“I think it’s wonderful that you care so much about your brother, but you don’t have to worry about him. I can take care of both of you. I promise we’ll all be okay. Now that you’re not doing anything with your dad today, what would you like to do?”
“Well, I’d really like to see Jenna. I haven’t seen her for so long, and I really miss her. Can I invite her over, and can we pick her up if she can come?”
“Yes to both, cutie-patootie.”
“Oh, Mom, you and your names!”
“What’s wrong with my names? They’re good names; they’re funny names; they’re special names!”
“Oy.” We laughed, and she went off to call Jenna, her dear friend from her old school.
I heard the TV show ending in the family room, and I walked in and said to Sam, “I was thinking, since it’s such a beautiful day, we could go to this new corn maze I heard about. It sounded neat. I think they even have a hayride there, and they make their own apple cider.”
As I spoke, Elli walked in, saying that Jenna could come over. “Can Alex come with us, too?” Sam asked.
“I can call Kara and see if that’s okay.”
“Yeah! Gimme five!” Sam slapped my palm and raced upstairs, almost knocking his sister down the steps.
An hour later, we were on our way. There was just enough nip in the air to let us know that the seasons were changing. The girls helped me manage the boys through the corn maze, we went for a long hayride, and we made and ate candy apples. Luckily, it was a day without injuries or battles. By the time we walked to the van, I had four tired kids who were juggling a few pumpkins, several sacks of apples, and a couple of jugs of fresh apple cider. The sun was just setting as we pulled off the highway a few miles from home. The van had not been feeling quite right the entire drive back, but then, just as I got off the highway, it lost all power and I drifted onto the shoulder. By then, the temperature was dropping precipitously. I had a broken-down van with four tired and hungry children in it, and I had very little battery power left on my cell phone.
Oh, shit, I thought, trying to drown out the four voices behind me. I didn’t know who was saying what: “What’s wrong, Mom?” “Why did we stop?” “Call Daddy.”
Although I did not want to call Charles, I knew I had to. We didn’t have AAA. I had always had it when I was single, and we had continued to have it for years, but recently Charles had refused to keep paying for it. We had towing coverage only on our auto insurance. And now it was a Sunday evening and I had to find someone to come and tow me.
I called and I called and I called Charles, leaving message after message after message on his cell phone, his office phone, and our home phone. Part of me still wanted Charles to rescue me, to be there for me, as he had in the early days, though those days were quickly fading into the dark recesses of my mind. I tried reaching my dad. He wasn’t home, and he didn’t have a cell phone. I finally called Kara, Alex’s mom, and she came with a charged phone, by which point my phone was dead.
“Keep the phone with you, and don’t worry about the kids,” Kara said. “Rob was ordering pizza as I walked out the door, so everyone will be fine. You have the house phone number, but here’s Rob’s cell number, too. Call when you get towed, and I’ll come pick you up.” She hugged me, then turned to the back and gathered everyone into her van. Elli didn’t move.
“Mom, I don’t want you sitting here by yourself,” she whispered anxiously.
“You and Jenna, go with the boys. I really will be fine; a tow truck will be here soon. I want you to go.” I hugged her, and they left.
About two hours later, I reached my dad. I had not been able to get a tow truck. He drove over and helped me unload the van. We locked it up and went over to Kara’s house to pick up Elli, Jenna, and Sammy. Fortunately, there was no school the next day, so being off schedule was not so terrible. I would deal with the van in the morning. I could tell that my dad’s distress about what was going on was increasing but that he was trying very hard not to say anything.
Charles never responded. He never asked what had happened. He never even asked where the van was when he got home at eleven o’clock that night. He just wasn’t interested. Of course, that would change when he saw the bill for a new transmission.
Later, our attorneys asked us to give them lists of people they could call to testify, if needed, to our individual competence as parents. I gave a list of names to Cal, after making sure that the people I listed were okay with my giving their names. Charles, on the other hand, just gave a list and didn’t ask anyone. Kara was one of the people he put on his list.
