CHAPTER 21
A forced smile stretched my lips wide and I willed serenity into my eyes.
Dante stared at me, as if trying to read my mind by just looking at my face.
It was an intense look.
“I’m staying with you.” he repeated.
“It’ll be fine, D,” I tried to reassure him.
“I think it’s time I did this on my own, don’t you?”
He sat down on the bench in our changing rooms and began pulling on his ballet shoes.
Braided head bent he said, “Sol and Bret aren’t coming this year,” He raised his concerned gaze to mine once again.
“And now you’re telling me you’ll be fine on your own? I’m staying.”
The fake smile on my lips was replaced by a grimace.
“I need you in Birmingham-”
“We’ll reschedule the meeting.” he interrupted.
“Or send someone else.”
I rolled my eyes at that suggestion.
“This is our dance company. We’re not sending someone else, it would look unprofessional.”
“Then we reschedule.” he replied firmly, standing up and stretching his arms high as he rolled his head around his neck.
“Again,” I reiterated.
“Very unprofessional.”
Dante and I were at loggerheads.
There was a potential opportunity to perform at Birmingham Hippodrome.
The Ice Queen and Princess was a smash, and the ballet community knew it.
They knew us .
Performing the production at the Royal Opera House had catapulted us into a higher arena, and we needed to capitalize on our success or fade back into obscurity.
I didn’t want obscurity for my dance company, not after being on the big stage under the bright lights.
Intake of students was at an all-time high, my corp was eager and hardworking; business was good.
And my birthday loomed closer, one week away to be precise.
After that, well, I knew what came after but this year I was going to slay my demon.
This year I would not fall apart on the anniversary of their deaths.
This year I would grieve like a…
a normal person?
What was normal with grief?
Soul destroying, mind warping grief.
Hell if I knew, but I was going to do it.
Maybe I shouldn’t have stopped my sessions with the good Dr Brown.
“Madi, I’ve watched you fall apart each year since we were kids,” Dante said with a heavy dose of sadness.
“And I’m not letting you go through this alone. God only knows what you’ll do.”
My eyebrows shot way up at his worried exclamation.
Why did he sound as if he feared I would do something stupid?
I mean, since my teenaged years there was always drink and light drug use involved; and he was always right there, but not this year.
This year I was facing it sober.
“Dante,” I fiddled with the straps of my leotard and tried to smile.
“I’ll be fine. It’s time.”
I squirmed under the scrutiny of his warm brown eyes and recognized the tense line of his shoulders and clenched hands.
He wasn’t planning to back down on this issue.
“Will you really?” he asked, mockingly might I point out.
“Especially now with the added problem of your dickass husband. And why haven’t you gotten a lawyer as yet? You told me he has one. He’s going to screw you over, sweet cheeks. I can feel it in my bones.”
I forced a laugh to lighten the atmosphere.
“In your bones, huh?”
When Dante let out an irritated huff, my gaze slid quickly away from his.
I was fearful Dante would somehow magically guess what had happened the weekend he was away in Amsterdam.
Matt hadn’t called.
Three weeks had passed since our sex-fest and he hadn’t contacted me.
The first few days after, my cell had been practically glued to my hand as I waited for the expected call.
My hope that we would reconcile was sky high.
The loving had been superb , omitting the incidents before and during the shower.
Once a week had passed, I figured it must be work keeping him busy.
The oil economy was still dealing with the ongoing lower than expected prices per barrel.
Yeah, I had looked into it…
and the powers that be were already warning that it was unlikely any significant recovery of oil prices would even take place in 2016.
Also he probably didn’t want to seem too eager.
He had an over-abundance of pride.
By the second week, I was furious, mentally cursing him out and feeling like a pathetic idiot.
I had let him hit it then quit it, the douche.
Yeah, I was mad, until I caught a bit of news announcing the birth of Nathan and Bella Walthamstow’s first child.
So once again my hope had rocketed to the heavens, Matt was obviously caught up with his best friend’s life, right?
That’s why he hadn’t called.
Then I thought maybe he was waiting for me to call him, it was the 21 st century after all and women were allowed to be forward in relationships.
But Matt was the type of man who liked being the man .
