Emily Regan
Emily Regan is a graduate of Northern Arizona University where she wrote for the school's newspaper, The Lumberjack, for several semesters. She received a Bachelor of Arts in English with an emphasis in creative writing. Emily currently resides in Flagstaff, Arizona and is working on her first novel.
Sunday Morning
Luke and Charlotte's last morning together started the same way all their other Sundays had. He awoke first without the usual bleating of the alarm clock, the fan on their bedroom ceiling the first thing his sleepy eyes focused on. As he did every Sunday, he watched it spin lazily in circle after circle, its calm monotony nearly lulling him back to sleep. After a few minutes Luke forced himself to look away and began the agonizingly slow process of extracting himself from Charlotte, entwined around him. This always took a long time, sometimes almost ten minutes, but it was unavoidable. Charlotte was a light sleeper which resulted in Luke extricating himself inch by inch, holding his breath as he strained to hear changes in her breathing that would indicated she was waking.
After he'd successfully slithered out of bed, Luke tiptoed very quietly into the hallway. Once he'd made it halfway to the stairs, he was able to walk normally and he padded barefoot down the stairs to the kitchen, pausing only at the bottom step to pat their shaggy dog on the head. As he did every Sunday, he turned on the coffee pot they'd received as a wedding gift three years earlier and rummaged in the fridge to start breakfast.
I have to tell her today he thought as he laid strip after strip of bacon in a large frying pan. She deserves to know. While the bacon sizzled in the pan he closed his eyes for a moment and saw Jamie. He remembered the feel of Jamie's soft blond hair has he ran his fingers through it, remembered Jamie's soft kisses, the feel of Jamie's hands on his face.
Luke was snapped out of his reverie and jumped at the sound of Charlotte's voice, nearly knocking the pan off the stove.
"What?"
"I said 'good morning'," she said, sidling up beside him. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Luke shook his head. "No, I'm alright. Do you want some coffee?"
"No thanks, I'll just have some orange juice instead," she said as she moved to the refrigerator. Luke turned back to the stove and as Charlotte faced the cold interior of the fridge.
I'm going to tell him today she thought, smiling. She poured herself a glass and set it on the table before going outside to get the paper. Charlotte blinked in the morning sun and walked barefoot across the pleasantly warm cement. She was alone on the street and inhaled the clear air deeply. She smiled and rested her hand against her still flat stomach. Charlotte suddenly felt so overcome with joy that she couldn't hold it in anymore, she had to tell Luke immediately or she would burst into a thousand happy pieces all over the driveway. Forgetting the paper, she turned and hurried back into the house with purpose.
Luke sat at the kitchen table, the bacon forgotten but still sizzling on the stove. He simply couldn't wait any longer; he had to tell her now. It wasn't fair to her and it wasn't fair to Jamie. He stared at his hands, in particular his gold wedding band. He pulled it off his finger and read the word Charlotte had had engraved along the inside: Forever. When he had first seen it, it felt like a secret promise she was making to him. His stomach twisted with guilt as he jammed the ring back on his finger, unsure of what else to do with it. Luke heard the front door shut and Charlotte's footsteps towards the kitchen.
"Charlotte, I have to tell you something," Luke called to her, staring at his wedding ring as his wife appeared in the doorway.
"I'm pregnant!" she exclaimed at the same time he made his announcement.
"I'm gay."
Charlotte froze for a moment, putting a hand on the doorframe to steady herself. She pursed her lips and glanced at her own ring before narrowing her eyes at Luke.
"I thought you were past this."
"You're pregnant?" Luke asked, a smile breaking across his face as he jumped to his feet. He started to move towards her to hug her but she quickly moved away, circling to the other side of the table like an unpleasant game of Ring around the Rosie. He stopped as Charlotte eyed him. Satisfied he wasn't going to come any closer, she pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. Her glass of orange juice rested in front of the chair to her right but she left it untouched.
"What do you mean you're gay?" she asked, her face an interlocking of sharp lines and angles. Luke sat down across from her, resting his elbows on the table as he folded his hands over his eyes. He inhaled deeply.
"Charlotte, it didn't work. The counseling, praying, nothing." He paused. "What if . . ." he started, picking up his head and opening his eyes, keeping his fingers laced in front of his lips. "I mean, maybe . . . maybe this is something I can't control. Maybe God . . ." he stopped.
"What, Luke, maybe God made you gay? Are you serious?" Charlotte demanded incredulously as Luke stared at the wood grain of the table. "You and I both know that's impossible."
"Maybe it's not," Luke said quietly but firmly. Charlotte sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. She opened her mouth to speak but instead shook her head, unable to articulate the frustration knotting in every nerve.
