i love you so much i sometimes fear god will punish me one day by filling my life with you.
absolute solitude: selected poems, dulce maría loynaz
THE BRIGHT MORNING SUN SHONE IN THROUGH THE CURTAIN, nearly blinding her. A soft frown escaped her lips as she flipped over on the bed, her arm reaching out in search of her daughter. A pang of fear shot through her when the bed was empty and her arm lay flat against the mattress. Shooting up from the bed, she looked around the room for any trace of the little girl. Her heart shot to her throat as tears began to prick at her eyes. "Edie...?" She whispered, almost too afraid to raise her voice. Afraid that she might find out that her daughter isn't in her bedroom. Pushing the door open, she stared at the shut bedroom door across from her. Edith never slept with the door shut. Movement to her right caught her attention. A breath escaped her throat when her eyes focused in on the curled up form of her daughter, asleep on the floor next to the couch. Now she felt silly, like a stupid child. Another shaky breath as she wiped her eyes. A chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head in disbelief. Turning away, she made her way into the bathroom.
Grabbing her toothbrush, she began brushing her teeth, turning her back to the mirror and leaning against the counter. Her eyes stared off at the wallpapered wall. Soft pink flowers - something that Edith had insisted on two years ago. A time where everything pink had grabbed her attention. A better time that she couldn't help but miss. Some days, she wished she could place Edith in a box, never let her out of sight again. Never let her out of the house. Let the girl live in her girlhood as long as she could, far longer than Elaine was ever allowed. Maybe a part of her resented Sally for that. The second the girl had been born, she was considered Elaine's firstborn. A baby caring for a baby. Shaking her head, she turned and spat into the sink, grabbing the mouthwash and swishing it around. Leaning over the counter, she spit into the sink again, placing her head in her hands. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she stared down at the sink. At the foamy mess she'd spit up. Her hand reached out, turning on the sink to watch it all wash down the drain before shutting it back off.
She made her way out of the bathroom, a small smile on her lips. Making her way into the living room, she knelt down in front of the little girl. A part of her contemplated waking her up, but she decided against it. Simply settled for pulling the princess blanket up over her shoulders and tucking it closer to her. Pushing herself up, she made her way into the kitchen. She opened the cabinets and pulled out the pancake mix, beginning to make breakfast. Pulling the hair tie from her wrist, she tied her hair back into a loose bun and continued to cook.
In the living room, Rust's eyes slowly began to open. The familiar living room greeted him. For the first time in months, he almost feels well rested. And for the first time in months, he didn't dream about Sophia. If he thinks about it too much, he begins to feel a guilt slowly seep into his pores, into his lungs. Slowly pushing himself up, his eyebrows furrowed at the princess blanket on the floor next to the couch. They furrow deeper at the little girl curled underneath it. That guilt begins to seep into his everything, infecting every inch of him. Why had he not dreamt of Sophia last night? Why was this night different from any other night? Pushing the blanket off, he sat up on the couch, careful not to disturb the sleeping child. He placed his head in his hands, staring down at the hardwood floor under his feet, cold to the touch. A frown grew on his lips as he stared down. His mind drifted back to the bundle of sticks found outside the back of the house. A pit settled in his stomach the more he thought about it. It meant the killer could come back. That he might have chosen Elaine or even Edith as his next victim. And the idea of leaving them alone didn't sit right with him. But staying an entire weekend... he wasn't sure if he could do that. If he wanted to do that.
A clang of pans grabbed his attention, pulling his head up to see Elaine in the kitchen - her hair pulled back and her back turned to them. His eyes watched her move, watched how she made the pancakes like it was second nature. He wondered how many mornings she had spent in that kitchen, making Edith and herself breakfast. If she'd ever slept in, took a morning off. He remembered how Sophia would barge into the bedroom, slamming into his body to wake him up. So many mornings it would upset him, piss him off. Now, he would give anything to be woken up like that again. Greeted by a giggle and a toothy smile. "Morning." Elaine's voice greeted him, a small smile on her lips. "Sorry about her. She's never done that before." Her voice is quieter than usual and he recognizes that kind of hushed tone. Had heard it from Claire enough to know. "Do you like pancakes? I could always make something else if you're not into it."
"Pancakes are fine." He muttered quietly, his hands reaching up to rub his eyes. "I'm gonna step out and smoke." She silently nodded, watching him root around the pocket of his blazer for his pack of cigarettes. Her eyes run along his biceps, exposed by the white wife-beater she assumed he wore under his button-ups. Her face heated up as she quickly turned back towards the pancake mix that was beginning to burn in the pan. Quiet curses spilled from her lips as she flipped it over to let it cook on the other side. Something about this felt like a different level of domestic that she hadn't felt in some time. A small frown played on her lips as she stared down at the food. A soft sigh dripped out as she scooped the pancake out and set it on the plate next to the stove, quick to pour more of the mix into the pan to start another.
