The Ever After

by Sarah Pekkanen

  When her sobs eased, Sonya spoke again. “Keep it simple, but tell them the truth. That you and Daddy need a break.”

  “They think Frank hurt his back and that’s why he’s sleeping on the couch,” Josie said. “That’s what I told them, anyway. But the other night Zoe crawled into my bed and wanted him, and she started to get upset, so Frank came upstairs and lay down in her bed with her until she fell back asleep. I heard her asking why he could lie in her bed but not in the big bed. I don’t know how he answered her . . . The girls have to know something is going on.”

  “They probably do,” Sonya acknowledged.

  “Should I use the word ‘divorce’ when I tell them?” Josie asked.

  Sonya’s eyes seemed gentler than ever; looking into them felt soothing. It was as if Sonya was trying to transfer some of her own tranquillity to Josie.

  “I would not use that word until you are certain you want a divorce.”

  Josie nodded. “I’m not one hundred percent certain yet. But I think I’m moving in that direction.”

  • • •

  Josie sat at the kitchen table in the darkened house. The only illumination in the room came from her computer screen. It was eleven o’clock at night, but numbers were keeping her awake.

  Therapy was expensive. Frank’s new apartment was expensive, even though it was a small studio. They’d been saving a little every month for retirement, but they’d have to cancel those automatic withdrawals now.

  Josie could go back to work full-time—assuming she could even find a job after so many years out of the workforce—but it would be a big change for the girls, on top of everything else. Plus by the time she paid for a nanny and transportation and new work clothes, she’d probably end up netting so little that it wouldn’t be worthwhile.

  Josie looked at the budget she’d been creating in a spreadsheet. No matter how many times she tried to find a chunk of fat to trim off, she came up short.

  She turned her head at the sound of a floorboard creaking. Frank was approaching the doorway, wearing athletic shorts and an old T-shirt. It had a hole in the collar.

  “Um, can I get you anything?” Frank asked. By now he knew not to ask how she was doing; her icy responses had trained that instinct out of him.

  “No,” she said. She could feel the rage coming off her in waves. It seemed like a tangible thing; an angry red force in the room. She wondered whether Frank could feel it, too.

  “I thought I could leave early tomorrow and pick up the girls from school,” he said. “Give you a little time to yourself.”

  “Fine.” She bit off the word.

  He reached up to scratch his head with his left hand and she caught a glimpse of gold against his dark hair.

  “Take off your wedding ring,” Josie ordered.

  “What?”

  “You touched her while you were wearing that ring. Get it off. Now I don’t ever want to see it again.”

  “Can I get another one?” Frank asked.

  She turned back to her spreadsheet, willing him to leave.

  Then she heard a muted sound, almost like a hiccup.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Frank whispered. He wiped his face on his bare forearm and she struggled against the urge to get up and tear off a paper towel and hand it to him. “Please, will you help me? I know I shouldn’t ask that and I don’t deserve it, I don’t deserve you or the girls. But I am so lost without you.”

  He’d definitely lost weight. His shirt hung on him. And maybe it was a trick of the dim blue light, but deep shadows seemed etched under his eyes.

  “I didn’t feel anything for her,” he said, his voice breaking. “You are the woman I love, the only woman I have ever truly loved. If I could go back . . . God, I never would have done it. I can’t believe how much I hurt you. I feel sick. I despise myself.”

  “Why?” Josie asked. It was the only question that seemed to matter now.

  “I don’t know,” Frank whispered. “You’re so much prettier and kinder and better than she is in every way. I never really wanted to be with her. That’s what scares me . . . I have absolutely no idea why I did it.”

  He didn’t make any move to come closer. Josie had the sense that he wasn’t trying to sway her. It seemed more like he was in a confessional, revealing his deepest truths. His raw honesty smoothed the rough peaks of her anger.

  They hadn’t talked like this in years. Even when they’d gone out for date nights, their conversations had revolved mostly around the logistics of running their family. Josie didn’t know when or how it had happened, but they’d stopped sharing intimate pieces of themselves long ago.

