Part 1 (1/2)
A Symphony of Cicadas.
A NOVEL.
Crissi Langwell.
DEDICATION.
To my Grandma Estelle, who is probably watching over all her grandkids from Heaven.
Prelude.
When a moment is so tremendous it knocks the familiar part of the world off balance, you'd think there would be some sort of clue before it happened. Maybe just a hint, or even a premonition that would have allowed me to at least hold my breath until the moment had pa.s.sed and I could find my footing once again.
But life doesn't work that way.
Life is often unfair. Sometimes things have to hurt, sometimes they're even unbearable, and sometimes the pain is necessary.
I learned this lesson the hard way.
This is my story.
One.
I could feel the sunlight against the back of my eyelids trying to ease me out of sleep, but I wasn't ready yet. I was still trying to hang on to the last few strands of a dream where John and I were past the point of planning our wedding and enjoying wedded bliss on our honeymoon. I could almost taste the salt in the air, feel the spray from the ocean, and hear the plaintive questions from seagulls soaring overhead. Opening my eyes would only succeed in ripping me from the light grasp of tropical serenity, throwing me headfirst into the reality that I had only a few weeks until the big day and so much left to do. And I just wasn't ready.
But my valiant efforts to stay embraced in the warmth of my dream were already starting to fail, the details becoming more skeletal by the minute. Reality tapped at my resolve, scattering the seagulls from my ears and replacing them with the sounds of traffic outside our San Francisco apartment. I breathed in the familiar scent of laundry detergent and sweat, the salty sea smell a mere memory as real life glared through the sunrays that streamed through the window of our bedroom.
John moved next to me, murmuring as he rolled over and settled under the blankets once again. I eased my eyes open to get a glimpse of him before it was time to face the day. The pillow had left light lines on his face, standing out against the mostly pepper scruff that left a shadow against his upper lip and cheeks. He moved his jaw while pursing his lips. It had been a year since he had placed an engagement ring on my finger and I had moved in with him, waking up to his face every morning since. It amazed me that it still felt so brand new. I was certain that even after a million mornings had pa.s.sed us by, when we were in the twilight of our years, this very first vision of the day would continue to feel like a fresh experience.
He was still asleep, but I couldn't help scooting over and positioning my body so that I fit against him like a puzzle piece. He gave a deep sigh of contentment as he woke, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and drawing me closer to him. I nestled happily into his arms.
”Mmm, good morning, Rachel,” he said against my ear before brus.h.i.+ng his lips against it. The morning stubble of his face grazed my skin, sending s.h.i.+vers through my body.
”Good morning, darling,” I whispered. I rested under the weight of his arm, even as my skin grew damp with heat from the closeness of our bodies. Although it was my tendency to prefer a mountain of blankets all year round, the briefest amount of cuddling reduced my body to a melting puddle of sweat. In response to my skin's reaction, John pulled away and traced his finger along my damp skin, making a solitary trail down my spine. I felt him pause at the scar from a suspicious mole I had removed years ago, touching it with curiosity before continuing his explorative journey.
”You're hot,” he chuckled. He started to roll away a little more, but I moved with him so that we stayed connected in a spooning position. He laughed, drawing me closer.
”I don't want to get up yet,” I complained, pus.h.i.+ng my list of things to do out of my head just a little longer in my deliberate procrastination.
”I can see that,” John murmured. He proceeded to move again, this time to maneuver on top of me.
”I haven't brushed my teeth yet!” I objected with a laugh. In spite of my halfhearted pleas, the danger of dragon breath didn't stop him from placing light kisses on my lips while positioning inside of me as our bodies woke up together with the gentle movement. I ran my hands across his back, feeling his muscles ripple with each motion. He left a flurry of kisses on my neck, my ears, and my cheeks before settling against my mouth once again. Any lingering worries over morning breath disappeared as our tongues mingled against each other in a sensual promenade of pa.s.sion. I pulled his hips even closer and felt him groan against me.
Moments like these were a rare occurrence. Most mornings he was awake before I was, out the door to his construction job before I'd even had my first sip of coffee. Two weeks before, he had started a project on the outskirts of the city, building an elaborate home that made our modest apartment look miniscule in comparison. His free time was filled with painstaking work on the house he was building for us across the bridge in San Anselmo. It wouldn't be finished for close to a year, but I could already picture the greenness of the garden in the backyard and the stone path that would lead to our front door.
The urgency in John's movements intensified, and I clutched him against me. My breathing mirrored his, moving my belly against him before he pushed back against mine. We didn't hear the first knock on the door. But the second knock was unmistakable, vibrating the pictures that hung on the wall.
”I know you're awake,” the m.u.f.fled voice called from the hallway. ”I'm trying to sleep, and between your racket and Joey talking in his headset, it's kind of hard.”
