messing with time

And when Frank returned home late at night from his trip that had lasted just a little over a year, he reached out to give a one armed hug to Laura who all but jumped into his arms, returned Peter's brief nod in his direction and slowly turned to meet eyes with Marisse. It was in that simple moment that she knew, she just knew.

Frank pushed the front door open, lugging his large suitcase over the front step. His green eyes darted around to the kitchen where Marisse stud, stalk-still, like a deer caught in the headlights, and a spasm of guilt ran through his travel-worn body. Laura's hazel curls appeared from somewhere in the kitchen as she rushed to embrace him. Frank wrapped the arm that wasn't clutching the handle of his suitcase for dear life and hugged her back, catching Peter's wary gaze and nodding very so slightly in return. Disentangling himself from Laura, Frank licked his lower lip with a quick moist tongue and flicked his bright eyes up to Marisse's dark ones, feeling curiously ill to his stomach.

The front door seemed so far away and yet much closer than Frank cared it to be, as his adrenaline-spiked arm reached to turn the handle. The door handle felt cold and unfamiliar to Frank who was feeling more trepidation with every jagged breath he drew from the chilly night. A gush of warm air hit Frank's tight face and his muscles strained slightly to pull his suitcase over the front step. The tiny wheels rolled then smacked the block of wood, moving only when Frank screwed up his face and pulled the dead-weight up and into the warm and yet freezing house. He dragged his suitcase over the patterned carpet, refusing to relinquish his hold on the black handle. His green irises slid from the right to the left in quick procession taking in the little Frank could see of the kitchen which was Marisse oddly frozen, still wearing a white cooking apron and Peter standing a little behind her, his chin pulled down to one side, staring at the floor. A girl with bouncy hazel curls whipped around the kitchen door frame, rushing at her father. Laura. Frank received her affection, hating the feel of guilty sweat rising on the back of his neck and the fresh waft of perfume he smelled. When did Laura grow up and begin to do things like wear perfume? A twinge of regret added to Frank's discomfort as he wondered with an aching heart what else he had missed in his children's lives. It was not even a full second later that he met eyes with his other child, who's head moved downward and upward in an awkward motion that Frank attempted to copy. Marisse stared at her husband's hunted face, feeling rather prey-like at the moment as well, vulnerability seemed to radiate from her every pour. Slowly Frank drew his eyes to a complete stop into hers and Marisse saw them travel far away to another country and another woman and to another life. Marisse saw his guilt reflect across each minute he'd been gone, and that reflection was her confirmation, and that confirmation was the end.