Tragic Renewal (16 page)

Noah smiled when he saw a new email from Harper. Each morning while the house was quiet with Grayson sleeping in his new racecar bed, Noah sat in his home office, sipped coffee, and checked email. Many of his clients ordered custom work and sent email with specs and requests. He’d waited anxiously the evening before after he’d sent Harper a list of gazebo plans. He imagined her scrolling through the list contemplating each design. After a while he coached himself into doing other things and logged off before he received her choice.

He double-clicked her email and took a gulp of black coffee as he waited for his old laptop to load her message. Soon he would have to buy a new laptop or tablet to replace the archaic beast of slow technology, but for now he would avoid upgrading just for the sake of having something new. He watched the circle indicating it was opening. It didn’t reassure his impatient side as it spun in a continuous circle and the background changed to a dull version of his email program. In frustration he clicked the mouse over and over, expecting it to obey his intolerant finger. A quick glance at the computer’s clock told him Grayson would soon be up and running, disturbing Noah’s few minutes of private solitude.

He jabbed and held the narrow power key, holding it until the machine gave up and relented to his forced hard boot. Unwilling to waste more time staring at a blank screen he pressed the power button and left while the computer came back to life. He wandered through the semi-dark house wondering which plan Harper had chosen. His mind flicked through the designs he’d gathered. Each had its own merits, but his favorite was the one with a double roofline. He didn’t tell her which one he liked. Instead, he buried it in the middle of the designs to avoid influencing her final choice.

Though he sensed he knew Harper from the first moment he saw her, he didn’t know all her intimate likes and dislikes. The minutiae of all things that made up Harper intrigued him and he looked forward to learning each one. Already he knew of her preference for sipping red wine and spending her evenings curled on the couch with Ziggie at her side. He longed for him and Grayson to join her evening routine. Scott pictured a small content family living out their lives in their rural town and Harper continuing Cara’s dream until it became her own. Scott had a small fissure of fear that Harper would realize how limiting living in a tiny town could be and leave for bigger dreams. Each time a fissure threatened to consume his confidence he conjured an image of her face, imagined stroking her silky hair, and getting lost in the dark gentle pools of her eyes.

His aimless wandering through the house as he waited for his computer to reboot brought him to the living room window. The living room was covered in shadows as it waited for night to draw its final breaths. He pushed the cream colored curtain aside and glanced toward the horizon. The sun peaked over and spread the countryside in a hazy half-light. If he looked just right he could make out the darker blob of Harper’s house. A single square of light shined from the window over her kitchen sink. The distance between their houses was too great to make out anything other than an indicator she was also awake in the pre-dawn hour.

From the kitchen he could hear the final booting sequence of his laptop. He wandered back taking measured sips of coffee as he walked. The computer showed a surprising boost of speed when he clicked the email and it popped up without hesitation. An indulgent grin spread over his face as he read her choice and her edict that she would buy supplies on her own. He was proud of her for the backbone he saw growing stronger each day. She was learning to spread her wings and each day he watched her gain confidence and wherewithal to do things on her own. When she first arrived she allowed little things to bother her, but day by day she shook off the past. He wished he could meet her ex-husband face to face so he could knock him on his woman using manipulative ass. Given the chance Noah would like to break Scott’s bones to satisfy his aggression toward a man he’d never met.

The bastard had done a number on Harper’s psyche and deserved to go a couple of rounds with a fist. Noah had no way of proving his suspicions, but he guessed Scott had something to do with her miscarriages. Harper had said some things alerting his inner radar, but she seemed unaware of those things. Her inner trust of people coated over the wickedness a person could carry within. Though Noah couldn’t place his finger on the exact reason he had those feelings once the theory popped in his head he couldn’t shake it off. No amount of internal coaching washed the evil intentions of her ex away. Noah knew his best option at this point was to show Harper how a real honorable man acted, one with no expectation of illicit favors. He waited in an edgily patient state for her to show she was ready to bring their friendship to the next level. Though lust was easy, neither of them wanted that to be a basis for their future relationship.

When he thought of the future it inevitably centered on Harper and Grayson. He knew Harper was going to be the best mom Grayson could ever hope for. Her caring gentle ways, though too easily manipulated, would guide Grayson in ways his birth mom never could.

Noah’s musings were cut short when he heard the patter of little boy feet stomping down the hall. The hardwood floor echoed with little footprints upon its shiny surface. He heard the bathroom door click open and a steady stream of pee meeting water. Toilet flushed and hands washed Grayson pounded down the hall in search of Noah. Noah smiled and crept from his chair to crouch down behind the kitchen wall. He held in a chuckle at a tiny gasp of surprise when Noah wasn’t in his usual spot at the desk.

