How Does a Moment Last Forever?

by Jenna Michaelson

  Macy and Naya never knew anything was wrong with Zane, and if they did pick up on anything, nothing was ever mentioned to me. Daddy was still Daddy, and he never let them see how he was truly feeling. He tried to hide it from me, but I know him by heart, plus I was grieving too, but in entirely different ways.

  When we were alone, he didn’t want to talk and would retreat back into his own little world. He had plenty to say, but I believe he was trying to spare me any more pain. To reveal the extent of his grief would be to reveal feelings for Chad he’d believed buried.

  But, I’m inquisitive by nature, and the more you try and hide something from me, the more I want to know.

  I’m pragmatic if nothing else, and don’t believe in deluding oneself. I knew deep down what was in his heart, in his mind, because I know my husband like the back of my hand. I remind him of that on occasion when he gets a little too self-assured. He looks at me without uttering a single word. Knowing I can read him like a book is something he doesn’t find comfortable at all.

  Has anybody ever forgotten their first love? I know I haven’t, and nor did he. He just had to admit that to himself if nobody else.

  Yes, their friendship took over any sexual relationship they may have had, but only a fool would believe feelings between the two weren’t lingering and a fool I certainly wasn’t.

  The feelings were still there, bubbling just under the surface, and on occasion, when I allow it, thoughts pop into my mind wondering what would have happened if Chad hadn’t died.

  Would my marriage have lasted the course?

  I can’t say that any more than any person reading this can for certain. Life throws curve balls at us we don’t see coming and being totally honest, if Zane had come to me and said his heart belonged to Chad, I wouldn’t have been surprised. I don’t think I’d have suffered any lasting heartbreak either. I would have accepted it, having come to terms with their relationship ages since.

  I tried to get Zane to open up before the funeral, but it was an argument I wasn’t going to win. At first, he flatly refused to go. It was a battle I really had no energy to fight, but I was determined and just had to find out why he was so opposed to attending the funeral.

  Organised religion bothers him to the point he refuses to allow me to take our children to church, insisting they decide for themselves when they’re old enough, so it could have been that. I always have to drag him kicking and screaming to events that would bring him in close proximity to a church, and for the most part, nothing will convince him to attend, meaning he’ll show his face to the party or the wake, not the service itself. If the girls are invited, he’ll happily bring them along later, but only to an appropriate event. When I think of him and his aversion to churches, I think of the scene from The Omen when Damien Thorn kicks and screams as his family drive up to the church and park outside.

  Friends and family know his views and how he won’t be swayed from them, so now, although his name appears on the invite, it’s expected for me to be flying solo.

  But this time, church was the last thing on his mind.

  Something else occupied his thoughts – fear of facing Melissa and being forced to deal with her grief alongside his own. I totally understood this fear, but it was one he had to face.

  He was sitting at his desk when I confronted him.

  “You’re going,” I told him, refusing to back down. “Because you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Jen.” He always had a problem with authority.

  “In this case, I am telling you,” I argued. “He was your best friend and the last thing you can do for him is pay your respects. End of.”

  He banged his hands so hard on his desk, papers were blown in different directions and the cup of coffee he’d been drinking flew off and dropped to the floor, smashing and spilling liquid everywhere. I jumped. Scared of being burned by the coffee, and his unexpected reaction.

  Tears that had been threatening to fall for days still wouldn’t come, and I knew that if he had any hope of stepping foot out the door and saying goodbye to his friend, he had to open the floodgates and face up to his grief.

  Fed up with taking the brunt of his internal rage, I rushed into the sitting room, grabbed the picture of Chad and pushed it under his nose.

  “Go away, Jen,” he said.

  “Look at it,” I begged.

  “I don’t want to. Now take it away and leave me alone.”

  “This is my house as much as yours and if I want to stand here, I will.” Childish, I know, but by this time, I was desperate, trying to find any way I could to bring him crashing back to reality.

  I placed the picture on his desk and without looking, he swiped it away, watching it crash to the floor. The frame smashed, the picture wet from the spilt coffee.

  Briefly, he looked down, and I could see that tiny flicker of regret. “You’re not the only one hurting,” was my parting shot. I left the picture where it was and walked out.

  I should have known Zane would pull away from me again and retreat into his own world to deal with his problems.

  Well, not this time, I thought.

  If he lost himself again, there was no safety net, no Chad to help me pull him back, so who would take the place of the man he loved, lost, found again, then lost so tragically?

  I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to find out.

  I recognised this pattern of behaviour all too well and didn’t like it.

  As you know, we did attend the funeral together, but it was like I was accompanied by a ghost. Zane was there physically, but spiritually and mentally, he seemed absent. It was one of the best performances of his life. Smiling when he needed to, he did everything but face up to the occasion itself.

  I noticed he never looked at the coffin, not once during the whole service. He may have been facing the right way, but his gaze was averted. Denial was easier than facing reality for most people and he was no different.

  We don’t often speak of that day, as it’s hard for both of us, but reading this, he’ll know, he never fooled me for a moment. There’s always a price to pay for denial, and mark my words, he will pay for it tenfold, maybe not now, but when he least expects it.

