Just The Tip

  JUST THE TIP

  MARLA ANGEL

  Copyright © 2018 Marla Angel

  All rights reserved. JUST THE TIP is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely

  coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Violet

  Violet

  Mateo

  Violet

  Violet

  Mateo

  Violet

  Violet

  Mateo

  Violet

  Mateo

  Violet

  Mateo

  Violet

  Mateo

  Violet

  Mateo

  Violet

  Violet

  Mateo

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Today was a day that should have been insignificant, one easily forgotten, and tossed into fragments of my memories.

  But today became the day of reckoning, the day of numbing emotions, and unalterable pain. It would be my last breath in the life I knew, and the first breath laid before me by an unseen force I couldn't control.

  If I had only been able to see my future, the surprise and hurt might have been easier to manage. Except I had allowed myself to be blind to the hand that held fate.

  And for that, I will forever send voiceless apologies to my daughter.

  Because I hadn't prepared either one of us.

  Snatching the bottle from the counter, I turned on the hot water to warm it up. My two month old, Lilith, was screaming her head off in the other room, as if her body would implode if it didn't receive food right at that very moment.

  The steam from the water had wafted up, coating the cold glass of the window behind the sink. The fog blurred out any and all sight of the two feet of snow that had fallen the night before. My only reminder of its icy hand was the bright white sheen that glowed as loudly as the sun as I peered through the crackled glass.

  “Mommy's coming, hold on!” I yelled as sweetly as possible from the kitchen.

  I wasn't a single mom, but I sure felt like one. My husband was in the army, and even though he luckily made it for the birth of our daughter, not one week after, he was sent away on a tour that was going to last eighteen months...

  Eighteen months. I can't believe I'm doing this alone for a year and a half.

  Why does it have to be so long?

  I knew his job was important, lives would be saved, and our family had food on the table. But having to be the only one getting up every two hours, the only one changing diapers, the only one feeding, bathing, caring—you get the picture—it was a lot for one person.

  We were living in North Dakota, a world away from family, but I had gotten a lot of support from the other army wives. I was thankful for that, but it still didn't fix the loneliness I felt of doing it all by myself.

  Because it wasn't the same without my husband. All the help in the world didn't compare to the feeling of having my love by my side.

  Twenty years old, married with a new born, and alone, was starting to get to me. But each day I got up, took in a large breath of air, and kept going strong. Because that's what I have to do. Each day I would paint my face with a fresh mask that covered my weathered lines. It was easy for me to make everyone think I had it all under control, that help was unnecessary, that I was happy and strong and it was just peachy.

  It was a lie I could never pull off forever.

  Eventually, the world would catch up with me.

  All I wanted was to succeed in the game of motherhood. I wasn't the first woman to be in this position, and I certainly wouldn't be the last.

  But I had under estimated the intense strain having a new born would put on my shoulders. And each time I looked down on the precious gift my world had been blessed with, all the weight seemed to lift off, and disappear.

  Lilith was beautiful, and I loved her with every piece of my soul.

  Her crying turned to a gut-wrenching squeal. “I'm coming!” I shouted with a nervous concern. I hated hearing her cry, even though it was just over food. I knew if I felt this awful over a cry for food; a true, valid, painful cry would probably kill me.

  Tapping the rubber nipple against my wrist, the milk felt nice and luke warm. “Here I am, Mommy's here.” Lilith was still screeching, her face flushing between a deep red and bright purple with each wale.

  I had no idea that babies could even make the sound that was coming out of her lungs.

  Her lips quivered with a lusting hunger, as if I had just starved her for days. Because, you know. . . I hadn't just fed her a couple of hours ago.

  Scooping her up into the crease of my arms, her body snuggled into the nook of my elbow. Instantly, I felt her muscles loosen, arms curling in across her chest, letting herself be engulfed by the comfort of my embrace.

  And this is what keeps me going.

  Her mouth puckered up, searching the air for her meal. “Here, Honey, now you'll feel better.” Lilith's large blue eyes flashed happiness as the bottle met her lips, then gently closed to the relief of starvation washing away.

  I wonder if her eyes will change?

  Questions of what features she would get from Dylan or myself had become a playful bet between us. I had deep brown eyes, Dylan had dark green, my hair was pin straight and chestnut colored, Dylan's was dirty blonde and super curly.

  Although you wouldn't be able to tell that if you saw him now from the crew cut the Army gave him. My husband was banking on the fact that she would grow up to look like a really cute girl version of him. . . I was hoping for a sweet mix of the two of us. It was still way too early to tell.

  Exhaustion, lack of sleep, and the never ending care of a new born was taking its toll. I could feel the weight of my lids as they pulled down over my eyes. Letting my head fall back, tiny anchors had launched from my lashes, stealing away the day light hours as I drifted between a weird mix of consciousness and napping.

  My daughter started wriggling in my arms, her back arching against the crook of my elbow, rousing me from my sleepy state.

  Pulling the bottle away from her face, I held it up, noting that it was bone dry.

