that had seen better days, but it was everything that he thought about this woman...sunshine. He noticed the crocheted dollies on the battered wooden table next to it. Sunshine and lace.
Somebody had known what they were doing when they named this one Lacey. It said it all. As much as this place did. One single word floated through his mind...home. And he knew he never wanted to leave this place again.
***
Lacey shifted nervously from foot to foot as she watched the man take measure of her tiny, ramshackle apartment. Of what had become her life at twenty-nine. Of her. She felt each glance in her soul. The toys strewn about. The ratty old couch that she had salvaged when someone left it by the dumpster. It had taken her and the boys over an hour to drag it the hundred feet or so into their living room. Not only had she paid for that one with an aching back but with a tirade from the ex about what bugs and germs must be in the 'piece of junk.' But to her it was better than sitting on the floor...and like her...there was still some life left in the old thing.
She had spent a week sewing that old quilt from pieces of dresses and scraps she had from that 'other' life. She thought it made the thing better, but yet again her ex had simply shook his head and looked at her like she was crazy.
The same look that Leather had on his face now? Disgust? Pity? Maybe like her ex the couch was not good enough for him to sit on?
"We can go to the coffee shop if you prefer," she finally managed to squeak past that knot in her throat as she fought back tears. Tears that she had refused for over a year to allow out. Why now? Why with him was she losing it? Why was her carefully crafted façade of strength crumbling leaving her the fragile little girl that she hated? That she fought so hard not to be.
She wanted to run then. If she could just have a couple of minutes alone. She could get it back together she knew she could. She had done it before. Picked up the pieces, broken and shattered, of her life and self-esteem. By sheer will she had super glued them together. And she would again. "I think I left my textbook in the bedroom. I'll be right back...just a couple of minutes..." she pleaded. She did not even wait for an answer before practically running the few feet down the hall to her bedroom.
She collapsed in the middle of it...another quilt this one all the colors of the rainbow. The lace curtains were flapping in the wind. She had all the windows open and her one fan turned on high. Even though this place came with air conditioning, she could not afford a high electric bill so except in the hottest part of the day when it was about the boys' health she never used the damned thing.
That too weighed upon her frail shoulders. What had she done? What had she become? She could no longer hold the tears back then. So she buried her face in the quilt and prayed it was enough to stifle her sobs that rocked her thin body.