  Chapter Two

  Hurting Melissa and dragging her into the affair is something I deeply regret. I was being selfish and wanted somebody else to feel the pain I was feeling.

  Looking back, my actions were driven by jealousy – Chad wasn’t going to take Zane away from me, and I wrongly believed Melissa would stamp her feet and drag her husband back to his rightful place and keep him there.

  Hearing Chad’s words that night in the woods wounded me to the core. I’d heard him tell Zane he loved him before, but I thought they were only words. That time, they stabbed me through the heart – my whole body felt cold as ice.

  I’d made plenty of mistakes in allowing the affair to continue, but never thought it would go beyond sex. I was naïve to think otherwise and it’s only now, with time behind us that I see the depth and strength of their connection, their bond, still unbreakable despite the distance death has forced upon them.

  But that was before I got to know Chad, before I began to love and care for him as a friend and extended part of our family.

  I charged into Melissa’s life like a runaway train and smashed it to pieces. Now, I would think twice before dropping the bomb and causing untold devastation.

  She didn’t deserve it, but then again, she didn’t deserve to be lied to by the person she loved most. Neither did I, but as you all know, I did my fair share of deceiving too.

  It was about a year after the funeral, and Melissa texted me out of the blue to say she was on a short visit from America and would really love to catch up.

  I didn’t consider us friends, as the handful of times we’d seen one another had been in either difficult or traumatic circumstances, but now, I think of her as a kindred spirit – the only other person who really knew what it felt to
have the ultimate betrayal thrust upon her. I swiftly replied to her text, telling her it would be lovely to see her.

  We’d arranged to meet the following day in a pub called The Boathouse, which is situated on the River Dee in Chester.

  The weather was glorious – blue skies and sunshine, but I was unbelievably nervous, wondering what she wanted to talk to me about.

  She walked into the bar, and I distinctly recall, she looked out of place, uber glamourous, like an actress from one of those glitzy American soap operas, exquisitely styled, not a hair out of place, a face that was beat for the gods (My gay friends tell me this is a good thing!). Quite simply, I felt underdressed and a little frumpy if I’m honest, but it was good to see her nonetheless.

  “Hello,” I said, nervously, standing up to greet her. I wasn’t sure whether to hug it out or wait for her to take the lead, but I decided to go for it and hugged her anyway. She embraced me in return.

  “It’s good to see you, Jenna,” she said, her accent distinctly more American than I remembered.

  “You too,” I replied.

  We took a seat opposite one another and waited a few seconds for the waiter to take our drinks order.

  “You look well,” she said. “How are you?” Her complexion was sun kissed, and the natural blond streaks in her hair looked good. I was so envious. I needed a holiday and some pampering time.

  “I’m well but never mind about me. How are you?” I looked into her eyes, and despite her outward appearance I could see how she was really feeling. The pain lurked behind those alluring eyes of hers, like a shadow she couldn’t step away from. I didn’t know if it was women’s intuition, or something only another woman who’d shared similar experiences would see, but her response caught me totally off guard.

  “I’ve been better,” she replied. “I thought being back here would help me feel closer to him, but all it’s done is bring everything back and I’ve spent the last few months trying to forget.”

  I was stumped as to how I could respond. I got my happy ever after and she got her husband back, in an urn.

  What was I supposed to say when it was my husband who was partly responsible for the pain she was going through? It wasn’t Zane’s fault Chad had died, but maybe if he hadn’t sent that message after so many years, sparking that devastating chain of events, Chad would still be alive, and Melissa would still be living in blissful ignorance. What ifs wouldn’t help, but it was difficult not thinking along those lines.

  “I’m so sorry,” was all I could manage. “I don’t know what to say to make anything better, or if anything can, but I’ll do all I can to help you.”

  “Was my whole life a lie?” she asked. “Because that’s how it feels.”

  “No,” I jumped in. “Your life wasn’t a lie – I know he loved you very much, but…” Why did I say but? He had a love for her, but he told me he wasn’t in love. I thought to myself. I knew right then she would latch onto that one word.

  “But he loved Zane, right.” Her chin wobbled, and I was scared she was going to lose it.

  Shit. But it’s only what I’d have concluded if the roles were reversed.

  How was I going to change her pattern of thought?

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Melissa, forgive me.”

  She took hold of my hand as the waiter brought the bottle of wine with two glasses.

  “Thank you for saying so, but we both know it’s a lie, and that’s the part I’m struggling to reconcile. Why did he go through the façade of marrying me when he was still in love with Zane? I don’t understand, and he isn’t here to explain it to me. Chad could have found him so easily – found out if there was still a chance for them, but he didn’t. He pretended to be straight and I need to know why.” She looked unbearably sad, crushed by the hand she’d been dealt. “When Chad was alive, I was too angry, too hurt to listen to what he was trying to tell me, and now it’s too late.” She took out a tissue and dabbed at the corner of her eyes, just like you see people do on television. Dignified and graceful even in the face of adversity. “Nobody cares if you’re gay or bisexual these days, it’s just life, so why didn’t he live his life the way he wanted without dragging me along for the entire performance?”

