by Luke Lively
“Do you want me to step out while you check them?” I asked, assuming she would want her privacy.
“No,” she said. “It’s Scott.” Her boyfriend had left a string of messages. After playing all of them, with me standing by her, she picked up the phone and dialed his number. “Scott, here’s what I need to say—I’m with who I want to be with now. Never call me or come in the shop again. We’re over, so over. Good-bye, Scott.”
After years of teasing and lust, we finally consummated our relationship. I did not get home until 2:00 A.M. Tina didn’t ask why I was late.
I don’t think she cared.
While I promised to make every effort to be with Cassie, my marital exit strategy took much longer than expected. Cassie did not like keeping our relationship a secret. I still loved Tina but without passion, something I never divulged to Cassie. At the time, I wanted to be with Cassie but was not willing to give up my reputation and the financial rewards I had struggled so hard to obtain. But, I still had to see Cassie—I was addicted.
I began to lie to Tina in order to spend more time with Cassie. It was one of the few times in my life that I reduced the number of hours I was at work. Finally, Cassie was demanding I leave Tina. Instead of going to the office on Saturdays, I would go straight to Cassie’s apartment and stay there all day. On a Saturday, October 28th to be exact, Cassie confronted me with a choice.
“I’ve given you my heart,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you for years and you’re still with a woman you say you don’t love, but you go to bed with her every night. I’m at my breaking point. It’s time to choose—me or your wife.”
We talked for hours. Finally, I told her what she wanted to hear. “I’m going to leave Tina,” I said. “I’m going to tell her tonight.”
“If you don’t, Jack, we’re over,” Cassie said. “I can’t wait any longer.”
“I understand,” I said. I drove back home. It was getting dark. Halloween decorations were up throughout the neighborhood.
“Is this the last time I’m going to drive home?” I asked myself, pulling into the driveway. Surprisingly, no one was home.
I stepped inside and found a note.
The past will never die until we bury it.
—BENJAMIN FRANKLIN PRICE
12. Where Have You Been?
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Tina sobbed through the phone.
“That doesn’t matter right now—what happened?” I nearly shouted. Tina had left a note telling me my mother was ill and was taken to Jefferson Hospital. Tina had gone to the hospital to be with her. Jessica and Joshua were at one of our neighbors. I was alone with my guilt in the kitchen.
“Your mother got really sick and called me,” Tina said. “I called for an ambulance. She’s in intensive care. They think it’s a stroke.”
“I’m coming,” I said.
I had spent very little time with my mother over the years. The demands of work, Tina and the kids, and Cassie had kept me busy. I turned on my cell phone and saw that Tina had left ten messages. I listened to each one. I felt sick knowing where I had been, what I was talking about, and now, seeing what was happening.
I put the emergency lights on and drove to Jefferson running through red lights, trying to make up for lost time. I called Cassie on my cell phone.
“My mother is in the hospital,” I said. “She’s had a stroke.”
“Do you want me to come be with you?” Cassie asked.
“No—that’s not possible now. I’ll call later.”
My guilt was churning. I drove faster.
I crashed.
The velocity of the air bag had smashed my glasses into my face. I felt blood trickling down like tears. I looked around and realized I had run into the side of a black Chevy Tahoe. Running the red lights had caught up with me.
As I got out of my car I heard the angry voice of the driver of the Tahoe. He was screaming at me. I then saw the blue lights of a Philly police cruiser.
“What happened?” the officer asked me.
“My mother is at Jefferson. She had a stroke. I was trying to get there as quick as I could and I must have run a red light. It’s my fault. But please, I need to get to the hospital.”
After a few minutes, I was sitting in the police cruiser. The officer took me to Jefferson. “You need to get those cuts on your face checked, Mr. Oliver—your glasses cut you pretty badly when the air bag hit you.”
“I will,” I said. “But I’ve got to see my mother.”
Getting off the elevator I saw Tina. “What happened to you, Jack?” she said as she walked toward me.
“I was in a wreck driving here,” I said. “Where’s my mother?”
We walked back into the intensive care area. A nurse gave me a towel to wipe the blood off my face and led me back to my mother’s room.
She was unconscious, with tubes and wires connected to monitors. Tina stepped into the room beside me as I stood and looked at my mother from several feet away. Tina then walked over to the opposite side of the bed and held her hand.
My mother looked small and tiny, like a child in a king-size bed. In my few infrequent visits I could tell she was looking thinner, but she was getting older, I had reasoned. I always told her to call me if she needed anything. But she never called—neither did I.
The tubes and monitors created a soundscape of drips and beeps in the room. I finally stepped to her bedside. I reached out and held her hand—the first time I could remember holding her hand in mine. The nurse reentered the room. I stood until the nurse asked me to move while she checked the gauges and tubes. I didn’t want to let go.
After the nurse left the room, Tina asked, “Are you all right? You look like you need to get those cuts bandaged. You may need a couple of stitches.”
“I’m all right,” I said. “This doesn’t seem real.”
