The bakery was first opened fifteen years ago. It wasn't a known bakery, but that soon changed. A swoop of Yankees had decided to come down and populate the growing neighborhoods that were being built within a ten mile radius of the bakery. I was one of them. I was born in and raised in Maine. My winters were spent chucking snow than playing in it, while my summers were spent at Sebago Lake. There was nothing like Sebago Lake, where girls went for their first kiss, and guys went for their first time. I knew, because I was one of them. Fell in love with who I thought would be the love of my life. She had a widow's peak, with brown hair cascading down to her waist, because that was the style back then. Her eyes were the deepest silver one had ever seen, with a splay of freckles littering her nose and cheeks. And that's what had got me, those freckles. To me, they gave her a sort of innocence, one that I was fascinated by, but could never comprehend.

It was my sixteenth summer at Sebago Lake, but only her fifth. For the past five years, upon meeting her, I had been dragging her back to the lake to replay her first time, and make her remember why we were in love. Because that's where I fell in love with her. And that's where I wanted to ask her to marry me. My hands had been sweating upon asking her daddy for her blessing, but I was more than grateful for the approval I saw in his eyes. I wasted no time in asking her. It wasn't a big public thing. I didn't even bother to get down on my knee. She was there, she brought me happiness, and it was the perfect moment, so I asked her. The ring was back at the wagon, hidden behind car registration papers and old peppermints. But she said yes. And within five minutes we were out that lake and humping each other against the tree, the only thing difference being there was a new shiny rock on her finger. If only that shiny rock still meant something.

"Mr. Ken?" I snapped my head to look at the bus girl hovering over me. Her expectant eyes glanced down to my empty plate sitting atop the table and I apologized. My gaze had been lost to the rain falling from the sky, making the evening sky look more like the approaching night.

"How are you doing Cara?" I smiled at the Asian girl. Each night I came in here she was usually running around helping the bustling customers. I always sat in the same seat, at the table aligned along the wall so that I could peer out the window.

"Good. Thanks. Busy as usual. Wish I could stay and -" I heard another customer call her name and nodded in understanding. She grabbed my plates, muttered me a good day, and walked away.

I usually came here every night, but more for my wife than me. She loved the cheese almond danishes that they sold. The inside was filled with cream cheese, while the top was sprinkled with almonds. There was a time when I couldn't stop myself from licking the cheese from my wife's lips. Now, I never experienced those lips. And when I did, they usually came in a form of a snarl, with rants being sung like a chorus from her mouth. She hated me now. She hated me now. I sighed at the thought of going home. To our perfect, suburban house, with the fake green grass, and the flowers that were planted outside that would be dead right now if I hadn't hired somebody to look after them. That use to be her job. Never had to work for anything. I never wanted her to work for anything.

The summer after I proposed to her, we finally got married. Her parents rented a house up in the Hamptons, and we got married on the beach. It was expensive, and simple, but was all worth it. I was twenty-two years old at the time, and she twenty. Her parents didn't care about her education, and actually, nor did I. I was just offered a job as an engineer down in North Carolina, and I had a pretty girl on my arm with my seed in her belly. Had no problem at all. Before her stomach could get too big, and her health become much of an issue, we packed up that same wagon with the belongings we had and moved down first to Raleigh, North Carolina. Our house was nothing fancy. It was a two bedroom house, with a half of a porch, and driveway out front. She was happy. She enjoyed being at home and taking care of Bud, our eldest son. Or at least that's what I thought. I would work hard all day, with the smarts God blessed me with, made money, and then came home to my doting wife.

Ten years of the same routine. That's a long time to do something. It's also a long time, enough time, to allow darkness to grow in your heart. And that's exactly what she did.

The wobble of the music stand to my left had my attention snapping back to reality. My eyes glanced towards the stand and saw a two year little boy holding on to it for support. I smiled down at him and got up to stop its shaking. His stroller was parked beside him and his mother was in front of the glass that separated the retail associates from the customers. It wasn't busy when I had come in, but now, with thirty minutes from closing, people were bustling in to get breads and next morning's pastries at the last minute.

"Hi there." I tried to make my deep voice a bit on the chipper side. So I sounded more like a Sesame Street animal and less like the hulk. The widening of his eyes and smile that graced his face gave me indication that I succeeded.

I held up my hand and waved to him. His mouth widened, dropping his pacifier on the ground. I glanced up at his mom's back, to see that she still had not given him any recognition in the past two minutes. I sighed. I stooped low, hoping my aging back would not give up on me. He fit snuggly in my arms, and for a second I was thrown back twenty years ago, when I would cradle Bud in my arms. His pacifier hung loose in my fingers while I walked towards his mama. She was there, watching the retail associate intently, as if the associate was trying to steal the bread instead of actually giving it to her. I chuckled against the baby's head. It was only here in the South that people could act more ridiculous than what was necessary.

Upon hearing me, the mother's eyes glanced behind her, acknowledging me with a side glance before she saw I was holding her pride and joy in my arms. She quickly turned around and made a show of reaching desperately for the child. Without hesitation, I handed him over, along with the pacifier.

"He was over playing by the music stand." I gestured behind me to the three pound music stand that held fifty plastic menus atop it. Her eyes never left my face, didn't even thank me for saving her child from being smashed if he were to make that music stand fall. Instead, she snatched the bread from the associate's hand and moved past me, brushing my arm slightly. I bent my head, shook it slightly, and laughed. People these days.

"She is always like that." I hadn't recognized the voice. Not in the years that I had been coming here. My eyes traveled from the floor and up to the round eyes that were peering at me. They were a dark brown, reminiscent of coffee. They seemed to be doe-like, and hidden behind a show of eyelashes. Her cheeks were plump, forced up by the smile that was gracing her face. She blinked at me, and I could only think of one thing to say.

"Huh?" She nodded her head towards the door, and like a fool, I took a moment to look out it. The mother was standing outside the door trying to strap her baby in. Her soft voice brought me back to her attention.

"Every time she comes in here, she is grouchy." I slide my hands into my pocket and nodded at her. "Yea, doesn't mean she has to act like that." I watched her smile falter, then roll her eyes up towards the ceiling and sigh.

"Yea, doesn't mean she has to, but I like to think there is a reason for everything." She looked back at me then, into my eyes, as if trying to force me to understand. I stepped closer to her, brushing against the small table that separated me from her.

"And what reason would that be?" I put her on the spot. I hadn't meant to, but I wanted her to talk more. I watched her shrug and divert her eyes away from gaze, but I still stood there, with my hands in my pockets and my glasses sitting haphazardly on the edge of my nose. I waited.

"There's a reason that you come in here, order the same thing, and sit in the same spot, isn't there?" The lilts in her voice drew me closer. She definitely was born and raised in North Carolina, but not from around these parks. Her accent sounded more like a dialect, where consonants began and vowels ended to form new words in her sentence. But I had encountered enough southern people that I could detect what they were saying.

I swallowed hard, watching her watch me. She was right. There was a reason. It was the same reason that I had not answered her question. Instead, I bought my cheese almond Danish, zipped up my jacket, and was out the door. The same reason I left home, was the same reason I didn't want to go back.

I sighed, and for a few seconds, within the confinements of my car, I watched the short, black girl walk around the bakery. Greeting the customers with her white smile and chubby cheeks. Her words had been imprinted in my mind, and the whole drive home, as I inched closer to the lonesome house, all I could think about was the fact that she was right.

She was born Mildred-Janey Hargrove. Growing up, they had called her MJ, but approaching the delightful years of puberty, she dropped the childishness and demanded to be called upon the likes of an adult. I liked MJ better, but her frown dissuaded me from liking anything other than her given name. With the change of her name came a new identity. No longer was there the girl who roughed with the boys and cursed like a sailor. Out of nowhere, emerged a woman who paid more attention to her looks, with her lipstick being just right just so that she could walk around the house and throw words at me from a copy of the 1898 Webster dictionary that she had stumbled upon. The change was gradual, almost like a kid growing from the age of one to twenty. But before my eyes, I watched my wife turn into a different person. It had me curious and bothered at the same time.

I was confused. I wasn't sure if I had brought on this change or had she decided to do this for herself. Either way, I didn't like it, and one too many times I tried to accept the new her. There were times that she would hop into the bed with me purely naked, with me feeling the brush of her nipples on my skin in the dark. Then she began dedicating her nights to powdering her face with that makeup shit, and wearing nightgowns to bed. I once asked her did I do something wrong, is that why she changed her appearance? She only laughed and pushed my shoulder, as if I had told an embarrassing joke. No silly. That was her response, to calling me silly. That same night, I went to kiss her, even with that cherry red lipstick on her face and the toxic fumes of the hairspray suffocating me. But she refused my touch, claiming she was tired, and turned away from me.

I was never a suspicious person. Nor did I have reason to be. But I took it that she was tired. She had begun to teach at the kindergarten Bud went to down the street, so I figured she was tired from running around with the kids all day. I held no resignation towards her for the dismissal. The next morning I awoke to her lips wrapped around my dick with the cherry red lipstick smeared across her face. I smiled, fuck that lipstick.

That's what our marriage had turned into. Her raising our kids, and me working to keep the roof over our heads. It was ten years ago that she had asked for a new house. We were living in a cramped, rented two story house in Durham. The company I was working with had given me a promotion, and with this promotion came an increase in pay. But being an engineer had me going back to school, which meant that money had to somewhere be cut. Bud was almost ten, Luke a year younger, with Georgina coming close behind them. Many nights we were yelling at each other because gone were the fifty dollar hair salon visits she went to and drug Georgina with her. 100 fucking dollars. Down the drain, especially when Georgina liked to go outside and sweat out all the hairspray that the hair salon just charged to put in there. The shopping sprees for just her once a month were gone. The trips out every weekend with her friends were gone.

By the end of each month I came to a sudden realization that she was sucking me dry. Especially when I was trying to get a better education so that I could get a better job, with more money. But she didn't care. Often complained that she was never satisfied, and often reminded me why she even said yes in the first place. Because she thought I would give her everything her heart desired. And I had promised that to her, when I had her pinned beneath my body and her moans gave me more life than my promises did. Yet, she was my wife, and I loved her. So within the next year, we had moved into our third home. It wasn't any different from the second house. It had more square footage and the rooms were a bit bigger. Shit, I hadn't seen a difference in it, but it had made her happy. Which made me happy, because I was back to familiarizing myself with her red lipstick.

She was gone again. It was something I was use to now when arriving home. I walked in through the side door that led into the grand expanse of our kitchen. The kitchen that I paid for to be remodeled, so that it could accommodate Mildred's growing interest in cooking and baking. I obliged. Because I still loved her back then, when her cries and whines were too much to bear. It was a damn nice kitchen, I would agree. Too bad it never got used anymore. The only time anybody set foot in this kitchen was when the kids got hungry enough to feed themselves or Mildred met a new friend that she wanted to show off her nice assets to.

"Georgie!" My voiced boom throughout the house. And damn was it a nice house. Mildred did a good job of using my money to create a fashionable sense of home décor. It looked like something that could be featured in the first pages of Southern Living. I waited for footsteps, or even the slightest hint of sound that would announce that my daughter was home. With her being the youngest, she was the last to get out of the house and go off to college. Bud and Luke both attended the same college, UNC Chapel Hill, while Georgina decided to follow in her father's footsteps. Wolfpack for life.

"Georgie!" I called out again.

The pastries and mail that I had retrieved had been set down on the counter top, so that when Mildred did finally decide to make an appearance, she would have it. It was a quiet house. A beautiful quiet house, and many a night I came home for the past five years I also regretted it. The boys had grown out of playing basketball in the backyard in exchange for loose girls and liquor. It was something I wasn't fond of, but Mildred encourage it. Said it was better for them to get it out of their systems now than never. She had been there more than I had, so I let her rule the children however she saw fit, with me often taking her side when arguments arose and eyeballs started rolling. She was always right, and I could not argue with that. Not when I felt guilty for not being there for her and them. It was something I dealt with every day. The guilt that ate me raw because I chose to work long, hard hours and busted my ass for promotions just so my wife and kids would never want for nothing. Even to this day I fed money into their banking accounts when they all held jobs. A parent's job was never done, that I will tell you.

