“Yeah, but you’ve only been there a few times. Have you seen anything personal in there? Pictures? Anything?” Her eyes widened at me.
“I saw a picture once, but he turned it down on to the dresser before I could get a look at it. Come to think of it, I didn’t see it all the other times I was there. He must have moved it,” I whispered, fear now beginning to clench at my heart. I felt all the color drain out of my face. I felt suddenly cold, too.
She must have seen my panic, because she then switched gears. “Okay, let’s not jump to conclusions, yet. He lives with Kat, no pictures. What about his clothes? His clothes are there hanging in the closet, too?”
“Yes, he has a lot of clothes there. There is his stuff all over the bathroom. There were some boxes in the corner in his room, too,” I said, giving her all the information I knew, pausing between each thought as they came to me.
“Well, those are good signs,” she nodded and reached for my hand to give it a pat. “He has been in the Army a lot, used to living out of duffle bag, and boxes and stuff. So, he may have not gotten around to unpacking,” she mused. “What about family? What do you know about them?” she asked.
“He has only ever mentioned family, no one specific, really. His mom, she lives in Palm Harbor. His dad passed away from cancer, he told me once. He hasn’t mentioned anyone else? Wow, that was all I knew! He did not mention them often, and when he did he would always steer the conversation in another direction. I talked about my family all the time. He listened when I talked about them, and laughed at my stories, but never shared any of his own. He talked about his military friends more than anyone else.
“No, sisters, brothers?” she asked, letting go of my hand and reaching for her cup of coffee.
“He hasn’t mentioned any, but the truck he drove me home in had toys in the back. Girl’s toys. I saw a doll, a jump rope, a Cinderella ball. No, he has never mentioned siblings or nieces or nephews or anything, but he did say the truck belonged to family. I remember that clearly,” I emphasized that point.
“Okay, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them then, so it must be.”
“Kat mentioned he is very loyal and feels responsible for his family,” I offered her another possible clue.
“Well, that could mean since his dad passed he feels responsible for his family and that he is the man of the family, so he has to do what his dad would have done if he were still alive. He probably spends those family weekends fixing up mom’s house, repairs and stuff, cutting the lawn, taking her shopping. If he has siblings, he’s Italian, and they probably do family dinners and stuff and he helps them, too,” she continued to hypothesize. Then she shook her head and added, “But, I don’t know why he wouldn’t have mentioned them. You have been seeing each other for nearly three months.”
Okay, these things all made sense to me. “He does not talk about them much.” And then, “What really bugs me though, is that I don’t understand why he doesn’t want to tell them about me?” I asked hoping she had an explanation for that as well.
“Now that is the sixty-four thousand dollar question. I’m stumped.” She took another sip of her coffee, set it down and fiddled with the handle for a bit, and then looked at me suspiciously.
“Yes, what is it?” I could tell she had thought of something.
“Well,” she started tentatively, “It has to be one of three things.” Again she paused. “It’s either that his family wouldn’t approve of you, or he’s got another girlfriend, or,” a longer pause, “he’s already married.” This last statement was said with compassion.
“But he lives with Kat!” I repeated exasperated crossing my hands in front of me. Then, “Plus, he wouldn’t see someone else, either. He told me he wouldn’t do that.” I was getting angry at her now.
She reached out to soothe me. “Listen to me, Monica. If it is reason number one, his mom might be old-fashioned and want him to marry some little Italian girl and give her some bambinos. If it is reason number two, he has been dating someone his family loves and approves of, but he is just not that into her, and doesn’t want to disappoint them, or three,” she sighed, “he’s married, maybe separated, I think, but hasn’t told his family because he doesn’t want to disappoint them.”
I wanted to cry. Because all of these explanations sounded plausible! Crap, crap, and double crap! None of those situations sounded good, or easy to overcome.
“What should I do?” I asked, overwhelmed by all the possibilities.
“Honey, you’ve got to ask him and demand the truth. You’re already head over heels in love with him.” She gave my hand a squeeze. “It will hurt more if you wait. Trust me, the longer you are with someone, the more it is going to hurt. So, yank that fucking Band-Aid off?”
