by Portia Moore
I rub my temples. It’s all just so much.
“Lauren, you aren’t driving are you?” she asks suddenly. I guess she’s worried that I’ll run myself off the road.
“No, I’m actually pulled over in front of the Welcome to Madison sign.”
“Are you serious?” she giggles.
“Yeah,” I admit, chuckling at myself.
“I didn’t really know where to go and knocking on everyone’s door sounded kind of dangerous after some thought. ”
“We shouldn’t have let you leave like that. But I don’t think you would have let us stop you,” she laughs and I join in.
“Probably not.”
“Do you have a pen?”
“Yeah…” I say grabbing a pin out of my purse and a receipt from an earlier purchase.
“1206 North Grenton Street,” she says, and I scribble it down quickly. I take a deep breath.
“If you have any problems, call me okay, L?”
“I will.”
“Do you want my aunt’s address?”
“No. I’ll be okay” I assure her, staring at the receipt with the address on it My hands are shaking.
“Do you think he’s going to be there?” she asks meekly.
“Well, I’m about to find out,” I sigh.
“Be careful and call me as soon as you get there. Don’t do anything that will have you in jail…” she says, rambling on.
“I won’t, Hill,” I say as she continues to talk. “I’m hanging up now. Just tell everyone I’m okay.”
I’m pretty sure she’s still talking as I hang up the phone and stare at the address on the paper. I pick up my map and see that the directions Hillary gave me are right on. I set the map and address on the passenger seat and rest my head on the steering wheel for a few moments to think.
Cal never told me anything about his parents. All I know is that he was adopted when he was young, and they were estranged.
Nothing is making sense.
He wouldn’t leave me to go back home. This can’t be his home. He told me he grew up in Chicago. I never even thought about him having close family. He never mentioned anything about them.
At our wedding, the only people who came that are close to him were Dexter and Helen and quite a few of their business associates. This all has to be a lie. There has to be some explanation for this. I can’t even imagine what he’s going to say when he sees me… if he’s even at this address. What will this woman say to me when I show up asking about her son? Is this even his mother? All of these questions run through my mind.
I sit up and take a few deep breaths, trying to clear my head, wanting to get away from my jumbled thoughts. Well there’s only one way to find out all of this. I turn the key and start the car.
March 8th 2011
“How do you know he’s okay, Dexter? Why is he not answering my calls? I’m about to call the fucking cops!” I say frantically into the phone while pacing the floor. The tone of his voice is pissing me off. He’s calm and amused, seemingly unfazed, while I’m losing my mind.
I haven’t seen or heard from Cal in four days. No response to my texts or voice mails. I tried to play it cool at first. I didn’t want to seem like the bored, crazy wife. Especially since this is just his second trip away since we’ve been married. Day One: I didn’t call him the entire day--well not for a long time, anyway. Eventually, I did want to make sure he made it where he was going. I sent him a text, only to get no response. So I called that night. No answer. I call again and the phone goes straight to voice mail. Day Two: I call again, like any rational person would, but the phone is off and the call goes straight to voice mail.
Day Three: I'm still going straight to voice mail, and I’m just supposed to be fine with this? I don’t know where he is or if he’s okay. Should I just let it slide? He’s not in the fucking army. I’m sure wherever he is there is an outlet for a charger if his phone died.
Day Four: I’m yelling at Dexter, I know it’s not his fault but since he’s not taking this seriously at all he gets to get yelled at before Cal. According to Dexter all of this is fucking normal. Nothing to worry about! Well, if nothing is wrong, Cal’s definitely going to have something to worry about once he gets home.
“Lauren, I can assure you Cal’s fine. This is what he does,” Dexter says. “He won’t be able to answer your every call, if something was wrong I’d know and then you’d be the first to know,” he reiterates. Actually if he knew first that would make me the second person to know but I’m not going to argue that point right now.
“I don’t expect him to answer every call but I do expect to hear from him at least once after four days. Why is it that you can reach him and I can’t? I do-”
I’m cut off as the downstairs door opens and Cal walks in.
“Never mind,” I say and abruptly hang up. Dexter isn't the person who deserves my interrogation or possible anger, depending on the explanation his best friend gives but I don’t care right now. Cal strolls in, bag on shoulder and drops it on the floor. When he sees me, a wide grin appears on his face. He must not be reading my expression correctly at all, which is somewhere between worried and super-pissed.
“Hey gorgeous!” he says, pulling me toward him. I allow him to briefly kiss my lips, but I pull away shortly after. He seems taken aback by my reaction. Oh, is he about to understand.
I pat him on his chest and touch his face, looking at it from all sides. “Open your mouth,” I say with my hands on my hips.
He sticks his tongue out and a second later grabs me and licks my cheek. I push him away, demanding myself not to laugh. I’m still mad and his little antics aren’t going to work today.
“If you want to play doctor, you just have to say it,” he says, squeezing my butt. I slap his hand away.
“No. I’m trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with you. It has to be something, since I haven’t talked to you in four days,” I say shortly, my arms folded across my chest. He looks up at the ceiling like he’s bored with my speech.
