Just to Be Loved

 

His office door was open and I quietly stepped inside. I was thankful he was alone; sitting at his desk, intently focused on the papers in front of him.

I cleared my throat, “Well you got old.” I was joking with him, trying to ease back into the connection we once shared. They were the first words I'd spoken to him in over thirty years.
He raised his gaze and took me in, “Well you didn't.” It was almost a complimentary appraisal.
“That's not exactly right... but you've always had a few years on me.” I felt uneasy.

“Seventeen wasn't it?” He was shocked to see me but would never let it show. He almost smiled, and then caught himself. “What are you doing here?” He was suddenly agitated, just like the last time I'd tried this.

“I thought that would be obvious. How have you been?”
“I've been well, all things considered.” He was still wearing his wedding ring.

He didn't reciprocate my question; I wasn't surprised. He wasn't happy to see me.
What had I expected?
“I was only kidding Vernon, you look... you look really good.” I wanted to sound casual, this wasn't going well.
“That's the first time you've ever called me that.” He looked up at me, then back down at the papers in front of him.
“Yeah, it... feels weird now huh? Should I still call you Mr. Powers?”
He didn't answer, or look up. Maybe this was a bad idea.

It felt the same, this scenario; even though the environment was different. Back then, it had been a classroom, now it was a church office.
A lot had changed. I was an adult now, newly divorced and he was widowed for almost a year.

“So, I heard about Alice. I'm very sorry. I know that you... loved her.”

He smiled that same sideways smile and touched the gold band he'd worn ever since I'd known him. His eyes were melancholy, but there was still a fire behind them, only now little rows of wrinkles framed them. His salt and pepper hair had turned solid white. Thirty years was a long time.
Why had I waited so long? Marriage, kids... a life; but always memories of him and a path not taken.

He didn't look up, and continued sorting the papers on his desk, “Thank you,” he said with a tinge of sadness mixed with an emotion I couldn't quite place.
Maybe he knew how hard that was for me to say. She was not a nice person, at least she hadn't been to me all those years ago. But then, I had been in love with her husband. So maybe she'd had a right.
I had been young, but the love had been real. And nothing ever really happened. Not for lack of trying on my part; he'd had a hell of a reserve, he'd never touched me. He was a saint.

“Well, I just wanted you to know that I am truly sorry for your loss. And I wanted, no I needed to tell you...” My voice trailed off. I wasn't so sure I could say what I'd come to say now.
He looked up. Finally. “Tell me what?”
There were tears in his eyes. Was he crying for her, or for me... or maybe for himself?
I paused. Too long. He looked down again.
No, I would not let this end badly. Not again. I walked over to him, placed my hand on his shoulder, then touched his cheek.
“I wanted to tell you that I love you. I have always loved you, and if you want to talk, or anything else, please call me.”
I handed him a scrap of paper with my cell phone number scribbled on it. He reluctantly took it, and I left before he could say anything.
I ran out of the church and across the empty parking lot. A repeat of the last time I had seen him; four years after graduation. Only I hadn't had the nerve to confess my true feelings then, I had only managed to tell him that I was getting married; then I'd ran away from him, just like today.
He had seemed cold and unfeeling, then and now, but I knew somewhere in his heart, he still loved me. He'd confessed it once, and it had held a sacred place within me for more than three decades. A love that could go nowhere, only to sit unattended, not growing, not dying; protected and hidden away from the world. And it was still there.

I knew I would never hear from him. He wouldn't call, and I wouldn't bother him again. I only wanted him to know that for thirty years, he had remained in a special place in my heart.

Maybe it was enough for both of us, just to be loved. And to know.

© Garden Summerland 2025 

Happy Anniversary

 

“What?” I asked in shock as he pulled away from me and grabbed his white polo from the bed, tugging it over his head.
“Oh, nothing.” He responded casually, then a little more direct, “Put your clothes back on.” He picked up my tennis dress from the floor and held it out to me.
“You're joking right?” He'd taken me aback, the last twenty minutes had been a fast foray into an exquisite passion that had been building for weeks. Now I was annoyed. I snatched the dress from his hands, and reluctantly put it on.

