Never Forever (18 page)

Tenderly I began folding his shirt for him, gently caressing the soft flannel fabric. Walking over to his drawer, I went to place his shirt inside when I discovered an envelope with my name lovingly printed across the front of it. This same letter now rests carefully across my lap. I have only read it one time, and that was the day I decided to accept my endorsement into Cambridge University. I have held his letter many times within my hands when I needed to feel him near me, but have never opened it again. This time though, I need to hear his voice in my head and feel his words touch my soul. Holding his letter in my trembling hands I begin to read his words, allowing myself to hear his voice ringing in my ears.

Breanna,

I have to first start by saying that I am so sorry. I wanted to keep you away from the pain and sorrow caused by the stupid effects of alcohol. I never thought that my father would start drinking because of my mother’s death. He loved my mother more than anything and for the first time I can understand his pain. Breanna, if you were to leave me my heart would be ruined. I would hope that I wouldn’t fall into the depths of alcohol’s arms, but I am lucky I still have you, whereas my father no longer has my mother. Sometimes the haunting call of what we know is wrong is too strong. I hope that you will someday forgive him for turning to drinking. He is a good man, stupid but good. I knew we had to leave his house, because I was not about to have you live through my father’s actions. I love you too much to allow my father to stifle your happiness.

This leads me to my main concern. I saw you hide your acceptance letter to Cambridge University after my mother died. No matter what, you are going to school there even if I have to sell everything I own, promise me. You are my wife, not my maid. You are not here to take care of me. We are to take care of each other and this is my time to take care of you. You deserve this. Though you were dragged through a crappy life by your mother, you have been able to maintain all A’s. You are an incredible student. Me, on the other hand, I suck at school work. You have no idea how wonderful you are. If you could only see what I see on a daily basis, your ego would be huge.

A huge smile spreads across my face, allowing the tears I am shedding to stream into my mouth. The salty stings of my tears roll within me, bringing with it memories of Andrew. I can remember on several occasions I would catch him just staring at me. I would always ask him what he was staring at and he would just simply reply, “Someone who has no idea how wonderful she is.”

My heart is dancing with pain and joy right now, pain being the dominating lead. Turning my gaze back to his letter, I continue reading through tear filled eyes.

You are the smartest, kindest, and most loving girl I have ever met. I knew that the day this obnoxious girl came knocking on my door, interrupting my video games, asking if I wanted to play. You weren’t afraid of anything, least of all a gangly thirteen year old boy. The moment I looked into your hazel green eyes I knew you had me. I never wanted to be separated from you. And still to this day your eyes and all of you have me. I will go with you wherever you go. We may not have much, but at least we have each other. You deserve the chance to find out how special you are. You have always felt some kind of pull to England. I have no idea why! It is a God awful cold country, but I am willing to freeze my ass off for you. I love you, don’t you ever forget it. I want you to be happy.

He had scribbled through a sentence, trying to block it out. For the first time I try and decipher what he had written then promptly scratched out. Gazing deeply at the long black mark, I try to unearth some magical x-ray powers hidden deep within me. My eyes are beginning to feel the strain when suddenly I figure out the sentence, causing my heart to stop.

If anything should ever happen to me, please go on with your life and find someone who makes you happy. You deserve it.

My heart drops to my toes, leaving my soul feeling empty inside. Andrew’s deep voice rings within my ears and echoes in my chest. A warm sensation wraps around me, enveloping me in an invisible mist. The warm sensation explodes over me as it crawls on my skin, up my spine, taking residence within my mind. On occasion I have heard of loved ones finding letters or pictures after someone’s death explaining their desires if anything were to happen to them. I have heard people call these things tender mercies. Perhaps the person is given a glimpse, allowing them to give these gifts before they can’t. A sense of immeasurable love consumes me as I once again read his words, as if he is giving me permission from the grave, permitting me to fall in love again and be happy. My hand tenderly strokes the paper, gliding across each word with great care. I read his final sentence carefully.

I hope that you will listen to me this way. You are sooo stubborn (and I love you for that), but don’t let your stubbornness stop you from getting what you deserve.

I love you,

Andrew

Gently folding the letter I place it tenderly back in the envelope. Holding his letter close to my heart I begin to expel the sadness pressing down on me. The silence in my flat is deafening. I gaze around at all the tiny furnishings, noticing that nothing in here is mine except a few pictures, some baby things, and my clothes. I had left everything behind when I decided to come here. I can remember not knowing how I was going to be able to afford the plane ticket here, let alone living in one of the most expensive places. I knew I was running to an unknown country, pregnant and poor.