  Lilith had finished her eight ounce bottle in fifteen minutes flat, and I was positive she had beaten some infant formula eating record. A giant man sized burp exploded from her throat as her head fell down onto my shoulder. The intense Thanksgiving size meal had grabbed hold, sending her off into nap number three of the day.

  Easy, easy. Don't wake up. . . Please don't wake up, I thought as I tried to place her down as gingerly as possible in her bassinet.

  Lilith had this horrible habit of jerking her arms out really fast whenever I laid her down while she was already sleeping. On so many occasions that little spastic movement had stirred her awake, leaving me with an extremely cranky baby, and no mommy time.

  Oh thank God, she's still out.

  Falling back onto the couch, I didn't even bother lifting my legs or getting comfortable. I simply let my body fall loosely, staying right where it landed.

  Yes, quiet time with no crying. That was all I wanted and needed.

  The sound of my laptop jingled off the desk, forcing my eyes to pop open. In my state of confusion and delirious sleepiness, I jumped off the couch like the smoke detector was going off.

  The blood had rushed to my head, causing me to sway. Stumbling into the coffee table, my hands shot out to brace the wall, head shaking side to side trying to regain my focus.

  Dylan. . . What time is it?

  My husband always tried to FaceTime me at some point during the
day, but I never knew when that moment would come.

  With groggy strides, I made my way over to the desk, only to realize that it wasn't the computer, it was the phone.

  Who's calling me?

  What time is it?

  “Hello,” I said, the words half heartedly escaping through tired lips. I was still trying to catch my bearings and lift the fog off my brain.

  The jingle sprung up again, louder and more intense than before. Holding the receiver out, an endless dial tone filled the speaker.

  The doorbell. Damn I need more sleep.

  My feet scraped the wood floor, barely lifting an inch. Reaching the door, I tried to peer through the warped etched glass. But all I could see was a figure; a dark, broad outline of a man standing on the doorstep. The subtle movement of a second set of shoulders caught my eye.

  If I could have seen the change coming my way. . .

  I wouldn't have answered.

  Not that it would have saved me from the inevitable, but it would have delayed the shock I never let myself imagine.

  Instantly, my heart began to tremble, muscles flickering with a warm dose of anxious blood that coursed through my veins.

  Oh no.

  What's this?

  What's happening?

  “Yes, can I help you?” I asked through the door, my body hot and tingling with fear.

  “Mrs. Hughes, I'm Captain George Jameson, can you open the door please?”

  My lungs began to strain to take in air as I turned the handle. I knew what was coming before he even said the dreaded words.

  The man's face was drawn back, brows lifting a hair with an empathetic arch. His arms were set by his side, not dangling, but hanging with professional precision. “Mrs. Hughes, the Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your husband, Dylan Hughes, was killed in action early this morning due to small arms fire.”

  That was it, that was all I heard. The room tunneled into a black hole, the world around me grew hazy and started to fade away. A soft angelic cry echoed in my ears, my brain turning off the switch to process anything else but the words he had just thrown in my face.

  Then nothing.

  Every sound had gone to a horrid silence, I couldn't hear the man, I couldn't hear myself, all I heard were his words.

  My world had forever changed, my life had been forever altered by that one moment.

  And my baby girl would never get to grow up knowing her father.

  A father would never get to hold his child, tend to her wounds, hold her after her first heartbreak, or walk her down the aisle.

  A hole was cast into my world, one I couldn't close or fix. There was no erasing this moment, no magic spell to alter what had happened. My husband was gone, the love of my life became a memory within a few words.

  Where am I supposed to go from here?

  How am I going to go on alone?

  How would I raise our child without her father?

  Violet

  Five Years Later

  “Uh, Violet! You might want to get out here, the kids are getting restless!” Piper yelled through the screen door of my small patio. Her hair blew softly in the breeze, eyes flickering between the yard and me in the kitchen. Piper's thin lips that normally rested with a birth born frown, twisted and turned up, her teeth biting down with a snicker of a smile.

  Oh no.

  “What? Why? What's going on?” I asked, grabbing the freshly topped off bowl of chips from the counter. Making a mad dash for the door, Piper jumped out of the way, giggling to herself as she cupped her hands under her chin.

  It was my daughter's fifth birthday party, and knowing what it was like to have one young child... Adding in six more made it a damn circus. All I needed was a few elephants and a couple tight rope walkers, and we'd have the Ringling Brothers in my yard.

  I honestly shouldn't have been surprised, when you have a child, you should expect anything. And why?

  Because anything was always possible.

  One time, at the age of three, my daughter had found a permanent marker; a large, dark black, permanent marker. I of course was asleep, because only a child can be up half the night and still wake up with the roosters.

  When I finally opened my eyes up to her grinning face, Lilith had used the marker to color basically everything. But the best part, she had used it as lipstick. I got to spend the few days walking around with a child who looked like they were suffocating because the black had softened to a navy blue.

