Cant Get Used To Losing Her

By Shuttlepilot, copyright 2014

I felt empty. The president had been well liked by many and the whole nation had come to a standstill following the assassination. And yet, the loss I felt was nothing compared to the death of my marriage when my wife decided to abandon me to my own grief following the death of my son Billy.

I had heard once that she was doing well but since Belle had moved to San Francisco after the divorce that was all I knew, all I cared to know. I missed what we had had before everything went crazy. I missed having a family to come home to; my life was as empty as my house near the beach.

What we had had was gone. She had made that crystal-clear the day she walked out on me, saying the only way she could live with herself was to start a new life. What was that supposed to mean? And why should that mean away from me? Wasn't that what marriage was all about?

Instead of staying to work things out, Belle had run away, away from me and what we had shared. I had been willing, so willing, even with everything she had done, but she hadn't. I had been deeply disappointed when she refused to have another child after Billy had died. It had bothered me ever since... and now, five years later, here she was, standing in my father's house, looking at me like I was the uninvited guest.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying hard to keep the anger under control although I wanted to lash out, to scream 'what are you doing back in my life?'

Belle turned and walked back into the kitchen, picked up a coffee cup, and leaned against the wall. She took a sip, then another, watching me until I could stand her presence no more, for I left the room, went into the living room that I remembered from growing up, took one long, last look around and left the house.

As I pulled away from the driveway, I saw my father standing in the front doorway, his arm around Belle and then the door closed. It was going to be a very, very bad Thanksgiving.

*****

"Brian, why did you leave? We had dinner ready. Your mother was very disappointed."

"What kind of stupid question is that, Dad? How could you have her there? I mean, what the hell!?" I stared at the phone in my hand, unable to believe what my father was saying.

"You shouldn't have left," my father replied, as if that explained everything.

I could hear talking in the background. "You shouldn't have had her there. What were you thinking?" My hand was shaking so hard I had to put the phone down.

"Brian? Brian? You there?"

I could still hear my father's voice from the phone and chose to ignore it. Of all the things my father could have done, inviting Belle for Thanksgiving... and not even informing me of it before hand. Dead silence from the phone. I almost threw the receiver across the room but at the last second, realized that I would only be destroying it. I didn't have that kind of money to waste, no matter how angry I was.

I hung up.

The phone rang again but I decided to just let it alone. Tomorrow, I thought, I'd change my number, even though it would cause a problem with my clients.

*****

...then she was in my arms. I didn't know how she got there. I didn't remember moving toward her. I only knew I couldn't seem to hold her close enough.

Taking her mouth, I plundered her, parting her lips with my tongue, sweeping past any defenses she might have raised. I claimed her mouth fiercely, thoroughly. Again and again, my tongue mated with hers, twisting, exploring and tasting. I sought her treasures, her secrets and once I found them, searched for more. My hands moved up and down her back, over the curve of her bottom where my fingers grabbed hold and squeezed, pulling her tightly to me.

.

.

.

And then I woke, sitting up in my bed, wondering what had happened as I had tried to sleep. After all this time, Belle was back, haunting my dreams.

*****

The next morning, I realized changing my number was more trouble than it was worth. They'd eventually give up, I decided.

By the time I reached the office the following Monday morning, Gailene, my secretary, handed me several new contracts. "Your phone's been ringing all morning," she said, impatiently.

"That's too bad. Just so you know, I'm not taking any calls this morning so don't worry about it."

"You're the boss," she said, returning to the portable television she had brought in to watch the funeral procession, the muffled rumble of the drums echoing along the capital's streets.

I tried hard to read through the contracts but found myself staring at the same page an hour later. I got up and walked to the door. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back later."

Walking down the hallway, I suddenly saw my parents leave the elevator. Turning quickly, I took the fire stairs and went down flight after flight until I finally reached the ground floor. Looking around, I headed down the street and turned the corner to the next building, went inside and entered the coffee shop there.

