Blackout

Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

About a month later, the house has been completely repaired, and Rita has moved back in. I am packing my bags at Marc’s house, preparing to go back as well, when he comes in and asks me what I’m doing.

I look at him with a confused expression on my face. “I’m… I’m packing. The house is finished.”

“So?”

“So, what?”

“I thought you were going to live here with me from now on.”

My confused expression is surprised right off of my face, replaced by shock. “What? We- I mean, we never discussed it, I thought it was a given that I would move back once everything was fixed.”

Marc adopts a phony pout. “What, you don’t like living here with me?” he asks, and he moves toward me, pulling his shirt off, exposing his rock hard, muscular abdomen.

I begin stuttering, “N-n-no, that’s not it, baby…”

“Then what is it, Iris?” He’s reached me now, and he’s sliding his hands under my shirt to cup my breasts under my bra. I sigh, and I lock my arms around his neck.

“I thought you liked having your own space,” I almost moan against his chest.

“I like it better when you’re in my space, baby,” he says, and he pulls my shirt and bra up to suck on my n*****s, one by one.

“I didn’t know that,” I whisper, enjoying his teasing.

He quickly replaces my bra and shirt and takes a step back with a sly grin on his face. “Well, now you know. So you might as well put all your clothes back in the drawers, because you’re here for the long haul.” And he walks out of the room without looking back.

At my next doctor’s appointment with Dr. Dillinger, I fill her in on my moving in permanently with Marc. She is very happy for me, but I can tell something’s wrong, something she doesn’t want to tell me. So I gently pry until she blurts out, “Clarisa’s been asking about you.”

“What?”

“Clarisa, you know she got out shortly before you did… Well, she has regular appointments like you do. She’s in a halfway house downtown, you know. Anyway, she’s been asking how you’re doing. She says she’d like to get back in touch with you. I told her it’s a bad idea, but that I would pass on the message, and her contact information, if you want it.”

“No,” I say quickly, “I don’t want it. You’re right, it isn’t a good idea. We don’t need to talk at all. We might both be bad for each other’s recovery, and I’m not trying to be the reason she ends up on suicide watch again. I know it sounds selfish, but I just can’t have her in my life. It’s finally sane, and I don’t want to go back.”

“That’s not selfish, Iris,” says Dr. Dillinger with a small smile. “You’re thinking about her as well. But even if it was selfish, you have every right to be selfish. You’ve worked very hard to fix your life.”

“Yeah, I have.”

“You have,” she says. “So, any news on the break-in? Any suspects?”

“None,” I reply, “but at least I’m not there anymore, so hopefully no one will have any more reason to mess it up again. Marc paid to have a top-of-the-line security system installed around her house, and his. Cameras, motion sensors, alarms, the whole nine. So if anyone tries to break in there again, they’ll get what’s coming to them.”

“Impressive. I’m glad you’re still on the right track, Iris. You’re doing so well. Keep up the good work.”

“Thanks.”

When I get home, Marc is still at work, so I run some hot water in the Jacuzzi tub in the huge master bathroom and soak in the bubbles with a glass of wine. By the time he returns home, I have fallen asleep, and the water is cold.

Once I’m dried and dressed in pajamas, Marc informs me that he has a surprise for me. He places a blindfold over my face and tells me, “No peeking.” He then guides me down the stairs carefully, and soon I feel the wintry night air swirling around my face as he escorts me outside. Finally, he positions me and says, “Okay, look,” and removes the blindfold.

Once my eyes adjust to the darkness of the scene, I see a brand new black Mercedes parked in the driveway with a huge, gaudy pink bow attached to the hood. My mouth drops open and I take in a deep breath. I look back at Marc with his smug face smiling down at me, and then back at the car, and then back at Marc again. When I can finally speak, I say, “Tell me you didn’t buy me a car.”

“I did, baby. It’s our three month anniversary, and I wanted to get you something special. Since some jackass destroyed your ride, I decided I wanted you to upgrade, so I bought you this.”

I am speechless. This is so huge, I can’t even… I don’t even know what to say. So I just stand there, feeling the cold wind on my face, arms and legs, staring at the car. He wraps his arms around my shivering frame, and whispers in my ear, “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” I finally say. “How could I not love it? It’s incredible! But way too expensive, obviously. It’ll take me years to pay you back for this!”

“I don’t want you to pay me back.”

“This is too grand a gift, Marc! I can’t reciprocate in any way that matches the level of this. Of all your gifts, really. Just being able to call you mine is huge in itself. How can I match this?”

“By allowing me to call you mine.”

“I am yours.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Marc steps back and takes a deep breath, and then, to my utter astonishment, he drops down to one knee. I hear myself gasp, though I don’t think I can control my reactions at this point.