“Hello?!” I say, irritated with his nonchalant demeanor.
“I’m listening,” he says walking away from me.
I follow him. “Do you know how worried I was about you?” I admit, trying to allow the sincerity in my voice to seep through. I trail him into the kitchen. He heads directly to the fridge, his attention seemingly more on what he’s about to eat than on listening to me and I feel my anger rising.
“I told you not to worry when I left,” he says, rifling through the fridge. “I’m so fucking hungry.” He shuts it, seemingly unsatisfied with the contents. “Where were you?” I ask pointedly.
“I told you. In Colorado, working.” He stuffs a bagel into his mouth before he hops up onto the island.
“Working. Really?” I ask somewhat sarcastically.
“What-else-would-I-be-doing?” he states slowly, as if I can’t comprehend him.
“Don’t patronize me, Cal. This really isn’t the time to do it.” My patience is wearing thinner as this conversation goes on.
“You’re patronizing me. This is my third time telling you where I was. I don’t know how else you want to hear it,” he says sarcastically, getting off the island and going back into the fridge for a soda.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” I ask.
“I just didn’t get around to it,” he says impatiently, with a casual shrug. A casual shrug!
I bite down on my lip. “That’s it? You just didn’t get around to it?” I say sharply.
“Yeah,” he states simply, his voice just as sharp as mine and I can’t believe he seems irritated with my questions. It’s almost as if he doesn’t understand why I’m asking them. I shake my head in disbelief and walk away from him, swallowing the urge to lash out at him with a verbal assault.
“What’s with the third degree on this? This has never been a problem before. Why now?” he asks, following me.
I stop in my tracks and turn around to face him. “Oh, I’m so
rry. I don’t recall you ever leaving for three days straight and not answering your phone or calling me back,” I say.
“I’ve been gone before, and you didn’t freak out the way you are now.”
I fold my arms. “This is different,” I say.
“Why?” he counters.
“Because this isn’t normal! I don’t have a problem with you being gone for work, but you don’t get to leave and not have any contact with me. I was so worried about you. I didn’t know if you were okay, or if you even made your flight. How do you not understand how I feel right now? It was three days of utter worry, frustration, and anxiety. Do you think this is how I want to feel whenever you go to work?” I say, trying to take the anger out of my voice, only wanting him to hear my concern but I may not be doing a great job at it since I am furious right now.
He looks away from me briefly, staring at his feet. “Babe, this going to happen sometimes. I thought you got that, that you were okay with it,” he says a hint of disbelief in his voice.
I don’t know where he got the idea that I’d ever be okay with him not communicating with me at all on these “trips.” The first trip he took since we've been married was a week. He called me when he touched down, and every night while he was there. He sent me texts saying how much he missed me. Before we were married he called me and kept in contact with me. Now he acts as if this is as normal as walking across the street.
“I don’t know what gave you the impression that I’d be okay with this,” I say in disbelief. He sighs and holds the back of his head.
“I’m going to lie down. I’ve had a long flight. I missed you. I thought you missed me. But I’m not doing this,” he says dryly, walking away from me.
“You missed me?” I ask sarcastically, following him. “Oh, that’s nice. I couldn’t tell since I didn’t hear from you. Once,” I continue, following him up the stairs. He’s quiet as a mouse. Not responding to me at all, kind of like when he was gone. Once we reach our room he sighs as if he’s exasperated. He’s exasperated?
“Hello?!” I say, waiting for some type of response, but he still doesn’t reply.
He lifts his shirt over his head and removes it, undoes his pants and takes them off. A second later, he’s lying across the bed. “I don’t know what the fuck your problem is but I’m tired and I’m going to sleep.” He glances up at me before closing his eyes.
“Seriously, Cal?” I say angrily. He doesn’t respond and grabs a pillow, settling it under his head.
“What the hell were you doing for three, four days that you couldn’t answer your phone or call me? How the hell do you think I’m supposed to react to this?!” I say frantically. This is a fucking joke. It has to be. Still, he doesn’t respond and turns his head away from me. I grab a stray pillow beside him and hit him with it as hard as I can. He barely flinches but grabs it and covers his head with it.
“You...you know. You’re being a real asshole right now. Worse,” I say before my voice completely breaks.
I grab my throw blanket off the bed and quickly leave the room before tears escape my eyes. After I make it down stairs I turn on the television and settle unto the couch, curling up in my blanket and I wonder why, on the first night the love of my life is home why we’re sleeping in separate rooms. If someone had told me this would happen three days ago, I would have laughed in their face.
***
A loud thud awakens me, accompanied by a “fuck.”
The lights are all off but the moonlight through the window allows me to see that Cal has tripped over the bag he left downstairs. I’d laugh if I weren’t so tired.
I settle my head back into my pillow and close my eyes. I hear his footsteps coming near me and in a moment my comfortable position is disturbed as couch cushions are removed from behind me. They’re soon replaced by Cal's hard chest. He’s settling in behind me, one of his arms crosses over my stomach and he pulls me toward him, nestling his head in my neck. A smile spreads across my face. I can’t stop it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He takes my hand, interlocking his fingers between mine, and kisses them. I squeeze his hand but I don’t say anything.