He preferred doing things on his own terms, in fact, that was the only way he liked doing things.
So I waited.
This was the third week and my hope was dead.
He wasn’t going to call and probably never planned to.
I had experienced my first one-night stand.
A weird spousal version of the one-night stand that had me confused as hell.
Maybe he just wanted to sex me one last time.
Maybe he hadn’t expected it to happen.
Maybe he was a douche who I stupidly gave the goodies to and he hadn’t given me a second thought since.
He had left while I was sleeping.
Who does that?
It was simply good manners to bid someone goodbye after covering them in come.
And it had gotten every where.
“See?” Dante’s exclamation startled me out of my musings.
“You’ve been spaced out for weeks. You always get like this around your birthday. I’m staying, deal with it.” With that pronouncement he spun on his heels and stalked out the changing rooms.
“I can do this on my own.” I grumbled to the empty locker room.
In fact, I needed to do this on my own.
Although I had ended my therapy sessions in under a year, Dr Brown’s assessment had been accurate, and brutal.
I was guilty of using the people I loved like crutches.
How would I ever be a well-adjusted person if continuously avoiding the hard issues in my life?
A frustrated grunt escaped my lips.
Why did things have to be so hard?
Why was my life so hard?
I headed out the locker room with slumped shoulders.
Aunt Cleo always said the Lord never gave you more than you could bear, but it felt the load I carried was too much.
Pathetic.
I was a pathetic excuse for a woman.
Where was my inner strength?
I was broken, had been since the death of my parents; it was time to fix that.
I just had to figure out how…
.
It was the fifteenth and the normally silent house phone rang loudly.
I reached over to nab it from the coffee table while balancing the bowl of soup on my thigh.
A quick glance at the caller id confirmed my suspicions.
“Hey,” I greeted softly.
“I’ve been trying you all day,” My aunt’s tone held a trace of reproach but it was countered by concern.
“How was it?”
“Fine,” I murmured, nestling the phone between my shoulder and ear.
“How are you guys?”
“We’re ok,” she rushed to say.
“Are you ok?”
“Mhmm,” I took a moment to pop a spoonful of soup in my mouth.
We were both silent for half a minute until she let out a soft sigh.
“I don’t like you being alone today. It’s not right.”
“I’m fine, Aunt Cleo,” I wanted to stem her tirade before it began.
Dante had gone to Birmingham yesterday.
My threat to force a buy out of his 30% of our company and the destruction of his stuff on my property swayed his decision.
He had stayed for my birthday, no celebration this year, then booked a return train ticket to Birmingham for the business meeting.
“You don’t sound fine.” she stated with sadness.
I popped another spoonful of soup in my mouth.
The trip to the cemetery this morning was difficult for me to face on my own, but I had done it.
Of course, without Dante there to fulfil his clock watching duties, my time at their gravesides had morphed from an hour to three.
“Your uncle wants to know if you’re coming home for Thanksgiving this year.”
I chewed my lower lip, knowing it was really her who wanted confirmation.
“Not this year, Aunt Cleo. I have so much on at the moment and this new production is fuc-”
Her sharp intake of breath stopped the expletive from slipping out.
“Um, I can’t.” There.
No swear words.
What I wanted to say was the latest production was fucking hard work.
If we wanted another chance at piquing the interest of the Royal Ballet it would need to be perfect.
It wasn’t perfect, not yet.
And this time I wouldn’t have Grumps’s meddling to open doors for me.
It didn’t matter.
However my foot had gotten in the door, it was staying there.
I just needed this new production to be perfect.
“When will we see you then?” she asked, and if I didn’t know any better, I would have thought there was fearful uncertainty in her voice.
“I know you won’t be coming for Christmas,” Her words hung down the line, as if she was hoping I would say ‘actually, I’ll be home for Christmas’.
“Maybe sometime next year.” I replied, staring listlessly at the t.
v and stirring my soup.
“I can’t say for sure. Things are hectic.”
We fell silent again.
“Aunt Cleo?” I tentatively broke the silence.
“Do you think they would be proud of me?”
“Yes,” Came her immediate answer.
“Of course they would. Don’t even doubt that.”
“But how can you be certain?” I fussed.
