Everyday Peril
Chapter 4: Smothering Heights
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Thanks for the reviews, Kiki, WishingStar, Okelay, coolbeans, and One Legged Hooker Jane Barbie. Please keep it up, I love them!... And I bet Hooker Jane scares the crap out of all the other Barbies. ;^)
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The nausea and dizziness subsided completely later that afternoon, but sensing that his wife would not be in the mood to eat anything, Michael suggested that rather than going out for dinner, they stroll along the beach. They walked in silence for what seemed like miles, deciding without words to carry their sandals and walk barefoot, their footprints quietly creeping after them, the only proof that they had been there at all.
Other than to unclasp their sandals, their hands remained linked throughout the trek; they didn't stop until the sun began to set. The pinks and golds were gorgeous, almost as much as the woman whose fingers were entwined with his own. He wanted to tell her what he was thinking with more than just words, but he had already tried to kiss her and been denied. Simply telling her would be difficult enough; he had tried to strike up conversation and each time had been answered in soft monosyllables, bringing a quick end to any exchange that could have occurred between them.
So as they watched the sun set, he brushed his lips against her ear, murmuring, "You're beautiful. I love you." Short, sweet, and to the point. He wanted more than anything to take her in his arms and ravish her on the beach as the waves crashed around them, but her whispered thanks and small, almost forced smile told him that that would not be possible. Something was bothering her, something more than the flu. He wished that he knew what it was. He wasn't without ideas, but he loved her too much to ask her which one was right.
Her sleep that night was restless. She tossed and turned in the bed, mumbling his name, and not even becoming still when he put his arms around her. Usually his touch would quiet her, but not tonight. She struggled out of his arms, murmuring in her sleep that she was sorry, that she couldn't do it. He wished that he could attribute her dream-induced words to her regret that the vacation had been spoiled, but somehow he knew that that was not the case.
"Mike…" she whispered, thrashing again. Usually he would be glad that he was still Mike or Michael during her nightmares, deciding that he wouldn't have to wake her unless she mumbled his last name. Only then did he know that her dreams were haunted by the memories of years ago, the ones that even time could not erase.
But tonight he didn't follow his usual course of action. She murmured his first name again and he woke her with a gentle shake and a whisper, not needing any more words to tell her what was going on. Silently, he gathered her into his arms. She didn't sleep again until the sun was already streaming in through the windows. He knew because neither did he.
And when he woke her later that morning, and she jumped out of bed, leaning on the wall for support as she made her way as quickly as she could to the bathroom, he knew without a doubt, even before she spoke the words upon her return, that she probably didn't have the flu.
Michael was in the kitchen when Sydney came home, trying to decide whether the spaghetti was cooked all the way through without scalding himself with the boiling water. The moment she walked through the door, however, the pasta was forgotten. The crestfallen look on her face told him the answer to his question even before he asked it. "So…?"
She nodded, slamming her purse down on the kitchen table. Her answer hadn't surprised him in the least. He had suspected it almost since she had first gotten "the flu." He knew everything about her, every freckle, every bruise. He knew when and why she had gotten every scar and wanted to kill every single person who had caused each and every one. Michael had spent too many nights memorizing her body to be able to forget anything now. He could read every look in her eyes just as well as a mother could translate her newborn baby's cries.
"Okay," he answered, not really sure what else to say. But the second the word left his lips, he could tell that it had been the absolute wrong one to utter. Her eyes flashed and he could see the color rise in her cheeks. She had had the entire ride home to go through denial; now she was convinced that it was real, and her frustration came crawling out.
"Okay?" she asked, her voice low and threatening. "That's all you can say? Okay?"
"Syd, I… It…" He always became flustered when she was angry.
Never scared of what she might do or unsure of whether she would ever snap out
of it; he was simply searching for a way to appease her, as he knew he
inevitably would. He had had that power over her almost since the day they had
met and it was something he intended to hold with him forever.
"It's not okay, Michael!" Her voice was rising with each syllable spoken and he knew that now was not the time to take her in his arms. Although he knew that she would never hurt him, he never forgot that his wife could kick his ass in ten million different ways, maybe more depending on what room they happened to be in; there were knives in the kitchen…
"Shh, Syd. The kids…" Usually this one worked. They both loved their children more than anything and did not want to upset them. But, given the circumstances of the argument, the subject of children was definitely not the one that would calm her. He should have known.
"Oh God, Michael. Kids. How the hell am I…"
He crossed the kitchen as she spoke, putting a hand on her shoulder and whispering a soft warning. "Syd…"
She shook his hand off her. For a second he didn't think she had heard him at all, and was about to try to silence her again, when he suddenly realized she had switched to French mid-sentence.
"… supposed to do it? I could barely handle taking care of three kids the other day, there is no way in hell I can handle more of them. Not now, probably not ever."
He understood her completely. Most days he had his hands full just dealing with the three they already had. Maybe in a few years they would have been ready to add another to their family, but now was definitely not the time he would have chosen.
