An Irreconcilable Difference

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  It was in one of the brief lulls between “shows,” which amounted to three or four guys with lots of oiled skin in g-strings strutting across the stage to blaring music. I’d never seen a male stripper until that day. I’m not even sure how my mother knew the place existed, nor did I ask her. There were some things mothers and daughters didn’t need to share. I wasn’t really interested in broadening my social education. I think I agreed to her plan that day only because I would have agreed to anything as long as it didn’t entail spending the evening at home alone.

  The bar was located behind a big liquor store on Buford Highway and had all the atmosphere of the inside of a downtown telephone booth. It was dark and cluttered—although not crowded—and too loud, and the male dancers, although they were decidedly male, didn’t do a lot of dancing. The Chippendales would remain unchallenged. Drinks cost about as much as my mortgage payment.

  I’d had two drinks and Mother one when she said, “You’re the only one of us without a safety net, you know.”

  I was feeling the drinks, but I was a long way from drunk. “What do you mean?”

  She held up two fingers to the waiter. “Darren has Russ. Jana has Bob. Greg has Diane.”

  I thought about that while the waiter put our drinks on the table. I didn’t like the picture coming into focus. “I have you. And Jana.”

  “Is that enough?”

  “What about you?”

  She laughed. “I have a big net. Friends. Lots of friends. And a few men friends who would like to be more.”

  “Really?” I don’t know why I was surprised. Mother was an attractive woman. There was, of course, the fact that she was already married.

  “Really. Although that’s not going to happen any time soon. Still, it’s flattering to be pursued.” She took another tiny sip of her drink. “Your net’s a bit thin.”

  The alcohol was beginning to make me a little belligerent. “Maybe I should advertise in the Atlanta Journal.”

  “You could,” she agreed, “but I’d say you have a few people willing to jump into the gap.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, Diane is becoming a friend, I think, and there’s Jules. I think he’s very taken with you.” She looked at me out of the corner of her eye.

  “Mother, I’ve only been divorced—” I peered at my watch, “a little over three hours. Don’t you think that’s a little quick to get involved in a new relationship?”

  “Nonsense. That little get together at the courthouse didn’t mark the end of your marriage. It was over years ago.”

  “I know,” I gulped, and tears spurted out of my eyes.

  My reaction shocked me. I thought I’d done all my crying long ago. Mother didn’t seem at all shocked. She dropped some money on the table and hustled me outside. I heard her assuring the what—maitre d’? bouncer?—that we’d had a perfectly lovely time.

  It was the photo album day all over again. Every time I brought myself under some kind of control, another random and devastating image would assail me. I remembered when we bought our house, the look on Darren’s face when we officially put our key in the door and unlocked it. We walked from room to unfurnished room, both of us afraid to believe it was really ours, as we planned our future there—a future that was now ashes. I remembered his expression the first time he held his son mere minutes after he was born, that blend of love and wonder that lit him up from within. Then on Jana’s wedding day, when he placed her hand in Bob’s. Darren had seemed so lost and yet so proud. There were enough memories to keep me sobbing long into the night. Mother didn’t have to hold my head while I threw up, but she did hold a cool cloth to my burning eyes.

  I had believed I was prepared for the divorce. I thought I was over the death of my marriage. I’d a long time to wrestle with the knowledge and the feelings connected to it. That night only served to show me how good I’d become at self-deception.

  Later, much later, the phone rang. Mother answered it and handed it to me. Darren’s voice sounded as scratchy as my own. “Are you all right?”

  I sniffed. “Sure. You?”

  “Yeah.” Silence. “I’m glad Eleanor’s there.”

  “She was at the courthouse waiting for me. Is Russ—“

  “He’s here.” Another long silence. “Did you open the envelope?”

  I had totally forgotten the envelope. “No. Is it important?”

  “I think so. You can tell me what you think tomorrow.” He cleared his throat. “Lou, I—I wish…”

  “I know, Darren. Me, too.”