He touched my cheek with the back of his hand and sighed, “No I'm not joking, love. Your kid will be home in a few minutes, right? Same time every day? You knew we didn't have time to.... finish.” He seemed amused.

“Oh crap.” I grabbed his wrist & twisted it towards me to look at his watch.
Ariel. The bus would stop at the end of the driveway in about ten minutes, and she'd kill herself racing to the house.
If her father had bought her a car for her 16^th birthday like she'd wanted, she'd be working after school. Then I would have had hours to spend with Zack, my latest... instructor.
“Quit calling her my kid. It was a package deal.” I motioned my hand around the room.
“And it is a nice house. Plus, it's the only way I can afford YOU.”

He laughed then winked at me. “I think I'd better meet you out on the court. See you in half an hour?” He grabbed his racket and was out the door before I could answer.
I fell back onto the bed just as I heard the squeal of the school-bus brakes. I wanted to replay the afternoon in my head, but that would have to wait. At least my face was appropriately flushed, it had been a grueling lesson today, in more ways than one.
The front door slammed.

“Elise? You here?” That bubble-gum voice tinged with malice carried throughout the house.

I heard her bounding up the stairs towards her bedroom. I was two doors down.
“Yes, of course I'm here. Where else would I be?” I screeched it at her in my best wicked step-mother tone.
I heard her coming down the hall.

“Who was that in the back yard? Did daddy hire someone else to get you in shape?”
She popped her head in the room just to raise her eyebrows at me.

“That was Zachary Taylor. THE Zachary Taylor. He's going to teach me tennis, if you must know. And your father has never complained about my “shape”. You should mind your own business.”
I rolled off the bed and smoothed the pleats of my tennis dress and continued giving her the explanation she was waiting for. “Well dear, for your information, I got too hot on the court and came in to cool off. I felt queasy, so thought I'd best lie down for a while. I guess Zachary came looking for me. I thought I heard someone at the back door.”
She rolled her eyes. “As if... but you do look a little flushed. Be careful, you can get overheated quickly... at your age. ” She smirked and left, humming some childish tune as she retreated to her room. I was going to have to get rid of that little brat.

I spent the rest of the afternoon chasing balls on the court. I wasn't very good at this game. Of course, I wasn't paying much attention, I was lost in thoughts of exactly what I was going to do about the current situation. I was falling in love with Zack. That had never happened with any of the others. And now I was going to have to free myself from the albatross hanging around my neck. And his kid.
But I needed to hang onto the fortune I'd become accustomed to spending. I'd come up with a plan.

A few days passed, and I had had one too many pangs of conscience about Ariel, she was after all just a child. And pulling off one murder was iffy already. So I decided if I could just do the one, take out the husband, then Ariel would be easy to pack off to boarding school. And I would inherit almost all of the estate. I would set up a trust fund for the little brat; I wasn't a complete monster. She could have her share, no need to be greedy at this point.
I began watching true crime documentaries; listening to audio books and podcasts on serial killers, anything that could provide potential blueprints. It's a sick world; I realized that committing the crime was the easy part; getting away with it was another story. I was hopeful about that, I was pretty savvy. The big question was 'could I live with myself'?

I had that question answered within the week when I found two airline tickets to Fiji in my husbands suit jacket. Along with a note with lipstick prints and red ink hearts, “You will have the time of your life,” scrawled underneath them.

He was having an affair. And Ariel knew; I knew she did. All those judgey looks across the dinner table, the snide remarks about Zack. They were both laughing at me. Well I would have the last laugh.
I chose the date carefully. It had to be before our anniversary. No way I could fake it through another catered affair of congratulatory lies. That gave me two weeks.
And I needed an ironclad alibi. Nothing to do with Zack, that was already looking suspicious.
I'd been dragging my feet for the past week, and our 13^th anniversary was the next day. I knew he had something planned, and now, so did I. Only his was for show, and mine... mine was for real. Then I would play the bereaved widow to the hilt, that would be my show.

