Remember: A Symbols of Love Novel, page 1
Remember
Symbols of Love Book 2
Dylan Allen
Edited by Anja Pfiester Hourglass Editing
Proofread by Marla Esposito Proofing with Style
Cover Art by Murphy Rae Hopkins Indie Solutions
Proofread by Megan Luker Megan’s Proofreading
Contents
Remember
DEDICATION
Prologue
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
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Thank you
Notes of Gratitude
About the Author
Also by Dylan Allen
Copyright © 2017 by Dylan Allen
All rights reserved.No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, brands, media, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, brands, and-or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
ISBN: 978-0-9986246-2-4
A SYMBOLS OF LOVE NOVEL
by
Dylan Allen
DEDICATION
Prologue
January 1, 2002
* * *
My fingers tremble as I dial a phone number I could have—and had—dialed with my eyes closed. Each button I press feels like a step closer to the edge of a precipice. I’m scared. I hadn’t talked to Dean in a month. I had disappeared without so much as a goodbye, but I hadn’t been given a choice. We weren’t supposed to have contact with anyone from Houston, or our old lives. But Dean was my best friend, my first love, and he needed me. I had to call.
The phone starts to ring, and I think I might be sick as the anticipation makes my stomach flip. It rings so many times, I’m sure it’s going to the answering machine. But on the eighth ring, he picks up.
“Dean, it’s me. Are you okay?” I rush out before he can speak.
“Millicent Hassan? Is that you?” Instead of Dean’s deep, honeyed voice, I’m hearing the husky twang of his mother’s. This can’t be good. This is Dean’s private line in his bedroom. She has never answered it before. I don’t even remember the last time she deigned to visit his room. I guess a lot has changed since I’ve been gone.
“Yes, it’s me, Mrs. Orleans.” My voice comes out in a croak.
“How dare you?” she screams at me, her voice no longer husky, but shrill. “You have a lot of gall calling this house after what you’ve done. What your entire family has done. What do you want? To ruin Dean’s life even more?”
I’m too stunned to react. I just sit there holding the phone in my trembling hand, letting her continue.
“Where are you? Where did you all run off to? Did you go and join that criminal father of yours?” She’s panting from the exertion of her tirade, but I can tell she’s picking up rather than losing steam
“What could you possibly think Dean would want to say to you? His father is dead. DEAD.” Her voice breaks and she starts to cry, but she continues to speak through her crying.
“Don’t call here again. Do you hear me? Dean hates you. We all hate you. All of you. It should be you who is dead, not my husband. It should be you who is suffering, not us. I hope you never, ever have a moment of happiness. You selfish, wicked girl!”
And then the line goes dead. The phone’s receiver slips from my hand and clatters onto the floor. Numbly, I bend over to pick it up and put it back in its cradle. Then I lie down on my bed and stare at the picture that has sat on my nightstand for the last few months.
It has been my one source of joy over the last month. Turmoil, sadness, loss, and pain have defined my existence since early December of last year.
The company my father had worked for declared bankruptcy and destroyed the lives of the people who had worked there. On the same day, my father, one of their former executives, disappeared with more than twenty million dollars in cash and we became the most hated family in Houston.
We’ve moved to a new state, have assumed new identities, and started our lives over. But today I saw on the news that Joseph Orleans, Dean’s father and one of Enron’s former Senior Directors, committed suicide.
I had to call Dean. I know he needs me. It never occurred to me that he would blame me. But, why would he not? My father is a suspect in the fraud, even though no charges in that respect have been brought yet. He has disappeared along with money that was moved from his retirement account days before the stock became worthless.
He looks guilty.
But I know my father. I know he loves us, he's an honorable man who taught us that shortcuts were a waste of time and punished us only when we were dishonest—the one thing he said he couldn’t abide. I just can’t reconcile that man with the one who has been accused of the things it appears he has done.
My heart breaks as I stare at the picture on my bedside table. It’s of Dean and I at homecoming only three months ago. He was homecoming king, of course. He's grinning straight at the camera with his crown askew on top of his head of shiny blond hair, his startlingly green eyes dancing. His arm is around my waist, pulling me into his side, both of my arms loop his hips. I’m smiling up at him, my face in profile. We were so happy that night. With his beautiful face, tall athletic build, and easy smile, he was every girl’s crush.
I wasn’t homecoming queen, but I was his date. I’d been his date since our sophomore year. He was so much more than my boyfriend. He was my best friend, my sounding board, and my study partner. I thought he’d be my forever. We had plans and now everything is ruined.
