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Authors: Selina Bodur

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BOOK: Fighting the impossible
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Chapter five

 

February

Four and a half years earlier

 

Tara
woke up not because of the sun, peering through the curtains, but the aroma.
Cinnamon. The sweet smell lingered in the air, crawled to her nostrils,
entwined in her hair. She opened her eyes and looked at the alarm clock at the
nightstand – 7am.
“What the hell!”
 She was probably dreaming. She
turned, ready to snuggle down next to Peter’s warm body, but he was gone.

“Peter?!”
No answer. But today was Sunday, where could he be? This was their day and
usually they spent it in bed, enjoying every touch, laughing, making love till
falling asleep, exhausted, with bodies entwined. The tiny studio was the only world
they knew on Sundays and they didn’t need more. It was their escape island, the
only day they’d promised to spend together. And the first rule in their private
kingdom was: No early waking up! So, where was he in seven in the morning?

“Peter?!”
this time her voice was strain.

“I’m
right here,” he replied; the voice came from the kitchen area, “Give me a
minute!”

Tara
sat upright in bed and folded her arms. With her tousled hair, rosy cheeks and
sharp gaze, she looked like an enraged goddess, ready to strike.

“Peter!”

He peered
in from the kitchen and smiled. The emotions he felt towards angry Tara were
even stronger than those he had at Tara, who gave herself to him completely,
who would put her live in his hands. Peter smiled widely, figuring on the angry
flames in her eyes.

“Come
on now!” he was walking towards her with his hands up in a sign of peace. “I
made you coffee.” He sat beside her on the bed and stroked her cheek, then his
thumb rubbed her lips. She closed her eyes, the skin burning beneath his touch.

“Why
are you always getting away with things?” she sighed.

“Because
I know your secret,” he was so close, she stopped breathing.

“What
secret?” she barely whispered, looking up at him.

“If I
tell you, it won’t be a secret anymore,” he chuckled.

Tara
frowned slightly and tilted her head. “Hmm!”

He
laughed again.

“You
just can’t be angry with me for more than two seconds.”

“Maybe,”
she was studying him, touched the tip of his nose, the dimples, the lips…

“Is
this flour in your hair?!” she asked in surprise.

Peter
kissed her softly, only brushing her lips. His masculine scent was mixed with
vanilla, brown sugar, lemon peel and cinnamon.

“Are
you baking?” Tara drew back and looked at him in bewilderment.

“Have
patience!” he said teasingly then kissed her again, this time kindling the
desire deep inside her. She grumbled, her body seeking his.

“Not
now, love!” and although he was breathing rapidly, got up. “It’s time for
breakfast!”

Tara’s
instincts were screaming. Something was wrong, different that morning and she
narrowed her eyes. None of that was normal for their daily routine. They
usually lounged by noon, then she prepared some light snack. Moreover, Peter
was the one, who didn’t even let her drink her coffee in peace, touching her,
demanding a response, unwilling to be separated from her warmth, loving her.

“A breakfast?!”
Tara was already burning with curiosity. “Will you tell me what’s going on
here?” she prepared to get up, but he stopped her with a gesture.

“No,
no! Patience, love! I’m coming in a minute!”

“If
you have something to tell me, just spill the beans!” she pouted.

He
laughed out loud, entering the bedroom with a tray in his hands.

“Always
so straightforward and impatient! Relax!”

“Relax?!”
her voice rose a ton. “It’s Sunday, 7am, the day we spend as you squeeze the
life out of me while we make love. And today you’ve decided to bake cookies and
make breakfast! You’re in big trouble, mister! You know I hate to be buttered
up; and if you did something I need to know…” she suddenly got carried away,
realizing the meaning and importance of her words. He put the tray down and
gripped her hands.

“You
think I cheated!” there was disbelief in his eyes. “Look at me!”

She
did. His face radiated such tenderness and love.

