The Last Exhale Part 30

Mother hands me a plate with a napkin over it. "I brought you back a piece of cake."

Tossing the plate in the trash is my first instinct, but I don't want to disrespect my mother's effort of consideration. Not sure why people bake cakes and pies for a funeral in the first place. Celebration of life. Is it ever a celebration for those in mourning? I tell my mother that.

"I think it's all about the thought," she says. "Food, especially sweets, comforts us in a way that nothing else does."

My mother has never been a small woman. Not big, but not small. She began picking up more weight after Andrew's accident back in college. Every holiday since it seems like she's a few pounds heavier. These past few weeks have been filled with emotions, many things to make one need serious comforting. I put the cake in the mini fridge. Mom's sitting on the sofa when I turn around. I sit in the chair across from her. "How's your diabetes?"

"I'm doing the best I can. It's hard sometimes, trying to eat right when your spouse is used to things tasting a certain way. I'll change one ingredient and your dad can tell. He doesn't say much, but his face tells me everything."

"He's never been good with hiding his emotions."

"Not at all. If he doesn't like something, you will know."

I do my best to keep the conversation light, keep it off of me. "What time is your flight tomorrow?"

"Not until six in the evening, but you know your dad will want to get there before the sun comes up."

"Humph, that he will." My dad invented the rule of being on time is being fifteen minutes early. He took it a step further, though.

Mom smooths out the b.u.mps in her skirt. Does that over and over again while looking all around this rented room. Time for her to get out what she came to talk about. When her eyes connect with mine, she says, "You going to be okay, honey?"

Not wanting to get involved with this conversation, I simply nod.

She drops her hands in her lap, lets her eyes wander again. Moisture builds between her eyelids. "Who was that woman watching you at the gravesite?"

I don't answer. Not because I don't want to, but because I don't know. I barely even remember being there myself.

"Is she-is she the one Rene told me about?"

"What are you talking about, Mom?" I move forward in my seat. My attention fully alert now.

"Remember how I told you Rene and I talked after you left for the hospital with your dad? A lot of what she said wasn't making sense to me. I had to ask her to repeat a lot." She scoots to the edge of her seat, reaches her hand across the table until it touches mine. "The woman at the grave, is she who you're having an affair with?"

Sydney immediately comes to mind. Wish she hadn't come to Rene's service. Maybe she was paying respects to her client, having just sold her house. Or maybe she was there to support me. She had no right to be there. After leaving her in the bathroom at the park, I was hoping that would be the last I'd see of her. Seeing her again would make it that much harder to forget her. And part of me is not ready to. At least not yet.

I search my mother's eyes, look for judgment, disappointment. I see neither. All that's riding her amber eyes is concern for her son. Genuine concern. I squeeze her hand back, then release it. "Have I always needed more attention than the average kid?"

"It was only you and Andrew. I can't tell you about any other kids."

"What about him? Did I need more attention than him?"

She reaches her hand back over my way. "Where's this coming from?"

"See, this-This is what I'm talking about." I raise her hand off mine. "Why do you do this?"

"Ohh, Brandon. I'm so sorry. It's just that... I wasn't... We weren't expecting you."

"I know the story."

She twists her wedding ring around her finger as she talks. Her eyes avoiding mine. "We hadn't planned on two babies. I was scared. Your father was scared. We barely had money at the time to eat a full meal each day. Feeding an extra mouth was one thing. We'd accepted the challenge. But when we found out about you, I broke down. I was depressed. I think I gave all of that to you."

Without saying it directly, she answers my question.

"Felt bad once you were born. You were so small, so innocent. I couldn't be mad that you found your way into our family. G.o.d allowed you to be with us for a reason. I held you all the time. Sometimes your father had to remind me we had another baby." Her hand grazes mine again. "I've spent all these years trying to make up for those isolated months in my womb."

I don't blame her or my father for feeling the way I feel. I am who I am. In a lot of ways, I'm like my father. He doesn't hide his emotions. Why should I be any different? "Yes."

"Yes, what, honey?"

"I was having an affair."

"That was Sydney?"

Guess my mom and Rene did talk about a lot. I affirm what I've already admitted to with a nod. "For the last three years of her life, Rene made me grow to hate her. Our marriage was dead a long time ago. It was only a matter of time."

My mom's face grows flush. Can tell the son she raised has disappointed her beyond any disappointments I caused in my youth. "Don't talk like that, Brandon."

