by Felicia Lynn
“Cams, if we’re going to have guns in the house you need to know how to operate them. I’m trying to teach you, pay attention,” I tell her while her eyes are pinned to my Glock 19, full of intimidation.
“I just don’t want to.” She pouts, as I pullout the clip and pull back the slide showing her it’s empty.
“I understand, but you need to. I will feel better knowing you know how to handle this thing. I travel. When I’m not home to protect you, you need to be able to do this on your own. Please, just touch the damn thing,” I beg and she finally complies holing it in her hand and looking more closely at it. “Good. Feel the weight. Get used to it.”
“Okay. Now what?” she questions still uneasy but a little better.
“Now I’m going to load it, and teach you to aim at that target at the end of the line,” I tell her quickly before she has a chance to change her mind. I load the gun. Setting it on the counter. I move her to the counter and stand behind her, instructing her on her stance and how to hold her arms. “I’m going to be right behind you,” I tell her knowing she’s nervous but feeling sure I’m doing the right thing. “Pick up the gun and hold it up like I tell you, pointing down the range.”
After her first lesson, she learned that she actually enjoyed shooting with me occasionally. It became a fun night out for us. After a short while she became a pretty great damn shooter. I was proud of her but more importantly, she felt empowered.
After we started having kids those date nights at the range became fewer and fewer. It’s been years since we’ve been together. I still go pretty regularly to blow off steam.
She’s staring down at the Glock 19. Her very own Glock 19 with a Tiffany Blue handle and silver slide. Her initials engraved in the handle. “You bought me a gun?” she asks confused. Not understanding the whole thing quite yet.
“Yes, I bought you your own gun, so that we can get back to some of the things that we used to enjoy together,” I tell her as she continues to stare at it while I wait eager to know if Phase II was a shitty idea. “You used to enjoy shooting with me. At least you told me you did. Was that true?” I ask her remembering her comment about having to ‘suck-up’ things she hates and wondering if I misjudged and this was one of those things.
“I did love shooting with you. It was one of my favorite date night activities, you know that.” So she did like it, that’s a good start but why does she seem apathetic about it now.
“So tell me, why you’re not happy,” I ask.
“I don’t have time for this anymore. When do you think I’ll have time to ever use it?” she replies with a tone that implies I should’ve known the answer. But I’ve thought through that.
“You’re going to use it on date nights. Starting next week, every Friday mom’s coming over to watch the kids while we go out, have dinner, catch a movie, go shooting, or whatever else we decide to try,” I tell her, leaving no excuses. “We need time together too, and the kids will be spending time with grandma which they love. Everyone wins.”
“Every Friday night will be date night?” she asks, making sure she understood it correctly.
“Yes, every Friday night, I will come home from work to find my mother here, playing with the kids and my wife waiting by the door to go on an adventure.” She looks up at me taking in this new idea. “We can do whatever you want. It doesn’t have to be shooting, if you hate that idea. We can go out with your friends if you want. Cams, I really don’t care WHAT we do on date night. I just care that we actually DO whatever you choose, together. It’s my only request,” I finish.
“So much has changed in the past day, Drake. Things are a little weird right now. Of course I’d love to have a date night with you weekly, and I love going to range. Truly. But why all the changes? And why is all happening so quickly?” she asks me bluntly. Leaving me unsure of how to respond. How do I tell her that I panicked after reading her journal the day after we had the blowup argument? How do I tell her that losing her would kill me? How do I tell her honestly that I’ve realized the failure I’ve been as a husband and want to spend the rest of my years making it up to her, if she’ll just let me?
“The morning after the fight, I woke up from my drunken slumber in the playroom. When I came downstairs you and the kids were gone already. I went to our room to get dressed for work and saw that you never slept in our bed. It bothered me that not only did WE sleep apart that night but you couldn’t even sleep in OUR bed. I knew things were seriously fucked up, I just didn’t realize how much until I found your blanket on the chair in your office. I knew you slept there. I picked up your blanket just to smell it, I needed to see if it smelled like you.” I pause, searching her eyes for any insights into what she’s thinking. I get nothing. Her face is devoid of any emotion. I continue. “Your journal fell out onto the floor. I opened it not to read it but just to see your writing. It was a connection to you and I felt like you were slipping through my fingers. I wasn’t going to read it but I saw the spots with blurred ink and knew it was from your tears. I wanted to know what I had to do to stop your pain.” She’s glaring at me, and I knew if the day came that I’d have to admit I read her journal that I’d get this reaction. I just honestly didn’t expect to have to confess so soon.
“You read my journal?” she asks, already knowing the answer. “You thought that was an acceptable way of getting the information you needed?”
“No, I knew it wasn’t the best way to get the information. I admit that Cams. But you wouldn’t talk to me. I was losing more and more of you every day. We were both walking on eggshells. I needed to understand, and I needed to get to the bottom of it quickly,” I tell her and the unmoving stare is beginning to scare me so I talk faster, hoping by the time I reach the good part, she’ll forgive me.