“I
would never hurt you! Never! Do you understand? You…you are…” he was at a loss
of words. Peter took a deep, calming breath and continued. “I woke up today and
just watched you sleep peacefully, taking in the beauty that emanates from you
and I realized that… I want to wake up next to you every morning, to hold you
in my arms, to be an endless Sunday, to feel your love with every bone till the
rest of my life.” His eyes were burning feverishly and the words were trickling
down uncontrollably. Tara stood frozen, staring at him without blinking.

“So…,”
he continued, “I decided to improvise.” He took the plate of cookies and placed
it in front of her. She looked down confused. On a small pile of over baked
cinnamon cookies, stood an odd shaped one. Tara blinked.
“No way!”

“Is
that a ring?” she stopped breathing. He took gingerly the crispy piece of dough
and handed it to her.

“You
have to admit at least I tried!” he shrugged. “Tara, love, marry me!”

She
remained silent for a long time, lost in the blue of his eyes, searching for
the truth not in them, but in herself, trying to control the emotions and the
tears, burning in her eyes.

“I
will always,” she said, “follow you to the land of ‘No Mondays’, Peter…Pan!”
She laughed. “You’re the air without I wouldn’t be alive. You make me smile.
You know me. You drive me crazy! And you make me brimming over with joy,” she
stopped, “You love me. It’s that simple. And I don’t need more, a diamond ring
or a fancy wedding. I need you!” the tears were already overflowing. He gently
wiped one of them with his thumb; his hands were shaking slightly.

“Is
that a ‘Yes’?”

Tara
kissed him hungrily, greedy, her whole being was yearning to be a part of him,
to feel the joy that filled her.

“Yes!
Yes! Yes! I will always say ‘Yes’!”

He
pressed her to his chest; his hands were searching, caressing her, burning. He
was kissing every inch, promising security, trust, love. He was like the Earth
to her. And she loved him for it, and she would… always.

Crack!

***

The Day

It was
the most beautiful day, warm; the air was filled with the scent of wild flowers,
which was strange if you had in mind that Tara was standing in front of the
mirror in their small downtown apartment. They were happy here and didn’t see
any reason to move to the suburbs. Tara looked at the ring on her hand. Yes,
they were married, for twenty seven days, to be exact. Less than a year after
she met Peter her life was finally complete. Not quite. She put a hand on her
belly and smiled. Their wedding was beautiful and modest, barefoot on the beach
under the moonlight, which Claire was rubbing in at every opportunity. But Tara
wasn’t interested in a fancy reception; she cared only for her husband. He was
franticly preparing his suitcase, as always at the last minute, leaving on a
business trip for a week.

“So,
ready!” he zipped his luggage. “Come here!” Peter kissed her and held her
tight.

“I
miss you already!” she muttered.

“Hey,
I’ll be back before you know it! I promise you!”

“I’m
sorry I can’t come with you to the airport!” Tara’s voice trembled slightly.
Damn
hormones!

“Tara,
love, everything will be fine, you’ll see. I’ll call you when I get there.” He
grabbed her chin and lifted her face up, serene blue eyes peering into her
soul.

“I
love you! It’s only for a week.”

“I
know….just…listen, I know it’s bad timing, but I wanted to tell you something,”
she was looking for the right words.

He
placed an index finger on her lips.

“Save
it! You’ll tell me when I get back. It’ll be a surprise!”

She
hesitated.

“Well
then, surprise. At least I’ll pick you up when you return,” she tried to smile,
failing, not able to get of this gut-wrenching feeling.

“Okay!
I’m going. The cab is here,” he kissed her forehead quickly and reluctantly
released her, but she grabbed his forearm.

“I
love you!” she was staring intently in his eyes.

He
brightened up, rubbed her lips with his thumb and left.

But
Tara didn’t have to take him from the airport, because he never made it.

Chapter six

 

Present days

 

Final
crack and it was all done. Tara was on the ground, fingers buried in the moist
soil, lungs heaving, heartbroken.

“You
promised,” was like a moan “promised you’d be back!” The only thing they
brought her back was his broken body, his possessions, the watch, which she
gave him for their wedding with engraved “I will…Always” on the back. Months
after the crash she had been waking up in the middle of the night, drenched in
cold sweat, having flashbacks of that day.

