Beneath The Surface - 3

This is the third and last instalment of the story that began a few weeks ago as something a little different from what I've commonly included in this space. If you want to read the first two parts, click on the links here Beneath The Surface - 1 or Beneath The Surface - 2 before you continue into the last part James and Gwen's world, for now ... 

The movie ended shortly after nine. Gwen was anxious to return to the house and Gregory, restless without him at her side.

“Is your Mom always like that?” she asked as they made their way out of the cinema.

“Like what?”

“Over nice, bubbly … controlling?”

“Yeah, I guess so. She’s my mom.”

James put his arm around Gwen’s shoulders as they walked back to the Cavalier. She loved the physical strength in his arms and fingers, gentle yet powerful.

The house was quiet when they returned. James’s mother was flipping through Better Homes and Gardens at the kitchen table. They could hear his father watching the Phillies game in the living room. Their baby monitor was on the counter, the red light dark.

“Where’s Gregory?” Gwen demanded glancing around the kitchen.

“Sleeping in his crib,” Mrs. Simpson replied appearing quite pleased.

Gwen hurried upstairs without saying a word. Panic had struck her heart.

“Why’s the monitor off?” she heard James ask his mother downstairs.

“I turned it off,” Mrs. Simpson answered, “I guess I forgot to turn it back on.”

Gregory was sleeping peacefully when she reached his crib. He looked perfect, angelic.

“I’m not comfortable here James,” Gwen whispered once they were alone in bed. His arms were wrapped around her, his chest to her back. His warm fingers stroked her stomach.

“I know. It’ll be better tomorrow.”

“I hope so.”

An hour later, Gregory was crying beside them. She had closed her eyes but sleep had not arrived, her late afternoon nap no doubt the culprit. She hoped Gregory would fall back to sleep on his own but knew that wasn’t the usual course of events. To avoid the commotion that would disturb the Simpson’s sleep, she propped up her pillow and brought Gregory into their bed. In the darkness, she pulled him to her breast. He of course fussed and would not latch to her nipple.

“What’s up with our little man?” James mumbled. “I don’t think he likes it here either,” Gwen replied with a curtness that seemed to crank Gregory’s crying up a notch. Gwen slid her feet to the floor and rocked him in her arms.

“Can I help?” James asked turning over.

“No.”

Gregory opened his mouth wide and started to scream.

Gwen got up and held him tight to her shoulder. She prayed he would stop, whispering in his ear and kissing the back of his soft head. What seemed an eternity ended in minutes when his eyes closed and the calm of silence returned. Afraid to let him go, fearing he would start all over again, she held him until her own eyes started to close. With care she laid him back in the crib, tucked a blanket around his tiny tummy and cringed as he turned his head. Thankfully, he stayed asleep.

When her head hit the pillow, she did not hear another thing.

The next morning she woke to Gregory’s cooing beside their bed. James was holding her hand.

“How do you feel?”

“Okay,” she answered.

The smell of fried bacon and eggs wafted into their room. Gwen doubted James had bothered to mention their vegetarian diets. The aroma of coffee enticed them out of bed and into the kitchen.

“Morning kids,” announced Mrs. Simpson in a big, shiny voice. She was dressed and in full make-up with her hair done-up. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” they answered in unison.

Gwen slid Gregory into his high chair and sat down. There were only three place settings at the table.

“Oh darling, I didn’t think you ate breakfast,” Mrs. Simpson oozed trying to make light of what Gwen was sure was an oversight, “being vegetarian and all.”

“It’s okay,” Gwen replied and stood up, beyond uncomfortable, “Gregory needs to eat anyway.”

She yanked him out of the chair and moved to the couch in the family room. Gwen was ready to feed but Gregory was too interested in what was happening in the kitchen to take notice. He seemed to sense her apprehension with no intention of cooperating. James joined them.

“Can I help?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” she snapped barely above a whisper, but Gregory was not about to settle. His head bobbed hard against her arm.