“I was planning to do this a little farther down the line, but I can’t wait any longer,” he says, his eyes smoldering. “Iris Deane Kilpatrick, you changed my life the moment I saw you. My life went from being all about me to being all about you, about us. My goal for the rest of my life is to make you the happiest woman in the world, and I want to start that by asking you for your hand.” He takes a delicate white satin box out of his pocket, opens it, and shows me a beautiful diamond ring. “Will you accept this ring and agree to marry me?”

I am beyond the ability to speak, so I just nod exuberantly as tears begin falling down my face. Marc smiles jubilantly and slides the ring onto my left ring finger, where it fits perfectly. Then, he stands up and kisses me victoriously, and I feel his tears mingling with my own.

Rita is ecstatic for us, of course. She says she had no idea that Marc was planning on proposing, but he tells her everything, so doubt she was really as clueless as she says.

Most women would run for the hills when dealing with a man who has such a close relationship with his mother, but it’s refreshing to me. Maybe it’s because I know their history. Maybe it’s because of my own history and lack of relationships with my parents. Whatever the reason, I enjoy their bond. And it’s nice to know that, if Marc and I ever have children, he will encourage a similar relationship with them. I think Marc would be an excellent father.

One night, a few weeks after he popped the question, Marc and I are eating dinner with Rita at her place when my cell phone rings. I don’t recognize the number.

“Hello?” I say as I excuse myself from the table.

“Iris?” My heart drops into my stomach as I recognize the voice.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Clarisa.”

“Clarisa?” I say, feigning forgetfulness though I know exactly who she is.

“Girl, it’s only been six months or so. I know you haven’t forgotten me already!”

“How’d you get my number?” I know I sound rude, but I don’t care about that right now. I can’t really be diplomatic when I was specific to everyone that I didn’t want this girl contacting me.

“Well, you don’t seem happy to hear from your best friend.”

I want to scream out that she’s not my best friend, but I fight to keep my voice as neutral as possible instead. “I’m sorry, Clarisa, I don’t mean to be disrespectful. I just... I’ve been trying to keep a low profile, and I really didn’t want anyone knowing any of my information besides my family.”

“Family? You don’t have any family.”

I sigh. I might as well tell her. “My… my fiancé. And his mother. Besides them and my doctor, I didn’t want anyone else contacting me. For my fiancé’s sake; for his safety.”

“I mean, why would I be dangerous?” I can detect a little disdain in her voice.

“I’m not saying you are, Clarisa. I’m just trying to stay safe, and keep my man safe. That’s all.”

“Well, who is this guy? And you’re engaged already? Must be that dude I saw you on the news with at the fair.”

“Yeah. He’s a great guy.”

She sighs impatiently. “Why are you making me drag this out of you? Tell me about him!”

“I’d rather not, to be honest, Clarisa.”

“Why not?”

“I’m… I’m just keeping close to the chest, okay? He doesn’t want … I don’t want it to get out.”

“Whatever. So when are we meeting up for lunch or something?”

“Lunch?” This could not get any worse.

“Do I need to spell it out for you? Jeez, girl, you act like you don’t want anything to do with me.”

“I’m sorry, Clarisa. Okay, lunch. When are you free?”

“Anytime before four. I work at four.”

“Okay, well when do you want to do this?”

“Jesus, Iris, you sound like you’re so excited! Not. Hmmm. How about tomorrow? Around twelve, at that little Italian deli on Fowler and 56th Street.”

I sigh, and look back towards Marc. We were supposed to have lunch tomorrow before my three o’clock appointment with Jordan. Well, I want to get this little meeting over as soon as possible, so I’ll have to have lunch another day with my man. “Alright, I’ll see you there, Clarisa.”

“Sweet. Okay, bye.”

I end the call and go back to the table, where Marc and Rita are looking at me with the same worried expression.

“I’m fine. It was just Clarisa.”

“Clarisa?” says Rita. “How did she get your number?”

“”I have no idea,” I say darkly.”Probably the same way whoever broke in here got your address. Someone at the hospital has to be leaking information.” I come to that realization as the words are flowing out of my mouth. “I’m sure it’s not intentional, but it’s really messing things up. She wants to meet up for lunch tomorrow.” I groan and lean dramatically on Marc’s shoulder. “Here I am, trying to escape my past, and it’s just sneaking up on me time and time again.”

“It’ll be alright, baby,” croons Marc, and he caresses my hair. “Go to lunch tomorrow to appease her, and then at the end of lunch tell her that you can’t be friends. Be straight up with her; maybe she’ll leave you alone.”

I must not have been clear the past times I’ve described Clarisa to him. “Clarisa’s not the type of person that leaves you alone when you’re straight up with her,” I explain. “I told you about that day in the hospital when she slit her wrists because I told her I could be leaving, right?”

“Yeah,” he answers.