For now, I was carrying on the facade of the spoiled wife. Cooking lessons, Spanish, and today had been my first piano lesson. Unfortunately, my teacher was female, and she wasn't even attractive. I had hoped to make Zachary jealous.

It was after 6:30 when I arrived home, John was home already. Great.

“Surprise!” Fifty people sang in unison as I opened the front door.

John came rushing to my side with a bouquet of roses and an envelope in his hand.
“My love, Happy Anniversary!”
I stood with my mouth agape, trying to assess the situation. Tonight had been the night. And now....
I took the flowers and the envelope.
“Open it baby, I know it's something we've always talked about. We're leaving in the morning. Ariel packed for you.”
My head was swimming, and I felt faint. He slid his arm around me to steady me, “I know it's a shock, but we wanted to surprise you!”

My eyes scanned the room; Ariel was standing with Zack. They smiled and raised champagne glasses. I was going to be sick.
“Honey, we're going to Fiji! Janice put together a travel package, we'll be gone for a month!”
I had poisoned all of the champagne in the house.

The room was darkening, and I felt my knees give way. I fell before he could catch me and cracked my head on the marble entry way floor.
I was in the hospital for almost a month, most of it spent in a coma.

I would never know what happened.

 © Garden Summerland 2025

Retrogression

“Mama, what does this word mean?”
Tuesday handed me the tattered bound up papers and I read the words.

“Where did you get that?” I demanded.

“Grandpa gave it to me. He said it was his grandmother's. I've tried reading it, but you have to turn the pages,” she took it back from me, “like this mama, you just turn the paper over and there is more on the back of it.”
“Yes Tues, it's called a 'book'.”
“I know THAT. Grandpa told me. But I don't understand most of it. What does this word mean?”
She pointed on the page.
“It doesn't matter. You shouldn't be looking at that. Grandpa shouldn't have given it to you. It's... it's not allowed.”
“Why?”
“Here, give it to me and get your Tech Pal out, you should be sitting in your room gaming instead of reading anyway. It's not good for you.”
Tuesday thrust the book towards me and shrugged her bony shoulders. She was small for eight years old.
“Here, you can have it. None of it makes any sense anyway. A bunch of words I don't understand, and I tried to look them up, but ROXIE says they don't exist. It's stupid.”
I fought back tears. The old man shouldn't have done it. Stirring up things long forgotten. I barely knew what any of the words meant either. But the one Tuesday had pointed to, I knew.
“Slavery”. It was on the list of canceled words. It had been since my mother was a baby.
There were only a handful of people left that remembered what the canceled words were. I struggled to recall, but only came up with seven of them; there had been over a hundred. Never spoken, never written, erased from time, but not from the memories of a select few that were still alive. It hadn't changed anything. The words still existed in action and thought, only they weren't allowed to be spoken now so everyone could pretend like the things they did weren't wrong. Never getting called out had cleared consciences and provided false virtue.

Back then, people called it 'political correctness', but it was nothing more than a way for the government to control our words. It was censorship that we all embraced.

Grandpa had tried to teach me about it when I was Tuesday's age but mama wouldn't hear of it.
Fourteen years of Process Clearing worked on most, and mama had been no exception.

So Grandpa was shushed, and I'd grown up like everyone else, oblivious to the horrors of the past. And I'd chosen to keep it from Tuesday. After all, I wanted to be a good citizen.

Keep the old ones quiet long enough, and they would die out. Then history could be re-written, so no one would know about the sins of the ages. Our ancestors looked noble and innocent, and so would we. No matter what crimes we committed.
It was a perfect plan. Utopia would finally exist. Or would it?