  “I don’t know if I can ever get past this,” Josie said, trying to match his honesty with her own. “Sometimes I think I want to, but other times I feel like I would remember it every single time I look at you.”

  “I understand,” Frank said. “I think of it all the time, too. When I’m at work I imagine you in the house and I wonder what you’re doing and if you’re crying or hating me or both and I start beating myself up again.”

  She hadn’t thought about how Frank might be suffering, not even once, Josie realized. She’d been too focused on her own pain.

  “I found a counselor,” he said. “I thought I should make an appointment for myself and try to figure things out . . . One thing I’ve realized is that we were growing apart before this happened.”

  At her sharp intake of breath he quickly added, “That’s not an excuse and I’m not blaming you for anything. It’s all on me. I just meant I don’t think I noticed it until . . . I mean, I think I felt disconnected and that’s part of the reason why I was able to do all the horrible things I did. I need to fix myself, Josie. I know it might be too late for us, but I need to do it for the girls.”

  Josie slowly nodded. She didn’t want Frank to leave and end the conversation, not exactly, but she also didn’t want to prolong it.

  “The counselor . . .” Frank hesitated. “Would you consider coming with me?”

  Josie sighed. “Let’s just see how things go.”

  After Frank left the doorway, she sat there for a moment. Then a deep exhaustion abruptly crashed over her. She closed her computer and crept upstairs, feeling her way through the darkness. She reached her bed and crawled into it, and she fell asleep almost instantly.

  • • •

  The creak of the front door opening woke Josie a little before five in the morning. She rolled over in bed to nudge Frank awake, remembering at the exact same moment that her arm landed in the empty space beside her that he wouldn’t be there.

  She climbed out of bed and hurried to her window, which overlooked the front yard.

  Frank was heading down the walk, toward his car. He wore jeans and a down coat, and his hands were buried in his pockets.

  Josie watched him get in his Honda Civic and drive away slowly, then she walked downstairs. His bedding was folded at the end of the couch. He’d left a note on top of it: I got an early start today. I’ll be home at 6. Love to everyone.

  He couldn’t be going to a work meeting, not this early and certainly not in those clothes. Frank had begun to exercise more regularly in recent weeks, but he wasn’t carrying a gym bag.

  Something else was off; a clue nagged at Josie.

  She realized what it was when she went into the kitchen. Frank’s hands had been buried deeply in his pockets. He wasn’t holding his coffee mug.

  Perhaps he’d avoided brewing a pot because he thought the noise and aroma might wake her. He’d been awfully quiet this morning; if it hadn’t been for that unavoidable creak of the door, Josie might have slept straight through until her alarm at seven. By the time she’d have showered and gotten the girls up and dressed and headed downstairs, it would have been closer to seven thirty. Frank hadn’t put a time on his note. Had he wanted her to assume he’d left later than he actually had?

  Possibilities whirled through her mind. Josie didn’t believe Frank was sneaking off t
o meet Dana; he was too determined to fix their marriage, and he would have known this would seal its demise. But he could be meeting Ron, Dana’s husband. Josie had read an article on Huffington Post about a woman whose husband had discovered her affair and had tried to burn down the house of the other man. Ron had seemed so mild-mannered on the phone. But sometimes those guys were the ones who ended up exploding; maybe Ron was now threatening Frank somehow.

  She began to search through the house, looking for the familiar red case of the iPad Frank was so attached to. She found it wedged between two cushions deep in the sofa. Perhaps he’d been using it last night before he’d gone to sleep, and it had fallen into the crack. Or perhaps he’d deliberately hidden it.

  She opened the cover and tapped in the pass code, which she knew since the girls occasionally used the iPad. Then she called up all the open pages on the device.

  Frank had been on Amazon, and he’d checked the score of last night’s Bulls game. He’d also looked at his emails.