I moved slow and easy up the wounding steps, slow and easy. I was only forty-three years old, but it was catching up to me. The sleepless nights from spitting out codes, to the negotiations that ran through my head, to my wife, to my children. It was all too much sometimes. Just too damn much. Especially her. My loving, passionate, caring wife. Yes, she was all those things, but she wasn't all those things for me. Hadn't been since Bud was about to enter junior high school, almost eight years ago. It was when Georgina finally learned just to handle her period and feed herself, leaving Mildred with more time than activities to do with it.

My eyes scanned the bed. It was a ritual, always. I inspected it as if somebody had been murdered in it. I was searching for any hint of hair, and sniffed it out for any trace of musk. I always came up empty. But just because I came up empty doesn't mean she wasn't good at hiding it. I knew my wife, and after eight years, I had become to know her game.

Satisfied, I moved past the bed and to the bathroom, flicking on the light as if to find something new. There was nothing new, except for the fine wrinkles that were becoming more distinct at the edges of my eyes. I blinked, my blue eyes staring back at me, admiring the man that I had become. I laughed at the word. Man, such a funny word. More like pussy. I felt like goddam pussy. The smile that formed on my face had turned into a slow grimace. In that instant, I smelled it. It was the faintest of scents, but I recognized it. Chanel No. 5 was the perfume. The fuck me perfume. That perfume held more significance to me than it should. That meant she wasn't coming back home tonight. I sighed again. The girl was right. She would always be right. And a part of me hated her for it.

The people at my job knew I took my coffee black. The employees at the bakery knew I took my coffee black. My kids knew I took my coffee black. The only person who could never make an effort to remember that I liked my coffee black was my wife. Even after I reminded her every morning that I took it with no cream, no sugar. She was deaf to my wants and needs. And that was evident from the love mark I saw peeping out at me from the scarf she had wrapped securely around her neck. She had come back yesterday afternoon. Her shades were on and her lips were set in a thin line. She breezed past me with as little as a hello and headed straight for upstairs. I detected the funk on her breath of alcohol before noticing the limp in her steps. This routine wasn't foreign to me. Usually she would come back the same night, out of courtesy. Then upon seeing that I acted as if I didn't care, she became a bit rude, borderline disrespectful to my household. So I became a bit rude, and borderline disrespectful to her banking account. Forcing her to get a part time job to fund her newfound love of alcohol and other men.

It wasn't something I was proud of. Allowing my wife to have an affair, and parade around as if it was alright. I was hurt, had always been hurt. But that never stopped me from loving her. From holding onto the image of us being a perfect family living a perfect life. That image still shone bright as day in my head. The first time, I thought I would have died had it not been her kisses and confession of undying love for me. I believed her, until she told me that she needed more from me mentally, physically, and emotionally. I agreed, thinking that if I gave her more I could reel her in and make her stay. I was wrong. The sex felt forced between her and I. I teased her, I bit her, and I sucked her until she couldn't breathe. But it wasn't enough. I went back to school again to become reacquainted with the laws of physics and math just so I could make more money to feed into her habits. When that wasn't enough, I planned weekend get-aways every three months for her. That put a smile on her face, but it was a pitiful smile, one that you force on your face instead of telling them that they are not good enough.

That's the smile I received every time I made her cum, or the days we would be standing watching the sun rise over the mountain peaks. It was the smile for the hopeful nerds who could be with the most beautiful girl, not the one who already had her. It took me a while, but I realized that I had already lost her, but it didn't stop me from accepting it. So I excused her acts, thinking it was more of her acting out and calling for my attention. When I turned to give her the attention I thought she so desperately needed, the response came in short kisses that lingered on my lips while she was at the door. Maybe there was a pat on the back, or a rare I love you.

I scraped my chair against the hardwood floor, coffee in hand. "How have you been?" Her nasally voice traveled to my ears across the island. My ears perked at the sound of it. Somewhere in the back of my mind I hoped she would ask those questions out of genuine concern, and not from personal want. I shrugged my shoulders, and asked her the same question.

"Good, good..." I waited for it. I knew there was more. I poured out the creamed coffee that was in my mug, and washed the remnants out of it.

"Oh Aubrey, I'm sorry." She moved to take the mug out of my hand and I moved past her. Along the way I saw it. The hickey was screaming at me. I shook my head to clear the image from my mind, but it didn't work. In that instant I didn't want to be near her, so I poured my coffee and walked out of the kitchen.

"Aubrey?" I ignored her. It was the only way to force her infidelity out of my mind. Out of sight, out of mind, I mumbled to myself. My feet fell heavy on the steps as I moved up them. I heard her footsteps follow me and stop at the foot of the stairs.

"Aubrey!" I stopped midway and dropped my shoulders. This woman wanted me to die of heartbreak. She wanted me to kill her. Instead of answering her, I put the mug of coffee to my lips and allowed myself to sip the scalding liquid. I winced at the pain I felt, and in some way enjoyed it. It took away from the pain I felt in my heart.

"Yes, Mildred?" My heart was thumping against my chest. I was anxious to say the least. It was moments like these that I had hoped she would confess her sins to me, as if this were Sunday, we were Catholic, and I was the priest. But instead, I was greeted with silence. My body turned towards the bottom of the stairs, and I cocked my head, waiting.

After all of these years, she was still beautiful. Like a Sunday morning. Her grey eyes reminded me of the sun shining through a cloudy day. Her skin was still the same color brown she had left it all those years ago at Sebago Lake when she sun tanned naked, only for my eyes to see. Her long brown hair had finally ended up in a shoulder length bob, with girlish bangs settling across her forehead. Today her hair was curled, and hung loosely at the base of her neck. Her bangs were pinned back from her forehead, giving her a younger look, and fresher appearance. Those freckles were still there, and for a moment I was taken back to the days, before the kids, before our marriage, when I actually felt like she loved me. Her innocence, her sobriety, her dignity. It seemed as if in an instant all of that was gone.

Did I do that to her? For a split second I thought of me, and how I had taken all of those things away from her. Yes, it was my fault. It had always been my fault. God, where did I go wrong?

"Aubrey, are you okay?" I felt her touch on my back, where my shoulder blade ended and my lower back began. There was that hope coming again. I breathed in deeply and sucked on my scalded tongue. For a second, I considered shoving her hand away from my person, and telling her no, I wasn't okay. But instead, I turned my body towards her, and forced a smile on my face.

"What is it?" I tried to ask in the most relaxed, gentle voice. My eyes strained to keep them above her chin, and my hand trembled from wanting to snatch that damned scarf off of her neck. Her eyes searched mine, and for a moment I thought she was to kiss me, but she had not. Instead, she masterminded me.

"I need more money sweetheart." Upon hearing her request, I laughed, for I was quiet amused. Oh, the irony. I wished for love, she wished for my money. I guess that what I get right? Because money equaled love, at least in her book. I glanced down at her lips, and noticed she wasn't wearing that cherry red lipstick. No sex for me tonight, I thought. I sighed again, and smiled down at her hopeful eyes. I studied her for a second, wishing for something more than her want of my money, but I got nothing. So I leaned in, taking note of her jerking back from me. Nonetheless, after she had calmed her body down, I planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Anything you want, my dear." My lips stayed there for what seemed an eternity. For it seemed it had been that long from the last time I was allowed to touch her. I glanced down, and took note of the small smirk on her face.
"Thank you, Aubrey." I was already turning around, but her gratitude fell short on my weakened heart.

"Anything to make you happy," my eyes glanced down to the hickey on her neck. She noticed. She squirmed. "Right?"

I didn't give her time to respond. Instead, I was making my way upstairs to our bedroom, where I would spend the next five hours studying layouts, while she disappeared out of my life again.

Today was Georgie's birthday. It was a crisp Monday morning and I had decided to take the day off. I hadn't spent quality time with my daughter since Christmas break. It was now March. Her teacher had canceled class on today, giving me an extra day to go around and get her presents ready. This was usually something that Mildred did, but upon her constant departures in the children's lives, a lot of the social responsibilities fell on me. Especially when Georgina was thirteen and Mildred swore that our little girl still loved The Bratz dolls. There was still a cold bite in the air and I shivered, while huddling towards the door of the bakery. It was set along a chain of stores, back behind a main street. If one wasn't looking, one wouldn't have known it was there. I hadn't known about the bakery until my previous coworker brought in a piece of chocolate cake one day. I swore I was trying to watch my figure, but those objections fell on death ears at the taste of the chocolate that filled my mouth. It was from then that I started visiting the bakery. It was shortly after that I became acquainted with the owner, Lionel, and his wife, Missy. They had been buds of mine from the start, especially with us learning that through the company I worked for, we formatted and coded the systems they used for their computers and screens.

"Hi Mr. Ken!" Upon entering the door, Cara smiled at me and I nodded towards her. "The usual?" She pointed towards the sweets and I shook my head.

"Actually, today is Georgie's birthday. I am just here to make sure everything is set in place for tonight?" Cara smiled at me and told me to hold on. I took that time to scan the area for one particular person. She had called me out. I was never one that liked to be called out, and I was on a mission to redeem myself, even if she was a stranger. But I came up empty handed, and my eyes focused on Cara rounding the corner, bringing a slip of paper with her. The bakery was open until five Sundays and Mondays, with the café side of it closing at three. Lionel had allowed me to buy those two hours in honor of my daughter's twenty-first birthday. Along with the place came the chocolate cake, food, and an unlimited supply of wine.

"Cara," I had inspected the paper, and with my approval, she was walking away again. "I have a question?" Other customers were bustling around us but she stepped from behind the cash register and we stepped to the side. "That girl, that was here the other night, what is her name?" Cara's eyebrows rose in confusion.

"What night? Friday night?" I nodded my head and she shook her head slowly. "Well you know Mr. Ken the majority of us that work here are females. Are you talking about Jamica? The black girl?"

That is all I needed was her name. I needed something magical to match the delicate look of her face. I smiled at Cara and thanked her. "Yes, her. Lionel wanted me to tell him which employers were being so sweet to me, you and she were included in that combo." It was a complete lie, but I didn't want to seem like a creeper. Nonetheless, her ivory cheeks tinted red and she smiled. "Awww, well thank you! That means a lot to me." She patted my arm and walked away with a grin on my face. I backed out of the bakery and smiled. Jamica was a beautiful name.

It was supposed to be a surprise. The boys had come down from Chapel Hill, barely a thirty minute drive and surprised Georgina in her room, tackling her. Her death threats fell deaf on my ears as they tussled with her. She had the same frame as her mother, which made me pretty sure she could defend herself from getting birthday licks. I had called all of her close friends and family to celebrate her coming of age a week ago. They were all arriving at the party fifteen minutes before we were to arrive, then we were to blind fold her. Then I was to come behind her in a nice, big present. At least that was the plan, but Mildred was nowhere to be found and the boys were getting worried.

"Luke, go try calling your mother again before she misses the damn party." I craned my neck to make sure Georgie wasn't listening. All she knew was that we were going out for a family outing. What she did not know was everybody else was invited. Mildred had twenty minutes to show her ass. This wasn't the first time she abandoned her family for one of her rendezvous. I shook my head at the audacity of that woman. Something in me wanted to hate her, but that feeling had yet to come. Her pity was enough for both of us. I pitied me because I could not be the man she wanted to be. I was drawn out of my thoughts by the sound of Bud's voice.

"Hey Dad, you ready to go?" I snapped my head back at him and smiled at my first pride and joy. "Yea bud, just trying to get ahold of your ma. Go ahead and start the car why don't you? Its kind of chilly outside and you know how Luke is." Bud grabbed the keys as he passed by me and headed out door. I released a long sigh. I removed myself from the bar stool at the island and called out Luke's name.

"Hey, did you get a hold of her?" Luke's head popped around the alcove that was set into the living room. "No, she didn't answer. Her phone went straight to voicemail." I shook my head at my second eldest son. He wasn't stupid, nor did he play the part. Out of the three of our children he knew the truth and we made plans to keep it that way. The information of her infidelities did not come intentionally, instead he happened to catch her in the act. When he asked me why she didn't love me anymore, I told him I was wondering the same thing. In a way, he walked around harboring the same hurt as I did, except I was easier at hiding it. At one point in time he chided me to leave her, but I was stubborn in my ways. Love was the name of the game, I once informed him. Family was a part of that game. I had full intentions of keeping this family, with love as the foundation of it.

