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I search his eyes for more understanding. He’s telling me about his tattoo without really telling me, and the cryptic answers are doing nothing for my comprehension. He smiles, realizing my need for further clarification.
“You asked if my ink is religious, and the answer is no,” he says before pausing to cup my cheek in his palm, capturing my full attention. “Vivian, this tattoo has nothing to do with wanting God’s forgiveness; it’s about seeking yours.”
The symbolism of the art clicks into place, and I gasp at my realization. Placing my hand on the tattoo, I lean close to his ear. “You have it, Brooks; you’ve always had it,” I sigh.
I’m swiftly pi
This time, I don’t fight his advances. Instead, I encourage and invite every movement, every morsel of passion that develops between us. We match each other’s fervor, both of us racing to our release. Our bodies and souls are entwined as tension builds until we finally reach a blissful explosion of pleasure.
As Brooks collapses, I stroke his back and let my tired legs fall around him. Together we stable our breathing, until Brooks rolls us so that my back is tucked into his front. Wrapping his arms around me, I feel his moist breath against my neck.
“I love you, Clover,” Brooks sighs just as his body relaxes and gives itself over to sleep.
I kiss the forearm that he has coiled around me, and when I’m certain that he’s asleep, I relax into him. “I love you too,” I murmur before I allow myself to drift off as well.
Vivian
Since the weekend with Brooks and Grace, things, life, and our family have slowly found a routine. A routine with healed hearts and optimism for what our futures hold. School has started for the kids, and it really has felt odd not being a part of the preparation festivities this year. Usually I would have teacher in-services, spend countless hours decorating my classroom, pla
Brooks and Grace have found themselves woven into every fiber of our new lives. Although we said we would move gradually with our relationship, things have been anything but slow. Since I’m working from home now, I pick up all of the children after school each day, and Brooks then meets us at my house for di
Everyone is adjusting well. Our blended group actually doesn’t feel blended at all; it feels natural, normal, like it always should have been. Even through the hard moments, Brooks stands by me, keeping his promise to stay put. The a
After extinguishing my apprehension, Brooks comes up with the idea to have a memorial with just us and the kids to finally scatter his ashes. Blake and Emma are comfortable with the idea, and I finally feel at ease with the symbolic act of letting him go. I choose Bear Lake in Estes Park, one of Will’s favorite spots. It is a special spot for many reasons: it was where we first took the kids to learn how to fish; in college, we camped there together several times each year; and it’s where he proposed after we found out we were pregnant with Blake. The lake is beautiful and perfect, and will be a safe place to free my safe knight.
There are tears, there is laughter, and there is eventually liberation. I free myself of the guilt that was eating a hole through what remained of my heart. Blake and Emma find peace with saying goodbye in their own way. It is a moment that I never got as a child, and I’m so thankful that I’m able to give it to my children. I’m proud of them, of myself, and of Brooks for living up to his promise. So when Emma asks Brooks on the way home from the lake if he will call her Cricket, like her dad used to, I can’t help but smile through the tears. In that moment, I know my family will be okay; we were going to be happy again.
Occasionally I still think about Bear Lake and Will. How they are such important pieces of my life, pieces that I will never forget, pieces that helped to make me who I am. I have moved past my worry about betraying Will. I feel as though I have honored him, his memory, and our previous life. Even though it’s been a road filled with obstacles, I’m finally content with where I am and how I got there.
I gaze out the car window, these thoughts overpowering my mind, when I feel Brooks squeeze my hand, bringing me back to the present. I turn to face his concerned look, and I smile to ease his discomfort. We hold a silent conversation, speaking only with our eyes, and he knows where my thoughts have been. He gently nods, and he brings my wrist to his mouth, letting his lips trace along the delicate skin.
“I’m here, Viv,” he says before taking a glance in the rearview mirror at our pint-sized passengers. This time it’s my turn to nod.
We’ve been out to di
I peer into the backseat as well to see two children awake and looking stuffed to the brim from their burgers and fries, and Emma soundly sleeping. I’m a little surprised to see that any of them are awake, considering the amount of fun they had throwing darts at the burger toppings board, instead of ordering a pre-designed burger off the menu.
We always have a good time with the darts, and I find it hilarious watching Brooks hold each kid up in the air so that they can aim for the additions that they want for their order, hoping it doesn’t land on something they will have to pick off later.
“Look, Mom, Aunt Charlotte’s here!” Blake exclaims as we pull into the driveway of my house.
I turn back around in my seat to see the grey mini-van of my sister’s parked in front of the house. Brooks looks to me, and I shrug in response. I have spoken only sporadically to my sister or mother since moving to Denver. They understood, but didn’t necessarily agree with me uprooting the kids and moving away. They have let it be known, they thought it was doing more damage than good. Neither have been to the new house, so to see my sister here raises some red flags.
My mind immediately plays out all of the various horrible situations that could have brought her to my doorstep. Brooks sees my worry, and when he puts the SUV into park, he urges me out of the car.
“Go, Red, I’ll get the kids in and settled,” he says softly as I unbuckle and gather my purse. I mouth him a thank you, hastily open my door, and speed walk up the front steps. Unsure of what news I’ll find on the other side of the door, I feel an overwhelming sense of dé-já-vu, and I find myself repeatedly muttering, “Please not again…please not again.”