  I looked into Mother’s puzzled face. “He wrote me a letter, I think. He wants me to read it.”

  I dragged myself outside to retrieve it. She was waiting when I came back in. “Want me to stay while you read it?” she asked somewhat reluctantly.

  It was almost midnight. I knew she was exhausted—I certainly was—and I knew she’d be back at Bradford Manor early the next morning. “No.” I reached over and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for being here for me.”

  She studied my face. What she saw must have reassured her. “I always will be, sweetheart.” She held me for a moment before picking up her purse. “Call if you need me.”

  I leaned against the open doorway as she drove away. The night was clear and still. In another month, it would be alive with summer night sounds: crickets, frogs, cicadas. I looked up into the black sky at the stars. Some were moving. Airplanes heading soundlessly toward Hartsfield International. It was beautiful and refreshing after being cooped up in the house for hours, and I realized I was stalling.

  With more resolve than enthusiasm, I shut the door and went into the living room, where I dropped on the sofa and ripped open the envelope. A key fell into my lap. Darren’s house key. That nearly broke me, but I was determined to see this through like an adult.

  I pulled out a sheaf of papers, and it took me a full minute to realize what I was holding. The ownership papers on the house. Paid-in-full ownership papers. A notarized document naming me as sole owner. And a handwritten note from Darren.

  “Lou, don’t go thinking I wiped myself out financially to do this. The house had a 30 year mortgage, and we lived there almost that long.

  The house is yours. It always was, really. You’re the one who made it a home. You’re free to sell it, of course, but I selfishly hope you don’t. Enjoy it. God knows you deserve to.”

  I sat on the sofa for a long time listening to the clock ticking. I heard the groans and creaks of the century-old house as a kind of night music, so familiar they seemed a part of me.

  After a while, I rose and checked to make sure the doors were locked. Then I went upstairs and, within a few moments, fell into a dreamless sleep.

  * * * * *

  When I climbed out of bed nine hours later and slipped into my favorite ratty sweats, I felt absurdly good. No hangover; only a pair of swollen eyes to remind me of the night before.

  The day seemed magical. The sky was intensely blue, the air crisp and easy to breathe. Although it was chilly when I poured my coffee and took it out to the patio, I knew it would be warm by afternoon. We might have a bit more cold weather before late April, but it was decidedly spring in Georgia.

  I stood on the unglazed terrazzo patio and breathed deeply, my spirits soaring with the birds. I took in the dew on the grass, the smell of damp fertile earth ready to burst with new life. I sipped my coffee and felt the wonder of being alive.

  I spent a long time looking at the house. Not the house. My house. Mine. The word formed in my mind like an alien thing, barely recognizable at first, but then the concept began to take hold. Mine. I think up until that morning, I had always looked at the house as mine and Darren’s, or the family’s, but when I studied it that morning, I realized at bone level that it belonged to me.

  “Mine,” I said aloud, looking up at the weathered brick. A smile touched my lips as my gaze roamed the yard, taking in the sprawling oaks, the flower beds, the six-foot wood fence that enclosed the property.r />
  In that instant, I knew I wanted a dog. Maybe it was the fence that triggered the longing. We had a dog while the kids were growing up. Maddie, a golden retriever with as much heart as hair. Maddie was great company for me when Darren worked his long hours. She was my companion while Jana was at college and Greg played Mr. Popularity at school. When she died not long before Jana’s wedding, we never even entertained the idea of getting a new dog, but I realized with great clarity that I wanted one. Now.

  The thought surprised me. I wasn’t an impulsive woman and had never been. But maybe this wasn’t impulse, I thought, sipping my rapidly cooling coffee as I wandered the back yard. Maybe these thoughts—the dog, the new, sportier car—had been simmering under that surface layer of grief that was the end of my marriage.

  Two hours later, I presented myself at the DeKalb County animal shelter. Forty-five minutes later, I walked out of the building with Josie in tow.