One day, as Kara and I sat at her kitchen table while Sammy and Alex were having an army battle in the other room, I told Kara that her name was on Charles’s list.
“You mean he put me on his list without asking? I guess it shouldn’t surprise me.”
“I thought you might want to know,” I told her.
“Well, actually I’m glad. I’d be happy to testify for Dr. Mandel. I have a great number of things I’d like to say that will give the court a clear understanding of the kind of devotion he has for his children.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“I would love to tell them about that frigid night when he refused to respond to your calls for help when your car broke down and you had four children, including two of his own, in the car, and they sat there for over an hour before I came to help you.”
NOVEMBER dragged on. I remained unable to stop reading the e-mails that Charles left out. She’s despicable; I can’t stand the sight of her; hearing her voice makes me sick—these were just a few of the things that he wrote and I read. I was still trying to understand what was going on; why did he hate me so much? I still felt out of control inside, although on the outside the lack of control wasn’t showing. There were no more rages and only occasional sarcastic comments on my part.
When Charles’s birthday arrived, Victoria and his other “muses” made him a party in his DC office. That morning before he left for work, he was unusually friendly. It angered me, but I said nothing. The kids wanted to make him a birthday dinner, and so I agreed that we could.
Charles was becoming increasingly strange. I called him throughout the day to find out when he was coming home and to make sure he would be home for dinner. When I finally reached him at about four thirty in the afternoon, his response to my comment on how hard it was to reach him was to say, “Mercury is in retrograde, so all communication is hard.” He said he would be home by six thirty.
Charles did arrive home at about the time he’d said he would, he did put on the birthday hat the kids had put at his place setting at the table, and he was polite, but he was so tired that he could hardly keep his eyes open. We had not been at the table very long when he said, “Thanks for a great birthday dinner. I’m so tired, I’m going to go downstairs and just have some quiet time.” He gave each kid a quick hug and, in a detached, spaced-out sort of way, got up and went down the stairs.
A bewildered silence permeated the room; then Sam bolted from his chair and ran to the top of the stairs. “Daddy, you didn’t even open your presents.” He stomped down a couple of steps and called, “Daddy!” If Charles heard Sam, he didn’t respond; he had closed the door behind him.
Sam ran back to the coffee table, where the children had placed gifts for their father. He grabbed the package he had carefully wrapped, and, before anyone could say anything, he stomped on it and kicked it across the room. There lay the wooden bird-house that he had so carefully painted, smashed, splinters of bright colors lying across the dark wooden floor.
Sam burst into tears and ran upstairs to his room, slamming the door behind him, Elli looked wide-eyed at me and ran up after her brother, and I followed behind them. I found Elli sitting on Sam’s bed. Sam was buried under his covers, crying, and Elli was sitting and rubbing his back, saying, “It will be okay, Sammy. Dad’s just being dumb. He’ll be sorry when we just don’t give him presents anymore.” She kept
rubbing her brother’s back. Other than Sam’s quiet sobs, there was silence for what felt like a very long time.
Then, slowly, Sam’s dark curls emerged from under the covers. His eyes were puffy and red. “Why doesn’t Daddy love us anymore?” He looked at me, waiting for an answer.
It was very hard to look at the pain in his eyes, as well as in the questioning face of his sister. I knew I had to distance myself from my own anger, my own pain.
I took a breath, moved from the rocker, and sat on the bed. I pulled both of them close. “I don’t have all the answers. I don’t understand a lot of what Daddy has been feeling lately or a lot about why he has been acting the way he has been acting. But there is something I do know. Your dad does love you as best as he can. Right now, for whatever reason, he might not be able to show it the way you would like him to, but it’s because he’s not able to. I want you both to know that it has nothing at all to do with either of you. People sometimes have problems dealing with their feelings. I think Daddy is having a lot of confused feelings right now, but I do know he loves you.” I hated him for doing this to my innocent, beautiful children.