Outside, Rust stared out at the pitiful excuse for a neighborhood. His street wasn't much better. The neighbors barely knew each other. No one offered a cup of sugar if you'd run out. And maybe he liked it better that way. That sad idea of suburbia. His own personal hell. Even with Claire and Sophia, he'd hated it. He hated the fake niceties that were expected of everyone. He hated the house-warming parties and the dinners that they were expected to attend and host. He hated all of it. From how little he's seen, Elaine only talks to one of her neighbors. He wondered how they met, how they started to speak. How long it had taken for her to trust the woman with her child. He's not sure he would've trusted anyone with Sophia. Especially not a neighbor. Taking a deep drag, he let his lungs absorb as much nicotine as they could. Little smoke slips from his lips as he looked out towards her car. From here, he can faintly see a Hawaiian girl statue on the dash. A small part of him wanted to smile at it. He hadn't noticed it the times he'd been in her car. Most of his attention had been reserved for the landscape that surrounded them. This feels like a small intimacy, that he sees the little things about her. Had someone given that to her? Had it been Edith's father? His jaw clenched at the idea of her telling another man she was having his child. He wondered if she or he had chosen for him not to be part of Edith's life. Maybe she'd told him not to interfere, that it was easier to explain. Or if he had decided that he wanted nothing to do with any of it. He can't help the way his jaw clenched tighter at the latter. The idea of choosing not to be part of a girl like Edith's life left him speechless. If he could do it all over again with Sophia, he would in a heartbeat. But now, if a woman he'd been with had gotten pregnant... he's not sure how he would react. That's why you keep your head down, he told himself. You aren't good enough for this life again. You don't deserve a daughter like Edith.
The front door opened, ripping him from his thoughts. "Sorry to interrupt." Elaine mumbled. "Pancakes are ready whenever you feel like it." Without another word, she closed the door, leaving him, once again, to his thoughts. He stared down at the cigarette between his thumb and middle finger. He looked back towards the Hawaiian girl once more before tossing the cigarette into the ashtray and returning inside.
The little girl was no longer on the floor, her princess blanket and pillow abandoned for the pancakes on top of her plate. Edith sits at the head of the table while Elaine sits to the side. A plate is set across from her, a fork and knife next to it. A bottle of maple syrup sits in the middle of the table, just in reach for all members. As he draws nearer, he noticed a handful of chocolate chips on top of Edith's pancakes. "We've got milk and juice in the fridge, if you want some." Elaine offered a small smile before taking a bite of her own pancake. He quietly nodded, grabbing one of the glasses already set on the table and approaching the fridge. Pouring orange juice into his glass, he took his seat across from Elaine, using his fork to grab one of the pancakes from the middle plate. The older woman smiled as she looked over to Edith. Her fork reached out towards the little girl's pancakes in an attempt to steal some. No, the girl squealed with a giggle as she pushed her mother's arm away. "What, I can't have some? What if we traded?" The girl shook her head, giggling more. "You're impossible to make a deal with. You should not go into the retail business."
"Mr. Cohle," her voice was suddenly small and timid as her face flushed, "would you like to watch cartoons with me?"
"Edie, I'm sure Mr. Cohle really wants to get home, yeah?"
Turning back to her mother, Edith pouted her bottom lip out. "But can't he stay a little longer?"
Elaine shook her head, pushing her plate away. "Mr. Cohle has things to do on his own." The girl huffed with a frown before turning back to her pancakes. "Miss Nora said she can keep you over while I drive Mr. Cohle back home, okay? She got some new coloring books for you to try." As if her pouting had never happened, the girl's face brightened with a wide, toothy smile. Glancing up, her eyes met Rust's, watching her carefully. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she picked up her plate and tossed the uneaten pancake into the garbage can. She turned the sink on and began to clean the plate. Behind her, she could hear movement. Rust approached her, grabbing one of the towels and taking the clean plate to dry off. "You don't have to do that." His eyes moved to look at her, but he remained silent as he continued to dry off the plate before setting it to the side on the counter. "I can drive you back to the bar so you can get your truck. Thanks for, uh... for comin' over last night and staying. I'm sure it wasn't how you pictured starting the weekend."
"I sleep better here than I do at the house anyway." He mumbled as he grabbed the other plate from her to dry off.
She turned her head to stare up at him, searching for some proof that he was just trying to make her feel better. But there was none. She hasn't known Rust to be one to lie to make others feel better. Maybe a part of her sees herself in him. This unending well of sadness, hopelessness. Or maybe she's projecting. She's never been good at this, at reading people like this. But she can't help but feel something kindred between the two. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she inhaled sharply at the sore she reopened. "Excuse me." She muttered, turning to make her way out of the front door onto the porch. Leaning over the railing, she spit out a glob of blood and saliva. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she stared down at it, infiltrating the dying flower bed of daisies. Her head rested in her hands as she shut her eyes tight. This was more than embarrassing. These habits of hers were claiming more blood than she felt comfortable with. Maybe when she was a teenager, she wouldn't have minded. But now, she couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand the way her body clammed up at everything. How she no longer felt confident in her own skin. But did she ever? Or was that some sort of facade she put on? To fool herself or others, she's not sure anymore. Sally had always been effortlessly confident. All of the men that had flocked to her side, begging for a chance to even shine her shoes. Elaine had never been like that. Always too abrasive and rude for men to look at. And that was fine with her - most of the men Sally spent her time with her blundering idiots, barely tip-toeing around misogyny.