  Stepping onto the patio, my eyes widened, huge and stunned as I watched the hoard of kids running through the yard with pails of dirt. They were grabbing large handfuls and tossing it at each other, all while yelling, “Wizard battle!”

  The giant plumes of sandy clouds stayed motionless in the air for a brief second, before finally falling down as a blanket of tiny grains onto their heads. Finding the wind, pieces of the dust cloud broke off, raining onto the food table, and seasoning everything in its wake.

  “No! Kids, no, none of that! No dirt!” I barked down from the wooden deck, as my friends—their parents—all chuckled behind me.

  “Vi, it's fine. Let them play, they're having fun,” Lynn said.

  “Yeah, you remember fun, don't you?” Piper asked giggling.

  Lynn and Piper had been my best friends since our freshman year in high school. They were by my side through it all; the good, the bad, and hell when it came and stole my world.

  After my husband passed, I moved back to my hometown of Warwick. I needed to be around my family and friends, needed the support and love.

  Lilith was my world, but there was no way I could stay hundreds of miles away. I needed more than a wasteland of endless fields and cows. I needed comfort, familiarity, and help.

  Lots of help.

  After coming back, it felt like I had never left. Lynn, Piper, and I, seemed to fall back into our friendship as if I had never moved away at all. And I was grateful for that, because I needed them more than ever in the beginning.

  As time went on, things seemed to settle into place. Life became more bearable as I kept busy with work and my daughter who was growing faster than a weed.

  But there was always something missing, an emptiness that I couldn't fill.

  “Yes, Piper, I remember fun.” Rolling my eyes, I snickered. “But if you guys don't care about cleaning sandy scalps, or eating gritty dip, then I won't either.” Stepping towards the stairs, my toe jammed a nail that was sticking out, shooting me forward over tumbling feet. The bowl of chips quickly followed, falling like giant snowflakes onto the wood. “Ah! Fu—” The remaining letters got buried under a deep groan, my mind swiftly realizing the tiny ears not far away.

  “The queen of spills lives!” Piper yelled, sipping her beer, and giggling into the metal can.

  Bending down, I rubbed my foot. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, so my feet still don't like me. What can I do?”

  “Violet, your feet, your hands, even your brain...” Piper batted her lashes, shaking her head. “They've never liked you. Remember that time at Briar Point, when you were running down to the water and tripped over your own feet?”

  “Seriously Piper, you haven't forgotten that yet?”

  Oh shit, not that story. Please no.

  “Ha, no! I don't think anyone who was there that day could forget. You stood up, your top had been shoved down, and you had mud covering your face and chest. And to top it all off, you didn't even notice your bikini had fallen.” Holding out a single finger, she spoke through giant inhales of laughter. “I think that was the pinnacle of every guy in our schools first boner!”

  Lynn raised her drink as she spoke, trying to swallow the bubbly liquid between chuckles. “What did they all call you after that? Gritty titty? Was that it?” Squinting her eyes, the large hoop earrings brushed her shoulders.

  Dipping to my knees, I started picking up the chips. “Yes, I was gritty titty for longer than I want to remember. Thank you for shaming me on my daughter's birthday. Can we focus
on the party now?”

  “Yeah, that's probably a good idea, it looks like they just found the cake.” Piper was leaning over the side, smiling.

  Looking over the railing, the small table I had set up in the yard for the presents and to display the cake, was surrounded by children who were all digging their hands into the fresh white frosting.

  The nicely decorated unicorn cake was now a giant pile of mush, the crisp frosting was streaked in brown dirt, and the dirty faces of the kids were all smeared in white butter cream.

  Expect the unexpected.

  Slamming a palm to my forehead, I closed my eyes tight. “Really? I told Lilith not to touch the cake till I said it was time.”

  “And you thought a five year old would remember that with six others egging her on? Come on, Vi, you should know better. With kids, you can never trust them,” Lynn said.

  “Yeah, it's no different than husban—” Piper dropped her words, cutting herself off. “Sorry, Vi, I didn't—”

  Holding up my hand, I said, “It's alright, Piper.”

  “I know, it's just that I don't mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “You didn't, it's been years now, I'm okay. . . Really, I am.” Looking into her eyes, I smiled. “You guys don't need to feel like you have to walk on eggshells around me. Yes, it still hurts not having Dylan here, but I'm not going to burst at the seams if you mention your husbands.”

  I felt sorry that my friends tried to tip toe around husband talk. At the beginning, yes, I was a tad fragile and did break into tears at the drop of a hat. But time had gone by, and now it was a lot easier for me talk about Dylan.

  Pursing her lips, Lynn said, “You know, it has been a long time, do you ever plan on getting back into the dating game?” Bringing a hand to my shoulder, she squeezed firmly.

  “Dating game?” My eyes crooked, brows folding up. “I wouldn't even know where to start.”

  Dating?

  What the hell would it be like to date?

  I had started dating my husband when I was eighteen. We married a year later before he went into the Army so I could be with him wherever he ended up being stationed.