“He has a funny way of showing it.” Elli rolled her eyes.
No one spoke. We sat in silence. Charles and I had not talked about separation with the kids, but I now knew that it was coming very soon. I also knew that I might have to tell them first and on my own. His instability was more and more obvious. His moods shifted up and down, depending on whether he and Victoria were “on” or “off ” on any given day. Perhaps his birthday party had not been as wonderful in fact as it had been in fantasy.
“Hey, you know, just because your dad wasn’t up for a party doesn’t mean we should let a great chocolate cake go to waste. First one down gets extra icing.” I smiled, and all three of us got up and rushed down the stairs to the kitchen.
Sam was subdued, but we were all enjoying our cake and milk, when suddenly Charles walked into the kitchen. “Hey, no one invited me for my own birthday cake?” He laughed.
I was uncertain whether I detected some sheepishness in his voice. More likely, that was wishful thinking.
“Should we open some of those presents that I saw in the living room?” He winked at Elli just as she turned her head away.
“Would you like some cake?” I offered, seething that he was playing head games not only with me, but now with his own children. I needed to get out and get the children out. Living in this house of lies was crazy-making for all of us.
“Hey, Sam must have had a pretty busy day—look at him!” Elli and I turned as Charles walked around the table and knelt down on the floor, gently picking up Sam, who was fast asleep.
“Come on, guy,” he whispered softly. “Let me get you into bed.” He gently lifted him up, and as he carried him, he turned and said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
It was at those moments that I saw the old Charles. The problem was, I didn’t know whether that person had ever been real.
Chapter Twenty-Six
ALTHOUGH THE HOUSE WE NOW LIVED IN WAS SPACIOUS, the layout felt confusing and “schizophrenic.” The shades of pewter-gray sky filtered through random windows and made odd and disconcerting patterns on the walls. Sounds echoed off the high ceilings. The multiple staircases up and down gave me a feeling that dangers lurked in hidden places. Perhaps it was just my state of mind. I had felt so comfortable, so nurtured, in our old house; now I had no sense of protected containment. I didn’t feel as if I had a home. Of course, I didn’t have much energy to get things organized now, nor did I want to do that, since I now knew that this place would be temporary. Had I known what I now knew, I never would have agreed to the move from our house on St. John’s Lane.
I always had liked the fall, knowing that Thanksgiving was coming. Until the previous year, when I had been in treatment and we had spent the holiday with Allyson and Harry, I had always enjoyed planning a festive meal and inviting family, friends, and anyone who had nowhere else to go. This year, I didn’t have the energy. This year, it was enough just to get through each day.
“I spoke with my parents this morning,” Charles announced when he returned home from the office late one evening. “I invited them for Thanksgiving. Have you invited your dad yet?”
Usually my responses came quickly, spontaneously. It wasn’t that way anymore when I spoke to Charles. There was a long, drawn-out silence. Then I said, “No, I didn’t invite my dad. He was invited to his friend Lydia’s, and I told him that he should go there because it would be more enjoyable for him. It really is too much for me to be making Thanksgiving dinner, Charles. I would really rather not have company under the circumstances.” I paused, avoiding looking directly at him.
“Well, we could go to a restaurant so you don’t have to cook,” he said.
“The truth is, Charles, I really don’t feel like entertaining. I would prefer not to have company at all. You have been very clear that you have no interest in being with me, yet you want to pretend that we’re a family for Thanksgiving? I’m sorry, I don’t want to do that.”
Charles looked incredulous. “You don’t know how to show any gratitude, do you? After all that my parents have done for us, you can’t even make Thanksgiving dinner. You are unbelievable!”
Even though I knew that everything Charles said was a distorted projection of his own feelings, I wound up questioning myself, feeling guilty and feeling like I was being bad, just as Charles wanted me to feel.