John groaned in frustration. The moment was gone as fast as it had come, neither one of us getting to the point of completion before it was over. He rolled away from me and rubbed his eyes.
”You might as well stay up, Sam,” John called back to his fourteen year old son. ”We have a ton to do in the yard today while Rachel and Joey are shopping.”
”Whatever, Dude,” Sam replied. ”I'm going back to bed. Don't wake me up.”
Sam had just come back from his mother's house the night before after two days away. The house was always calmer in those days he was gone, especially for me. While Sam had never claimed he didn't like me or my son, Joey, I was unsure how he felt about our presence in this home, a place that used to hold just him and his dad. I often felt like I was walking on eggsh.e.l.ls around him, trying not to offend him in any way. But in truth, I was unsure of what he would deem offensive. He was at a stage in his life when everyone around him was unclear on the concept, and his sole purpose in life was to set them straight. This meant he was often correcting me in a tone that was reminiscent of a parent exasperated with their child. Soon I stopped fighting him on his att.i.tude altogether, keeping my mouth shut and stuffing my growing resentment towards him. But still, I was exhausted by always being in the wrong.
John stood up and pulled on his pants, smiling at me in apology.
”What's your plan for today?” he asked.
”First, to get Joey off his videogames,” I said, giving in to the morning as I searched for my robe that lay on the floor beside the bed. ”And after breakfast, we're heading out to the bridal shop so I can get him fitted for the wedding. I might take him out to lunch after that, depending on our timing. You?”
”I'll probably let lazy bones sleep for another hour or so, but I have to get the yard at Sara's house prepared for the rehearsal dinner. I'm thinking mums and marigolds would go well in that corner by the birch tree, but you're the expert. What do you think?”
I nodded my head and hummed in agreement, but my mind was already a million miles away. Just the mention of gardening reminded me that I needed to check if my sister had ordered the flowers we needed for a few extra arrangements. Being that Sara and I owned our own flower shop, the indoor wedding would have the feel of being inside a fragrant garden, yet without the San Francisco chill casting its icy breath on us. But if we didn't order them soon, we would be stuck adding carnations and baby's breath in between the lavender and white ranunculus.
I looked at the clock. It was almost eight, proving it wasn't as early as I thought it was. My appointment was at 10:30, and the shop was at least forty-five minutes away from our apartment.
”I better get a move on!” I exclaimed, jumping up while tying the sash on my robe.
I left the bedroom and padded down the hall to Joey's room. From outside the closed door I could hear him loud and clear as he chatted away with whoever else was up at this hour on a Sat.u.r.day morning to play video games. Even though Sam's door to the right of me was closed, I was sure he could hear every word as well. I knocked on Joey's door. The talking paused for a moment before starting up again. Not wanting to further bother Sam, I chose to just open the door rather than knock again. The door clicked but refused to budge.
”Josiah, open up,” I called in a m.u.f.fled tone against the door. I heard him get up from his bed to open the door. ”Since when did you start locking your door?” I asked him, moving past him into the room so I wasn't talking in the hallway.
”Since everyone likes to barge into my room,” he pointed out.
He was only a year younger than Sam, but at times his seriousness made him seem years older. If it weren't for his lack of height or his youthful face, it would be hard to tell who was the older of the stepbrothers.
Joey still stood an inch or two shorter than my five foot four, although his shoe size had pa.s.sed me up years earlier. He looked somewhat like me with his light brown hair and wide amber eyes. But the similarities stopped there. Beyond that, he looked just like his father, a man I hadn't seen in many years, and didn't plan to ever see again.
Tony had stepped out on me when I was still pregnant, visiting just a few times after Joey was born before disappearing altogether. It seems he decided that fatherhood just wasn't for him, something he stated in a letter he sent me weeks after his last visit, explaining that he couldn't handle the responsibility of parenting. At the time, I was grateful for even just a note. That feeling of gratefulness was later traded in for rage at a man who left me to shoulder the responsibility all by myself. However, time proved that things happen for a reason. Had I stayed with Tony, life would have been very different for Joey and me. Because he was out of our lives, I was free to raise Joey in a healthy environment, allowing my family's values to be the primary influence on my son's young life. And, of course, my new path in life led me to John, a man who showed me what love was supposed to feel like.
I began to view Tony for who he was: the man who was meant to create Joey, and nothing more. For that, I would always be thankful for his part in my life.
”Sorry for barging in,” I apologized to Joey. ”But you didn't answer. Besides, you know you're not supposed to be on the headset until after eight o'clock,” I reminded him, citing the rule we had agreed upon to ensure he wasn't waking the house with his early morning videogame play.
”It's after eight now,” Joey pointed out, nodding toward the clock that lay on the floor beside his bed. Even upside down I could tell it was only two minutes past eight o'clock.