by Kane, M. J.
Yasmine kept me afloat; there was no doubt about that. Since moving out, I’d been unable to find a way to keep my head above water. Yasmine was my life vest.
The arrival of the divorce papers this morning was a reminder of reality.
I knew the moment she put the ring on the mantel she was going to suggest separation…but divorce? A complete dissolution of our marriage?
The fact she made the decision without at least one more conversation about what was going on between us left me speechless.
Who was I kidding; ‘conversation’ could hardly describe our last meeting. I didn’t say a damn thing. What leg did I have to stand on to beg her to stay? My last words to her had been, ‘I don’t know what I want to do about our relationship’.
Did I still love her? Hell yes. No other woman could have my heart. I would never be with another. In the end, I was the idiot who walked out on us. At first, I had to. I had to keep my anger in check in order to avoid saying something neither of us could recover from. But in doing so, I created a bigger gap. I became the coward who wanted to live in my past.
Exactly what my mother predicted.
Why had it taken two months to realize she was right?
Studying the photos of my family history proved one thing: the love between my parents was strong. Memories of the way they gazed at each other lovingly across the breakfast table in the morning, the way they held hands when walking in the park, the late night laughter I could hear when I was in my bed…those were the things I wanted with Yasmine. We had that type of connection…one that could be lasting if we worked on it.
Now it would never happen because I refused to get past her mistake.
She hadn’t cheated, hadn’t outright lied….only done what she thought was best for me. Because she loved me.
I reached for the papers on my desk. My wife was gone, my marriage destroyed. And the hope I’d clung to weeks ago of starting a family was ruined.
I ground the heel of my palm into my eyes to stave off the pain of the bass drum in my head.
Our goal of starting a family had been reached; Yasmine was pregnant. How could we go from four days of wedded bliss, to a week of living hell, and divorce, and think we’d remain civil enough to raise our child in separate homes? Neither of us had experienced that type of upbringing. Why make our child suffer? I had no intention of being a part-time father and I didn’t want full custody alone.
And, I damn sure didn’t want to watch Yasmine marry another man and give him access to raising my child.
Amicable divorce or not, I wanted my wife.
I grabbed my cell off my desk and hit speed dial, then immediately disconnected. This conversation needed to be held in person.
I checked the time. Yasmine would be at work, so I called her job. She was there, but would be off in a few hours. I thanked the person who answered the phone, and asked them to keep my inquiry private. I didn’t want to run the risk she’d learn I was on my way and decide to leave early.
I gathered my things and shut off the light in my office. “Dale, I’ve got to get out of here early. Do you think you can close tonight?”
“Sure, Zack, no problem. Is everything okay?”
“It will be if my plan works,” I muttered, patting him on the shoulder in thanks. “I’ve got to get my wife back.”
***
Forty-five minutes later, I parked in the driveway of my mother’s house and climbed out of my car. There were two things I needed in order to convince Yasmine to stay with me: her ring and the letter I found.
The letter from my mother was written the day of our wedding. I ran across it after Yasmine’s last visit. It had been tucked away in a photo album with pictures of my parents’ wedding. No doubt, my mother knew I’d find it.
In it she stated she was happy I had found Yasmine and knew from the moment I brought her to the house that she’d be the perfect wife. She blessed our marriage and prayed we would work to hold it together through whatever problems we encountered. In the end she stated that in no way should I ever doubt Yasmine’s love. She was convinced she would do whatever it took to take care of me and our family for the rest of our lives.
I took it as her cryptic way of saying I should forgive her for keeping her demise a secret.
It was the last piece of sound advice my mother would ever give me.
I hoped it wouldn’t be too late.
I was in and out in record time. Part of me wanted to stop and buy her a bouquet of calla lilies she loved. That would be corny. I didn’t need flowers to prove my love. I needed the ring I gave her when I pledged my love before God and family.
Determined to reach her while I knew where she was, I forced myself to sit in traffic and remain as patient as possible.
After what felt like forever, I reached my turn at the intersection where lights flashed. The normal traffic rules were pushed aside and traffic had to work as a four-way-stop. No wonder it was backed up; some people forgot the rules.
I scanned the intersection and saw a car waiting on the right side, while the left side was clear.
Halfway into the intersection, a horn blared, and brakes squealed.
There was nothing I could do except brace for impact.
Chapter 42
“Yasmine, you are amazing when it comes to working with customers. Your customer requests are starting to outnumber the ones of some of our more seasoned consultants.” Mrs. Caulfield, my boss at the high-end retail establishment I worked, beamed. “And the way you handled Mrs. Schultz…you need a raise! That woman is a walking diva nightmare.”
“Thank you,” I forced myself to smile at the accolades. It was hard to find joy in my job when the rest of my life seemed to be in the crapper.
The past is the past. Move on already. No looking back.
Absently, I ran my finger over the jade butterfly tattoo.
Change.
I am no longer the woman I was two months ago.
“If you don’t have any more appointments today, you can go home early if you’d like.”
“Sounds good to me.” I clocked out on the main computer and headed for my car.
