Three Shoeboxes e-book

by Three Shoeboxes (epub)

  Mac sat at the edge of the bed, his mouth hung open and his head spinning. Physically, he and Jen were only a few feet apart. In reality, they were worlds removed from each other. Reality was frightening. I think I made a mistake by not letting her in all the way—by not sharing my personal little hell, he thought, his eyes welling with regretful tears. I think I made a terrible mistake.

  As she stepped out of the room, the merciless symptoms of a brand-new panic attack took hold.

  Chapter 9

  Mac sat on his park bench, a half-empty vodka bottle propped up beside him. Heavy bags hung under his eyes from a full week’s loss of sleep. He was physically tired, but the exhaustion he felt went so much deeper. It was a need—even a yearning—for peace. His shoulders drooped from the weight of sorrow. Except for his heavy breathing, the world was silent and the park deserted.

  Without even noticing his boss arrive, Ross Panchley was suddenly sitting beside him. “Brandt told me I’d find you here,” he said, his tone and body language anything but friendly.

  Mac looked up at the man, the lump in his throat muting him for an awkward moment. “I’m…I’m sorry, Ross,” he finally managed, “but I…”

  “What’s the status on the Brighams’s Auto World project?” Ross asked, cutting him off.

  Mac felt tormented, a new level of desperation filling his soul. He couldn’t speak.

  Ross looked down at the pint of vodka beside Mac. “I just asked you a question,” he said, shaking his head.

  “I…I…”

  “Have you gone to see a doctor yet?” Ross asked.

  “Yeah, I did,” Mac mumbled. “He said everything looks good. My cholesterol is a little high, but everything else is fine.” Although Mac tried to play stupid, he knew he wasn’t pulling it off.

  “That’s not the type of doctor I’m talking about.”

  “Ross, please,” Mac snapped back. “I don’t need you telling me how to conduct my personal business.”

  “Yeah Mac,” Ross quickly interrupted, “you do need me telling you how to conduct your personal business. You’ve been to work three times in the last two weeks. And when you do show, you’re either drunk or pawning off your work to one of our junior people.” He exhaled deeply. “It’s unacceptable.”

  Mac was speechless, again.

  “You don’t think I’ve been in this business long enough to recognize the difference between a rookie’s work and that of a seasoned veteran?” Ross asked, his face two or three creases away from wrath.

  Mac never answered. Part of him couldn’t have cared less. My failing marriage is more im…

  “We were lucky to save the account,” Ross said, interrupting Mac’s thoughts, “but it’s unacceptable, Mac.” He shook his disgusted head again.

  Mac never batted an eye.

  Ross looked up at the sky before sighing once—and then dropping the hammer. “Mac, I was going to talk to you this morning anyway.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been in touch with Human Resources. The company’s prepared to assist you in any way possible…therapy, rehab, whatever you need. But for the time being, consider yourself…”

  “Fired?”

  “On vacation, Mac. Consider yourself on vacation until you can pull yourself together.”

  Mac stood. “Un-fucking-real!” he barked, thinking, What else could possibly go wrong? He stormed off, leaving Ross alone on the bench like some frowning bobble head.

  ⧝

  The yellow school bus was just pulling away from the curb when Joel Ward swung his van into the Anderson’s driveway. Jen was standing at her front door. She forced a smile.

  Oh no, the photographer thought, his happy mood taking a dive, something’s wrong. He rolled down the van’s window. “Don’t you look like crap,” he teased. “Didn’t want to take off the Halloween mask just yet?”

  She smirked. “Thanks. I really needed one of your compliments this morning.” With a wave of her hand, she beckoned him into the house to join her. “Come on in, I just need to shut off the iron.”

  But we’re already late for work, he thought. With a shrug, he shut off the ignition and grabbed the two hot coffees.

  Joel handed Jen one of the Styrofoam cups before following her in. In the kitchen, he took notice of the wall clock and looked at his wristwatch. Placing his timepiece to his ear, he shook his head. Cheap-ass gift, he thought. While Jen unplugged the iron, he removed the timepiece and wound it. “Hey, what’s up,” he asked, looking at Jen, “more trouble in paradise?”

