While the callous bartender returned to his half-empty bottles, Mac gulped his vodka. Then why even mention it, you stupid bastard, he thought before swallowing hard. You wouldn’t believe what I’m going through anyway.
⧝
Jen pulled into the driveway, feeling better. Mom’s right, she thought, if I don’t pursue this plan of returning to work, I’ll be filled with resentment. I’m definitely talking to Mac about it tonight.
The sound of children playing in the backyard announced that her kids were okay. At least Jill didn’t let them kill each other, she thought before taking a seat at the table. She looked at the wall phone; she couldn’t help but stare. Finally, she stood, picked up the receiver and dialed. “Hi, may I speak with Abigail Rose, please?” Listening, she nodded. “I understand. Can you please tell her that Jen Anderson called. I’m available on my cell phone whenever she has a moment.” She smiled. “Thank you so much.”
Jen had returned to cleaning the kitchen when the telephone rang. Wow, that was quick, she thought, rushing to the phone. She took a deep breath. “Hello?” she answered, feeling excited.
“Hi Jen, it’s Ross Panchley.”
She was struck with surprise. “Oh, hi Ross,” she replied, concealing her disappointment. “What’s up?”
“I need to talk to Mr. Hooky for a minute,” he said.
“Mr. Hooky?”
“Yeah, Mac. Could you put him on, please? I have a quick question and he’s not answering his cell phone.”
While Jen’s stomach flopped sideways, she could feel her face flush. As she scrambled for an answer, there was an awkward moment of silence. “Actually, Ross,” she babbled, “Mac stepped out for a moment. Should…should I have him call you when he gets back?”
“No, just tell him to come and see me first thing tomorrow morning,” Ross said, his tone changing from playful to disappointed. He’d obviously picked up on her confusion, putting the puzzle together.
As Jen hung up the phone, a thousand bad scenarios played out in her head. Where could he be? What if he’s in trouble or hurt? She called Mac’s cell phone—twice. Both calls went directly to voicemail. With trembling hands, she picked up the receiver again and punched in some numbers—while a thousand dark thoughts ambushed her mind. “Mom, it’s me. Mac didn’t go to work today.” There was a pause. “No, he never said where he was going.” The tears were already starting to blur her vision. “I’m…I’m worried sick about him.”
⧝
Jen’s entire day was spent in a state of grave worry. Several times, she felt waves of fear so deep within her core that she thought she was going to vomit. She called Mac again and again—no answer. Please God, she silently prayed, please let him be okay.
⧝
A week fit itself into a day before Mac returned home, intoxicated and broken. It was well past dusk, but enough natural light remained to reveal a dent on his car’s left front fender. Jen was waiting on the doorstep, her arms folded across her heaving chest. Oh shit, he thought. As he approached the stairs, his wife’s worry was evident in her eyes. Shit, he repeated in his head.
“You’ve been out drinking all day?” she managed, her voice shaking.
“Not all day,” he replied, attempting to slip past her.
She threw out her arm, stopping him at the door. “Where’ve you been, Mac?” Her eyes were swollen with tears. “Will you please talk to me and tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m fine, Jen,” he slurred. “I needed some time to myself, so I went to the lake.” He offered the embarrassed shrug of a little boy who knew he was in trouble. “Then… then I had a few drinks at the Progressive Club.”
“What’s going on with the panic attacks?” she asked.
“They’re not as bad,” he lied, “or at least…at least they’re not as often.”
He saw a hint of relief seep into her eyes.
I’m the one who’s always solved problems, he thought, but now I am the problem. He wanted so badly to protect Jen and his kids from the invisible beast that stalked him.
Jen stepped into the house. He staggered in behind her and saw that all three kids were in the living room, a dreadful concern swimming in their eyes.
“Go outside and play, guys,” Jen told them. “Mom and Dad need to talk.”
“But our show’s coming on,” Bella said.
“Yeah, we want to watch the show,” Brady confirmed.
