Chapter 14 – Michonne

“Simple, sweetheart, you were wrong.”

“I know that, Aaron. I didn’t call you to tell me what I already know. I called for advice on how to fix this.” I huff, slightly miffed at Aaron’s unhelpful feedback. I’m aware of what I’ve done. It’s how to fix it that is alluding me at the moment.

“I don’t know how to tell you to fix it with anything but honesty. Come clean. Tell Rick why the secrecy around the case.”

“Already did that. Kind of.”

“Well, he needs to understand that you couldn’t tell him. Not that you didn’t want to. Did you mention that?”

“Kind of.”

“What the hell with ‘kind of’, Michonne? What aren’t you telling me?”

Sighing, I close my eyes for a moment as I’m cracking a little under the pressure of Aaron’s intense questioning. But I need this, I need him to grill me so that I can prepare myself for Rick. Rick’s scrutiny is going to hurt more than anything Aaron could send my way, simply because of how I feel about Rick. I love Aaron. He’s my best friend. Rick though? Rick is the love of my life, and the fact that I have hurt him, done something that he can’t understand, that he may not be able to forgive? That wounds me and scares me in a way that I can’t really vocalize. I can’t fathom it, and it’s partially why I have trouble confessing my bit of duplicity. “I could have told him something. Not everything, but something. Attorney client privilege means that the communications between my client and I are confidential. I can’t share them. But, it doesn’t necessarily have to be confidential. Not everything about the case, especially once it is filed in court, which is public record. I could have told Rick about the existence of the case, and that I was representing Mr. Rhee. Technically I could have told him something.”

“What? Then why didn’t you?” Aaron asks, his voice elevated, blaring through the phone’s speaker, holding the kind of appalled alarm that makes me wince at the sting of censure.

“Don’t yell at me…”

“I’m not yelling, I’m… Yeah I’m yelling! If you could have told him something, why didn’t you? This doesn’t make any sense. That man loves you so desperately he was gonna kill me for even mentioning that we slept together twenty years ago, Michonne! Twenty years ago!”

“I know! I know…”

“He’s right then. You don’t trust him.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Kind of… not entirely.”

“Kind of! This is crazy, Michonne. I’m… I don’t understand you right now.” Aaron mumbles that last part, and given our history, I can almost picture him on the other line, shaking his head in disappointment, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to alleviate the tension building in his head. It’s how he always reacts when he’s upset, or when he can’t use logic to solve a problem. Aaron is a man that is ruled by logic, by what makes sense. This? This doesn’t make sense, and I get why he’s fed up with me right now.

“Aaron, I know that Rick loves me. And I know I love him. But how do I know that if I had told him about the case, that I was involved in something that touched so close to home for him, that he would stick around? I mean, I had my husband deposed! How do I know he would choose me over his career, his life’s work? His own deputy? He’s spent years building a career, fostering a comradery with his guys. I’m just some woman he just met and fell in lust with. He loves me now, but that love is built on lust. Infatuation.”

“Right, yeah I know it’s all new with you guys, and you don’t have a long history together, but... But, if you had at least notified him of your role in it, he could have at least prepared himself. What you did amounted to a last minute ambush to alleviate your own guilt. You didn’t do that for him, you did that for you. And frankly, I’m kind of pissed too. I like Rick. He’s so much better for you than Mike ever was. Hell, if I have to let you have a husband that isn’t me, Rick is as good as it’s going to get. Why would you sabotage the best thing to ever happen to you other than meeting me?”

“I didn’t mean to…” I whine, faltering under the pressure of his probably truthful assessment and judgment of my actions.

“How would you feel if Rick had kept something like this from you? Something that could make you look so foolish and out of touch with your spouse. Would you be able to easily forgive him? To understand his perspective? You need to think about that, Michonne. If the shoe was on the other foot, how would you react? I doubt you would be so understanding, so you have to meet him where he is. You have to be willing to get why he’s mad, explain yourself, and just hope that when you tell your husband why you don’t trust him, that he understands. And you need to fix that too. You need to either decide that this marriage is worth saving, building trust, and love. Saving your family. Or you need to walk away, you can’t half do this, and the woman I know wouldn’t anyway. Your instincts are good, but you faltered a little, you have it in you to do better. So do better.”

Groaning at the truth in Aaron’s brusque, but insightful words, I have to admit that what Aaron’s saying is hard to hear, but it’s what I need. “You’re right. I… I want to argue cause I hate when you’re right, but, Aaron, you’re right.”

“I know I am. I always am. I don’t know why you and Eric have such a hard time with believing that.” He scoffs, though with a hint of a tease that alleviates some of the tension building between us. “Just make this right, Michonne. We got babies on the way. We’re almost in the clear here. And Rick is the right guy for you. Fix this, ok? Find a way to explain this to him.”

“Ok. I’m on it. I just have to figure out how to make it right.”

“You will figure it out, you’re a smart girl.”

“Sometimes I wonder about that.”

“Yeah well…when you picked Mike I wondered about that too.”

“Aaron!”

“I’m just saying! But, you’ve got the right stuff to get your house in order now.”

“Ok. Ok…”

“Rub your belly for me, and call me back if you need me.”

“Ok…”

“Bye. Hang up and call your husband.”

“Ok.” The line goes dead, signaling that Aaron has hung up, and it’s time for me to try and reach Rick. Again.