“What I didn’t know going in was that I was soon to figure out that your sadness I thought was solely from the loss of our child, was inaccurate. I was the biggest issue and it started long before you lost the baby.” I pause hoping my admission to my faults makes up for reading the journal. “So I made a list.” I stand going to the top drawer of my chest pulling out the folded paper, now full of notes and ideas, phone numbers for the arrangements I’ve made and so on.
I hand her the list. “These were the things you said. These were the things that I knew in order to keep you, I’d have to fix. But Cams, it’s not that I want to fix these things only so we could stay married. I just want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy. I just wanted to be the guy who could do it and although reading the journal was wrong, at the end of the day, would you have told me these things if I would have asked you?”
She sits staring at the list. When she looks up at me the anger I saw moments ago is slowly dissipating. “You shouldn’t have read that, Drake.” A single tear sliding down her cheek. “I understand why you did it, but it’s wrong.”
I reach to pull her into my lap, hoping to somehow not lose the connections that have been built over the last twenty-four hours. She allows me to hold her. “I’m sorry, Cami. I’m really sorry that’s how I handled it instead of coming to you to talk. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you how I knew what we were lacking. It all happened so quickly because I realized how long you’d been struggling. In my mind it’s not happening quickly. In my mind, babe, I’m really fucking late and it’s all long overdue.”
“Why can’t you be a normal husband that buys flowers when he screws up?” she asks sitting back on the footstool in front of me.
“Did you want flowers? I’ll buy out every florist in town.” Now that she’s brought it up, why the hell didn’t I think of flowers?
She smiles and reached over pinching my thigh. “Ouch!” I exaggerate hoping to earn a sympathy vote.
“I wouldn’t have told you these things had you asked. We could have had a million conversations and I would have probably danced around these issues all night. But Drake, some of these things are typical. When women become moms and wives, their priorities change and it’s n
ot terrible. I may have lost a little of myself in taking on all that I do for the family, and at times I may feel a little resentful, but what I gain is still far superior to what I’ve sacrificed. You see these things as something to fix and are trying to find solutions to giving me back a life that will take away from my priorities.” I move to sit up a little straighter, welcoming the open chat. “Some of the things, I admit need to be worked on and we will. This isn’t an all or nothing deal. Don’t you understand that?” She looks down at the list, and points to the first line.
- she thinks I don’t see her
“This one is big! I do think at times, WE get stuck in our routines. I think WE forget to take time to spend with each other just talking about what’s happening or whatever. You have a very important job of supporting our family and you do exceedingly well at it. Look around this place. I am always busy doing things kids related or taking care of my wifely duties. I think this is a two way street. You’re placing all the blame on yourself but at the end of the day, I know it’s on me too. If I made the effort, you wouldn’t deny me. It’s easy to blame yourself, but I’m grown up enough to know that’s not how it works.”
Chapter 17
Cami
Am I shocked? Not even a little. I know Drake better than he knows himself. I didn’t know he’s read my journal, but I would have figured it out eventually. It was a stupid thing for him to do because his interpretation of my entries makes it appear as if I had numerous complaints about him. But that’s the thing with journals, it’s completely one sided.
I point to the next line item he selected.
-she thinks we’ve changed
“We have changed, Drake. We change more and more every single day. Some change is hard to deal with but it’s natural. We’ll change a hundred more times before we leave this earth. I’m okay with most change. I mean, so far I’m pleased with your new outlook. But that’s the thing, are you changing for me or for you?” I ask directly, seeing that he’s thinking about it trying to answer for himself.
“I recognized some faults and I,” pointing to himself, “Wanted to make it right. I know it’s hard to believe but I haven’t felt better than I do right now, in years. Maybe I didn’t know what I needed when I developed this plan. Maybe at the time I was doing it for you, but now…I need it for me too.”
“I agree, I like the time with you. I even like that we’re spending this time talking honestly about this stuff. But you need to know, I don’t need a ton of huge gestures for me to know you care, or that you love me.” I point on the page to all his notes of things to do. “I just need you. It’s pretty simple.” I point to the next line.
-she’s forgotten who she is.
“I haven’t forgotten who I am completely. I have forgotten some of the parts of me but I’ve replaced them with new things. Some things I miss. I miss seeing friends more often, I miss going to the beach, I miss traveling, and I miss hanging out with you doing stupid things like shoot guns.” I wink, pointing to the case. “But I wouldn’t trade those things over reading time with the boys, or braiding Aubri’s hair and attaching a crown to her head. I would trade anything for the moments we’re all six at the dinner table. Life’s about tradeoffs. Sometimes you have to give something up to get something better.” She lowers her brow scowling at me. “But you should know that already, business man.” I point to the next line.
-she has no time for herself.
“Well… I think we’ve already addressed this. So we can probably move on.” I tell him. But he holds up his hand halting my progression.
“What are the things you miss doing the most for ‘you time’?” he asks, and it’s a tough question but a few of the things I miss more than others.
“I miss reading. I miss listening to live music. I miss adult movies in the theaters. I miss date nights with my best friend.” He smiles.
Got a plan, babe. You’re covered,” He says proudly.
I point to the last one knowing there is nothing in the world he can do to fix this.