  She shrugged once but, when she opened her mouth to speak, the tears started to flow.

  Oh no, Joel repeated in his head, placing his watch onto the kitchen counter. Gently approaching her, he put his arm around her and led her to the door. “Come on, Jen. You can tell me on the way.”

  Trembling, she fumbled with her pocketbook and a handful of notepads. Suddenly, her face bleached white. “The interview,” she blurted, sounding desperate.

  “The world won’t stop turning if we’re late,” Joel assured her with a smile. “Well, maybe not Joe’s world, but Joe’s world is due to take a break anyway.”

  Jen grinned and stepped into the photographer’s van. Joel started it, turned off the radio and backed out of the driveway.

  ⧝

  Mac struggled for air, as his wife and her photographer rolled past him. This cannot be fuckin’ happening… His knuckles, now white, were wrapped around the steering wheel, which threatened to crack under the pressure. He tried to scream, but only a squeak would escape. Son-of-a-bitch, he thought, his heart aching with a pain he’d never known. Please God, not this... The first few tears broke free.

  ⧝

  A mile away, Jen turned to Joel. “I’m so sorry to put this on you,” she said.

  Joel placed his hand on hers. “Now you’re insulting me. I thought we were friends?”

  She nodded. After retrieving a tissue from her purse, she began to ramble. “I just don’t know anymore, Joel. Things haven’t been great with Mac for quite a while now, but recently it’s gotten so that it’s unbearable to be around him. He yells at me in front of the kids and then snaps at them for the stupidest reasons—which has never been like him. When I ask him to talk to me, to share what’s troubling him, he usually turns on me and starts screaming. And I’ve just about had enough of that crap.” She stopped to slow her angry breathing. “He won’t tell me anything, Joel. He constantly accuses me of cheating and…”

  “Cheating?”

  Through the sniffles, a subtle grin appeared. “Yeah,” she said, “and of all people—with you.”

  In spite of the heavy situation, Joel released a hearty laugh. “No offense, sweetheart, but did you tell him that you’re not my type?”

  “I did, but your sexual preference shouldn’t dictate whether he trusts me or not.” She shook her head. “I would never mess around on Mac. And I’ve never given him reason to mistrust me. It’s infuriating.” She took a deep breath. “I gave up my career to raise our kids, for Pete’s sake. Now that I’m trying to get some of it back…”

  “I don’t get it,” Joel said. “When did all of this start?”

  She took in a lung full of air. “Over the summer, he began having anxiety attacks.”

  “Oh, no…”

  She nodded. “He started to get help, but stopped seeing his therapist after a few sessions.”

  “Because the attacks stopped?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so, though I couldn’t really tell you because he keeps everything to himself.”

  Joel sighed. “That’s not good.”

  “Things got even worse when the kids started school and I decided to go back to work. I haven’t been able to communicate with him since. Everything turns into a fight.”

  “If you ask me, Jen, you guys should get into family counseling. At the
very least, you could both learn not to fight in front of those beautiful children.”

  Jen nodded. “I suggested it a while back, but he said things would get better, that he was just going through a tough time and that I should understand—be more patient.” She became more upset. “I really think there’s something more, something he’s not telling me.” She drifted off in agonizing thought. “Something’s really wrong, Joel. Mac hasn’t been himself in a long time.” She half-shrugged. “Maybe he’s the one who’s been screwing around?”

  “Easy with the accusations, detective,” Joel teased. “You know how that feels. If you ask me, you guys just need to reopen the love lines. You know—a little wine, a little sweet talk, and then…” Joel made some vulgar suggestions.

  Jen slapped his arm in fun. “Stop it, you goof. This is serious.”

  “I’m just teasing.” He laughed. “And I know it’s serious. But maybe that’s half the problem? If you and Mac didn’t take everything so serious, then maybe life wouldn’t be so miserable all the time.”