“Now,” Jen said firmly.
“Isn’t this just great,” Jillian mumbled. With an exaggerated snicker, she got up and stomped out of the room. Like two timid ducklings, Bella and Brady followed their big sister.
Jen turned to face her husband. “You told me this morning that we’d talk when you got home from work. Then, Ross Panchley called, looking for you.”
Starting to sway, Mac stumbled toward their bedroom. “To hell with Ross Panchley,” he burped.
“Oh, that’s real nice, Mac,” Jen said, close on his heels.
He collapsed onto the bed, his mouth hung open and his eyes flitting in and out of consciousness.
Jen sat on the foot of the bed. “I talked to Abigail Rose today.”
He opened his eyes.
“I’m interviewing tomorrow for a reporter’s position at the newspaper,” she added.
He sprang up in bed. “You’re what?” For reasons he didn’t fully understand, even in his drunken haze the idea of his wife leaving the house petrified him. “Don’t…” He hiccupped. “Don’t be silly, Jen,” he managed, “summer hasn’t even ended yet. Besides, I’ve been thinking, we really don’t need the money.” He hiccupped.
Jen looked confused. “Babe,” she said, clearly taken aback, “we had a plan. And I really need to return to work.”
Collapsing back onto the bed, he let out a wounded grunt—and then a hiccup. That’s just great, he thought, exactly what I need right now.
“Why is that a problem now?” she asked. “Talk to me, Mac.”
He placed his forearms over his eyes. Because I feel like I’m losing control of our life together, he screamed in his head. He took a deep breath and hiccupped. “Of course you deserve to have your career back,” he mumbled.
There was silence, and then he felt Jen’s warm lips on his forehead. “Ross wants to see you first thing in the morning,” she said. “And you might want to get an estimate on the fender you dented.”
He listened as her footsteps drifted out of the room and, even in his drunken stupor, the heart palpitations returned.
Chapter 6
Mac’s head throbbed; it was a punishment for saturating his body with alcohol and assassinating a million healthy cells. Moving ever so slowly, he ran the brush through his short hair and placed it back into the medicine cabinet. As he washed his face, he could feel something tickle the back of his neck—sending a shiver down his spine and making his skin tingle. He reached to the back of his head and swiped three times before retrieving a long, light hair. Instantly, he was filled with fury. “Who used my brush?” he roared, making his head pound harder. He stomped out of the bathroom and into the living room.
Jen and all three kids looked at him in shock.
“Who used my brush?” he repeated even angrier, holding out the single strand of hair.
There was silence, everyone frozen in fear.
“I think you might be overreacting, Mac,” Jen said, standing and moving toward him.
“Overreacting?” He was beside himself.
Jen stopped in mid-stride and squared up her body, instinctively blocking her husband from their children.
“I don’t ask for much,” Mac said, “but I hate the feeling of long hair on my neck.” He shook his head in disgust. “You all know that.”
“I used it, Daddy,” a small voice quivered.
Mac was glaring at the couch when Bella stood, h
er tiny shoulders beginning to shake from her sudden sobs.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, “I…I didn’t know.”
Jen’s face turned from confused to furious. “Enough!” she yelled back. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
Mac opened his mouth to retort, but discovered that his angry wife wasn’t nearly done.
“I’ll buy you a new brush, Mac, but you’re done scolding these kids for something stupid.”
His lips parted again, but his words were halted by the palm of Jen’s firm hand.
“Done!” she repeated, her body now positioned in a fighting posture—like a mother bear.
Mac shook his head again. “I’m going to work,” he said, storming out of the house.
⧝
Feeling torn—between understanding her husband’s troubles and feeling the need to defend her children from him—Jen stepped into the kitchen, away from the kids.
Jillian walked in behind her and opened the refrigerator door. “Seriously, Mom, what the hell is up with Dad?” She grabbed a bottle of orange juice, unscrewed the cap and started to place it to her lips.
“Use a glass,” Jen said, letting the curse word slide.