His mother’s angry insults echo in my head and I pick up the picture, press a kiss to it, and put it at the bottom of my bedside drawer. I can’t look at it anymore. It’s just one more relic tossed on the pile of garbage that my life has become. It’s another painful reminder of everything I’ve lost.
I hope one day, I’ll see him again and if he’ll talk to me, I’ll explain everything. I just pray he’ll be able to forgive me.
1
My marriage is ending. I'm consumed by emotions too numerous to name, but the only one I can process in this moment is blind panic. I knew that things were bad, I could feel Kevin drifting further and further away—from me, from our family—every single day.
At first, it was just that he had to work later. Then his work required nights spent in the office. Then weekends, too. Soon, I was virtually a single parent, and I only saw my husband in passing.
I sit here in our bedroom on the very bed where we made our son, paralyzed by my panic. He’s calmly packing his things so he can go be with the woman he just told me “doesn’t make me feel like I owe her anything.”
I suspected that he was having affairs. After we came back from a visit to my sister, Addie, I started paying attention. And when I finally had proof, I confronted him. He denied it. Said it was crazy, and that I was crazy.
But tonight, he’s singing a different tune. He came to me and confessed. I thought the confession was a prelude to an expression of contrition, to plead for forgiveness. It turns out it was just the beginning of his goodbye.
“Kevin, look at me. Think about what you’re doing,” I say to him. I'm unable to muster the energy to raise my voice.
He stops packing and glances over his shoulder at me. His eyes, that used to smile at me, are looking me up and down with scorn.
“Milly, it’s dead. Has been for a long time.” His voice is so unequivocal. He’s looking at me like I'm the one who is spitting on us, like this is my fault.
“Kevin, it’s not dead. We have a family, we have Anthony, and we’ve built a life.”
As I say this, my heart knows it’s not true. But this was not supposed to happen. It can’t happen. This was everything I’d worked so hard to avoid.
I'm trying to remain calm. There has to be a resolution that doesn’t include him leaving me to go live with someone else.
“This life is a life you’ve built, Milly. I don’t want to live like . . . this.” He says the last word at me as his arm
“Sex is boring, we don’t talk about anything but my job and Anthony. You’re totally consumed with us, you have nothing of your own, and I feel smothered.” He looks me up and down, his eyes narrowed, and then he shrugs.
“Your body is still nice, but I can’t get it up for you anymore. Haven’t you noticed?”
Every word a tiny prick, puncture, making holes in the integrity of my composure until I feel it start to falter.
Sex is boring?
Nothing of my own?
Can’t get it up for you anymore.
Haven’t you noticed?
These words ping around my skull like a metal ball in an arcade game, hitting all of my most sensitive places.
I flush, hot and hard. It’s true we haven’t had sex in a while, but honestly, I don’t mind. Sex had never been my favorite part of our relationship. I’d never had an orgasm with him inside me, and he didn’t like oral—giving or receiving—so it was usually over once he was done.
“Kevin, when we got married, this—” I sweep my arms out mimicking his earlier movement, “is what you wanted. Me at home while you went to work. I keep this house pristine, your son is happy, smart, and loving.”
“I noticed you skipped the sex part,” he says mockingly without turning around.
I glance down at my hands, folded in my lap and watch as the tears I didn’t even realize were falling land and run down my hands.
It’s Friday night and Anthony is out with my mother. Kevin waited for him to be gone so he could drop this nuclear bomb and then leave like the complete coward he is.
He grabs the last of his underwear from the drawer and the slam of it makes me look up again.
He continues talking without looking at me.
“You have that trust fund you haven’t touched in years, you can have the house, your car, and I’ll pay Ant’s tuition. But this is it, Milly.”
He says these things, these words that are like pieces of shrapnel tearing through the fabric of my life, like he's telling me that maybe I need a new car.
“Kevin.” My self-control disappears, my panic completely takes over, and I stand up and walk toward him.
I take him in as I approach. He shaves his head completely bald to hide a thinning crown, but it works. His mother’s Puerto Rican legacy left him with perpetually olive skin and thickly lashed, dark-brown eyes. He works out and is still as trim at thirty-three as he was at twenty-one. But now, I can’t see any trace of the handsome man I decided would make a good partner for me and a good father to my children.
I reach out and grab his arms, but he yanks out of my grasp.
“Listen, it’s too late for this shit, Milly. I’m sorry, but I'm not the man for you. Maybe I never was. I don’t know. But I'm done wasting my life with a woman who I don’t love and don’t even want to fuck anymore.”