It was on this thought of love that I beckoned my beautiful daughter to come down the steps. She wore an off white cream colored lace dress that stopped right above her knees. Her hair was pulled back into a bun that sat at the nape of her neck and hoop, gold earrings adorned her ears. She looked like the spitting image of her mother. Those grey eyes never failed to break my heart each time I looked in them. Every day I prayed she would not become her. I kissed my pumpkin's forehead while we headed for the door. I tried to keep my calm on the way out, with Luke whispering that Mildred had texted him. What? Was her message. Fucking what.

I fumed as I tied the bandana around Georgie's eyes. I fumed as we drove towards the bakery. No, I didn't hate my wife, but sometimes I really disliked her.

The lights had been dimmed to make it appear as if we were stepping into a street French restaurant. There were candles placed carefully on surrounding tables, with vase full of roses counting as center pieces. It gave us more of a romantic, intimate feel, as we stepped in, and I nodded my approval at Lionel who was bustling from the back. My hand was placed on Georgie's back guiding her into the restaurant. Her friends and close family were already there, waiting for her arrival. We were the last to walk in, with Bud taking the hands of his little sister entering through the door. Luke held up his fingers to the crowd to give them the countdown. 1...2...3

Our chopped rendition of Happy Birthday sounded like a cacophony of hurt birds. But she was pleased. We saw it in the face that beamed from the dropped cover-up, and the surprise that etched on her face at the people present at her party. I had managed to get her best friend from high school to travel back to North Carolina just for her birthday, along with her only Aunt, who was Mildred's sister. I backed towards the door, phone at in my hand and smiled at the warm feeling that traveled throughout the room. If only her mother could have been there. Her body was being pulled in by friends and family, and I disappeared out the door. Luke had walked through the bakery and out the back to bring forth the car that I had gotten her for her birthday. It wasn't a brand new car, it was actually the one I had originally bought Mildred and had finished paying for a year ago. That was my first strike against my wife. Using the car I had bought her to cheat on me. Instead of taking the car completely away, I decided Georgie could put it to better use than her mother did.

I had made my way to the side of the bakery where there was stationed a patio. I walked into the darkness and waited with bated breath for my wife to pick up. It took four rings for her to pick up.

"Mildred-"

"Oh Aubrey! I am so sorry. I forgot that today was Georgie's party and I got held up-"

"Cut the fucking bullshit Mildred. You and I both know that you don't do shit. You always have some fucking excuse. Always! I don't understand. You wanted kids. I gave you kids. You wanted a new house. I gave you a house. You wanted a new fucking car. I gave you a new fucking car. What else do you want from me?" My chest had begun to heave and I wanted to cry. This woman, who I loved dearly, and would give my life for gave me nothing. She depleted me and I still held on. My muscles tensed at her silence. She always had nothing to say.

"You cheat on me, and I fucking allow it like it is okay. Well it's not okay."

I could hear her sobs on the other end. They meant nothing to me. She not only embarrassed me, but my kids as well. That was the line.  "Mildred, I am done. I am done."

"Aubrey please don't be like that. We can work something else- huh?" Her attention was no longer on me and her sobs had turned into sniffles. I listened intently, waiting for her response. She was talking to somebody. A man. Fuck her.

 "You know what Mildred? Don't fucking come to the party."

"Aubrey-" I hung up the phone before she could say anymore. I hated bringing up her ways. I hated even more making her cry, but one thing she did not understand was that she was not going to hurt my children. I had tiptoed around the subject for too long before Luke found out. I refused to allow her to break my other two children's hearts. I leaned against the table and counted to ten, my hands holding me up for support. I'm so fucking stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This is how she found me. I had stretched my body out to relieve the tension that was building in my shoulders. My head was hung low, and instead of allowing the tears to stain my shirt, they fell without caution to the cobblestoned ground. Why did I love her so much when she hurt me? It was a constant thought in my head, throughout the days and nights. It was a question that had yet to be answered.

"Mr. Ken." I didn't even look up to register whose voice called out my name. Instead, I moved to straighten out my body, reposition the table, and roll back my shoulders. My eyes were closed and that's how I had planned to keep them until I heard her shoes scrape against the ground. "Is there anything I could do?"

Her voice seemed genuine, as if she could give me the one thing I wanted.

"My wife." My voice came out in a grunted mess, but upon opening my eyes I studied her response. Her eyebrow was raised in questioning and I took a step closer to her.

"Could you give me my wife back?" I was within a foot of her personal space and stared down into her eyes. I had not bothered to wipe away the free flowing tears that stained my cheeks. I left them there. She shook her head at me, the braids at her back going along with her movements. I watched them, transfixed, then moved my eyes back to her waiting eyes.

"Then there is nothing you can do for me." I moved past her, and I felt sorry for a second at my rude behavior. This girl was sent out here to fetch me, not get caught up in my personal mess. Now, I had treated her just the same as my wife had treated me. I learned a long time ago that dismissal hurts just the same as rejection. It was not until we were packing up and leaving that night that I had learned I had hurt her feelings. I called out her name and she pretended to not hear me. I demanded her eyes to meet mines, and she acted like I was not there. Yes, I had hurt her, and for some unknown reason, I was deeply sorry. 

There was a time when Mildred would stumble in, with her dress coat unbuttoned and her makeup crusting from her long days. These usually happened on the second affair she had. I would wait patiently to catch her in my arms, then carry her limp body up the stairs to a safe haven. There was a time that I was so naïve that I thought none of this was Mildred's fault, and some dirty scoundrel got his hands on her and fed her lies. She was lost, and she needed guidance, so I was going to provide her with guidance and make her love me again. There would be a nice, hot bath waiting for her upstairs, with her favorite salts poured in to scrub her skin free of any impurities that stained it from the sex. I would lay her on the bed, brush her hair back from her face and whisper to her that everything was going to be okay. That, I, her husband was going to take care of her. Her mumbles were incomprehensive, but from the jungled mess I would hear the words I only sought out, I love you. Those words always filled me with joy when she was at her weakest and could barely move. Those were the moments I cherished with her because for once she finally allowed me to touch her in the most intimate way; those were the moments she would bare her soul to me and cry that she was sorry. They always got me. She always got me.

Her skin would redden under the heat of the bathwater, and the ends of her hair would become damp. I took care to wash her body gently, and without rush, just to see the relaxed look on her face that I was always greeted with at the end. Our laundry basket we never used had become sort of a seat for me during these times. I would pull it up, ease down on it, and watch her before even touching her. Her arms would be laying on the edges of the tub as if to hold herself up from drowning and her lips would be pursed. Then, out of the rarest of moments, she would sigh, and release whatever was in her, out, and I knew I had permission to touch her, to love her again.

And that's where it all ended, the magic I desperately wanted back in my life and the love that I was hanging on to by a thin thread. Those nights usually ended in me brushing her hair one hundred times, like she use to do when Bud was first born. The brush was an antique brush I had bought on a whim when I had to visit an antique store for business down in no man's land. She usually kept this brush polished and shined in the drawer at the top right of her vanity. It was the same place she kept her wedding ring, tucked away in the back where no one could see. But I would notice that princess cut diamond anywhere. Hell, it cost six thousand dollars, just so it could sit in the back of a goddam drawer.

This is what our life had consisted of. But then I stopped waiting for her to stumble in the apartment at three o' clock in the morning. I stopped giving her those baths to show that I all was forgiven. Those came to halt when the very man she was fucking stumbled in with her one night and I almost shot him. He was maybe ten years younger than me, with skin as dark as an Italians and eyes the color of grass. He had a sly look in his eyes, as if he had just entered the big house and was going to fuck my wife on my bed. I had heard them pull up, and had recognized his car immediately. I watched them hold onto each other for dear life as they conquered our cobblestone sidewalk. Every time Mildred goddam slipped he found an excuse to grab her ass or touch her breast. That was the night I had decided I was through. So I rose off of the stool before they could ever make it to the door. I had moved the gun downstairs a long time ago, when an increase in crime was on the rise, not the increase in my wife's sexual relationships.

The name was a 460XVR Revolver. Just like Mildred's hairbrush I had kept mines dolled up and hidden away from the kids and her. The gun wasn't even in my hand, instead there was a shot glass filled to the brim with sparkling apple cider. I had decided if I killed the motherfucker they would know I was in my right mind, and he was shot with a clear conscious.

One could argue that I hadn't a clear conscious. My blood pumped with the carnal emotions of rage, jealousy, and possessiveness. She was fumbling with her keys to get in, while he stood behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist. I saw him nibble her neck. I watched her giggle. I heard the click of the gun. It was up, and it was steady. One thing I could give to my pops was that he taught me how to hunt the trickiest of dear. No different than aiming and killing a human, right? Wrong.

The kitchen lights were purposefully kept off. That's how she always kept it after her late night home invasions. They were located right beside the door, easy to flick on and off for her convenience. Every fucking thing was for her convenience. Her slender fingers moved to flick the lights. It was the same instance that I had set the glass back down on the countertop. That's what had caught their attention. It was her eyes first that settled first on the gun, then at me. I knew I looked like a beast of some sort. I hadn't shaved all week, nor had I took the time to cut my hair. I had been wearing the same clothes for the past two days because my wife couldn't bother to pick up her phone. The hand that held the gun also nursed a bandage to the bloodied knuckles. Those came after the twentieth call I made to her and she refused to pick up. My knuckles suffered more than that cobblestone chimney I had built for her.

It was a moment of silence. She hadn't made to move to stop me, but instead her arms instinctively pushed his body back through the door. He grumbled something in her ear and his name was lost to the sound of the gun clicking. I had long ago taught myself not to shake my being before a kill. I knew how to point, aim, and fire. Every fiber in my being was screaming at me to shoot. The poison of envy rang through my head as I watched her plea with me to not shoot him. But all I could hear was the sound of dice rolling through my head. Sweat had begun to form on my brow and was easing down the bridge of my nose. I wanted to hate her, but hated him more. She was protecting him. That's all I could think about while I watched, and allowed her to shove his frozen, still body out of the house. For a moment our eyes had connected and I saw it in his eyes. It was fear, but not for himself, but for her. And in that instant I made up my mind that he wasn't the problem, she was. But I was held accountable for her faults, and all the things that couldn't even be deemed excusable.

I thought she would come back in the house, and comfort the bulging vein that threatened to explode in my forehead. I thought she would gently take my hand and chide me into lowering the gun. I longed for her kisses on my face to reassure me she loved me. But deep down I had known. I didn't see my wife for the next two days.

Tonight was no different. I couldn't sleep so I had made my way downstairs and into the kitchen for a glass of water. That's where I found her, her torso bent in an odd angle to accommodate her sleeping position on the island table. I stopped to study her. Her forehead was sweaty, causing the bangs to stick to it. Her mouth was agape, sucking in air it seemed her lungs so desperately needed. On her lips was that damned cherry red lipstick. I sighed. My beautiful wife. My loving wife. The one I no longer wanted to hurt me anymore.

The papers were clear as day in my study's drawer. One would think they were just other documents filled with codes of the clients of the company I worked for. Instead, these documents had long been drawn up, but were adjusted accordingly when I purchased a new asset or paid anything off. I hadn't thought to get them at first, but I had passed that damned lawyer's office one too many times on my way to work. Every day the man's eyes stared down at me from the billboard, and as I drove away they caused heat to rise in my back. His name was Donald Lewis. An aging British man that was deemed the best divorce lawyer in the state of North Carolina. I just happened to walk into his office, expecting to walk out of it with a business card. But the man saw the anger in my eyes that reflected the hurt that was running through my veins. He recognized the tears of the broken hearted as I explained to him the deeds done by my wife. With permission, he had built a case against her, stating that she was not to get a dime. The pussy inside of me didn't want to see my wife, the mother of my children living in some dingy apartment barely being able to afford it. But Mr. Lewis had resuscitated the beast inside of me and reminded me why I had stepped foot into his office in the first place.