Hitting his name on my favorites contacts, I wait, holding my breath, hoping he answers, but fearing it all the same. A few rings later his voicemail picks up.

“Rick, call me back. You’re upset because I understand why you’re upset, sweetheart. But, we need to talk this through. We have to. Call me back.”

Ending the call, I grimace at having to leave my husband yet another voicemail because he’s not answering his phone. The first time he didn’t pick up after a few rings, I understood. Rick does have a bit of a temper, and probably needed to let off a little steam. I get it. I’ve seen him angry before. Never directed at me, but I’ve seen it. There’s this little snarl thing he does with his lips. The clear ice of his blue eyes transforms to a murky, dark sapphire. This is usually reserved for any time that Mike has come over to see Andre, or Lori calls asking for money, something like that. But never at me. And what I saw today wasn’t full on anger, it seemed to be more of a sad disappointment than anything else, but how do I account for him leaving right after his testimony and not holding the elevator to even speak to me? He didn’t even stick around to try and work this out. Is that a bad omen?

Our love is new and we’ve never been here before. It’s got me panicked, and I hate that. Panic makes me feel stupid, and stupid gets you into all kinds of trouble. Trouble that I don’t want with Rick.

Pulling up to my house and hitting the button to raise the garage door, I see that neither his sheriff’s cruiser, nor his truck are here. Andre’s car is here. As is Mike’s. Shit. I don’t need this today. I don’t. I have enough to handle without having to manage Mike’s bullshit. Shifting my car into park, I take a long breath, stilling myself in preparation for whatever Mike is up to. He was supposed to be taking Andre to work with him today, but it’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon. There is no reason he should still be here.

Rolling my eyes, I immediately hope that in the emotionally charged state he’s in, Rick didn’t come home and find Mike here. That would be more drama than we both need on an already emotionally charged day. Not even bothering to grab my purse, only my phone in case Rick calls me back, I exit the car and head into the house. As soon as I walk through the door behind the kitchen, near the laundry room, I see Teeny curled into a ball by the pantry door. Her mews widen her mouth to release a series of disgruntled screeches as soon as she lays eyes on me. That means she’s unhappy, and with Mike probably in the house, I’m already in agreement with her.

Rounding the corner towards the living room I find the object of Teeny’s discomfort reclined on one end of the sectional. To my right Andre is in the kitchen fixing tea. It’s an odd sight, and one that immediately sets me on edge. Closer to the edge than I already am, and with my nerves frayed from this morning’s activities, this is not good.

“Andre, what’s going on? Why are you and your dad here and not at his office?”

Turning his head to acknowledge my presence with a quick smile, one that appears disingenuous in its authenticity, hollow, twitchy and nervous, Andre follows it up with a cheerless greeting. “Hi, Ma. Uh, well…uh. Uh, Dad uh…” he frowns, averting his eyes from my own and struggling somewhat with how to proceed, evidenced by the halting way his words are released with a troubling smatter of uhs.

“We never made it.” Mike’s voice looms over to where Andre and I are standing at the kitchen island. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“That doesn’t explain why you are here on my couch, instead of at your own home.”

“Mom, uh, Rick came home shortly after you left. He and dad had a disagreement. Then dad started feeling sick.”

“Uh huh. A disagreement?”

“It’s ok, Dre.” Rising from the couch with a strained huff, Mike ambles over to the kitchen, and takes a seat on the stool next to me. Andre slides the cup of my favorite peppermint tea that Rick bought me, in Rick’s favorite mug, across the island to Mike, and I know I’m being petty, but it pisses me off. Why is he drinking out of that mug? Why is he drinking the tea my husband bought me? It inexplicably rubs me wrong. “Dre, why don’t you let your mama and I talk alone for a bit?”

“You sure? Ma?” My son’s innocent brown eyes bounce from his father’s face then back to mine, latching on to mine with an angled frown furrowing his brows.

“It’s fine, Andre. You may as well get some studying done since you missed a whole day of school for nothing.” I snark, smarting at what is promising to be another one of Mike’s fruitless attempts at weaseling his way back into our family.

Taking his time, then finally nodding, Andre relents. “Ok. Love you, Ma.” Dropping a kiss on my cheek, he rounds the island towards me, then leans in and gives me a tight, lingering hug, resting his head on my shoulder. This hug is reminiscent of the ones he used to give me right after the divorce when everything seemed so unsettled. I hope that’s not what he’s feeling right now, but given the odd energy that’s coming off of Mike, permeating everyone’s moods, I would guess he’s feeling off kilter in some way, and wrap my arms a little tighter around my boy, giving him a little extra love. A little more assurance that everything will be ok. “Tell her, Dad. She should hear it from you, and not me. But if you don’t tell her, I will.” Backing away from arms, Andre gestures towards his father then takes off towards the stairs.

My ears perk up at Andre’s parting statement, but the room remains quiet after he hustles up the stairs. I don’t speak though. I have nothing to say to Mike, I just want to hear whatever Andre thinks he should tell me, so I can get back to trying to find my husband. From the corner of my eye I can feel that Mike’s eyes are on me, studying my posture, my face. Finally, they settle on my left hand and my wedding ring. The scoff he releases upon noticing the rock on my finger gives me an immense jolt of pleasure. Smiling, I reach my right hand over his way and snatch a hold to Rick’s favorite mug, and begin sipping from it.