“That’s how she reacts if you try to get away from her. You see why I’m so skeptical? I don’t want to risk that happening again. My life’s finally started. I have everything I want, and I don’t want it to be ruined by bringing my past into it.”

“It’ll be alright, baby. Maybe she’s changed. Just see how it goes tomorrow.”

I’d love to believe his assumption that it’ll all work out, but I have an ominous feeling that something big is going to happen, and it’s all going to revolve around Clarisa.

I try not to dress too flashy the next morning. The Mercedes is going to be enough to get her asking questions; I don’t want to give her too much ammo.

I get to the restaurant a little early, but Clarisa is already there, sitting in a little beige Camry in front of the deli. Her eyes are huge as she takes in my car. Pretending not to notice her reaction, I park next to her and, sighing, I step out of the car to greet her.

“Girl, that’s a nice ass ride,” she says before I can get a word out. “I can’t wait to hear how you got it.” Once I reach her, she throws her arms around me. “I thought you’d be back in the crazy house by now, but look at you, all sane and s**t!” This is one of Clarisa’s smart ass remarks that I’m expecting, but instead of reacting negatively, I force myself to smile and say, “It’s nice to see you too, Clarisa.”

She stops hugging me and looks into my face. “Wow, you sure have changed, Iris,” she says with a faint note of accusation in her voice.

I choose to ignore this. “You ready to eat?” I say, gesturing towards the deli, and I follow her inside. We sit at a table by the wall and chat about nothing meaningful as a waiter approaches us and takes our order. Once the waiter leaves, however, she starts with the nosy questions I’ve been waiting for.

“So, you must have found a rich man, huh. I can smell money all over you.”

“It’s not like that, Clarisa. My car was vandalized a couple of weeks ago, so this is the car I drive now.” I’m trying to be evasive, but it’s clear that I’m holding back.

“Girl, please. Look at that rock! It’s gotta be like, ten carats or something.”

I cover my ring with my other hand and attempt to steer the conversation in another direction. “What have you been up to?”

“Nothing much,” she says, obviously not fooled by my effort to change the subject. “Working at Checkers. Single still, not looking. I’m focused on other things.” The look she gives me says, Ask for more information, please. She’s just itching to tell me something, I can tell. One thing about Clarisa is that she’s easy to read.

“Like what kind of things?” I ask indulgently.

“Nothing big, just some little things.”

I’m not going to keep badgering her pretending like I give a rat’s ass about what she’s alluding to, so I move on to the next subject. “How’s your outpatient treatment going? Dr. Dillinger told me she still sees you.”

“I’m sure she told you I was trying to get in touch with you too,” she accuses.

I sidestep the clear invitation to an argument. “I don’t know; we talk about so many things I forget. So how’s it going?”

“It’s all good. She’s still trying to convince me that I need to forgive and s**t. Like I give a f**k about my past. I’ve gotten past all of that old shit.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“I guess.”

There’s an awkward silence while the waiter brings our food over. My Cuban sandwich doesn’t look Cuban at all, and Clarisa’s sub clearly has mayonnaise, which she specifically requested be left off. I’m sure she notices this, but instead of making a big deal about it, she just takes a bite out of it.

We eat in silence for a while, sipping on our sodas and looking everywhere but at each other. Finally, she breaks the silence. “So, what about you? Are you working now, or is your fiancé paying for everything?”

I ignore the rude addition to the question, and reply, “I’m a physical therapist for children who have injuries that need rehabilitation.”

“Wow. That’s a pretty lofty job. How’d you get it?”

“Mutual contacts. Someone I knew was related to the owner of the clinic.”

“Hmph. Must be your rich man.”

“No, actually, it’s not,” I snap.

“Yeah, right.”

I take a pause to collect myself before I end up saying something I’ll regret. No need to be pissed off; she’s not an important enough factor in my life for me to get worked up over. When I’m sure I’m calmed enough to not create a scene, I say, “So is this why you asked me to lunch? So you can provoke me?”

Clarisa laughs, and says “Girl, please. I want us to be friends. I’ve been lonely ever since I got out.”

“Speaking of which,” I say, trying again to change the subject, “What made you finally leave the hospital? I thought you liked it there.”

“I dunno. It was time to grow up, like you said.” She shrugs, but there is some strong emotion swirling around her features. I look deeper into her eyes, trying to understand, but she looks away before I can search too intensely.

We finish our sandwiches in silence, and I pay the waiter for both of our meals before we walk out the door. I walk to my driver’s side door and she walks to hers, and we stand there, looking around awkwardly.

“Well…” I trail off.

“Go ahead and say it, Iris. You’re too good now to be friends with me.”

“What? I never said that.”

“And you probably never will admit it. Ever since you started acting all haughty when you found out you could be leaving the hospital, I knew that you’d changed.”

