by Gina Ardito
He opened the door leading out to the main floor and shot his index finger at me. “I knew you’d understand.”
I shuffled past him. Once, years ago, I understood perfectly. These days, I didn’t know how I managed to keep breathing when each inhale and exhale stabbed my heart.
****
Francesca
The phone call to my mother would have to wait. Between my conversations with Claudia and Josh, I’d used up my patience quota for the day. The last thing I wanted was to go on the offensive the minute Mom answered the phone. She and I had a pretty good mother/daughter relationship, except for one blight: my refusal to marry Michael, even if it meant leaving my job and moving across the country. I understood Mom grew up in a different era, when the man was “king of the castle.”
She refused to understand why my career meant just as much as my marriage. “After all, your focus will change once the babies come.”
Yes and no. Sure, Michael and I had talked about a family. I had five brothers and sisters; he was an only child who’d always wanted a sibling. We both loved kids and hoped to eventually have a few of our own. The key word in that statement: eventually. What we had never discussed was moving away from Long Island. And I definitely didn’t appreciate the decision made without my input. All the time I fussed with gown fittings and choosing wedding favors, he interviewed for engineering positions on the other side of the country. In my eyes, that kind of sneakiness didn’t bode well for our marriage. I mean, if he couldn’t keep me in the loop about where he planned for us to live, how could I trust him with my heart? With our future children?
I wish I could say Michael’s secret contact with my mother surprised me, but after Oregon? The man had lost my trust, my respect, and my affection. Mom’s subterfuge, on the other hand, didn’t exactly thrill me. After my aborted wedding, when time passed and I didn’t begin dating anyone else, she interpreted my reluctance as proof I still loved Michael. I had no doubt his return to Snug Harbor had rejuvenated Mom’s hopes for a wedding between us. If I planned to obliterate that dream, I had to be at my sharpest. Not numb, like I was today. Rather than fight my mother, I opted to take care of my other pressing concern.
I hired a locksmith and, by three in the afternoon, had new locks on my front, back, and garage doors. The cost, as Josh had warned, was steep, but what price should I put on my peace of mind? And not a moment too soon because that night at work, I was called to the nurse’s station to take a phone call. Didn’t anyone have anything better to do than call me? If he weren’t already long dead, Alexander Graham Bell would top my hit list right now.
“Hello?”
“You really did it?” Michael asked. “You really changed the locks because I have a key?”
He couldn’t have caught me at a worse time. Between the ten-year-old I’d just sent up to ICU after a multi-car accident and the drunk who’d just vomited his rum and cokes all over my shoes, I was in no mood.
“Since you know that I changed the locks, I can only assume you tried to use the old key—a key I took from you. Which means you must have made at least one copy. Thanks for confirming my worst fears.”
“Aw, come on, Francesca. I just wanted to pop in and see if you were okay. I know I surprised you yesterday.”
“So you thought you’d surprise me today to see if I’d recovered from yesterday’s surprise?” Of all the idiotic stunts… “I’ve got patients to see. Don’t call me at work again.”
“I only called you at work because I don’t have your home or cell number. You changed those, too.”
“Lucky me.” I hung up and passed the phone back over the desk to Danielle, who sat at the nurse’s station, her jaw open. “If he calls again, tell him I’m unavailable.”
Dani didn’t blink. “You got it, Doctor.”
Turning on my heel, I headed to Exam Room Six where another patient from the auto accident—this one with superficial injuries—waited for treatment.
Hours later, I pulled into my driveway and limped to my front door with nothing on my mind except the comfort of my bed. After yesterday’s rain, this morning welcomed a pale sun with the nip of autumn in the air. I wouldn’t have cared if Hershey’s Kisses fell from the sky. All I wanted was sleep. Glorious, uninterrupted sleep for about ten hours.