I didn’t know how I was going to keep my promise to Andrew and go to school in England when I couldn’t even afford a city bus ticket, let alone my living expenses. Until a few days after his funeral, I received a call from a life insurance company stating that Andrew had taken out a life insurance policy declaring me as sole beneficiary. They had informed me that his parents also had a policy with them, stating Andrew as their sole beneficiary, thus transferring everything now to me. Andrew not only took care of me in life, but he made sure I would still be taken care of if he should die.

This is the only reason I have been able to go to school here. Guilt rips through me as I stare out at my furnished flat knowing that I am only able to pay for this because of Andrew’s death. I would give this all up, be homeless and starving if Andrew could be next to me again. He was right, we may have been poor, but we had each other and that was enough. Money doesn’t fertilize the joy deep within. It can cause pain, eating at your soul like a poisonous spider slowly devouring you. I opened up my heart to Callum, but money is what separated us and shoved the door shut, forcing the both of us to live in misery. There are so many things between us stopping us from ever coming together. The space between us is filled with pain, loss, deception, obligations, and yes, even Noah drives a gap between us. Though Callum loves Noah now, would he someday transfer resentment towards him, like Callum’s stepfather resents him?

I was doomed from the very beginning. No matter how hard I try to get off my inevitable path, I am flung back on with great force. Walking over to Noah, I gaze down at his sweet sleeping face. His resemblance to Andrew is amazing. He even sleeps like him. Both arms flung up over his head, free from any restraint binding them down. Tenderly I stroke his dark hair, causing him to grunt slightly. His full lips begin forming tightly around an imaginary nipple, making a soft sucking motion. Looking down, I utter softly, “Well, it looks like it is just you and me here.”

Suddenly there is a loud knock at my door, causing a jolting vibration to run through the both of us. Noah twitches violently, but then slowly regains his sound sleep. Hastily I rush to the door so whoever this person is won’t slam on it again, causing Noah to wake up. Trepidation rolls over me as I grip onto the door handle, pausing slightly. Shedding my over-excited imagination off of me like useless dead skin, I proceed to open the front door.

Shock and dismay hit me like a hurricane, nearly knocking me over. Standing in front of me is Charlotte Hughes, Callum and Olivia’s mother. Her small, petite frame fills the doorway like a giant. Her slim-fitting slacks flow seamlessly with her silk button up shirt. She is wearing elegant high heels, making her appear taller than she actually is. Her shoulder length blonde hair is styled impeccably, not a single strand is out of place despite the rainy, wet weather here. Her round, pixie face mirrors Olivia’s perfectly. The strong genetics given from mother to daughter is uncanny. Mrs. Hughes hides her age flawlessly, causing her to look more like Olivia’s sister than her mother. Gazing up into her eyes I am taken back by the sharp resemblance to Callum’s eyes. This is their only similarity. Her liquid caramel color eyes stare right at me, almost solidifying right before me.

“Mrs. Hughes, what a surprise. What are you doing here?”

Her eyes bore deep into mine, ripping at my soul with firm, flat eyes, “Is Callum here?”

Confusion streams across my face, “No.”

“Good, because my dear, we need to talk,” she pushes her way past me, entering my flat with no hesitation.

Leave

Charlotte Hughes stands quietly in the middle of my flat, staring at the dismantled crib set which was Callum’s ancestral crib. Her long, thin fingers delicately trace the large H carved on the headboard. Carefully she dusts off her fingertips as she gradually turns, assessing my small, yet clean flat. The furrow between her eyes deepens slightly as she takes in the size and meager furnishings. It may not be much but it is conducive to my needs. I have everything a young college student and single mother needs. There is a small bedroom, basically a bed shoved into what looks like a large closet; an adequate kitchen, married brilliantly with the living room, forming one great-room. If you were to stand in the center of what is organized as the living room you can see the entire flat just by spinning around.

The furnishings that came with the flat are plain, but comfortable. The mattress, though old, is quite comfy and clean. Growing up I used to sleep on the floor or perhaps some mattress that God knows what happened on it, so this one is perfect. There is a small couch positioned just under the only window in the flat. In front of the couch is a large glass coffee table that also doubles as a kitchen table for me. In the corner opposite the couch is where the crib that Callum let me borrow used to be, but now holds Noah’s portable crib. On either side of the crib are the cherry wood dresser and the soft blue club chair. Mrs. Hughes stops in front of the club chair, eyeing it dubiously. Running her hand along the back of the chair allows me to catch sight of her large diamond ring balanced poorly against her delicate fingers.

“This is an exceptionally nice chair, made of high quality,” her tone holds a hint of skepticism as she eyes me suspiciously.

“Thank you…” Standing in front of the chair she turns facing me, pulling on the upper thigh section of her slacks as she sits gracefully in the chair. “Have a seat,” I add sarcastically.

“I will, considering my son most likely bought this,” she utters enigmatically as her caramel eyes look upon me with a heavy air of distrust.