Jillian started for the cabinet but stopped. “He’s always yelling for no reason,” she explained in her bratty tone. “He yells all the time now at all of us.”
“Listen, I know he was wrong just now but…”
“But?”
“Doesn’t he usually have a good reason for yelling?” Jen asked.
“Most of the time—no, he doesn’t.” Shaking her frustrated head, Jillian screwed the cap back onto the juice and put it back into the fridge—without so much as a sip. “I can’t even…” She stopped.
“You can’t even what?” Jen asked.
“I can’t even talk to him anymore,” Jillian said sadly.
“He loves you, Jill. You know that.” Jen shook her spinning head. “There must be a full moon tonight,” she said, “because everyone’s being a little dramatic today.”
“Whatever, Mom. I just can’t talk to him, that’s all.” With a huff, she left the room.
As Jen watched her daughter stomp away, she thought, She’s definitely got a point. It was the first time she’d ever had to get between her husband and her children—and she hated it. I need to get my head straight for this job interview, she thought, and this definitely isn’t helping.
⧝
Mac sat at his desk, feeling like a fresh cadaver. Maybe I should look for a new therapist, he thought, one who can actually help me. He took a drink from a pint bottle. There was a knock at the door—one knock. As Ross entered the office, Mac quickly tucked the odorless vodka into the top drawer of his desk.
“How are you, Mac?” Ross asked, taking a seat across from him.
“Fine.”
“Listen Mac, I have no idea what’s happening in your personal life,” Ross began, unwilling to mince words, “but I’m warning you now, you need to take care of it before it destroys your professional life.”
Mac nodded. He wanted to explain, but he could see that Ross was angry and incapable of listening at the moment.
Ross stood and started for the door. As he reached the threshold, he said, “And no more stalling on the Woodpine project. I want it completed by Friday, or you’re off the account. No more excuses.”
Again, Mac could only nod.
Leaving behind the sigh of a disappointed parent, Ross exited.
Mac sat alone again, feeling more overwhelmed than he could ever remember. Pulling the vodka bottle from his desk, he took a long draw. He then picked up the framed photo of his family and studied it. “What am I doing?” he mumbled, disgusted with himself. Putting the frame down, he picked up the telephone and dialed. “Scott, it’s Mac, come to my office.” He listened for a moment. “Yes. Right away, please.”
⧝
Halfway across the city, Jen was dressed in a new red power suit, interviewing for the newspaper reporter’s position.
“When you were working, how many by-lines did you produce?” Joe Bigelow, the editor-in-chief, asked.
“Several dozen,” Jen answered. Although she felt nervous, she was firing the answers back as quickly as they were being asked. “I covered everything from court reporting to human interest stories,” she added.
“Any preference?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I love writing…reporting,” she said. “Whatever the assignment, I feel an obligation to give it every bit of my attention and effort.” She nodded. “Readers deserve at least that much.”
While a subtle smile peeked out from the corners of his mouth, Joe fingered through her portfolio. He was clearly impressed. “It just so happens that I have an investigative reporter’s position available right now,” he said before looking Jen straight in the eyes. “So, when can you start?”
Jen’s eyes grew wide. Oh my God, she thought, I actually got it! “The kids begin school in a week,” she said, trying not to squeal. “I can get started just as soon as I see them onto the bus.”
Joe stood and extended his hand. “Well then, welcome aboard, Jen Anderson.”
“Mr. Bigelow, thank you so much for this opportunity,” she said, shaking his hand, “I promise you won’t be sorry.”
“I have no doubt,” Joe said. “I look forward to working with you.”
I’m finally back in the game, she thought, and squirmed with joy over the truth of it. As she left the office, she suddenly felt a sharp pang of fear. I wonder how Mac’s going to react? It didn’t take long for the sensation to subside. Mac has always supported my decisions, she thought, he’ll understand.
Jen was almost at her van when she checked her watch. Oh, I need to get the kids. Walking on air, she picked up the pace.
