"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.