“Why would you think that? I can afford my own furnishings,” I utter in a flaccid tone, trying to hide my insincerity.

A corner of her mouth pulls up faintly as her head tilts slightly to one side. Her eyes never waver from their intention – me, “Breanna dear, look around…” Her eyes scan my scantily decorated flat. “This is a meagerly decorated flat while this chair and bureau are of a higher quality. Besides, the crib and bureau belong to my son. Do you really expect me to believe they just magically showed up here?” an acidic edge rolls off her high pitched voice.

The duplicity undulating through me shatters instantly, causing my palms to sweat nervously. Walking over to the small couch I sit down, wiping my hands aggressively on the tops of my thighs. My heart slams against my chest as I meet Mrs. Hughes’ eyes dead on. Though Callum’s mom is a petite woman she is very intimidating. She is aware of every little detail and has her fingers on society’s pulse, allowing her to breath in every bit of gossip.

Staring at her confidently, I utter, “In a way, yes, they did just show up magically.”

“I am not easily fooled.”

“Good, because I am not joking.” Straightening my posture to mimic hers, I add carefully, “When I came home from the hospital they were already in here. I did not ask for them or use Callum or Olivia in any way to get what I want. I didn’t want this. Callum also hired a nanny…a Miss McNally. But I am going to be paying for her myself until I can find someone else to watch Noah while I am in class. I am not an avaricious person,” my voice is firm yet flat, holding a respectful tone yet defending myself vigorously.

Her face relaxes somewhat, “So you did not ask Callum to help you financially?”

“Let me reiterate one more time. No, I have not and will not ask for his financial help. I am not in love with him for his money, Mrs. Hughes.”

Instantly she sits back in the chair, crossing her legs effortlessly as she stares at me with her cool, liquid eyes, “You love my son?”

“Yes,” I utter softly, wishing that my heart didn’t.

“Why?”

“Excuse me?” The furrow between my eyes deepens as I am taken back by her question. Adjusting in my seat I lean forward, making myself clear, “He is your son. I would hope that you know all the reasons why someone would love him…”

“Breanna, don’t bloody patronize me. I know all of Callum’s great qualities…”

“Do you? Because I distinctly recall you asking if he was the father of my child like he is some heartless bloke just spreading his seed everywhere. He could have run from Noah and me, but he didn’t,” the heat within my core pulsates out, quickening my breathing as I choke out each word.

“Why is he so drawn to you and your son, anyway?” she did not ask facetiously, putting down my appearance, but sincerely wanting to know. “He is bloody irresponsible. He cannot fanny around anymore like a rebellious child. It is time for him to grow up.” Mrs. Hughes’ features remain in complete control, guarding her every action as if the mere idea of losing her temper is something a lady cannot afford to do. The only indication she is getting upset is the occasional drop of a British swear word and slang.

“I am not completely sure why he is drawn to us. When I went into labor in our class he rescued me, staying with me the entire time. I knew no one here and he was willing to be there for me. He is not being irresponsible or messing around.” My mind slowly gets lost remembering that day, as my voice twirls with sincere love and respect, “Perhaps we formed a bond that day, or perhaps it’s because he and Noah come from a very similar situation.”

A sharp, disbelieving exhale pushes out of her nose, “How is your fatherless son anything like Callum?”

My eyes narrow in response to her sudden demeaning statement. A bubbling force pushes through me, causing the bile in my stomach to increase. “He is not a fatherless child. He had a wonderful and loving father, my late husband, whom my son will never know,” my voice is thick with an acidic edge as I spit the words out.

Stillness pushes through the room as if someone has hit a pause button, freezing everything and everyone. The thick air envelops the both of us as her eyes widen with a horrific parallel memory. Silence looms between us, when suddenly Mrs. Hughes walks tenderly over to Noah’s crib. Her shoulders relax as she gazes down at Noah. A heavy air of reminiscence washes over her normally rigid appearance, revealing a softer side. Her eyes transform, divulging a painful memory.

She reaches into the crib, tenderly stroking Noah’s head, “Callum hates me for the things that I have done. Though a mother will do anything for her child.”

Regret mingled with an aching need for understanding ripples on the soft surface of her skin. A shimmering tear glistens in the corner of her firm eyes. Compassionately I add, “Callum doesn’t hate you.”

A tremor of irritation crawls across the floor vibrating up her legs and through her spine, causing her body to stiffen back up. Turning towards me again she utters in a controlled tone, “Breanna, you may think you know about Callum and my situation, but you don’t. If I want your words of encouragement then I will ask for it, but as of now you need to mind your own bloody business.”

An offensive jolt rips through me, “Mrs. Hughes, I was just trying to help because I know where you are coming from."

Her eyes instantly narrow, causing her liquid caramel eyes to solidify, “You know nothing about where I am coming from.”