He gave me the documents three weeks later for review. She was to get what was rightfully hers, including any personal assets that she herself bought, or specific items I had bought for her and were willing to part with. These were the same documents I had trembling in my hand. I held my breath watching her turn her head to rub the drool off the corner of her mouth, and then cradle her head in the crook of her arm. This had to be done. It must be done, I chanted in my head. I made no noise placing the papers down on the island beside her sleeping form. How she was going to react, I had no idea. But I needed my freedom in order to regain my life and happiness back.

It was a strange feeling being slapped in the face. My wife had never made a move to hit me in all of our twenty something years being together. I had awoke to the sting that was left behind from her hand making contact with my cheek. They didn't stop there, however, they continued in raid on my person. On instinct, I stopped the flailing of her arms by grabbing her wrists and throwing her on the bed. I was calm, and collected. I detected the anger that made her cheeks flush red to the papers that were wriggling in her right hand.

"You bitch!" The spit was unexpected. She had never spit in my face. This woman never ceased to surprise me.

"Calm down Mildred."  My voice was calm and low. I did not know if our kids were there, and I did not want to find out by them barreling in here to see what was wrong. I was met with the barring of her teeth and growls being emitted from her throats. Her thrashing body had me struggling to keep her grounded and I made to place my knee on her stomach. She took this opportunity to slap me again. This time it threw me off. One of her manicured nails caught the edge of my lip and tore the skin from it. The small hint of pain had me losing my composure and falling back off her person. She took this opportunity to push me closer to the edge of the bed.

"How the fuck could you? You-you-you ungrateful motherfucker!" My head snapped at the sound of her calling me ungrateful. I watched her face contort into disgust as she peered her cold eyes down at me. Her finger rose and she pointed it at me as if to accuse me of any wrong doings.

"I had sex with you, we had kids together. I saved you from the iron fist of your goddam father." She stepped closer to me supporting myself on the elbows.

"I gave you life." She hissed the whispered statement to me as if it were some form of secret declaration. I winced at her words. The shock at her response was simply replaced with confusion, then resignation. She had given me life, but slowly and surely, she had killed me.

Her eyes were wild. The pupils were enlarged, and the crusted mascara that once adorned her eyelashes had made a mess of littering black marks on her cheeks. The rim of her eyes were red, a clear sign that she had been crying. But those things did not stop me. They would have me falter in step, and instead of approaching her with confidence and authority I would have approached her with a sort of cowardice. I backed her up against the wall, my tongue flickering out to taste the blood that bubbled at the gash in my lip.

She held no sign of fear in her eyes, but more of defiance, as if she had a choice in signing the papers. She crossed her arms about her exposed chest, a pink nipple peeking out from the silk robe adorning her body.

"Sign the papers, and get the fuck out of my house."

That's how I had left her that morning. I had simply walked away to brush wash my face in the bathroom. It wasn't until I stepped into the shower that I heard her pleas and cries being lost to her banging on the door. I wasn't going to give in. I refused to give in. These were the words that I chanted in my head driving about the freeway. No longer was I going to be a slave to the woman that had lost all love for me. I walked past her this morning and she made it her rightful duty to grab my arm and whisper in my ear that she hated me. That was indication enough that I needed to let her go. The boys and Georgie had already disappeared back to college last night. The only person that would have known of the discrepancies that took place between Mildred and I would have been her sister, Bonnie. Bonnie knew about the affairs long before I could have even guessed it. In some way I held a grudge against Bonnie for never telling me, but there was a code, and I respected the fact that she held loyalties with her sister before she would ever hold any with me. Her pity had not gone unseen. That morning when she had come to pick of Mildred and drug her limp body out the door, she only looked at me and nodded, as if finally acknowledging what I was doing was right.

There was no need for me to go back to the bakery now. It was a thought I had conjured in my head just as I had pulled up to the establishment. I had been missing all day, calling my partner to let him know that I was going to take yet another day off. He understood my sense of urgency and allowed it. After Mildred had packed up what she could fit into Bonnie's rental car, I relished and cried at the thought to coming home again to an empty house. It was there, after I did a walk-through of the house, eyeing every picture and taking note of every piece of furniture that I realized I was alone. I longed for the presence of my wife, even if it was her back she was giving to me. The picture I held in my hand of her smiling at the camera, taken back in the early eighties became nothing more than a scatter of broken glass. It hit the chimney walls and landed graciously on the floor. I watched it break, with some of the pieces bouncing off the wood. I felt just like that picture in that moment, broken, unsolvable, and invaluable. . Within due time, I had sat down on the couch, and as a man grieving for love, lost myself to the tears that stained my face and welcomed the sleep that dragged me into the darkness.

I had awoken only two hours later. It was only two o'clock in the afternoon and I had yet to accomplish anything in the day. It seemed unreal, and real at the same moment. It took me a while to realize it but the house was the same with and without Mildred in it. For the past eight years she had treated it merely like a hotel than a home, which I guess made it that much easier to accept the fact that she was actually gone. I left the picture lying on the floor. Stepping through the archway that separated the front hallway from the living room, I decided that that was where I was going to leave my broken soul. My steps felt uneasy at first while I walked around and gathered up my keys, and put on my jacket and shoes. I felt like a baby just entering the world, blinking for the first time, and taking it all in. For a moment I was scared, but all of that went away when I located the divorce papers sitting atop the island.

I sat down and read over each document. On many of the pages tear stains had caused ripples in the paper and left stain marks. Those were overlooked by the name, wrote clear as day, signed and dated on the dotted lines. A sense of joy burned through my veins and I allowed a small smile to creep on my face. I guess this was just what I needed. In some way I needed her approval that allowed me to let her go. Her name signed meant that she didn't want me anymore, and that I no longer needed to hang onto her no longer. It was a sad, small smile, but a smile nonetheless.

My steps were shaky as I entered the bakery. I had just come from dropping off the signed papers, but Mr. Lewis was not in his office. His secretary gladly made it her duty to let him know everything was in place. We were to meet tomorrow, just in case Mildred decided to hire a lawyer of her own. I was prepared. I had always been prepared.

"Morning Mr. Ken!" It was Rebecca this time. She was a lady not too much younger than me that had been working at the bakery for the past two years. Atop her head sat her hat that complimented the curled bangs that escaped from beneath it and the pigtails that rested on her back. Her hair was the color of golden wheat, just like Bud's. She greeted me with a small smile and I nodded at her. My eyes unconsciously scanned the bakery and I wished to find the one person I was looking for. Ever since I had woken up I had a mission, to correct the wrongs that I allowed to happen in my life. One of them happened to be Jamica. She did not deserve the bitterness that was in my voice. I voiced to Rebecca that I wanted the usual, except this time I wanted a croissant. Rebecca smiled at me, noting the change in my order and welcomed it. While she retrieved my pastry I noticed her head snap to the side at the call of her name.

"Hey, have you seen Jamica?" my ears perked at the sound of her name and I looked to Rebecca, waiting for an answer.

"Yea, I think she is over at the runner's station, but I believe she is about to leave." At hearing this information, I moved to pay and retrieve my items. The walk to my car was a brisk one. I sat in there once more and watched Jamica come from some unknown place in the bakery. Today, her shoulders sagged and her eyes appeared to be sad. I noticed that from twenty feet away. She looked tired. Her petite body moved about the bakery for about five more minutes before she moved to what I assumed to be clocking out. That was my cue. I cranked up Betsy and maneuvered her to the back of the bakery. There, I waited for Jamica to come out of the back. My hands became jittery at the thought of explaining myself to her. She demanded no explanation whatsoever, nor did she need any insight into my personal life, but I owed it to her. In some form I had always been a sucker for big pretty eyes. Especially when they seemed to hurt. That's why I was sitting at the back of the bakery, with my car running, waiting for her to come out. The heat was on and it had me feeling drowsy. Before I knew it, my eyes were closing and I was dozing off. The last thing I remembered was checking the time at being five minutes after four.

I jolted to awake at the pounding of the rain hitting my window shield. I hurriedly checked the time and saw that it was now forty minutes after four. Shit. Shit shit shit shit. I hit the steering wheel and readjusted my seat. There was no way to tell if she had left yet without going back into the bakery so I decided to leave, hoping that I would catch her another day.

The ride home was always the same. I traveled a little ways down Cary Parkway and turned right on Henderson. Henderson was more of a public street than private, housing bus stops along the way. It wasn't until I got stuck in traffic and was parked in front of one of them that I noticed her. She was standing beside the bus stop post, with a large bag cradled against her side, and a huge umbrella failing at protecting her from the rain. She was there, and she had noticed me. Her brown eyes had happened to peek out from under the rim of the umbrella the instant I had come to recognize her. Just as she had caught my eyes she had looked away, seemingly with a hint of embarrassment in her eyes. I noticed the cuffs of her pants becoming wet and the sleeve of her rain jacket suffering as well. She made no move to adjust, and I made no move to stop looking at her, because she still refused to meet my eye.

I may had been born and raised in the North but I knew my manners. The blaring of a horn had me coming back to reality and her eyes settled once on me again. I hurriedly held up my finger, beckoning for her to come to me. It was either now or never. I watched her knee bend, as if to come to me, then she hesitated. Her eyes glanced back at the angry driver behind me as he blared his horn again. Her eyes met mines and again, I prayed she would get in the car. It would make both us feel better. The car blared their horn one more time before driving past us in a rage. That was enough to get her feet moving across the pavement and swinging open the back door. I had thought she would settle in the front, but hinted at her nervousness as soon as she was able to get into the car. I twisted my body around and watched her adjust herself. I had long put on my blinkers to allow others to pass to me. She had yet to meet my eyes, instead she focused on placing the umbrella on the floor and taking off her soaked jacket. I watched, fixated on the shirt sticking to her skin. The rain glistened on her neck, and her short fingers moved to wipe away the droplets that traveled down her collar bone. I watched them, in the most unbashful way as they traveled to disappear into the cotton of the shirt. That was when I saw it. The peak was clear as day, beckoning to me.

I never allowed myself to have thoughts like that, even while my wife cheated on me I made it clear that it was only her body I would pay attention to. Now, this girl had herself exposed to me in the most unintentional way. I had turned around before she could catch me, and before she could catch me, I focused my rearview mirror to take her in. It was there that I was met with her eyes. She blinked once, then twice at me before speaking.

"Thank you." I nodded my head at her, then noticed her shake her head. "You didn't have to do this though, the bus would have been there any minute." I watched her try to explain herself, and cover the tint that darkened her brown cheeks with red.

"No, I didn't have to, but there is something I wanted to say." She nodded her head then beckoned to the street.

"Can we go, please?" I had forgotten driving altogether. My mind had drawn a blank space and was filled with the thought that there was another being in the backseat of my car that wasn't my children.

"Where to?" As much as I tried to focus my attention on the road, my eyes had traveled back to her.

"There is a Food Lion up ahead, you can drop me off there." Her voice was quiet, and tired, as if she was putting all of her energy into speaking. I wanted to object to her destination, citing that I could take her home but then imagined how she felt. Here she was, a stranger stationed in another stranger's car who was willing to take her anywhere. I would have been weary too.

"I am not going to kidnap you." I caught her eyes in the mirror and saw her mouth lift up at the corners, but her eyes refused to meet mine. They were trained on the passing buildings and trees.

"I know you're not." Her tone held a sense of jest in it and I craved for more.

"How do you know that?" Her eyes flicked straight to the mirror and she smiled. "No kidnapper would take me, a person at that, in clear daylight. Not when you had that hot headed driver behind you." She still smiled, and shook her head, refocusing her attention back out the window. I smiled at her observations. She was indeed right.

"Plus, you haven't even locked the doors." I glanced to see her small fingers trace the lock of the door. Playing with her, I reached to lock the doors. It was then that I was rewarded with the most joyous sound I had ever heard. Her laugh filled the car to the brim and my heart swelled. It had been a long time since I heard a genuine laugh. Her head had been thrown back and her hand was placed lazily on her chest as the sounds fell from her lips. It made my day seem a little bit brighter. My heart strings tightened.

When her body had relaxed into a slump against the backseat of my car, she met my eyes in the rearview mirror and grinned at me. "Thank you." I wanted to believe she was genuine, so I took her gratefulness in strides and returned the appreciation.

"No, thank you."

"For what?" Her inquisitive eyes focused on me, and I was forced to look away. I was too scared to admit that this simple moment in my car had given me more life than the past eight years had.