Looking at the menu, I ordered a BLT and an iced tea and slouched down in the booth, nervously moving my silverware from one side to the other. I was surprised my parents had shown up at my office considering the nation had all but shutdown in honor of the slain president but then my father always was a persistent bastard when I wanted to be and this latest episode just truly showed what a son-of-a-bitch he was.

What possible reason could there be for Belle to come back into my life? I slowly chewed my sandwich, wondering. My world had exploded when Belle had told me she was leaving and wanted a divorce. With barely a backward glance, she had walked out... out of our home... out of our marriage... and out of our life together.

And now... she was back.

The morning Belle had told me she wanted a divorce would stay in my mind forever. She couldn't seem to get away from me fast enough. She retained a lawyer and coldly informed me that all future communications would be through him. The less contact, the better, she had said. A clean break...

Her decision had struck me with the force and unpredictability of a hurricane. I stumbled blindly through the next few months, trying to hold my life together, clinging to a semblance of normality while my world disintegrated around me.

At one time I dreamed she would regret what she had done, that she'd seek forgiveness and come crawling back to me. I wanted her to suffer for the way she had treated me, for the hurt she had inflicted when she turned her back on me.

In the years since the divorce, I had gradually found my footing and in the process, discovered a self I didn't know existed... a stronger man, forged in the fire of despair.

I ordered pie, lemon meringue, admitting to myself that I was just killing time, hoping that my parents had left by the time I returned. I couldn't stay away from the office forever... I had clients to take care of and contracts that needed to be carefully read through and stocks to watch as they did their financial dance up and down.

I laughed. Carefully reading the contracts was almost an impossibility the way I felt. It was way after two-thirty in the afternoon and I was starting to feel guilty leaving Gailene to face my parents all alone.

Throwing five dollars down on the table, I brushed the crumbs away from my shirt, stood up, waved at the waitress and left. If my parents were somehow still there, I would quietly but strongly tell them to leave. The days of letting my father control my personal life were long gone... forever gone.

Walking into the office, I found Gailene still watching her televison.

She just smiled and shook her head. "After all that, I want a raise."

"You'll get one," I promised. "How long were they here?"

"You knew? And left anyway? That's not nice, Brian."

I couldn't tell if she was upset or not. "OK, a bigger raise."

"They want you to come for dinner, tonight."

"Fat chance of that happening..." I said to himself.

Gailene looked up from her newspaper. "He said that it was really important. Your mother was crying."

"Crying? That's interesting. Was it for Kennedy? Did they say anything else?"

"Just that they'd really like to see you. It seemed like it was almost a necessity, as if it were life or death."

"Hah! Narcissistic bastard is more like it. I'm sorry you had to be here for that; I didn't think they'd show up here. I'm sorry." Even as I spoke, I knew I was fooling myself. Why else had I left the building?

I turned toward my office and then turned back again. "What do you think I should do?" I asked and immediately regretted my question.

Gailene looked at me. "I've had a little time to think about it. I don't know what they've done to anger you this time but something's up. You're going to have to make up your own mind but there's a mystery here, that's for sure."

*****

I drove down the street I had grown up on, looking carefully, seemingly recognizing the car that didn't belong. A tired Edsel was parked in front of my parents' house and as I passed it to park further down the road, I noticed a UCLA parking sticker on the rear bumper. She must have moved, I thought, although I had no idea why she would be attending the Los Angeles campus.

I walked up to the front porch and knocked on the door that one time I would have just opened and entered. Somehow, it didn't seem right, anymore.

"Come in," my mother said, opening the door and standing aside, an anxious look on her face.

"Mother," I greeted, rather than the more intimate 'Mom', wishing I knew what was going on. I noticed that she had on her favorite blue and white checked apron, usually reserved for special events and holidays and was nervously wiping her hands with it.

The house looked almost the same but there was a different smell to it, a scent that had been missing ever since... ever since Belle had left my life.

And now, she was back... bringing the almost forgotten pain with her. Why? And, why did I suddenly care?

My father was on his Lazy-Boy, watching the television's flickering blue-white image of Arlington. He stood up and turned the set off. "Why'd you...?"