-her fears consume her.
“My job as a wife and mother is to take care of you crazy bunch of people. My fear of something happening that could harm you all, is real. It’s realistic. Bad things happen. Just a few years ago I watched my Alexis lose her husband. Two months ago, I lost our baby. A week ago, Whitney got beat up by a crazy man and ended up in a coma. There was nothing anyone could have known or done that would have changed the outcome of any of that. I worry. It’s what I do. Sometimes my fears do consume me, but that can’t be fixed, it’s part of my job description.” I finish, putting the paper aside.
“Okay, I get it.” Four words. That’s his response.
“I’m a little concerned that whole exchange only warranted four words, Drake,” I say frustrated.
“You have a way with words, babe. I understand completely. I’m not however cancelling any of my, what did you call them? ‘Huge gestures’. They’re still on. As is date night and time for yourself and anything else WE can do together to make sure we’re not sacrificing for the needs of the family at our own expense. But you understand all of that already because, as I just learned, life’s about tradeoffs, sometimes you have to give something up, to get something better. I’m going to incorporate that into our corporate business model, by the way. Thanks to your advice to an average at best, business man.” He says before throwing in a wink and finishing with, “And I love you. So. Fucking. Much.”
For a solid thirty minutes I thought I made him get it, from my perspective but he turned the tables on me. So now that I’ve seen the list with all the phone numbers and plans written in code I know that more ‘changes’ are coming our way in spite of my best efforts. But really, who am I kidding? So far they’ve all in been pretty incredible. I should probably just roll with it.
Chapter 18
Drake
Let’s be honest, that was almost a complete fucking disaster and somehow we got passed it and we’re able to have a very long overdue chat. There’s still more work to be done and I’m not getting derailed from the plan. Phase II is still in effect and I’m ready to go.
“Okay, gorgeous. You ready to go hit the road?” I ask knowing it’s nearly eleven o’clock, neither of us have eaten breakfast, we have to get food and have two stops before we scoop the kids at three-thirty. I stand up waiting for her to follow suit, holding out my hand.
She stands, taking my hand and it feels so normal. I can’t restrain myself from twisting her around into my arms. I wrap my arms snugly along her lower back and lift her to me, kissing her beautiful lips. “Thanks for the talk. I feel better about things. We’re working on things. This is good,” I tell her, not letting my gaze fall from hers. “And mostly, thank you for not killing me with your brand new gun when I told you I read your journal.” Grinning, unable to avoid the moment of smugness.
She’s one tough cookie though. She has no idea how tough. As always, meeting my sarcasm, “That was really poor planning, Mr. Adams. I’m fully questioning your sanity, right now.” And I can’t argue with that point at all.
“Come. Let me show you my better planning side.” I drop her to her feet taking her hand and leading her out of the house with our cases in the other hand.
The gun range in the middle of the day is quiet. We’re all alone in the range and we’ve each gone through a few targets and a couple boxes of ammo. After years of not picking up a gun and shooting, I’m over the damn top impressed with her skill. I taught her well. Although in this case I fear the student has surpassed the master. I wouldn’t want to be up against in her a duel.
I finish my rounds and stand aside observing her focus. Her stance and technique is perfect. But it’s hard to focus on that and not her impressive little ass in those cut off shorts. Climbing into her this morning felt like coming home in way more ways than one.
I slide the note out of my back pocket, and unzip her gun case putting it right on top for her to find when she puts the gun away. I wasn
’t there to see her reactions to the other notes. I really want to see her find at least one. I know she’s finishing up her last clip so I busy myself wiping my own gun down not to bring any attention to the fact that I’ve been creepin’, watching her attack those targets with the precision and skill of an avid shooter.
She presses the button releasing her target and turns holding it up to me, proud of her work. I can’t help but to show her my own target and the couple of mishits off to the left. I fake a pouty sad face with puppy eyes but it has no effect on her. She just laughs while tossing an insult, “I can’t help it if you suck. You should practice more. But clearly I only need to practice once every seven years to retain my skilllzzzz.” She’s feisty and playful. I like it. I want more.
I laugh off the statement not wanting to interfere with the next moment. Standing aside and watching as she opens the case and her surprise when she sees the note. She smiles as she reads it quickly.
You are stronger than any bullet. You’re the only person capable of hitting this target on my heart. Your love gives my life meaning. I love you.
“Awww…I love you too,” She says placing the gun in the case and coming to my side of the wall where she awards me with a very nice kiss. I’m doing this mushy shit more often, I’m thinking to myself, just before she tosses in, “I think I’ll get you a job writing those little valentines. You’re really showing your talent in that department.” Then walks away to her side of the wall taking my balls with her.
“Umm…Wife… Are you trying to tell me I’m losing my masculinity with all of this mushy shit?” I ask, walking up behind her, leaning into her backside, rubbing my junk on her to help her remember.
The little moan I receive before stepping back and flipping her around and pulling her into me, front to front, tells me she knows all too well. Her eyes are filled with want. Good. That means that when I attack her tonight, she’ll be ready and won’t put up much of a fight, although I’m completely up for a good match.