In the end, Marcy and Albert did come for Thanksgiving. They stayed in a hotel, and instead of cooking, I ordered prepared food. I don’t know whether he told his parents anything. They were as disconnected and oblivious as ever, but at least this time Charles did not leave me to entertain them for the entire visit, as he always had in the past.
I did still work for his approval, though, and at times I did still want to connect with him—I suppose in part because of my loneliness—but I knew that, despite his not always looking crazy on the surface, Charles had serious problems and that his actions toward me were mean and sadistic. I knew I couldn’t stay—not if I wanted to remain healthy, not if I wanted what was best for our children. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to stay—I loved being married; I loved being a family, whether I loved Charles was uncertain—but I couldn’t stay given the way it was, and I knew in the depths of my soul that it was not going to change.
“Momma, Grandma and Grandpa are leaving. You gotta come out to say good-bye.” Sam ran in through the garage, pulling on my shirt to follow him.
“Okay, okay, I’m coming.” I followed Sam out, hugged Marcy and Albert, and waved along with the kids and Charles as they got in their car and drove off. It had just started to snow.
Unusual as it was, both of the kids wanted to watch the same movie, Star Wars, which meant I could get some things done in my office upstairs.
“What do you think about trying counseling?” Charles appeared suddenly in the doorway, an inquisitive look on his face.
I looked at him, expressionless. “Why do you want to go into counseling?” I asked, thinking about the things he said about me in the e-mails he wrote to Victoria and in his journal: The only reason it’s good she hasn’t died is so that she can provide child care. . . .
This was what he thought of me, of his children’s mother, and he was talking about counseling. I should have been enraged, but I think I was beyond that.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Charles,” I said, after a very long wait for him to answer my question without him responding.
“I guess it’s not.” I’m sure I saw relief on his face.
Charles looked at me and said, in a softer tone than he had used in quite a while, “I really didn’t want this to happen. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was destiny.”
I didn’t say anything, though I thought, He’s fuckin’ crazy, and he’s making me crazy, too! Destiny? Pendulums? He has been making decisions by using a crystal pendulum. He doesn’t just find it an inter
esting curiosity; he truly believes it gives him the right answer without him having to consciously think anything through. As much as it pained me to see him this way, I knew I had to get out with the children as fast as possible.
I could see the impact on Elli most clearly. She was always feeling ill, one physical symptom after another; the school nurse was always calling. Her withdrawal was intense; her moods shifted with the moon. She would refuse to do her homework. This usually bubbly, artistic, athletic child with a myriad of interests was now taciturn and sullen. She was always bored. She could never find anything to do. She would slam her bedroom door and hide. I would find my things and her brother’s things hidden in her room. One night, Charles had said he would be home for dinner by six, and so we waited. At about six fifteen, the phone rang, and it was Charles, who said he had an emergency and would be home by seven but that we should start dinner without him.
“He’s such a damn liar!” Elli yelled, as she ran up to her room, refusing to unlock her door so that I could speak to her.
The entire year I was in treatment, Charles really did nothing to help the kids deal with any feelings they had about my illness. Sammy was young and didn’t have much understanding. Elli, though, was terrified, I know. She developed an acute fear of heights after going up in the glass elevator in the hospital to visit me when I was admitted for my stem cell transplant. After that, she wouldn’t go near a hospital again and would white-knuckle it if she had to use an escalator or elevator. Driving over a bridge was terrifying for her. Her fear of bugs caused chaos in the entire household.
I walked down to the basement after Charles had come home one evening. It was one of those nights when he did not bother to say hello.
“I’d like to speak with you about something, Charles,” I said. “Have you noticed how Elli has changed? I’m really concerned about her. She is so withdrawn and is not adjusting well to her new school. Maybe we should have her see someone. What do you think?” I asked, preparing myself for an attack on my judgment in one way or another.
Lost in the Reflecting Pool Page 17
