not in the position to defend himself. Who defended your Momma against him, huh?
Leith’s tone penetrates the anxiety spiraling through my spirit. “Ye can do this, Chevelle.”
While tethered on the cliff of uncertainty, I nod, dissecting where to begin. I work my way back as if my father’s misdeeds are something I have to remind myself of constantly. Something that will keep me from sympathizing and missing him more.
The heavy weight Justice often admits to overwhelming her crushes down on my chest now. Am I sharing too much? Leith’s my safe space when the world has me down. But this is my realm, not the empire which once included my blood. The rage I could feel, the anger that was dormant inside my father, feels like it’s written all over my face. Yet, Leith still looks at me with eyes brimming in love.
I recount the part that once turned my heart black, calcified as stone. “All I know is, my parents seemed so happy.”
At first, my voice trails off. I clam up. Anxiety builds. I swallow the lump in my throat, and for the first time, I modify my attempt. My eyes find Leith’s encouraging ones. I’ll never forget how it feels when his arms encircle me as if reading my thoughts. His hand glides the length of my shoulders. The warm touch penetrates the haze of anxiety, soothing me.
I’m sure that I married a man who found me in a billion tiny pieces and can truly put me together again. He’s not just my new life, but the anchor to mollify the old one too. Breathing deep, I start over. “My parents seemed happy, like us, Leith. That part scares the shit out of me, baby.”
My husband’s hands draw over my shoulders again, kneading softly. His knuckles sweep along my cheekbones. The blazing resolve in his eyes silently opposes how our marriages compare. He continues to listen intently.
“They didn’t have money problems. Somebody always had their hands outstretched when it came to my dad. Momma would feed them, and Dad would give them a loan, without an expectation of having it returned. I never saw my parents argue.” I shake my head. “Hell, we argue.”
“Arguing is healthy, hen.”
Though I agree, Leith’s words break the trance of my further exposing my past. “It hurts just thinking of them, babe.” I suffocate on each word, gulping in vast quantities of air. Nerves on edge, I concentrate hard and can hear the sound of Mia begging for something. “Mia and Cam are back.”
“They’ll wait. Talk to me, hen,” Leith’s voice holds a compassionate, firm edge. All the curling into an illusory ball on my part has become a thing of the past. “Yer da made a mistake.”
“Mistake my ass. That’s . . .” My teeth claim my tongue, biting down hard. At the sound of footsteps, the intake of air I hadn’t realized constricted my throat evaporates. “A catastrophe.”
“See, hen. Ye gotta stop bloody suppressing it. Promise ye’ll tell me more later.” He squeezes me in his arms, kissing the top of my head as Mia’s voice grows, coming near. “Promise me?”
“I promise.”
Leith drops another kiss on the crown of my head before embracing me again. Before he lets me go, Mia has jumped into the bed, and I’m softly chiding her for wearing outside clothes on my feather duvet.
While my husband and I double-team our daughter in a tickle fight, I envision the person others see in me. At Michie’s, my greatest attributes are how warm, welcoming, and sharing, I am. The open book. Except, most are in the dark as to how I’ve curated the pages. I’d hate to think I’ve done the same in my love life, so I mentally prepare myself to tell Leith more later.
Earlier today, Camdyn left with a bottle of alcohol. Leith decides to turn his day at home into an extended weekend. His concern now is the short-term parking where he left his car instead of long-term. He makes a few calls, seeing if he can have it moved.
While placed on hold, he stalks back and forth in front of the television as I sit on the couch. He mutters, “Feck, the short-term’s gonna tear me a new one every day I dinna pick her up.”
Arms folded, head cocked, I retort, “First, not her. That car’s not your woman. I am.”
“But she’s hen number two.”
“So, then your Chevelle SS is hen three?” I laugh as he kneels and nudges his nose into my neck.