  Josie stared down at his in-box, feeling an unsettling sense of déjà vu. There was an unfamiliar woman’s name, right there on the front page.

  Josie jabbed at the line with her index finger to open the email.

  Sunrise service begins at 6 a.m., a woman named Kerry had written. Please don’t forget you’ve signed up to bring donuts. Her automatic signature contained her title and the name of her organization.

  Frank had begun to attend church.

  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  * * *

  Eighteen months earlier

  ZOE NEEDED NEW SHOES. It was a simple errand, a quick round-trip to the mall. They’d be home within an hour—two, tops, if the girls badgered Josie into stopping at Build-A-Bear or the candy store that was cannily located just across from the children’s shoe store.

  “Izzy, where are your socks?” Josie asked. She was in the kitchen, packing up the diaper bag. Izzy was newly potty trained, which meant she had an accident every few days.

  She didn’t expect Izzy to respond. Izzy was two, and she had the focus of a gnat sometimes.

  “Let’s hurry, girls!” Josie called, knowing her admonition was falling into a void.

  “Iz? Zoe?” Josie walked through the house, finally locating Zoe in her room. She’d changed out of her shorts and T-shirt. Now she was clad in a Little Mermaid bathing suit.

  Josie felt a hitch in her blood pressure. She had a dentist’s appointment at two; a filling had fallen out of her back tooth weeks ago and she was just now getting around to having it replaced. And her tank was almost empty, so she also had to stop at the gas station on the way or she might not even make it to the mall.

  “Sweetie, come on.”

  “I’m ready!”

  “No, you’re not. You can’t wear a bathing suit to the mall.”

  “Yes I can! Everyone does it!”

  “No! The police won’t like it,” Josie said, wondering where the bizarre warning had come from even as she said it.

  Zoe walked over to her toy chest and pulled out a puzzle, accidentally scattering its pieces over the rug.

  “Zoe! We don’t have time for puzzles! I need to get shoes for your sister!”

  Josie threw open a dresser drawer and found a soft blue skirt.

  “Here.” She shook it in front of Zoe. “Wear this over your bathing suit, okay? Zoe, put down the puzzle and move it!”

  Josie grabbed a T-shirt out of the drawer, intending to wrestle Zoe into it before they went to the mall. Then she discovered Izzy in the kitchen, playing with Huck’s kibble while Huck watched with sorrowful eyes.

  “Oh, Izzy, yuck, here, baby, let’s wash your hands.” She lifted Izzy up and held her to the sink, using her raised knee as a stool and reaching with one hand to twist on the tap. She felt a painful twinge in her lower back.

  “Here’s the soap,” she said.

  “Do it self!” Izzy howled. It had been her favorite phrase for the past few weeks.

  Josie knew independence was an important developmental phase, but the process would take forever. “No, I’m doing it!” she said, grabbing the bottle of soap out of Izzy’s hands and squirting a dab into them. She ignored Izzy’s outraged protest as she rinsed the suds and then she carried Izzy to the door, scooping up her sneakers along the way. Izzy could survive without socks.

  “Zoe? We are leaving. Right. This. Minute.”

  Five minutes later—naturally Zoe needed to go to the bathroom—they were finally settled in the car, and Josie was sweating. It was mid-July, and the sun had turned the vehicle into an oven.

  “I’m hot,” Zoe whined.

  “It’s going to take a second for the air-conditioning to kick in,” Josie said. Her shorts had hiked up and the cloth seats felt itchy against her thighs. It was only ten o’clock, but she was exhausted.

  She wondered what Frank was doing right now. He’d left for the office around eight, wearing a shirt that was crisp and fresh from the dry cleaner, whistling as he’d walked out the door. She knew Frank’s job wasn’t easy—he was constantly schlepping around, meeting with doctors and other health care professionals—but at least there was a little dignity to his stress. He didn’t have to passionately argue with a toddler about whether he could help her wipe her bottom on a daily basis.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  Josie had planned to return to work when Zoe was four months old. She’d been working as director of accounts for a public relations agency, which sounded more glamorous than it actually was. She was still putting together mailings, just as she’d done when she’d started at the company, but instead of stuffing envelopes, now she was in charge of helping to coordinate branding and taglines on the glossy materials that went into the envelopes.

