Categories > Original > Drama
The doors were closed, the windows latched, the house going to sleep. Her children were in their rooms, tending to their high school lives and the parts that attached to that. She knew that Teddy was most likely reading, and Lynn was listening to music. She didn't need to open the doors to know this; she was their mother, and that was enough.
Wandering up the steps to the second floor, she began the brief trek to her husband's study. It was only a guess that he would be there, but a guess well founded from numerous previous nights. Writing, reading, or playing with the small eagle chick that had become the family pet, he was most likely to be within the room, and within his own small world.
The walls of the hall were decorated simply. Photos, tables, paintings of Greece and times long past; artifacts that most would think were fake and hand built cases. All were the small markings that had been woven into the home she'd created with her husband, and the family they had created together. But as she began the unthinking walk, her mind drifting ahead to the familiar scene that would likely follow, a feeling of unease made itself more known.
She paused. What task would she be interuptting tonight? Perhaps, this time, she should let him come to bed at his own time, rather than hers.
A change in her decision and Alana turned around, walking instead to the shared bedroom. She knew the room as well as any in the house, and the placement of the items enough to walk as though a ghost past them. The doors to the patio opened with a smalll whoosh, and she crossed the frame to the warm South Carolina night.
There was a story here. Beneath her, the smooth glazed wood of a scene done in stains meet her bare feet and held them. Solid. Strong. Peaceful. She did not need to look to know what was there. She'd seen it in it's creation, and almost each day since. She knew that she would look upon it and see what she had asked Apollo himself to paint, a scene fitting of a king of the gods, a scene of the view from Olympus. And the son of the god had done it, using the woods stains in graceful arcs and fine detail, the image true and refined, but hinted at without screaming. It was the work of a master. And, as she had planned, fitting for the king. The smooth sweep between the posts of the railings blended with scene in style, shape and scheme. Cut and smoothed by her hands, her work, it was done out of love. The entire deck that she had rebuilt before its painting had been done in the same manner. Her latest, and possibly greatest, accomplishment.
Without word nor sigh, she crossed softly to her seat, resting her head back to stare up at the stars. Close to hand was it's match and companion, the throne like chair of her husband. She'd built them to be a pair, meant to go side by side, with one the grander and older styled of the two, but both made of comfort.
Her thoughts roamed freely then, her eyes no longer truly seeing what was before them, as her mind took her to other times.
She remembered when she married, and the family gathered about. The good natured teasing -- and near beatings -- of being called Step Mother by those life times older than herself. There was the dancing, and the drinking, and the numerous rides home. The setting child to sleep, and posing for pictures, kissing, laughing, and loving of all present.
She remembered when her son was born, and the feeling of that life. The pride and love of his father, and the amazing tie she felt to the child. Always she had been protective of the ones she loved, but a new fierceness settled over her with the commitment to this one. Her first born.
She called to herself the days after her youngest step daughter had been killed by a drunk driver, and the low it had brought her husband too. The days had seemed endless, and the nights an eternity. Nothing had brought him from the funk, not even her love, until the promise, the hope, of the life returned. She had seen him then at his lowest and weakest, and held him through the time. She remember the long silence and uneasily conversation; the hush that filled the house in a way that silence never could.
She thought upon the arguments just after their marriage about his numerous companions, and her single one, and the agreement they had come to. The agreement that both had honored and kept, and lived with and understood, while so many in the town choose to judge and mock. It was an argeement one had to make, being who they were, and insults and opinions they had to ignore, to remain as they were.
She considered then the recent past. The wonderful times of his return from long trips, and the casual ease that they both fell back into each others lives. So few ever saw them like that, at their happiest.
But then, it was an easy slide, into the darkness that was current with them both. She knew that he was hiding something, and she feared what it might be. Even in Hawaii, his thoughts had seemed somewhere else, with someone else, an unknown woman that Alana could find nothing but envy for. For years she had loved her husband, a man she had dodged until she could no more, for the sheer reason of one fear.
The fear that he would fall out of love with her.
Now, sitting on the porch of the second floor, the knowledge that her husband was so close, and so far, she could not chase the fear away. It was haunting her more as her distractions came to a close. Soon, she would not be able to ignore his diverted attention, the way he seemed at time to have something else on his mind, and her unable to get it back. Too soon, she would be in a position where she would either have to confront him, or accept it.
And either one would break her.
She tried to look on the bright side; at least she would no longer have to ask that favor of Hermes, of him to speak with his father about the mortal wife. At least now the waiting for it would come to an end, and she could do as so many other woman had, and try to start something a new.
Old as she was becoming, she wondered at her foolishness for letting such a fear fade with the years. He had always returned home again to her, and always seemed sincere in his love. Perhaps, in his own way, he did still love her, as he loved those he had lost before. But now she was becoming a memory, and he was slipping from her grasp. How did one compete for the love of Zeus?
She had learned long ago what others learned upon their advances for his attention. You didn't.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and drew her legs up to her chest. Arms wrapped about themselves as she tried to simply hold herself together. She wouldn't be able to take any 'I told you so's from others. Somehow, when it became to much to bare, she would simply tell him that she knew, and understood, and would leave. Better to leave, and die unseen, then stay and fight, and die unloved.
