If Love is not Enough Chapter 3

Note: Okay, I know I haven't been updating this a lot but I recently decided that I want this to be my first novel and I am already falling in love with the characters. I'm a little worried about the length, is it too short? Did you enjoy it? You will have to read the previous parts to understand what's going on.

You'll find them here:

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

If Love is not Enough

By Angel of Death

Chapter 3

Her room was like a war-zone. The army consisting of dangerous pictures and lethal memorabilia. My mom was slumped over a box, her eyes crying. The tears danced across a picture she was holding. It was Marco on his twelfth birthday. A smile was pasted on his face and it was wide, almost as big as a watermelon on a hot Summer day. He was standing in front of a bike that Dad had bought him. It was blue, with orange and red flames painted on the sides. Unlike his other bike, this one didn't have any training wheels. His eyes were beaming as he stared at it. I could remember him spending that whole afternoon riding up and down the street. Dad had this look in his eye, like he was proud of Marco or something, while Mom was just shaking her head. She didn't want Marco to have a bike or a skateboard or roller blades. To her, they were just more things that would get him hurt.

That night, I could hear them arguing. They were arguing over the bike. My mom was asking my father why he had to go behind her back and buy something that Marco didn't need. It lasted for hours, their voices slamming against the wall and running up and down the hallways. I used to cry a lot when I was little. My eyes would fill up with hot and salty raindrops. They'd slide down my face endlessly, until Marco or Mom came in to comfort me, but no one came. Soon, everyone was sleep and the argument was over, but the worst wasn't over yet.

The next morning, dad woke up early and got into his jeep. The bike was in the back, strapped down by some ropes. I watched him drive off, the engine sputtering and moaning as the car moved down the street. Marco was angry for the rest of the day. He ignored my mother and made it his business to slam things. My mom paid a doctor to tell her that the source of my brother's unhappiness was his father's death, but really that wasn't the truth. Marco has always been against our mother, it just wasn't apparent because dad was around and that was all he really needed.

Now mom was finally seeing this. The truth was eating at her heart, and forcing their way out into the open. Sobs were pouring out of her lips in tired intervals and her back was shaking. I walked over to her and sat down. She continued to rummage through the photo albums and the notebooks and the folders of old artwork from pre-school. Sometimes she would chuckle but then when she reached for something that belonged to dad or a repressed memory, she'd fall apart.

""This is...all my...fault." she breathed.

"No it's not."

"It is, Teresa. I let him get this way. Maybe if we were closer, he wouldn't resent me now."

Not knowing what to say, I pulled her closer and wrapped my arms around her waist.

"I wish he was still alive. He would know what to do." Her tears soaked up my shirt, but I remained still, stroking the back of her head with my hand. We sat like this for a while, silence becoming us. The warmth of her breath against my neck, comforted me and then she looked up at me. Her irises were lined with red, but she forced a smile. It mirrored the one she lent me earlier, when we were outside. Fake.

"I'm sorry for crying all over you. You must have other things to worry about."

"No, it's fine mom. Everyone needs to let it out sometimes."

"I know that, Terry, but I'm your mother and you are not here to carry my burdens." I felt her fingers curl around my hand and then she brought it to her lips and kissed it. Her own hand was ice cold and her lips were doused in tears. She held my hand there for a while and then let it go.

"I need to go check on Lucille. I'm surprised she didn't stir...through all that."

"No, I can check on her. You get some rest, okay?" I asked, nodding.

"Okay, goodnight then."

Standing up, I took one last look at her clouded eyes and frowning face, and sighed. She was lonely and everything was falling down on her hard. I didn't read those teen fashion magazines Izzy worshiped like the Bible, but I did know that they mostly liked to talk about relationships and that women needed to be in one. My mother was independent in a way but not everyone could stand on their own. She hasn't dated since the funeral and I don't think she plans to. It's not something I'd talk about with her but it worries me that she's so sad all the time. Even when Marco was actually going to therapy, there was still something in her eyes. She was not used to being by herself. Her and dad were married since forever. They were inseparable, and even though they fought they still loved each other. It was that much I knew about my father. He loved her. He loved her more than anything. But I could be wrong. Maybe my mother is just stressed out. Besides, those magazines aren't always right. You don't need a man to make you happy.