From the back of my house, a circular saw screeched, shooting stars of pain into my skull. Great. Saturday morning construction at my neighbor’s house would totally throw off my plans for peace and quiet. Unfortunately, he had every right to work on his house and yard at a reasonable hour and, for most people, after nine a.m. was pretty reasonable. In the suburbs, only cops, nurses, and vampires dreaded sunny weekend mornings. The blast of nail guns and heavy metal music joined the power tool symphony, and men shouted instructions to each other over the cacophony. There went any hope of sleep.
On the upside, I now had the perfect excuse to back out of tonight’s date with Josh. I’ll admit to a twinge of disappointment—I liked Josh a lot—but Michael’s reappearance had complicated an already unusual situation. Maybe other women fantasized about two men fighting over them, but this gal dealt with enough drama on a day-to-day basis at work. In my private life, I craved serenity. Serenity and solitude. Josh Candolero was the antithesis of serenity and solitude.
Whirrrrrr! Screeeeech!
Ah, no place like home. On a sigh, I pushed myself into my house and headed for the kitchen. Maybe a nice cup of flavored herbal tea would lull me to sleep, despite the ruckus behind me. In my kitchen, I picked up my tea kettle and flipped the tap on my faucet. As I filled the kettle with water, I glanced up and out the window.
What exactly were the McNeills doing to their house now? The roof was ripped off, and bare wooden beams pierced the sky. A dormer. Of course. Decades ago, Snug Harbor had been a summer haven, and most of those original homes were built as bungalows or Cape Cod-style. Whenever families moved into these teeny houses, they blew them up and out with expanded second stories, additions, or converted garages. Sometimes all three.
At the McNeills’ house, a dozen men strode across the skeleton that would eventually become the family’s second floor. The tool belts dangling from their hips, hard hats perched on their heads, and sweat-soaked muscle shirts reminded me of Josh.
As if my crazy thoughts had conjured him from thin air, he suddenly appeared on the roof. He must have sensed I watched him because he shielded his face from the morning sun with the back of his hand and flashed a dazzling smile in my direction.
The tea kettle fell from my hand and clattered against the sink’s edge. I dropped my gaze from the window, picked up the kettle and found a new chip in the taupe porcelain of the basin. “Dammit!” I slammed the kettle onto the stovetop and flipped the burner to high.
Seconds later, my cell phone jingled from my purse in the living room. Crap on a cracker, when would it end? Leaving the water to boil at its own pace, I strode to the couch to dig out my phone. I was so frazzled, I didn’t even bother to look at the Caller I.D., just hit the connect button and slammed the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Rough night?”
I tiptoed back toward my kitchen and peeked out the window. Sure enough, Josh stood on the McNeills’ roof, one hand holding a cell phone cupped to his ear. Frustration seeped away, and a smile twitched my lips. “You could say that. And then to top it off, I came home to a big construction project going on at the house behind me.”
“The nerve of some people,” he exclaimed in mock horror. “Get some sleep, Frannie. I’ve got big plans for you tonight.”
A rush of heat washed over me. Plans? What kind of plans? A hard, dry lump rose in my throat. “I…” I couldn’t speak.
“I could come over and tuck you in, if you think it’ll help.”
Now there was a visual I could have done without. The image of Josh in my bedroom, leaning over me, swept through my psyche, and my knees weakened to globs of jelly. This man-boy could mean serious trouble to my carefully constructed
façade. Like living on nothing but ice cream sundaes, the idea of Josh and me as a couple seemed fun—a laugh a minute. In reality, though, a constant diet of ice cream sundaes wasn’t fun or good for me. Josh: cute, fun-loving, laugh-a-minute Josh was my never-ending ice cream sundae.
Stiffening my spine, I replied, “I’ve got a better idea. Quit wasting time over there and finish the day’s work so I can at least get a nap before tonight. Otherwise, I might have to cancel our dinner date.”
“I’ll hang up,” he blurted. “And I’ll tell the guys to turn down the boom box, too.”
I stifled my laughter. “That’s very considerate of you, Josh. Thank you.”
“Pick you up at seven?”
I should say no. My conscience jabbed me to say no. The ice cream-loving girl in me urged for a different reply. After all, no one said I had to kick ice cream cold turkey.
“I’ll be ready,” I said.
