Bigamist

  Bigamist

  A Story

  Elaine FLOWERS

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  About the Author

  Published by:

  Before You Publish – Book Press

  Addison, Texas

  * * *

  Edits & Cover Designs:

  In House at Before You Publish – Book Press

  * * *

  Published in the United States of America

  Copyright © 2018 Elaine Garcia

  BIGAMIST – First Edition

  * * *

  This story is a work of fiction. Any references to any events, businesses, organizations, and locals are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  In memory of one of the best storytellers

  I know and one of my biggest fans,

  Aunt Johnnie Mae Carter.

  * * *

  It meant everything when she said

  she loved reading my work.

  1

  Rose McDaniel

  …on our way back to happy.

  People become addicted to many things. It’s not really the thing; it’s the feeling they get from the thing they’re addicted to. The feeling of comfort you get from biting into something deep-fried with melted cheese and bacon on top. The rush from buying a cashmere sweater for five dollars that was once one hundred dollars. The feeling an addict has of being in control of everything when snorting cocaine. The carefree feeling drunks have when vodka flows through their veins.

  Love is an addiction.

  I was addicted to the feeling of being in love. Not just when love was new, but I craved the butterflies every time Rick said or did something to let me know I was his world. Every time he made me feel like there was no one, not even his patients (even though I knew it wasn’t true) that came before me. There was a warm sensation that started out in the pit of my stomach and when it moved to my chest, butterflies replaced it. After a few seconds, I’d be lightheaded. I felt high. It was wonderful.

  Rick, on the other hand, was addicted to people falling and being in love with him. So, we were a natural pair—and a natural disaster.

  I’m going to start this as close to the beginning of the end as I can remember.

  We were gone a week.

  To our surprise, unseasonable frost rested on the grass and mailbox when the Towne car pulled into our circle drive to deliver us home sweet home. Monday mornings were always my favorite time. I lived for beginnings—fresh starts, like morning, a new day, and the marking of a new week. So, Monday mornings were two in one—they still are.

  Despite the chill in the air, this Monday was no different. I shivered, pulled my lightweight wrap snuggly about my shoulders, stepped out, and raced to the front door. Rick and the driver handled the baggage.

  I made a big deal out of our anniversary every year. This year, Rick and I flew to Cozumel to celebrate. It may not sound like a big deal for the average couple but there were two reasons it was a big deal for us. One, as workaholics, we enjoyed few things more than work. And two, since I had an aversion to civil unions and refused to actually accept Rick’s many marriage proposals, we didn’t celebrate an anniversary in the traditional sense, so I owed him some time away to make up for that.

  We’d been ‘happily together’ for eleven years and even if I wanted to change my mind about getting married, I was afraid of jinxing things with a formal ceremony. Every time he asked for my hand and I’d say no, I felt bad for a few days and then I’d hear of one of our friends getting divorced, and soon after, I’d get over it.

  “What time do you have to check in?” Rick yelled over his shoulder as he carried the suitcases down the hall to our room.

  I stood in the kitchen in front of the stove debating on whether to turn on the kettle for tea or to start the coffeemaker. I didn’t have to ask him because he’d take whatever I served him. He was easy like that.

  “Not until tomorrow but I’ll probably head over this afternoon.” I turned the fire on beneath the kettle. “You?”

  “As much as I hate to cut our vacation short,” Rick’s voice moved closer, “I have two being dismissed today.”

  I gave him a disapproving look and said, “There you go trying to one-up me.” We stared at each other for a moment before giving the other a competitive smile. “Have tea with me before you leave.” I removed two teacups from the cabinet, placing them on the counter. “And there’s eggs, too.” I pointed toward the fridge.

  I felt Rick’s lean body standing behind me. His cinnamon-colored arms, just starting to show signs of aging on his 57-year-old body, rested on the counter on either side of me. He was aging gracefully. Even the silver hairs on his chest were now revealing what the hair on his head will be in the coming years. The front of his hard body pressed up against the back of mine as he tightly squeezed me.

  “I’m about to rid myself of airplane germs.” His lips pressed up against my neck. “You can join me if you like.”

  “Maybe… After I go through some of this mail.” I pointed at a huge pile in a basket on the kitchen desk that our neighbor was asked to bring in daily while we were away.

  Rick looked toward the basket. “I doubt I’ll be in the shower long enough for you to go through all of that.” He planted another kiss. “Come on.”

  The warmth from the rays coming through the skylight above us was taking the chill from the room as rapidly as the warmth coming from Rick’s touch. I turned and snuggled up against him. “I guess one more time to officially end our anniversary is called for. Who knows when we’ll be able to indulge like this again.”