“I’ve done things, things you don’t know about-”
“Madison,” she cut me off, calm and firm.
“I know they would be proud of you because I’m proud of you. Is this about that no good husband of yours? Has he done something to you? Said something? Why won’t you tell me the truth about it? I just don’t understand. Has he done something to you? Did he hurt you? God as my witness, if he put his hands on you I’ll come over there.”
“No, no, he hasn’t.” An unladylike snort followed my words.
“He doesn’t want anything to do with me. Look, this isn’t about him. Why did you hate her? Why did you hate my mother so much?”
Aunt Cleo said nothing for a few seconds, then she sighed.
“I didn’t hate her.” Another weary sigh whispered down the connection between us.
“Or maybe I did. Your mother and I were never going to be friends, sweetie. I didn’t think she was a good fit for your daddy. Lord help me. I remember the day he came home with the biggest smile on his face, yakking on about this English girl he met at Madison Square Gardens.” She chuckled softly.
“That’s why he named you Madison, you know. He met her there.”
My mouth parted in surprise, and delight.
Who knew the nickname my friends had labelled me with was in fact the right reason for my name.
“I’ll be honest,” Aunt Cleo continued.
“When we first met she rubbed me the wrong way. Her mannerisms, like she thought she was too good for us and she wasn’t God-fearing like your daddy and I had been raised. I was only twenty when my mother passed, and then Daddy went a few months after. I think he died of a broken heart. He just,” Aunt Cleo inhaled, so deeply I heard it as if she was sat right next to me.
“Well, it was just me and Reginald. My little brother Reggie. Oh Madi, he was such a gentle man and even though he was only two years younger than me, it became my responsibility to see him right. That’s what we do, we take care of our family.”
I stayed quiet, listening intently.
She never truly spoke about my parents with me, not like this.
Perhaps it was because of today’s date.
The anniversary of their deaths.
I hadn’t once wondered how this day affected my aunt.
She had lost a loved one too.
Clearing her throat she said emptily, “He didn’t listen to me when I voiced my concerns, and the more I tried, the harder he stuck his heels in. He always listened to me, but with her, when it came to Elizabeth there was nothing I could say to make him change his mind. I suppose that hurt me more than I ever admitted. It felt like he had picked her over me, over family, and I-” Her words came to an abrupt end.
I chewed the insides of my mouth in discomfort.
Was this why she’d flipped out when I had chosen to be with Matt?
She must have felt it was the same betrayal all over again, just like with my dad.
“Aunt Cleo,” I said quietly.
“No one could ever replace you in my life, and I’m sure Daddy thought the same.”
A tiny sniff came from her side, then another.
“I know that now, I think I tried to hold on too tight, to both you and your daddy.”
The word ‘suffocated’ came to mind, but I wisely refrained from saying it.
Instead I sought confirmation of the rift between my parents and my aunt.
“And that’s why you hated her? Because you felt she came between you and Dad?”
“In the beginning, yes,” Aunt Cleo made an uncomfortable sound then cleared her throat.
“There are things which happened, I don’t want to go into them. I don’t think it’s right to-”
“Tell me.” I interrupted with a terse command.
“I want to know everything.”
“Madi,”
“I want to know, Aunt Cleo. I need to know, to understand why. When I was little, sometimes I would see you looking at me and all I could feel was resentment, as if you hated me too.”
Aunt Cleo hissed before saying, “I could never hate you. You’re all that’s left of him, and I’m sorry I ever made you feel that way. But some things you don’t need to know. I don’t want it to change how you think of them, of her.”
“Tell me.” I insisted.
After her last cryptic comment, there was no way I would leave it alone.
She said nothing for a while, then sighed before dropping four words that made my stomach clench.
“She cheated on him.”
Four little words that yanked the axis of my world and had me feeling like a lost child.
Then a terrible thought formed in my head.
Perhaps it was the true reason Aunt Cleo resented me.
“Oh,” I whispered.
“Am I – was he not my -” The words got stuck in my throat, I couldn’t say what I really wanted to, I was scared.
I phrased it differently to delay my potential freak out over the answer.
“Are you not my real aunt?”
“ What? ” she shrieked.
It was a full-blown, ear-piercing shriek.
