Chapter 3
Fantasy walked around the front of her car and up the steps leading to the kitchen from the garage. She had already silenced the alarm from her keychain remote, so she opened the door and turned on the overhead lighting from the outlet positioned right next to the doorway. The house was so empty and seemed so much bigger than it normally did. Sure, she missed Kameron,that always went without saying. He was the apple of her eye and the most important person in her world. For twenty-one years she had committed her entire being to caring for him and assuring that he had all the love she could provide. Even though she was a single parent, he lacked absolutely nothing.
At his birth, when the nurse placed his tiny, premature, still-damp body on her chest, she looked into familiar eyes that were barely open and promised him all of her, and everything. She prayed silently that it would make up for who she could not give him, and at that precise moment she prayed even harder that it would always be enough.
That promise was easily kept. Fantasy would be the first to admit that her only child was a spoiled brat from the cradle to the present, but as spoiled as Kam was, he was a good person inside and out. He reminded her so often of her own grandfather, the only father figure he had growing up. Kameron’s middle name was Matthew, after his great-grandfather. The name was something she felt honored to bestow upon her son with the blessings of Matthew Whitman, who proudly told everyone that Kameron Matthew Whitman was his pride and joy. He had matured into a handsome, bright man with unlimited talent, a zest for life, and a determination to achieve all that he set out to capture, even those things that were slightly out of reach. Like his mom, he was an overachiever. The word “no” was not received, nor did he see it as the end of anything. Even in his relationship he was committed and so expressive toward his girlfriend Brittany; it was definitely not a trait of many young men his age. Fantasy never wanted him to display any character traits that could remotely mimic the man who was nothing more than a sperm donor. While she had no control over what he did or did not inherit, she was relieved that there were no telltale signs of her son being the love-them-and-leave-them type. If there had been one or even two who had suffered a broken heart from Kam, or retaliated as a scorned lover, she wasn’t aware of it.
Her reality, now, was that Kam wasn’t just two and a half hours away, which had always been comforting, but he was two weeks into a year-long internship in Washington, DC. He was in the thick of Capitol Hill among politicians, legal eagles, and the like, and she missed him terribly. It was a great opportunity for a law student, and receiving the assignment was beyond wonderful and worthy of a dozen kudos. From the time he shared the news up until she dropped him off at the airport, she celebrated with him. But the truth of the matter was that Kam wouldn’t be right here in their home, or a couple of hours away, and, while she knew she was being selfish, that was exactly where she wanted him to be.
Fantasy kicked off her shoes, opened the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of water, and looked at the clock again. Not wanting to think anymore or try to figure what had her in a twist, she reached for the cordless phone at the end of the countertop. She dialed quickly and waited for an answer.
“Hello,” a deep, groggy voice answered.
“Kam, hey, sweetie, were you asleep?” Fantasy looked at her watch, wanting to confirm that it was just a little before midnight. Kam was a regular night owl. For him, midnight truly marked the beginning of a new day, and he embraced the wee hours of the morning as such.
“Yeah, Mom, I was.” She could hear the familiar noise of him stretching. “But, no problem, I’m up just for you.”
“Okay, what’s going on? It’s still early according to your body’s clock.” She paused and began to frown as her motherly instinct kicked in. “Are you feeling okay? You’re not sick, are you? Is it your allergies?”
“Slow down, journalist extraordinaire.” He chuckled. “Let’s see. There is nothing going on. Yep, I’m normally still up and moving around. I’m fine, and, nope, I’m not sick. And I haven’t had any problems with my allergies.” He laughed. “Did I miss anything?”
“No, you did not, smartie.” Fantasy rested her elbows on the countertop and adjusted her bottom on the stool that was positioned beside the island. “So then tell me why you are in bed so early. That is, if I’m not being too nosey.” She added that as an afterthought. Kam often reminded her that he was twenty-one, and a grown man. It took awhile for her to adjust to the reality that her only child was indeed twenty-one. She never referred to him as a grown man because of the simple fact that she was still footing all his bills. Fantasy provided her only child with the finer things in life. The essentials she saw as “gimmes” or freebies. The extras that tilted the scale toward the elaborate side were much more than what he needed, yet she didn’t mind nor had she ever complained.