  “I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. I wish I did.”

  “But you were good friends, he told me.” She looked right into my eyes. “He must have talked about me.”

  “Yes, but I swore never to break his confidence. He confided in me about stuff I’ve never even told my husband.” I poured the wine, knowing one bottle wasn’t going to be enough, and then, my run of bad luck continued as my phone began to ring. It was Zane.

  Chapter Three

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” She glared at me.

  “It’s Zane, I don’t…”

  “I don’t care if you answer it, he’s your husband.” And there it was, the bitterness and rage still there, bubbling caustically away underneath, fighting its way to the surface.

  “It’s not that,” I said, feeling ashamed. “I didn’t tell him we were meeting.”

  She shook her head. “Didn’t you learn anything, Jenna?”

  Her condemnation crushed me. But, she was right in what she was saying. Secrets and lies destroy relationships, and mine was getting back to where it was before. Sorry, I mouthed, standing up and rushing out the door.

  “Hi, darling,” I said, trembling.

  “Where are you?” he asked. It was always the first thing he said to me when we spoke on the phone. Never hello, or how are you, but where are you? It drove me mad – if I didn’t know any better I’d swear he’d been raised by cavemen.

  “I’m at The Boathouse down on the Dee.”

  “Oh,” he replied, and I could hear his curiosity piqued. “What are you doing down there?”

  “Look,” I said, “Please don’t go mad, but I’m meeting Melissa for a drink and a chat.” My confession was met with silence. “Zane. Are you still there?”

  “As in Melissa Mitchell?” was his curt response.

  His response pissed me off. “You know damn well which Melissa I’m talking about.”

  “So, why am I only hearing about it now?” I knew him well enough to know he was furious.

  “I don’t have to report my every movement to you. We’re married, but I’m not your prisoner.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” he asked. His voice was quieter than usual, and I knew that was him trying to maintain his temper.

  “Because I knew you’d try to talk me out of it, that’s why.”

  “The woman hates me, Jen. What else would you expect me to do? Get a grip and use your brain, will ya?” he yelled, his temper unchained. “You’re not fucking stupid.”

  My blood was boiling. I wouldn’t let anybody talk to me in that manner, let alone my husband. I knew he was hurt for him to speak to me as disrespectfully as he just had, and when he feels that way, he lashes out vocally. He can tie a person into knots with words which is why he is so successful at what he does, but I wasn’t going to be called to the witness stand and face interrogation from the prosecution. I’d witnessed him in action when working and it was terrifying how eloquent and articulate he was, but underneath, calculating, and like a deadly cobra, ready to strike. Still, if he was brave enough to face the wrath of a woman, especially this woman who wasn’t to be dismissed, he was going to get it both barrels, then he could rush off with his tail between his legs and think about the fact he was acting like a prized prick.

  “Don’t you dare swear at me,” I retaliated, thankful he wasn’t in front of me. Had he been, my fist would have connected with his big mouth. “You were raised better than that.”

  “Then don’t lie to me about where you’re going, and who you’re seeing, and I wouldn’t be mad enough to swear.”

  I was thankful the girls were at his mum’s house. We made a deal never to let them see or hear us in conflict. Still, I was furious with his attitude and lost my
own temper. “Well, fuck you,” I screamed back at him. “If you want to behave like a spoilt brat, go for it, but I’m here and don’t intend to leave, so get used to it,” I screamed, disconnecting the call.

  He called straight back, as I knew he would. “Jenna, don’t you dare hang up on me…” On and on he went, the air turned every shade of blue. I hid my mouth behind my hand and tittered to myself. Zane doesn’t swear as a rule, hates it with a passion in fact, that is unless he’s raging mad, so I knew steam would be coming out of his ears and he’d be pacing the ground floor of our home like an Olympian. I didn’t care, but still I couldn’t get the image out of my mind and had to stifle the laughter threatening to erupt.

  “Go on, act like a child and stamp your feet a bit more,” I said, feeling a sense of pride at knowing how much I’d pissed him off. I knew he’d be seething because I hung up on him.

  It was the worst thing I could have done -- anybody hanging up on my husband will immediately earn his ire. To him, it should be a criminal offence, so just to rub salt into the already gaping wound, I listened briefly to more of his ranting and replied with what I consider a quite unladylike response then hung up again and turned my phone off. That would teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

  I made a mental note to text my mother and ask if she could have the girls overnight as I knew there would be World Wars three, four, five and six when I got home. Strangely enough, I was ready for battle. He started it, but I’d make damn sure I finished it.

  Zane has never been the moody type and can’t stand atmospheres, but whilst it’s rare for either of us to hold a grudge after a disagreement, I was hopping mad, and would find a way to make his life miserable if he insisted on telling me who I could and couldn’t see.

  I paced around outside for a few minutes, trying to calm myself before I had to go back inside the pub to face another angry person. I needed a cigarette – desperately. But I wouldn’t. I’d given up years before and the only time I’d smoked since then was when our marriage was at breaking point.