“So how’s work?” Ed asked as James returned to the kitchen. Gwen could not connect Ed Simpson and James as father and son at all. “Still wearing your hair long I see.”

“Short hair wasn’t a prerequisite,” James retorted.

Gwen got up and brought Gregory back into the kitchen.

“Gregory needs changing.”

“I’ll take him,” James said.

“How was the movie?” Ed asked as Gwen sat down at the added fourth place setting. Mrs. Simpson set a cup of hot coffee down in front of her.

“A little violent for my liking,” Gwen replied and took a sip of coffee, “too much blood.”

“I know what you mean,” Ed agreed getting up, “movies these days are all blood and violence.”

“Oh yes, Ed and what was the last movie you saw?” Mrs. Simpson quipped.

“Apocalypse Now,” he replied replacing the pot in the coffee maker he’d just filled his mug with. He moved away from the counter. “With you.”

“Disney movies are my favourites,” Gwen stated trying her best to keep up the conversation and avoid an awkward silence, “The Little Mermaid is a classic.”

“Oh now come girl, you’re not all that sweet and innocent,” Mrs. Simpson flared up.

“What do you mean?” Gwen asked, surprised. The atmosphere in the kitchen frosted over. They were unexpectedly alone. Mr. Simpson had vanished again. Gwen’s tolerance for politeness was wafer thin.

“Just that … you and James aren’t exactly …”

“Exactly what?” Gwen questioned, anger ripping her apart inside.

“Well, you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Gwen stated sternly.

“James didn’t have much of a choice, is what I mean.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice in what?” Gwen’s voice rose.

“You were pregnant. It was the … the noble thing to do.”

“Pardon me,” Gwen said her eyes widening, overwhelmed in disbelief. “The Noble thing?”

“How do you know the baby’s even his?”

“What! Because …”

Gwen stopped. She had been down this road before with her own mother. It never went anywhere. James was the only man she had ever loved; the only man she had ever been with. But that was no one’s business but hers.

“Look at you. You’re a wreck. You’re still a child yourself watching Bambi movies for Christ sake. You should’ve given him up. What kind of mother can you possibly be?”

Gwen stood up. James’s mother or not, Mrs. Simpson was way out of line. Gwen could not believe what she was hearing, such flagrantly cruel and unfair accusations. It seemed impossible that this woman could possibly have brought her James into the world. She stared at the wicked woman with incredulity who had not only become a stranger but would remain one.

“The best kind,” Gwen fired back wanting to stop but unable to. “I love my son, Mrs. Simpson.” Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. “And I know enough to turn a baby monitor on at night.”

She knew it was a foolish thing to say but she could think of nothing else. She did not want to be there anymore. It was a mistake to have come.

“Mrs. Simpson, I think it’s best that we leave.”

“But Gwin, why?”

Gwen did not hear another word. She was furious and tired of wasting her time with people who treated her with such blatant condescension. She knew she was a good person. She did not need another mother who, after eighteen months, still couldn’t pronounce her first name correctly. She didn’t need another person who compared her with the likes of a street girl on Jarvis, who had as much genuine love for her first grandson as she had for her new Maytag washing machine. It just wasn’t worth it.

She stomped out of the room to find James. She took Gregory for a ride in the car while James packed their things and dealt with whatever undertones had followed at the house.

As they drove home, Gwen was thankful for the air-conditioning. The heat was as intense as it had been on their way there. Open fields stretched out beside them on both sides of the interstate. She looked over at James. His face was calm. He liked to drive. He had one hand on the wheel. She reached for his other hand resting on his thigh and held it. He glanced sideways at her and smiled without saying a word. Gregory slept peacefully in the backseat.

She liked where she was though the hurt remained; truth often brought pain. Like a sliver beneath the surface of the skin, truth festered and in time always seemed to find its way to the surface.