Kam thought about giving her the “I’m twenty-one” speech, but decided it best to just provide his mother with the information she’d requested. It was either that or have her land on his doorstep. “Brittany came for a visit. I waited at the airport for hours because her plane was late getting in. By the time we got something to eat we were both exhausted, so we decided to turn in.”
“Hey, Ms. Whitman.” Brittany’s soft voice could be heard in the close background.
“Tell Brittany hello.” Fantasy was young once and she knew that half of what he said was likely true, but the part about being exhausted probably happened after they expressed how much they missed each other. She didn’t even want to think about it. “Okay, well, I was just checking on you. Give me a call back sometime this weekend and have fun.”
“I can talk awhile longer if you want, Mom. It’s cool. I’m up now,” Kam said.
Fantasy closed her eyes and could imagine how he was struggling to push his body into an upright position. His heart was in the right place, but, on the other hand, his body likely would not be cooperating. Waking him up from a sleeping state had always been a task, and getting him to focus on what was being said was an even harder one. “No worries, sweetie. I’m good, as you say. I love you.”
“I love you too. Talk with you later.” The phone line disconnected and he was gone.
Fantasy couldn’t fathom why Kam’s departure suddenly had her out of sorts this way. It couldn’t possibly be empty nest syndrome; he’d been away from home too long for that. Then, there had been the fall right before Christmas, but she had recovered from the broken ankle months ago. Her primary care physician had warned that the pain meds and lifestyle adjustment of being confined to the house could have her off balance emotionally, but she was assured that once she had healed and was back to her regular activities that would subside. She waited for the emotional up and down, the sign of an out-of-control mental rollercoaster, but it never came. In fact, she worked from home, met every deadline, and remained on top of things.
With the help of her landscaper she even worked in her garden and added a few new flowers to the already colorful array of roses, snapdragons, pansies, and petunias. Not to mention, she had her grandmother and grandfather rush in for a week to do for her. Then, because Fantasy put up such a fuss proclaiming that it was merely a broken ankle and she could still function, she ended up being a second set of hands in working on a quilt and canning preserves. Kam and Nick added to the pampering by running around all over the city like crazy, catering to her every whim. Since she recalled the many times she had done for them, she allowed them to do for her and didn’t contest it. But not one doctor said anything about post-accident emotional distress. So what the heck was this?
She had returned to her regular itinerary and travel schedule with no problem. Fantasy was in the air or on the road more than she was anywhere else, and that was pretty much normal for her. It had been that way since she accepted her latest promotion five years ago, once her son accepted one of the three offered academic scholarships. The new territory came with extensive travel and she was perfectly fine with that. Even when she was at home there were a thousand additional things that kept her busy. In short, nothing had changed about her lifestyle and all was as it should be.
She looked at the expansive area of her kitchen and the dark, merlot-colored breakfast nook that faced the rear of the house and overlooked the lake. Pausing right there and leaning against one of the chairs, she allowed her vision to pull in the view. As the moon shined over the lake it cast splashes of bright light over the ripples of water. She blinked, realizing how breathtaking the scene was. Her eyes widened at the beauty of it all. She couldn’t remember the last time she stopped long enough to look out this window, or any window for that matter, to just take in all that was around her. Fantasy thought about the headache she had given the contractor when she had disliked the first five windows he had selected and installed. She had taken it upon herself to comb the inventory and special order availability of every window retailer within a hundred-mile radius before she finally picked out the perfect bay window. Now, as beautiful as the view through the bay window was, she couldn’t recall sitting at the nook longer than the time needed to wolf down a quick meal, glance over some papers, or prepare a grocery list.
She couldn’t remember either taking any time to seat herself at the patio that was located beyond the French doors off the kitchen. With all the fancy brickwork and the outdoor amenities, which made it perfect for entertaining, she could count on one hand the times that she had taken advantage of all that her money had bought to make even her outer environment lavish. There had been no planned event, or special summertime occasion, and, frankly, Fantasy hadn’t even taken the time to entertain herself. Enjoying her home was something she hadn’t really done lately, as much as she loved all that had been specifically created to satisfy her fancy.