I didn’t know if I could do it. Could I face even one of these truths? His mom would never like me, he was cheating on me with someone else, or worse, vice versa, he was cheating on someone else with me! My stomach rolled, I felt like I was going to be sick, and rushed to the bathroom to do exactly that.
When he didn’t call me at ten o’clock, I called him at eleven on Sunday night. He picked up on the first ring. “Hi Monica,” he said.
“Hi Victor,” I paused. I had thought about what I was going to say earlier, but all of my thoughts fled the moment I heard his voice. “I miss you,” I said lamely. I heard his sigh on the other end of the phone. There was an awkward silence.
“I miss you, too,” he said simply.
“What are you doing?” I asked pretending he hadn’t called me in two days, pretended like Saturday had never happened. It was a stupid thing to ask, but it was the first thing to come to my mind.
“Just watching television,” he muttered.
“Kat there?” I asked, trying to pretend this was a normal conversation when it was anything but that. What I really wanted to ask was why he hadn’t called when he said he would. Why? He probably wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened either, I hoped.
“She went to bed already,” he said, answering my questions, but not helping to end the awkwardness.
“Oh,” I said lamely. “Yes, I just wanted to hear your voice. I’ll let you go if I am bothering you.”
“You’re not bothering me. I was actually thinking about calling you.” I heard him sigh for the first time.
“Oh, that’s nice,” I offered.
“Yes, I umm, wanted to explain why I didn’t call yesterday,” he stammered. “I got home real late and didn’t want to wake you.”
“You did?” I mumbled. Fool, I called myself because I was going to accept it. I wanted to believe it.
“Yeah, after I did what I needed to do, Kat watched, umm, I mean I went out and had a drink with the guys, and I am afraid I got a little drunk. They guys had to carry me upstairs,” he laughed. “I was going to call you then, but the guys said not to, it was too late, and I was pretty messed up.”
He had gone out with his friends last night. I was hurt. It hurt to hear that when we hadn’t gotten to spend just an hour or so together. “That doesn’t sound like you.” I was referring to the drinking to excess. He wasn’t a heavy drinker. “I still would have liked to have heard from you, though,” I sniffled. “I miss you.”
“Are you crying?” he asked. It was the first time his voice wasn’t in a monotone since the call had started.
“No, I am not crying,” I lied. Pull the Band-Aid. Just do it, I thought. I cleared my throat. My voice once again matching his, trying to keep it devoid of emotion, I asked, “Victor, are you married?”
His end of the phone was dead silent, for far too long, nothing for at least ten seconds. I heard him cough then say, “Fuck.” The word was muffled. He must have put the phone to his chest. He pulled the phone away from himself then because I had heard his next words much, much louder. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I remained silent. It was a good thirty seconds before he spoke again. I gripped the receiver like it was a life line. “Monica, are you still there?” h
e asked with worry in his voice at the utter silence coming from my end of the line.
“Are you?” My tone was cold. I was ice. I felt like my spirit had been completely sapped. This instant was forever going to be frozen in my mind. It was the worst moment of my life.
He breathed deeply. “Yes, but . . .” he began. My world shattered.
“I don’t ever want to see you again,” I cried. The pain, oh my God, it hurt so much.
“Monica, wait . . .” I heard him faintly say as I disconnected the phone.
I ran to my room, threw myself onto the bed, and I cried my heart out. It felt like my soul was being ripped right of my body and my heart was being shredded into little pieces. I cried as if I had just found out someone had died, cried until I couldn’t even catch my breath. I passed out cold.
I woke because I heard banging at my front door. I looked at the clock. It wasn’t even midnight. “Monica, let me in damn it! Monica.” It was Victor. How did he get here so soon, it was an hour’s drive? We just hung up not forty minutes ago. Better yet, why was he here at all?