She did not notice the growing wetness on her cheeks as she began to fall asleep. Tonight, she would not disturb him. She would never purposely disturb him again.
Wandering up the steps to the second floor, she began the brief trek to her husband's study. It was only a guess that he would be there, but a guess well founded from numerous previous nights. Writing, reading, or playing with the small eagle chick that had become the family pet, he was most likely to be within the room, and within his own small world.
The walls of the hall were decorated simply. Photos, tables, paintings of Greece and times long past; artifacts that most would think were fake and hand built cases. All were the small markings that had been woven into the home she'd created with her husband, and the family they had created together. But as she began the unthinking walk, her mind drifting ahead to the familiar scene that would likely follow, a feeling of unease made itself more known.
She paused. What task would she be interuptting tonight? Perhaps, this time, she should let him come to bed at his own time, rather than hers.
A change in her decision and Alana turned around, walking instead to the shared bedroom. She knew the room as well as any in the house, and the placement of the items enough to walk as though a ghost past them. The doors to the patio opened with a smalll whoosh, and she crossed the frame to the warm South Carolina night.
There was a story here. Beneath her, the smooth glazed wood of a scene done in stains meet her bare feet and held them. Solid. Strong. Peaceful. She did not need to look to know what was there. She'd seen it in it's creation, and almost each day since. She knew that she would look upon it and see what she had asked Apollo himself to paint, a scene fitting of a king of the gods, a scene of the view from Olympus. And the son of the god had done it, using the woods stains in graceful arcs and fine detail, the image true and refined, but hinted at without screaming. It was the work of a master. And, as she had planned, fitting for the king. The smooth sweep between the posts of the railings blended with scene in style, shape and scheme. Cut and smoothed by her hands, her work, it was done out of love. The entire deck that she had rebuilt before its painting had been done in the same manner. Her latest, and possibly greatest, accomplishment.
Without word nor sigh, she crossed softly to her seat, resting her head back to stare up at the stars. Close to hand was it's match and companion, the throne like chair of her husband. She'd built them to be a pair, meant to go side by side, with one the grander and older styled of the two, but both made of comfort.
Her thoughts roamed freely then, her eyes no longer truly seeing what was before them, as her mind took her to other times.
She remembered when she married, and the family gathered about. The good natured teasing -- and near beatings -- of being called Step Mother by those life times older than herself. There was the dancing, and the drinking, and the numerous rides home. The setting child to sleep, and posing for pictures, kissing, laughing, and loving of all present.
She remembered when her son was born, and the feeling of that life. The pride and love of his father, and the amazing tie she felt to the child. Always she had been protective of the ones she loved, but a new fierceness settled over her with the commitment to this one. Her first born.
She called to herself the days after her youngest step daughter had been killed by a drunk driver, and the low it had brought her husband too. The days had seemed endless, and the nights an eternity. Nothing had brought him from the funk, not even her love, until the promise, the hope, of the life returned. She had seen him then at his lowest and weakest, and held him through the time. She remember the long silence and uneasily conversation; the hush that filled the house in a way that silence never could.
She thought upon the arguments just after their marriage about his numerous companions, and her single one, and the agreement they had come to. The agreement that both had honored and kept, and lived with and understood, while so many in the town choose to judge and mock. It was an argeement one had to make, being who they were, and insults and opinions they had to ignore, to remain as they were.
She considered then the recent past. The wonderful times of his return from long trips, and the casual ease that they both fell back into each others lives. So few ever saw them like that, at their happiest.
But then, it was an easy slide, into the darkness that was current with them both. She knew that he was hiding something, and she feared what it might be. Even in Hawaii, his thoughts had seemed somewhere else, with someone else, an unknown woman that Alana could find nothing but envy for. For years she had loved her husband, a man she had dodged until she could no more, for the sheer reason of one fear.
The fear that he would fall out of love with her.
Now, sitting on the porch of the second floor, the knowledge that her husband was so close, and so far, she could not chase the fear away. It was haunting her more as her distractions came to a close. Soon, she would not be able to ignore his diverted attention, the way he seemed at time to have something else on his mind, and her unable to get it back. Too soon, she would be in a position where she would either have to confront him, or accept it.
And either one would break her.
She tried to look on the bright side; at least she would no longer have to ask that favor of Hermes, of him to speak with his father about the mortal wife. At least now the waiting for it would come to an end, and she could do as so many other woman had, and try to start something a new.
Old as she was becoming, she wondered at her foolishness for letting such a fear fade with the years. He had always returned home again to her, and always seemed sincere in his love. Perhaps, in his own way, he did still love her, as he loved those he had lost before. But now she was becoming a memory, and he was slipping from her grasp. How did one compete for the love of Zeus?
She had learned long ago what others learned upon their advances for his attention. You didn't.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and drew her legs up to her chest. Arms wrapped about themselves as she tried to simply hold herself together. She wouldn't be able to take any 'I told you so's from others. Somehow, when it became to much to bare, she would simply tell him that she knew, and understood, and would leave. Better to leave, and die unseen, then stay and fight, and die unloved.
She did not notice the growing wetness on her cheeks as she began to fall asleep. Tonight, she would not disturb him. She would never purposely disturb him again.
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