End Story

Thus ends Beneath The Surface. Maybe it took you somewhere you've been or somewhere new, either way I hope it took you somewhere for a little while. Look for a new story in the coming weeks. If you haven't yet read my novel The Actor or my first collection of short stories, The Drive In, you can get them at Barnes & Noble or Chapters-Indigo or from Amazon below.

The Actor

The Drive In

Beneath The Surface - 2

This is the second instalment of the three part story that began a few weeks ago as something a little different from what is commonly included in my blog/article space. This second instalment is a little longer, but not too lengthy. If you want to read the first part, click on the link here Beneath The Surface - 1 before you continue into James and Gwen's world that's not so far ... 

“He’s sleeping,” Gwen answered easily, “I don’t want to wake him.”

“Oh, we can’t have that. I’ll get him.”

“No, really … he’ll be …” Gwen started to say but Mrs. Simpson was back down the stairs on her way to the car.

Gwen looked with disdain at James. He shrugged and followed his mother like an obedient child might after a scolding, a posture unfamiliar to Gwen. It made little difference to her at that point. All she could think of was finding a bed to lie down on. Gregory’s hunger would wake him soon enough. Rest wasn’t about to happen.

But before Mrs. Simpson had him out of the car, Gregory was crying. The unfamiliar face so close surely frightening him. James stood beside his mother. Gregory grabbed a fist-full of her salon-stiff hair.

“Oh, you little monkey,” she snapped sharply before smiling to cover her gruffness.

“Let me take him mom,” James proffered extending his hands around his son’s chubby tummy.

Upon hearing her baby’s cries, Gwen’s swollen breasts immediately began to lactate inside her bra. Several hours had elapsed since his last feeding at a crowded roadside rest area. He had to be hungry.

James carried Gregory towards her; his arms outstretched. The side of Gregory’s diaper was edged in brown goo.

“Can you get the diaper bag,” James asked as he came closer. It wasn’t a question.

Gwen trudged back to the Cavalier like a soldier weary from battle heavy on her feet. Her deprived sleep now painful like pulling food from the hands of the starving. Her eyes burned. Gregory was getting worked up inside the house. Twinges of a headache were lighting up a spot above her right eyebrow. She grabbed the baby’s bag and the bottle of Tylenol from the glove box and headed to the big house.

Inside, Gregory cried the entire time James changed him.

“I see he takes after his father,” Ed Simpson stated as Gwen entered the kitchen. The house was immaculate, spacious, excessive, like the house she grew up in. A place for everything and everything in its place echoed her mother’s disparaging voice somewhere in the back of her head. This was not a house for children. “Times sure do change. I never changed any of those things.”

“Sure you did Edward, you just forget,” Mrs. Simpson was quick to point out. “Time changes what we remember.”

Gwen smiled as she passed her father-in-law. She was sure his memory was quite correct.

“All done buddy,” James said as Gwen slid down beside him on the carpeted floor in the living room size den connected to the kitchen. “Mom’s here with the good stuff.”

Gwen picked Gregory up off the change pad and carried him back to the kitchen. She sat down in one of the oak kitchen chairs. Without thinking, she lifted the side of her sleeveless T-shirt, shifted her bra to one side and brought Gregory’s wide mouth to her dribbling nipple.

“You’re nursing!” Mrs. Simpson said in apparent dismay. As Gwen raised her head surprised, Mr. Simpson’s back was to her as he left the kitchen. “Goodness me.”

Gwen flushed embarrassed and tried to cover Gregory’s head with her T-shirt. She hadn’t meant to make anyone uncomfortable. Her baby needed to be fed; babies were like that.

“Let’s get your things out of the car,” Mrs. Simpson uttered more as a command than a suggestion and looked for a way out of her suddenly out-of-control environment. “Edward, sweetie, can you give Jamie a hand. I’ll get you a towel dear.”

In seconds the kitchen was empty.

Gwen stared down at her small bundle of heaven suckling at her breast. Her eyelids were heavy; Gregory’s reflected hers. Fifteen minutes of sleep would be such a gift.