"Just, thank you. You made me realize something the other night. And first and foremost, let me apologize for anything that you heard, or saw." I didn't bother to look back, I knew I had her attention from the silence that filled the car. I waited for her objections and didn't receive any. So I continued. "I-I have just been having some issues in my personal life-""

"Those of which you don't have to share with me Mr. Ken. You do not need to explain anything-""

"Jamica."

"Mr. Ken you really don't have-""

"Jamica." My voice was hard and stern. We had finally pulled into the parking lot of Food Lion, and I swerved the car into a parking space and parked. I unbuckled my seat belt to turn and see her hurrying to unbuckle her seat belt. Her movements stopped at her realization that I had turned around to look at her. Her eyes looked defeated and she dropped her hands.

"Please, allow me to explain myself." She nodded and turned her eyes to look out the window instead of at me and I sighed.

"My name is Ken. Not Mr. Ken. That is something my employees call me. You are not my employee." When I did not continue I saw her nod her head in understanding.

"My wife, she uh-she um, she just," My voice waivered and I lost all will to speak.

"She's gone." I meant to tell that statement with an air of confidence, as if I actually believed myself that she was truly gone. Instead, my head began to throb at the sensation of pure loss that traveled through my body. My voice had come out broken, reflecting the state of my spirit. I was broken. I had walked out the house with a plan to put her behind me, only to be faced with the fact that there was a possibility I would be alone for a while.

"Ken." Her voice came like a whispered prayer in the night. It reached my ears and eased the feelings of unrest that had settled at the pit of my heart. I did not register what she was doing until her body was invading my personal space. She smelled strongly of a flower mist and the musk of rain mixed together. There were bags under her eyes, and her lips were pressed into a thin line. I was at a loss for words. How could I explain to another person that I was hurting when I refused to accept that fact myself?

It was only when she touched me that my resolve broke. It was the simplest of touches. Her brown fingers moved to pat my hand to offer me support and quiet the sobs that had begun to break my reserve. I latched onto her hand for dear life, and it was there in that car that she cradled my head to her chest, and allowed herself to become something I never had in my twenty years of marriage, a lifeline of support.  

She was right. There was a reason that I had come to peer out that bakery's window for almost every day of the week. I wanted to get away from my wife. I loved her, but being around her for longer periods of time ruined the perfect image I held of her. So I usually ended up there, reminiscing about the times where we were actually in love, instead of seeming like we were.

The coffee that had long been abandoned had left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. It always did. I enjoyed it though, making me think that I wasn't the only bitter one in the world. I had come in here with the hopes of hearing her soft voice rise above the rest to welcome the incoming customers, but I was met with Rebecca's face. I greeted her like any other day, but ordered the croissant instead. Her quizzical eyes demanded why I suddenly changed, after so long, and the urge to tell her that I screwed my wife over was too strong. Instead, I blabbed to her that Jamica told me the croissants were good with the coffee. Which wasn't a complete lie. Jamica had told me that was her favorite thing to eat, croissants with flavored coffee, which allowed me to have a reason to actually adopt the combo as my own. In no shape or form did I want to be tied back to Mildred, no matter how small it was. But that was a difficult thing to do, especially when many a time I had spilled my seed into her and she birthed our three children.

It had been two weeks. Two rough, long weeks. Mildred had done all but threaten me for every penny I had, making my life more difficult that necessary. But I took it in strides and reminded her effortlessly why we were in this shit can in the first place, because she could not keep her goddam legs closed. I swallowed the coffee, and it stung my throat. The burn kept me from thinking bad thoughts of my wife. I tried desperately to not see her as some monster who only loved me for my money, but it was difficult. Especially when I could only remember our most intimate moments resulting in her manipulating me into giving her my credit cards or cash. That was the hardest part, convincing myself that the person I loved was an angel, but had been a monster all along. Nobody ever wanted to disrupt that image, or even change the slightest thing of their loved one. Damn it was difficult thing to do.

But I found fault in my ways. For years I had convinced myself that there was a reason for all of this, why she repeatedly cheated on me, and now that it was time, I had the choice of finding out what she did. Where her tales all began. She was not willing in telling me about her passionate relationships, but I knew one thing about Mildred. She had a soul somewhere behind those bright silver eyes. It may not even be five years from now, but I would get a confession out of her one day. It was just up to me to wait for it. And there was that concept again, time. It was such a strange concept, especially when people sung out that time would heal all things. But as time drug along I had not been healed of her infidelities. Time was brutal to me and my feelings. I felt as if I stuck in a state of purgatory, where nothing every changed but the intensity of pain that I felt in my heart.

Before she had gotten out of the car, she had touched me again. Again, it was the simplest of touches, a young lady, the same age as Georgie, but with eyes the age of an old soul. She had looked at me, and she had me promise her to give it time. I held no feelings towards her, nor any obligations towards her, but I felt that the promise I made to her was worth more than my marriage had been in the past eight years. I had left her there, standing beneath the Food Lion. Even as I turned out of the parking lot, I hesitated in leaving her. Her small frame had hoped out of my car with her belongings, and blessed me with another smile of hers. Her hand lifted, and she waved to me. Then made me promise again. I felt obedient to this stranger. And that's what I had to remind myself, that she was just a stranger, nothing more, nothing less. But she had provided to me what I had needed the most, a shoulder to cry on.

I had invaded her personal space. My mouth blew hot, airy breaths on her neck while her fingers played with the hairs at mine. Her attempts to soothe me did not work. The more she touched me the more I longed to be loved. I was so goddam broken. First it was my father, depleting me of any love that he could have given me if he wanted to. There was never a, "Good job Ken." It was always, "Bust your goddam ass harder than that. I didn't raise a loser, and a loser you will not be!" Those words were glued somewhere between hatred for him and hatred for myself. I hated myself because I could not be who he wanted me to be, and I hated him more because he made me feel like I could not be who he wanted me to be. He chastised me for never owning up to him. The man was still alive. And I reiterate, still alive.  But like she said, there was a reason for everything. Those were her final words to me. Her delicate voice had glued itself somewhere between my ears and my heart, alongside that hatred, and I longed to hear it again. It offered me comfort where there was pain. Anything to take that away.

I had not seen her since, even on the days she usually worked, she was not there. I made an attempt at playing it safe. I came in one night to ask how everybody was doing. I mentioned Jamica, and oddly enough Cara or Rebecca couldn't tell me how she had been and that they had not seen her. So I was back to square one, sitting, waiting. I was not going to lie though. I enjoyed the way she held me, as if she wished she could erase all the wrong that was done to me, as if she actually cared. It scared me, however, to look into another person's eyes and want to trust them. Mildred had ruined that, my ability to trust people on whim, for I had become blindsided. She led me through the Valley of Darkness and I willingly obliged.

I wanted to get away from the habits of bashing her now. I never had the desire to hold an ill grudge against anybody, or forge a reason to curse their names. Even after Mildred slung my name through the mud, I refused to conjure up the energy to call her out of her name. In part, our failed relationship had been my fault too. I allowed her to cheat on me. Of course, I had done what I thought was right to make her stay, to make her want me, but in the end it was not enough. That in turn forced me to only wish for her happiness, and if happiness, even in the most sensual form lied in other men so be it. At least her heart was still with me right? Wrong.

In these instances I was always wrong. Nothing about Mildred now was what it seemed. She had found a lawyer, one I'm sure her father was paying for, to fight against my divorce agreements. So far, they were getting nowhere, just as I had liked it. I bust my ass to appease her for twenty years. Although I was back and forth with the decision, I leaned heavily on the thought that she deserved absolutely nothing. One could argue that I often worked long nights, trying to meet deadlines for people who believed that one day consisted of one hour. Many a night I fell asleep writing out codes in my head that actually worked for these bustling, up and coming businesses that needed software installed. Was I physically depriving her of my body? Yes, but it was not intentional. Mildred had always failed to understand that everything I did was for her. I wanted to see the twinkle in her eyes again and the red in her cheeks from joy of me, not other men. I was often left confused and depressed, because I never felt good enough. Even when my pay rate rose, and I fell into making one-hundred thousand dollars a year, it was never enough to fund her ways. So I worked harder to be promoted or even to be switched to a better job with better pay. Mildred was happy, but she demanded more, and so did I. There was one point in time when I asked her about another child, when Georgie had grown old enough, but I was quickly shut down. Mildred didn't have time, nor the patience for another child. Soon, I dropped the subject and agreed with her. I had decided that I did not want another child to be subject to the mistreatment she already exposed our children to.

I should have been happy, but to me, another child meant that she loved me, and for once would give me something that I wanted. It wasn't until much later that I realized Mildred had never been selfless. And I guess that's what you get when your wife was raised the daughter of a prominent socialite and top surgeon in the tri-state area. Oh no, pretty, sweet Mildred was not foreign to getting her way. Just like many others, including guys before me, I had fallen prey to her once gentle eyes. She demanded to be looked at. She demanded to be served. I had chased after her for a couple of years before she caught wind of my sniffing. Her mother and my mother ran in the same circles, and we, the children, happened to come up in a conversation. In their minds, they were trying to convince the others that their children were the best. In our minds, it was our first official date.

We were meant to be shown off, like a trophy. Me, I was on the wrestling team and the football team in the on seasons. In the off seasons I took up tennis and headed the Mathletes. I was a nerd, but the sexiest nerd one would ever encounter in boarding school. I never took pride in my looks, only because in my mind they were just looks at first. But then, on a drunk weekend away from school, and two hours later, I had stumbled across Mildred. Her shorts were yanked high to her belly button and her hair grazed carelessly across the peaks of her nipples poking through her shirt. I knew who she was instantly. A lot of guys back at school talked about her as if they had known her in the most intimate of ways. But I, I had never experienced her. Never intended to until she had lazily rose her arms up in the air and swayed her nonexistent hips to the soft, thumping guitar. I became mesmerized. A few seconds of watching her, studying her and my eyes had burned holes into her lids, wishing that she would grant me access to her soul. It was then that she stepped to the side, turning her body in a way that the move seemed effortless. Her backside had turned to me and I watched her bare feet sink deeper in the sand. She had turned her head, but only slightly. I was so transfixed on her form that I hadn't noticed her eyes gazing at me, daunting me.

It was an invitation, and from that moment I decided that I had wanted to be lost in her, but not in the way the guys had. I wanted her mentally, physically, and emotionally. I wanted to drink her in so that I could nourish my soul. I just wanted her. But she wasn't what her mama made her out to be. They said that her mother said she was poised, and carried around an air of dignity. That her gait was soft and slow and she was a homebody. Boy, did they lie. I received none of that when I met her the second time. Her eyes were devoid of life around her mother, as if she was tired of hearing her mother dote on her. My mother's comments never bothered me, nor did I make it a habit to stop her. Her comments were filled with love, and appreciation. Mildred's mother's comments made it seem like she was reading her accomplishments from an obituary. It was then and there that I decided to save her from them, her parents, but she had other plans.

That night, she attempted to familiarize herself with my body, while I desired to familiarize myself with her mind. I wanted to get inside of her head, because none of the boys ever bragged about knowing what her favorite color was or what made her tick. But I did, and I was surely proud of it. That was when I decided to dedicate myself to her, and no one else. Not until I knew what made her burn inside and what needed to be done to put out the fire.

It was a fire running ablaze in my mind when I felt it. It was a small touch, a quick hand to the shoulder to make one acknowledge your presence in passing. It was her, she was walking past me, but her head had looked back to make sure she had caught my attention. There was a smile of knowing on her face and a small one formed on my face, but it was a sad smile. I had expected more, for her to come in and wrap her arms around me and tell me again to give it time, but that's what I got. Time, I chanted in my head. I didn't spend any more time than necessary while I watched her disappear to the back. She looked pretty today. She had twisted back the sides of her hair to gather at the back, while the rest hung. She wore an off the shoulder bohemian shirt that exposed the browns of her shoulders. Many would not have noticed, but I caught sight of the dark markings that marred her shoulder, stretch marks. My eyes traveled down to the black leggings she was wearing, that disappeared into the brown heeled boots. They kumped with each step she made, and accented the sounds the bangles made that adorned her wrists. Yea, she looked pretty today.