"Look," Luke said, his voice softening. "You can have whatever you want. The house, alimony, everything. I'll help you with the baby; I'll be there for everything. All through your pregnancy, every birthday, every soccer game-" Charlotte's head snapped to attention and her hard eyes met his.
"What makes you think I'd want you around my child?" she asked, her voice bordering on a snarl.
"It's my baby, too, and it'll need its father around."
Charlotte snorted. "What sort of father figure are you? You want to have sex with men!" she yelled, sweeping her arms out for emphasis. As she did, she knocked over the glass of orange juice which shattered across the white tiles, juice and broken glass flying in all directions. Neither moved to clean it up.
"And anyway, who says I'm keeping it?"
Luke's face went slack from shock. "You don't mean that." Charlotte glared back, challenging him.
"But that goes against everything you believe. You would actually kill our child?" She didn't waver. He sat back, covering his face with his hands.
"Please don't do this," he begged, dropping his hands to his lap. "Do you really want this on your conscience for the rest of your life?"
"I'd rather have this on my soul than be the mother of a faggot's baby," she sneered. She violently pushed her chair back from the table and strode out of the room, ignoring the tiny shards of glass sticking into the soles of her feet.
Luke sat motionless in his chair as he stared at the tiny trail of blood that ran from Charlotte's chair and to the door until his vision blurred. He leaned forward and setting his elbows on the table he dropped his face into his hands as he whispered over and over, "Oh God, oh God, oh God . . ."
Belle
Dedicated to my cousin, Carly, and her two
beautiful children, Taylor and Jayden.
The pastor gave a beautiful sermon, but no one heard. The small crowd, wrapped in black, cried quietly into balled up tissues, staring either into space or at Jen as she sat rigidly in a front pew, holding her other daughter's hand. Sara leaned her head against her mother's arm, her six-year-old fingers walking across Jen's hand that held her left. Sara suddenly bolted upright and tugged at her mother's arm.
"Mommy!" she whispered loudly enough for the back of the church to hear. "Mommy, I forgot Belle!" Jen shushed her and whispered back, confused.
"What?"
"Belle! Annie's doll! I forgot her at home!" Jen flinched slightly at the name of her dead daughter.
"You can get her later," Jen whispered before straightening up in her seat. Sara tugged at her arm urgently.
"But, Mommy, I'm supposed to take care of her!"
Jen shot her a look that said in no uncertain terms that they would talk about this later. "Not now."
"But . . ."
"Not. Now."
Sara slumped resignedly in her seat and faced the front again. The service was just about over with only the exit procession remaining. Jen's father, her brother, and two of her cousins stepped forward and each grasped a handle of the child-size coffin. Once they passed her, Jen silently followed them out of the church, holding onto Sara's hand to keep from flying into a thousand pieces. She felt like her heart was on the brink of bursting as she watched the coffin being loaded into the hearse when she felt a tug on her hand. Sara looked up at her anxiously.
"Can we go get Belle now?"
Jen shook her head and told her she would have to wait.
"How long?"
Jen let out an exasperated sigh. "I don't know, later."
By this point the rest of the congregation had filtered into the church parking lot and were climbing into their cars to drive to the cemetery. Jen buckled her daughter into the backseat of her beat up station wagon and then sat in the passenger's seat as her brother drove in silence behind the hearse. They were followed by Jen's parents' car, with her father driving her mother, whose eyes were puffy from crying. Jen flipped down her visor to check for make up smudges under her eyes. As she ran her index fingers beneath her lower lashes, her gaze flickered to the backseat and fixed on her daughter. Sara sat with uncharacteristic silence during the drive, watching as the city streets crawled past her window.
After a glance at the road Jen's eyes returned to Sara before shifting to the empty spot in the backseat. She had taken out the car seat last night and it still sat on the floor of the garage. Jen had decided to take it out last night so she wouldn't have to deal with it on today of all days.
Removing it had been a process. After she put Sara to bed, Jen had walked with determination into the garage. The moment she caught of glimpse of it through the window her steps had slowed until she came to a complete stop in front of the car door. Her fingers hesitated on the handle and her revving heartbeat thundered in her ears. Jen yanked open the car door and resolutely began to unbuckle the car seat. The last clasp that always stuck stayed true to its nature and refused to budge. Jen fought it first out of annoyance and then desperation before bursting into tears. She slid out of the car and to her knees on the floor, filling the silent garage with gut wrenching sobs, one hand still clutching the car seat.