There's nothing I can say to excuse what I did. Having an affair while my wife was dying of breast cancer makes my soul feel empty, but my soul was already empty. Still, no excuse is good enough and no apology would be good either.

58.

SYDNEY.

I pull my car in the garage next to Eric's truck. He hasn't been cleared to drive yet since coming home. While his parents have been in town, they've come over and taken him for rides just to get him out of the house since I'm at work during the day. Don't know why I was hoping to not see his ride this evening.

Instead of going straight inside, I shut the car off, let the garage door roll down, and sit in my car listening to the end of a song by the woman who declared she is not her hair. I just need a moment, a breather before walking into the chaos I created.

A loud miniature voice rudely disrupts my peace. Little feet come charging toward my car. "Mommy." EJ slaps his hands against my rolled-up window, his breath fogging up his view of me. There goes that.

"Watch out." I open my door and hand him two of the value meals I bought at his favorite fast food restaurant on the way home. "Take these inside."

He yells his joy as he runs back into the house. "Kennedy, look what Mommy got us."

Walking in the house feels like my feet are covered in mola.s.ses. This is my life. I toss my keys on the counter, and instead of making sure the kids aren't fighting over their meals or seeing if Eric needs anything, I march right upstairs to my sanctuary.

I pour unscented Dove body wash and Egyptian oil into running hot water. Drop a few drops of aloe and soft linen scented oil into an oil warmer, burn a tea light candle underneath. My clothes come off, robe comes on. I shut the water off and head downstairs to check on the kids, and to give the water a few minutes to lower a couple degrees to the perfect temperature.

Eric Sr.'s in the kitchen making a ham sandwich. Eric Jr. is talking to him, but he's not paying attention.

"Leave your dad alone and finish your food, EJ," I tell him.

Kennedy's picking over her food. She doesn't share the enthusiasm of her brother over the golden fries. I tell her to throw it away if she's not going to eat it. She doesn't hesitate.

I address their father. "When EJ finishes his food, will you give him his bath?"

He nods.

Once upstairs, I slip my robe off, let it fall to my feet. Dip my foot in to make sure the water doesn't boil off a layer of my skin. It's perfect, one degree below hot.

I submerge my body all the way to my neck, feels like I'm floating. My eyes close. Thoughts float in Brandon's direction. He left me hanging in a public bathroom. It wasn't the ideal place to be in the first place, but I needed to feel him again. Needed him to feel me. Needed us to feel each other so we wouldn't have to feel everything else.

"Are you thinking about him?"

I almost hit my head against the back of the tub when my husband's voice comes out of nowhere. "Eric."

"Haven't seen you smile like that in a long time."

I try to hide my warming cheeks. "Don't be silly."

He comes over to me, sits on the edge of the bathtub, stares at me with l.u.s.tful eyes. There's a swell in his groin. The bulge lets me know where his mind is. A chill crosses over me. I realize when he scared me, I raised my upper body from the water and now my nipples are rock hard, making me slightly cold. Eric dips his hand in the water and rubs warm fingers over my peaks. That quickly warms my center. He licks his lips as he watches my eyes flicker from fearful to the same l.u.s.tful look in his eyes. He leans over, puts his lips on my neck while his fingers steadily dance across my aroused b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Lips move to my shoulder, slowly trailing down my wet skin until the heat from his mouth meets the heat he created on my nipples. Fire burns through me as my husband's touches penetrate the warmness between my thighs. He stirs up a part of me I thought I had lost for him.

I step out of the water with his fingers still inside of me and wrap my legs around his lap. As his good hand makes love to the most tender part of me, I feel myself on the verge of tears. Not sure if it's because I let my weakened emotions lead me to another man or if having my g-spot hit repeatedly is almost more than I can bear.

Eric juggles my b.r.e.a.s.t.s back and forth in his mouth. At the same time, sliding his hand away from my sweet spot. I reach my hands to unb.u.t.ton his pants, to move this party up a level. He moves my hands away, kisses me on my shoulder as he slides me off his lap and walks toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Changed my mind."

"You're joking, right?"

His hand is on the doork.n.o.b. "You said you wanted to see how it would feel without me. Let me know what you come up with."

And with that he walks out.

59.

BRANDON.

In a matter of nine years, I got married, had a child, lost a child. Lost my wife. None of it seems fair.