I rear back as if he struck me.
“Kevin, how . . . ?” My question trails off; I don’t even know what I'm asking.
But, he seems to. And he straightens to his full height, his eyes meeting mine directly for the first time in a long time. They are full of so much contempt that I take a step back.
“I’ll tell you why, Milly. You’re pathetic. I bet the thing that bothers you most about what I just said is the word ‘fuck.’ You’re boring. And I don’t want to live in this pristine prison you’ve created. And now this shit with your father has given you baggage I just don’t want to be associated with.”
I feel like the entire foundation of my life has been pulled out from underneath me. My knees give out and I fall, gracelessly, to the ground. Kevin steps over me like I'm one of the dirty socks he always leaves littered on the floor of our closet. I hear the teeth on the zipper of his suitcase as they engage, closing over his belongings and signaling the end of my life as I know it.
This sound spurs me into action. I spring to my feet and lunge for him.
“Kevin, you can’t. You cannot leave me. I want more,” I scream as I clutch his shirt front, clinging to it like it’s my life vest in a raging sea.
He grabs my wrists and starts to pry my hands loose, I only cling tighter.
“Milly, stop this. What the fuck are you doing?” His eyes go from plain disdain to burning fury as he starts to try to shake me loose.
“No! You can’t,” I scream again as I begin to cry in earnest and move my arms up to wrap around his neck.
“You are crazy. Stop this.” I'm a tall woman, but Kevin is taller and at least seventy pounds heavier than me. There is no contest and with his next shove, I go flying, my trajectory broken by the frame of our king-sized sleigh bed. I land on our mattress, flat on my back, and staring at the ceiling.
I hear his footfalls as he approaches, and I close my eyes to avoid having to face him. He's struggling to catch his breath as he speaks to me in a voice so menacing I feel a shudder run through me.
“Don’t get up, Milly. Stay there. If you even think about moving from that bed, I will call the fucking police,” he commands.
And, I don’t move. Not because of his threat, but because I’m physically incapable. My entire body is arrested in a state of shock.
I don’t say another word as I hear him pick up his suitcases and start toward the door.
His footsteps falter just as he starts to open our bedroom door and he says, “Oh, and Milly.” I open my eyes, thinking that maybe he’s not leaving. I’m wrong. “Happy New Year,” he says as he walks out of our bedroom.
I don’t move as I hear the front door slam shut with a finality that tells me he won’t be back.
I don’t say a word as I hear his car pull out of our driveway.
I lie there, not moving, not speaking as my whole life leaves me.
* * *
I got back from visiting my sister, Addie, in London a few months ago. It was such a bittersweet visit. Addie has always been the most distant and removed of the three of us. She carries so much resentment, but I didn’t realize how much until she unleashed her anger on my mother and me the night before we left. Her words about me and how she perceived the way I have chosen to live my life cut me like a hot knife cuts through butter. It was painful to hear her say she feels like I have given up my dreams for my husband.
Having a husband was my dream, it’s all I ever wanted. From the time I was a little girl. I used to watch my parents dance around the living room when they thought we were all in bed. I saw the way my father watched my mother, like the sun rose and set on her head. I knew one day I would have that kind of love.
My mother had been a lawyer before I was born, that is how she and Daddy met, but then she became a full-time mom. She was our class mother, the carpool driver for after school activities. She packed every lunch, cooked dinner every night, was at every practice, every game, every recital. Our house was where all of our friends hung out after school. It was my little slice of heaven and I couldn’t wait to grow up and replicate it.
When my dad left our world completely crumbled. We moved to Maryland to try to get away from the threats, the press, and stigma of his stunning betrayal.
I knew then, like I know now, that my father’s disappearing was not something all men do. Unlike my sisters, Addie and Lilly, it didn’t make me wary of committed relationships, if anything it made me more desperate for one.
I saw how my mother, in the weeks before my father left, was constantly asking him questions, demanding to know things he didn’t want to tell her.
I saw how in the days before he left, she wasn’t trying as hard with her appearance. She stopped wearing makeup, always had her hair up in a bun, and stopped smiling. I don’t know what happened, but I knew I would be a stronger wife than she was.
I would, no matter what, always be pretty, always keep the house tidy, never push too hard and never make him feel like I wasn’t happy. And that’s what I’d done.
The current state of my life highlights my youthful miscalculation.
From the moment I met Kevin during my sophomore year at Brown, I committed to being the model girlfriend and then, wife.