©Garden Summerland 2022

Photo Cred: Seannel 123rf.com

Running Away

 

I heard laughter. Not just laughter, it was a giggle. They were in his office.
I'd brought him lunch; his favorite from the diner across the street.

I silently walked to the end of the hall and nudged open the door.
Waves of tousled blond hair bobbed behind the desk. He was sitting with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. The leather executive chair I'd bought him when he'd leased the office strategically positioned to shield their illicit activity.

I waited. A moment later, he felt my presence. He opened his eyes as he turned his head towards me. He pushed her away and sprang to his feet in one fell swoop. It was almost comical.
“It's not what it looks like.” He stammered, straightening his clothes.
“Oh, I think it is exactly what it looks like.” I stared him down. He'd been caught.
“Please, I just... I missed you, and I...she means nothing.”
Why did he have to say that? Surely she meant something.
“Zip your pants.” It sounded cold, a command devoid of emotion.
I turned to leave but he grabbed my arm and swung me around. I dropped his lunch, and tried to pull away but lost my balance and fell forward into him. I was furious.
He held me. My skin flushed and the room seemed to go dim.
I waited for him to kiss me but he didn't. I wanted him to kiss me, I wanted him to love me again. Crazy thoughts swirled in my head, he held me tighter.
“I won't let you go.” he whispered into my ear.
“Ahem.” She cleared her throat.
I'd forgotten there was someone else there. I'd seen her before, but never thought twice about it. Another lawyer's wife, or girlfriend; something.
I felt stupid, and tricked. He'd done it again. But this was the last time.
I wrenched myself from his grip.
“You won't see me again.”
He called after me, but didn't follow.
I started running and didn't look back.
After that day, I'd continued to run. All through my life, away from people. Away from him. Always away from him. I would find a little of him in every man I would ever date. And I would always run away before they could hurt me too.
I would never recover, never heal. I'd loved him and he'd betrayed me. Changed me.
But I would make damn certain that it would never happen again.
Unknowingly, he had created a simple solution to every problem I'd ever have.

Just keep running away.

© LolaAutry 2021

Photo cred: itsajoop

Finally

 

I was unfazed by the chill in the evening air; my skin was hot, my face flushed with fear.

My eyes darted across the street and back, searching for a familiar face; they were all strangers.
“I didn't do it.” I whispered it, no one noticed.

I shook my head in disbelief. They were all staring at me. A sea of blue uniforms and red flashing lights. My head was spinning.
“Mrs. Anderson, I advise you not to say anything else.” Some lady I didn't know shouted out from the blur of faces. She would be my attorney. I had no idea how I'd find her, but she already believed in me.
“I didn't do it.” I repeated it louder this time.

Tears were flowing freely down my cheeks and my shoulders began to shake uncontrollably.

I glanced sideways at the body. His body. They thought I killed him. What did they know?
With my hands behind my back and metal clamped around my wrists, turmoil swept through the crowd.
It was shocking and strange and frightening; Death sprawled out in their street. Their once quiet suburbia subjected to a new horror.

A female officer guided me towards a patrol car, “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law....” her voice became muffled and I shut out the rest.

I couldn't hear anything but the roar of screams inside my head. He was dead.
“I didn't do it.” I repeated it over and over.

I was rehearsing. And celebrating.
He was dead.

Finally.

©2020 Lola Autry

Picture Credit: 123rf

Our Is Not to Reason Why

“I'm ready to die.” It was matter of fact. She was sure.
“No, you're not.” I pleaded with her. We'd come too far for her to let go now. It had been six months, and they'd told her she had three.
“Yes dear, I've lived a long life, I've done everything I ever wanted to do... it's time.”
I squeezed her hand.
“No, I won't let you go.” Tears streamed down my cheeks, I couldn't choke them back.
Machines started beeping, her eyes fluttered and closed as her hand went limp.

