Mend the Seams (12 page)

“I don’t fuckin’ care when I’m scheduled to see Dr. Hampton. Fuckin’ call her office and tell her I need to speak with her, now!”

He scrubs his hand over his face before stomping off muttering quietly under his breath.

I begin to pace small figure eights across the cell, counting backwards in my head trying to concentrate on the numbers, begging the rage to dissipate. The rage only heightens as the clock ticks away. The white noise I’m so familiar with: shuffling, muttering, metal clinging, the zinging of the fluorescent lights overhead, keys jangling, and silent cries beyond the walls of the cells suddenly becomes a blaring echo in my head.

I need to hit something. I need to inflict pain, smell and see the blood oozing from the wounds I cause. My hand balls into a fist and without thought crashes against the cinderblock wall. One shot simply ain’t enough. Drawing back I slam my fist into the wall again and again keeping rhythm to the throb of the pulse that flows through my veins as adrenaline courses through me. The sensation of the warm blood that drips from my knuckles and the smell of iron that evades my senses is the best euphoric high I’ve experienced in a while. The dark, blind fury blanketed over me is so thick that the sound of the cell grate sliding open doesn’t even register in my mind, nor does the yelled commands from the guards. I don’t realize one fuckin’ thing about the world around me other than that fuckin’ wall and the crash of my knuckles against the concrete until a stabbing jolt pierces my skin and electricity floods through my muscles and nerves, crashing my ass to the floor in a heap.

The last several days have been calming. Between allowing myself to close a chapter of my life by saying my final goodbye to Josh, then seeing Luke in a private moment with another woman, I'm actually shocked at how easily I allowed myself to relax. It was almost as if my give-a-damn finally crashed from the weighty pressure I've been under. Whatever it is, I think I like it. I've grown accustomed to my co-dependency, fear and lack of sleep. So this new relaxed state is a breath of fresh air I can't seem to get enough of. Set fire to the past and run towards the future – that is my intended goal.

My focus is my kids. Every waking moment – and believe me, I don’t sleep – is focused on Brailee and Braden. Whatever I can do to be the best mom to them, showering them with enough love for two parents, teaching them to be respectful children. Our weekend was full of ball games, a rowdy trip to Gianni’s for pizza and Sunday morning worship at our quaint little church. By the time I tucked the kids into bed last night, we were all exhausted. Since I was asked to chaperone the kids class trip today, I took a few Tylenol PM to knock me out.

I follow the bus out Route One to the small farm. After parking my SUV I meet up with the class as they file off the bus lining up neatly so Mrs. Cumpton can get a head count. She greets me kindly, then passes the twins and two other children, Jaylen and Gabe, off to me as she explains the stations set up for the children to visit. Armed with GermX, four excited eight year olds’ and a bottle of Tylenol I’ll surely be needin’ soon, we set off towards the goats.

I help the kids one by one fill their cups then watch as they let the goats nibble at the grain in their little hands.

“Eww, it licked my hands. So gross!” Jaylen shrieks, her little nose scrunching up in obvious disgust.

“Ya big sissy. What’d ya expect it to do when you put your hands full of food out there for it? It’s gonna lick ya, Jaylen!” Brailee laughs, swiping her hands down the front of her jeans. I shoot her a stern look which earns me an eye roll as she passes by, trudging off towards the next station. That girl and her sharp tongue just might streak my locks of brown to a shiny grey sooner than I’d like.

The kids take their time at each station, petting the cows, feedin’ the chickens and laughing at the lazy pigs wallerin’ about in the mud. Our final station of the day is in the barn where Henry, the old farmer who owns the farm we’re visiting, is introducing the kids to Jelly Bean, the Shetland pony. Of course Brailee takes right to Henry’s side, grabbing the brush off the stool and brushing Jelly Bean’s coat as she interjects facts while Henry speaks. He tosses his head back with a hearty chuckle then bows, offering Brailee the floor. Brailee wastes no time telling her friends about her horse, Buttercup, and my heart swells with pride for the knowledge and love my girl has for one of her greatest passions. She’s been riding horses since she was four years old. It was entirely Josh’s idea since he was raised around horses. Initially, I thought she was too young, but she proved me wrong rather quickly. Riding was her special time with Josh, but as the years passed by he became too busy to dedicate the weekly riding times with her at the ranch, so that was left up to me.

