Chapter Eleven #2
“What has gotten into you?” my mother snaps the second we’re in the living room. “You don’t like Michael?”
“What?”
“Michael,” she repeats, louder this time. “You don’t like him?”
“I love all of God’s children.” The words are flat, and even I know they came out sarcastically.
“Cut it out right now and tell your mother why you’re acting like this.”
I blow out a heavy sigh and lean back on the couch. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”
“It’s a sin to lie to your mother, Kade Joseph Anderson.” She really likes this one and points it out whenever she can.
“It’s nuanced,” I say. “What do you need moved in here, or did you lie too?”
“Of course I lied.” She settles down next to me. “I’m giving them time to get to know each other. God knows I have good intentions. Now tell me what’s going on.”
Muffled laughter interrupts us, taunting me like someone waving a banana in front of a caged gorilla. What’s so damn funny?
“Honey,” my mother says, her hand on my hand, her tone more serious now, “you like Wren, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course I do. She’s a lovely girl, and she deserves good things. It’s awful what that man was doing to her.”
“That’s not what I mean,” my mother adds. “You’re attracted to her, aren’t you?”
“She is an attractive woman, yes. Anyone can see that, but I’m a man of God.” My words are still flat, though I’m trying my best to breathe life into them.
“I’ve never seen you react like this before,” my mother continues. “You seem upset that Michael’s here. Do you think maybe you have feelings for Wren that you’re not dealing with?”
Dishes clatter in the kitchen as the laughter continues, and rage tightens my throat.
“No,” I growl. “You were right earlier. It’s good for her to meet new people. I just worry it’s too soon. Her divorce isn’t final.”
“She left the guy, and she told me he texted to agree it was over. So… it’s all paperwork at this point. Plus, it’s good for her to see that other men exist. Nice men.”
Am I not a man? Was I not the nice man showing her that nice men exist?
I lean forward, my hand combing through my beard as I stare out the back window at the old maple tree Bree and I used to climb as kids. There are a few dead branches now. I should bring the chainsaw over and take care of those before winter.
“Honeybun,” Mom presses, “it’s human that you feel this way. Let me help you work through it so you don’t do something—”
“Ouch!” Wren’s scream echoes through the kitchen, drawing me up from the couch and through the breezeway to help.
She’s holding her hand, blood dripping red as Michael grabs a towel from the drawer beneath the sink and wraps it around her palm.
This should make me happy. She’s being taken care of. It’s important that she be taken care of. This is what I want, though I want the man taking care of her to be me. I knew it the second I heard her voice in that confessional booth.
How? How did I know that very second that I was meant to hold her, care for her, love her?
Maybe I’ve lost my fucking mind!
“What happened?” I growl in a ragged tone, stepping between her and Michael, my hand in hers putting pressure on the cut to stop the bleeding.
“I wasn’t paying attention, and the knife slipped. It was stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” Michael says, migrating behind her, his hand on the small of her back. “I distracted you.”
I try to focus on the cut and stopping the bleeding.
I run her hand under the water before drying it back off again, then I wrap it up in gauze from our emergency kit in the cabinet and tape it closed.
I do all of this, but my brain won’t stop thinking about how Michael has his filthy fucking hand on the small of her back.
“Michael,” I growl, the second the bandage is shut, “didn’t your wife leave you because you cheated on her with some slut in your office?”
The second the words leave my mouth, I know what I’ve done.
Fuck!
He drops his hand away from Wren’s back and leans forward, his voice low as he whispers, “I told you that in confession. It was private. How did you even know it was me?”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve been attending my church for twenty years. You don’t think I know what your voice sounds like?”
“It’s muffled in there.”
“Michael,” I snap, “did you cheat on your wife or not?”
Who the hell am I, and what am I doing?
“Kade,” my mother warns, her tone rabid again, “stop this!”
“Wren deserves better!”
Michael throws up his hands and looks toward Wren. “I’m sorry. I think I might head home. If you want to get together, you know how to get ahold of me.”
Wren nods and looks in my direction, something behind her gaze I can’t describe.
Frustration? Anger? Disappointment? All of the above? It’s hard to tell given the fact that I’m still seeing red.
I expect another lecture from my mother, something to break the tension of what I’ve done, but the room is silent except for the drip from the faucet and Michael’s beat-to-shit truck peeling back out of the driveway.
“Wren,” my mother says, breaking the stillness, “would you mind giving Kade and I a few minutes to talk?”
“Not at all,” she says, glancing toward me as she steps by. “I’ll be in the Metallica room, going through your things.”