I screamed. I was still shrieking when the nurses came running into the room.
I'd prayed, and I'd fasted, and I'd promised the world for her to live. I'd done everything. Everything except sell my soul. I'd failed her. And now she was gone.
The lights dimmed and everyone slowed to a standstill enveloped in darkness. My skin was burning, and I felt ill.
“No!” I bellowed angrily into the shadows, “You can't have her!”
Blinding light filled the room forcing me to my knees. I didn't dare look up, I could feel His presence.
He was not there to bargain. He would not listen, He never had. His will not mine. Never mine. I couldn't accept it. But He allowed me to fight.
The room was still and silent, frozen in time, He was granting me a moment. A moment to process, a moment to say good-bye, a moment to make a choice.
“Take me.” The words tumbled out of my mouth without a thought.
I looked at my grandmother and she opened her eyes, crystal blue and clear as a summer sky.
“It's not your choice, it's mine,” she spoke softly but her voice was strong and firm, the voice of calm reason I'd heard all my life.
It didn't matter. She was all I had left, I had no one else. He had taken them all over the years. One by one. And each time, I'd grieved and dealt with the loss. But no more.
I saw no purpose for my life other than the one now presented. He knew.
“You will not be alone.” His soothing voice was inside my head.
The room was darkening once again and I collapsed to the floor. As I lost consciousness, the bright light dissipated, and my grandmother closed her eyes again.
When I awakened, I was in a hospital bed, aching all over. I struggled to remember, but could not.
I was startled out of my attempted recall as a nurse with a wide smile came in carrying a swaddled newborn.
“Good morning, mama! You did a beautiful job. Want to see her?”
My memories flooded back. Now I understood. He was right, I would not be alone anymore.
I held out my arms and took the infant, snuggling her close.
“You had us worried for a while, but God knew what he was doing.” The nurse patted me on the arm. “Yes,” I shook my head, “He sure did.”

I smiled down at my new hope, and whispered softly, “Welcome to the world little Ruby.”

©2020 Garden Summerland

This story is dedicated to the memory of my grandmother. 

The Light

     John Wilde escorted me across the vast expanse of a manicured lawn towards a brick building twice as long as it was wide. He held the door open for me and I entered somewhat reluctantly. I expected more from the interior of a so called 'cathedral'; it looked more like a school auditorium with rows of gray metal chairs. Almost every seat was filled with a white robed occupant staring blankly ahead; or at least they were, before the door slammed announcing our arrival and every head turned to study us. John and I walked quickly to the front and took two of the four empty seats directly facing the podium. No one spoke. Their weird silence made me question my decision to come here alone. I'd known John thirty years ago when we were in elementary school; I hadn't seen him since. But when I called, he was pleasant and accommodating.

I'd seen him on the news a few times, always standing beside the Prophet; John was in deep. In spite of his cordial attitude, I was shocked when he'd agreed to set up a day of visitation and an interview with the reclusive leader of The Light. The mainstream media had never been allowed inside the gated compound. The one stipulation of my invitation, was that I wasn't allowed to speak to anyone other than John or the Prophet during my stay. And I had signed a statement that I had come to The Light of my own free will. I wondered if that had been a wise decision. These people were obviously insane.

The lights dimmed and organ music played softly through the sound system. Heads bowed as a red robed figure strode across the small stage before us. He stopped at the podium, the lights came back up, and the music stopped. He smiled, and everyone beamed. Even I felt the electric charge coursing through the room.

He was an exquisite creature with crystal blue eyes and a full mane of wavy dark hair; the crowd was mesmerized. I caught my breathing which had quickened.

“Good morning my children.” He spoke with an accent I couldn't quite place.

In unison they responded, “Good morning Brother.”

I leaned in whispering to John,“So, where is he from? Does he have a degree?”

“We don't question Brother Malachi,” he snapped.
“I wasn't. I'm questioning you.” I couldn't help but shake my head in disbelief. This guy had them all brainwashed. I breathed deeply and calmed my heart. I would not get taken in.

