And then came the Incident.
I had come home from work early, back when I was still at the bookstore and scheduled to close, when I wouldn’t get home until ten or eleven.
Only that day I hadn’t felt well. My stomach had been upset for several days. I felt giddy and excited, thinking this was it. A baby! I left work early, stopping at the drugstore for an early pregnancy test. I wanted to surprise Jeremy—I would take the test while he was home to celebrate the results.
Opening the door to our apartment, I heard sounds coming from the bedroom. Women’s clothing scattered over our living room. A black lacy bra hung from the ceiling light above our dining room table. I swallowed a bunch of times to keep from vomiting. Did I mention that my stomach had been upset?
I didn’t recognize her. I didn’t know who she was, and Jeremy never told me except to say later, “She’s nobody. She didn’t mean anything to me.”
I tossed the pregnancy test in the garbage as I watched the woman run half-dressed from our apartment.
There might have been a baby forming within me, I still don’t know for sure. But if there was, it died right then. I felt that little fertilized egg shrivel in upon itself and disappear.
The next day I had my period, ten days late, with heavier than normal flow. I’m never late and do not have heavy periods. Farewell, baby of mine who never was to be.
When the shouting ended, Jeremy became as penitent as I’d seen him. I don’t believe it was an act. We did love each other. But a sex addict can’t help himself. Like those powerful men in high places who have everything to lose, yet they get caught in compromising situations with interns, nannies, secretaries, and their wife’s best friend.
Jeremy promised to get treatment. In the Salt Lake Valley, addiction-recovery groups are numerous and ongoing, every day, every hour. Most of them are free, sponsored by the LDS church to help people recover from any and all addictive behaviors: drugs, alcohol, sex, child abuse, gambling, pornography, even overeating.
We couldn’t afford private therapy. Jeremy had no insurance and mine barely covered the basics. Free was his only option.
After the first week of attending the addiction-recovery group, he came home vowing to never return.
“Why?” I pleaded. “You promised me you would do this.”
“I know, babe, and I wanted to. I need to fix this fucking mess but I can’t take the preaching.”
“What preaching? It’s non-denominational.”
“It’s sponsored by the church and they can’t do anything without shoving their goddamn religion down your throat.”
“Are you sure you aren’t reading things into it?”
“Oh, yeah. Christ, they’re all the same. You’ll see after you’ve been here longer. And I can’t say a swear word or I get the looks.”
“So what, Jeremy? You swear too much anyway. I wish you wouldn’t swear around me.”
“Well, look at Miss Priss. Since when did you get religion?”
“I’m not religious, you know that, but I was raised a certain way and profanity was never used in my home. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“‘Profanity was never used in my home.’ What the hell? You sound like a goddamn Mormon when you say that.”
That man always knew how to push my buttons. “Shut up, Jeremy! Just shut up. You are such a jerk. No one can have an intelligent conversation with you these days without being attacked or belittled or mocked.”
He held up his hands in that annoying way he had when he thought I was overreacting. “Whoa, calm down, little lady.”
That infuriated me, like I was the one with the problem.
The end result of this ridiculous argument was that he would go to the addiction recovery group only once a month instead of twice a week, as he had originally promised. Maybe he would change. He seemed to want to overcome his problem and be a faithful husband. He just couldn’t handle the religious overtones. I guess I could understand that. I knew how it was, myself being raised a Baptist preacher’s kid. I loved my parents but everything had to relate to religion with them. I knew from experience how tiring that could get. I couldn’t argue against Jeremy’s resistance to the spiritual bent he sensed in the addiction recovery groups.
He stayed true to his commitment to attend once a month and assured me it was helping. Maybe it did for a time. He seemed to be staying off the porn sites. I hoped that he was cured of his sex addiction. Little did I know, it’s not that easy to get over. For those three years after the Incident, I had foolishly believed he was cured. Until the night of our anniversary, when I finally realized what a sucker I’d been.
After I finished the cottage cheese, I went to get my sweats on. In the bedroom, I tidied up before settling in for the evening with my popcorn and movie. Jeremy’s dresser was still in its place in our bedroom. After I kicked him out, he had moved in with a friend and said he didn’t need the furniture.
I dusted the top of his dresser, kept clear except for a few framed photos of us together. I normally kept them in the top drawer, face down, but sometimes I would pull them out. I had left them out since the weekend, thinking the dresser top seemed bare without them, at least until I could find some décor to replace the photos. I picked up the one of Jeremy and me up at Bear Lake, standing in front of the condo, our arms around each other, happy and relaxed.
I slammed it face down on the dresser. I gathered the rest and shoved them into the top drawer. I should keep them somewhere I wouldn’t be tempted to look at them. Maybe later I’d box them up, or throw them away. I should just toss them out like trash.
But I did like having them available to peek at every so often. What harm could it do? It helped to remind me that at one time I had been blessed. Jeremy and I had been happy together. Life hadn’t always been like this.
And one day I’d find joy again. This I had to believe.
