Yesterday's Fingerprints
By Siena Sloane
Free Chapters
1
Alexis “No matter how often you call him, if he’s busy, he won’t answer,” I mutter as I jab the red button on my phone, annoyance making me slam it down on the kitchen island counter harder than I intended. Cursing quietly, a skill you learn very quickly if you have a child, I pick it up, inspecting it for any cracks. Why the hell do they make these things so breakable these days? “Mommy, hurry up.” Lizzy’s impatient voice calls out from behind me. “I’ll be right there, angel. Have you…” I swing around only to see her already in her butterfly swimsuit, clutching the bottle of sunblock. “Of course you have,” I mutter again. “Just give me a minute to put on my suit. What are you going to do while you wait?” Her shoulders heave with the weight of her sigh, and I bite back a smile. Every time she wants to swim, we have some variation of this conversation, and she’s obviously over it. “I’m going to wait right here till you get back,” she says, reluctantly pointing to the floor. “That’s right. And why are you going to wait right here?” “Because five-year-olds are not allowed to be in the pool by themselves.” The eye roll that accompanies that statement makes my eyebrows rise. “Are you sassing me right now?” “Uhhh, no?” “Are you sure because you don’t sound too sure?” “Mom, I’m five,” she holds out her hand, fingers straight, and I struggle to keep a straight face at the sight of four, not five fingers. “I’m not a baby anymore, and I can swim. I even got a certificate to show.” She was so damn proud when she graduated from swim school we had to frame it and hang it on her wall. “I know you can swim, Lizzy, but if an accident happens and you’re by yourself, it will be really bad. Now,” I say, raising my voice slightly when her mouth opens. “Do you want to talk, or do you want to swim?” Her mouth snaps shut, and I ruffle her hair before making my way up the stairs. After a dip, I’m nice and cool, lazing in one of our inflatable pool chairs while Lizzy’s happily splashing around in the shallow end. As usual, she’s pretending to be a mermaid, but to be honest, the sounds she’s making are more seal-like than what I imagine a mermaid would sound like. Not that I’d ever tell her. Tilting my head back, I close my eyes and enjoy the gentle rocking of the float. I don’t know why I’m so annoyed. I know Lucas is most probably in an important meeting, but lately, I’ve been on edge. There used to be a time when a call from me would make him answer immediately, or, if he really couldn’t answer, there would be a text asking if it was important. It always made me feel special, as if I was his priority. Granted, things changed over the years, and life happened. We both got busier with our careers, we had Lizzy, and one would expect that after being together for thirteen years, nine of those being married, things would calm down. It wasn’t the calmness that bothered me; there was a certain security in that. A security that came from knowing that you’ve found your person, that you’ve faced obstacles that life’s thrown you together and depended on each other to overcome it. “Mommy, when’s Daddy coming home?” “Oh, shi… shoot,” Lizzy’s question startles me from my thoughts, reminding me I need to make a call. “He’s coming back tomorrow.” “Will he come watch the butterflies with us?” Once a month, we catch the trolley and go to the Botanic Garden to visit the exotic butterfly exhibit. To ask if Lizzy liked butterflies would be like asking if the Pope was Catholic. She was obsessed with them hence the butterfly costume, her butterfly-themed room, her butterfly backpack—the list was endless. Afterward, we would have a late lunch at the café and catch the trolley back. “I’m sure if he’s early enough, he will,” I soothe, but it seems that I don’t need to. She shrugs, taking it in her stride and goes back to doing mermaid things. That bothers me. It doesn’t sit right with me that she’s so used to her dad not being there and missing out on family time. Paddling my chair to the edge, I heave myself out and grab my phone off the porch table. Once again, the call to Lucas goes straight to voicemail, so with a sigh, I call Claire. Claire has been working for Lucas for almost six years now, and we jokingly refer to her as his work wife. She runs his day like a conductor directs an orchestra, and he would be completely lost without her. The phone rings once before she picks up. “Anderson & Young, Mr. Young’s office. How may I help you?” “Hi Claire, it’s Alexis. How are you?” “Mrs. Young, so lovely to hear from you. I’m fantastic. How are you?” I cringe a bit at the use of my surname, but I don’t correct her. Claire is in her mid-forties, and it feels wrong, but I think by year three, it was when I gave up trying to coax her to use my first name. “I’m good, thanks. I’m so sorry to bug you, but I can’t get a hold of Lucas, and I can’t remember what time his flight lands.” It was more like he rather abruptly ended our call before he told me, but I don’t want to admit that. “Oh, it’s no worry at all. His phone is most probably on airplane mode for the flight. He's due to arrive at Miami International Airport at seven.” “Wait, he’s coming back today?” “Yes. His last meeting finished at one.” That can’t be right. I clearly remember him telling me he was landing early Saturday morning because he had a meeting late afternoon, followed by a dinner with a potential client who had a satellite office in Miami. “Mrs. Young?” Claire’s voice comes through the phone, and I realize I must have zoned out. “Are you sure he’s coming back today?” The first thing I think is, she’s wrong. This must be the first mistake she's made in all the time I've known her. But I should know better because when it comes to business, Claire