I sent my brother a text message and let him know I was on my way. Though I appreciated staying with him, I knew it infringed on his love life. For the past two months I’d put off finding a new place, unable to believe my marriage was over.
But reality was reality.
The tattoo artist Frank’s revelation of the significance of the jade butterfly had not proven to be true.
Tomorrow was Saturday, my day off. It was time to find an apartment and move my things out of storage.
The sooner the dust settled, the sooner I could focus on the rest of my life.
Neither Brandon nor my parents were happy to learn of my impending divorce. They wanted details I refused to give. Maybe in time, but for now, I needed their continued support.
Behind the wheel, my eyes went to the time on the dashboard. It was nearly 4 P.M. I had avoided checking the time all day. The divorce moderator said the papers would be delivered to Zack’s job by lunchtime.
And as expected, I hadn’t received so much as a phone call or text. So much for hoping he wanted me to stay.
Traffic flowed well for the first three miles of my journey to Brandon’s apartment. I groaned in realization that in avoiding watching the clock, I also skipped my lunch break. My stomach growled, meaning food was no longer an avoidable subject. I contemplated what I wanted for dinner as an ambulance rushed past.
Great, there was an accident, which meant the already slow moving traffic would now go even slower.
After fifteen minutes, I was close enough to see what was going on. Fire trucks, police cars, and the ambulance were blocking the intersection as the traffic lights flashed. And of course, there were the “rubberneckers” who ignored the officer who directed traffic and had to see what was going on.
Unable to do anything but wait for the onlookers to push ahead, I studied the sc
ene as well. An overturned car rested on its roof, having sustained heavy damage. Another car sat nearby with its front end crunched like an accordion. I cringed and hoped the passengers of both vehicles were okay. Absently, I adjusted my seatbelt.
As I got closer, I studied the overturned vehicle. It was missing a door, as if it were removed to rescue the driver. The trunk lid was mangled beyond recognition, its contents littering the street. Something in the litter drew my attention; I slammed on my brakes, the drivers behind me leaned on their horns.
In the middle of the broken glass and metal lay an embroidered laptop bag sporting the Sal-U-Tek logo. My heart froze.
“Zack…”
I leaned on my horn and forced the cars ahead of me out of the way. I stopped on the side of the road as soon as I passed the officer who directed traffic. I threw the gear into park and ran towards the mangled car.
“Whoa! Miss, you can’t come over here, it’s not safe.” The officer stepped in front of me, blocking my view.
Tears fell uncontrollably. “I’ve got to get to him! That’s my husband’s car!” I pushed past the officer and spied the mangled license plate; it was the confirmation I needed. “Oh my God! Zack! Where is he?”
The officer ran behind me and grabbed my arm before I reached a puddle of gasoline on the ground.
“Ma’am, you can’t go over there. We’ve already had to put out one fire.” He forced me to return to my car.
“Where is my husband?” I gripped the officer’s forearms and held on for dear life.
Fire? Missing door…I searched the area and spied the ambulance that rushed past me. A woman was loaded into the rear. There wasn’t another ambulance on the scene nor did I see Zack anywhere.
At my car, the officer opened my door and helped me into the driver’s seat. My knees were shaking so bad that it was a wonder I had been able to walk. He reached over his shoulder and grabbed the handset attached to his uniform.
“Okay, I need you to answer some questions for me. Can you do that?”
I nodded and forced myself to breathe. My nails dug into my palms as I sought to get a grip. My eyes stayed on Zack’s car.
“Alright, first, what is your name?”
“Yasmine Givens.”
“Okay, Mrs. Givens, you’re sure that’s your husband’s car?”
“Yes, I saw his laptop bag on the ground…underneath the trunk when I passed. He works for Sal-U-Tek, he’s a manager.”
“What’s his name?”
“Zachariah Givens, but he also goes by Zack…oh God, is he okay? Where is he?” I started to get up again, but the officer encouraged me to stay put.
“Let me see what I can find out.” He stepped away and faced the direction of the accident scene.
I could hear him talking over the radio and the response from the officers closest to the scene.
This could not be happening. That was Zack’s car. I knew it without a doubt. The more I studied it, the more the little details were clear as day. There were the remnants of the words ‘Happy Honeymoon’ still in the rear window. We had a hard time getting the marker used by Nick to wash off once we returned home.
Why was this happening? Why did it seem like every time happiness came into my life it ended in some form of disaster?
We were meant to be together; we complimented each other. Maybe that was the problem; things were too good between us. It seemed as if the moment we acknowledged our feelings, the universe cursed us. His mother revealed she was dying; I screwed things up by keeping it from him, filed for divorce, and now this.
Zack could be alive or dead.
I dropped my head to my chest and cried. I couldn’t live without him, even if we were divorced. Knowing he no longer walked this earth would kill me.
“Please let him be okay, please let him be okay…,” I prayed.
“Mrs. Givens, it seems the paramedics have taken your husband to the hospital.”
“Oh God, is he alive?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, that information wasn’t relayed to me.”