  Josie was part golden lab, part Irish setter, a beautiful dog with a glorious coat that I knew I would soon be vacuuming off my carpet, and big gold-brown eyes designed to melt the most resistant heart—which mine was not. She was, at three years old, no longer a shoe-chewing puppy, and they promised me she was house trained. She was also neutered. Three things in her favor. She was a stray they had picked up and, when the time passed for her owners to claim her, she was put up for adoption. I would have a pet door installed, I decided, as I led the docile Josie to my car. She jumped into the back seat as if we had done this a thousand times. It felt right having her looking over my shoulder as I drove away.

  We stopped at Pet Smart to fill all her doggie needs. I almost left her in the car. After all, I had no idea how she would behave in public. At the last minute, I decided to take her into the store. I had the flimsy lead they had furnished at the shelter. Once inside, I was glad I’d decided to bring her with me. She was a perfect lady while I picked out toys and water bowls, a new leash and collar. She exchanged traditional greetings with the other dogs and grinned a tongue-lolling grin at all the humans. I made a tag identifying her, with my phone number engraved under her name. I was having so much fun, I almost forgot to buy her food. Fortunately a clerk, sizing up the situation accurately, sent me off in the right direction. Josie stayed close beside me.

  Once home, I had to wonder how anyone could have given her up. She followed me obediently through the house and into the back yard. She sniffed her way around her new territory, marking spots here and there, while I emptied the car. She was standing at the open patio door when I went to check on her, but she made no move to enter until I called her. Then she loped across the room and came to a stop at my feet, looking up at me. Could I have gotten this lucky? Could she be not only house trained, but obedience trained? Apparently she was, because when I got tired of her shadowing my every step and told her to go lie down, she obeyed, only getting up to change rooms as I tidied and dusted.

  Josie and I spent most of that day together, putzing around the house and yard and getting to know one another. She still had that kennel smell on her, and she was so big it was impossible to ignore. Once the sun warmed the day sufficiently, I got my shampoo and conditioner—recommended by Roger, of course, making a mental note to get her some of her own―and went to work on that glorious, smelly coat. Josie behaved beautifully during her bath, looking only a little insulted by the water and running frenzied around the yard as soon as it was over, chasing prey visible to her eyes only. I laughed at her until I could barely catch my breath. Then she collapsed on the patio, sides heaving, and let the sun finish the drying process.

  By evening, it was as if she’d always been there. After dinner, we settled in the living room, me on the couch with a book in my lap and Josie at my feet, seemingly asleep, but with one ear slightly raised as she listened for outside sounds. I put my bare feet on her back and rubbed her thick, red-gold fur with my toes, and realized that I’d not had one sad thought the entire day. Maybe I was on the mend after all.

  My heart was almost light the next day as I dressed for work. Josie, who had slept on the rug beside my bed, watched me with knowing eyes. As I slipped on my shoes, she jumped to her feet and started down the stairs at a run. I walked to the top of the stairs and looked down. She was sitting beside the front door, her tail thumping on the floor. “Sorry girl,” I said, understanding belatedly that she had thought we were going together. “Not this time.”

  She followed me when I put her food and water dish outside the back door. Her grin had faded, but she looked resigned to her fate. I gave her one last glance as I picked up my purse and headed to the door, trying to convince myself I was not a traitor.

  I felt the difference in the air the moment I stepped into office. There was an energy, and with it, a tension I’d never felt there before, the results of Klee doubling our business almost overnight. He had been out of town for two weeks but, although I hadn’t seen him, I’d heard he got back the night before.

  The place was bustling with strangers, new hires and borrowed bodies from other firms. Makeshift desks were pushed back to back without so much as a partition to define anyone’s space. Not that the new people were complaining. They’d take what space they were given and the paycheck that came with it. Nor, for that matter, was I complaining about my increased income. With the additional personnel on board and the paperwork they generated, I was working four days a week now, although not eight to five. More like nine to three, but it felt like full-time to me.

