Keeping Up

 

I knocked once; then twice again on the heavy cherry wood door. I glanced over my shoulder down the long dimly lit corridor. I'd followed him upstairs, undetected. Or so I'd thought.
The door creaked open, “Come in my dear.” A pale, long fingered hand gestured his invitation. He was dramatic; clad in a black silk dressing robe and black velvet slippers, with one eye brow cocked with a permanent question.

A question I knew he would make me answer tonight.
I stood awkwardly in the doorway unable to make my feet cross the threshold. I half waited for him to pull me inside. He didn't. It had to be my decision. I had to be willing.
“Don't be afraid, I won't.... bite.” He smiled wickedly, but his eyes were innocent and sincere.
I took a few wooden steps into his room. His bedroom. His... lair. I almost laughed at the thought. Now I was the one being dramatic. Nothing bad could happen. I mean, his wife and the other guests were right downstairs; drinking champagne and enjoying catered hors d'oeurves, oblivious to the absence of their host. And me. No one would miss me, I'd come to the party alone.
It was as though he read my thoughts.
Instantly he was beside me. He casually slid his arm around me, with his hand on my lower back, firm but not forceful.

“No my dear, no one is wondering where you are.”
I shivered and my knees went weak.
“I... I um...” I tried to speak...to protest?? No, I wanted to be here. My brain was flooded with too many thoughts, too many scenarios, I had no alternative but to give in. Whatever he desired, I had no choice, my answer would have to be 'yes'.
I'd never actually met him until tonight. I'd seen him in the office building where I worked every so often. He was far above my 'station', out of my class; I was a receptionist. He was an important man, the important man; the owner of the company I worked for. A rich man. A married man. An irresistible yet much older man. Tonight's dinner was celebrating a merger, and I'd been invited along with everyone else on the ground floor. And as usual, I had nothing better to do. Worst that could happen, a free dinner and expensive champagne.
Now I wondered how many others had stood where I was, had felt what I was feeling. How many others had he called 'my dear'? Did it matter?

Suddenly he pulled away, the mood had changed.

“Lenore,” he let out a sigh of exasperation and rolled his darkening blue eyes.

A moment passed, then there was a knock at the door.
“Stay put my dear, I will be right back.” He winked at me, sealing my fate, as if there were any other option.

I stood frozen next to the bed. Their bed. I looked around the room, where could I hide?
He opened the door, but stood blocking her entrance. He said nothing.
“Darling, you are neglecting your guests.” She was patronizing, her voice unfeeling and monotone. I could feel her gaze. She knew I was there, but I don't think she cared.
“Of course. I'll be down...” he looked over his shoulder at me, and smiled, “...in a moment. There is something I must take care of first.”
Lenore laughed. “I'm sure she won't take long. Don't be rude to your other guests my love, even if they aren't as.... pretty.”
He closed the door before she had gone. Alone at last. Now I was frightened.

He pulled me close and stroked my hair. Kissed me on the forehead, and began unbuttoning my dress. I didn't stop him, I couldn't. My clothes and my resolve fell away with one touch. I had given him permission, now I was at his mercy.

An hour later as we lay side by side in their bed, I was awash with guilt. And not for obvious reasons, but because I had taken too long to get here. I knew this was where I belonged. The rumors were silly gossip, stories probably originating from Lenore. He wasn't a monster, he was wonderful; tender and kind.

“I'm sorry.” I rolled over and pulled the sheet up around my neck. He offered me a cigarette, and I took it even though it had been years since I'd quit.
“Oh my dear, what could you possibly have to be sorry about?” His now sparkling blue eyes were sincere, and gentle.
My face flushed; but I had to be honest.

He lit my cigarette, and one of his own.
“I'm... I'm sorry I never thought of you like this before. I thought... I thought you were... old.” I shouldn't have said it. But he already knew.
He cackled and without missing a beat responded, “Oh my dear, I am old, you really have no idea. But I am still well able to, ah... keep up with you, don't you think?”
He took the cigarette from my lips and set it alongside his in the ashtray on the night table. His face was unreadable again; I couldn't tell if he were momentarily hurt, or angry.
Abruptly, he snatched the sheet from around me and his hands were hot upon my naked skin. It wasn't anger or pain, it was passion. Oh yes, he could keep up just fine.

© Garden Summerland 2026

Just to Be Loved

 

His office door was open and I quietly stepped inside. I was thankful he was alone; sitting at his desk, intently focused on the papers in front of him.

