“There is enough anecdotal evidence to suggest it’s real,” I truthfully admit. “I’m with John Locke and similar mindsets. I believe personal identity is tied to having the same consciousness, we retain the memories from consciousness to consciousness, and it’s nothing to do with the body we occupy.”
He bobs his head. “It’s the soul that is reincarnated, not the physical body. Though I have read some of the teachings of Lamaistic belief and it makes a compelling case for reincarnation of the body.”
“We discussed the Dalai Lama too. Each Dalai Lama believes their spirit is reincarnated in the body of their successor and that person is born at the moment of his death. It’s interesting, but how is it compelling?” I’m on a high in this moment, thrilled I can have these kinds of conversations with him, knowing he’s not just paying me lip service when he says he shares my passion for philosophy. He reads and studies it too.How many eighteen-year-olds do that?
“They take precautions to ensure the holy succession, and there have been witness reports going back for hundreds of years that attest to things that can only be explained by reincarnation.”
“Like what?” I sit up closer and lean toward him, taking a mouthful of my wine as I eagerly wait for him to answer. We only started this subject at the end of class last week, so this is new to me, and perhaps it’s something I can raise at our next session.
“Like there was a rainbow over the house where the baby was born. His birth was indicated in a vision. The child could tell holy visitors’ identities even when they tried to disguise it. Some recognized previous belongings like rosary beads, and others were readily able to repeat the Buddhist mantra. All of this while only a young child. That can’t be faked. How do you—”
The front door handle rattles, violently, unexpectedly, cutting Vander off mid-sentence. My eyes pop wide in alarm, and my heart lurches to my throat. Anxiety prickles the back of my neck, and acid churns in my gut. Fists pound on the door. “Van! Open up!” West shouts, his impatient raps growing more insistent.
“Shit.” Vander curses under his breath while I go into full-on-panic mode.My son cannot find me here! How the hell would I ever explain it?
Vander jumps up, grabbing my glass of wine, my shoes, my coat, and my purse. His eyes dart around the room. “Give me a sec,” he roars while taking my elbow and yanking me up from the couch. “Hide in the bedroom,” he whispers, guiding me toward the room at the back with urgency.
“Oh my God,” I splutter. “This isn’t happening.”
He throws my purse and shoes on the bed and sets my wineglass down on his bedside table. “Kendall.” He clasps my face in his large palms. “Calm down. I will handle this.” He presses a kiss to my brow. “Trust me, sweetheart.” He tips my face up. “It’s going to be okay.”
“He can’t know I’m here.” I fist his shirt as the pounding starts up again on the door.
“He won’t.” He kisses the top of my head. “Just stay here, and keep quiet. I’ll get rid of him as quick as I can.” We both wince at his words. I nod, and he leaves, closing the door behind him.
The urge to tug on my hair and pace the floor is riding me hard, but I can’t risk West hearing. Only a wall and a thin door separate the rooms, and the noise could carry.
“Shit, man. What’s wrong?” Vander asks, and my panic instantly transforms to fear for my son.Has something happened?Tiptoeing to the door, I press my ear against the wood.
“I just had the biggest argument with Hazel. I think we might have broken up. Ugh.”
West’s frustrated groan contains an undercurrent of pain, and I long to wrap my arms around him and comfort him. But I can’t. It’s not something life-threatening, thank God. Stress lifts from my shoulders, and I step away from the door. Padding softly toward the bed, I reach for my purse to grab my AirPods. I don’t want to hear their conversation because I don’t want to breach my son’s privacy. He came here to talk to his best friend, not confide in his mother.
It’s bad enough I’m keeping my friendship with Vander a secret.
I don’t want to add to my list of sins.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I shove my AirPods in and pull up one of my playlists, drowning out their voices before I hear something I shouldn’t. I take a large swig of wine while hoping whatever has happened between West and Hazel blows over. I like his girlfriend. She’s sweet and loyal, and she’s brought out a different side to my son.
Needing further distraction, I pick up the battered copy ofMeditationsresting on top of a pile of books by Vander’s bed, smiling despite my predicament. I thumb through it, my smile expanding as I spot the highlights and notes. I get such a kick out of knowing we have a common interest and that he’s not just blowing hot air up my ass. Vander is genuinely interested, and it gives me a warm and cozy feeling. SettingMeditationsdown, I pick up the next book.The 48 Laws of Powerby Robert Greene. I tried to read that one time, but I found it heavy going. Vander has a bookmark in the middle of the book, so he’s making better progress than I did. I’m putting it back when an envelope slides out from underneath the back cover.
Reaching to the floor to retrieve it, I almost have a coronary when I spot the photo peeking out from the top of the open envelope. Curtis’s side profile has more than piqued my curiosity, so I don’t feel bad when I pull the photos out and spread them on the bed.
My entire body shakes as I skim my eyes over every picture. It is one thing to know my husband is cheating and quite another to see the evidence of it laid out before me. Mounting horror consumes me as I grapple to accept what’s in front of me. Tears well in my eyes, and pain pierces my chest as I stare at the photos of him with his girlfriend.
She’s young and beautiful. Just like Shirley said. Neither of them cares they are in a crowded public place as they practically dry hump one another. I slam a hand over my mouth as nausea swims up my throat, and the worst pain imaginable is tearing me to shreds on the inside.
I don’t love my husband anymore.
I haven’t for a long time.
But the pain of his betrayal and his complete and utter disregard for my feelings really fucking hurts.
So much for wanting to protect our children from the truth.
My hurt ebbs a little to make room for anger. And it’s not all reserved for my scumbag of a cheating husband.Why the hell does Vander have these pictures? I told him not to interfere, so why has he involved himself?
19