Peter
getting into the taxi; the look on her assistant’s face, pale, when she told
her about the accident; the shock, the numbness; the hospital and the smell of
it, Claire’s eyes, blurry with tears and pain; the truth, hitting her; the disbelief,
the denial; his face, his once beautiful face crushed and bloody; the blood,
the blood on her hands. The impossible had happened.

Flash!
Flash! Flash!

She
writhed in pain with every flash. So, that was the feel of dying slowly and in
agony. It was over, he was gone and she was fatally wounded. She was fighting
it for so long, the truth, the pain, life.

“You
promised!” Tara cried. It was so hard for her to move on with her life, to wake
up alone in the empty bed. She came here every year just to try to fight the
nightmares of the last day, the last day of their fairytale. And finally she
had, with the price of her broken heart. A small angry spark welled up in her
chest, or maybe just a self-preservation instinct.

“You
lied to me!” she slowly stood up, leaning on the tree in front of her, the same
oak, where like centuries ago they’d danced, lost in their own cocoon of
happiness. But the bubble had burst and Tara was left alone. Peter took with
him everything – the joy, the laughter, her energy, her strength, her soul.

“You
said it will never end, but where are you now? Why the hell you left me alone!”
she exploded, “You’ve hurt me! Do you hear? It hurts so bad. Oh, God, please
bring him back to me! Peter!” The sound of his name had an effect on an
electric shock. “You’ve hurt me, Peter McClain, you hear!” The tears rolled
down her cheeks like tiny blood streamlets.

“I’m
so sorry, love!” the oak leaves were whispering. There was no other sound, but
their song. Tara opened her eyes.

“Yes,
you would say that. Love!” she paused, “I don’t know what to do, Peter. I
want…. I want to hold you one more time so badly, to feel your heart beating,
to breathe your scent. I want to tell you…” she stopped, “I don’t know how to
let you go, I don’t want to, but I have to, because of him. It’s so hard,
because every time I look at him I see you mirrored in his eyes, the same blue
eyes, your eyes. I have to be there for him, to love him without feeling like
someone is stabbing me, digging in my heart, bleeding it dry. And he is too
mature and serious for his fragile age, sensing my grief, my sorrow. I wish you
were here, Peter, to give me advice, to wipe my tears away and tell me that
everything will be okay. You would be so good at it – being a parent, as good
as being a lover, a husband, a friend. The best! I miss you!” she fell back
breathlessly to the ground. She craved to double up and stayed there motionless
till the Nature claimed her and transformed her into exquisite black rose. She
felt the blackness, the void in her soul, could almost touch it, as it was
permeated into every cell, defined her, and it had irrevocably changed her.
Tara wanted to remove the somber veil of sadness, to be again, to feel and
remember Peter, when he kissed her, smiling, when he loved her, not his broken
body. She didn’t know how, but she had to try, because of their son – Thayer. Her
breath had become shallow, the blood drained from her face.

“Mommy!”
the sound came as if from far away, underwater. “Mommy!” - closer. Tara turned
sharply, feeling a sudden surge of adrenalin. With open arms her three year old
son was racing towards her, Peter’s son, Thayer. He stopped abruptly in front
of her and looked her seriously in the eye.

“Mommy,
why are you sad?”

“How?!”
Claire stood not far away, smiling. “Oh, little bear, I…” Tara was on the edge,
to the point of no return. She hugged tightly her wonderful child. He squeezed
out of her embrace a minute later and looked at her again with those deep blue
eyes, his father’s eyes. Thayer wiped a tear with his little fingers and said
quietly:

“It
will be okay, mommy!”

And
there it was. The truth. Tara was looking at him as if seeing her son for the
first time, her lips trembled and she simply gathered him in her arms, laughing
through tears, surrendering.

“But you came back, don’t you,
Peter!”
Tara
thought, squeezing her son.
“You came back!”

BOOK: Fighting the impossible
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