Once Brailee concludes her lesson before her peers, we make our way to the picnic shelter for lunch. Brailee climbs into the picnic table and huffs loudly like she’s been shovelin’ out the stalls all day. “You did good back there, baby girl.” I wink at her as I pass out lunches to the kids.

“Thanks, Momma.” She smiles lightly. “Ya think Buttercup is alright?”

“Yeah, honey, I think she’s happy. I know you miss her.” Brailee shrugs it off as she turns her attention to her lunch.

Once the kids finish up eatin’, we head to the playground to let them burn off some energy before returning to school to finish out their day. Brailee and Braden race each other to the airplane slide just like they always do. I take a seat on the empty bench resting my tired feet, but keep a close eye on the kids as they play. Feeling like eyes are on me, I glance around the gravel playground in search for Drew. My eyes fall upon a click of moms standing about eight feet away, sneering in my direction as they whisper amongst themselves. Recognizing Lynda Russell, I toss a small wave in her direction then turn my eyes back in search of the kids. Damn gossipers. Let ‘em talk. My life is none of their concern, but judging by the glares and long faces they keep sending my way, I’m sure the sight of pity is upon them. It isn’t long before Lynda approaches me.

“Well Savannah Moore, that is you. How have you been?” Lynda pulls me into a quick hug before twisting around and sitting beside me – uninvited might I add.

Plastering a stiff smile across my face, I turn in her direction. “I’m great, Lynda. I didn’t realize you were chaperoning today.”

“Well of course! I am the homeroom Momma after all.” She scoffs offensively.

“Well Mrs. Cumpton sure is blessed to have you at her disposal.”

She smiles warmly, enjoying the recognition she receives for her volunteer work. It’s all very rewarding, I’ve always volunteered for every class trip and party, but Momma’s like Lynda make it an all-out competition on who can one up the other. “I certainly hope I can expect your assistance at the class Halloween Extravaganza. I’ve almost got Mrs. Cumpton talked into letting us begin the party right after lunch. We have so many crafts planned, the kids will be decorating cookies, telling scary stories, then of course there is the school Halloween parade. Oh it will be so much fun!” She continues to ramble on, and I smile and nod ignoring every word she speaks. Yada yada yada!

Her two friends approach us with timid smiles and stand listening to Lynda ramble on and on before she finally brakes for air. “Oh Savannah, let me introduce you to Christina Coleman and Dawn Bentley. Their children are in Mrs. Abrams’ class where Christina is the homeroom Momma.” Oh here we go again with the competition bullshit. Heavens to mercies ladies, it’s third grade! I bite my tongue plastering on that same fake as hell smile I offered Lynda.

The ladies are quick to make gossip about another Momma who passes by, but I keep my lips zipped. Absolutely petty behavior from grown ass women who have nothing better to do than keep their noses in others asses. Turning my head from their view, I inhale a frustrated breath while rolling my eyes.

“Savannah, I must say you are doing much better than I expected. Good for you!” Lynda says sadly, her lip turned up slightly as she tries to look endearing.

“Yes, I must say I admire your courage.” Christina tsks. “When Lynda told us about your marriage I was shocked any woman stuck it out as long as you had. Luckily you made it out before you got dragged into his legal troubles. Smart woman.”

What? Am I really hearing these women correctly?

I smile curiously, allowing them to carry on their conversation. Hell, seems like they know more about my situation than even I do.