It was a beautiful day outside. Fridays were my day off, if I had ever had a week day off. They came in went, never being something permanent. When they were I would hop into the SUV and gather the kids and make a play date like we would do years back. I would sometimes surprise them at school, saying they had a doctor's appointment when really I missed seeing the faces of my children. Those days usually resulted in Mildred caring about their attendance in school and our bellies full of ice cream. Now that they were older, my heart longed to have some type of company from anyone. Today was no different. The last time I had seen Mildred's face was when she appeared at the divorce meeting about a week ago. I sighed, and moved to leave. The croissant had been long gone and the coffee had died. I guess I wasn't going to get what I came for.

I moved to tuck in my chair, when I felt another hand on my back. My head jolted to see her arm retreating back to her side and a smile still on her face. But she was moving, and she was moving fast. She made sure however, to speak.

"Hi, Ken." She was confident in saying hi, but my name had fell from her lips in a whisper. I watched those lips form into a smile as she moved out the door. I had become transfixed again and my body had upped its speed. I bid the associates a farewell before I was walking, almost jogging out the door to catch up to her. Her hips were swinging in a brisk walk to get up the slope of the hill. I followed those hips up it.

"Jamica." I didn't want to seem frantic in the coming and going traffic. I recognized that we were surrounded by people who deemed themselves to be classy, so I slowed my gait and raised my voice a little louder.

Her head moved to the side, as if she thought she heard her name, but she kept it moving. One thing I could give her, was that she walked pretty damn fast.

"Jamica!" I hollowed out my voice so that it could reach her. I watched as she continued to walk but slowed her gait, just so she could peer behind her. The confusion that was etched in her face quickly disappeared at seeing me. Instead, it was placed with a smile. I did that. Before turning to approach me, her steps faltered and she glanced down at the watch on her hand. I watched her sigh heavily, as if she was debating something heavy inside of her mind. I took the time to walk slowly to her, giving me more time to study her frame. I stood a good six foot two on a good day when I wasn't slouched over a computer. On my best days I was an inch taller. Many days I walked hunched with my hands in my pocket, as if I was fending off the rain. It was a bad habit of mine. One that I had yet to pay for.

That's how I had stood when I came to a stop in front of her. The sun wasn't hot out today, giving her the excuse to not wear her jacket. Instead, it gave her an excuse to shield her eyes from the impeding light just so she could look at me.

"Hey honey." A smile played at her lips, and all I could do was look down at her. I couldn't remember the last time somebody had called me honey, but I was damn sure it didn't sound as nice. The word made it hard for me to breathe, and I smiled back at her. When I didn't respond, her hand went out to grab forearm and she began talking.

"Are you feeling better?" I fixed my eyes on something else at that question. I was never one to lie so I wasn't going to start now. I had still yet to come to accept and process the changes that were happening in my life. Instead of explaining it to her, I casted my gaze on her.

"Yea, I'm getting there. Thank you for asking. And thank you-" She held up her hand to stop me, and I laughed. I knew why that hand was up.

"Ken, I told you in the car. You will never," she paused, just as a car had rounded the corner to enter the parking lot of the chain of stores. That small movement had brought her closer to me and I caught a whiff of scent. She smelled like a flower musk again, like she had been laying in a field of daisies all day.

"Have to apologize to me. I was an interruption in your life when I shouldn't have been. I did my duty of offering you for what you needed and in no way, shape, or form did I feel as if you were burdening me. Okay?"

Upon hearing her words, my head had moved to peer down at her. She no longer shielded her eyes from the sun, but instead allowed the rays to dance across her face. And as she spoke to me, I had decided she was an angel. Because only an angel would do something without wanting something in return, or because they feel they are pressured into doing it. Many a times I felt this way with Mildred. But Jamica, no, not with her.

Her big, brown eyes blinked up me, waiting for an answer. There was no rush in her eyes, as if she demanded an answer. Instead, she gave me time, and I liked that. For the five seconds that she gave me her soul I searched it. Her windows were wide open and I took the chance to fall gracelessly in. All of a sudden I had the dire urge to know what she was about, and the need to know ate at me like never before. Instead of agreeing with her, I diverted the attention away from me.

"How was your day?" The hand that had been wrapped around my forearm fell. She was waiting for an answer until that moment. When I asked the question she immediately released her gaze from me, along with her touch. Coldness had filled the spot where her fingers once were.

For a moment, I expected her to not answer or me, or if she did, give me such elaborate details that would force me to understand how exhausting it had been. She caught herself before sighing, and instead scrunched her eyebrows and smiled at me. "There are always better days, right?"

To say I admired her would have been an understatement. Even when I felt down in the ugly, I never thought of my better days, because all of them seemed like a dooms day. In all my life I had never saw the good in bad, and in one day, she had changed my way of thinking.

I took her admission as an opportunity to know more about her than her name and that she worked at a bakery.

"Would you like to talk about it?" I saw her hesitation. It was the same hesitation that had danced across her face the day I had beckoned for her to get into my car. I glanced down briefly to see her knee bend, and she took a step away from me. I was losing her, and the thought scared me. I needed the company right now.

"I would love to but I have to catch the-"" Her eyes traveled down the sidewalk in the direction of the bus stop she had previously stood at it. To catch her attention I thought of the only thing I could think of.

"Ice cream." Her head snapped back to me and she shook her head in wonderment.

"Huh?"

"Do you know that ‘huh' is not considered a word?" I watched her smile push her cheeks up to greet her eyes. I loved that face. I loved her face. And before it could be stopped, the atmosphere was being filled with her laughter again. It was a small, boisterous laugh. It was enough to warm my life. Through her giggles she managed to talk. "Says who?" Her words sounded more like, "cez hoo?" Her voice never ceased to sound like a melody to me every time she talked. I grinned. She had took a step toward me again, and again, my nostrils were invaded by her scent.

"Webster." Her grin widened at my answer and she shook her head and looked away. But the smile was still on her face.

"What?" I became inquisitive. Especially when she refused to meet my eyes through my intense gaze. I just wanted her eyes on me.

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. But her eyes looked back to me, and her lips toyed with a smile. It was then that the wind decided to blow, bringing her shirt to flow in the direction of my person. I don't know what I was thinking, but I took that moment to reach my fingers out, and tugged on the hem of her shirt. The movement didn't break her gaze, and I was glad for it. It had been one of the most intimate moments I had had in a long time. I had only touched her shirt, but my fingers felt on fire because I was touching a part of her.

"I never thought you to be a smartie." I grinned. Who used the word smartie anymore? Nonetheless, it did to me what the rest of her words had. I had let the shirt fall, because the urge to tug her body to mines had become too much. I hadn't wanted to scare her away, so I decided to let her go.

"What did you think of me then?" It was a simple question. One that could have been answered simply, but it was a loaded question. I searched her eyes to tell me what she had thought of me. This was my third time seeing her in my entire life and I wanted to know her opinion about me. I needed to know what she thought of me, especially since we had shared a moment together. She knew nothing of my marriage except from what she could derive from the mangled words that filled my car. She's gone seemed to be the only words I could say. Even after I had lain there in the silence, my cheek resting against her chest, and my hand gripping her shoulder, she did not ask me a question. And for that I was forever grateful.

She didn't shrug her shoulders this time, only blinked up at me with the truth in her eyes.

"You're a man. But before you are man, or a husband, or a father, you are a human being." She looked away then as the winds whirled again, but her lips were still moving. It was hard to catch, as if she didn't want me to hear it in the first place.

"I think somewhere along the way you forgot that you were a human being," She shrugged her shoulders then, and moved closer to me, conquering what little reserve I had left to not touch her. My fingers moved to once again play with the hem of her shirt that fluttered.  "That we are all human beings." I mouthed the words back to her. She smiled, then nodded. Before I could register what was happening, the fabric of her shirt was slipping through my fingers and she was walking away. I believe that she had told me she needed to catch the bus, but my mind had been lost to those words. I had wanted her to stay, almost begged for her to stay, but she was gone, already making her way further up the hill. It was there that she left me, thinking, we are all human beings. 

"Why?"

We were sitting at the dinner table in our house. It was spring break for the kids, and instead of going off to celebrate almost another finished year of school, I had managed to wrangle them in for a couple of days. I refused to tell them as soon as they stepped foot in the house, and instead decided to fatten the pig before I slaughtered it. The first two days I took them and we did things that in a million years, we would have never tried doing again. I even invited Mildred for the days out, but her calling me a bitch was evidence enough that she was still bitter about the divorce.

At first her bitterness bothered me. I still felt guilty that I caused the darkness that lurked behind her eyes. It took me a drunken night visit from her to realize that it had always been there. The incessant knocking had disturbed me from my sleep and had me tripping down the steps. I was in a lethargic haze, having gotten no sleep the night prior because I had a presentation due the next day. I had spent the day presenting it, then the afternoon and evening tightening up some lose ends with the lawyer. There had been a bit of an issue because the lot of land that I had bought to put the house on was paid off for, and in my name. The house that was built on the lot of land was in both of ours, although I paid the bills. There were two choices we were faced with, either she gave me the title of the house, and I continued as I had for all these years and paid it off. Or I signed over my rights to her and allowed her to have the house. That very day we had contacted her lawyer and her and presented them with the most reasonable of the options.

I knew what her response would be before we sent her lawyer the documents. I didn't expect her to be banging on the doors of the house at two o' clock in the morning. I had walked blinded through the kitchen in a hurried fashion. I hadn't bothered to check who was outside, in my mind it could have been the police telling me that one of my kids had been kidnapped or murdered. I hadn't expected Mildred to be slumped against the door, barely standing with a Coke 40 in her hands and a cigarette in the other. She hadn't bothered to step in, but instead allowed the cool night air to seep in and chill my toes. She knew I hated smoking, but didn't make an effort to put it out as the smoke slowly traveled to the openings of my nose. Once I blinked the crust from my eyes I waited for her to say something, especially because there was a high chance she woke our neighbors with her drunkenness.

"Mildred." My raspy voice reached her ears. I saw the reaction in the twitch of her jaw. I perused her being. Her clothes were disheveled, as if somebody had been grabbing on them, and her hair was limp and greasy as if it hadn't been washed in days.

I was unsure of what to do. If I allowed her to step foot back into the house I risked the chance of her presence affecting me, and turning me into that lovesick puppy dog again. I was scared at how much power she had wielded over me, and now that I had to chance to break those chains I didn't want anything to mess that up.

"Mildred." The response was immediate but she made no move to look up. Instead, her lips moved and her voice reached my ears in a cracked whisper.

"Mildred, I don't have time for this right now. Either you tell me what you want or you-""

"Why do you hate me?" The question had me stumbling back, as if she had struck me. But she remained there, unbothered, unmoved. It was then that she lifted her head up and I saw it. I wasn't expecting it, but it was there. Her eyes were red rimmed, as if the Grim Reaper himself had sucked the soul out of her. Her lids hung low, and there was slobber sitting at the edge of her mouth. We watched each other. I hadn't noticed it at first, but the longer she watched me, the more my hand inched closer to my heart to cover it, as if I was saying the pledge of allegiance; as if to protect it.

It was then that I decided I pitied her, and there was nothing more that I could do for her. It was heart breaking, to hear her screams at the door as I told her to go back to Bonnie, and to get some rest. There came the beating again, and the curse of my name. Her shrieks and pleas had me faltering in my step, only to stop at the counter's edge. It was a moment of truth, one that tried it damnest to test what little sanity I had left. They had turned into moans and groans against the door, and my name spilled from her lips.

"Ken... Please... why? Don't you love me?" I could have turned around, opened up the door, and allowed her to drag me down and tell me how much she was sorry. I could have told her I did love her, and reassure her that I would always love her. But then I remembered that there were times where I would cry myself to sleep, and wake up with tear stains on my face. She would sit there, she would watch me, but never did she make an attempt at reminding me that love was not dead. Comfort was not the name of her game. I love you had been words lost at sea, abandoned, lonely, and without any hope that they could be found. They were words that frequently came out of my mouth, but she, she never made an attempt to utter those words back. Even after she did decide she wanted to get that cherry red lipstick smudged, and her pussy wet, I never heard those words. It was something that I searched for in her, and ultimately, I was left in a deeper hole than the one I had dug myself out of.