John cleared his throat and handed me a colorful tri-fold pamphlet.

“This should answer any questions you have. We find that after you've been integrated into the community you won't find the outsiders questions to be relevant. Look around, the Master has created all of this for us. It is Utopia for his chosen. And we, in appreciation, have chosen him.” His voice was soft, but the intonation was firm.

I pressed on. “So there is still free will?”

His face screwed into a half smile.

“Oh yes, there is always that. And you can change your mind about us at any time, you are always free to leave. Just as Brother Malachi is free to ask you to leave, should he deem your 'investigation' to be in violation of the Moral Code.”

I studied his face. He was testing me.

The others watched me with their cold vacant eyes. I was keenly aware of their steely stares pressing into the back of my head. I wondered if all it would take was a wave of the Prophet's hand to have them attack me.

“So what's next then? I get my robes and trade in my heels for some Jesus sandals?”

My playful mocking tone was lost on his stoic demeanor.

“First you have a private session with Our lord. Oh, and don't call him that. You must address him as Brother Malachi, or as Prophet LeFevre. He prefers the latter from... non-initiates.”

I almost choked. Brother Malachi was no less than their savior.

This was exactly what I'd been waiting for; the reason for my visit. Several former members had made accusations of sexual impropriety in The Light; never specifically referencing Malachi, but the local papers had made it pretty clear it had been one of the higher ups. I'd been reading about the The Light for the past year. There had never been any concrete evidence, and never any formal charges filed, which was typical of cults like these.

I'd done a smattering of freelance investigative reporting, so I figured, why not? If I could get the right angle, it promised to be the expose of the decade.

“Well show me the light.” I whispered back, chuckling softly at my pun, until John shot me yet another icy glare. It was clear he was one of them.
The organ music resumed in the background as Brother Malachi began his spiel. I hoped his monologue wouldn't last long.

Electronics were forbidden in the compound, so I'd brought a pen and notepad. I listened intently, jotting down random quotes. Nothing I hadn't heard before, but the delivery was hypnotic. I realized I was getting lost in his words and began to consciously block them out.
When he finished speaking, he was ushered off the stage by two burly men in black robes.
John stood up and asked me to follow. We exited the same way we had entered, and followed a stone path to a small white cottage behind the cathedral. Brother Malachi was seated in a gold velvet chair by a fireplace with no fire. It was cold and I shivered as he glanced up at us. I stepped towards him and he arose and held out his hands to me. I took them reluctantly and he guided me to an identical chair opposite his.
“Let me look at you,” he spoke softly as he took my face in his hands.
I recoiled slightly, but said nothing.

After a few seconds he dropped his hands from my face and stepped back. There seemed to be a faint indigo light around him; or had I imagined it? My breath was shallow and my heart raced; I felt dizzy.
“Please, sit.” He motioned to the chair behind me. I didn't make it. I collapsed onto the floor in front of him. His smirk was the last thing I saw.
When I awoke, I was resting on a hospital bed in their infirmary; white robed novices rushing around and speculating in hushed voices.
I felt his presence before I saw him.
“Amber-Lyn. I have chosen you.” He was speaking inside my mind.
I nodded yes without thinking. I couldn't remember what my name was, but I was pretty certain it wasn't Amber-Lyn.
“What... what have you done to me? I... can't stay here. I want to leave.” I tried in vain to sit up but I was strapped to the bed.
He glided closer and touched my hand. This time I was certain; there was a bluish glow surrounding him. I was physically paralyzed as an electric current pulsed through my skin and up my arm. As it worked it's way through my body my mind fought against him. But he was stronger than me; his aura flowed into me like a drug, and my resistance fell away. I belonged here, to him.
I was one of them now, peaceful and happy. Happier than I had ever been.

I had no doubts, no fear, no questions. I had been shown The Light.

© GardenSummerland 2018

Photo: Copyright 123.rf