Grayson stood in the doorway, next to Noah, never realizing his dad stood right next to him. His brain was so conditioned to seeing him in a certain place that he didn’t consider he could be elsewhere. Noah held his breath, his face warming from trapped air needing an escape. When he could no longer hold it he let it out then whispered “boo.”

Grayson screamed, then immediately fell to the floor in a fit of giggles when he caught sight of the culprit.

“Daddy, that was really mean.” Grayson said it through giggles, giving away his real opinion.

Noah leaned down and tickled Grayson, Spider man pajamas almost too small for the growing boy shifted up his legs. Grayson kicked his legs wildly. His bare feet smacked the white tile floor and tears of laughter streamed down his red face.

“Daddy, stop stop I can’t breathe.” Grayson gasped out, between tickle attacks.

“Okay, just one last time.” Noah swooped down his handed fisted into tickle claws. He stopped just short and scooped Grayson into his arms. “Just kidding, dude, tickle monster is all worn out. See?” He let his hands flop straight down, while he arranged Grayson on his hip.

Grayson’s long legs wrapped around Noah’s waist, securing him from falling, and proving he was too big to be carried like a toddler.

“Alright, little man, what would you like for breakfast?”

Grayson considered for a moment before responding. “How about… pancakes? I really love pancakes with strawberries and whip cream.”

Noah quickly went through a mental inventory of the pantry and refrigerator and realized he didn’t have a single strawberry, frozen or otherwise, in the house. “Sorry, we don’t have strawberries buddy.”

Grayson’s lip poked out while he thought about a solution. He snapped his fingers and kicked his legs loose of Noah’s waist and slid to the floor. “Miss Harper has strawberries, let’s go ask her. Maybe she’ll come over and have breakfast with us.” A twinkle shined is his bright eyes.

“You knew we were out of strawberries didn’t you? You little rascal.”

Grayson rolled his eyes away and nodded his with a vigorous shake of his head. “Yep, I sure did. Now let’s go.” He grabbed Noah’s hand and started dragging him toward the front door.

“Hold on, we have to get dressed, it’s cold out there.”

Grayson groaned, then turned and ran to his room to change into clothes.

Noah loved that his son thought of going to Harper’s house, it gave them a chance to see her, and he had the built in excuse of strawberries and gazebo plans.

Scott loosened fingers until a stream of humid breath drifted over his hands. Isabella had passed out from lack of oxygen and lay slumped to the side, face still purple but losing the violent hue of certain death. Her color changed from Barney purple to dusky pink in a matter of seconds. Scott coaxed each finger to release as he continued removing reluctant hands from Isabella’s throat.

She slumped further when Scott’s tenth finger unlatched from the nape of her neck. As the moments passed color returned to normal, but distinct finger marks remained in a ten fingered noose of bruising. He watched and waited for her to return to consciousness. With luck her floozy brain would still be intact when her eyes opened. The thought of forcing the genuine truth from her full lips excited him and caused a vague stirring in his groin.

With a breathy sigh her eyes feathered open, shaded by a curtain of long delicate lashes smothered in black mascara. A trace of fear raced over her expression as she jerked and tucked herself deep into the corner of the couch. Its cushions fluffed around her sides as she pushed hard into the tan microfiber surface. Her hands scrambled leaving marks as they brushed the fabric in opposing directions.

Isabella’s hand reached to rub her throat. Her eyes widened in surprise at the tender pain that must co-exist within the spreading bruises. “Why?” she croaked out.

Sadistic thoughts bounced through his head as he considered a proper response to what must be a rhetorical question. “Because you’re a lying little whore, and I want answers.” His head snaked closer to her face. Lacking a forked tongue was a minor detail distinguishing him from the slippery creature he emulated.

He observed the resolve return to her posture as she considered a response that would calm his raging ego and assuage the beast staring in her face. His jaw tightened as he berated himself for even considering murdering the mother of his child.

She continued to watch with quiet fortitude, refusing to speak.

With a hiss of pent up air he spoke in a quiet voice with vise-like control. “Please tell me the truth. I want to know the whole story.” By the time those few words were spoken his voice wheedled and shook with emotional letdown.

He recognized a flash of sympathy flame in her eyes before she spoke. “I’ll tell you the truth, but you have to make one promise.”

He would be better off trusting a hungry lion to not eat him than trusting a pathological liar to tell the truth, but he was desperate and out of options. He shrugged. “Okay, what is it?”

“Promise me you won’t hurt me when I tell you.”

“That simple, no grandiose requests?” His tone incredulous as the words escaped his mouth.

“Yes, that simple.”

“Easy. I promise.” His mind worked the details of his promise. Though he presented himself to be an honorable man, he wasn’t opposed to breaking a promise. In this case though, he wouldn’t break a promise, but he’d consider breaking her thin little neck.

“How well do you remember the day we met?”