Her eyes were closed when she heard something move nearby. Her eyes flashed open. A young man stood in front of her. He was about her age. His head was shaved. A tuft of what looked like singed-yellow hair grew on his chin. Her hold tightened on Gregory. The boy’s eyes were fixated on her naked breast.

She coughed, perturbed.

The boy raised his head abruptly. His eyes were familiar. Michael. James’s younger brother. The last time she’d seen him he had shoulder-length jet-black hair.

“Hi Gwen,” he greeted her, “how’s my little nephew?”

“Better now,” she replied. Michael was weird. She was not at all comfortable with his eyes on her. He had come up to visit them in Toronto two months ago and spent his nights in Toronto’s strip clubs. His eyes returned to her chest. He might be looking at his nephew but she doubted it. “What’s new Michael?”

His eyes shifted up to hers then turned away towards the refrigerator.

“Oh, you know. Same shit. Different day,” he said and pulled open the brushed stainless steel door of the refrigerator with the automatic water and ice dispenser integrated into the front. Like he could possibly know what the words meant, she thought. “You?”

She gave him a tight-lipped smile and looked down at her baby, “Gregory’s pretty much everything.”

Little else was said. James came into the kitchen carrying their bags and portable crib.

“Hey, Michael.”

He set down the crib and shook his brother’s hand. Gwen knew James tried but the two were not close.

“Howdy,” Michael replied. These were the only words the two of them exchanged.

“Listen Gwen,” James said softly, “I’ll take Gregory. You go take a nap.”

Mrs. Simpson reappeared behind him.

“Come dear, you do look worn out.” 

Mrs. Simpson put her hand on Gwen’s shoulder and directed her out of the chair. Her touch was not of comfort. Gwen managed to pull down her T-shirt while holding Gregory and sliding out from behind the table; her bra was out of position.

“I don’t know how you kids do it,” Mrs. Simpson admitted. “It would take your father and I two days to do the drive you did today. Come Gwin, we’re up stairs.”

Without protest Gwen followed James’s mother to the spare room on the second floor. The room was as big as their whole apartment. The bed sat between two white-draped windows with an armoire on one wall and a dresser on the other, all constructed of rich dark mahogany. The bed looked magnificent like billowy clouds she could sink into and disappear.

“Make yourself at home, dear,” smiled Mrs. Simpson and seemed about to add something else but then looked to think better of it before saying, “have a good rest.”

She closed the door as she left the room.

Gwen didn’t need to be told anymore and in minutes was in the bed and asleep.

What seemed like seconds later, James was at her side; the backs of his fingers warm on her face.

“Gwen?” he whispered, his handsome face close to hers, “are you hungry?”

Disoriented, she sat up.

“What time is it?”

“Just after six.”

“What? It can’t be.”

She’d been asleep for almost two hours; it wasn’t possible.

James beamed. “Yes it can and it is. You needed the rest hun.”

“Where’s Gregory?” she asked already anxious for her babe. Gregory was almost always by her side.

“Mom’s got him. He’s taken a real shine to her.”

Though her mind was foggy, something dropped in her stomach. Gregory was her baby. He could not take a shine to anyone else.

“That’s nice,” she lied.

“Mom has offered to take him for a few hours so we can go out.”

They had not been out together as a couple since Gregory’s birth.

Gwen walked behind James down the oak staircase. She had hold of his strong hand and was doing her best to go slow.

“You’re sure it’s not a problem, Mrs. Simp …”

“Oh please, child, call me Joyce,” James’s mother interrupted her. They were sitting in the kitchen. Gregory was asleep in his stroller by the door. Gwen was not taking to any of it comfortably.

"'End of Days' is playing in town," Michael suggested sitting on the kitchen counter. "Saw it last week. It was great."

Thus ends the second instalment of Beneath The Surface. The next and final part will follow in the next few weeks. If you haven't yet read The Actor or The Drive In you can get them at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Chapters-Indigo or pretty much wherever you find books.

The Actor

The Drive In