The front door opened as Rust joined her outside, a pack of cigarettes in hand. One already dangled between his lips as he held the pack out to her. Her fingers pinched one of the cigarettes, placing it between her blood-stained lips. Flipping his lighter, he held it up to her first which she found the most gentlemanly gesture she's ever gotten from a man. Taking a deep drag, she let the smoke pour from her nostrils as she stared out at the front yard. "You been to Hawaii?" He asked as smoke spilled from his lips. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she looked up at him. He nodded towards her car.
Turning to look back at the car, her eyes focused in on the Hawaiian girl on the dashboard. "Oh," she chuckled, "Lon went on their anniversary. It was right after their first kid. He brought back a thank you souvenir for watching after little Alanna. Cheap bastard gave me a Hawaiian girl instead of paying me." Taking a deep drag from the cigarette, she stared out at the doll. A reminder of how far her and Lon had begun growing apart. A small frown played on her lips as she stared out at the front yard. She wondered if he had begun to resent her. It was bound to happen, she thought to herself. One didn't spend seven years with her and not grow tired of her. Even Sally had her fill after a while. "You never got to tell me what your wife was like."
He quietly scoffed, lifting his hand to take a long drag from his own cigarette. "She was better than me."
"Low bar." She shot him a playful smile, a chuckle escaped her lips. If she squints, she might be able to see the ghost of a smile on his own lips.
"What about Edith's father? Must've been a hell of a guy to get Elaine Greenwood's attention."
She fell silent for a moment, staring out at the yard. "He was my first partner. Josh Peters. He was nice, kind of funny. Nothing to write home about." Chewing the inside of her cheek, she bit back a sigh. If he noticed the look of pain crossing her face, he didn't mention it. "I guess I thought maybe he saw something in me that I couldn't. After working with him for... six months, I think, we started getting drinks together. Drinks turned into... something else. And then I was late and I had those two fucking pink lines just staring back at me." Pressing the cigarette to her lips, she took another long drag. A flush of embarrassment began to spread across her cheeks. "So, I went to his place to tell him. Imagine my surprise when a woman sporting a big wedding ring answered the door. Turns out, he'd had a family the whole fuckin' time that I didn't know about." There's a bitterness in her words. A bitterness he hasn't heard from her before. "I told him to get a transfer or I was gon'a tell his wife about everything. Haven't seen him since."
His eyes watched her carefully, unsure what to say, if he should even say anything. So he remained silent as he watched her take another drag from her cigarette - like it was the only comfort she could afford in the moment. Maybe he sees a part of him in her. Maybe he sees a kindred loneliness that resides so deeply in her that it's difficult to tell where it ends and she begins. Something he knows all too well. A feeling he has been acquainted with for three months now. And he knows there are no words that can make it all go away, nothing to quell this deep sorrow that has burrowed into their bones and infiltrated their bloodstream like some disease. A disease he fears has followed him since birth, since the womb. Even before Sophia's death, there was something bubbling inside of him that he couldn't put a finger on. He sees it in Elaine when he looks at her. Maybe that's why he feels so drawn to her. All of that talk about kindred spirits never got to him. But this connection feels real, like an invisible string that he can touch if he tries hard enough. His hand reached out to her - why, he's not sure - in a vain attempt for comfort. But as his hand nears her back, she turns towards him, lifting her foot to snuff out the cigarette against the sole of her tennis shoe.
"We should get you home, I guess."
"I could stay," he spoke without thinking, a frown dancing on his lips, "make sure our guy doesn't bother you all."
She smiled up at him, something light and pretty. It struck him that he thought she was pretty like this, like everything. A light pink hue swallows her whole. "I appreciate the offer, Rusty. I can't have you puttin' your life on hold for me. Wouldn't sit right." With that, she opened the front door and disappeared inside, leaving the man to his thoughts and to these feelings that were worming their way into his mind. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he stared at the spot she had once occupied. This familiar feeling is something he did not miss. His stomach nearly turned at the idea of reliving all of this once more. She didn't deserve to have another mess in her life, she deserved someone better than he. Someone who could be better for her, someone less grating than he. A frown settled on his lips as he snuffed the cigarette out and tossed it into the ash tray. He stared at the blood-stained cigarette in the ash tray, a soft sigh escaping his lips before he finally followed her into the house.