Tears spilled down Jen's cheeks as her brother pulled into a parking spot near the entrance of the cemetery. He shut off the engine as she rubbed the tears away with the backs of her hands as he came around to open her door. With a sniff and a shaky breath, she climbed out of the car. Sara did the same and after shutting her door she ran around to Jen's side and latched on to her hand. Jen managed a smile and briefly squeezed the small hand in hers before walking towards the gravesite.
"Mommy, remember after we leave here I can go get Belle," Sara said, looking up expectantly.
"Sara, honey, I told you that you could get her later."
"But I need to take care of her!" Sara insisted.
"She'll be fine for a little while longer."
"But-"
"No." Sara's mood sank into a pout and the two walked the rest of the way in silence.
The burial passed by in a blur for Jen. She couldn't hear the pastor's voice or feel her father's hand on her shoulder. The only thing she did feel came when the small coffin began to lower into the ground. With each creak of the pulleys the lump in her throat grew bigger and bigger, aching like it threatened to detonate at any second. She felt sure it would until she felt the familiar tug on her hand and Sara once again asked to get her sister's doll.
The reception was held at Jen's parents' house. Jen's brother drove through the familiar streets as Jen fielded multiple requests from her daughter to get Annie's doll as Sara began to get more and more persistent.
"Mommy, I have to get Belle!" she insisted. Jen looked at the roof of the car and gave it an exasperated sigh.
"Sara Jane, stop asking about Belle. We will get her later. Now stop asking."
"But I have to take care of her!" she cried, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. A look from Jen silenced her but did little to quell the obvious frustration on Sara's red face as quiet tears rolled down her cheeks. She continued to sniffle all the way into the house but calmed down a bit when her grandpa offered her a cookie. Jen's mother drew her daughter into a hug when she saw her and Jen returned it half-heartedly but pulled away as soon as she could without seeming rude.
Throughout the next hour or so, several people came up to Jen to offer their condolences, but she never heard them. Instead, she heard the whispered conversations that swirled behind her.
". . . I just can't believe someone would do that to a little girl . . ."
". . . only three years old . . ."
". . . I always knew that boyfriend of hers was bad news . . ."
". . . police still haven't found him . . ."
Jen politely excused herself from the same conversation she'd been having all day and headed upstairs, trying to escape the bass line of whispered words but they followed her.
". . . threw her against a wall . . ."
". . . dead before she got to the hospital . . ."
Jen felt the pressure that had been building in her chest reach a breaking point. She hurried into her childhood bedroom and quickly shut the door behind her before falling to the ground, the sobs wracking her body as she struggled to keep quiet. She crawled across the floor to the walk in closet and leaned against the back wall, face in her hands. While she could no longer physically hear the whispers, they still echoed in her ears as if someone were screaming at her.
After a while, Jen's crying subsided into hiccups and ragged sighs. A light knock at the bedroom door made her jump. The door opened a crack and her father's voice called out.
"Jen?"
"In here," she replied from her spot in the closet.
"Someone's looking for you," he said. Small footsteps entered the room and Jen heard the door close. The footsteps came closer and Sara appeared in the doorway.
"Mommy, why are you in the closet?" she asked.
"Mommy just needed some quiet time," Jen answered, beckoning to her daughter. Sara walked to her and sat on her lap, leaning back against her. Jen wrapped her arms around her and breathed in the faint smell of shampoo from her daughter's hair. They stayed that way for several minutes before Sara turned to face her.
"Mommy?" she asked.
"Yeah?"
Sara stared at a spot on the wall just to the side of Jen's right ear. "Annie's not coming back, is she?" Her question sounded more like a statement, as if she already knew the answer.
"No, honey. She's not."
Sara wrapped her small arms around her mother's neck and Jen hugged her back tightly.
Jen sniffed and wiped away the remnants of tears from her face. "Are you ready to go?" Sara nodded into her shoulder. "Okay, let's go get Belle."
They stood and walked hand in hand out of the bedroom. Jen said a quick goodbye to her parents and brother, who started to insist on driving them home but Jen refused. The car ride was short, but Sara was visibly anxious, bouncing in her seat and eager to get home. As Jen turned the station wagon down their street, she decided to park on the side of the road rather than in the garage. She couldn't face the car seat. Not now.
Sara wiggled excitedly as Jen pulled to a stop. No sooner had she put the car in park when Sara unbuckled her seat belt and flung open the car door. Jen turned to tell her to slow down when she noticed the front door. It didn't seem to be shut all the way. As Sara ran across the lawn, Jen saw a familiar hand pull back the curtain, revealing an even more familiar face in the window. Panic flared in her chest as she clawed at her seat belt.
"Sara! Don't go inside!" she screamed, stumbling out of the car. Jen righted herself and ran for her daughter, but Sara had already pushed open the door and disappeared into the house.
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