AVALON | z.m au

i.

The pitter patter of rain drops echoes through the grandeur living room as the cascade onto the roof of Avalon's three-story mansion. The sound of "I Love Lucy" playing on the television drowns them out. Branches and leaves hit the bay windows. They display shadows across the Tiffany blue colored room.

Avalon Davis is curled up under a fleece blanket in a pink silk slip gown, her eyes red from crying. Her insomnia is further exacerbated by the anguish she feels toward her husband. He had not returned a call, text, or email in four days.

Thunder rumbles ferociously followed by a sharp flash of lightning. The scorned woman chuckles to herself, recognizing how mother nature mirrors her own bitterness. She leans forward and grabs the almost empty bottle of 1980 Merlot sitting on the Oakwood Coffee Table in front of her. Her hands shake as she pours it in the glass.

It's her fifth one tonight.

Avalon swirls the fermented drink in the glass. The acidic smell calms her and she takes another sip, the pungent taste coating her tongue. Another flicker of lightning gleams through the slits of the curtains. Her eyes sting with another onslaught of emotion.

Her husband; a man who promised never to leave her side was now on his fifth business trip in six months. He had become man that left for weeks at a time, that only called her back when he was on his way home and wanted to know what she was cooking for dinner.

Avalon had longed for her husband, and her body ached for him. Her eyes catch her iPhone lying temptingly on the couch cushion beside her. She hesitates, but it isn't long before she's ringing him up again. It is 7A.M. where he's supposed to be, but she doesn't care.

It also isn't long before she's on the receiving end of his voicemail.

She rolls her eyes and mocks it as the familiar message is carried on, "Hello, this Is Dean Parker. I am unable to answer your call right now. Please leave your name, number, and message so I can get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you."

Unlike many times before, Avalon decides to leave her husband a message.

"Dean this is your wife, in case you forgot you had one." She licks the chapped surface her lips. "If you do not call me back or bring your ass home within the next twenty-four hours, you'll never see me or Ayva again."

Her voice is permeating with bass and her breathing is shaky. She closes her eyes, wiping away her tears and trying to pull herself together and regain composure.

"So think long and hard about what you're going to choose, but you only have one day to make a decision." She whispers calmly. "I'm leaving it up to you to make one before I have to make it for you. Goodbye Dean."

She sends the message and throws her phone down onto the coffee table.

She cannot comprehend how, once so riveting and stable turned into a pile of such dishonesty and miscommunication.

Avalon was lucky if she had her husband home for a week without some type of "business proposition" coming up that suddenly warranted him to travel halfway across the world for days and weeks at a time.

And their daughter. . .

Their daughter, Ayva was growing faster than ever. With a flourishing interest in playing the piano, and a knack for knowing when to comfort her mother with the warmest hugs. She was only three, and was head of her preschool class, excelling in subjects like Math and English.

She was Avalon's purpose.

And she was going to make sure that if nothing else, Ayva was okay. Even if her husband was absent.

With an empty heart and an empty bottle of wine, Avalon decided that if Dean wasn't going to be open and honest about what was going on, she was going to find out herself. The sound of thunder and a 1950's sitcom weren't enough to shroud the voices of a mother's intuition. She didn't completely know what she was searching for, but nevertheless, she was going to do it.

The woman's mistrust sniffed out wrongdoings better than a bloodhound, and whatever it was, (infidelity, greed, debt,); she was going to find it.

Her face was hot, illuminating with the sensation of fresh tears brushing her eyeliner and adorning her cheeks with black streaks. Her ears were ringing with promises that Dean had ever broken, and Avalon was sick of it.

Sick of him trying her dignity, patience, and tolerance. Sick of her daughter asking where he was. Sick of having to make up excuses for him, and sick of feeling so goddamn alone all the time in a big ass house.

And she was going to get to the bottom of it, once and for all.