WISHBONE (20 page)

“I want you to be happy and I will be open to…to talk.” He sat at the foot of the bed now pulling on his boots. Looking down, he found his cell phone on the floor peeking out from beneath the bed. He had not turned it on for at least a week; they were totally absorbed and caught up in their game. He took the phone and dropped it into the pocket of his leather jacket.

“I’m going out to the barn. Have your time…and when I come in…we need to make this right.” Julien left her alone with the baby.

In the kitchen, Julien opened the freezer and removed one of several frozen birds. He placed it in the sink with a loud thump then stormed out of the house, a whirlwind of varying emotions suffocating him. On the way to the barn, he lit another cigarette and turned on his phone. He cursed beneath his breath listening to a potential job offer made six days earlier. He would claim to have been out of town and return the call immediately—
fingers crossed
. The next message was Matt asking for a call back. Julien deleted it. The next two consecutive messages were also from Matt; each slightly more concerned than the last and the latter, questioning
why
he had never called back. Next was Lily, concerned about Rachael, who was not returning
her
calls either. Then Rachael’s mother, rambling about her husband whom she refused to accept, had been dead for eleven years. The final message was also from Matt…

“Hey Julien…listen, I know there was that thing between Lily and Rach, but you also said you guys wanted us to come up for the weekend…I know it took a while for me to get back to you, but you know how that goes…always something going on…but now Rachael isn’t calling Lily back and you’re not calling me back, and honestly…we’re starting to really worry. Give me a call, man, okay… We wanna come up and see you guys this weekend. Call me…let me know if that works for you and tell Rachael to give Lily a call…she’s feeling pretty bad about everything.  Later man…call me, fucker!”

Julien had to find a way to put their visit off for a while. He would deal with Matt later.

Yet another lie to concoct
. 

 He was positive that once the baby was gone, it would be some time before Rachael could receive company. He entered the barn for the first time in several days and climbed the ladder to the loft. He flipped on the stereo and Leslie Gore’s haunting rendition of
You Don’t Own Me
filled the room. Julien shook his head and walked away, turning on his computer, he sat looking out at the view of the mountains surrounding Kings Hollow. He would get nothing done today. For one thing, he would have to wrap his brain around the idea of starting a family. If they started now, he would be sixty when the kid turned fifteen.

Does that matter? 

What kind of parent would I be? 

I didn’t have the best role model. 

That is not true! 

I had my grandfather and grandmother, and I will never be like Jérome.

He realized he was brushing his knuckles back and forth against the bruise on his jaw.  He stopped himself. He would not give Jérome the satisfaction of adding to his troubles today.

She has to realize that what she wished for is wrong. 

She made a big mistake.

He opened a file in his computer trying to move on with the day, but his mind kept drifting back to Rachael...his guilt for not knowing…not realizing what she was going through.

Who am I? 

Can I make this decisions…insist that the baby must go?

I am trying to protect us.

We don’t know the repercussions of this.

Julien propped his elbows on the desk and ran his fingers through his hair, giving it a frustrated tug. His mind was dodging from decision to decision, muddled and confused, he suddenly found himself running a search on the
Prison Saint-Michel
website for Jérome Grenier. He was having no luck. He dialed the telephone number at the bottom. In French, he spoke to several people, transferring from one office to the next until finally, a record was found and Julien was told of his father’s death from lung cancer seven years earlier.

* * * *

Rachael sat rocking the baby on the bed. She could hear Julien’s words ringing in her ears, insisting the baby must go. Her tears had dried and she had no emotions left. She felt drained and empty. It was her opinion that Julien was being hateful and angry, purely because she had not told him of her pregnancy in the first place. They were given a gift in the wishbone game and could have anything their hearts desire. There would no longer be any unsolvable problems in their lives; they could fix anything with a simple wish and Julien’s insistence upon rules and limitations was the product of his controlling and neurotic personality. He simply did not want her to have this baby, not before and not now. She thought;
he has no right to make such a decision
. She had lived so many years putting up with his secrets and moodiness, convincing herself how good he was to her—
providing I followed his rules
. This had been fine when it pertained to which apartment they purchased or where they went on vacation, but
this
was very different and she was not going to allow it. She looked down at the tiny baby in her arms and ran the tip of her finger gently around Jessica’s delicate lips.