To Fantasy it was home, to onlookers it was a mini mansion with all the amenities one could imagine. Everything was tastefully decorated, from the pricy artwork to the furnishings arranged neatly atop the exotic Brazilian cherry wood flooring. The four bedrooms and the media room were covered with thick, plush carpet, the kind that could hide your foot with each step. The double front entry doors opened up to a large foyer with a cathedral ceiling and polished marble flooring. Nothing was out of place. Each section of the house accented the other in an explosion of beautiful colors that blended together nicely, creating an ambiance and an atmosphere made for enjoying home life to the fullest. It was a designer’s envy. Of late, though, it seemed something was missing.
She looked up at the ceiling, as if looking for someone up there to converse with her and answer the question she spoke out loud: “When did I stop coming home?”
Standing up, Fantasy grabbed the bottle of stillchilled water, turned off the lights, and headed toward her bedroom. On her way, she passed her office, reached in, and turned on the lights. The office was a major contrast to every other room in her three-story dream house, it was her work area so she felt organized clutter was acceptable. She looked around, and while there was some work she could do, she wasn’t up for it at all and looking down at her attire she wasn’t exactly dressed to be sitting in front of the computer, working for hours. Fantasy decided that she would just check her e-mail and then she’d go to bed.
She hummed a tune she had heard earlier and waited as the computer came to life. Once it signaled that it was ready, she logged in to her e-mail and looked through a couple of messages. Her mind raced and she kept thinking about the photo of Victor. Then she thought about her conversation with Kam. Before she knew it, she’d logged into the Facebook network, put all her information in, and watched as her page came up. After a few minutes of skimming the page she couldn’t take it anymore. Fantasy typed in his name and leaned back as his page came into view. Once it did, she looked at the photo, and the familiar feeling from earlier came over her. Fantasy’s temple was moist with a light bead of sweat. What would she say to him? What could she say and why would she even bother? More importantly, what would he say? Would he even respond to her?
Before she could mentally argue the pros and cons, she clicked to send him a personal message. She cleared her throat and rubbed a hand over her hair. If she got to the end of the message and changed her mind, all she had to do was delete it and go about her business. Fantasy placed her hands on the keys and started a message:
This is a very distant blast from your past. I’m a very old friend from your college days. You likely don’t even remember me, although I’d like to think we have a little history and I at least made a lasting impression. I really don’t know what I expect or if I should expect anything, not even a response. I was looking at a page of one of your fraternity brothers, an old friend as well, and there you were. What a wonder this social network is; I just haven’t determined if it’s a good one or a bad one. I’m totally new to this, and I’m sure after a while I’ll be able to decide. My intent tonight was to reach out and say hello for old time’s sake. I hope all is well, Fantasy.
Fantasy sighed deeply when the last word was typed and her fingers became heavy against the keyboard. She couldn’t believe that she had actually put the necessary words together to create the message.
She spoke out loud, “Now what?”
She was not one to have second thoughts. Normally if there was something she wanted to do, even if it was impulsive, she’d throw caution to the wind, carry it out, and think about the consequences later. As she thought about it, she realized that there really weren’t any consequences here. He’d answer or he wouldn’t; either way it wouldn’t bother her. Fantasy reclined in her chair and placed her finger against her temple. As she allowed her head to fall back against the headrest, she closed her eyes, and immediately there was his photographed image. She had just looked at the one photo, but she didn’t need to look at the rest of the album to know that the other photos would render the same feeling, the same looming sentiment. There would be no rest within if she stayed in this awkward place of not knowing if he would respond. The real question was: did he even remember who she was after all this time? Before she could pose another hypothetical question, she leaned forward just enough to read through the message again, and without letting another thought stroll through her mind at a slower-than-slow pace, she resorted to her old nervous habit of clenching her jaw. With a quick tap of her index finger, she hit send.
There, it was gone. She could not retrieve it or will it to return to her screen unsent. The message was there in his message box. Fantasy imagined that he would retrieve it, and, for the minutes it would take him to read and reread, the part of them that was ancient history would come to life. If there was any fiber of his being that recalled their past, there was a semblance of a chance that he would remember her. Remember them. If only for a moment.