“Have you lost your mind? Of course, I’m your aunt! We have the same nose – look, you’re a DuMont, you hear me? Reginald and Elizabeth DuMont were your parents and that’s the honest truth.” She huffed under her breath, muttering something too low for me to clearly hear before speaking up.
“You were almost three when Reggie confided in me. I was furious, demanded he leave her and move back to the States with you. I was so mad because she had hurt him and I wasn’t there to protect him, to stop it. Oh, I wanted to beat her scrawny behind into the ground.”
“Aunt Cleo.” My exclamation earned me an annoyed grunt.
“I’m no saint,” she groused.
“And I was young once too. Hot-blooded with a quick temper, but , my mother had always told me not to act on such emotions.”
I scoffed.
“So you let it fester. Great. The building block for unhealthy passive aggressive behaviour which, let me add, seems to be one of my many problems. Huh, must have learnt that from you, right? Mom cheated on Dad, and I look like her so, presto, Madison is just like her mother! A sorry excuse for a human being. Untrustworthy. Deserving of-” The anger wasn’t meant for her.
My childhood happiness was based on a sham.
I shut my mouth and took a deep breath.
“He stayed with her because of me, didn’t he? They stayed together because of me. That’s fucking perfect.”
“He forgave her,” Aunt Cleo said without pulling me up for swearing.
“He loved her and she loved him. People make mistakes and your mother made hers, but he forgave her. I couldn’t. It wasn’t my business, I know that. What goes on between a man and his wife is nobody’s business but their own, but he was my brother and she hurt him, so when he didn’t leave it was a slap in the face. I thought it made him weak and,” she broke off with a sharp breath.
“I couldn’t forgive her and he couldn’t give her up, so he chose his family and I lost him. Years, I didn’t talk to him for three years and then he was gone. You know, sometimes I blame myself. If we were still close, maybe that year you would have visited us. Maybe we would have made a trip to see you and it would have been different. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened.”
The tears rolled down my cheeks.
The blame game was one I knew all too well.
Hearing her voice her own guilt, it broke something inside me and as the tears fell from my eyes, I sobbed out, “It was my fault, not yours. At least I thought so but I don’t anymore, not too much, I mean. I saw a psychiatrist, she said I shouldn’t blame myself. And Matt…Matt thinks I cheated on him and he won’t listen to me. He doesn’t believe me and I don’t know what to do anymore. I love him so much. He wants a divorce and I- I…I’m tired. I’m tired of it all.”
Her murmurs of comfort was the background to my desolate crying.
“He never listened to me and I didn’t want kids. He worked all the time, me too, but…” I hiccupped and wiped my nose on the sleeve of my cardigan.
“I wasn’t ready for marriage but I loved him so much I thought it would work. That all we needed was love. I kissed another man, well, he kissed me and Matt saw…he thinks I’m a cheater. And the pictures, he has pictures of me with someone – I don’t understand, Auntie Cleo.”
“Shh,” she soothed from thousands of miles away.
“It will be alright.”
“No,” I disagreed.
“It won’t be. He wants a divorce and I’m starting to think he’s right. We don’t fit together. We’re too different and sometimes love just isn’t enough. We made a mistake getting married and now everything is ruined.”
“If the good Lord chose him for you, things will work out.” she said without doubt.
“Maybe not when you want it, but on His time. Have faith, Madi.”
I sniffed, then started sobbing again.
Today was never a good day for me.
“Pray with me.” Aunt Cleo said after a stint of my garbled words amidst the water-works.
“I don’t want to pray.” I snarled.
“What’s the point? When have prayers ever helped me? It didn’t help when I was growing up-”
“I know you don’t want to,” she cut in gently.
“But still, do it for me.”
And there it was, perhaps my greatest flaw or greatest strength, depending on which way you looked at it.
Do it for me.
I was a pleaser, willing to put aside my feelings for those of my loved ones.
Had I always been that way?
Or was it a learned trait?
“Ok.”
We prayed, and I felt better, lighter.
Later that night when I snuggled under the covers in my lonely bed, I decided to let go.
It wasn’t giving up, it was simply accepting the fact that some things were beyond my control.
Sometimes you just had to let go.
I slept like the dead that night.