So yea, I could have said I loved you back, but somewhere in my misery I decided that I needed to love myself more than I loved her. And the best way to show her my love, was to show her my retreating back.

The kids had noticed her absence. It wasn't something unusual, but they had come to comment that her absence was more than what it should have been. It was then that I didn't want to keep anymore secrets from my family. I was set on a path to finding what went wrong in my family, what went wrong in me, and all that started with the lies. For a long time I lied to myself, stuck in a constant state of denial that everything was alright, and if it wasn't alright then it would be. It shattered what belief I had in myself in the long run and my ability to sanely be secure in myself and the decisions I made regarding my family.

It was where I drew the line. I didn't want the lies and secrets that were held between my wife and I affect the relationships that my kids would come to have with other people. Unfortunately, I could not guarantee to stop that, but I could make sure to express to my kids that I didn't want them to make the same mistakes that their mother or I did.

"Dad?" Georgie's big eyes were full of hope as she studied my face. Bud sat with his head held in his hands, and Luke sat beside her waiting for my answer. His eyes were expectant, as if to see what I would tell them, and how I would say it. For a moment I considered telling them everything, but that would force me to go back to the days before them, when I idolized their mother more than the Good Lord Jesus Christ himself. But those words didn't spill from my mouth, instead I just sat there, with my mouth gaping open, then closing as if I was a fish gasping for air. And in some way I was gasping for air. I was waiting for something to revive me, and give me the very life that was leaving me.

So I left them. "Ask your mom." It was the only thing I could get out through the thumping of my heart and the heat that traveled to my trembling in my hands.

"Dad!?" It was Bud's voice. His was the strongest. It was like mines, deep, precise, demanding attention, But I couldn't give him that attention. My savoir came in the form of Luke. His soft voice was heard between the door slamming behind me. "You heard him. Ask mom."

How could I do that to my children? Tell them that we had been playing house for twenty years. That the perfect image of their mother was nothing more than a façade. Behind her thick curtain of eyelashes, and beautiful smile were eyes filled with no redemption and a mouth full of lies. And their father, he allowed the marriage to continue for this long, but he was a coward. He never moved to end the thing that was hurting him the most. How could he tell them that he still hated himself? He couldn't. He was too embarrassed too. The wounds were still tender, they were still raw.

And that's the state I was in while I drove my car to her. A mixture of raw emotion and drunken sadness. The type of sadness that frightened me and drowned me in my own misery. And that's what I wanted in that very instance, to float among a body of water and experience what it would have felt like to be free of life. But I was no coward. I was no goddam coward.

 The parking lot was empty, but it didn't deter me from pulling in. I crossed the expanse of the parking lot just so I could peak in to see if she were there. There she was, and a sigh that almost crippled me traveled through my body. I wanted to appear relaxed, and in a calm state, but the urge to hit something and cry was too strong. I was lost, and too scared to admit it. So I drove my car around to the back and parked along the side. She had to come this way to get to the bus stop, I knew she had. And if she didn't, I was still going to look for her. The last time I saw her was when she left me standing on the corner, lost in a state of wonderment and amazement. That's what she did to me. I wanted her to do it again.

It had only been ten minutes, and my heart felt like it was going to explode. It showed in the drumming of my fingers against the steering wheel and my constant sighs. I didn't want her to see this, so I cut the car and got out. It felt nice outside tonight, a little chilly, but nice nonetheless. I took the weather as a good sign. The breeze of the wind calmed me down, but not enough to calm down my pacing. I paced from the taillight of the car to the headlight, in long deliberate strides. I kept my eyes on the ground and my hands in my pocket.

And that's how she found me. Broken, and on the verge of a mental breakdown. The sound of my name jolted me in my step and I released another sigh. She saved me. When I didn't answer her, she called out my name again, in the softest tone that she could muster. I couldn't turn to her, because in those five minutes of pacing I had thought to do something that would end all of this.

"Ken, please, are you okay?" I heard the shwush her jacket made as me moved towards me. She smelled like bread today. I liked it. I nodded my head. I liked her. But that didn't stop me from side stepping her and opening up my car door. The movement came in a hurried fashion, one that surprised her, but didn't deter her. I didn't mean to do this. To drag her poor soul into my mess, and for that, I felt selfish. But was it selfish of me to want to experience something new again? Whether it be the smell of bread and flowers, to the red that sat underneath the browns of her chubby cheeks? Yes it was wrong. Because she was still a stranger. I was still a stranger. But that didn't stop her. I saw the confusion in her eyes transform into concern, then persistence. I was trying to get away from her, to stop myself before any more of this could make my head explode, but she was chasing me.

So I stopped trying to run. She had positioned herself in the open space of my car, with her purse, apron, and bag of bread cradled in her arm, while the other arm pushed back against the door to allow her to come in. And boy did I welcome her. She was something soft to the hardness that was being built beneath the surface of my skin. It poured and dripped all the way to the center of my body that nursed my broken heart.

"Ken, I am not going to ask you what is wrong, nor am I going to make you tell me. But there is something wrong. And you came here for a reason, sweetheart. You came to me for a reason, and I cannot let you leave like this. Look at you," my eyes were closed but I felt it way more than I needed to see it. The brush of what I assumed to be the pad of her thumb, removed any trail of tears that had stained my face. The touches came in brisk, small, strokes, as if she made sure to leave no evidence at the crime scene. I smiled.

"There we go." I heard her voice relax, and I too softened the tension that had cause my shoulders lift. That was the first time I had smiled all day. I opened my eyes, but didn't look at her. My movements were swift, as it was clear what I wanted. I looked back at her face to not see it of hesitation, but of curiosity.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"No." She had yet to make a move to get into the car.

"Okay. Get in." The timing was great. Just as she had gotten in, the back door of the bakery swung open and out walked the rest of her coworkers.

"You know you should ask these types of questions before you invite people into your car." She chuckled at the end, and I shook my head. She was right, but in some way, I decided I trusted her. It wasn't dark in the car, but there also wasn't much light. The only thing that gave us a source of it were the passing street lights. The very ones she had her eyes glued to as we drove.

"You can take me to the bus-""

"Ice cream." I knew it was coming, her quick way of getting to that bus stop. I knew that she didn't have a car right now, and I also knew that on most days the bus was her mean of transportation. But I didn't want her to leave. For a moment I just wanted to be taken out of my life and placed into somebody else's. I don't think she realized yet that I needed her right now more than she would ever need me, so I interjected her.

She didn't ask me why, or what ice cream parlor we were going to that was opened at this time of night, nor did I tell her.

"Okay." That was her answer. I nodded my head. Her being in my car, allowing me to kidnap her only for a while, slowed my heart rate. I exhaled deeply. It reminded me that life didn't have to be so complex, and that in more ways than one, life could be simple. She seemed simple. I liked it. I liked her.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-three." My brows scrunched together. She was a year older than Bud.

"Are you serious?" A light laugh filled the car. I was still confused. She looked to be about five feet. Her eyes were big, and expressive, and her face a nice round shape. She looked seventeen, almost a good ten years younger than what she looked. When I looked at her again, her eyes had closed, and she had lazily allowed her head to relax against the headrest.

She never answered me, but nonetheless I believed her. But I wanted to hear her voice more than live through the silence. I decided a long time ago that I had had enough of that at my house.

"Aren't you going to ask me my age?" A part of me wished she had sat in the back. It would have been easier to focus my eyes on her. The road we were taking was a straight one, which allowed me more freedom for my eyes to roam.

"It doesn't matter." I hadn't expected that answer. We weren't dating, we weren't friends, and we were still strangers. But these were things that strangers asked each other within the first few interactions. At least that's what I had thought, but I was curious as to why.

"The only thing your age defines is how slow, or fast your body is going to take to shut down on you before you die of old age. That is it," I watched her shrug her shoulders slowly, then open her eyes. She caught me looking at her, but I had moved my eyes back to the road. The red in my cheeks were evidence enough in my bashfulness.

"Remember, you're still a human being. We are all human beings." She repeated the phrase as if she was trying to convince herself more than me, and I wondered who had made her feel like she was nothing less of one. Whoever it was, they failed to realize that she was no human being. She was a goddam angel.

We ended up at the Cookout. She had protested at my attempts to buy her a milkshake with her hand glued to the door handle, but I had beat her and locked the door. She laughed. I smiled.

We had parked in the abandoned KFC stationed in the nook below the Cookout. I had ordered a plain vanilla milkshake and held it in my hand while she slowly sipped on hers.

"Thank you." I watched her drink. The words fell from her lips and so did a puff of cold air. She hadn't noticed me watching her but when she did, she immediately lowered her drink and turned her face towards the window.

"Don't do that." My eyes stayed on her. She had her hair French braided back, with the hat pinned to her head.

"Do what?" I knew what I was doing. I wanted the heat to flood her cheeks the way they flooded mines. Before she answered her eyes quickly moved to my face, then back again. A soft groan came at the end. I chuckled.

"You know what you're doing silly. I dislike it very much when people stare at me." Its only because you're beautiful. That's what I had wanted to tell her, but took a sip of my milkshake to stop the words. The air in the car was filled with nothing more than the slurping sounds we occasionally made when we drunk our drinks. I was focused more on gaining her attention, while she was focused more of diverting it.

But I was not one to be dissuaded, especially when I craved more. "Why did you get in the car with me?" It was something that had been sitting in my mind since the first time she was in the car. Again, I could have been a killer, a wanted man, another Charles Mason, but she climbed into the SUV anyways.

"If you're insinuating that I should not have gotten into the car with you because I don't know you, you are wrong." She had stopped drinking the milkshake, and her voice had quieted. She was right, I was wrong, but the need to hear that she trusted in me burned too deep in my heart, so I only just shook my head and stared out the window.

"But I know hurt when I see it. And you looked like you wanted to die," Her breath caught on the word and I turned my head to watch her. Her eyes were downcast, and for a moment I thought she was crying. My fingers burned to touch her, but I stayed put. I waited, because I knew there was more.

"No, I don't know you from Adam, but I help people. That's what I do, then they are out of my life." She said those last words as if they saddened her. I took notice. It was a tone that I never wanted to hear again.

 "I believe there is a reason for everything. There is a reason that she is gone, and more than likely not coming back. There is a reason you stopped to pick me up that day and you apologized as if you had to. There is a reason why I am sitting in the car right now trying to convince you that you are only human. And because you are only human, and she is only human, and I am only human means that we are all going to make mistakes. We are going to take risks, Ken,"

My name was breathless in her throat. I had maneuvered my eyes to watch the rise and fall of her chest, and waited. "Ken, I want you to understand that I will take all the risks in the world if it meant saving a person's soul."

My hands had been shaking. I had not known it till she placed her cold fingers atop mines. Her touch quieted the storm that was brewing inside of me. Because here she was, a person I didn't know from Eve, willing to help me where I had not asked her, but needed it. She signed herself to me without hesitation. I was flabbergasted, I was confused. My heart raced. Is this what it feels like to have somebody for you? Truly? I repeated the question over and over in my head, even when I looked into her brown eyes that studied me, waited for me. So I confessed to her as if she was God himself.

"I was going to kill myself tonight." The words came out low, as I didn't want to tell her in the first place. Her small fingers were gripping my longer ones. She made no move to show she had heard me. But I didn't wait for her response.

"It was a fleeting thought in my head. It came and it went, but that's what I had wanted. How do you survive when all that you needed has been taken away from you? All that you have ever lived for has died? I lived for her. I fucking breathed for her. And she cheated on me."

It was the last sentence that made her move. Her fingers tried to unwind themselves from the clasps of mine but I held on. "Please," I whispered. My eyes were on the steering wheel. She had turned her body to face me. Her fingers relaxed in my open palm, and I allowed them to lay there.

"For years I struggled to find the truth in her lies. Then all of a sudden, they weren't lies anymore. My wife decided to no longer hide her affairs, and they became my reality. Each night she fell into our bed, I fell into a state of distraught misery. I wanted to die," I choked on my words and I felt her shift, but I grabbed her hand again. I needed this.

"Let go." I refused to, she seemed to be the last lifeline. I gripped her fingers tighter.