I stumbled out of bed and ran to open the door before he woke up my neighbors. The old guy, Jesse, across the street, was really protective of me. Always reminding me to lock up and be sure to keep the garage door closed when I forgot to do so. He would be out here with a shotgun soon, if I didn’t make Victor stop.
I pulled open the door, and Victor with bloodshot eyes, pushed past me into the living room. ‘Take it back,” he said pacing back and forth, arms at his sides, fists clenched. “Take it back.” He was scaring me, so I backed up against the door.
“Take what back?” I was trembling, terrified, and sad.
“You have to let me explain, Monica. It’s not what you think. We’re separated, have been for eight months. She threw me out. She doesn’t want me,” he looked at me frantically, and then shook his head in despair. “But, I can’t divorce her, I can’t!”
Hope surged, and then crashed. “What? You can’t divorce her! Why?” I blurted out taking a step closer. He wouldn’t answer. “Never mind,” I suddenly added and turned my back to him. “Does it matter? You have been lying to me for months!” I screamed and cried at the same time, my shoulders shaking with my sobs.
He placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me around. “My family, we don’t divorce. We are Catholic. Julianna . . . that’s her name, she wants the divorce,” he was begging me with his eyes to understand as his hands slid down my arms.
“Whoa, wait a minute your wife wants a divorce, and you don’t,” I was flabbergasted. I shrugged his hands off and began to back towards the kitchen. He followed me.
“It’s . . . she was my high school girlfriend,” he stammered trying to explain. “We got married right out of high school.”
I was confused, so confused. “I am playing second fiddle to your wife. Your wife, who you don’t want to divorce because you are Catholic or because you love her?” He didn’t answer. “But she wants a divorce?” He nodded. “I can’t be the other woman, Victor. I can’t be second best.” The tears streamed down my face. “I just don’t understand.” My words came out in a strange whisper.
“Please, let me explain. Please, sit, so I can think. Stop looking at me like I am some kind of monster, please,” he begged.
I had backed up into the kitchen and I sat, more so because my legs were about to give out from under me than because he asked. He must have taken that as a good sign because he sat next to me and reached for my hand.
“Don’t! Don’t touch me!” I yanked my hand back away from his reaching ones, and crossed my hands over my chest.
“But, you’ll listen, Monica. Please, say you’ll listen.” This man had hurt me, had betrayed me in the deepest way possible, but yet even knowing what he had done, I kept hearing Kat’s words whispering in my ear. When he is ready, listen to him. Give him a chance. I didn’t know if I wanted to listen, but I did want to understand.
I nodded wiping the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. He put his hands in his lap, but then got up and began to pace. After a few moments he began to speak still pacing and occasionally looking up at me to see how I was taking his words.
“I went to college, and it didn’t work out for me. My parents were disappointed. My dad wanted me to be an accountant like him, but numbers were not me. I loved sports, the outdoors, and physical activity. Julianna, sh-she got a job working for her dad in his construction company right away. But, I was the man, you know. I had to support her, so I joined the military. My parents didn’t like it. They didn’t like it all.” He looked at me to see if I was still listening. “I did basic training, and Julianna, she . . . waited for me. I got home and two weeks later, I was sent to Iraq. I was there eight months. I came home, and she got pregnant.”
“Pregnant!” I leaped out of my chair nearly toppling it over.
“Please, please, sit back down.” He looked frantic and his hands reached in front of him, and he began to approach me. I slowly slid back into my chair, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Pregnant?” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he smiled despite my sharp intake of breath. “I have a daughter. My one true love. Her name is Stacey. When I say I am with family, Monica, I am talking about her. She is who I spend every other weekend with and Tuesdays, not Julianna. Sometimes we go to my mom’s on Sundays.” His eyes begged me to understand. He had a daughter he had never told me about. Why? The rock in my stomach got tighter. I felt bile creep up my throat, but pushed it down when I swallowed.
“You have a daughter. A daughter you didn’t tell me about?” I was numb. These lies, lies by omission were big lies.