I cleared my throat, “Well you got old.” I was joking with him, trying to ease back into the connection we once shared. They were the first words I'd spoken to him in over thirty years.
He raised his gaze and took me in, “Well you didn't.” It was almost a complimentary appraisal.
“That's not exactly right... but you've always had a few years on me.” I felt uneasy.

“Seventeen wasn't it?” He was shocked to see me but would never let it show. He almost smiled, and then caught himself. “What are you doing here?” He was suddenly agitated, just like the last time I'd tried this.

“I thought that would be obvious. How have you been?”
“I've been well, all things considered.” He was still wearing his wedding ring.

He didn't reciprocate my question; I wasn't surprised. He wasn't happy to see me.
What had I expected?
“I was only kidding Vernon, you look... you look really good.” I wanted to sound casual, this wasn't going well.
“That's the first time you've ever called me that.” He looked up at me, then back down at the papers in front of him.
“Yeah, it... feels weird now huh? Should I still call you Mr. Powers?”
He didn't answer, or look up. Maybe this was a bad idea.

It felt the same, this scenario; even though the environment was different. Back then, it had been a classroom, now it was a church office.
A lot had changed. I was an adult now, newly divorced and he was widowed for almost a year.

“So, I heard about Alice. I'm very sorry. I know that you... loved her.”

He smiled that same sideways smile and touched the gold band he'd worn ever since I'd known him. His eyes were melancholy, but there was still a fire behind them, only now little rows of wrinkles framed them. His salt and pepper hair had turned solid white. Thirty years was a long time.
Why had I waited so long? Marriage, kids... a life; but always memories of him and a path not taken.

He didn't look up, and continued sorting the papers on his desk, “Thank you,” he said with a tinge of sadness mixed with an emotion I couldn't quite place.
Maybe he knew how hard that was for me to say. She was not a nice person, at least she hadn't been to me all those years ago. But then, I had been in love with her husband. So maybe she'd had a right.
I had been young, but the love had been real. And nothing ever really happened. Not for lack of trying on my part; he'd had a hell of a reserve, he'd never touched me. He was a saint.

“Well, I just wanted you to know that I am truly sorry for your loss. And I wanted, no I needed to tell you...” My voice trailed off. I wasn't so sure I could say what I'd come to say now.
He looked up. Finally. “Tell me what?”
There were tears in his eyes. Was he crying for her, or for me... or maybe for himself?
I paused. Too long. He looked down again.
No, I would not let this end badly. Not again. I walked over to him, placed my hand on his shoulder, then touched his cheek.
“I wanted to tell you that I love you. I have always loved you, and if you want to talk, or anything else, please call me.”
I handed him a scrap of paper with my cell phone number scribbled on it. He reluctantly took it, and I left before he could say anything.
I ran out of the church and across the empty parking lot. A repeat of the last time I had seen him; four years after graduation. Only I hadn't had the nerve to confess my true feelings then, I had only managed to tell him that I was getting married; then I'd ran away from him, just like today.
He had seemed cold and unfeeling, then and now, but I knew somewhere in his heart, he still loved me. He'd confessed it once, and it had held a sacred place within me for more than three decades. A love that could go nowhere, only to sit unattended, not growing, not dying; protected and hidden away from the world. And it was still there.

I knew I would never hear from him. He wouldn't call, and I wouldn't bother him again. I only wanted him to know that for thirty years, he had remained in a special place in my heart.

Maybe it was enough for both of us, just to be loved. And to know.

© Garden Summerland 2025 

Happy Anniversary

 

“What?” I asked in shock as he pulled away from me and grabbed his white polo from the bed, tugging it over his head.
“Oh, nothing.” He responded casually, then a little more direct, “Put your clothes back on.” He picked up my tennis dress from the floor and held it out to me.
“You're joking right?” He'd taken me aback, the last twenty minutes had been a fast foray into an exquisite passion that had been building for weeks. Now I was annoyed. I snatched the dress from his hands, and reluctantly put it on.

He touched my cheek with the back of his hand and sighed, “No I'm not joking, love. Your kid will be home in a few minutes, right? Same time every day? You knew we didn't have time to.... finish.” He seemed amused.

