The Devil's Lair (10 page)

When he’s all done with his recap, he returns to his friends to continue their jam session. The noise escalates immediately, making it impossible to hold a conversation.

“Let me grab Beverly so we can sit outside,” Leila suggests. A few minutes later, Paula, Leila, and I sit on the balcony, making it easier to talk without screaming.

“Are you okay?” Leila asks tentatively.

Paula smiles in response. “I am. I had a rough night, but I’m okay.”

“Is there anything we can do for you to make you more comfortable?” As the words leave my mouth I cringe. Of course there isn’t.

“Yes, as a matter of fact there is.” She drags in a very deep breath with a shaky smile still plastered on her face. It’s a mask that fails in hiding her emotions. She continues to breathe in and out deeply, finding the strength to speak. “There’s a doctor in Belgium who has agreed to see me. Jen will be flying there with me today. I know you had him last night, but can you take care of Shane for a few more days?”

“Of course,” Leila immediately responds. “Will he be able to help with your medication?”

She quickly nods with the same questionable smile playing on her lips. “That’s the plan,” she admits with a shrug.

“Don’t you worry about Shane, he’ll be just fine. You take all the time you need.”

“I know he’s in good hands.” She takes Leila’s hand and then mine. “You guys are angels that have been sent to us. I’ve changed my mind. Shane belongs with you.”

She just blurts it out. I almost question if I heard her correctly. Only when my wife’s eyes instantly well up with tears do I believe that Paula’s admission is true. For the first time since arriving, a genuine smile spreads on her face. She squeezes our hands, adding, “Thank you.”

She stands abruptly, pulling her hands from ours to wipe away her tears. “Okay, I gotta go. Jen is waiting.” She gives Leila a fierce hug, and then gives one to me as well. After she reluctantly releases me, she takes both our hands in hers and adds, “I know this may sound strange, but I love you both.”

“It’s not strange. We love you, too.”

She smiles at Leila and gives her another hard hug. This one is longer than the last, and even more desperate. Leila meets my eyes over Paula’s shoulder. It’s obvious in her expression how deep her raw emotions are causing her so much pain. When Paula pulls away, Leila replaces her angst with a warm smile. “Be careful, and please call us when you get there.”

“I will.”

We enter the suite to find the kids performing for Beverly as she claps and laughs at their mini concert. She watches us enter the room, beaming from ear to ear with pride. “They’re pretty good,” she admits over the noise. Madden is pounding away on his drum. Siarra mimics his enthusiasm with her tiny fingers pounding the keys on her toy piano.

The three of us laugh as we take a seat to join Beverly in praising our musical trio. When Shane takes a bow, Madden and Siarra follow. My wife’s smile splits her face in two. Fucking adorable.

Paula motions for Shane to come over to where she’s sitting. He does, beaming at his mother. “Baby, that was so good. You learned all that from Trey?”

“Yep. He said I sound just like him.”

“You do!” she exclaims, hugging him close. “Listen, bud. I need to go on a short trip. Is it ok if you stay with Madden and Siarra?”

He looks over his shoulder at the twins. “Sure, Mom. They need me to help them play better.”

“Awesome.” She squeezes him tightly, burying her face in his hair, caressing his back as he clutches her with his tiny arms. The visual is heartbreaking. I gauge my wife’s emotions by the look on her face. She’s dangerously close to losing it. I can tell she’s desperately trying to hold it together.

Paula is the first to break the hug. “Okay, I have to go. Be good for Leila and Jack. Promise me?”

He nods with a smile. “I promise, Mommy.”

She smiles through tears and ruffles his hair. “I know you will. You’re such a good little boy. I’m very, very proud of you, Shane. You make me so happy. Always remember that. I love you more than anything in this entire world.”

“I know, Mom. Me too.”

Paula kisses him again and again. She gives us all one last hug and grabs her bag before she walks out without looking back.

Leila

I immediately know. It’s not the look on her face, or the rigidness in her posture that tips me off. It’s not the large gift box she carries. It’s the fact she’s here. The knock on our door and her presence is what has my insides immediately churning with nausea. Jen never visits our suite. All business is conducted either over the phone or backstage prior or after a show.

“Sit,” Jack commands, motioning toward one of the many surfaces she can choose from. She moves into our living area in slow motion, dragging her feet with each step. Jack leaves us for a moment, leaving us uncomfortably sharing the same air. He returns with Beverly. She quietly goes into the twin’s room, shutting the door behind her. My husband sits beside me, taking my hands in his. His hands feel like they are on fire compared to mine that are ice cold. He tightens his grip when my hands begin to tremble.

Jen closes her eyes while she consciously attempts to control her breathing. When she opens them, the weariness alters her features from the indifference she normally portrays. She looks exhausted, pained, weary…human.

“I really don’t know where to begin,” she admits in a voice barely above a whisper.

I can feel them both looking at me. I can feel the weight of my husband’s smoky grey eyes as I stare at the ground. My denial prevents me from meeting his gaze. If I avoid it, if I avoid the torment I’m sure to see on his face, it may not be true.

Jen nervously clears her throat and waits until I finally look at her. By the time I do, I am finding it hard to control the tremors coursing through me. A flash of sympathy passes over her face. It’s quickly replaced with determination. She pulls in a deep breath, straightens her shoulders, and says, “Paula is no longer with us.”