Leaning his hip against the island, he his eyes follow my movements, and settle on my satisfied smile as I continue to sip from my husband’s mug. The mug that Mike is not allowed to drink from. “Your husband came home shortly after you left for work.”

“Well this is his home.”

“Told me you’re pregnant.”

At first I am a little caught off guard by that, by the position that Rick’s confession puts me in. I didn’t mention it to Mike myself this morning because I do not want to share the joy of my new marriage or my surprise pregnancy with him. It’s a shiny new thing. A fledgling seed of joy, freshly planted, finally taking root, soon to burst forth with abundant life. Mike, the man behind so much misery in my life, so many dreary days, does not deserve to bear witness to such miracles, and my hardened heart would not have let him in on this until I had no choice. It seems that thanks to my handsome husband, I have no choice, and a tiny thrill does embolden me. Gives me a jolt of satisfaction to know that Rick, who has had to withstand an odd standoffish existence with Mike, got to witness Mike’s initial reaction to our unexpected news. Judging by the look on his face as he commented on Rick being my husband, me acknowledging my pregnancy right now should be even sweeter. “I am pregnant. 10 weeks.” I confirm, taking another sip of the tea that I love so much. I delight in the cool, minty flavor that soothes the tinge of displeasure coursing through me after the events of the day, as it warms my body and adds even more heat to my growing temper.

Tilting his head to the side, his dark chocolate eyes that I once found so alluring, remain steady and focused on my face. Mike seems somewhat pained by my admission. “Why didn’t you tell me yourself, Michonne? Why did I have to hear that you were married and having that guy’s kid from him. How is it even possible?”

“Mike, I don’t owe you any part of my life any more. Andre is the only connection we still have, and if it doesn’t pertain to him I don’t need to talk about it with you. I give you the space to have a relationship with him, but that’s it.”

“You’re not even going to give me the respect-”

Calmly setting the mug on the hard granite countertops, I raise my voice as I tersely cut him off, hopefully communicating that I’m not going to play this game with him. “Stop! You don’t deserve respect. Not from me. Not anymore. I have consistently given you more love and respect than you have ever given to me. And you didn’t deserve even half of it. So, let’s just consider us even. Shall we?”

Not even bothering to respond to my allegations of our relationship being imbalanced, Mike continues with his tirade, almost trembling with rage contorting his once handsome features. “How did you get pregnant by this guy already, Michonne? IVF? What did you do?”

“This ‘guy’ as you keep calling him has a name. His name is Rick. He’s my husband. And if you must know we got pregnant with twins the old fashioned way, Mike. Sex. Lots of satisfying, sweaty, passionate, sex. I think you may have heard what that sounds like before.”

Throwing up his hand in a halting motion, and rolling his eyes, Mike is visibly upset. “That’s enough. You know… He came in here and tried to fight me. He doesn’t respect you, your home, or our son. Acting like an animal in front of Andre. Is that what you like now, Michonne?”

“Mike, let’s cut through the shit ok? I have things to do, and you still haven’t told me why you are here instead of your own home. I don’t care if you aren’t feeling well, this isn’t the place for you to convalesce. If you were here when Rick came home, to his home and treated him like you usually do, I don’t blame him for being upset. In fact, before he comes home again, I think you should le-”

Not budging, still standing next to me, unnecessarily close at that, and despite my request, Mike cuts me off with two words that catch me off guard, but do nothing to lessen my intentions to get him to leave. “I’m sick.”

“Yeah you said-”

“More than sick really. I have cancer, and I only have a few months left. Six months, Michonne, maybe a year.”

“What?”

Mike’s dark eyes grow glossy with unshed emotion. He clears his throat and looks away as he blinks slowly, an unsuccessful attempt at keeping those tears away from driving themselves down his face. But they fall anyway, and rivulets of fat, wet drops leak onto his lean face. Unabashed sadness droops his features. “I’m- I’m dying, Michonne. This is it for me.” He nonchalantly shrugs as though what he has just admitted is not the thing of nightmares. An offering from the Grim Reaper’s skeletal hand. “It’s why I came home to you and Dre. To be with my wife and son, my family.”

“Wait. Are you serious right now?” Narrowing my gaze on my ex-husband I try to search for the truth in him. The blink of his vacant stare devolves as Mike’s rich brown eyes skitter somberly from my own and down to his hands, wringing themselves against each other in a knot of long twisting fingers and knuckles. It tells me everything I need to know. Mike is dying. “I should have known something other than love brought you back here.”

“This is real, Michonne. I’m serious.”

“And I’m… I’m very sorry that this has happened to you. I am…”

Dipping his head in a manner that would make one believe that he is submitting to me, the truth of his mortality is offered willingly on a silver platter. A final sacrifice to the love that is lost between us, but that he hopes to reinvigorate. “Do you see now why I need my family? Why I’m here?” A tortured plea for understanding is all that’s left in his voice. A throaty whine that betrays every memory I have of Mike, and his booming, deep tenor. A voice smooth as silk, commanding. It belonged to a man, so tall, dark, handsome, strong and confident. Arrogant even. It’s all gone now. Banished with the glow of health, the confidence one has when they know their own virulence is outrunning the grasp of death. The veil is finally pierced, and this new reality, his weakened existence becomes palpable.