For anything.
Chapter 6
Emily
I pulled into my driveway at eight-thirty and sat in the driver’s seat, engine off, keys still dangling from the ignition. From inside my house, lights glowed in the living room, along with the multi-colored wash of the television across the window blinds. No comfort enveloped me at the thought of home and hearth. Rather, I couldn’t find the strength to leave the peace of my minivan. The urge to restart the engine and slip away into the night slugged me with the force of Mike Tyson’s fist.
Call me a coward, but years of experience told me what I’d see when I finally stepped through the front door. Toys scattered all over the living room carpet, unwashed dishes piled in the sink, and at least two of my kids bickering loud enough to measure on the Richter scale. The new twist? No Freckles bounding to the door for a pat on the head. Tears stung my eyes, and I rubbed my fists over my face.
I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t paste a smile on my lips and pretend all was right in my world. All couldn’t be much worse in my world. In the grand scheme of things, I know how pitiful I sounded. My family was together, healthy, and while Roy and I had our share of money problems, we had a roof over our heads and plenty of food in the kitchen. A lot of people suffered with a lot less. Shameful as it might seem to outsiders, at this particular moment in time, the negative burdens I carried on my shoulders outweighed the positives.
No help for it. I couldn’t sit out here all night, no matter how strongly the idea tempted me. Gathering up some steel, I opened the van door and descended to the pitted driveway. The chilly night sliced through me, only adding to my despair. As I dragged myself to the front portico, Roy stepped out from inside the house, and closed the door firmly behind him.
With a brief head nod, he murmured, “Hey.”
“Hey.” Talk about stimulating conversation. “Meet the Press” had nothing on Roy and me. “What’s up?” I kept my tone deliberately cold, my posture stiff, as if waiting for the next verbal blow to pound my shoulders.
“Look,” he said, hands outstretched in supplication. “I’m sorry about what I said.”
Oh, thank God. He was apologizing. My bones sagged under a combination of relief and defeat.
“It was just…” Beneath the porch light, his eyes glimmered with moisture. Roy? My Roy? Crying? No. No way. His fingers scraped his thick hair. “…it’s Freckles, you know? It’s like losing a member of the family.”
A cement block of tears clogged my throat, and I nodded.
“I know you would’ve taken him to the vet sooner if you could have.”
The words worked like a slap to my face. However he meant it, the statement still came out with the same message. Somehow, I’d failed. When he looked at me, no doubt expecting some kind of agreement, I could only nod again. Shivers racked my bones, and emotions swirled inside me. I didn’t know what to say, how to react.
“Em.” Exasperation frosted his tone. “Say something, for God’s sake.”
At last, I found my voice. “I want a divorce.”
I jolted awake on that last word, my heart pounding faster than a racehorse in the last lap of the Kentucky Derby. I was still in the van, still in my driveway, the keys still in the ignition. I dug for my cell phone in the front pocket of my purse and pushed the button to illuminate the screen. 9:15 p.m. glowed greenish-white in the dark interior.
Good God, I’d fallen asleep again, this time outside the house. For forty-five minutes. I brushed a trembling hand through my hair. What was wrong with me? Seriously.
Dreaming about divorcing Roy? Was that what I really wanted? I didn’t know. What I did know was that I couldn’t keep up the pretense that everything between us was hunky-dory. Roy and I needed to have a serious talk. How and when we’d convene this summit, I couldn’t fathom. Between our work schedules, kids’ activities, and every other facet of our lives, we barely spoke more than hello and goodbye. Which, of course, was a huge factor in our marital troubles. So how were we supposed to talk about the fact we had no time to talk? Hell, we barely had time to breathe.
That familiar tightness squeezed my chest, and I rubbed at the center of my ribcage until the pain eased. I had to start eating better. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches weren’t exactly a healthy meal option.
Tap! Tap! Tap! I let out a shriek as I looked up and outside my driver’s window. Roy stood there, his wedding ring creating a sharp ping as he rapped on the glass.