"I can leave again, if you want," I said softly, turning back to the door I had just entered.

"No!" my mother cried out. "Please... don't go. I made your favorite pie... I mean, just in case you'd stop by."

"Thank you," I replied, hoping that the anger I felt would stay under control. Besides, it had been weeks since I had had my mother's apple-crumb pie and I missed it... and her.

My grand-mother came out of the kitchen, a cup of still-steaming tea in her hand. I was surprised, never expecting to see her all that often since she had moved to San Diego.

Courteously, I approached her and gave her a hug. "Grandma, how nice to see you..."

"Brian, you look well. How come you don't come and see me?" There was just a hint of a smile on her face that told me of her love for me.

"I don't know. I'm sorry." I was embarrassed at my answer, knowing I had neglected the old woman who had spent so much time with me during my youth.

She moved toward the couch and sat down, patting the space next to her, inviting me to sit. "I'll let you come and get me for Christmas."

I looked around the room, wondering where Belle was, knowing once I sat down, I was trapped for the time it took to get up.

"She's upstairs," my grandmother said, answering my unasked question. "Sit down, Brian; we have so much to talk about... so much you don't know."

I weighed in my mind what to do and then remembering what Gailene had said, realized that I would have to face the situation at some point. Whatever they had in mind, I was man enough, I thought, to deal with it, especially after all this time.

"Why?" I asked. "Why is she here? Now, after all this time...? Do you honestly think I want to see her?"

"It's complicated," the old woman started to say and then she was interrupted by the appearance of a four-year-old child holding a teddy bear and rubbing her sleepy eyes.

I looked at the blond-haired child standing at the top of the stairs in shock. A child! Oh, God, did it mean what my mind was rapidly becoming afraid of?

"Sit down," my grandmother said, waving her arm toward the sofa. "It's time you knew."

I nodded absently and sat down next to the old woman. "What?" I asked. "What could you possibly tell me?" They both knew that, at best, I now had ambivalent feelings toward my ex-wife. She still felt a pang of sorrow remembering her lost great-grandson.

"So..." I said.

She looked at me, her eyes starting to water. "I'm not sure how to say this but..."

*****

Dinner was a strange, quiet affair; unappreciated food passed from one side of the table to the other without a word; even the pie had been eaten without being tasted. My father had attempted to sit me down next to Belle but I moved quickly and sat between my mother and grandmother, occasionally glancing at the small child at the other end of the table and wondering just 'who' she was.

We finished eating just past six o'clock and Belle quickly stood to help clear the table, seemingly falling into a comfortable ease that she had once shown years before the divorce. The little girl, Katy, was excused from the table and she went into the living room to play with her doll. I watched her as she left the room and wondered just what to think.

*****

Driving home, shaking my head from side to side, I refused to believe any of what they had said. Where HAD she come from? It was something that was bothering me ever since I first saw her. How could my parents, my grandmother so easily believe Belle, the Belle who had evidently lied and betrayed my love by leaving?

I shook nervously. What if the child were indeed mine? I would be linked with Belle forever if that was the case... and the specter of child support and everything that went with that even if she wasn't.

*****

I spoke with several of my lawyer friends but they were no help to me, each with conflicting opinions on whether I was responsible for the young girl. Of course, each had said, it all depended on whether I was the girl's father or not. California state law had me over a barrel.

In my mind's eye, I saw her, so similar to my lost son. Would I want another child with Belle or was that just wishful thinking, seeking to fill that emptiness that had taken residence in my soul. I didn't know. If I were a religious man I would have sought out the guidance of a priest but those days were long ago lost in the past with the death of my son. I had no patience with such an uncaring God, no matter what had been said during the funeral. Even Father Redahan had no real answers to the questions that I had.

"Gailene, I'm not coming in today," I said to my secretary over the phone. "I'm sorry, but something's come up."

"It has to do with your parents' coming over the other day, doesn't it? Do you want to talk about it?"