Reaching out to me, Mike’s long, slim fingers rest atop mine, then wrap themselves over my own. For a moment I allow it. There is a wrenching of anguished pain in my gut to hear his truth. I’m human. It hurts me to know that the man I once adored more than my own life, will soon be without his. But with that somber recollection, comes with it the searing memory of how things ended with Mike, and the little voice in my head won’t let him forget why he won’t find what he’s searching for her. Not anymore.

Pulling my hand back, sliding it against the cool, gloss of the speckled granite counters, withdrawing from the blanketing heat of his large palm, I rest my hands in my lap. “I’m not your family anymore, Mike. I’m not. We are divorced, I have a new husband. Rick is my family.”

“I hear that, but, Michonne, I need more time with you and with Dre. To make up for what I’ve done. My therapist says I need to make amends to you and Dre for what I’ve done before I’m gone. It’s not just me being sick this time. I – I was sick before also.”

“Wait, what do you mean you were sick before also?”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“What. Do. You. Mean?” I inch out between clenched teeth, each word a biting indictment of what I’m realizing to be true.

“Before I explain further, I need you to know that my love for you has always been real. It’s what kept me alive-”

“Mike!”

“I had testicular cancer before. I found out after your last miscarriage when I went to get myself checked out. It went away with treatment that time, but this time it has spread. I’m out of time, Mich-”

His words urge me to raise from my seat, comprehension of his duplicity raising my ire with each utterance. “When you began disappearing on me, going home to your family, not coming home at night? Then? You were sick then, and you didn’t tell me? Just let me believe you had… fallen out of love with me? That something was wrong with me, but it was you, Mike. It was…” I feel lightheaded. Dropping heavily back on to the stool next to him, I catch my throbbing head in my shaking hands. “I can’t believe this shit!”

“Michonne, honey-”

 “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again. Ever! You almost completely ruined my life, you son of a bitch!”

“Hey, listen-”

“No! No! You listen! Because of you I nearly missed out on the greatest love of my life. I almost let Rick get away from me because I couldn’t believe that he would love me at all, or that our love could endure a hardship. You made me think that. How could I believe that he would stick with me after only knowing him for a few months, when the man I knew for years wouldn’t? You- Now you want what? You want me to give you more of my life? Are you crazy?”

“Michonne, I didn’t handle things well, I can admit that. But I had my dad telling me that I could handle this on my own, and then that I could start over. It was stupid, and I listened to the wrong folks, but now I need you! I need you and Dre, you’re all I have left!”

“Andre. Andre is all you have left.” Rising from the stool I snatch my phone up from the island and hurry towards the garage, no longer able to stomach Mike and his deception. I don’t care that he’s sick. None of that bullshit even matters to me, especially not after what he’s done. There was a time, a few months ago, when I would have welcomed him back. I had convinced myself that I still loved him. That I was the cause of our problems. Shaking my head, a futile attempt to knock loose the harmful thoughts and misconceptions that preyed on me for months, years. Even coloring my decisions with Rick.

Stopping at the door that leads to the garage, I turn, finding Mike directly behind me. Close enough to almost feel the drafts of his panted breaths. “You know what, Mike? I don’t care that you’re sick. I’m sorry, but I don’t. I do hate what this will do to Andre though. That’s who you should focus on making amends to. Your son.”

“Dre knows. I told him this morning after you left. I asked him to let me be the one to tell you.”

“Of course you did. I wish that you had respected your son enough for us to tell him together, but as usual you made a selfish choice all by yourself, as if me being his mother doesn’t matter. Unilaterally you decided to place this heavy burden on my child’s shoulders without even consulting with me first. To try and figure how to tell him that his father was dying. You know, Mike, even as you’re preparing to leave this earth, you still can’t find it in you to do better.”

“Forgiveness, Michonne. That’s all I’m asking. Forgiveness. This all feels like some fucked up nightmare. Like I might wake up and we’ll still be young, back at Howard. We’ll be at party, or in that little dorm room you had with the twin bed that we used to try and sleep in together. Or at graduation. At our wedding. When Dre was born. Any number of moments that highlight the happiest times of my life. In each and every one of them, you’re there. Sometimes I can still feel the silk of your skin. The taste of your lips on mine. God… Michonne, you were my life.”

“I can’t do this, Mike. You can’t guilt me into giving you something you don’t deserve. Willingly I forgave you before the ink dried on our divorce papers. But, I’m no fool. I didn’t forget. I remember those times too, Mike. But I also remember how much, and how hard I cried over losing you.” Swallowing down the lump in my throat that would threaten to stall my confession, thoughts swirl through my brain. My hand clenches into a fist that rests against my weary heart at the sting from their recollection. A weak attempt at keeping my bearings about me, my bursting emotions steady. Safe behind the blockade that once kept me intact, when Mike’s neglect would rather to leave me in shreds. Because I do remember the love. The warm feeling of Mike. His dark eyes settling on me, aglow with fiery interest that very first time we met. Sparkling with mischief as we snuck away from our classes to make love. Him helping me study for the bar. Mike holding Andre as a baby, placing my son on my chest to introduce us for the very first time. Us watching our baby boy roll, then crawl, then walk…then run.