A widower, a t.i.tle hard to swallow.

A fatherless widower, an even harder t.i.tle to swallow.

After death, the survivors have the choice to give up and die as well or move on with their lives while holding on to the memories. It's a hard decision many have to make. A decision I didn't believe I'd have to make for at least seven decades.

But I'm here now. This is what it is.

People move forward all the time without moving on. They stay stuck in moments of time while time still moves on. They fail to fully process circ.u.mstances for many reasons, avoidance of pain being the main reason. When Reggie pa.s.sed, I made the choice to move on. I mourned, I moved forward and I moved on. Rene moved forward. A big difference in moving on. She kept moving further in life, time kept ticking, but in her mind, she never left that s.p.a.ce where she first found that lump in her breast. Her fears kept her stuck and guilt ate its way through her body. I truly think that's how a lot of folks end up with cancer. Avoiding what was, in any situation, has to come out one way or another, even if that means taking people out. I don't want that to be me.

As I dreamt of Rene as she was transitioning, I realized my life could end the same way if I held on to the anger not only of losing her, but of my son's departure as well. Her leaving brought up the pain from his leaving. She knew I was holding on to too much. She knew that if she didn't reach out to me in some way to bring peace, that anger would've taken me over the edge.

I don't want to be stuck being angry at the decisions she made. Don't want to lose me because I lost her.

It hasn't been easy since she left. After taking my folks to the airport, I went back to my apartment. When I walked through the threshold, I swore I felt Rene's presence. She'd barely been in the s.p.a.ce before her illness got the best of her, but she was in there long enough for me to know she should be there. I tried sleeping in the bed she slept in a few nights. Flipped and flopped all night. Kept hearing Rene coughing. I jumped out of bed, stripped the sheets off, tossed them in a corner. Fell on top of them, where I sat for what felt like another decade. I went inside each drawer in the dresser, grabbed handfuls of clothes and flung them in the corner as well. Whatever I could get my hands on found its way on the floor. The place looked like the state of Alabama after a slew of tornadoes ran through it.

That was three nights ago. Haven't been back since.

Maybe the anger hasn't gone far at all.

Nearly two weeks have gone by since Rene's pa.s.sing and it's still hard for me to wrap my mind around it. My father calls every day to check on me. Says to take as long as I need to, and that "Back in the Old Testament, it was mandatory for people to mourn for thirty days." I had to tell him we weren't in the Old Testament. I understand where he's coming from, though. In today's society, we're expected to bury a loved one and return to work the next day. It's as if the pain is supposed to stop the moment the last pile of dirt is tossed on their grave.

I'm still hurt and confused about all that's happened. Still pieces of anger floating around my conscience. I try to block it out, find something else to think about, focus on, then someone calls to check on me and it brings it all back up.

I don't seem to know what to do with myself anymore. Before I knew about Rene's illness, I spent most of my time outside of work trying to figure out what was going on in our marriage. Then when I found out, I spent all my energy trying to cure her. I took an indefinite leave of absence from my job at the accounting firm. Though they understood, it didn't take long before client demands took their understanding to another level. So with no wife, no job, life pretty much feels empty.

I'm sitting at the foot of the bed staring at the little pieces of my life littering the room. Frustration makes me kick at a bag on the floor. A few papers fall out, stacked up mail that I picked up at the apartment the last time I was there. I grab the mail and toss it on the desk by the window of my hotel room. Bills, condolence cards. Stuff I don't want to give any attention to right now. The one piece of mail I open is from my old firm. I rip open the envelope and pull out my severance package including all unused vacation time in dollars and cents. This is my award for seven years of service. I gave them more time than some couples give their marriage.

My cell phone vibrates on the bed. A sympathy call is not what I'm in the mood for. I grab it to decline the call. The face displayed across the screen makes me feel like I'm looking in the mirror. I hit the green b.u.t.ton.

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired of people asking me that. How about you?"

"Same here."

Andrew and I have barely talked since the accident. The only words we've shared outside of the hospital were at Rene's funeral. Our mother shared with me how things have been a little rough between him and Melissa. She's had to take a lot of time off of work just to help him get around the house. His leg hasn't healed all that well. With all of the extra stress in his household, I can't help but feel guilty being that it was my fault. I let him know just that. "I'm sorry about everything, Drew."

"Won't change what happened."

"And if there was something I could do to take it all back, you know I would. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."