  The van pulled in front of City Hall where the interview was scheduled. Joel checked the time. “Shit, I forgot my watch at your house. What time do you have?”

  She checked her cell phone and smiled. “We’re just in time.” Regaining her composure, she reapplied her makeup while Joel parked. With a nod, she opened the door and got out. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “I feel better already. I only wish Mac knew how innocent our friendship is, and how much I miss being able to talk to him like this.”

  “I don’t suppose he ever will unless you tell him,” Joel said with a wink.

  “You’re probably right,” she said. “I need to get past my own anger and resentment and talk to him again.” She nodded. “I may even try tonight.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “I honestly can’t tell you how much I’ve missed him, Joel, the old him, anyway.”

  Joel raised an eyebrow. “Then you should tell him that, too.”

  Buttoning her coat, Jen looked back at her partner—and then put on her game face.

  ⧝

  Without even remembering how he got there, Mac was parked in his driveway. As reality registered, he jumped out of the car and slammed the door.

  As he proceeded through the kitchen to grab a beer, he stopped. There was an unfamiliar wristwatch sitting on the counter. He picked it up and turned it over. It read: To Joel. All My Love, Mickey.

  A murderous venom bubbled in his veins. With a single war cry, he heaved the watch onto the floor where it shattered; there was a loud pop, the air being released from the crystal. No! No! No! he screamed in his throbbing head. Then, in a fit of blinding fury, he began demolishing everything that wasn’t bolted down.

  At the end of the destructive meltdown, he fell to his knees where he began to weep mournfully. “How could you do this to me, Jen?” he whimpered, the feeling of despair stronger than the will to get off his knees. “Why Jen,” he screamed, “why?”

  ⧝

  While Joel watched on, Jen picked up the phone and dialed New Dimensions Advertising. Mac’s secretary answered.

  “Hi Barbara, can I speak with Mac, please?”

  There was an awkward moment of silence. “I’m…I’m sorry, Mrs. Anderson,” Barbara muttered, clearing her throat, “Mr. Anderson didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  There was a pause. “That he’s on a leave of absence.”

  Jen’s jaw touched her chest. “I’m sorry. Did you just say that Mac’s taken a leave of absence?”

  Joel placed his hand on Jen’s arm.

  “No, not exactly,” Barbara explained. “Mr. Anderson didn’t have a choice.”

  Jen nearly dropped the phone. “Well now, isn’t that just wonderful.”

  She hung up and, while Joel tried telling her to remain calm, she immediately called home. The answering machine picked up, the kids greeting her in chorus. “Hi, you’ve reached the Andersons. Please leave a message and we’ll get right back to ya. Have a great day.”

  “Unbelievable,” she muttered before the machine beeped to receive the message. She looked at Joel. “Mac got canned at work,” she explained.

  “I’m sure he has a reasonable explanation,” Joel said, “and you need to give him a chance to…”

  “Why am I not surprised by this?” Jen interrupted, talking more to herself than to her colleague. “Un-fucking real!” she squealed.

  ⧝

  When Jen returned home with the kids, she couldn’t have been more furious. And then she stepped into her kitchen. Shock stopped her and the kids in their tracks. Jen’s wide eyes took in the damage. My kitchen’s destroyed, she thought, spotting her husband sitting on the floor with his knees to his chest. He smelled of booze. She turned to Jillian. “Take them upstairs,” she said, gesturing toward Bella and Brady.

  No sooner had the kids—visibly horrified—left the room when Jen went off like a roman candle. “What the hell did you do to my kitchen?” she yelled, angrier than she’d ever imagined being.

  “How long has it been going on?” Mac asked in a hoarse whisper.

  “What?” she asked, as though she were whispering in a saw mill. “I just asked you a question and I want an answer!”

  Mac leapt to his feet. There was madness in his eyes. “And I just asked you how long you’ve been cheating on me?”

  This is the last friggin’ straw, Jen thought, her emotions seesawing between disgust and rage. “Get out,” she screamed, hurrying for the living room. “Get out now!”

  He grabbed her arm, pulling her to him. He stuffed a broken wrist watch into her face.