“I thought you were telling me the truth not asking questions. But, I’ll answer this one. I remember every excruciating detail. I remember your scent, what you did to my body, and how one time would have never been enough.” He replied, his mind’s eye replaying the details behind his retinas.

She pasted an evil grin on her face, distorting her pixie perfect features and revealing a darker troll hidden beneath a superficial covering. “You were a good lay, but that’s not what I’m getting at. Think back to the parking lot and maybe you’ll remember a trashy car with two people inside. I know you saw it, because you looked right at us as you passed by in your over-starched uniform, your full-birds shining in the sun. Though I’m sure your mind was on whatever tramp you would pick up.”

A boulder sized knot formed in the pit of his stomach as reality threatened to bowl him straight to crazy town. He remembered his earlier musings about the car. It made sense, but the missing pieces formed a giant hole in a simple story. He had picked up a tramp trolling for an officer in a military bar.

She stared at him as she waited for a flash of recognition to cross his face. “You’re still not understanding. Let me be more clear. You were a mark, nothing more.”

His hands trembled as her words sank in. His mind denied the implication of being had by an uneducated whore with nothing better to do than spread her legs for any male in the same room. “Tell me the rest of the plan.”

She hesitated.

“Listen bitch, you will tell me the rest. I was a mark for what? Were you planning to rip me off?”

The evil troll grin returned with a vengeance. “You know for a college educated man, you’re pretty stupid. I’ve been ripping you off since that first day. You were always so careless with cash. Have you never noticed that no matter how much money you take from the ATM you always end up with a single twenty folded in your wallet? Guess where all its friends went?”

His head shook, brain ready to explode through its cranium lid. “But you have your own bank card, why steal from my wallet?”

“I use the bank card for household purchases and for all the trinkets I let you buy for me. Have you not noticed most of those get returned anyway? You made a mistake letting me be a stay at home wife. All that extra cash goes to my boyfriend to care for our kids.”

His hands gripped his head before the explosion could rocket his brain into space. Reality pounded a giant’s hammer as it knocked him to his knees. Pieces lined up, fuzzy edges clearing as each confession rolled off Isabella’s lying tongue. Scott’s heart squeezed, pumping speeding blood through his veins. With a flash he got the full picture. “The boyfriend is Boyd’s father, a statement, not a question, before you answer.”

She nodded. “Would you like to hear the best part?”

He stared at his wife, but refused to answer further interrogation.

Isabella continued. Her voice was strong and ringing back to its normal bell-like quality. “We never wanted Boyd, but when I got pregnant I knew he would be the perfect bargaining chip with you. Until the day he was born I didn’t know whose kid he was. Imagine my shock in the hospital when you accepted with barely a question. And you bought my story about his dead father being a one night stand. I think you wanted to be a father so bad, you would have accepted if I’d told you a deranged rabid monkey had raped and impregnated me.”

Scott’s hands tightened into iron fists as she spoke Boyd’s name. His entire being burned with a fury reserved for murder.

Isabella smiled and patted his tense shoulder. “Oh, I almost forgot. Remember how I made sure all your life insurance was in my name, and how I increased it all to the max? Well, we were planning to kill you and make it look like an accident.” Her hand slipped deep into the couch cushions and she drew out a small silver pistol. Its diminutive size fit perfectly into her tiny hand.

She leveled the gun at his face. “Guess it’ll have to be a break-in where you die at a burglar’s capable hands.”

With a demon’s roar he leapt to his feet. His sudden movement bounced Isabella causing her aim to range wide as a shot flew over his shoulder.

He knocked the gun from her hand as easily as a kitten batting yarn. With a pained cry she threw her hands up to protect her face.

With deliberate exactitude he wrapped his hands around her throat. Sadism shot pent-up adrenaline through his body. His mind honed to a razor edge of focus, both speeding and slowing his next actions to a frame by frame play of pleasure.

As the first time his hands tightened, his thumbs pressed deep into the thin skin of her neck hollow, causing her to gag and jerk. Her body was flopping like a fish fighting its demise on the end of a barbed hook.

A strong odor of urine reached his nostrils as she flailed away the final seconds of her life. Even after her body stilled and her rapid pulse ground to a sluggish halt, he held his hands in a locked grip of death.

He stayed in the position, locking them together like two statues made of concrete. His concentration broken only when he heard Boyd cry from his bedroom.

The finality of his actions released a weight he was unaware of carrying. He gently laid Isabella’s body across the couch, stretching her legs and tilting her head so it looked like she was taking a nap. Satisfied with his cadaverous presentation he went to his crying son.

The simplicity of life became clearer with each heavy step he made toward a crying infant. Boyd loved him unconditionally.

Harper was now the next stage and he would return to her side with the son she could never have without his help. They would become the happy family he envisioned in his head and live the illusive happily ever after touted in every fairytale.