is never wrong. “I’m positive. I spoke to him as he was boarding.” She gives a little laugh. “You know how stuck in his head he gets when he’s working on a new ad campaign; I practically have to direct him step-by-step through the day.” “Well, it’s a good thing I called you. Not only did I forget the time, but I got the day wrong as well.” I try to joke, but it sounds flat even to me. “No problem at all. Some days I go crazy trying to keep track of my teenagers, so much so that I don’t know if I’m coming or going. And on top of taking care of your adorable girl, you run your own business. I can see how things can get lost in translation.” Somehow, I couldn’t see Claire ever being unorganized. She was the poster child for organized. “Okay, well, thanks for clearing that up for me. I’m so sorry to have interrupted your day. Lucas must have left you loads of work in his absence.” I don’t know how, but somehow I manage to keep my voice light and upbeat, even while I’m shaking inside. We end the call, and for a moment, I stand there, clutching the phone in my hand while staring at Lizzy without really seeing her. A brief flare of jealousy shoots through me towards Claire for knowing more about what’s going on in my husband’s life than what I do. But I shake it off quickly. She’s only doing her job, and at the end of the day, she goes home to her husband and kids, her real life. I know for a fact that Lucas said he’d be back tomorrow, but maybe meetings got canceled or moved around. That kind of thing happened, right? It sometimes happened to me where something last-minute came up, and clients had to reschedule. But why wouldn’t he say anything? Maybe he’s planning on surprising me. That must be it, I decide with a firm internal nod. By five, I finally manage to wrestle Lizzy out of the pool, only to replace it with more water. She empties almost half the bottle of bubble bath under the running tap, and by the time she gets in, there’s a real threat I might lose my child forever amidst the mountain of bubbles. Bath time safely over, she changes into her butterfly pajamas while I head to the kitchen to prepare some dinner. I’m on autopilot, the sounds of Sponge Bob and Lizzy’s laughter coming from the family room as I make some wraps. I’m not hungry, and Lizzy loves wraps, so wraps it is for dinner. By the time seven rolls around, I’m biting my lip, trying not to look at my phone every five minutes. Barring any flight delays, Lucas’s plane should have landed. Briefly, I debate calling him but then decide against it. If he wants to surprise me, I don’t want to spoil it. A couple of hours later, all my chores done and Lizzy asleep, I settle in the family room after pouring myself a glass of white wine. I mindlessly flick through the TV channels before finally settling on Kitchen Nightmares. Normally, I love watching poor unsuspecting restaurant owners scurrying around like their asses are on fire, but tonight I can’t pay attention. Deciding that walking to the kitchen each time I want to refill my glass is too much effort, I grab the bottle and settle back on the couch. As the minutes tick away, I try to stay positive, but by nine, a million scenarios are whirling through my head, each one getting progressively more ridiculous. If his plane landed at seven he should have been home by now. Maybe there’s been an accident on his way back home, and he’s hurt, or maybe the plane crashed. A bolt of panic shoots through me at the images racing through my head, and I grab my phone. It rings and rings until it finally goes to voicemail, and I’m relieved, but yet I’m not. If his car or the plane crashed, surely his phone wouldn’t have survived, and it would go straight to voicemail? But where the hell is he? The beginnings of anger stir through me, and I take a big gulp of my wine. There’s this little voice that’s nagging at me, telling me that something’s seriously wrong, but so far I’ve ruthlessly shoved it down. The later it gets, however, the louder that voice gets. Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but through the years, I’ve learned to trust my gut, and now my heart and gut are at war. My heart is telling me that Lucas would never do anything to hurt me, but my gut is telling me I’m being naïve. We had a huge argument on Tuesday, the night before his trip. He’s been working so hard, and the pressure he’s been under is insane, so I phoned Claire to check his schedule. He had nothing planned for next weekend, so I booked us a couple of days away at a house in Islamorada. It has a pool and sits right on the beach. I thought we could leave late Friday night and spend the weekend having lazy mornings and relaxing on the beach. I thought spending some time together as a family and a change of scenery, even if it only were two days, would do him good. But boy, was I wrong. I thought he would appreciate it. Instead, he blew up and said he couldn’t afford to take time off work and it wasn’t my place to book the holiday without discussing it with him first. He didn’t even give me a chance to tell him I checked his schedule with Claire or where I had booked before he stormed out of the bedroom and shut himself in his study. I was fuming but somehow managed to fall asleep before he came to bed. The silence between us the next morning was strained, so I didn’t mention it again. I really didn’t think I did anything wrong. I was thinking of him, trying to take care of him, and his reaction was over the top. In the three days he’s been gone, he’s called me once a day, but it’s been brief and to the point. But I’m still holding out hope. Hope that he’ll be back tonight, hope that at any minute, I’d hear his car come up the drive, hear the front door open, and feel his arms around me, reassuring me that everything is okay.