⧝
Mac spoke in hushed tones to Scott, who sat across from him. “I’ve been thinking, Scott. I really feel that you’re ready for your first big test in the ad business.”
Although Scott smiled, he appeared tentative about where this was going.
“I like your ideas on the Woodpine Project,” Mac explained, “and I’m prepared to let you run with them. You know, prove yourself, so to speak.”
Scott slid to the edge of his seat, his face excited.
Mac leaned in. “So, I’ll expect the preliminary package by tomorrow evening and the finished proposal by Friday afternoon.” Offering a wounded smile, he used his remaining energy to raise an eyebrow. “Think you can handle it?”
Scott leapt to his feet. “Consider it done!” He turned to get started, but stopped dead at the door. “Want me to keep this between us?” he asked.
Mac appreciated the loyalty, but cringed. His subordinate obviously knew there was something amiss. “No,” he answered, reclaiming his seat, “this is my call.”
Scott shrugged. “Okay, boss. Thanks for the shot. I promise you won’t be sorry.”
As the young man left, Mac dropped his forehead onto his desk and moaned. His brain felt like it might actually implode. Sitting erect, he grabbed the vodka bottle from his desk drawer and took a long swig, doing his best to beat back his relentless demons. Sliding the bottle into his pocket, he prepared to leave the office. On his way out, he caught his reflection in the office window and paused before it. “You are such an asshole, Mac Anderson,” he told the hazy reflection, his soul filled to a new level of self-loathing. Two breaths later, the start of a new panic attack tapped him on the shoulder. Oh God, he thought, I don’t know how long I can take this.
⧝
Sophie was the only one home when Mac stepped through the front door. The house was empty. There was a note on the table. Jill has a dentist’s appointment and then we’re going shopping for school clothes. I’ll bring home take-out. The note wasn’t signed.
After feeding the tiny dog
, Mac grabbed a beer before taking an impromptu tour of their home. As if he’d never seen the place, he studied photos of his children, their colorings on the fridge, and other things he’d forgotten to miss. Gulping down the first beer, he grabbed another before heading off to the bathroom to relieve himself.
The telephone was on its fourth ring when he hurried to pick it up. The machine answered first. Mac listened, as Abigail left Jen a surprising message. “Jen, I just spoke to Joe and he told me he offered you the investigative reporter’s job and that you accepted,” Abigail said excitedly. “He said you discussed some child care concerns, but that they shouldn’t be a problem.” There was a brief pause. “I told Joe you’re the best I’ve ever worked with and that I can’t wait to work with you again. Congratulations.” She was almost giddy. “I’m absolutely thrilled!”
“You’ve got to be friggin’ kidding me,” Mac groaned.
Sophie looked up at him but never answered.
Fear instantly consumed him. “Damn it!” he said before beginning to hyperventilate, starting in on another full-blown panic attack. My life’s crumbling down all around me and Jen wants to go to work, he thought, pacing the kitchen floor. An onslaught of unwelcome adrenaline shot through his body, numbing his limbs while simultaneously striking terror in his heart and mind. Here we go again, he thought, and held on for another lap through hell.
⧝
It was well past dusk when Jen returned home with the kids. Although Bella and Brady were quarreling with each other, Jillian was quiet, her mouth visibly swollen. Jen fumbled with two bags of groceries and a cardboard box filled with Chinese food. As Mac grabbed the bags from her, Jen awaited a kiss that didn’t come.
Bella and Brady also headed for Mac to kiss him but stopped short.
“When were you going to tell me?” Mac asked, angrily.
“Tell you?” Jen asked surprised. “Tell you about what?”
“About the interview at the paper?”
She felt confused. “I’ve been talking about returning to work for weeks, Mac,” she said, “but you haven’t been listening.” She stepped closer to him. “I’d actually planned on having a quiet night together and celebrating. I was hoping…”
Three Shoeboxes e-book Page 7