“
No one
will take you away from me again,” she vowed. “You are
very
wanted
, my angel. Julien doesn’t realize what he’s saying. Your daddy …it’s not his fault.” She spoke softly to her. “Something terrible that happened to him as a child is to blame for this. I know it.” 

She began to contemplate, had Julien been given the chance to confront his father, perhaps he would have put his childhood behind him, regardless of the outcome, he could have moved on. After years of overhearing him confront the man in his sleep, she was sure this was at the root of it all.

Rachael sniffed at the air, suddenly aware of the aroma wafting into the bedroom. She looked up, startled to find Sarah standing in the doorway. Sarah made no apologies and entered the room. Slowly she walked along the length of Rachael’s dresser stopping to admire photographs along the way. Abruptly, she turned her attention to Rachael dropping beside her onto the bed. Rachael froze, unsure as Sarah’s hand reached to touch the

baby. She allowed the girl to briefly caress the infant. With another unexpected lurch, Sarah’s other hand jutted out before Rachael holding a wishbone in her grasp.

Rachael sat staring at the bone. Sarah shoved the bone closer to Rachael, grunting and encouraging her to play.

“You want me to play the game with you?” Rachael asked.

Sarah continued to grunt and persuade Rachael to take hold. Julien would certainly not approve of this, but Rachael was not in the mood to care. She needed supplies for the baby and making a wish would certainly be safer than traveling with an infant and no car seat. A grin spread across Rachael’s face and she nodded as she took one side of the bone.

Closing her eyes tight, Rachael made her wish.
Tink!

She opened her eyes and looked at the bone in her hand and the remaining piece in Sarah’s. Her brow furrowed and she took hold of Sarah’s wrist drawing it closer to compare the pieces of bone. They appeared identical in size. Never in her lifetime of playing the game had she seen a wishbone break evenly down the center. A startled laugh escaped her and Sarah beamed then jumped to her feet, spinning in circles and singing to the heavens before darting from the room.

Rachael wasn’t sure what this would mean…
No one wins? We both win?
She sat there pondering for a few moments then walked softly down the hall, trying to not wake the baby as she moved along. Something caught her eye and she took a step backward and glanced into one of the extra rooms. There she found the nursery, decorated from top to bottom in soft pink and brown, the room lined in boxes containing various items: a car seat, stroller, bassinette, several cases of formula, bottles, a small plastic tub and more toys and books than she could ever imagine buying. Another choking laugh escaped her and she placed the baby on the changing table where diapers lined small storage shelves and baskets. Quietly, she undressed Jessica for their first bath together. Rachael was enamored.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Julien spent the entire day in the loft, taunted by each tick of the clock. While his mind alternated, playing out the variables and their potential outcomes, he felt sure what he had decided that morning
was
the right decision and he knew exactly what they needed to do. He knew it would not be easy for Rachael to wish the baby away and he was prepared to devote all of his attention and time to her while she worked through the after effect. She had spent enough hours in the house alone thinking and he hoped she had come to the same conclusion. If she had not, he would do whatever it took in order to make her understand. He would also make it clear that the wishbones were over. He would no longer participate in the game, but he would not mention this until after they had righted her wrong. 

He took his time shutting down the office for what could turn out to be several days, depending upon Rachael’s reaction. He remembered that he had not returned Matt’s call and vowed that he would call tomorrow to take care of delaying their visit—he could not add another difficult task to his list today. He heard the chickens burst into their cacophony. For a moment, he thought to corner Sarah and make clear that no more chickens were to be slaughtered, that whatever had been happening to them had to
end
now
or she would no longer be allowed on the property. Then he thought better of rushing down the ladder after the girl who would surely disappear before he reached her. He descended the ladder at a relaxed pace, but at the bottom, as he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of something coming out of the shadows; a figure moving toward him.

