The Lover's Children

Chapter 51 – April’s Tears #2

KLEMPNER

The novelty of my situation has worn thin.

My cell companions are not inspiring company. A couple of street hookers share the bench opposite

me. Perhaps they’ve been arrested for plying their trade. On the other hand, judging by the state of

their veins, they could have been busted for possession.

A young idiot flushed with courage and whiskey thought he was tough until he tried it on with me and I

demonstrated otherwise. He’s quiet enough now, sitting as far away from me as he can, using up the

oxygen as he nurses a couple of cracked ribs. In the next cage, a drunk lies snoring. He’ll cause no

one any problems until he wakes up, unless you count whichever poor bastard has to clean up the pool

of vomit he donated to the City authorities. Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

The place stinks.

The outer door clangs open and a warden, jangling keys, slouches in. He levels one of the keys at

me… “You.” … then unlocks the cage. It swings on smooth silent hinges, just enough to allow my exit

before banging closed again.

In the corridor outside, the warden shuffles behind me with a nasal whistle: some jingle that makes me

want to slap his mouth shut.

I resist the temptation.

“Stop.” He stops at a doorway, pushes it open, jerking his head inside. I follow the instruction to find

myself in the discharge area. “Waterman. Lars,” drawls my minder.

The day officer sniffs, retrieves a plastic bag from a locker and dumps it on the counter in front of me.

“Sign.” He thrusts a ballpoint at me.

A quick inspection: the bag contains my car keys, wallet, phone and a jangle of change. There’s no

need for conversation. I sign.

The officer hooks a key from his pocket, unlocks a door: Exit. Then jerks a thumb outward.

In the room beyond, two figures await me: Haswell, hands thrust in his pockets, staring at his feet as he

scuffs at the floor. He flashes me a warning glance, jerking his head sidelong toward the second figure:

Mitch.

She’s tried to clean herself up, with traces of mascara and liner swiped away from red and swollen

eyes. But arms wrapped around herself, she’s trembling. “Larry…” Her voice rips through me: barbed

with terror.

I stride forward, enfold her in my arms. “Shhh… It’s fine. It’s fine. Don’t be so upset.”

Close up, sobbing into my chest, instead of her usual perfume, light and fruity, Mitch reeks, sour with

fear. “Why are you here? When Richard told me, I didn’t… I couldn’t…”

Over her head, I glance to Haswell who nods, mouthing silently. “No charge.”

I rock her a little, swaying one way then the other. “Everything’s alright. It was just… a

misunderstanding.” Haswell raises brows at that, but when he speaks says only, “My car’s right outside.

Let’s get Mitch back home.”

They must have given Haswell special dispensation. His car is not just ‘outside’, but parked almost on

the threshold. His driver opens a rear door.

In the few seconds, we have between Mitch climbing in and me and Haswell following, he hisses,

“What the fuck were you playing at Klempner?”

“I… suppose I thought it was something Mitch would want me to do. She pressured me into that

business with the kid at the station.”

Haswell’s expression blanks for a moment, then, “That doesn’t matter now. The point is that didn’t

scare the crap out of Mitch. You being held by the police did.”

*****

Mitch still trembles beside me as the car draws up to the house, speaking in a fair imitation of a normal

tone. “Larry, you must be hungry. I’m sure James will have something cooking. And I imagine you could

both use a drink?”

I start to agree. “Good idea. Mitch, you’ll feel better with…” But she’s already opened her door and,

arms hugged around herself, is tramping away toward our small shared home.

Haswell watches her retreat. “Perhaps later?”

“I think so.”

“And then you can tell the rest of us what that was all about.”

I run to catch up, but Mitch is already at the door and inside. Indoors, although only seconds ahead of

me, all the barriers have come down. She’s weeping and sobbing, a storm of tears, hands pressed to

her face, her body shaking.

And I have no idea what to say. I settle for circling her with my arms again, holding her close.

After a while, the storm subsides. The shaking dwindles to shivering…

I rub her back and shoulders with my palms, press lips to the top of her head. “Mitch, why the tears? It

was just a mix-up. It’s true that I shouldn't have been where I was, but there's no harm done. Quite the

opposite. I learned what I needed about Borje and…”

Mitch wrenches from my hold, cutting through my words. “I was frightened,” she gasps. “I was so

scared…” She raises hands, fingers curling into claws. “I can’t believe this has happened.” Her voice is

rising. Her colour too. “I wanted you to know that you’re free. I’d told you to take time for yourself. And

the very first time you go… The very first time… This happens. You’re away for a few hours and I hear

that the police have you. I… didn’t know what to think. In my head…” Anger and fear and

recriminations spill through her words. “I didn’t know what to do. My imagination was helter-skeltering

away. If I’d let myself, I’d have thrown up. I was scared, Larry. Not just scared. I was terrified. Of what

had happened. Of what you might have done.”