“How?” Jack asks in a raspy voice that doesn’t sound like him. It’s a legitimate question. She was sick, and yes she hasn’t been feeling well lately, but…

How
?

“She was a very determined woman. I tried to dissuade her, to convince her there were other options. I failed.” Her brow puckers when she swallows, as if the action causes her physical pain.

“We went to Belgium to see a doctor who practices euthanasia.” She stops long enough to allow us to react. Jack squeezes my hand uncomfortably as I sit in shock.

Why? Why would she do that?

How could she do that?

I’m surprised by my reaction. Nothing I’m feeling within me surfaces. On the outside I sit rigidly, staring at Jen’s face. I feel like someone injected me with a numbing agent and it immediately causes me to appear deadened inside. I’m anything but. I’m furious. I’m fighting to maintain control.

“It’s legal in Belgium. She surely did her research and found the best.”

She adds these facts as if she’s discussing our record sales. As if the fact that it is legal and he is the best lessens the horrific act in itself. More anger swells within. It’s a surprising reaction. It trumps any sorrow I may be feeling. It eclipses any sadness. It bubbles up dangerously as Jen continues to explain the events that occurred in Belgium. I’m sure my husband misinterprets my quivering lip, my flaring nostrils as pathetic attempts to channel my grief. When in fact, I’m desperately trying to not hurt him at the moment, or her.

I’m not angry with Jen. I sure as fuck am not angry with my husband. The person I am livid with is no longer with us.

A sudden image of Shane’s face invades my thoughts and causes me to suck in a breath, gasping for air. It’s a strange change of energy. Immediate. A channel switched from a horror movie to a cartoon.

It’s illogical.

He’s smiling, happy, and carefree. As my mind blanks of all else but Shane’s face, it makes me wonder if a higher power didn’t carefully manipulate my thoughts at that exact moment.

“Babe?” Jack takes my chin in his hand, forcing me to face him. I’m sure he’s questioning my unorthodox reaction. His interruption of my thoughts causes my fury to return. He opens his mouth to speak, quickly shutting it when he sees the look on my face. Without breaking eye contact, he asks Jen for some privacy.

She quickly agrees, no doubt wanting out of this situation as fast as possible. She’s done her job. Mission accomplished, bearer of bad news, back to business. Jack walks her to the door. Their hushed voices further infuriate me as I sit waiting for him to return.

“Lei…”

“Don’t!” I cut him off, venom dripping from my one, solitary command.

When he stands motionless across the room, he waits a few moments before quietly walking over to sit beside me. He wordlessly wraps his arm around me. He knows there’s nothing he can say at the moment that can help me. I sit stiffly as he attempts to comfort me with his touch. The reaction I’m sure he expects from me never comes.

Jack

The only thing keeping my own emotions in check at the moment is the unease I am feeling over my wife’s reaction. After Jen graciously left us to digest the horrific chain of events, Leila never cried. It was her sudden insane determination to proceed as normal that had me even more concerned.

That night it was as if none of it happened.

She dismissed Beverly, tending to the kids herself. I could hear her singing to them and laughing with them. When I joined her to see if she needed help, she waved me away with a smile. It’s been quiet for hours, and I know the kids are asleep. My wife has yet to surface. I’m fighting the urge to go and find her, forcing her out here to be with me. I argue with myself if she doesn’t appear in an hour, I’ll check on her. I know she needs this solitude. Even though it goes against every grain of logic, I need to give her this time and space.

I stare into the swirling amber liquid as I stir the glass I’m holding. I’ve had three, four? I don’t feel any effects at all. It’s not making its way to my bloodstream. My esophagus is clogged, like a drain filled with muck that even this powerful whiskey can’t unclog.

Why
?

That’s the only thing running through my mind over and over. I’m trying not to judge her. I have no right to, but…

Why
?

Why would she choose such an isolated, appalling, clinical way to end her life? I stare at the box that Jen gave me, a box that Paula instructed she pass along. It sits ominously on the floor, waiting to be addressed. I sit facing it, daring it to speak. Daring it to tell me why. Hoping it holds answers. More than anything, I need a guarantee that inside that box we’ll find all we need to appease our confusion. I’m hoping that Paula left for us a roadmap on how to get through this, more importantly how to get her son through it. A box of answers wrapped neatly with a nice little bow.

It’s not until I feel her presence that I finally stop staring at that damn box.

“Hey.”

Wordlessly, she gently takes the drink from my hand to take a sip. Her face scrunches as it always does when she drinks anything harder than her cheap wine. While still holding the glass she sits close, yet far enough away where we aren’t touching.

Minutes pass as we both stare at the box.

“We need to tell him.” I nod, although she can’t see me since she’s staring straight ahead. “We need to open it.”

“Are you ready to do that?”

She leans back on the couch, staring straight up at the ceiling. “It’s not about me.”

“When?”

“Now.”

Our gazes meet. It’s hard to gauge what she’s feeling. The tone of her voice hints to that determination she displayed earlier. I quietly move toward the box, carrying it back to her. After I place the box on the table, she looks up at me expectantly.

It’s what I’ve been waiting for all night. It’s time to get answers. Impulsively, I snatch off the lid, exposing a box filled to capacity. Lying on top is a handwritten letter addressed to both of us. Leila watches me lift the letter and asks, “Can you read it?”