Chapter Fifteen
Turner
“Turner,” she says in a tired voice.
I place my hand on the wall for support for fear I am going to fall. After all this time, my wife is home. My feet take a few steps toward her and stop again. I can’t move. She’s right here only a few feet away from me, and I can’t seem to get my feet to fucking move toward her. I can only stand here and admire her, watching her breathe.
The covers are pulled completely up to her neck, but her blonde hair billows all around her, spilling halfway down her back. It looks several inches longer than the last time I saw her. I ease into the room a few more steps, close enough that I can smell her. Her natural scent is more intoxicating than the most expensive bottle of perfume made.
I inhale deeply, remembering it so well. I was afraid I would never again be able to draw in her beauty, feel the pleasure of burying my face deep into her hair after she has showered, smelling the strawberries from her shampoo, the fresh aroma of her skin after she has applied her favorite lotion; lose myself in her uniquely exotic essence as it clung to our sheets and pillows. My hand reaches out, laying my palm gently on her hip.
“Clove.”
She shudders.
“It’s really you,” she chokes out, her voice cracking. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you, not once. I...”
She trembles under my hand as she begins to cry. I skim my hand ever so lightly across her hip, toward her stomach, my touch subtle. I splay my hand wide across her stomach, over the spot where she carried our baby not so long ago. The warmth of her skin through the thin cotton hospital gown scorches my own, burning with the desire to bring her into my arms and never let her go again.
“I’ve never stopped thinking about you either, Clove. You’ve been the only person on my mind and in my heart, always. We don’t have to talk. Just please, let me hold you. ”
Nothing can describe the way I feel when she scoots her body to the other side of the small hospital bed, giving me the room I need to climb in beside her. Not once taking my hand off of her, I slip off my shoes and pull the covers away with my free hand, catching a glimpse of the soft, creamy white skin of her spine through the opening in the back of the gown.
I’m so damn nervous to climb into this bed beside my wife. The thought pisses me off. Not at her, but at this whole fucked up situation we are in. I should never be afraid to hold my wife, to comfort her, or for her to comfort me.
I slip in silently beside her, pulling her back against me. I reach for her hand and entwine it with my own, resting them both back on her stomach.
Cuddling her like this, knowing it’s her in my arms, brings a smile to my face as I bury my face into her hair. Her body stiffens and I draw back, afraid that simple touch could detach her from me. Instead, she blows my mind. Keeping hold of my hand, she turns her body to face me.
When your heart is broken, it’s the saddest damn thing in the world. You can’t function, eat, or sleep. You have no desire to do anything.
But when the person you love more than anyone’s heart is broken, your brain rushes that love chemical straight to your own, giving you the desire to forget about your own damaged soul, to toss how you feel aside, and do everything in your power to fix theirs instead.
There’s no spark in her striking orbs. All I see is pain and suffering. Clove’s eyes were always so bright and full of life and now they are dull and full of the unknown.
It feels like someone has just struck me in my gut, gripped my throat, and tried to rip my heart clean out of my chest. She’s lost, she’s scared, and I have no clue what to do to help her. I can’t put myself in her shoes to try and begin to empathize, to understand what she has been through.
“It’s really you, isn’t it?”
All I do is nod, unable to form a sentence. I know she’s speaking to herself, to reassure herself that this is real. She has spent the last goddamn year with my brother, a man who looks exactly like me. Good God almighty, what have those monsters done to my wife?
I’m afraid to move, to break the barrier between the two of us. She seems to sense that in me, or maybe she needs the reassurance for herself, I don’t know. Her hand reaches up and touches my face, her fingers scraping across the rough stubble on my chin. She carefully traces the span of my lips, traveling up the bridge of my nose, across my forehead, and landing in my hair, where she begins to stroke my scalp, massaging it gently just like she used to do.
“I love you so damn much,” I whisper.
It’s the truth, the only thing I have wanted to say to her for so long, now. More tears slip from her eyes, and I have the sudden urge to wipe them all away, to never see her shed another one for the rest of her life.
I lay there and let her take me in, all of me. Her hand glides down and she places it over my heart, stilling it there. My heart speeds up, conversing with her hand through my thin t-shirt, hoping she can feel what it wants to say to her.
“I love you, Turner, and I’m so sorry. So very sorry,” she says at last.
To hear my wife struggling with her guilt is more than I can possibly take. In time we will deal with all of this, but right now, my lips crave hers. The first thing that runs through my mind when I incline my head slowly toward her is the first time I kissed her; how nervous I was to feel her soft lips against mine, to see if she would taste as sweet as she smelled, to feel the instant chemistry I felt the first day I saw her sitting across the room from me in one of the many classes we shared together in college. Now, her lips part just like they did that day, her eyes darting to my lips, mine lingering on hers.