2
Alexis I wake up slowly, shaking my head to dislodge the pressure on my cheeks. Blinking slowly, I open my eyes, jerking when I’m met with Lizzy’s blue-eyed stare. She might have gotten my black hair, but her eyes are all her daddy’s. She’s so close our eyelashes are practically brushing against each other, and her little hands are squeezing my cheeks until I’m sure my lips resemble those duck faces girls used to make when posing for selfies. “Mommy?” she whispers while I swallow convulsively, trying to dislodge the camel marching band in my mouth. “Yes?” I whisper back, finally managing to work some moisture back into my mouth. “Are you awake?” I don’t know why we’re whispering, but I go with it. “I am now.” “Can you make me breakfast?” She’s lying on top of me, squishing my boobs with her chest and her knees digging into my stomach. “I can do that, but you’ll need to get off me first. Unless you want me to just carry you around like a baby koala?” She giggles and scrambles off, knees and elbows everywhere. I’m not sure how I didn’t wake up when she climbed on, but the empty wine bottle, and the pounding behind my eyes when I sit up, might have something to do with it. It takes me a few seconds, but the previous night comes rushing back. I must have passed out on the couch at some point. Quickly grabbing my phone, my heart sinks when I see there are no missed calls or messages. Not from him, not from a hospital, not from anyone. Lucas didn’t come home. Fury, so sharp that it takes my breath away, rushes through me. Where the fuck is my husband? Is he so angry about our fight that he stayed in a hotel? That’s the best-case scenario I can think of, but even that fills me with so much anger that I want to scream. I manage to drag myself to the kitchen, where I swallow two pills before making coffee. All I want to do is crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head, and sleep. Forget about this day. Hell, forget about the past week. But I can’t. Life goes on, Lizzy needs breakfast, and then we have the outing to the Botanic Gardens. Just because I’m a mess inside doesn’t mean that life stops. I leave Lizzy to her scrambled eggs and toast while I have a shower. The warm water is soothing, but I can't relax, getting more and more worked up with each second that passes. By now, it's eleven, and Lucas is still not home. I am angry and hurt, but I decide not to be rash. I won’t confront him and tell him I know he flew back last night. Instead, I’ll wait for him to tell me. I’ll give him the rope, and if he wants to hang himself, he can do it. God, I hope he doesn’t use the rope. I hope there’s a rational explanation for all this. Luckily, the trolley isn’t full, and we find seats easily. We get a few smiles when we walk down the aisle, which is normal when Lizzy wears this outfit. It’s a knee-length, rainbow-colored dress layered at the bottom with lots of netting and decorated with blue butterfly appliques. The wings are sparkly pink and huge, taking up most of her back and making it really awkward for her to sit without squashing them. Every month we visit the butterfly exhibit, and every time she insists on wearing it. I somehow smile my way through the exhibition, not that it’s hard when Lizzy’s buzzing all over the place. I somehow smile while we’re having lunch at the café where I only pick at my salad, my appetite having deserted me entirely. I somehow even smile all the way home until I see Lucas’s silver Mercedes parked in our drive. “Daddy’s home!” Lizzy calls excitedly, running up to the front door. My steps are much slower, almost dragging, my stomach churning in dread. I don’t know what to expect. Right now, I don’t even know what to feel. My emotions are a rollercoaster of anger and sadness, mixing with the uncertainty of what’s about to happen. The last time I felt like this was in Uni when waiting for a test result, where I knew I was going to do badly but still hoped by some miracle that I did well. “There’s my flutterby,” Lucas says when Lizzy throws herself into his arms. “I’ve missed you.” He picks her up, giving her a tight squeeze while burying his face in her hair. “You missed the butterflies, Daddy.” “I know, my baby, but I had to work.” Liar. I put my bag down on the entrance hall table. Finally, he looks at me, acknowledging my presence. I search his face, my gaze lingering on his eyes, searching for some kind of clue as to where he’s been and how he’s feeling. But I can’t see anything. He looks like my Lucas, his eyes soft and the corner of his lips tugged up into a little smile. The coldness I saw before he left is gone, and the relief I feel is so intense it makes my legs feel weak. He puts Lizzy down, and with a few steps, I’m in his arms, taking a deep breath of his warm, woodsy scent. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into my hair, his arms tightening around me. “I missed you.” I pull back slightly, staring up at the man that’s been my anchor for thirteen years. “I missed you, too.” He drops a soft kiss on my lips before turning his attention back to Lizzy, who’s tugging on his leg. “Come, Daddy, I want to show you the picture I drew at school.” His arms tighten around me before he reluctantly releases me and follows her to the kitchen. I follow behind them, grabbing a beer and water from the fridge while Lizzy’s pointing out all the different colored butterflies in the picture she drew. Still feeling thirsty after the wine last night, I gulp down half the water. Lizzy finally runs out of steam and heads upstairs to change. I guess even she has a limit to how long she can wear that uncomfortable dress. “How was your trip?” I ask when he settles across from me at the kitchen island, taking a long pull from his beer. “It was good.” I have so many questions I want to ask him, but I know I have to be careful. The last thing I want is for him to know that I know he got back last night. I want him to tell me, and I desperately want there to be a good explanation for why he didn’t come home. “And your dinner, Friday? Did the client like your pitch?” My heart thumps as I wait, holding my breath. Please don’t lie, Lucas, please, I beg silently. His gaze drops down, focusing on his finger that’s rubbing up and down the condensation on his beer bottle. “It went well. We’ll see what the next few weeks bring.” I swear I can feel my heart breaking, shattering into tiny little pieces. I’m sure if I wasn’t sitting down, my legs would have buckled underneath me. My husband’s lying to me. There was no dinner. He was on a plane coming back to fuck knows who because it sure as hell wasn’t me. “Right,” I murmur, trying to take a few calming breaths. It’s useless, though. My heart is racing like a freight train, trying to claw its way out of my chest, and I need to get out of here. I can’t look at him because it feels as if I’m looking at a stranger. I need space from him to regroup. To try to figure out what I’m going to do next. One of the things I have treasured most in our relationship was our honesty. Or so I’d thought. Even if it was brutal on our emotions, we decided early on in our relationship that being completely open, honest, and transparent with each other was the only way to go. Evasions, lies, and half-truths weakened a marriage, and we didn’t want that for ours. Now here he was, doing the opposite of what we swore to do. “Right,” I murmur again, standing up. “It’s good to have you home. Lizzy’s been missing you. She’ll most probably be down in a minute, begging for a swim. I have some work to do, so if you don’t mind watching her?” “You don’t want to join us?” “Maybe a bit later, but I’m swamped with work, and there are a few things I need to work on.” His hand on my arm stops me as I’m about to leave the kitchen, his gaze searching as he peers into my eyes. “Is everything okay?” I don’t know how I manage, but I give him a small smile. “Everything’s good. I just have a lot on my mind with work.” He doesn’t look convinced, but when I reach up to give his hand a small squeeze, he lets me go. “I really am sorry about our fight,” he says softly. “I have so much going on, and I overreacted. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” I just bet you do. “Don’t worry about it. I understand.” Again, he stops me with his hand on my arm when I turn around to leave. Keeping my face neutral, I bite back my impatient sigh. I can’t do this right now. I just want to leave. “You’ll tell me if anything’s wrong?” His voice is concerned, and for a moment, I waver until I remember he just lied to me. And he did it without blinking an eye. “Of course,” I lie. I won’t feel guilty because he’s the one lying to me. True to my prediction, Lizzy comes racing down the stairs, already dressed, sunblock clutched in her hand, and I make my escape to my office. *** Throwing my pencil down in disgust, I rake my hands through my hair. My concentration has gone to hell, and everything I try to draw is coming out a mess. A knock on the door has my head snapping up from where I’m morosely staring at the lines of a wedding dress that will never see the light of day. The door opens, and Lucas leans in, one hand on the door frame, the other holding on to the doorknob. Before I can rein in my damn traitorous eyes, they glide over his muscular body. He’s still wet from spending time in the pool with Lizzy, tiny drops of water peppering his torso all the way down to where his swim trunks hang low on his hips. A few strands of his tousled hair hang over his forehead, still dripping water. Color is very important to me, and I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time studying the interesting contrasts in his hair. When it’s wet, the dark brown looks black, but when he’s out in the sun, the reddish undertones become more prominent, clearly shining through. When he’s in a space with artificial lighting, the red disappears completely, leaving only brown behind. My husband’s not bulky, but every muscle is defined, and my eyes move over dips and grooves that I’ve traced