*

It was a whole new world in Lucille's room. The walls are covered in pink and blue wallpaper with bunnies and balloons on it. Stuffed animals line the walls, next to bins and bins of toys. Lucille could never get bored in here. The lights are off and the only sources of light are the slow spinning mobile with flowers hanging from it and a nightlight. She's sound asleep in her crib, her yellow curls falling around her face. I looked much like her when I was a baby. Mom said that we could be twins if we weren't years apart. Her cheeks were kissed with a rosy pallor and her long, curly brown eyelashes veiled soft blue eyes. Even in sleep, she looked like an angel. I envied her because she wasn't old enough to know that her mother and brother didn't get along well. She wasn't old enough to understand their screams and the reason for their arguments. She could just play with her toys and splash food around and laugh when she saw something funny on TV and cry when she needed her diaper changed or wanted a bottle. Life was easy for her.

"Sleep tight," I whispered, and then left.

My cellphone was ringing when I opened my door. I didn't have to look at the Caller ID to know it was Izzy.

"Hey," I said, lying back on my bed.

"Oh my goodness, you won't believe who I just got off with." her voice was so high pitched, I had to hold the receiver from my ear.

"Who?" I replied.

"Brett! I was just about to take a shower, right, and my phone started ringing, and I'm like "why is Terry calling me now?" but I answer it and I hear this soft, sexy voice dipped in utter dreaminess...and it was him!"

I rolled my eyes and smiled. Only Izzy talked like this. Only Izzy obsessed this much over a phone call from a boy.

"God, Ter, you're so quiet. You're not going to ask for details or something?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. So, what did you two talk about?"

"Okay, well, he wanted to know if we could date. You know, like, be an item."

"Oh, that's cool."

"Terry, I know you don't like talking about this type of stuff but there is something wrong. I can hear it in your voice."

It didn't do me any good to lie to her. We have been best friends ever since we were allowed to go outside by ourselves. Izzy knew me like the back of her own hand, and she after watching so many Dr. Phil shows it's not even funny, she always focuses on people's tone of voice and body language. But I couldn't blame her paranoia for anything today. I told her about Marco and my mom's heated conversation. I purposely left out my mom's breakdown. That was her business and it wasn't anything Izzy should know about that anyway.

"Oh my goodness." she said, and I could see her lips pouting and her eyes furrowing.

"I don't know where he went or if he'll come back but..."

"Is there anything I can do? Or you okay? Oh I feel so bad for going off about my..."

"It's fine, Izzy. I'm fine. Let's just talk about something else."

There was another pause and then Izzy's voice cheered up a bit but I could still hear the concern.

"Did you get that permission slip signed?"

"Yeah, as soon as I got home."

"Ooh, so you are into him." she teased, chuckling.

"God, Izzy, not everything is about boys."

"I didn't say it was, and technically he's a man."

"A married one."

Izzy start laughing and it must have been contagious or something because then tears were streaming down my face and laughter was spilling out into the air. We were talking about a man who probably thought nothing about us.

"We're real nutcases, aren't we?

"Yeah, we are." Izzy agreed, a smile in her voice.

"Well, I got to get ready for tomorrow. Did you finish your essay?"

"Believe it or not, I did. How 'bout you?"

"No."

"Shame on you Teresa Anne Harrison, thinking about Mr. Gardner instead of doing your homework." I smiled at that and quietly thanked God for Isabella Daniels.

We said our goodbyes and goodnights and then I went downstairs, got my bookbag, and came back upstairs to my room. It took me less than a hour to finish the assignment. I fell asleep to the sounds of crickets humming against the starless night sky.