  Rick removed my wrap and we kissed. All week we’d been all over each other like we had when we first met. April 13th, the day we met, was usually when we got away to commemorate.

  Rick was nothing like the men I was normally attracted to. His classic good looks and straight-laced-everything-by-the-book attitude was nothing like I would’ve even considered before. Not to mention, he was a nerd—and had the typical god-complex that most surgeons had. Not my type at all. Also, where I believed that the body could mostly heal itself, he was ready to cut it open at every opportunity.

  “Hurry up,” he said as he turned and headed toward our master suite.

  I reduced the heat under the kettle to low, pulled out a stick of African Violet incense and lit it, and then peeked quickly inside the basket. My plan was to shuffle through the few on top while waiting on the scent to keep Rick and I in a good space, to fill the room. There were our normal credit card and utility bills, flyers, sales papers, and other junk mail. I kept going only to discover, mixed in the clutter, a bill I didn’t recognize. The Plastic Surgery Center of Texas addressed to Dr. Erick Hart. One swift swipe with a letter opener and the seal was broken. The paper slid out and I quickly scanned the front page.

  * * *

  Date: Wednesday February 21, 2018

  Surgeon: Sylvester Cole, MD

  Patient: Amy M. Hart

  Cosmetic Procedures: Rhytidectomy, Ble
pharoplasty, Skin Resurfacing

  Total Bill: $10,737.37

  Provider: $7,500.00

  Amount Due: $3,237.37

  * * *

  This was not the first time I’d run across one of his ex-wife’s bills. I knew there were certain things he felt obligated to take care of for her, but this was a bit much. I had nothing against the woman, in fact, she and I had only seen each other a few times in all the years Rick and I had been together. I’d spent some time with their kids but even that didn’t happen often. They were college-age now, and in the beginning, I thought they just didn’t want to be around us—or maybe just a little salty about the divorce, and all. I figured if I agreed to make things legal, I would feel more empowered to ask him to bring them around. It was just as well; I grew up in the foster care system, never having a family of my own, so I wasn’t crazy about trying to build one. Plus, his children were older and it became just too awkward.

  When I stepped into the bedroom, there was a trail of his clothes on the floor, so I added to them and shed my own. I removed the wrap around my head and my golden-brown locks fell to the middle of my naked back. My bare feet padded across the bathroom floor and I tugged open the shower door to find Rick covered from head to toe in shampoo and soapsuds.

  “Hey, baby,” he said and stepped face first under the warm spray of water. “You almost missed out.” He grabbed me by both arms, pulling me in close.

  With getting back to the business of daily life on our minds, the luxury of timelessness that vacationing provides was slipping away. Despite that, Rick and I embraced and kissed as the water poured down onto us both. We enjoyed each other’s bodies and then lathered up with soap.

  “Hey, a bill came for Amy… mixed in with the mail.”

  “What?”

  “For cosmetic surgery.” I tried to ignore the flinch in his countenance. “Why would you be getting her bill?”

  “I don’t know—I’ll take care of it.” Rick moved to the back of the shower and stood behind me. He didn’t like conflict.

  “You’ll take care of it, meaning you’re paying it?” I knew he hated to argue, and who didn’t? But I couldn’t help but ask. Too many times I didn’t, but eyelifts and all her other white woman shit she had done to her face needed to be addressed if he was footing the bill. I honestly had nothing against her. How could I? She’d never caused any problems where Rick and I were concerned, and I appreciated that.

  “That’s not what I meant, but since when has it been an issue for me to take care of some of her bills?”

  I stepped under the spray of water under my own showerhead and watched suds slide down the drain.

  “A facelift? That hardly seems like it should be our responsibility. If she wants elective surgery, that should be on her dime.” I opened the shower door and stepped out. “But you do what you wanna do.” He always did…

  Rick stepped out behind me. “Look, I have to go to Sherman later in the week, so I’ll talk to her and handle it. It’s possible that the bill accidentally came here.”

  I wrapped my torso in a sage-colored bath towel and then handed him an extra-large one, watching as he ran it across his chest and arms. I moved to my side of the bathroom and left him to his. “Look, I’ve never had a problem with you making sure the mother of your children isn’t suffering but it’s been eleven years.” I took a seat at the vanity counter. “Your kids are off on their own, so I just don’t think you should be as involved as you are with her.”

  With our backs facing one another, Rick was in front of his sink preparing to shave.

  “I know we’re not married—legally, anyway. And I admire the amicable relationship you have with her, I really do… it’s just that…” I looked around for my body cream and remembered it was still packed in the suitcase. I spotted a bottle of lotion and pumped some out into the palm of my hand. “You know what… forget I said anything.”