with my fingertips hundreds of times. Have there been other fingertips that had the same pleasure? The thought is like a bucket of ice water being thrown in my face. “I can turn around if you like?” His voice jolts me from my thoughts, and I look up to find a grin flirting with his mouth. He knows how much I love his ass, and it’s always pleased us both that I could still admire him so much after all these years. That the attraction hadn’t waned at all. Yet today, I can’t summon any kind of happiness. Has his attraction to me waned? Does he still want me after all these years? Has the years and the fact that I had a baby changed the way he looks at me? Exhaling a frustrated sigh, I force a smile on my face. “No, you’re good.” His brows furrow into a frown. Normally I would go with it and tease, saying something like telling him to drop the shorts so I can see everything that belongs to me. He opens his mouth to speak, but I interrupt because if I have to hear him ask me one more time if I’m okay, I’m liable to grab the pencil and stab him. I’m not okay, but I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. He rocked my world earlier—in a bad way—and I’m still trying to process how to handle it. “I’m okay. Just frustrated. I can’t get this sketch right.” He straightens, dropping his hand from the door. “Why don’t you take a break? Have a glass of wine and relax.” “You’re right.” He knows me so well. I can’t force my creativity. Either I’m feeling it, or I’m not. I need to distract myself, but after last night, the last thing I want is a glass of wine. He nods, seemingly pleased that I’m taking his advice. “Eric’s on his way over to watch the game. I thought we could grill a couple of steaks. That okay?” Where were you last night? The words are on my lips, ready to spill out, but I bite them back. “You know you don’t have to ask.” And it’s true. I’ve known Eric almost as long as I’ve known Lucas. He’s been by Lucas’s side through those early, difficult years when they were building up their business, becoming a permanent fixture in our lives. He’s become a brother to me, and Lizzy sees him as an uncle. “I’m going to grab a quick shower before he gets here. Lizzy’s in the playroom.” “Enjoy.” God, why is it so hard to talk to him? Lucas nods, tapping the door frame twice on his way out. *** I’m so damn weak. I’ve made salads, buttered some buns, and now I’m on the porch, sipping my second glass of wine, watching Lucas and Eric smack-talk each other. So much for not wanting any wine. Normally I’d be laughing and joining in their good-natured ribbing, but I’m not feeling it. Lizzy is fast asleep. I fixed her a quick dinner when I saw her nodding off in her chair, trying in vain to keep her eyes open. The busy day had been too much for her, and she was asleep minutes after I put her to bed. It’s a nice, balmy night, so we’re having dinner outside. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” Eric notes, lifting an eyebrow in my direction. Stabbing a piece of my steak, I keep the smile on my face and face him. “Just enjoying seeing you two relax and joke around. It feels like we don’t do this nearly enough anymore. Lucas is working too hard. He’s never home anymore.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lucas stiffen, but I keep my gaze focused on Eric. He has the nose of a bloodhound and can sniff out potential business like crazy, whereas Lucas, with his charming personality and smile that put even the most difficult people at ease, has them eating out of his hand in no time. “I remember back when you two made the vow never to let work interfere with your family lives. Now I hardly get to see him anymore. Lizzy was disappointed he missed her outing this morning.” Although my voice is teasing, my eyes are intently focused on Eric. His reaction will tell me a lot. After thirteen years, I know most of his tells. Eric’s face drops into a frown. “And he’s too busy to go away with us next weekend.” I see something flash across his eyes, something I can’t quite decipher, and the look he shoots Lucas is quick, so quick that if I had not been looking at him, I’d have missed it. His laugh is awkward. “Well, you know how it is. Gotta strike while the iron’s hot. But I’ll try to rein him in a bit, okay?” I tip my glass at him, my smile telling him all is okay—just a bit of light-hearted bantering—while inside, a little more of me dies. It wasn't an apology I saw in his eyes. It was confusion, and that's the last thing he should be feeling. When it comes to business, those two are like two hands on the same body. The one always knows what the other is doing. I plead exhaustion early and go to bed. By the time Lucas comes to bed, I’m pretending I’m asleep, even though my mind’s racing with a million things. It takes everything I have in me not to move away from him when he slides into bed and rolls into me, spooning me. It takes everything I have to keep my breathing regular when his arms tighten around me and he kisses the top of my head.