  I’d heard no rumors about Darren being gay. Not that I had my ear pressed to the architectural grapevine. Still, if rumors were floating around, surely I would have gotten at least a whiff of it by now. I didn’t want to care what might be said about Darren, but I did―which was one reason why Russ’s surprise visit three weeks later bothered me more than it might have under other circumstances.

  * * * * *

  I had only been home from work for an hour when a knock at the door brought a low-throated growl from Josie. The hair on the back of her neck stood up like brush bristles. It hadn’t occurred to me until that moment that she might be a watchdog. The thought pleased me.

  It was a little past four o’clock. On a sunny day, it would have been full daylight, but it had rained on and off all day. The sky was still heavy and dark, although the rain had stopped. In fact, the street lights had blinked on as I pulled into my driveway.

  I peeked through the spy hole in the door, and then swung it wide in surprise. “Russ?”

  The name came out rusty with disuse.

  The gloom of the day seemed reflected in his face. Little else had changed in his appearance. Unlike Darren, he was a surprisingly ordinary-looking man. Average height and build. Square jawed, with a full head of brown wavy hair brushed through with gray. Heavy brows of the same color. He looked like everyone’s neighbor down the street.

  Russ opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it. He took a step back as his eyes fastened on Josie. “Does it bite?”

  Like any dog owner, I resented having my animal referred to as an “it.” Maybe that’s why I couldn’t resist saying, “I don’t know. The opportunity hasn’t arisen. Yet.”

  Russ looked so pale that I took pity on him. “I don’t think so or she already would have attacked you.” I stepped back. “Do you want to come in?”

  He looked on the verge of refusing. I have to admit, seeing Josie through his eyes, she did look impressive. She was large for either a lab or an Irish setter. I wasn’t at all certain something else hadn’t made it into the mix. Although I saw nothing fierce about her, she might seem somewhat threatening to someone who was unused to dogs. As long as I’d known Russ and his family, they never had a pet.

  To make him feel better, I held Josie’s collar and took a few steps back from the door. After gauging the opening safe and wiping his feet on the mat, he entered.

  I led the way to the living room, and watched as his eyes swept over the room, pausing on the wedding album on the bookcase by the door. He
took in the family pictures on the mantel and then involuntarily looked at my left hand. I fought the urge to shove it in my pocket.

  It was odd to have Russ in my house. He and Darren had often worked together as architect and general contractor over the years. From bits and slips, I’d learned from Darren that Russ was as surprised at being gay as Darren himself. It was something he’d discovered after his wife’s death. He had been a devoted family man. I knew that myself. I had witnessed him nurse his wife through her bouts with chemotherapy, while making certain his children were cared for. It can’t have been easy, with his eldest being a moody teenager and the twins so young, but he never complained or tried to shove off the less pleasant duties onto someone else.

  According to Darren, after his wife died, Russ realized he couldn’t imagine being with another woman. It was years before he made the giant leap and realized he wanted to be with a man—my husband, to be exact. To Russ’ credit, he never acted on his new knowledge in the seven years following, either convinced that Darren was happily married or fearing the loss of a friendship—or both. It was only when Darren’s feelings changed and Russ picked up on it that the two of them got together.

  I didn’t hate Russ anymore, but neither did I want him as a close friend. What we had was a truce, untested as yet. We hadn’t spent a moment alone together since I’d found out about him and Darren. Whatever brought him here, I knew he felt it was important.

  I don’t know if Josie was picking up on my feelings or had formed her own, but her hair remained bristled.

  “Sit down, please,” I said, motioning to the couch, awkward again. I took the chair across from him, with Josie tense beside me.

  Russ was watching Josie as closely as she was watching him. “I guess you think it’s pretty—odd of me to come here.”

  “Of course not,” I lied.

  He dragged his eyes from Josie to me. “Lou, I’m really worried about Darren, and I don’t know who else to talk to.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two