I remember. Me in the doctor’s office alone after the first miscarriage. A spontaneous event that carried away the possibility of life so quickly it was like a dream that never was. Me in the hospital the second time, delirious with pain and regret, and an adolescent son to care for. Mike nowhere to be found. Nowhere to be seen, heard, felt.

I remember. During those dark days and nights when I was alone with nothing but my thoughts, and memories on a highlight reel to keep me warm. Sane. From descending into helpless madness, a malaise that would cripple me in catatonics. Render me useless to my son. To myself. My God, I can recall with stark clarity the ghost of his kiss, his touch, once a worshipful grasp, that turned to a scornful shove. I remember it all.

“Baby…”

“Ask me, Mike. Ask me how many nights I waited up for you to come to our bed. To come home. To tell me you still loved me, that it would be ok. To hold me and remind me that I was enough. That our love still mattered to you.”

“Baby…”

“Haven’t I earned my freedom from you, Mike? I gave you everything. My youth, my love, my babies…”

“I love you more than anything, Michonne. I do. I always did. It’s hard to see that after everything. It was never my intention to hurt you. Honestly, I figured you would be better off without me too. What kind of husband and father could I be like that? Weak, sick, feeble!” He spits, the words seemingly distasteful in his mouth. “Wasn’t it better for me to spare you and Dre from that? Can’t you see that I was the toxic, poisonous one? It was me! I had to save you from that, Michonne!”

“Mike, even now you still can’t see it. I wasn’t perfect, but I was here. And I loved you unconditionally. Better or worse. Sickness or health. You left because it was easier than trusting me with your vulnerabilities. Not because you were trying to spare me, or whatever other stupid lie you tell yourself. But because you simply couldn’t fathom that your little wife was strong enough to help you through a tough time. You got in your own way, Mike. But the good thing that came out of all of this is that I met Rick. I love him more than any man I’ve ever known, and even though I’ve stumbled with him, I’m strong enough to do everything I can to protect what we have. For him, for me, Andre, Carl, and my babies. That starts today. I’m sorry you are sick, and I hope that you are able to make peace with the life you lived for the remainder of your days. You weren’t always the villain in this story. You were once my prince. I loved that guy. Regardless of that, you shouldn’t make it a habit to come around here, or be at Rick’s and my house when you are not invited to see Andre. I can’t give you any part of my heart anymore, Mike, because all of it belongs to Rick.”

With that the weight of years’ worth of guilt, shame, anger, and emotional distress begins to waft away from my body in waves. I stalk away from him, leaving Mike speechless, dumbfounded. The click of my heels carries me through the door and back to my truck.

Clicking the seat belt across my body, I turn my truck on and back out of the driveway, ready to apologize. To leave myself, my insecurities, all of bare before my husband. I won’t do to him what Mike has done to me.

XXXXXXXX

“Rick, baby, it’s me again. We need to talk. Please, just call me back.”

Clicking the end button on my car’s phone screen I hang up after leaving Rick yet another message, after he has ignored another of my calls. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve tried to reach him, but I know that it’s been so many that now the phone doesn’t even ring, just bounces directly to voicemail. Maybe he’s turned it off by now? Makes it easier for him to avoid me that way.

Determined to not let him avoid me, reinvigorated by my run-in with Mike to resolve things with my husband, I pull my truck into the driveway of his home in KC, and hope he’s here. Even though I don’t see his truck or his cruiser here, I’m holding out hope that maybe he’s parked in the garage. Throwing open the door, I take one last long breath. I knock on the door. I have a key but I won’t use it. I want him to want to see me, to welcome me.

“Hello, Michonne, right?”

“Uh…yes. Hi, Jessie?”

“Yeah. What can I do for you?”

“Why are you here?” Shaking my head, I’m trying to disabuse myself of the confusion clouding my brain, the red fog glazing over my vision at the sight of this woman answering the door at my husband’s house. “Where is Rick?”

“Oh! He must not have told you. Naughty, naughty…” Jessie wags her finger my way, and a smirk twists her thin, pink lips. “That surprises me about Rick. He always seemed like such a stand up guy. And you guys just got married, and already keeping secrets. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t really know who you’re dealing with. But, look at me. I knew Pete for almost 20 years…” Staring off somewhere past me, into the distance, she continues in a low mumble, “I guess you never really know anyone, do you?”

And I guess she’s right about that I concede as I think about Mike and his deception. The lies by omission that now seem to have lethally poisoned, and forever changed those around him. My own inability to be completely transparent with Rick does not escape me either, and I must come to grips with my own culpability as well. Do we ever really know anyone indeed.

“Well, Jessie, you’re not wrong there. You simply never know a person, that’s true. But, that’s not what I asked you.” Today seems to be the day for everyone to not fully answer my questions, and it’s beginning to grate on my nerves past the point where I can maintain my polite and professional demeanor. I’m not in the mood.

“Right. Since your husband apparently didn’t tell you, I guess I will. Rick has been letting me stay here while I’m working on getting a loan to buy the house from him. It’s been a few weeks. I would assume that you had noticed your husband didn’t live here any longer.”

“I did notice that. But, no I was not aware that you were living here, or that you were buying the house. I appreciate you letting me know.”

“He was here last night though. Stayed the night.”