  Her fury was instantly consumed by fear. He’s…he’s crazy, she thought, her mind scrambling at a dizzying pace.

  “Right in our own home?” he screamed, even louder.

  “Stop it, Mac, you’re hurting me,” she cried. “Let go of my arm.” The tears began to build.

  As Mac let her go, he fired the watch directly at the TV, causing the screen to crack; a giant spider instantly appeared. “I swear to God,” he slurred. “I’ll fuckin’ kill somebody before this family’s taken from me.” He walked to the fireplace, grabbed a framed photo of the family from the cluttered mantle and threw it against the wall where it shattered into pieces.

  Jen took the opportunity to run into the bathroom. We need help, she realized. Hyperventilating, she locked the door behind her. Oh no, she thought, scolding herself, I should have grabbed the kids. She picked up the phone and, as she punched in the numbers 911, she heard glass smash against the living room wall again. The kids, she thought again, panic welling up inside her.

  “What is the nature of your emergency?” the monotone voice inquired on the other end of the line.

  “My husband’s tearing our house apart and…and he’s…he’s made threats to… Oh God, my…my kids are upstairs,” she stuttered. “Oh, dear God…”

  “Ma’am, you need to calm down and tell me the address.”

  “It’s 19 Thornton Street…in…in…Dighton. Please hurry. I’ve never seen him like this.” By now, she was panting. “Oh God, my kids are upstairs listening to this.”

  Mac stood outside the door, banging away. “Open this door now, Jen. We’re not done talking!” he roared, punching the wood. “Open this fuckin’ door before I break it down!”

  With one hand on the knob, Jen stood on the other side of the door. Stop, Mac, she begged him in her head. Please stop. She started for the lock when Mac pounded his fist wildly against the wood again.

  “Open this door before I break it down,” he screeched.

  Every cell in Jen’s body swelled with panic. “Mac, I just called the cops and they’re on the way,” she warned. “Please stop. Please think of the kids and stop this insanity right now.”

  The pounding immediately stopped, followed by one loud thud.
His back against the door, she surmised, picturing him collapsing to the floor. She could hear him crying uncontrollably. “I lost my job today, Jen,” he babbled in a drunken daze, “and then I lost my wife.” She could hear him hyperventilating. “Oh God,” he moaned, “please, dear God, not my kids too.”

  Jen cried along with him, but for different reasons. I just want him out of this house.

  There was a loud knock at the front door before a deep voice called out. “Open up, it’s the police.”

  Jen unlocked her door and, rushing past her weeping husband, answered the front door.

  Two police officers entered the house; a silver-haired veteran and his muscle-bound partner who looked like he recently graduated from high school. While they surveyed the damage of the violent outburst, the younger cop intentionally stood between Mac and Jen—who spotted the kids peeking through the banisters of the staircase that led upstairs. Each was trembling, sobbing to each twitch. Oh God, she repeated amidst the surreal nightmare. She looked at her husband. You bastard, she thought, putting our children through this.

  “Ma’am, can you tell me what happened here?” the veteran officer inquired.

  Mac tried to answer. “Officer, I…”

  The younger cop was quick. “He wasn’t talking to you, pal. You’ll speak when he asks you to.” He looked back at Jen. “Go ahead, Ma’am.”

  “When I came home, my kitchen was destroyed,” she said, her voice shaky. “I sent the kids upstairs and asked my husband what had happened. He started ranting and raving about me cheating on him with another man.” The sobbing began.

  Through his staggering drunkenness, Mac tried again. “Officer, please, it’s just a misunderstanding between me and my wife. There’s no need…”

  “You open your mouth again and I’ll slap the cuffs on you right here,” the muscular cop roared. “Understand?”

  Even more terrified by this, the kids emerged from the shadows.

  Mac instantly straightened up, nodding that he understood.

  Unable to even look at him, Jen struggled to go on. “He grabbed me by the arm, showed me some wrist watch and then threw it at the TV. He started smashing things and making threats and…” She couldn’t finish.