“But you know I don’t think I could have given up my home like that, now. No, that would have been a fight.” Lynda says, Christina and Dawn in agreement, spurring her on. “Everyone handles situations differently, however. Then again, I think I’d been wise enough not to get into that mess.” Lynda says and she realizes her mistake the moment the words leave her mouth. My brow raises as my gentle smile fades and I can feel that resting bitch face that I’ve been practicing in the mirror take its place. Fury snakes up my spine, but I calmly remind myself that I’m at a third grade field trip. Can’t exactly be goin’ all Carly Jo Simon on these bitches here and now, can I?

“Girls, bless ya hearts!”
Just couldn’t resist could ya?
“Let me offer you some sound advice.” I say, leaning in towards Dawn and Christina. They look at each other nervously, then lean in to me. “Rumors are carried by haters, spread by fools and believed by idiots. I do believe I’d find myself a new pack of friends if I were you gals. Last I checked I left high school in 2005, so this idol gossip y’all are dealin’ in is highly unbecoming of you.” All of their mouths drop wide in shock. Leaning back, I square my shoulders to stand then walk away proudly.
Kill ‘em with kindness, darlin’.

I knew rumors would fly in this small town, but never expected anyone to be brazen enough to openly discuss my troubles among others as if I weren’t even sitting there! But Lynda Russell has always been a snide bitch, runnin’ her fat lips to anyone within ear shot. Damn bitch tormented the hell out of me through high school. Never a restless day with her.

I make my way over to Mrs. Cumpton and help her gather up the students, lining them up and tapping their heads as I count silently to myself. Once the kids are all accounted for, I kiss Brailee and Braden goodbye, promising to take them for ice cream after school.

“Who has homework?” I ask as I pull into the garage.

“Field trip, Momma. No homework, ‘member?” Braden asks.

“Great! Go straight inside, put your things away then get ready for bed, okay, munchkins?” I load my arms down with groceries, trying my best to carry everything in on one trip. Brailee and Braden climb out of the SUV, toting their backpacks alongside of them. They kick their shoes off by the door, then toss their backpacks down in the living room floor as they carry their tired little legs upstairs.
So much for putting your things away, kids!
I kick the backpacks out of my way, careful not to trip over them on my way into the kitchen. I unload the groceries then pop a Kahula cartridge into the Keurig and smile to myself when the strong roasted scent evades my senses. I take a moment to enjoy a small sip, then venture off upstairs to help the kids get ready for bed.

They are worn out. After picking them up from school, we went to the library to check out a few new books, had dinner at the Village Diner, and then made a quick stop at the grocery store for our weekly essentials. Our evening concluded with hand dipped ice cream cones on the way home. When I reach the top of the stairs, Brailee is in the bathroom brushing her teeth while Braden is laying out his clothes for the next day. Ever the little planner, Braden is the most organized and responsible eight year old you’ll meet.

Brailee finishes up in the bathroom, then picks a book from the bookshelf before making her way into my bedroom. Braden trails in a few minutes later piling under the king size, fluffy comforter. This has become a nightly routine for us. After reading the first two pages light snores fill the room as exhaustion finds them quickly. Kissing them both on their foreheads, I climb out of bed and head back downstairs to my fresh cup of coffee and my Kindle. It’s still fairly early and there is nothing better to do.

As soon as my feet hit the bottom step I realize something is…off. I swallow back the fear that’s suddenly clawing its way out of my chest, appearing out of nowhere. I grab my coffee from the kitchen, checking that the back door is locked. Stepping into the living room a rack of tremors encase me as the air seizes from my lungs. The coffee cup plunges to the floor and I stand stock still frozen in fear. Orange and gold flames dance about in the fireplace, the kindling crackles and sizzles from the intense heat. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I drag my heavy feet toward the front door, surprised to see the lock secured. Panic sets in and I rush about the house, checking the other doors and windows, looking inside the bedrooms, closets, and under the beds for intruders. But everything appears secure. I peek in on Brailee and Braden, then make my way back to the living room.

Sitting down on the couch, I pull my knees to my chest and watch the blazing flames flicker in wonderment. How did someone get inside my home to start a fire? My mind races back and forth, creating various scenarios that calm me momentarily then sends a wave of shock coursing through me as I imagine the worst.