“Oh crap.” I grabbed his wrist & twisted it towards me to look at his watch.
Ariel. The bus would stop at the end of the driveway in about ten minutes, and she'd kill herself racing to the house.
If her father had bought her a car for her 16^th birthday like she'd wanted, she'd be working after school. Then I would have had hours to spend with Zack, my latest... instructor.
“Quit calling her my kid. It was a package deal.” I motioned my hand around the room.
“And it is a nice house. Plus, it's the only way I can afford YOU.”

He laughed then winked at me. “I think I'd better meet you out on the court. See you in half an hour?” He grabbed his racket and was out the door before I could answer.
I fell back onto the bed just as I heard the squeal of the school-bus brakes. I wanted to replay the afternoon in my head, but that would have to wait. At least my face was appropriately flushed, it had been a grueling lesson today, in more ways than one.
The front door slammed.

“Elise? You here?” That bubble-gum voice tinged with malice carried throughout the house.

I heard her bounding up the stairs towards her bedroom. I was two doors down.
“Yes, of course I'm here. Where else would I be?” I screeched it at her in my best wicked step-mother tone.
I heard her coming down the hall.

“Who was that in the back yard? Did daddy hire someone else to get you in shape?”
She popped her head in the room just to raise her eyebrows at me.

“That was Zachary Taylor. THE Zachary Taylor. He's going to teach me tennis, if you must know. And your father has never complained about my “shape”. You should mind your own business.”
I rolled off the bed and smoothed the pleats of my tennis dress and continued giving her the explanation she was waiting for. “Well dear, for your information, I got too hot on the court and came in to cool off. I felt queasy, so thought I'd best lie down for a while. I guess Zachary came looking for me. I thought I heard someone at the back door.”
She rolled her eyes. “As if... but you do look a little flushed. Be careful, you can get overheated quickly... at your age. ” She smirked and left, humming some childish tune as she retreated to her room. I was going to have to get rid of that little brat.

I spent the rest of the afternoon chasing balls on the court. I wasn't very good at this game. Of course, I wasn't paying much attention, I was lost in thoughts of exactly what I was going to do about the current situation. I was falling in love with Zack. That had never happened with any of the others. And now I was going to have to free myself from the albatross hanging around my neck. And his kid.
But I needed to hang onto the fortune I'd become accustomed to spending. I'd come up with a plan.

A few days passed, and I had had one too many pangs of conscience about Ariel, she was after all just a child. And pulling off one murder was iffy already. So I decided if I could just do the one, take out the husband, then Ariel would be easy to pack off to boarding school. And I would inherit almost all of the estate. I would set up a trust fund for the little brat; I wasn't a complete monster. She could have her share, no need to be greedy at this point.
I began watching true crime documentaries; listening to audio books and podcasts on serial killers, anything that could provide potential blueprints. It's a sick world; I realized that committing the crime was the easy part; getting away with it was another story. I was hopeful about that, I was pretty savvy. The big question was 'could I live with myself'?

I had that question answered within the week when I found two airline tickets to Fiji in my husbands suit jacket. Along with a note with lipstick prints and red ink hearts, “You will have the time of your life,” scrawled underneath them.

He was having an affair. And Ariel knew; I knew she did. All those judgey looks across the dinner table, the snide remarks about Zack. They were both laughing at me. Well I would have the last laugh.
I chose the date carefully. It had to be before our anniversary. No way I could fake it through another catered affair of congratulatory lies. That gave me two weeks.
And I needed an ironclad alibi. Nothing to do with Zack, that was already looking suspicious.
I'd been dragging my feet for the past week, and our 13^th anniversary was the next day. I knew he had something planned, and now, so did I. Only his was for show, and mine... mine was for real. Then I would play the bereaved widow to the hilt, that would be my show.

For now, I was carrying on the facade of the spoiled wife. Cooking lessons, Spanish, and today had been my first piano lesson. Unfortunately, my teacher was female, and she wasn't even attractive. I had hoped to make Zachary jealous.

It was after 6:30 when I arrived home, John was home already. Great.

“Surprise!” Fifty people sang in unison as I opened the front door.

John came rushing to my side with a bouquet of roses and an envelope in his hand.
“My love, Happy Anniversary!”
I stood with my mouth agape, trying to assess the situation. Tonight had been the night. And now....
I took the flowers and the envelope.
“Open it baby, I know it's something we've always talked about. We're leaving in the morning. Ariel packed for you.”
My head was swimming, and I felt faint. He slid his arm around me to steady me, “I know it's a shock, but we wanted to surprise you!”