"Ken, let go." Her voice wasn't hard, nor was it desperate. I released her hand at the same time I released the lazy tears that rolled down my face. I turned my head. I couldn't meet her eyes. I was ashamed. I was mad. They never wrote a book for dummies on how to get over your cheating wife. There weren't codes for how to heal a broken heart. But there were people.

And they came in the form of Jamica. I heard the clank of the chair before I felt her body. It was an awkward position, but she managed. I allowed her arms to wrap around my head. Without notice my head was cushioned between the tops of her breast and thickness of her arms. We had abandoned any sense of boundaries. She had reached over the thick rest that separated us, and stood on bended knees. I could feel her breathing on my hair and I shuddered at the contact. My hand reached to grip the fabric at the side of her bosom. I didn't care. She didn't care. She pressed me closer to her and began to rub the muscles in my upper back.

It felt like home. I felt safe, but only for the moment. "I don't want to go home." It was a plea against the softness of her chest. Her shirt had long become wet with tears and our milkshakes had been long forgotten. I closed my eyes and breathed. She sighed.

I didn't expect her to answer. At my words her hand had stilled, and her head had gone from resting atop mines to her chin grazing the tops of my hair. My fingers trembled at her side as I waited for her response. I had not expected none but at the stillness of her touch I knew there was one coming. So I closed my eyes, and waited.

"Okay." It was the quietest whisper against my hair but I heard it. I opened my eyes slowly and stared at the light pole that shined its light towards the street. And then I sighed a sigh of satisfaction, as if I had been waiting for that moment all along. It was when she kissed the top of my head, that I knew I wasn't going to go home that night. 

8:36 PM Bud: Dad, I don’t know what’s going on but Georgie’s upset and Luke won’t tell us fuckin shit. You aint been picking up your phone.
7:51 PM Georgie: Dad? I asked mom. She was drunk. Please, what’s going on?

Now Mom: You r tryin to ruin our family. Fuck you.

I sighed. Mildred never failed to ruin my mood. A part of me wanted to change my number altogether so I wouldn’t have any contact with her. Then I thought, why do I have to change my life because she couldn’t get her shit together? It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. But Jamica had reminded me that things weren’t going to be fair.

We had arrived at her apartment not ten minutes later. The chill of the night had crept into my bones, and clouded my nose, causing me to sniffle. She thought it was cute. I smiled.

The lights to her apartment was stationed about twenty feet away from the door. She explained that the light in the entryway had blown and they had yet to fix it. I had full intentions of standing by the door, staring at the only hint of light, a blue power button that I later learned belonged to printer. It blinked at me, and I waited. When she saw that I wasn’t following, I heard her light footsteps retreat back to me. In the dark I had felt her hand bump against my hip, then move to gently grab my shirt. It was then that my heart decided it was going to spit fire in my chest. She had to stop touching me. I heard her mumble sorry, then loosely grab my index and middle finger.

“I know this apartment like the back of my hand. You don’t. I wouldn’t want you to trip and fall and sue me for what I don’t have.” She laughed at the end in jest, and I smiled. She could have hit me with a car on purpose and I still would not have sued her. She was no Mildred, that much I had come to recognize.

“Stay,” Her fingers disconnected from mines and my arm fell to my side as if it weighed a ton. She had cut on the living room lights then hurriedly rush past me in the direction of which we came. “Hold on darling. My room was not expecting company.” She was gone, but within ten seconds she had come back in a blur. Her sudden presence had caught me off guard. I traveled a bit to peer around the corner and admired the Christmas tree that sat in the corner of the apartment. It was March. I smiled. Her hand had found its way to the small of the back, while her other had grabbed my elbow in a gentle fashion.

“I’m being so rude. I’m so sorry,” She tugged me towards the sofa that sat up against the far right wall. I smiled. She was being so polite. “Here, let me get this.” I was about to protest, but her fingers were already grabbing the labels of my jacket. She stood in front of me, with determination in her face to make me feel at home. I allowed her to undress me. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed her. She took the jacket away from me and moved back around the corner. She had disappeared from my view but I heard her voice, clear as day.

“Honey? Do you want some water, tea? I don’t have coffee. Sorry. It’s something about it that makes me feel like my heart just sniffed crack,” I grinned. She was being a homebody. She was making sure I was comfortable when she had yet to remove her jacket or change out of her work clothes. I had bent my body forward, with my elbows stationed on my knees and my head hung.

It was a strange feeling I tell you, to have somebody look after simple things, like appeasing your thirst or taking your jacket. This is what my life should have consisted of. No, I didn’t want Mildred to look after me as if I was some child, but acted in some way like she cared, or showed that she put thought into my well-being. And Jamica was, doing things that Mildred hadn’t done in almost twenty years.

“Are you okay?” I had thought she disappeared into her room, to leave me alone, but she hadn’t and I was grateful. She came back with her braids hanging loosely around her body. She wore fuzzy socks on her feet, and a long sleeved, fitted tunic hung to the middle of her thigh. I liked the color. It was a rich coral. It complimented her skin. I complimented her skin.

She took notice of my appraisal, although it came out as a mumble, and I had averted my eyes. It was a simple statement. “It’s pretty.” I said it as if I was ashamed but she took it as if they were the most beautiful words. Her hands fluttered to the tunic, and I glanced up just in time to notice her pinch the side of the shirt.

“Why thank you honey.” Her smile made me smile, and I chuckled. It was cute of her to think I was talking about the shirt. If that’s what pleased her then I would allow her to do so.

“Come on,” She stretched out her hand towards me, and motioned for me to follow her. I was still in my hunched position, and eyed her hand as if it was an air of opportunity. There was something inside of me that told me I was entering her sanctuary. Where she slept, worked, bathed, and dressed. She was allowing me into her space. It was an intimate moment to me. I had not expected to take her hand, but I did. My figure trailed behind her, long and tall, as if I were more her body guard than her acquaintance. 

“So this is where I hibernate.” She let go of my hand to peer back at me. “It’s not much but it’s mine, right?” She didn’t look back at me this time, but I nodded anyways. I admired hard working people.

Mildred probably held one job after we moved to North Carolina. I had recognized her fondness of anything cosmetic and suggested she try opening up something small out of home. Do a little hair here, a little makeup there, and she could have easily been bringing home three hundred dollars a week. It wasn’t much but it was hers, right? Wrong. It was too much. Those were her words to me over dinner, after the kids had been dismissed from the table and I had asked her how the clientele were coming. I’d rather be a housewife. Never again did I inquire about her desire to work, and she never approached me about it.  

There were hints of pink everywhere. Her bed sheets were pink with flowers. The comforter was a creamy white color with pink and purple flowers. On the wall there was a small pink board. It wasn’t an overload of the color. There were just the right amounts of other colors that balanced it out. I liked it. Alongside the wall she butterflies flew up the wall, and pictures of what I assumed to be her roommates and friends. One thing that caught my attention and held it, were the keys that hung on her wall. There had to be at least ten that hung. They all came in different sizes, and made from different elements. Upon closer inspection I realized that carved within each one, were different names. My hand moved across the largest key on the wall. It was hanging on aqua colored hook. The name Victor was carved in the most conventional way. It looked like it was carved by a third grader. But it was beautiful. They were all beautiful.

“That’s my daddy’s.” She had startled me. The key clanked against the wall upon my release. She had been gone into the bathroom five minutes before. Claiming if I had to pee she had to de-girl it so she wouldn’t freak me out over the pile of panties that littered her basket. I assured her it was okay, but it was her determination to respect me. I respected that.

I didn’t ask her why, or how, but she decided to explain anyways.

“He killed himself.” She was whispering again. I turned my head to see her turn her head towards the lamp that was sitting on the desk. I studied her. In the light her eyes appeared sadder than what she shown. She crossed her arms on her chest then shrugged.

“Almost all of them killed themselves.” I stepped back from the wall. Had she known all of these people?

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She tried to smile at me, but I saw the light that had fallen from her eyes. It landed somewhere on the floor, in the same place my happiness had.

“You didn’t. I promise you didn’t. It was just, unexpected.” She shrugged her shoulders again and I wanted to grab her. I wanted her to feel more than whatever caused her eyes to water and her lip to tremble. So I said the first thing that came to my mind.

“Thank you.” She looked as if she had been lost in thought. Her head still faced the light, but upon my appreciation she looked back to me. I caught her attention. I didn’t want it anywhere else but me. I knew that look. It was the same look I had found lurking behind the hazel of my eyes. It was one of sorrow. It was one of pain.

But I made her smile again. She looked grateful that I was thankful, as if she didn’t mind taking home a complete stranger and making him feel like he had been living there his entire life.

“Honestly, I don’t think I was going to let you go home,” She took a step towards me. I braced myself. “And I know this all weird, to say the least. Because we don’t know each other, and if my roommates were to walk in right now and see you—“”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” I hadn’t meant to ask her that. Whatever she was saying had been lost in my mind as it filled with the image of her eyes roaming to anything other than my face and her round lips moving at a faster pace than my mind could process. I couldn’t help it. She seemed perfect. Like she did have a boyfriend, or at least somebody who knew how to kill the monsters that went thump in the night and knew the secrets to her heart. She just had to.

Her laugh caught me off guard. The question wasn’t funny, or at least I didn’t think it was funny. She was just beautiful. And beautiful people like her always belonged to somebody else. She didn’t answer me, and I had expected it. I was peeping into her life without permission, and had come across as rude. I didn’t apologize, however. I would never apologize for wanting to soak her in.

The room was big enough to house a recliner. It was wide enough that two of me could have comfortably slept in it. I hadn’t expected me to stay, something I expressed to her. She knew that. She never expected me to, but there was something in her eyes that made me tell her I wanted to stay. I knew what an empty room felt like. I knew what sadness felt like in the dead of the night when it consumed your body more than sleep had. So I stayed. The recliner was to become my home. She tried to convince me to take her bed, while she slept on the recliner but I refused. This was her home, not mines.

We had spent three hours talking. In that time I had learned nothing about her, while she learned everything about me. She seemed to not like to talk about herself. It made me suspicious, but I relented and told her the things that mattered. I had three kids that came out of a broken marriage to Mildred. I had explained to her what our marriage had become. How our home became a house, and how our children basically raised themselves.

We were in the dark, but she decided to cut off the light and allowed the light from the bathroom to shine through. I had been staring at her. Her eyes only closed briefly, but when she opened them, they were met with mines. Somewhere behind her sleepiness, I saw it. It was a flicker, but it was alive. She understood the happenings of my life. She only opened her eyes to let me see that she understood. And just like that they were closed again. She no longer held her head up to watch me talk. I’d yet to make myself comfortable. The sense that I was invading her personal space was too strong, but she didn’t mind. She chided me a couple of times to relax, that she wasn’t going to bite me. And I trusted her.

That’s how she left me. Her breathing evened out to sighs, and the muscles in her body relaxed. She slept with two comforters, but decided to give me the bigger one to accommodate me in the chair. I had yet to make myself comfortable. I was so transfixed on watching her that my phone went unnoticed. The door to her room wasn’t unlocked, and I tried my hardest to not make a sound. She looked peaceful. I wanted to keep it that way. 

I never cared too much for cellular devices. The only things they brought me were high bills and nagging children. It was one o’clock in the morning. I cleared the calls from Luke and Bud, and read through the text messages. I would get back to them in the morning. Out of the three, Luke was more levelheaded. He knew how to hold down the fort and I trusted him in his ways. It was the last text that gave me pause. It took away energy that I fought to keep. Instead of focusing on the text, I unconsciously groaned and leaned back in the chair.

I heard it. Her voice traveled to me soft and clear. It was filled with drowsiness and a sweetness that one could not deny. “Are you okay?” I cut off the bathroom light long ago, leaving us completely in the dark. I couldn’t make out her figure moving towards me, but I could make out the sounds. I didn’t want her to move, and disturb her life with my problems, but it seemed she wanted it like this. So I obliged, and gave her nothing less of me.

“Why can’t you be my wife?” My question stopped her movements and she fell back into the bed in a fit of giggles.

“Ken,” My name was light, and almost came out like a moan. I itched to touch her. “You wouldn’t want me as a wife…” I waited for her to finish, but soon realized her voice had been lost to sleep. A part of me sat there, watching her press her body into the mattress, and wished she would lose herself to me.