“Changed? Clearly you need a good long look in the mirror. You used to be a sweet, funny girl. A little bit messed up, same as me. But you weren’t crazy. Not until you found out that I wasn’t going to stay and live out your little stupid fantasy; that’s when you started acting like you were really gonna off yourself.”

She looks so offended that I’m worried she’ll attack me right there. But instead she says, “I don’t even remember what happened that night. I don’t remember cutting myself or all that stuff they said I did. So don’t judge me. Because you know me better than anyone and you knew that I wouldn’t have ever really tried to kill myself.”

“Please,” I spit out, “I’m the one that found you bleeding out on the floor with the razor a foot away! Spout your ‘I’d never kill myself’ bullshit for someone who wasn’t a direct witness.”

“Whatever,” she responds with equal venom in her voice. “Whatever, Iris. I hope everything works out for your little boo. I wonder if he believes all that crap about you being some amazing person cured of her mental illness. I’m sure, eventually, he’ll discover the truth.”

“And what’s the truth, Clarisa?” I almost shout.

“The truth is,” she says even louder, “that you’re just a good actor! The truth is that you got lucky because everyone believed your little charade! But I saw, and still see, right through it to the realest truth of all. You’re still f*****g batshit!”

I feel a faint surge of anger claw up my chest and lick at my hot face, and I struggle to control my emotions. It wouldn’t do well to cause any more of a scene out here; thankfully, there’s hardly anyone in the parking lot, so not too many people are listening to our argument. Still, there’s enough to make it a future problem. So I take a deep, steadying breath and work harder to calm myself. Once I am sure I’m not going to go off on her, I say, “Look, Clarisa, it’s time to move on. For both of us. Obviously these negative feelings between us won’t be repaired, so I say we just go ahead and say our goodbyes and move on with our lives.”

“Whatever,” Clarisa repeats, and she climbs in her car and drives off without a backwards glance.

To be honest, while the confrontation with Clarisa was a little stressful, I’m glad for it. Because without it, I would have had to find some other way to cut her from my life. And, knowing her, I would have had to cut deep to do it, deeper than I cut during that last conversation.

I decide to put the whole Clarisa mess behind me, and focus on my future. Marc makes Sheppard’s Pie for dinner, and as he’s heaping a pile on his plate, he says, “So, I was wondering if there was a date you had in mind for our wedding.”

I swallow the food in my mouth and wash it down with a sip of water before replying, “I hadn’t thought about it yet. What about you?”

“Well, I’m pushing for however fast we can pull a wedding together,” he says with a smile as he sits next to me at the table. “I didn’t propose just so you could get that huge rock. I really want to marry you ASAP. I don’t think we should have a long engagement.”

I smile and look down at my plate as I feel the heat flood my cheeks. “Well, I guess I’d better start planning, huh?”

“I guess you’d better,” he replies, and he kisses me on the cheek before starting on his food.

That night, I wake up sweating, and I make it to the bathroom in enough time to throw up in the toilet. I gasp for air as the last of the bile leaves my mouth. Coughing, I snatch a piece of tissue from the roll and wipe my burning nose, and then, after flushing the toilet, I sit back against the wall next to the toilet. The nightmare I’d had was so real that it had made me sick.

Suddenly, the bathroom light is switched on and I’m blinded by its brightness. I feel familiar hands probing my face, checking my temperature with the back of his hand, and Marc says, “Are you okay, babe?”

“I’m fine,” I say as he sits next to me on the floor. “I just had a bad dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Um, sure, I guess. It’s stupid... But it was so realistic that it scared me awake.” I chuckle, feeling like an i***t.

“Go ahead,” he presses.

“Okay, well, we’re getting married in this weird place. The walls are curved and gray with these small, square windows, and I can see the sky outside. And after we are married, a reception begins and there’s like, a million people there. I see my mother, my grandmother, even my father, and someone I think is my younger brother that died; he was just older. And everyone’s walking around, and there’s these platforms that are high up with railings, and people are up there talking. And then suddenly, I realize we’re on a plane, because it starts plunging to the ground. And everyone is flying through the air, and I am yelling for my family, for my mom and dad and grandma and brother, but the only person I can reach is you, and you grab my hand, and we look into each other’s eyes as the plane crashes… And then I woke up feeling sick to my stomach.”

Marc caresses my sweaty face and says, “Well, I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything. Or maybe it’s some sort of reincarnation of some worry you have about the wedding. Anyway, it’s over now, baby. Do you need some Pepto or something?”

“No, babe, I think I’ll just rinse out my mouth and get back in the bed.”

I’m trying to downplay it because the dream sounds so stupid now that I’m awake. But the terror I felt in my sleep was entirely real, and I had an idea about its meaning. It probably had something to do with some impending catastrophe coming; some decision I have made or am going to make that will destroy everything I’m trying so hard to build.