My eyes scanned the room; Ariel was standing with Zack. They smiled and raised champagne glasses. I was going to be sick.
“Honey, we're going to Fiji! Janice put together a travel package, we'll be gone for a month!”
I had poisoned all of the champagne in the house.

The room was darkening, and I felt my knees give way. I fell before he could catch me and cracked my head on the marble entry way floor.
I was in the hospital for almost a month, most of it spent in a coma.

I would never know what happened.

 © Garden Summerland 2025

Retrogression

“Mama, what does this word mean?”
Tuesday handed me the tattered bound up papers and I read the words.

“Where did you get that?” I demanded.

“Grandpa gave it to me. He said it was his grandmother's. I've tried reading it, but you have to turn the pages,” she took it back from me, “like this mama, you just turn the paper over and there is more on the back of it.”
“Yes Tues, it's called a 'book'.”
“I know THAT. Grandpa told me. But I don't understand most of it. What does this word mean?”
She pointed on the page.
“It doesn't matter. You shouldn't be looking at that. Grandpa shouldn't have given it to you. It's... it's not allowed.”
“Why?”
“Here, give it to me and get your Tech Pal out, you should be sitting in your room gaming instead of reading anyway. It's not good for you.”
Tuesday thrust the book towards me and shrugged her bony shoulders. She was small for eight years old.
“Here, you can have it. None of it makes any sense anyway. A bunch of words I don't understand, and I tried to look them up, but ROXIE says they don't exist. It's stupid.”
I fought back tears. The old man shouldn't have done it. Stirring up things long forgotten. I barely knew what any of the words meant either. But the one Tuesday had pointed to, I knew.
“Slavery”. It was on the list of canceled words. It had been since my mother was a baby.
There were only a handful of people left that remembered what the canceled words were. I struggled to recall, but only came up with seven of them; there had been over a hundred. Never spoken, never written, erased from time, but not from the memories of a select few that were still alive. It hadn't changed anything. The words still existed in action and thought, only they weren't allowed to be spoken now so everyone could pretend like the things they did weren't wrong. Never getting called out had cleared consciences and provided false virtue.

Back then, people called it 'political correctness', but it was nothing more than a way for the government to control our words. It was censorship that we all embraced.

Grandpa had tried to teach me about it when I was Tuesday's age but mama wouldn't hear of it.
Fourteen years of Process Clearing worked on most, and mama had been no exception.

So Grandpa was shushed, and I'd grown up like everyone else, oblivious to the horrors of the past. And I'd chosen to keep it from Tuesday. After all, I wanted to be a good citizen.

Keep the old ones quiet long enough, and they would die out. Then history could be re-written, so no one would know about the sins of the ages. Our ancestors looked noble and innocent, and so would we. No matter what crimes we committed.
It was a perfect plan. Utopia would finally exist. Or would it?

©Garden Summerland 2022

Photo Cred: Seannel 123rf.com

Running Away

 

I heard laughter. Not just laughter, it was a giggle. They were in his office.
I'd brought him lunch; his favorite from the diner across the street.

I silently walked to the end of the hall and nudged open the door.
Waves of tousled blond hair bobbed behind the desk. He was sitting with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. The leather executive chair I'd bought him when he'd leased the office strategically positioned to shield their illicit activity.

I waited. A moment later, he felt my presence. He opened his eyes as he turned his head towards me. He pushed her away and sprang to his feet in one fell swoop. It was almost comical.
“It's not what it looks like.” He stammered, straightening his clothes.
“Oh, I think it is exactly what it looks like.” I stared him down. He'd been caught.
“Please, I just... I missed you, and I...she means nothing.”
Why did he have to say that? Surely she meant something.
“Zip your pants.” It sounded cold, a command devoid of emotion.
I turned to leave but he grabbed my arm and swung me around. I dropped his lunch, and tried to pull away but lost my balance and fell forward into him. I was furious.
He held me. My skin flushed and the room seemed to go dim.
I waited for him to kiss me but he didn't. I wanted him to kiss me, I wanted him to love me again. Crazy thoughts swirled in my head, he held me tighter.
“I won't let you go.” he whispered into my ear.
“Ahem.” She cleared her throat.
I'd forgotten there was someone else there. I'd seen her before, but never thought twice about it. Another lawyer's wife, or girlfriend; something.
I felt stupid, and tricked. He'd done it again. But this was the last time.
I wrenched myself from his grip.
“You won't see me again.”
He called after me, but didn't follow.
I started running and didn't look back.
After that day, I'd continued to run. All through my life, away from people. Away from him. Always away from him. I would find a little of him in every man I would ever date. And I would always run away before they could hurt me too.
I would never recover, never heal. I'd loved him and he'd betrayed me. Changed me.
But I would make damn certain that it would never happen again.
Unknowingly, he had created a simple solution to every problem I'd ever have.