“I’m sorry I was so nasty on the phone. I was so worried. Your cell phone was off. You weren’t answering in your office. I didn’t know where you were.”
I didn’t say a thing. I hoped Tina would change the subject. She did.
“I’m sorry. I know you have a difficult job. I worry about you, Jack. I don’t want to see anything happen to you. I love you.”
Standing at the bed holding my mother’s hand, I couldn’t look at Tina. If I had not been here, I would have been in the process of telling her I wanted a divorce. Instead, I was here. Not knowing what else to say, I said, “Thanks, I appreciate you being with my mother.”
“Do you want me,” she hesitated, and then said, “to stay while you get someone to look at your cuts?”
“No—why don’t you go back home and be with the kids. I’ll stay here with Mother.”
“Are you sure?” Tina asked.
“I want to be alone with her—please,” I said.
“Okay, Jack,” she said as she walked around the bed and put her arms around me. I didn’t move. “Call me later. Promise?”
“I will,” I said. As Tina was walking out of the room, I said, “Tina, I—I want to thank you—I mean it.”
“I know,” she said. “I love you.”
I turned my head back toward my mother. “Ditto,” I said, feeling lost for words.
I stayed at my mother’s side, moving a chair beside her, still holding her hand. I did not know what to do. Father Romano had been at the hospital when she arrived. Her condition was so poor; he administered last rites. She had not been awake since then, and was clinging to life. I was clinging to her hand.
As I sat beside her, the regrets that had been lingering below the surface began to rise. I felt tears beginning to fill my eyes. I gulped and leaned my head back, taking a deep breath. No tears, I said to myself. My father had jumped off a bridge, taking his own life. He said he was worried I would be like him. At that moment I knew what he meant and was afraid he was right.
Now I was sitting by my mother, blaming myself again for what was happening. No one else was in the room. I stood to brush back her hai
r from her forehead. I leaned over the bed and kissed the top of her head.
Still leaning close to her ear I whispered lightly, “Mom, I’m so sorry for being a terrible son.”
I choked back the tears and guilt of forty-plus years and said, “I love you. Please don’t leave me now, Mom, please. I’m going to change. I promise. Please don’t die. I want to make you proud of me. Don’t leave me here alone.”
I cried.
I sat back down in the chair, tears streaming down my face, holding her hand. I sat for several hours not moving, listening to the whir of the monitors. The exhaustion and pain caught up with me.
I fell asleep.
The nurse tapped me on the shoulder and stirred me.
“I’m sorry—I must have fallen asleep—I’m exhausted,” I said groggily. “I must have just dozed off.”
I immediately noticed two other nurses entering the room. “Mr. Oliver, I’m sorry, your mother is gone.”
“What?” I said. “Gone?”
“She passed while you were asleep,” the nurse said.
I stood and looked at her—I was still holding her hand. I had never let go. My heart, whatever was left, broke apart.
I’d never felt so alone.
The nurse escorted me into the hall. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked. I felt numb. I knew I had to call Tina. Then I remembered Cassie. Even in my sorrow I had conflict.
“Is there a phone—in a private place—I need to make a couple of calls,” I said.
The nurse led me to a small office at the end of the corridor. “Take your time, and if you need anything, I’ll be at the nurse station,” she said, closing the door.
I called Cassie.
We always have a choice to make.
—BENJAMIN FRANKLIN PRICE
13. Where Are You Going?
“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Tina asked.
“I need some time alone,” I said.
“Now? You’ve been in a car wreck—your mother died—you need to be here at home!” Tina said through her tears.
“I’ll be back,” I said. “Trust me. I need some time alone.”
I drove to Cassie’s apartment.
The pounding on Cassie’s door awakened us. My heart began to race.
I knew who it was.
“I know you’re in there Jack!” Tina screamed. “I know about you and your friend. If you don’t let me in, I’ll wake up everyone in the building.”
We struggled to get dressed. I felt like I was in a nightmare but could not wake up. Cassie stayed in the bedroom, and I opened the door. Tina’s hand landed firmly on my already bruised cheek, knocking my glasses across the room.
“You bastard! How could you do this? Your mother died, and you go to your whore for a shoulder to cry on.”
I stood still—frozen like a statue, afraid to respond. The door remained open, allowing anyone nearby to hear the end of my marriage.
“I want to talk to your friend. I know all about her. Did you think I was stupid, Jack?”
“That’s not going to do any good,” I said. I heard the bedroom door behind me open.
“If you’ll shut the door and not attack me, we’ll talk,” Cassie said in a very unemotional voice. I was still looking at Tina. She reached back and slammed the door, leaving the three of us standing in the living room. I decided to not move, keeping a barrier between the two.
“I knew you couldn’t help coming out of hiding,” Tina said. She shifted her gaze back to me. “So this is what you’re giving up me and your children for? You’re giving up everything you worked for to be with her? I want to hear it from you—now!”
Before I could say anything, Cassie said, “I’m sorry you found out like this. I really am. But we love each other. You two have been over for a long time. Your marriage didn’t work. It’s time we’re honest. Right, Jack?”
