Love Is Louder (28 page)

Insomnia. That’s what I’m suffering right now. I don’t know exactly why Cole has returned, but I can’t procrastinate waiting for the worst to happen. It’s crucial I stay one step ahead.

I stealthily climb out of bed, not wanting to wake Dana, boot up my laptop, and type “Brandon Trent.” He’s a Harvard graduate and big-time lawyer on all the legal networks. He put his face on the map right out of law school in his early thirties when he took on some large custody and criminal cases. In the ten years since his career started, Brandon Trent has become known as “The Child Champion,” specializing in tough custody cases like mine.

Ironically, James Fleming is mentioned in several of the articles as being his protégé at the same firm before Brandon Trent branched out on his own. What a small world. It goes on to read that James Fleming was the next in line to take over at the firm, but he left to become the DA in Massapequa Park. I wonder why he would turn down an offer like that to come back here? Either way it’s fine by me since I got to meet his gorgeous wife.

I’m up for hours researching court decisions involving non-parent third parties in a variety of situations. Usually, the award of custody is based upon the child’s best interest and evidence the biological parent is unfit. Paternal and maternal aunts and uncles have been awarded custody in circumstances where the natural parents were abusive or where the aunt and uncle were long-time guardians and the child had a strong emotional bond with that couple’s natural child. Lily has that with Micah, Mom, and me. For the first time since Cole returned, I breathe a little easier. I’ve already thanked Dana, but I need to thank her again. I turn off the laptop and go back to bed and wake her up to tell her how much I appreciate her hard work all over again.

By the time Friday finally comes around, I need a stress reliever instead of yoga, thinking a glass of wine by the pool sounds perfect right now. The week at the photo studio was a blur. I couldn’t focus, but I was forced to. Each time I put my eye to the lens I kept seeing James with her.

I head back to my darkened office, settle down behind my chair, and switch on my small desk lamp. I boot up my computer and respond to some emails, proceeding to pay the rent and utilities on the studio for the upcoming month and also scheduling a meeting with my landlord to discuss purchasing the space.

Typically, I don’t spend much time on the computer, but with it staring at me and with nothing pressing to do, I type “James Fleming” into the search engine. The only time I have searched my husband’s name is when he’s had a high-profiled case to defend. At this very moment, I’m unsure why I decide to do it. Boredom? Fear? Jealousy?

Several links fill the screen, and I click on each one. They detail his academic career and recognitions at Harvard, his career at Hill and Boylston, LLP, as their top prosecuting attorney, and his move here. I continue to read about his accomplishments in Massapequa Park and click onto the county website where his name appears and numerous images of him grace the screen with a variety of local political officials and his staff.

The majority of which are women, accomplished and successful attorneys themselves. Clearly, some beautiful and intelligent women surround my husband. Without pondering too much, I recline back in my chair, pull my hair out of my chignon, slip off my heels, and close my eyes for the first time all day when my phone rings. I reach for it and see James’ face flash across the screen, a welcome distraction. James always is, no matter what.

“Hey, hon,” I answer, leaning forward in my chair. I have kept my conversations with James as normal as possible. Sometimes I feel like the normalcy of our lives is driving him away and driving me insane.

“How’s my wife?”

“Fine. I just finished a few things, and I’m thinking of heading home. What about you?”

“A new custody case was thrown onto my desk. I need to hang around for a couple of hours.”

“On a Friday?” I pick up our wedding photo that sits on the corner of my desk. I trace my husband’s lips with my finger, wondering if someone else has tasted them since we’ve said our vows. The thought enrages me. Unbeknownst to him, I’ve seen things. There’s something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold. This is what I hate about myself. When I’m alone, I let my mind run uninhibited, and it drives me to the brink of wanting to do things and say things that would make me sound crazy. I can’t prove any of it.

“I tried to get out of it, but some of the partners want to go over some points. I hope it won’t take more than an hour.”

My hand goes to my chest, and my head is telling me that it’s nothing, even though the other part of me thinks it’s something. I would be stupid not to think the latter.

“Oh, well, I’ll be home with a glass of wine by the pool in my black bikini.” I throw that out there as bait to tempt him.

“No yoga tonight?”

Is he asking because he’ll run home to see me, or is he asking so that it will be easier to maneuver around town with her? Should I hang around, sit in my car, and lurk in the shadows to catch him with her? Has my marriage turned into a cat and mouse game, or would hide and seek be a better way to describe it?

“No. No yoga tonight. You’re not going to be too late, right?”

“I don’t think so. I’m going to play it by ear.”

“So, you’re not sure?” I press further, pushing the boundaries just a tiny bit.

“We talked about this, B. It could be an hour, or it could be more. You know I always come home.”

“Fine.” Deflated, I almost hang up on him because I’m incensed with myself more than with him for being weak.