“I’m an ass for earlier,” he says quietly in my ear before kissing me there and I sigh.
I’m still mad but that doesn’t stop the throbbing he’s causing between my thighs. This sucks; my anger doesn’t stop me from wanting him. My sadness makes me want him even more.
“A huge ass,” I relent with a slight laugh.
I turn over on my back and he leans over me. His lips kiss mine slowly, savoring each of them and I kiss him back the same way. I cup his face and he pulls me on top of him. I straddle him and lay my head on his chest. He strokes my back and I feel him trace his signature on me. I can’t believe how much I missed that. He leans up pulling my knees forward, our chests touching, before reversing our positions so I’m now on my back.
“I just didn’t want to argue,” he says, trailing off, trying to excuse himself from his earlier behavior.
“I didn’t want to argue either,” I run my hands through his hair. I missed his kiss, his touch, his scent, everything about him.
“I was going crazy without you,” he says kissing my shoulder and making his way to my neck. “I missed you.” His mouth then nears my ear again. “I’m about to show you how much,” he adds, before his lips trail down my stomach.
I close my eyes and let him have me, my body already revealing how much it missed him. I know that we probably should talk about how--or more importantly, why--our first fight occurred but we don’t. At this moment, I just want peace. We both do and we get lost in our first married make-up. Still, this only seems like temporary peacetime, our white flags not even raised--just peeking out from behind our bunker. Deep down, I know this isn’t the end of this battle and I’m content with that. But what terrifies me is the little voice in my head saying this isn’t what happens at the end of a battle but could possibly be the beginning of a war.
March 8th 2013
“I can do this,” I remind myself out loud as I stare at the house in front of me.
I’ve managed to work up the nerve to get out of the car now… if only I can manage to walk up to the front door.
I’m standing here, my legs unable to move. I take in my surroundings. It’s a stark contrast to the city life I’ve become accustomed to. The house is beautiful, as if it’s right out of a Disney movie; the soft yellow paint and huge front porch reminds me of Raven’s back in Saginaw, only a lot bigger. I can’t help but notice the huge barn a few feet away from it; the acres surrounding it are gated off animals.
I stuff my keys in the deep pockets of my jacket as I get closer to the door. I suddenly start to wonder what if no one is home. I climb the few stairs of the porch and take a deep breath before I ring the bell. I take a step away from the door and peer through the window the curtains are opened slightly.
From what I can see, the room is spotless with a fireplace in the center. The warm, honey-colored walls give it a welcoming feeling with a tan sofa and chair surrounding a coffee table. I quickly remind myself that I’m peeping into someone’s home and move back towards the front of the door.
I ring the doorbell again. I notice myself sort of dancing trying to calm my nerves and channel my adrenaline. I ring the bell twice in a row and knock frantically; the composure I had managed to muster earlier is starting to dissolve.
“Maybe no one’s home,” I tell myself and turn to head back down the stairs, but I hear the door open behind me. I stop in my tracks almost afraid to turn around.
“Can I help you?” his voice stops me immediately. I don’t even have to turn around to see that it’s him. I grab the railing to keep myself from falling over.
“Cal,” I say so softly that I’m not sure if he can hear me. I turn around and my eyes start to water. I walk toward him slowly, feeling as if I’m going to wake up any second. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him.
When I reach him, face-
to-face, he still looks the same, only his eyes are almost all green, gray only intermingled with the dominant green hue. I slowly move my hand to touch his face even though it’s shaking uncontrollably.
“It’s you,” I can’t wait another second to be near him and jump into his arms. It’s been so long since I’ve touched him, too long. All of the questions I have don’t even seem important right now; just that he’s here.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I can’t stop myself from crying. I look up at him waiting for him to say something, but I realize he looks speechless, almost shocked and I notice that his arms aren’t around me.
“Chris who is this?” I look past him to see a tall blonde woman, looking at us strangely.
“Chris?” I say, confused.
“Chris. His name isn’t Chris!” I tell her sharply, anger starting to replace the euphoria of seeing him since I’m now remembering what brought me here in the first place. She frowns at me and then looks at him.
“Who is this?” she asks him irately.
“I-I don’t know!” he answers back to the blonde.
“Who am I? Who are you?” I ask defensively. Then I realize what he just said. My jaw drops in disbelief.
“What?” I say sharply, turning my attention on him.
“I think you have me confused with someone else,” he says, staring at me strangely. My heart drops, joining my jaw on the ground.
“She just started crying when she saw me,” he explains to the woman behind him, seeming more concerned with her than with me.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask confused and angry.
“She doesn’t seem to have you confused!” the woman tells him angrily, eying me suspiciously.
“Cal, what the hell are you trying to pull?” My skin heats up; my anger and impatience are about to boil over.
“My name is Chris,” he says, stepping away from me. What is going on?
“Look who are you?” the woman asks impatiently.
“I’m his wife, that’s who I am!” I say angrily, “Who the hell are you?” I ask sharply.