I climbed behind my wheel and the officer shut the door.
“If you hold on a minute, I’ll clear traffic and escort you there.”
I nodded my thanks and gripped the wheel.
***
Ten minutes later, I parked, jumped out of my car, and ran into the emergency room. I ignored the sign instructing patients to take a number and ran straight for the desk.
“My name is Yasmine Givens. My husband, Zachariah Givens, was brought here in an ambulance. He was in an accident. I need to see him.”
The ER nurse scrutinized me, irritation etched in her face. “Miss, I need you to take a number and be seated.”
“Excuse me?” I snapped. “I’m not here to be seen, I’m looking for my husband.”
She sighed and tapped keys. “What was his name?”
Was? That was a phrase I didn’t want to hear. “His name is Zachariah Givens.”
After what felt like forever, she replied. “He’s holding in the ER.”
“He’s alive?”
She shrugged.
“I need to see him.”
“You’ll have to take a seat while I notify the doctor you’re here. Someone will come for you in a few minutes.”
She dismissed me and punched numbers in the phone. I stepped out of the way of the people in line and stood near the locked door leading into the ER rooms. Ten minutes passed and no one came to meet me. The moment the door opened for a nurse to call a patient, I slipped past her and proceeded toward the patient rooms.
“Zack! Baby, it’s me! Where are you?”
I went room to room, searching, and did not see him anywhere. I was beyond my amount of control. I wouldn’t be calm again until I saw Zack lying in a hospital bed breathing on his own. Only then would I be calm.
It didn’t take long for the nurse to catch up with me.
“Miss, I need you to stop what you’re doing and come with me. You’re disrupting the patients.”
I didn’t care. I brushed her hand off and continued to call for my husband.
“Zack!”
“Ma’am, I need you to come with me.”
I peered over my shoulder and saw a security guard. It was time to speed up my search.
I ran.
Chapter 43
The pain medication the doctor gave me hadn’t kicked in. My head ached, so did every other part of my body. My broken foot was beyond painful.
I groaned, not from the pain, but because of what happened.
I didn’t give a damn about my car or anything in it. I was pissed because I didn’t make it to see Yasmine. Too much time had passed since the last time we spoke for me to take too long to respond to the divorce papers. Not contacting her immediately decreased my chances of making up with her.
Why didn’t I call from work? We could have scheduled a time to meet or talked on the phone.
Instead, I was in the hospital, banged up and bloody, with no one to miss me.
When the police asked for next of kin information, the only name I could list was Nick. I wanted to give Yasmine’s name, but after two months since we last spoke, it was possible she wouldn’t care.
That hurt more than my broken ankle.
For the fifth time in my life, I wished I had a time machine. If I could choose one point in time to return and change the outcome of my decisions, it would be the day I walked out on my marriage. Losing my mother and father were due to circumstances beyond my control. Leaving her was on me.
If I had taken a moment to listen to what she had to say, whether I liked it or not, we could have worked it out. In the large scheme of things keeping that information to herself was not the end of the world. Her only fault was the fact she loved me enough to try and protect me.
And in the end, I still pushed her away.
I sighed. How long had I been here? I had lost consciousness several times from the pain alone. I was in too much pain to lift my head to see if a
clock was in the room, and my watch was no longer on my wrist. My cell phone was gone, probably broken. I had no doubt it was past five o’clock. Yasmine would be off of work by now.
I had her number memorized. I could use the hospital phone and call her, but then I’d have to tell her what happened and where I was. She’d probably come and sit with me, but it would, more than likely, be out of pity instead of love. I didn’t want that. I wanted to face my wife as the man she married, the one she needed me to be.
It would be the only way to get her back.
I forced my hurt arm over to my hip to reach into my pants pocket.
I was no longer wearing pants. Her wedding ring was in my pocket.
“Nurse!” I forced my aching arm over to the buzzer on the side of the bed and held the button down.
I was so out of it when the paramedics freed me from the car I didn’t think about anything except the fact I was alive. Then the pain hit and I blacked out.
It was standard protocol for paramedics and hospital staff to cut free clothing in order to get to your body. Someone was supposed to remove valuables like your ID and money and store it until you were admitted to, or released from the hospital.
Sometimes things got lost.
I didn’t give a damn about credit cards, money, or my ID. All of those things were replaceable. But not my mother’s ring. It was the connection to my mother. It was the key to saving my marriage.
“Nurse! Anybody!” I hit the call button again.
“Can I help you?” A tiny voice came through the speaker attached to my bed.
Finally, a response. “Yes, I need to see a nurse.”
“Is this an emergency?”
I gritted my teeth in aggravation. “No.”
“Sir, we have a situation to get under control before I can send someone to assist you.”
A situation? I strained to hear what was going on. Some woman was yelling. What she said was hard to understand, probably because of all the medication I was on had kicked in. But it was definitely a woman’s voice followed by the yells of several men.
Impatient, I hit the call button again. This time there was no answer. Someone needed to restrain the crazy woman and give her some medication so the nurses could return to doing their job.