“Em?” The sealed window muffled his voice. “What are you doing out here? You coming inside or what?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Think fast, think fast. Don’t let him know you fell asleep and dreamed you asked him for a divorce. God, could he see the guilt in my eyes? My gaze dropped to my lap where my cell sat. I quickly picked up the phone and waved it as if I’d just hung up. “I forgot I had to fill Sam in on a call that came in after he left. Figured I’d take care of it before the kids distracted me inside, and it took a little longer than I thought.” Shoving my phone back into my purse, I grabbed the keys out of the ignition. “I’m done now.”
Roy yanked open my door, and I stepped out onto the uneven driveway. A chilly wind whipped the open sides of my jacket and goosed my skin.
“Look,” he said, hands outstretched in supplication. “I’m sorry about what I said yesterday.”
The snake of premonition coiled inside my belly. This was my dream come to life. Terrific. Why couldn’t I have the dream where we won the lottery come to life? No. I got this one. I was so queasy I could barely stand up straight. If I opened my mouth at the moment, I swear I would have thrown up. I couldn’t do anything more than nod.
“It was just…” Beneath the silver moonlight, his eyes glimmered with moisture, and his fingers scraped his thick hair. “…it’s Freckles, you know? It’s like losing a member of the family.”
The snake wriggled, my belly somersaulted, and I nodded again.
“I know you would’ve taken him to the vet sooner if you could have.”
Exactly like in my dream, the words slapped my face.
“Em.” I heard the same exasperation in his tone I’d dreamed about earlier. “Say something for God’s sake.”
“Let’s go inside, Roy,” I said on a sigh and climbed the stairs to my front door.
Inside the den, chaos greeted me, as usual. All four kids hovered there. Melissa sprawled in the club chair, legs dangling over the arm while she studied her cell phone with pinpoint focus. Corey monopolized the couch while flipping back and forth between the two sports channels on cable. Gabriella reigned supreme over a circle of naked Barbie dolls and accessories, including the pink convertible and Dream House.
Dream House. Yeah, right.
My littlest guy stood inside his mesh play yard, tossing blocks onto the floor. Even from the doorway twenty feet away, I could smell he needed a diaper change.
Despite a fire burning in the hearth, a smoky chill filled the air. I turned to Roy. “Why is it so cold in here?”
He had the grace to look abashed. “I think we’re out of oil.”
<
br /> “Again?” For years, I’d tried to convince him to agree to automatic delivery for our heating oil, but he steadfastly refused. Automatic delivery required a service contract and an increase of up to fifty cents a gallon over the COD price. With a tank refill averaging between one hundred fifty and two hundred gallons, those quarters added up fast. Because we disagreed on this issue, Roy was responsible for tracking our usage of heat and hot water, then guesstimating when we needed a delivery. Apparently, he’d missed the mark. Third time this year.
“Great,” I grumbled. “How soon can we get a delivery?” Eliminating the paycheck I just received yesterday.
Roy shrugged. “When can you be home all day?”
“Me?!”
“You’ve got the more flexible schedule,” he replied like he always did. “They’re used to you taking time off for this kind of stuff.”
“I told you the other day I can’t take any more time,” I reminded him. Not to mention how much it sucked to be stuck in an igloo, waiting between the hours of eight a.m. and five p.m.
Mellie’s head snapped up from her cell phone. “Please don’t tell me I have to take a cold shower tomorrow morning. Angela’s sweet sixteen is tomorrow.”
“You’ll probably have to,” I told her.
“Mooooom! Justin will be there.”
Oh, I was so not in the mood for all this drama right now. I glanced out the picture window toward my van, sitting in the driveway like a loyal steed. Was it too late to make a run for it? “Look, Mellie, I’m sorry. But I doubt I’ll be able to get Oxford Fuel to come tomorrow. It’s Sunday. You’re going to have to tough it out until at least Monday afternoon.”
“No way!” Corey slammed the remote control onto the couch cushion. “I’ve got a scrimmage tomorrow.”
Oh, for God’s sake. Were all my kids going to play the role of prima donna now? “So shower in the gym afterwards.”