I don’t know what to say. What might be the right thing to say. “I’m… sorry… I scared you, Mitch. I

never meant to. And truly, I didn’t do anything except go somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be.”

Eyes wild, her chest heaves. “What were you thinking of?” Her voice rises to a screech. “Doing what

you did.”

“I’m not sure what I was thinking. Except that I saw someone who didn’t seem right. I’d seen Borje

nearby the previous day. And I knew that Georgie was upset.”

“What?” Mitch’s face screws up. “Georgie? What’s Georgie got to do with it?”

“I… I like the girl. And she’s James’ daughter. I want to be sure she’s alright.”

Mitch stiffens. “And our daughters?” she snarls. “What about them? Georgie was horrible to Jenny

when they first met. And Vicky’s just a baby. She…”

“Mitch, you’re letting your imagination run away with you. Georgie’s fine with Jenny now. She was only

being protective of her mother. As Jenny would be…” I tap my wife’s chest with a finger… “…toward

you. James has settled that between them. It’s not an issue anymore.”

She stares at me. She simply stares. Then tears once more flow down her cheeks.

Once more, I wrap my arms around her, lay my cheek to her hair. “Mitch, when I was in Brazil, when I

was Juliana’s prisoner, all I could think about was escaping so I could get back to you. Then later, when

Jenny and James and Michael rescued me, I woke up in that hospital, and I had a lot of time to think…

“When Jenny was taken, I knew that no matter what had happened between me and you after we got

her back, I was being unfair in connecting your life to mine. I’ve given you so much pain for so much of

your life, and I knew I had to cut you free…”

Mitch stirs in my arms… “Larry…”

… but I hold her still… “No, hear me out…” She settles again, her silence stark, a visceral thing.

I continue. “To give you the chance to have a life of your own. I’d decided that once I was well enough

to travel again, I would not return here. I would simply vanish, so that you would be free. I told James

this. Because however much I wanted you, as the wife of Lawrence Klempner, you would never have

the safe and peaceful life that you deserve.

“But… when James told me you were pregnant again, by me, I knew that, whatever my intentions, the

connection exists between us. I couldn’t simply walk away from you. Or Vicky. I still wanted to be with

you. To make you my wife. And with Vicky here, I thought, I’d have another chance. I’d be able to put

right some of what I did with Jenny...” My mouth is dry. “…I think Jenny understands that.”

Mitch murmurs, “She does.”

“So understand, I will never do anything to endanger that. You have my promise.” She shudders and

heaves against me. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes.” Her words are muffled against my chest.

“Good. So, don’t be so angry with me. And please, stop crying.”

She sniffles, swiping under her eyes. “God, I must look a fright.”

“I’ve seen you better. Mitch, where’s Vicky?”

“With Jenny, I think.”

“In that case, we’ll go across now, together and join the others. You’re always better with Vicky on your

knee, and when you’re with Jenny and Beth. You can talk clothes and babies with Beth, and Jenny can

harangue me with whatever her complaint of the day is.”

She looks to the mirror. “I do look a mess.”

“Yes, you do. So, clean yourself up, then we’ll go.”

*****

Later, in the dark comfort of Mitch’s bed, she nestles her face into the crook of my neck, her breathing

ticklish. Blondish hairs on my chest, intermixed with grey, flutter and ripple as she breathes in deep,

then slowly exhales again.

“You alright?”

She stirs, sounding sleepy but content. “Mmmm…”

Slipping my arms around her shoulders, I draw her in, basking in the warmth and the press of her body

against mine; the taste of her as our mouths meet, her lips against mine, and the scent of the mint tea

she drinks.

And here, in this safe, secluded place, I slide my hand over the smoothness of her waist and hip. Mitch

purrs and curves, angling up a leg, the skin of her inner thigh hot to my touch as I trace circles over the

skin; invisible spirals that wind inward.

She sighs, shifts a little, lying back, opening herself to me...

Giving herself to me...

I draw a fingertip through the crease of her left thigh, tender delicate skin, following the length of the

joint from fore to rear; then back again through the right. Under my cheek, her breasts heat and the

pressure of my erection against her thigh grows tight.