Placing myself on the same defensive level I stand up, meeting her gaze head on, “Callum told me about how his father passed away before he was born. I also heard you and Callum talk about it the other night.” An instant regret of what I had just divulged consumes me. I had accidentally revealed my apparent eavesdropping.

Taking a few steps towards me she looks up into my face firmly. Though Mrs. Hughes is several inches shorter than me, her self-assurance and tough personality make her appear like she is overpowering me, causing a sudden surge of anxiety to roll up my spine. A gleam of vexation explodes within her eyes, revealing a frightening side to her. The furrow between her eyes narrows, causing her face to match the anger within her eyes, “You were bloody listening in on a private conversation!” The air within the room drops several degrees, causing a shiver to roll up my spine.

“I am sorry. I just needed to know the truth. Callum had already lied to me and I thought this was the best way to discover the truth,” a soft strain takes over my voice, causing my breathing to increase.

Though I knew my actions were wrong that night I held firm to my decision, pleading my case. The cold that had been radiating off of her, transforming my flat into an icebox, slowly dissipates. She forcefully shuts her eyes, blocking out any visual communications. A heavy sigh rips through her, causing her chest to heave. Her soft, full lips form a gentle pucker while her breath escapes out her mouth. Composure flows down her body, allowing all of her muscles to slowly deflate.

Gradually she opens her eyes, revealing a soft liquid caramel appearance. My heart leaps slightly as I gaze into Callum’s mirror image. Her expression now imitates Callum’s perfectly. Her once cold demeanor has shattered, revealing a sympathetic core. A capricious tone comes over her, “Did you discover the truth?”

A heavy weight pushes down on me, deflating my puffed up appearance, dropping my shoulders in defeat, “Yes.”

“And may I ask what the truth is?” Her voice is now soft, exposing a deep understanding.

Closing my eyes, I try and fight back the tears now knocking on the doors to my eyes. The once cold environment now has transformed, sending warm currents to push through me. The tension that had been surrounding us evaporates, leaving a sincere empathetic comprehension. Slowly I open my eyes, still fighting the tears attempting to invade my eyes, “The truth is I can never be with Callum. He is bound by obligations.”

Another forceful sigh rushes through her, dropping her protective shield even further. Her soft face now exposes a crippling pain. She walks back over to Noah, compassionately checking on him. Her gaze stays locked onto him as her mind gets lost in thought, “Before I met Callum’s father there was someone that I loved, but it would have been a public disgrace if I would have divulged my feelings for him. I had to let him go. It destroyed me. For years I wondered what would have happened if I had chosen him instead of my social responsibility.” Turning back towards me, her eyes are full of emotion, yet expose a stern recognition, “If I would have acted on my impulse I would have been a fair worker’s wife.”

Shock explodes over my face, setting me back slightly, “You told Callum that Harry was just a childish crush.”

A corner of her mouth pulls up, giving a disdainful smile, bringing recollections to her mind of my apparent eavesdropping, “Do you think I was about to give him fuel to throw on his fire…not bloody likely. Besides, the truth is, if I would have not walked away from Harry then I would have never met Callum’s father. Though my family still disapproved of our union, Neil, Callum’s father, came from an aristocratic history. So you see, Breanna, it may be a hard thing for you to comprehend, but leaving him is the best possible scenario.”

My tears now are betraying me, falling freely down my cheeks. Understanding rips through me. Though Callum’s mother has been harsh towards me, I suddenly realize her true motivation. She is just trying to protect her son from public ridicule, which will inevitably come if he were to stay with me. I have been looking at his situation through naive rose-colored glasses, refusing to see how things work here in the upper class of England.

“Mrs. Hughes, I have already told Callum we can no longer be together. I understand that I am not only from America, but I come from a very different world. The only heritage I have to offer is an alcoholic mother and a non-existent father. I have no idea what I was thinking, falling for Callum. I will never escape my destiny. The sooner I grasp it the better.”

“Breanna, you are an American, where anybody can become what they want to be… in America,” she states flatly, with a subtle persuasive hint, which is as subtle as a bomb going off.

“What are you saying? Are you asking me to leave and go back to America?”

Her voice lowers in respect, “Yes. As long as you are here Callum will never let you go.”

My heart drops deep into the pit of my stomach. Everything I have been trying to run from suddenly catches up to me. I have no idea how I can go back and face everything. My life in America is empty. I have nothing to go back to, no house, no apartment, no belongings, no family, I have nothing. Everything I owned I have gotten rid of. I hired a realtor to sell Andrew’s parents’ house, and when I left to come to England I donated all mine and Andrew’s belongings to the next tenant. I can’t humiliate myself even further by knocking on my mother’s trailer door. I will not put my son or myself through that kind of life again. I left that world. It will kill me if I am forced to go back to it.