  She’d found a good day care for Zoe, run by a trio of women who seemed capable and kind. But as the final day of her maternity leave approached, Josie found herself more and more reluctant to return to the office. She knew Frank wanted her to stay at home for at least the first few years of Zoe’s life. Frank had said he’d accept whatever decision she made, but it was clear where his preference lay. His mother had left her job as a librarian when her oldest son was born, and Frank wanted to replicate that experience for their children.

  Since Frank made about twice what she did, the subject of his becoming a stay-at-home dad never came up. The ideal solution would have been for each of them to work part-time, but they didn’t even bother proposing it to their bosses; it was an impossibility.

  As it turned out, Zoe never spent a single morning in the day care. Josie gave up her spot to a woman on the waiting list. She handed in her notice at work and told Frank she’d think about going back after a year. But that year turned the corner and approached two, and she and Frank began trying for another child. They had a miscarriage before Izzy came along—an event so bleak and painful that Josie always had difficulty talking about it—which made them all the more grateful for their second daughter.

  But the whole point of her quitting to be a stay-at-home mom had gotten blurry somewhere along the way. Josie had imagined building forts out of the dining room table and a sheet. She’d thought she’d spend lazy afternoons reading to her children before they took long, rambling walks around the neighborhood, discovering the magic in flowers and wiggling worms.

  Never in her fantasies did she see herself like this: ten pounds overweight and having snacked on a few semisweet chocolate chips immediately after breakfast, brushing sweaty hair out of her face while she drove two cranky kids to the mall.

  In two months, though, everything would change again. Izzy would start going to preschool three days a week and Josie would have regular blocks of time to herself for the first time in nearly seven years. She’d been fantasizing about those breaks, imagining that she’d go to the gym, build up the little business selling educational toys that she’d begun just a few months earlier, and finally organize her home. But right now, September seemed like a mirage.<
br />
  She pulled into the mall parking lot at the exact moment that she realized she’d forgotten to stop for gas.

  • • •

  “Pronated?” she asked the shoe salesman, who was frowning as he stared at Zoe’s feet.

  “See how they turn in?” he said. “Sweetheart, walk down to the door and then come back.”

  Zoe obeyed. Josie had never noticed it before, but now she saw. “How do we fix it?”

  “Orthotics,” the shoe salesman said. “They’re like custom inserts for her shoes that will help train her foot to stay in the right position. Does your insurance cover it?”

  “I have no idea.” Josie sighed and tried to think of what to do next. “I’ll call them. Should I hold off on getting the shoes?”

  “Yeah, you’ll want to go up at least a half size or so because the orthotics will take up room. And you’ll need to have those made first. There’s a guy I can recommend who works at a place in the city. He works with a lot of our customers.”

  “Okay,” Josie said, accepting the card the salesman pressed into her hand. The store was busy, and he hurried off to help someone else as she called, “Thank you.”

  A simple errand had sprouted into three: she had to phone the insurance company (the last time she’d called she’d been placed on hold for more than fifteen minutes); take Zoe into the city to have the orthotics made; and then buy new shoes.

  “Want Build-A-Bear,” Izzy said.

  “No!” The word came out more sharply than Josie had intended. She softened her tone. “You can each get a tiny bag of candy—five pieces only—but no eating any until after lunch.”

  “I’m hungry now,” Zoe said.

  “It’s barely eleven,” Josie started to respond. But the girls had been awake for hours, and Josie felt hungry, too. “Fine. Let’s go to the food court.”

  They stopped by the candy place first, and after only one minor catastrophe—Izzy spilled Starbursts all over the floor when she tried to scoop them by herself—they made it to the food court.

  Josie bought them all slices of pizza and cups of lemonade, then they settled in at a table.