"Uh, no... not right now, maybe never... I don't know, it's complicated." I ended the call and went back to my bedroom and lay down on my bed, resting my arm over my eyes.

The afternoon came and went and still I lay quietly on the spread, occasionally shifting from my left side to my right. As much as I hated it, this whole mess was bothering me and I fought the occasional tear that found its way down my cheek.

The problem, as I saw it, was two-fold. Was Katy my daughter? And, if she was, what was I going to do about it?

The next morning I ate a lonely breakfast at the International House of Pancakes, getting my eggs 'over easy', wondering who would regain a normal life first: me or the nation?

*****

Several weeks had gone by before I saw my parents again. The nation, in the meantime, had quietly adjusted to the change in leadership. Mrs. Kennedy had quietly left the White House, the broadcasters had stopped referring to the president as Mr. Kennedy and America was slowly learning about Lady Bird Johnson, wondering what was to become of Camelot.

I was shopping for Christmas gifts at the Broadway department store when I chanced upon my mother carrying several large packages. I hurried to assist her and noticed the two dolls inside one of the bags.

"Hello, Mom. What brings you out today?" I know, it was a stupid question but old habits died hard. "Can I buy you lunch?"

"Yes, I'd like that," she replied, giving me two of the large bags. "Don't look," she admonished, "there's something in there for you and I'd like it to be a surprise. It's been a long time since I've been able to surprise you at Christmas."

I laughed. I missed my mom and stayed away mostly because of the way my father was. I couldn't understand how such two completely different people could have met and fallen in love, let alone stayed married for all these years.

I carried her bags to my car in the lot and we drove over to Van de Kamps to have a late lunch.

We ordered.

"Well," she said, opening our conversation. "How've you been?"

"Pretty much the same," I answered. "What do you think will happen with Johnson, now?"

"Why don't you ask what you're really thinking, Brian?" She took a sip of her iced tea and looked at me only the way a mother can, knowing her child was hurting.

"I don't want to talk about it, Mom."

"You're going to have to do something about it, sooner or later."

"What can I say? There's no way I can tell if she's mine or not, you know that. Besides, after all this time, what difference does it make?" I took a bite of my sandwich, hoping that this wasn't all going to be a mistake.

The waitress refilled my Coke. I waited until she had left before continuing. "Even if she is mine, that doesn't change what happened with Belle and what she did. I can't forgive her for that."

"We all make mistakes, Brian," my mother answered.

"It's been five years, Mom. That's a long time. And, why now? What's changed, anyway?"

"I don't know. Maybe she realized what she had done. Maybe she realized how much she missed you."

Our "come-to-Jesus" talk continued for a while and when we decided to stop, I saw that it was two hours later. Time flies when you're having fun, I guess.

I drove my mother back to her car, transferred her bags to her trunk, kissed her good-bye and drove home, still unsettled by the reappearance of my ex-wife into my life.

It was Christmas Eve before I saw my parents again, resigned to know that Belle and Katy would probably be there, too. Unlike previous years, I only brought Chanel No. 5 for my mother, deliberately slighting my father, whom I still had a disagreeable relationship with, Belle, whom I still had no love for and Katy, who I still refused to acknowledge.

Dinner was similar to Thanksgiving and the conversation, what there was of it, centered around the expected political changes in Washington and my father attempting to include the girl in conversation, all the while keeping an eye on me.

Unlike my lunch with my mother, dinner seemed to drag and I looked at my watch, wondering when the evening would come to an end.

Belle looked at me. "Brian, when can we talk? We really need..."

"I thought you had said all you wanted... five years ago, Belle. What more can you have to say now?"

My father scowled at me.

"She's yours, Brian. There was no one else."

"Has there been anyone since?"

Her silence and reddening face gave me the answer that I didn't want to hear, didn't really want to know.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, angrily. Five years of frustration had risen to the forefront and exploded across the table. And then, I realized that my outburst had terrified the small girl sitting across from me, for she began to cry and tried to climb down from her chair and leave the table.

"Now see what you've done?" my father furiously said, reaching for Katy and taking her into his lap.