Mrs. Rahimian’s Curry Comfort Potatoes
2 tablespoons corn oil
6 large baking potatoes
Juice of 1 lemon
1 teaspoon turmeric
2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon cayenne
1 teaspoon ground coriander
2 teaspoons cumin
1 tablespoon mustard seed
Peel potatoes and slice about ⅛ inch thick. Heat the oil in a large sauté pan and add the mustard seed. When mustard seeds start popping, add the rest of the spices and fry for about half minute. Do not overdo since spices can burn easily in high heat. The spices are fried well when you can smell them. Keep the heat on medium high and add the potatoes. Stir so all the potatoes are coated with the oil and spices. Reduce heat to medium and fry for 5 or 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.
When the potatoes are brown and crispy, add the lemon juice and cover the pan. Reduce heat to medium low and cook for another 15 minutes stirring occasionally. The length of this stage varies a little depending on the type of potatoes.
Serve as a side dish with misery lamb barbecue.
Chapter Eleven
I couldn’t seem to stop myself from wasting mental and emotional energy re-hashing the past. While Jeremy, on the other hand, had most likely moved on to the next woman and the next without a backward glance in my direction.
“You have to move on, Karoline,” Suz told me for the millionth time.
We were at the park, a chilly March day, with the sun shining and the vast, beautiful sky that vivid blue I’ve only seen in Utah. The Wasatch Mountains with their snowy peaks looked crisp and close-up. It would be long after the snow melted in the valley before the mountains would lose their white blanket.
“I know, and I’m trying,” I whined like a child. “But I keep going over the same old things. I can’t help myself. Why this, why that, what if I’d never let him move in, what if I hadn’t pushed for marriage. What if I hadn’t worked all that over-time?”
I searched the mountains for an answer. They seemed solid and wise, unmoving, forever in the
landscape, as silent as God.
“You never should have let him move in with you,” Susie repeated. She couldn’t let that one go. “That was it right there. It sealed your fate.”
We watched Josh run over to the toddler equipment. With no other kids around, he seemed a bit lost. He turned back to his mom. She waved him forward. “Climb the slide, Josh. It’s okay. I’m watching.”
“Suz,” I began, “do you think I might have abandonment issues?”
She wiped Liam’s face and sat him back down in the grass at our feet. She pulled a new toy out of her huge designer baby bag to keep him occupied while we discussed major life problems.
“Why would you say that?”
Suzie seemed puzzled by my question when it was obvious to me: Jeremy; my parents traipsing around Europe while I go through a divorce; Suzie leaving home during my teenage years when I needed her most.
“Well, Jeremy for one. . . .” I waited for a response while Suz checked her phone.
“A text from Lexie,” she said. “Sorry. She’s going to her friend’s house after school. Wait, just let me tell her that it’s okay. I like to give positive reinforcement.” Suzie punched in a brief reply.
I have got to get some other friends, I thought. Or maybe a therapist.
“Sorry, Karoline.” Suzie dropped her cell phone in her bag. “Josh! Put your coat back on,” she called out. “It’s cold outside.”
I needed to pull myself together and quit trying to psychoanalyze everything. Leave the past in the past. That had always been Jeremy’s philosophy, and he was no doubt doing great while I wasn’t. I couldn’t take this anymore. Something had to change.
“Suzie, listen. I’m ready to be set up with snowboarding guy, or whoever else you and Rob know who might be half-way decent-looking. And why not try for someone older, too? I wouldn’t be averse to meeting an older man.”
She grinned and gave me an air high five. “Yes! Good news! This is an excellent decision.”
“Only here’s the main thing,” I warned. “He’s got to be a nice guy. Not some slezoid who wants to hop into bed with me because I’m a non-Mormon divorcée who he figures is desperate for it.”
Suzie shook her head. “Oh, I understand. I totally agree with you. There are too many creeps out there, and I wouldn’t think of hoisting one off on my little sister. You don’t need to worry about that for a second.”
Josh stood by the plastic slide chewing on his finger. He didn’t climb the stairs to slide down but didn’t walk away either. He wanted to go on the slide, you could tell, only he couldn’t bring himself to do it. That was me, obsessed with Jeremy and my relationship, but unable to do anything besides stare at it while chewing on my finger. I was in a state of paralysis. Maybe meeting someone was exactly what I needed to get me out of this rut.
Suzie, always the cheerleader, alternated between cheering Josh on and cheering me on.
“Good! That’s the take-charge attitude I’m used to hearing from you,” she encouraged. “How about this weekend if we can swing it? Maybe Saturday night?”
Sometimes my sister made me feel like I was still in middle school, another one of her daughters. I hesitated. This weekend was only three days away. I would be committing myself with little time to prepare. Still, what did I have to lose? Quiet nights alone in my apartment thumbing through old journals? No. That exercise had gotten me nowhere. I would box up the journals and stuff them in the basement storage unit. While I was clearing out, I’d throw in those framed photos, too.
And the next time Sheila corralled me into meeting her Wyoming nephew I could tell her I already had a date.
“Sure, let’s try for this weekend,” I agreed with more enthusiasm than I felt.