“Turner,” she whispers.
“Shh. Don’t say a word. Just kiss me. Feel me. Breathe into me, baby.”
The longing to have my mouth on hers becomes unbearable. I need her as much as she needs me. Our mouths hover over each other’s, hesitant at first, but when she brushes those sweet, plump lips over mine, my craving to consume her mouth overtakes me.
Her lips part, welcoming me. I take her in, running my fingertips over her jaw, mesmerized by the way her full lower lip trembles at my touch. I search her features and am overwhelmed with the emotion I feel for her in this moment.
“I love you,” I say again before slowly tilting her head to take the kiss I crave from her.
It starts slow and easy so as not to push her after everything she's just endured. I taste her lips, wanting nothing more than to drown in her. As I dip my tongue against hers, I savor the gentle whimper that leaves her chest.
There isn't anything I wouldn't do to kiss her like this every day for the rest of our lives. I feel dizzy, faint, and so overcome with happiness that she is here. We watch each other. I don’t know what she sees; I can only hope she searches out the understanding, the acute awareness I feel, and knows that I don’t blame her for any of this.
If nothing else, she needs to know that. This brave woman of mine who has been through hell and back, had no choice. It may not make any sense at all to anyone but the two of us, but I love her and she loves me. Together we will overcome those who tried to taint that love and destroy us for their own selfish reasons.
The door of that room I have been trapped in has now been unlocked. All along, Clove has been the only one who had the ability to open it. Here in my arms lies the woman who I vowed to love and protect, and I promise her with this first kiss of re-acquaintance that nothing will ever come between us again.
************
For the past hour we have just been sitting here talking about absolutely nothing and everything at the same time. Neither of us has brought up the emotions I so easily notice in her eyes, or why she can no longer look at my face for more than a few seconds at a time. Instead of dealing with the elephant in the room we both know is there, we choose to ignore it.
She did try a few times to bring something up in conversation, but each time I quieted her with my mouth on hers. I’m not ready and I don’t believe she is, either. I know she feels the need to get things off of her chest, but not here. This is a topic we need to discuss in the privacy of our own home, which is another thing we need to talk over. The click of the door opening takes me out of my thoughts.
“Someone is hungry,” a woman’s voice singsongs from behind us over the screeching of the baby whose carrier she is lugging inside.
A radiant glow sweeps over Clove as she adjusts herself upright in the bed. I feel ten feet tall, excited as the nurse comes in closer and I see a tiny fist hanging in the air, waving back and forth.
“Is she all right?” I ask.
“Oh yes. She is perfectly all right. An angel, really. But she won’t drink out of the bottle we tried to give her. She wants her momma, don’t you, precious girl?”
She sets it down and lifts my daughter out.
“I just need to check your ID bracelet and make sure it matches hers first,” she says politely.
“Oh. Okay.”
Clove lifts her arm for inspection. The nurse checks and smiles down at the both of us.
My heart is expanding and I feel so damned lucky right now as I get my first glimpse of my daughter. She is dressed in a little pink t-shirt with matching socks. I sit still, the only thing I am able to move is my head as I watch the nurse hand our creation over to Clove. The minute she is in her mother’s arms, she stops her crying and looks around as if she is taking in everything around her. Her tiny head turns toward Clove’s breast.
“Um, do you have a blanket or anything?” Clove asks shyly.
“I do. Here,” she says, retrieving one from underneath the carrier she brought the baby in.
“I’ll leave the three of you alone for a while,” she says and turns to leave.
“Wait,” I blurt out. “Did the doctors say anything about her condition? I mean, is she healthy?”
Clove gasps from behind me.
“I just came on a few hours ago, Mr. Calloway. I will find someone who can answer those questions for you right away, okay?”
“I would appreciate that. Thank you.”
By the time I turn back around, Clove has the baby covered up and I can hear the sweet sound of her feeding, suckling on her breast.
“Hey.”
I place my hand under Clove’s chin and make her lift her gaze to mine.
“Don’t hide that from me. From here on out I want to witness everything, and that includes you feeding Journey.”
Her shoulders start to shake and I silence her with a finger to her mouth.
“It’s all right. Please let me see her, see you.”
She removes the blanket and there she is. My heart leaps with excitement, joy, and an abundance of happiness, because for the first time my little miracle girl is looking right at me with eyes the color of mine.
“You know her name?” Clove asks.
“I do. Zack told me. It’s the most beautiful name I have ever heard. It’s perfect for her. She’s perfect. And she’s ours.”
I place my hand on my daughter for the very first time, right over her heart.
“Hi, little Miss Journey Calloway. I’m your daddy.”