Jérome grinned with his broken-tooth smile. A rattling breath escaped him as he paused in the dim light several feet from Julien.

Julien froze.

A dream. 

It’s a dream like the other day in the pool.
 

Then he remembered the result of that dream and began to back away—fear mounting within him, just as it had when he was a child faced by this man. He struggled to reel in his thoughts, reminding himself that while Jérome was a bigger, more menacing presence, he was no longer a weak little boy.

I am no longer twenty-five and in shape either.

 
His confidence wavered. He stopped retreating and stood beside the ladder waiting for Jérome’s next move.

Jérome toyed with him, lurching forward in a mock attack, and then laughing heartily as Julien flinched.

“De qui as-tu peur?” Jérome asked his son if he was afraid.

Julien did not respond.

“Léves donc tes poings, allez!” He ordered Julien to bring up his fists, questioning his manhood. “Viens si tu es un homme.” He spit down upon his son’s boot then lunged forward again, stopping just before he reached Julien, who managed to hold his ground this time.

Jérome took a few steps back and put up his fists. He began weaving, egging his son to fight back. “En garde et viens,” he demanded.

Julien remained paralyzed, watching his father move—the only time Jérome was ever graceful had been in the ring. Jérome danced around Julien, who kept his eyes straight ahead even when his father disappeared behind him. The larger man made several slow circles around his son, building tension and allowing Julien’s fear to fester. Julien did not move a muscle; he couldn’t. 

Jérome continued to taunt him, eventually putting on an exaggerated pout, disappointed by his son’s refusal to fight back. “Pourquoi ne te bats-tu pas?” He asked him why he wouldn’t fight.

Outwardly, Julien tried to appear unafraid, but his mind was whirling with every unwarranted beating and verbal annihilation he had experienced as a child at the hands of this man. He could feel sweat trickling down the center of his back as, from the corner of his eye, his father came back into view before him. 

Jérome showed off a spectacle of footwork and an unexpected laugh escaped Julien; both men were caught off guard and Julien all but slapped a child-like hand over his own mouth.

Shit!

The sight of his father’s ridiculous performance penetrated Julien’s fear, only angered his father all the more. Jérome was not having it; his eyes narrowed. He dropped his hands low, stepped in close to inspect his son. He looked at his handy-work, the dark blue bruise along Julien’s jaw line. He traced the tip of a wide finger over the deep split in his son’s lip. Now it was Jérome’s turn to grin. He tauntingly forced his son to look away, slowly pushing his face to the side with an open palm. Immediately, Jérome’s legs parted and he crouched into a fighting stance. Julien flinched again—
it was time
. He found a stance of his own, braced himself, and the two men, neither of which had fought in decades, began to circle, eyes locked. 

The dance went on long enough to lull Julien into a false calm, rendering him ill-prepared for his father’s first punch. Julien stepped back to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand before preparing for his father’s next throw. He never took his eyes off a weaving Jérome as he spit a mouthful of blood to the ground. 

His father threw another punch and Julien ducked; Jérome missed, his balance thrown off. Stunned, but pleased, Julien grinned at Jérome over blood-smeared teeth. His father threw another punch that narrowly missed Julien and allowed him the opening to land an upper cut to Jérome’s side. Jérome came back and landed several good shots. The same haze of adrenaline he had experienced as a teenager came over Julien and he stood his ground feeling nothing. 

The two took turns, punch for punch, Jérome equally bloodied now, but seemingly tireless. Julien felt his legs grow weak and movement became more difficult as exhaustion and his father were getting the best of him. Jérome delivered an uppercut to Julien’s chin, then a left to his stomach, which dropped him to his knees. Hunched over the ground, Julien watched blood trickle down from his mouth in a thin stream, pooling in the dirt below. He could feel his front teeth shift slightly as he licked at them. Jérome refused to back down. He grabbed hold of Julien’s hair and yanked his head back violently, forcing him to look into his father’s eyes. He drew back his fist and delivered a blow no different from that day so many years ago when his grandfather lay dead by the barn. It leveled Julien, his cheek settling in the puddle of blood beneath him.