When I got home from the park I sat in my living room staring morosely at the stack of journals on the coffee table. They needed to disappear, to go into storage. I would meet Rob’s friend, this Zac Kline guy, and maybe we’d hit it off and who knows what might happen. Not that I was ready for a new relationship but a man to go out with occasionally would be a welcome diversion.
I picked up one of the journals. I had written about my job, Jeremy’s book deal, about hanging out over at Suzie and Rob’s house. My sister and my husband never hit it off but Jeremy and Rob did. They’d play pool in the basement game room while Suzie and I talked. Jeremy and I frequently ate dinner over there, spent holidays with them and attended the kids’ birthday parties. In my journals I had recorded extensively the goings-on in Suzie’s family, my apparent attempt to vicariously experience normal home life.
I had hoped for a baby, and then Jeremy and I could start our own family traditions. It began one particular weekend, when we decided to start trying. After Jeremy snagged the agent and got his book deal, he wanted to celebrate. He rented a condo for the weekend at Bear Lake, a two-hour drive north of Salt Lake.
We drove up Friday after I got home from work. Having checked into the unit late, we slept in the next morning. I went for a run before breakfast while Jeremy planned to stay and write notes for his next book idea.
When I came back an hour later, I smelled bacon and eggs.
“You cooked breakfast?” I asked in surprise.
Jeremy wasn’t one to cook.
“Bacon, scrambled eggs, toast and orange juice,” he announced with pride, gesturing for me to sit while he served up our meal. He had set the table and left the food on the stove, covered with lids to keep it warm.
“This is a nice.” I took a piece of crispy bacon. “I didn’t expect breakfast. What happened to you wanting to write?”
“I decided to surprise you. There’s a little market down the road. I drove over and picked up the food while you were out.”
That weekend was like a second honeymoon for us. We didn’t go anywhere or do anything but hang out at the condo and enjoy being alone together. We talked about having a baby and whether I’d keep working or not.
He seemed excited about the idea and so full of plans he could barely talk fast enough.
“You could keep your job if you wanted to, because I can set my own hours. I’d stay home with the baby during the day while you worked.”
“Theoretically yes, but what about you not being able to focus at home? That you need to get away from the four walls to write?”
“I’d make the sacrifice for our baby. If I didn’t get enough done, I could go out and work for a while evenings after you got home. Dee’s Restaurant is open all night, and they’re okay with customers settling into a booth for a few hours, as long as you order coffee or something.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep working. I could get pretty obsessive about work, a tendency that worried me with a baby. “Maybe I’d quit my job and stay home. You could write at the library during the day like you do now, and we’d have our evenings together like a real family.”
He wrapped his arms around me. “A real family? Will that be us? Because you know, Karoline, I have no idea what a real family is. It’s a mystery to me. I wouldn’t get how to act. You’ll have to teach me.”
“Okay,” I said, laughing as he steered me into the bedroom. “You’ve taught me a few tricks. I guess I can teach you about having a real family.”
He pulled off my top and unfastened my bra. “Let’s make a baby, Karoline. Let’s make a whole houseful of babies and have a nice big family.”
That had been a good year. We spent a lot of time together trying for that elusive baby. We thought it would be easy for me to get pregnant. We had sex every chance we got. Jeremy always had a huge appetite for it, same as me once I got started, and now that we wanted a baby, it felt like our job to do it.
I didn’t get pregnant, however. Not until much later, and by then it was too late.
What was Suzie’s secret? Children had come to her and Rob fast, almost too fast. They had their first five one after the other, a new baby girl practically every fifteen months. What was wrong with Jeremy and me? By the end of that year, we felt discouraged
, like we had failed.
Jeremy went back to sleeping late in the mornings then leaving to go write for hours into the night while I stayed home alone. It wasn’t a schedule conducive to a close and happy marital relationship.
I liked to run in the mornings, shower, eat breakfast and pack a lunch. Jeremy would be asleep when I left and gone when I arrived home in the evening. We would go for days without seeing each other awake. He’d come in at two or three in the morning and sometimes, if I woke up, we’d make love and he’d tell me how many words and pages he’d written. I could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Why do you have to go out drinking?” I pestered him. “Why not come home when you finish writing?” I understood he needed to wind down but it hurt that he was more interested in hanging out at the bars than being with me.
“Babe, you know how I get after working. If I didn’t have a few drinks to relax I’d be lying here too wired to sleep.”
“The only time we see each other anymore is between two and three in the morning. And I have to get up in a few hours.”
We stopped talking about a baby. Some nights I pretended to be asleep when he came in. I was angry about the drinking and for keeping this crazy schedule. He could write during the day and be here in the evening when I got home. We could eat dinner together, watch a little TV, get a decent night’s sleep.
I couldn’t change him. Jeremy would never change. He’d been right about not understanding how to have a real family. He had absolutely no clue.
I took the journal lying open on my lap and tossed it across the room with a sense of victory. I picked up another and threw it. All right! One after the other, I pitched them, hitting the walls and slamming into the door. I aimed toward the bathroom and it sailed into the sink. I tried for the toilet but missed.
I heard a knock at the door and Mr. Rahimian calling, “Karoline, Karoline! You okay?”
Lighting Candles in the Snow Page 9