“I don’t want to hear anything out of you,” Tina said, pointing her finger at Cassie. “It’s funny you said our marriage didn’t work. Jack is married to his work—his career comes first. If you think you’re going to get anything better you’re a bigger fool than even what I think am! Tell us, Jack. Is she what you want? Are you going to change the way you’ve been to spend time with her?” Tina growled a sarcastic laugh that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Answer me, Jack Oliver. Be honest for once in your life!”
I couldn’t respond. I did not know what was going to happen next. I expected the worst and got it.
“Do you love her?” Tina asked. “Honestly, that’s all I want to know.”
The word “love” was something I rarely used. I used the word much more in reference to my work—not in relationships. Now—with the question hanging in the air—I could not connect to the meaning.
“I don’t know what I feel about anything or anyone right now,” I said. “I just lost my mother—both of you forgive me for thinking about something else right now.” I turned to Cassie. “I’m going home to talk to Tina—I’ll talk to you later.”
Before I could turn back toward Tina, she was walking out the door saying, “You can have him. You two belong together.” I still had my back to Cassie who was standing looking at the open door.
“You’re not going over there now, are you?” Cassie asked as I put my jacket on.
“I have to,” I said, still not exchanging even a glance. “I’ll call you.”
“I’m sorry all of this happened,” she said. “But you must make a choice. You can’t have two lives.”
“I know,” I said.
Returning home I did not know what to expect. Tina was sitting in the kitchen, her hands holding up her head while she leaned over the table, staring downward. I wanted to say I was sorry, but she spoke first.
“We’re over, Jack.”
“Is that what you want?” I asked. “Honestly?”
“Honestly? That’s a word you don’t seem to understand the meaning of. Why are you asking me what I want? You have what you want. Go for it.”
“I didn’t want this,” I said. “You quit caring about me. You acted like I didn’t matter anymore.”
“You’re blaming me? I don’t want to hear your excuses,” she said, lifting her head up and looking at me. “I don’t want to hear anything. I can’t believe I was such a fool. I thought you would change. I thought your power trips were confined to work. But that ego of yours just has to keep being fed, doesn’t it? I’m sure she’s not the only one you cheated with.” She paused a moment. “I just have one question—did you tell her you love her?”
“No,” I answered, not knowing what love really had to do with what was happening. “I still love you, Tina.”
“Love me? That’s funny, Jack. So that’s why you spend all of your time away, never talking to me about anything other than your power—how together you are, how people respect and admire you. Love is something you share, Jack, not something you do to yourself. I don’t want to argue anymore. I’ll get an attorney tomorrow. Then we can discuss how much you are going to lose. I am sure that will keep your attention.”
The thought of losing everything I had worked for had my attention. Not Cassie. Not my mother. Not my kids. I felt like everything I had built was being destroyed. If I lost it all, my life was a waste. How could I lose what I had earned—what I gave to my family to make their life better? How was this fair?
“Go ahead and get an attorney,” I said. “That’s what it comes down to. All you care about is money—the house—everything I’ve bought for you! You don’t care about me.”
Tina began to laugh hysterically. “Oh, it’s me that wanted this house? It’s me that wanted the cars? It’s me? Who are you trying to fool? I’m sorry your mother is gone, I really am. I loved her. She had a hard life. But here is some honesty for you. Do you know why she never told you she was sick but she told me? Do you know why she never told you anything about how she was feeling? It wasn’t because she was mad at you. It wasn’t because she was hurt. She didn’t tell yo
u because she didn’t want to bother you! Can you believe it? She wanted for you what you wanted so badly all of your life—to be a success! She didn’t want you to worry or be distracted, just get what you wanted. Well, I’m not going to make the same mistake. I don’t need all this stuff you’ve worked so hard for, but I’m going to take it so you remember how you’ve hurt everyone. Get out, Jack, now. This is my house. You gave it up. It’s the price you’re going to pay for your success.”
I left my home without saying another word.
That’s how I got here.
The small apartment felt more like a prison than a safe haven. I had refused to move in with Cassie, despite her urgings. “I need space,” I kept telling her. Space? Why would I want space? I had lied. I was lonely, but not for her.
I had taken, not given, all my life. I was truly reaping what I sowed.
The relationship was no longer convenient. Cassie was not what I was looking for, I realized in the haze of too much alcohol and minimal sleep. I used her, just like almost everything and everyone I had met in my life—to get what I wanted.
I felt nothing.
I still have a choice to make, I thought to myself as I allowed the exhaustion to have its way.
Benny needs an answer.
If you fail to accept change you’ll fail.
—BENJAMIN FRANKLIN PRICE
14. Why Won’t This Work?
“WHY WON’T THIS WORK?” I asked my father.
I rarely dreamed—or at least remembered dreaming. Especially dreams about my father. After he died I had a few recurring dreams about him. He never spoke. He would walk into my office and look at me. No expression or words. He would just stare, watching me. I would wake up almost immediately with a feeling he was still alive. I wanted to ask what he was doing, but my dream always ended without words.