Now that? That catches me off guard completely. Hits me right in the heart. Causes me to take a step back as though I was physically assaulted, and the blowback literally took the wind out of my sails. My eyes drop away from hers, and I don’t know what else to say. Was this the work emergency he had last night? Did he really stay here with her?

“I can see that you didn’t know that either. Wow! I’m really sorry, Michonne. Guess I dodged that bullet!” Jessie laughs, and a bright twinkle lights her eyes with a sick glint of delight. That’s when I know. I recognize that smirk, that look. I’ve been here before. At the place where an outside force wants to be the wedge between me and Rick. How familiar. How tired.

“Thanks for the info, Jessie. And you’re right, I didn’t know about you staying here, and I didn’t know that Rick was here last night. But I knew he had a work emergency. You must have somehow figured into that work emergency, because I do know my husband well enough to know that he would never leave my bed for yours. So if that is what you are pathetically trying to imply, you should stop.”

Blustering, and turning a sickly shade of pink, Jessie begins to stutter out a response to my charges. “I- I didn’t try to imply-”

“You did. But, that’s ok, because I’m not as stupid as you think I am. Have a good day, Jessie.” Turning on my heels, I allow my long legged stride to carry me confidently back to my truck, my certainty giving me no pause, or cause for alarm. While my marriage may be new, and my relationship with Rick may be young, I know for a fact that whatever is going on here with Jessie, is not what she’s trying to make it seem. Shane tried it before and I fell for it. I allowed my own insecurities to doubt my self worth, and Rick. His feelings for me. But I know better now. I’ve seen how much that man loves me. Today I saw how hurt he was that I didn’t trust him with Glenn’s case. I saw it. And while I may have had my reasons for doing what I did, as shallow as they may be, in my heart I know that he wouldn’t be so upset by it if he didn’t love and care about me. I get it.

Reaching into my purse I check my phone for what must be the hundredth time since he left my office, to see if he has returned my calls. Still seeing none, I decide to try and text him again. Maybe he’s just somewhere that he can’t answer his phone or talk?

Michonne: Rick please text me back, or call. I just left your house in KC. I know

Rick: …

I see the dots. He’s responding, or at least he has seen my message. Sitting in the driveway with my phone clutched in my hand in a death grip, it’s like I can feel the weight of whatever he might respond with, heavy on my chest. Pressing down. Burdensome. Gravid. But he doesn’t respond. The dots remain alone with no words to follow them. To explain why he won’t answer me. Why he didn’t tell me about Jessie or the house. Why? This has to be about the new house. About money. About Lori asking for more money. About Mike and that gotdam car. About me paying for the renovations on the house. It has to. Thoughts zip through my brain, logic attempting to put these pieces of Rick’s and my life together into a picture that will solve the puzzle. And I think I understand.

Michonne: Where are you Rick? At least tell me where you are. I’ve been to our house in the city, and the new house. I’m here at your house in KC. Where are you?

As I’m furiously typing this out, thumbs flying across the screen of my iPhone, for some reason my eyes gravitate upwards and catch the time. It’s only 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Rick is probably still at work. I don’t know why I didn’t consider this. I suppose I assumed given all of the drama of this morning, I thought that he might go home to stew in his anger. The reality is, the Rick Grimes that I know would throw himself into work instead of confronting a personal issue like this. At least the Rick that I know would…and perhaps I have lost sight in all of the drama of this day as well that, there is a lot about my husband that I do know. I know Rick.

XXXXXXX

“Well hello, pretty lady, I guess you’re here looking for the big man, huh?”

“Yes, Abe, hello. Is he in?”

“I think so. His secretary ain’t at her desk, but you can go ahead to his office and check. A bug’s up his ass today though, so maybe seeing your pretty face will settle him down some. It usually seems to when you join him for lunch.” A knowing look passes between us, and then Abe releases a raucous rumbling of laughter that I have come to know as a part of his character. Yeah ok, so Rick’s and my lunch time trysts are not as clandestine as we thought. “The rest of the guys in the station would appreciate you working your magic on him. Stop him from chewing our asses out at every turn.”

Chuckling at being busted out by Abe, I dip my head a little, shame creeping into the flush of my cheeks. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Much obliged, pretty lady.” The red head nods my way, then turns back to the newspaper in his hands. Abe may come off a bit bristly to some. With his intimidating, large frame, and equally big voice, but I know better. I saw the softer side of him when at his wedding. How happy and in love he was with his bride, dedicating songs to her. Dancing with her all night, reluctant to release her from his arms. He remains that way still, so in love with her, and her with him. I don’t fully know his and Sasha’s story, but I know that they are also a couple that fell in love and married fairly quickly, same as Rick and I.

“Thanks.” I offer to Abe, patting him on his shoulder in appreciation, truly grateful for the support he and Sasha have shown to Rick and I. From attending our wedding, to the few times we have hung out as couples, they have proven themselves to be good people to have in your corner. Even if they are equally as competitive as Rick and I are, causing the few game nights we’ve attended at their house to result in highly contentious games of Taboo, Monopoly, and Uno. Who knew that a side deal selling Park Place to one’s spouse could end with an arm wrestling match between two pregnant women to settle on the permissibility of the transaction? Or how could I ever forget the Skip, Wild Card, Draw Two transaction of two weeks ago that nearly caused a fight between Abe and Rick?