"What do you want to do, Sydney?" he asked, continuing with the French. He paused, suddenly realizing the gravity of his next thought, of what he was about to say. He really didn't want to, but knew it wasn't entirely his choice. He had to present her with all the options and support whatever decision she made. Michael began again even quieter, his voice almost a whisper. "I guess if you wanted, we could…"
"Oh, no!" Sydney cut him off before he even had a chance to finish, knowing what he was going to say before the words came out of his mouth. He was relieved, but only for an instant before he noticed that what he had been about to say had inflamed her even more. "Never! Dammit, Michael, what do you think I…" She trailed off, her anger causing her words to become jumbled, leaving sentences unfinished.
Sydney turned and, picking up a washcloth, began to scrub at the sink. But a moment later, she threw the cloth down and put her hands on the sink's edge, taking a deep breath. This quick lapse into cleaning and a breath of fresh air seemed to calm her and her voice was softer as she said, "I am going to be one of those mothers in the frozen food section of the grocery store that has twelve kids hanging off her."
"Well, it's better than being one of those old cat ladies," he said before he could stop himself. Step Two: If the children don't work, try humor. "And I'm going to be there with you every step of…"
But she didn't hear the second half of his statement. "Cats!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air, her raging frustration returning. He had struck out for the second time and was quickly running out of ideas.
She was shouting again as she rummaged through the cabinets, finally removing a wine glass. "How in God's name could we let this happen?!"
Michael reached forward to take the wine glass from her hand. "Syd, you shouldn't…" He had his hand on it, but she pulled back with more force than he had anticipated. The glass went flying through the air, shattering into a thousand crystal shards that rained down across the floor.
"Shit!" Sydney yelled, and then turned her angry gaze to her husband. "I wanted some water, Vaughn, not wine." He knew that she had only called him that in anger, but he still flinched. She didn't notice, too intent on what she was saying. "In case you haven't noticed," she gestured towards the counter, cluttered with dirty dishes, and the nearly-empty cabinet," there are no clean… Do not walk through this kitchen! There is broken glass all over the floor!"
Hailey was standing frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, but not because she was heeding her mother's warning. In her haste and frustration, Sydney had forgotten to switch back to English and the loud, angry French had frightened and shocked her daughter.
"Don't walk through the kitchen, sweetie," Michael said softly, translating the words but not the tone in which they had been spoken. "You don't want to hurt yourself on the broken glass."
The little girl didn't say a word, not once taking her eyes off her mother. Suddenly, Sydney understood. The anger and frustration dripped off her, and subconsciously linking her hand with Michael's, she murmured. "We're not angry with…" she stopped, changing her mind. "We're not angry."
Hailey didn't appear to believe her, the frightened look not leaving her face, but her eyes straying from Sydney's to gaze at the ground.
"I promise, Hailey," Sydney continued, fumbling for something that would satisfy and calm her daughter. "Mommy and Daddy speak French when we really love each other, too. Not just when we're mad."
Michael nodded, unaware of what had been said between mother and daughter on the porch the other day, but quickly catching on. "That's why they call French the language of love."
"Really?" Hailey asked in a tiny voice, finally daring to speak.
"That's right," Michael answered. "See?" He turned, his face close to Sydney's, gazing into her eyes and tracing the outline of her lips with his finger. "Je t'aime, Sydney Vaughn." He kissed her soundly before letting go of her hand and reaching down to hug his daughter. "Je t'aime, Hailey."
"What does that mean?" The little girl asked when her father let her go.
"It means that I love you," he answered, kissing Hailey's forehead.
"It sounds pretty."
Michael gave her a small smile. "Yes it does." He stood and gave her a gentle push out of the room. "Now go in the other room with your brothers and we'll be there in a second."
"Okay," Hailey said brightly. Sydney wished everything could be taken care of that easily. Her daughter turned back before leaving. "And I love you and Mommy. Just pretend I said it like you did, Daddy. It's too hard for me to say."
She skipped out of the room before either of them could respond. Michael clasped his hand with his wife's and kissed her knuckles. "How could you not want to have eleven more just like her, Syd?"
She sighed. "I'm just thinking realistically, Michael. And I know I can't handle it. Not right now."
"I know, baby. But it looks like we don't get much of a say in things. It's not like we can tell it to wait until we're ready."
Sydney smiled in spite of herself, running her thumb in slow circles over his hand and leaning her head on his shoulder. "It's just that you know how bad it was last time I was pregnant. And after that, we were supposed to be living the American dream, a house, a dog, two kids: a girl and a boy, Hailey and William Jonathan. And then William Jonathan turned into William and Jonathan. I don't know…"
"Who cares about the American dream, Syd. This is our dream. And our family just wouldn't be the same without either of the twins."
Sydney closed her eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like if William Jonathan Vaughn had been a reality, if things had worked out as they had planned. It just wasn't possible. Sometimes things aren't meant to follow the plan.
She took her head off his shoulder and turned to face him. "Yeah, but what if it happens again? Four kids will be bad enough, but what if it turns out to be five or six?"
"The chances of that happening are slim to none."
"But there still is a chance."
"There's always a chance, Syd. Hell, the two of us are nothing but one big chance. Was there a time when SD-6 was still going that you actually thought we would end up together?" He still couldn't believe it himself, and thanked God each day for what chance had brought him. "But look at us now. And I'm willing to take whatever life hands us as long as I'm with you."