Just keep running away.

© LolaAutry 2021

Photo cred: itsajoop

Finally

 

I was unfazed by the chill in the evening air; my skin was hot, my face flushed with fear.

My eyes darted across the street and back, searching for a familiar face; they were all strangers.
“I didn't do it.” I whispered it, no one noticed.

I shook my head in disbelief. They were all staring at me. A sea of blue uniforms and red flashing lights. My head was spinning.
“Mrs. Anderson, I advise you not to say anything else.” Some lady I didn't know shouted out from the blur of faces. She would be my attorney. I had no idea how I'd find her, but she already believed in me.
“I didn't do it.” I repeated it louder this time.

Tears were flowing freely down my cheeks and my shoulders began to shake uncontrollably.

I glanced sideways at the body. His body. They thought I killed him. What did they know?
With my hands behind my back and metal clamped around my wrists, turmoil swept through the crowd.
It was shocking and strange and frightening; Death sprawled out in their street. Their once quiet suburbia subjected to a new horror.

A female officer guided me towards a patrol car, “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law....” her voice became muffled and I shut out the rest.

I couldn't hear anything but the roar of screams inside my head. He was dead.
“I didn't do it.” I repeated it over and over.

I was rehearsing. And celebrating.
He was dead.

Finally.

©2020 Lola Autry

Picture Credit: 123rf

Our Is Not to Reason Why

“I'm ready to die.” It was matter of fact. She was sure.
“No, you're not.” I pleaded with her. We'd come too far for her to let go now. It had been six months, and they'd told her she had three.
“Yes dear, I've lived a long life, I've done everything I ever wanted to do... it's time.”
I squeezed her hand.
“No, I won't let you go.” Tears streamed down my cheeks, I couldn't choke them back.
Machines started beeping, her eyes fluttered and closed as her hand went limp.

I screamed. I was still shrieking when the nurses came running into the room.
I'd prayed, and I'd fasted, and I'd promised the world for her to live. I'd done everything. Everything except sell my soul. I'd failed her. And now she was gone.
The lights dimmed and everyone slowed to a standstill enveloped in darkness. My skin was burning, and I felt ill.
“No!” I bellowed angrily into the shadows, “You can't have her!”
Blinding light filled the room forcing me to my knees. I didn't dare look up, I could feel His presence.
He was not there to bargain. He would not listen, He never had. His will not mine. Never mine. I couldn't accept it. But He allowed me to fight.
The room was still and silent, frozen in time, He was granting me a moment. A moment to process, a moment to say good-bye, a moment to make a choice.
“Take me.” The words tumbled out of my mouth without a thought.
I looked at my grandmother and she opened her eyes, crystal blue and clear as a summer sky.
“It's not your choice, it's mine,” she spoke softly but her voice was strong and firm, the voice of calm reason I'd heard all my life.
It didn't matter. She was all I had left, I had no one else. He had taken them all over the years. One by one. And each time, I'd grieved and dealt with the loss. But no more.
I saw no purpose for my life other than the one now presented. He knew.
“You will not be alone.” His soothing voice was inside my head.
The room was darkening once again and I collapsed to the floor. As I lost consciousness, the bright light dissipated, and my grandmother closed her eyes again.
When I awakened, I was in a hospital bed, aching all over. I struggled to remember, but could not.
I was startled out of my attempted recall as a nurse with a wide smile came in carrying a swaddled newborn.
“Good morning, mama! You did a beautiful job. Want to see her?”
My memories flooded back. Now I understood. He was right, I would not be alone anymore.
I held out my arms and took the infant, snuggling her close.
“You had us worried for a while, but God knew what he was doing.” The nurse patted me on the arm. “Yes,” I shook my head, “He sure did.”

I smiled down at my new hope, and whispered softly, “Welcome to the world little Ruby.”

©2020 Garden Summerland

This story is dedicated to the memory of my grandmother.