Taking a brief moment to lift my lips in amusement at the comradery, I roll my shoulders to help release some of the thick tension that has settled in my muscles from the day’s activities. Walking towards the back of the station where Rick’s office is, I can feel that weight again on my chest. As though confronting my husband about everything, confessing my own misdeeds, might bring on a panic attack of some sort. In and out, I steady my breaths with each step of my heels across the hard floors, taking a moment to nod or smile at Rick’s colleagues that I have come to know over the past few months.

Tobin the tall, gentle giant, who usually has few words, but always a kind smile and nod of his head. Theodore, or as everyone calls him, T-Dog. A stocky built black guy, with a gap, and a handsome, mischievous smile, who is already prepared with a joke. Natalie, the tough as nails, but sweet as pie lead deputy that keeps this group together with her commanding words, and soft brown eyes. These are the men and women that follow my husband’s orders, and have his back.

Reaching his office door, my hand rests lightly on the nob. Before I turn it I take in a long deep breath, silently praying for all of the right words to come. To explain myself. To get Rick to understand. To forgive. As I’m taking this quiet moment, I hear a slew of angry curse words being levied about behind my husband’s office door, and halt the seemingly loud rhythm of my breathing for a moment as I try to make out the voices within.

“You don’t understand, Sheriff! No one understands!”

“I do understand. That’s why I need you to calm yourself. We can discuss this like men.”

“Don’t try to handle me! You’re… you’re using that voice you use with the crazies! But, I’m not one of them. You know me.”

“I do know you. Why don’t you have a seat so we can talk? Hm?”

The only voice I recognize is Rick’s easy, paced tone. The same one I’ve heard him use with Teeny when he is trying to coax her into her traveling cage to take her to the groomer. She hates the groomer, and the cage, and while she will often loudly mew and arch her back when I try to hustle her into it, Rick’s smooth velvety tenor usually brooks no argument from her. His southern accent, mixed with the easy pastoral cadence is quite soothing, though I’m not sure if it’s really having its desired effect on the other person in his office. For that reason, hoping that maybe the introduction of my presence will help settle the other person’s agitation, I turn the nob and enter the office.

Instantly my eyes find Rick, seated with his hands threaded together on his desk, in plain sight. His phone rests face down, next to him. He’s stoic, unmoving. Only his eyes showcase even the slightest bit of alarm or acknowledgement of my arrival as they settle on my emerging form. Widening a bit, then narrowing as they track my movement from the open doorway to stand to the side, his eyes seem to darken of their own volition, concern clouding their normally placid blue.

Everything is tense. The energy is off. Surveying the scene before me a rush of air, a small, nearly imperceptible blurt of confusion leaves my lips and nearly doubles me over in shock. Standing in front of Rick’s desk, tall, resolute is a young man, maybe my age, in a brown deputy’s uniform. He’s white. I have seen his face before, but I can’t quite place him to recall anything remarkable about him. But, his face his familiar, I just don’t know why, but it is. In a panicked daze, my eyes continue to travel over him, taking a mental picture of him. Short brunette hair. Handsome face, with a smattering of dark scruff shadowing his chiseled cheeks. Arm lifted, grasp firmly wrapped around the handle of a glock, pointed directly at Rick.

“Who are you?” His stare doesn’t leave Rick’s face. Only his words are directed at me.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s nobody. Focus on me, Spencer. Focus on only me. She’s going to step back out of the office so that you and I can finish speaking. You wanted to talk, remember?”

“She can’t leave now, Sheriff.”

“She can, Spencer. She’s just a nobody. A citizen probably coming to file a complaint or something. Ma’am, please see one of the deputies up front for your concerns.” Rick’s features never betray him. His demeanor so stiff, and statue like, it’s a wonder that he’s actually speaking. He doesn’t blink, he simply faces the man with all of the practiced courage of a true hero. Only the tiny ticking clench of his jaw gives him away as he attempts to convince the man to let me leave, to move the gun away from me. That I’m nobody he should worry about.

On the other hand, the use of the man’s name causes panic to erupt in chest. Feverish sweat to break out over my clammy skin. My vision to be covered in a veil of thick, heavy tears, giving the room the appearance of a water colored dream. And it is like a dream, because I can’t call out to Rick, I can’t touch him. Shield his body from the danger he is so valiantly staring down at the barrel of this unhinged man’s gun. Because of me. This man, this is Spencer Monroe. An epiphany befalls me and I realize why his face is familiar. From the photos of him my investigator Jesus obtained. This is my fault.

I’m sorry. So sorry. It’s not enough. Sorry doesn’t fix it. Sorry doesn’t prepare a man to defend himself from being blindsided by the woman he loves. Sorry doesn’t allow a man the time to strategize for how to handle a potentially out of control employee. Sorry won’t protect my beloved, keep him safe from my insecurities. From his own. Sorry isn’t enough.

Wringing my hands, guilt freezes me, locks my bones and joints as I cry. A full on, blitz of tears follows the others, one after another, and waters the earthy russet coloring of my face. From trembling lips only one word continues to leave my lips. His name. My beloved’s name. “Rick…”

Rick’s eyes swiftly dance from Spencer to me, a slight shake of his head to signal for me to stop. To not use his first name. Don’t reveal our personal connection. I need to be as cool as Rick, as nonplussed. I need to remember the guidance I have gotten from court bailiffs about not allowing personal details to make themselves apparent with those society, judges, juries deem dangerous.