  “I said I would handle it.” The tone he used was humdrum, almost robotic. He turned on the water and a buzzing razor scraped lightly across his face.

  “I know, and I’m sure you will.” I spread the lotion over one leg, and then rubbed it in. “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about.”

  “You never said if you wanted breakfast?” And just like that, I let it go. The incense fragrance wafted through to the bathroom and we were on our way back to happy.

  2

  Iris Hart

  …I took in the love…

  “They’re ready for you.” A broad-shouldered nurse looked around the small waiting room that was separated from the larger one I started out in. “Is he still not here?”

  I glanced at the screen of my phone even though I knew there was no new message. I then held it up in the air. “He said he was exiting 45 more than five minutes ago.” There was pleading in my voice when I said, “I’m sure he’s going to walk in any moment.”

  “Why don’t we just start prepping you? They’ll keep a look out and send him back.” She stretched out a hand, inviting me back. “This way.”

  I finished my status update:

  About to see my baby again

  Pics coming soon! #sonogram

  Post.

  I tossed my phone inside my Michael Kors bag and used all of my strength to stand to my feet. This was completely different than the last time, which made it clear we were having a boy this go around.

  I waddled into the room and the two technicians were on standby, waiting on me to plop my sluggish body up and onto the table. It was just as well that we got started because my bladder was about to burst from all the water I had been instructed to drink.

  “He should be here in just a moment.” I placed my purse in the chair next to the door and sat upright on the table with some help. “He missed the last time by just a few minutes and I would hate for him to—”

  There was a light knock on the door just before it opened. The receptionist poked her head in. She then stepped back so Erick, who was still wearing his surgical scrubs, could rush in.

  “I didn’t miss anything, did I?”

  “Hi, honey.” I held out a hand in his direction and laid back onto the table.

  “No, we’re just about to start.” The broad-shouldered woman picked up a bottle of warm gel and scooted in close to the table.

  Erick stood next to me, holding my hand, and then leaned in for a quick kiss.

  “Sorry.” He kissed me again.

  “Just glad you made it this time.”

  After the warm gel landed onto my taut skin, she gently pressed the transducer there and moved it around.

  Erick’s face lit up when the image appeared on the monitor. “There’s my boy,” Erick spoke lowly but the excitement and pride were apparent. He kissed me again and rubbed my arm.

  When he called that morning saying that he had an early surgery scheduled, I was afraid that meant he wouldn’t make it. It had happened so many times before. I had already made peace with us not arriving at the doctor’s office together as we had planned—and as he’d promised. There were lots of broken promises with Erick but never any that really mattered. He was away for a week at a medical conference, which was the reason we rescheduled the sonogram for today. When he returned the day before, he had patients that he needed to see so he ended up being at the hospital all night. He loved his patients in a way that was difficult for me to accept at times. But that wasn’t new information. When his text came in saying he was on his way, I was so relieved. He’d missed so much.

  “Nice strong heartbeat…” The technician scan-ned every area on my swollen belly it seemed. “…kidneys, liver, lungs—all looks good—right on schedule for 29 weeks. He’s almost at five pounds.”

  We both peered at the screen, anxious for more details.

  “I just emailed you both a photograph. Do you want me to print one too?”

  “Yes, thank you so much,” I said. The machine gave a light buzz and she stood and wiped the gel off my still exposed abdom
en.

  The image of our son on a piece of photo paper slipped out of a printer across the room. The technician took it as soon as it hit the tray and waved it around as if it was a Polaroid. She then placed it near my handbag.

  “I’ll put this here, and we’ll meet you both out front.”

  Erick kissed my swollen belly and tugged my Juicy Couture top over it. “Have you had lunch?”

  “Not yet.” I sat up and swung my legs over to one side. “Jersey has to be picked up shortly, so…”

  “Let’s get her now, and then grab a bite,” he said while helping me to my feet.

  I was so relieved he didn’t have to rush off. The three of us, soon to be four, didn’t spend enough time together but when we did, it was good. Always. That had something to do with the fact we didn’t spend enough time together for it to ever be bad. I hated it when I thought like that—like my mother—but it certainly made me wonder. Every time we were together it was like a holiday, a fiesta. It was a celebration and Erick treated his girls well to make up for his frequent absences. I was afraid, as my mother so analytically pointed out, if he were around more often, there would be no fiesta. Jersey and I would no longer be special. That would then be the end.

  “Before I can think about food, I have to pee. I am seriously about to drown over here.” I tossed the photo into my bag and carried it out of the room.