“Babe, is something bothering you?”

I can’t hide anything from him, but he seems to think he can hide from me. Must he always be able to read my mind like a damn open book? I wish I were a better actress. Perhaps I should try harder or follow Mason’s lead, or maybe I’m the one making this all so easy for him by not confronting him.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Thanks, baby, for understanding. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Sure, hon,” I breathe, giving in to him.

Leaning back in my chair, I listen to him talk about his new case for the next five minutes. We say our ‘I love yous’ and hang up. Throwing my phone onto the desk, I drop my head in my arms and cry.

A half hour later with the sun setting, I decide to head back home. I straighten to leave, looking at myself in the mirror. My eyes stare back at me with despair—a dark, foreboding cloud lurking behind my irises. It repulses me because I could change that. Placing my sunglasses onto my face to hide my emotions, I lock up the studio and head to my car.

I take my time driving home. Looking out the window, I glance toward
the spot
at the park where I saw them together. A spot that meant nothing to me before has now become a focal point every time I pass it. I won’t say anything. He’ll tell me it’s nothing, like he always does, making me feel like an insecure, paranoid wife. Now, I wish I had stalked up to them, caught him red-handed in the act, and introduced myself to his lady friend.

“Hi, I’m Brie Fleming, James’ wife.”

I wish I did so I could see his reaction. Just once I want to see the look on his face. I don’t know what guilt looks like on him. I’ve never caught him in a lie, or maybe he’s just good at hiding it.

Does boredom set in this quickly in a marriage? When did I lose him? Have I thought about doing the same? What would that do? Where would that take us? I could start flirting and showing more skin with David from the coffee shop. A wink or maybe even touch his hand when I reach for my espresso. I can play the game if I really want to.

“
Don’t start this fucking shit with me!”

I jump, hearing the rage blanketing his voice as I silently close the front door. It’s after ten in the morning when I return from my yoga class and overhear James ranting on his phone. My heart pitter-patters in my chest, and I halt, making myself invisible outside the kitchen so I can catch more of his conversation. His head is tipped down as he paces back and forth in front of the patio doors in aggravation.

“I told you what would happen if you didn’t listen!” he hisses. “Fuck. You want fucking more what?” He tosses his glasses onto the kitchen table along with a file, causing sheets of paper to scatter. “This is bullshit!”

I’ve never seen James this angry in the time we’ve been together. Distant, yes. Angry, rarely ever. His hard body quakes with quiet bouts of tension. Even like this, he’s gorgeous. He’s almost dangerous.

“You’re fucking crazier than I thought if you think I’m going to agree to that shit. We already talked about this!” he roars, his body tightening with unspent rage like a cobra ready to strike. He whirls around to pick up his glasses, which I rarely see him wear, on the table. “Don’t fucking th...” He perches his glasses onto his nose and raises his eyes, stopping mid-sentence when he sees me enter the kitchen. Setting the groceries onto the counter, I smile softly and give him a kiss on the cheek before I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator, watching him while thinking this must be the court case he talked about yesterday.

“Listen, this can wait until Monday,” he says, sighing in frustration as he listens to the person on the other end as I take a sip of water. “I have to go.” He immediately hangs up, removes his glasses, and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. Gradually, the tension seeps from his body little by little like a slashed tire losing air.

“Hey, B. Yoga today?”

“Yes.” I watch as he gathers the papers that are strewn all over the table and returns them to the file. “It’s going to be a hectic day with the birthday party and the party later on.”

“You always said photography relaxes you.” He throws the file into his briefcase and locks it.

“It does.” I lean against the kitchen counter.

Two emotions, uncertainty and hope, are battling inside me, like two kids playing tug-of-war, pulling and tugging to see who will overpower the other. I scan the open space, wondering if everything will come crashing down around us or remain faux picture perfect. I don’t understand how James can act so apathetic. Why can’t he just tell me what’s going on? Just get it all out in the open so we can figure out what’s going wrong and work on it or maybe see a counselor. Communication is important in a marriage. Then again, my silence can be more damaging than anything.

Why do I always point the finger at myself when things go awry?

For the most part, James has always been open with me, or so I thought. Perhaps the reason why he hasn’t said anything is because he’s really not cheating. There’s a chance what I’ve seen is nothing more than a friendship. Perhaps they work together, or she’s a client he’s representing.

“Hey.” Slowly, James makes his way toward me, takes the bottle from my hands, and sets it onto the counter. He cups the back of my neck and leans down to kiss me. He pulls away to look at me when he feels me tense. “Babe, what’s the matter?”

“I’m just worried I won’t be able to pull it off today,” I lie, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“Nonsense,” he answers, his eyes swarming with worry. “I can pick something up for your anxiety.”