These thoughts rush me as I settle on Rick, and try to school my features, prevent his name from escaping my lips again. From heightening the danger of this tense situation. My eyes drink in my husband and I find a wealth of love in him. The spring that flows, unending, without condition that makes me push down the swelling fear that overwhelms me. I will follow his lead.

Swiveling his head my way, Rick’s tone is professional. Emotion removed. “Ma’am, you should back-”

“This bitch isn’t going anywhere, Sheriff. She can stay and watch. She can be the one to capture all of my misdeeds while I turn myself in. Later she can recall it all for my mother, so she can feel better about turning against her own son. Throwing me away. Siding with that…that foreigner!”

“Spencer, listen to me. Your mother settled with Mr. Rhee to help you get your life together. You can still have a life. You resign, cooperate with your mother, and you turn yourself in-”

“My mother’s a bitch just like Maggie! Turning against her own kind. You know, when we forget that we are the dominant race, and we start mixing, we forget, Sheriff. We forget that we have the power here. You forgot too I heard. Married some black chick.” He spits the word ‘black’ with all of the disgust he can muster, his lips twisting and sneering around the word as though it’s bitter in his mouth. Spencer turns towards me, his eyes and gun now aimed my way, landing on me as they rove over me, my features. “Like her. What could a man like you see in a woman like this, Sheriff? How could Maggie see anything in that chinaman that she didn’t see in me? They’re trying to replace us, you know.”

“No. No one is trying to replace anyone, Sp-”

“Shut up, Rick. They are. But they won’t. They can’t. People like that chinaman who got what he deserved for ever daring to touch a white woman… they get what they deserve in the end. In the end…” Pointing his gun back towards Rick, he momentarily closes his eyes as though he’s readying himself to end this, to end my husband.

Spencer’s hate filled words, his movement to take from me the most precious of things, somehow knocks loose my fear constrained words, and I find my spine. I struggle against the urging of my husband’s wide eyes to utilize the resolve to keep quiet regardless of how Spencer’s words are making me feel. Rick knows me. He has watched me become angry, animated simply at watching the news and seeing another black man gunned down by police. At reading a story of young women lured into sex trafficking situations, or ranting and raving about a history of systemic and government backed atrocities. Rick knows I’m struggling not to confront such ugly hatred head on. Unable to curb my impulses any longer, to allow this man to hurt my husband, I finally speak. “Spencer, do you know who I am?”

“Ma’am!” Rick hollers.

“Some black bitch… Stay in your place-”

“I’m Michonne Anthony. The attorney for Glenn Rhee. I can help you. Let me help you!”

“Michonne!” Rick censures, his voice raising higher, elevating above my own assertive pleas to Spencer. I need to do something, to neutralize his hate, his need to further destroy those who he feels are against him.

“No, look at me, Spencer. I can help.”

Twisting his head in a quick shake, Rick is attempting to dissuade me from this path. And for a second I almost let him push me off this path. It’s his eyes, the red rimming his beautiful eyes, now clear as glass. Wet as the glossy waters of the ocean, a wave of tears brimming at the edge of his lids. Threatening to spill over.

“Spencer, you’re lucky. You got lucky with your family, with us, with everyone here. We’ve protected you, and we still can. We take care of our own. But, I can’t help you like this.”

Continuing to swivel his gaze and his gun between Rick and I, landing on me for longer moments, a sickly grin tugs at his lips. Squinting and focusing as he drags his eyes up and down my frame. Wiping at his sweaty brow with his left hand, dragging it over and over against the thick brunette strands of his hair, he finally calms his agitated movements, as though he has made a decision. “How is pain useful, Rick? Pain? Do you… do you like pain, Ms. Anthony?”

“Hey! Hey! Point the gun at me, don’t… not at her. This doesn’t have anything to do with her. Ok? She’s just-”

“She’s just the bitch who helped you and my mother take everything from me!” Shaking his head, tears begin to fall from his eyes. On a series of long slow blinks, Spencer seems to be transforming in front of me. From the handsome deputy, to the unhinged psycho, finally to a young man, tortured by hate that has spurred him to terrorize others. “Yeah, I was lucky alright. So lucky my mother forced me to make a deal that’s going to end my life. Now here I am. You and my mother, and this bitch, have led me to the promised land right? How about I kill this black bitch, take her life so she can be lucky too?”

No longer able to withstand Spencer’s words, the hate he’s directing my way, Rick stands slowly, rising from his chair. Slowly, inching with tiny steps, he begins rounding his desk towards Spencer. In a booming, demanding voice, Rick yells, “You say anything like that again, I’ll break your jaw. Knock out your teeth. You want to stop being a small, insignificant man, Spencer? You want to finally take responsibility for all of the shit you’ve done? I’ll give you that chance. You understand? Look at me, gotdamit! Not her! You understand me? Say yes.”

In and out Spencer’s chest heaves, the effort to listen, to breathe, to keep an eye on Rick slowly advancing towards him, it’s taking everything in him to finally utter the word Rick commanded. No longer focusing the gun on me, he swiftly turns it, and just before he pulls the trigger, before the loud deafening bang rips through the air, he answers. “Yes.”