She was melting at his feet, a puddle of sugar on the ground. Oh sweet Jesus. How could one woman be so lucky?
So she gave him the only response she could think of. "Okay."
He grinned at her. "That's all you can say?" he teased. "Okay?"
"Yep," she nodded. "Except I think that maybe we should clean up this glass and tell the kids. Hailey deserves a better explanation."
"You sure you're ready for that?" She had just come to terms with the information herself, and he was still trying to believe it, although he wouldn't let her know that.
"No, but let's do it anyway." She was anxious about the telling more than anything else. Once it was over, everything would be fine. And kids love babies, there was sure to be nothing to worry about.
They quickly cleaned up the broken glass and walked hand in hand to the other room. They found their three kids seated together on the couch, Hailey sandwiched between the twins, who were both charming little bookends. She was telling them something, but they couldn't hear the words from across the room. Michael grinned back at Sydney, the scene too perfect for words.
"Hey guys," Michael said as they entered the room. "Your mom and I have to talk to you, okay?"
Hailey nodded vigorously as her mother and father sat on the loveseat near the couch. "I already telled William and Jonny all about French," she exclaimed happily. "So you don't have to talk about that."
"That's good, sweetie," Sydney answered carefully. "But this is something a little bit different."
"Can you say "I love you" in a different way?" Hailey asked excitedly, not bothering to hear what her mother had said.
Sydney nodded. She could say that and so much more in more languages than the little girl could count. "I'll teach you later."
Hailey's eyes lit up. She was almost bouncing in her seat. "Hurry and talk, Daddy, so Mommy can teach me."
"You'll have to wait, Hailey," Michael answered patiently. "This is important."
"I thought you said family and love were the most importantest things. And Mommy's in my family and she's gonna teach me about love." She seemed to have everything all wrapped up and tied with a ribbon. Too bad things weren't that simple.
"This is about family and love, too," Sydney responded, seeing that Michael needed some help with their almost overly inquisitive daughter.
Michael nodded in agreement. "Do you remember when Mommy had William and Jonny?"
"Yup," Hailey chirped, proud that she knew this information. "They were just little babies, and they cried and sleeped all the time."
Sydney frowned. She had hoped that the first thing out of her daughter's mouth would have been about how much she enjoyed the little twins. "But you liked to play with them and help me and Daddy take care of them, right?"
Michael knew that this was worrying her; maybe the children couldn't see it, but the anxiety was clearly written all over her face. He wanted to get it over with. "Wouldn't it be fun to have another little baby to play with?"
Hailey's bright smile disappeared, replaced by a curious frown. As young as she was, she was beginning to see where this was going, and was determined to put a stop to it. "No thanks. I can play with William and Jonny. And they don't cry so much anymore."
"Hailey, sweetie, what your Mommy and I are trying to tell you and William and Jonny, our important news about family and love…" Oh God, was he stumbling with this one. It had been so much easier to tell Hailey that she was going to have twin brothers, she was so much smaller and took everything easily, probably not really understanding, and more than willing to go with the flow. "Sweetie, we're going to have a baby. You and Jonny and William are going to have a little brother or sister."
The little girl's face fell and Michael felt Sydney stiffen next to him. Hailey had thought that if she told her parents that she didn't want another baby in the family, they would have agreed with her and that would have been the end of it. "But I have William and Jonny."
"Maybe you'll have a little sister to play dolls with," Michael tried, hoping there was an easy solution to this.
"William plays dolls with me sometimes," Hailey pointed out. The easy-going little boy was willing to please everybody and would sit and play with whatever and whoever happened to be in the room. "I don't want a little sister. And I already have two little brothers."
He saw the color drain from Sydney's face, the smile that he had just recently put there, gone completely. She was already apprehensive about this as it was, and didn't need a four-year-old telling her that they didn't need another baby in this house.
"I'm sorry, angel," Michael said, standing up to hug her. "But there's nothing we can do about that. I'm sure that by the time this baby comes you'll be ready to love him or her just as much as you love William and Jonny."
Hailey struggled out of his grasp and ran across the room. "I don't want there to be another baby in this house!" she shouted, hands on her hips, her bottom lip quivering as she fought back tears.
Catching on to his sister's anger, Jonny began to yell, "No, no, no, no!" It was still his favorite word and probably would be for the next sixteen years. William sat silently beside his brother, ignoring the fact that Jonny was now slapping his knees in time with his chants.
"Hailey…" Sydney tried, her voice wavering. Hailey's outburst had been enough, but with Jonny's shouts added to it, she was going over the edge fast. Michael could see her swallowing the sobs that threatened to rattle free from her chest.
"I don't want you to teach me ever." Even from across the room, Michael saw a stubborn tear roll down her cheek. The little girl angrily wiped it away and ran from the room, shouting behind her, "I don't love you anymore or Daddy either!"
Her daughter's words were spoken in anger, just as her own had been only minutes ago, but still they hung thick and dark around her head, threatening to smother her as they echoed in her ears. She barely felt or heard Michael as he moved past her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder and murmuring, "I'll take care of it."