“Yeah, and I am sorry. But when we first got together, I didn’t know where this was going. Was it going to be a one night stand, a fling, I don’t expose my daughter to that kind of stuff. Plus, she still thinks I am getting back together with her mother. I couldn’t tell her about you, and so I couldn’t tell you about her.”
My head was swimming. It made no sense to me. I shook my head in amazement trying to wrap my mind around it.
Because I was silent so long he continued. “Anyway, the sex stuff. I love sex, and Julianna, well she didn’t. She tried stuff, we tried stuff, and she eventually just came to the conclusion that I was some kind of freak, pervert. She started to push me away, wouldn’t do anything but normal stuff and even then, not often. She’s not like you, you enjoy it, and you . . .” he let that sentence trail off. “Julianna, she also grew up with a lot of money. She kept pressuring me to get out the military, I had a child, she would say, what if I was sent overseas and got killed, her dad could get me a job in construction she would tell me.”
I interrupted, eyes pleading. “Please, don’t tell me you work for your father in law,” I whispered. This was too much.
“No, no, I don’t, but after she kicked me out, told me it was over, that she wanted a normal life, I wanted to prove to her that I could be who she wanted me to be. I could support her like she wanted. I could get her the big fancy house, the cars, the jewelry, take her to fancy restaurants.” He sat down and put his hands out and up as if in supplication begging me to understand. “When Julianna kicked me out, I went to the base and lived there for a while and then Kat took me in. I’ve been spending the last eight months trying to win her back. It’s stupid. I know. All my friends think so, but Julianna was my love, she stuck by me when I dropped out of college, when I went to boot camp, when I was overseas, we have a daughter . . . I loved her so much. She is so beautiful. She was everything to me. I had her, my daughter, and my mom. That’s it.”
“You had me,” I said. He looked up at me and I looked down at my clasped hands in my lap.
“Had?” he questioned. Tears were in his eyes.
Even after all he had done those tears moved me. “I don’t know,” I muttered. I saw him approach and he took my hand then. We just sat there. I had just one more question and I took a deep breath and asked it. “I don’t
want to be the reason you divorce, Victor. And, I can’t be the other woman, I just can’t. But, I have to know.” I took another breath, deep; I filled my lungs and looked him right in his sad, beautiful ice blue eyes. “Do you still want to be with your wife, Victor?”
He dropped my hand, and leaned forward on the table rubbing his face, his eyes. Then he looked at me and said, “Before . . . before you, I was doing it for both of them, Stacey and Julianna, but lately it has been more for my daughter. I wanted her to have both her parents, a whole family. I didn’t tell anyone about us because I had myself convinced if Julianna knew about you, she wouldn’t let me see my daughter and push even more for a faster divorce. That is another reason why I left the military, too. If she fought me for custody, or wouldn’t agree to give me partial custody, she could say I was not dependable, and couldn’t provide my daughter with a stable home environment.”
“No judge would take away your rights because you are in the military,” I shook my head at that. I felt for this man, this man I loved even though he was breaking my heart, had already broken it. But, I had to know, and he hadn’t answered my question. “Victor, you still didn’t answer my question.” He looked in my eyes. “Do you still want to be with your wife?” Silent tears streamed down my cheeks.
He looked down and away. “For my daughter . . . ,” he cried.
I got up from the table. I heard his intake of breath. I turned from him.
“I can’t be the other woman. I love you, Victor.” I saw him wince in pain. “You know I do. But, I can’t.” I cried into my hands.
I heard his chair move and I felt him behind me then. He grasped my shoulders and pulled me close and even though every sense of my moral fortitude went against it, I leaned back into him to feel him one last time. He turned me around and wrapped his arms around me, “God knows, I don’t want to, I didn’t want to Monica, but I love you. I love you, too.” He took my face in his hands and kissed my breath away. He kissed me until the tears stopped and dried on my face, He held me close, so close that I felt every long lean inch of him pressed up against me. He held me like that for what seemed an eternity and we clung to each other because we both knew we were losing something so precious. We clung to each other because we knew that our happiness was lost. We clung to each other because we knew our love was doomed.
Fire In His Eyes Page 14
