by Hunter Shea
“I didn’t know I was supposed to do it just because you waited up for me with no clothes on.”
“Forgive me for thinking that when you suck my cock, that means we’re going to fuck.”
He intentionally said fuck to irritate her. For one, she hated profanity. Secondly, she despised anyone describing making love as fucking. Dogs fucked in the street. Married people made love.
“You’re an idiot,” she hissed and turned her back to him.
“And you pull the ‘I’m tired’ card one too many times. Jesus, I’m tired every damn day. That doesn’t stop me from wanting you and at least willing to try.”
Anne lay still. It was her classic silent treatment. It was futile to try to argue any further with her. Instead, he grabbed his book and pillows.
As he marched out of the room, he looked back and sneered, “Maybe I’m not getting any from my wife because she’s giving it to someone else. That would explain a lot.”
Deep down, he didn’t believe a single word. This was war and if she was going to give him the cold shoulder, he could at least lob a grenade in her direction.
“Why don’t you just do yourself?” she shouted at his retreating figure.
“It’ll be more satisfying than waiting for you!”
He threw his pillows onto the couch and sat down hard. What a stupid argument. All because he was still horny and she was a full-time lawyer and mother who was tired after a long day. He considered going in to apologize but knew that in his current state, it would come out all wrong and he’d only make things worse.
Things would be better in the morning. Maybe he’d wake up early and make her breakfast in bed. They really needed to have a talk and it was best to start on the right foot. Until then, he’d have to be satisfied with reading more about ghostly graveyards and if he was lucky, taking care of Jessica should she wake up again.
Chapter Two
Sleep did its best to elude him most of the night and at five in the morning, John got in the car and drove out to the Mornin’ Time Bagel Shop for coffee and the hottest, freshest bagels in Long Island. He also grabbed a couple pastries, some fresh strawberries and a quart of fresh squeezed orange juice, the store’s specialty. When Anne was pregnant, her only craving was for Mornin’ Time Bagels. Over the course of nine months, he came to know all of the people who worked there like they were his own family. After a round of hellos, he headed back for home.
The early morning weather was as cold and still as an empty meat locker. It sure felt like it was going to snow, even though spring was just around the corner. It had been a hell of a winter with three major snowstorms and about ten minor snowfalls that did their best to dislodge every disk in John’s back as he shoveled day after day.
With any luck, he’d have time to finish his coffee and read the paper before Jessica woke up howling for her morning changing and bottle. Then they’d watch Sesame Street and he’d fix up a delicious breakfast in bed for Anne, complete with a side order of apologies for being an insensitive jerk.
He started a fresh pot of coffee and picked up The Daily News to read the coverage of last night’s Islanders game.
A cup of coffee and the entire sports section later, he glanced up at the kitchen clock. Seven thirty. Jessica was usually wailing by now. It figured. The one morning he’s already up and about is the one she chooses to sleep in. He poured another cup and settled back into his chair.
Silence. He had been so absorbed by the paper that he hadn’t appreciated the blissful sound of silence in the house. Since Jessica had been born, he and Anne’s once quiet mornings had turned into barely controlled mayhem. Jessica had been colicky for the first four months and that proved a major struggle. Then, almost overnight, it stopped.
Even after the colic, Jessica was not a morning person and spent the better part crying to be changed, crying for her bottle then crying because she needed to be burped. John usually had the radio on and Anne started her pre-work day on the phone with her admin assistant, Karen, a bright kid just out of college who arrived at the office an hour earlier than Anne to organize the day’s calendar.
Sitting in the kitchen wrapped up in the absence of noise was just this side of nirvana. Setting the paper aside, he rested his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes.
He awoke with a start and nearly spilled his coffee on his lap. His back was a tad stiff from dozing in the hard kitchen chair but a quick stretch would cure that. He glanced at the clock again.
Eight o’clock.
The house was still as silent as before he’d fallen asleep. Jessica had never slept this late before.
Good for her. Maybe she’s finally discovering the joy of sleep.
Dumping his cold coffee into the sink, another thought insidiously crept into his mind.
What if she wasn’t sleeping?
As preposterous as he’d like it to be, the phrase, sudden infant death syndrome, grabbed hold of him. He’d gone with Anne to several parent training classes and had dutifully read anything she’d told him to read as they’d prepared for Jessica’s arrival. Through the joy of it all, there was one aspect that scared the hell out of him. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.
Before the baby was born, he ran out and bought a special foam wedge that was said to dramatically reduce the risk of SIDS. He’d panicked the first night they had realized she’d outgrown the wedge, refusing to sleep and checking on her every hour on the hour. As the nights went on, he started to relax and in fact, he hadn’t even thought of it again until now.
He dropped his coffee mug into the sink with a loud clank and dashed into Jessica’s room.
She lay curled up in her crib, almost in the same position he’d last seen her in the night before. John felt a cold sweat break out all over his body as he studied her tiny back for any signs of movement. The room was still pretty dark and it was hard to tell because her pajamas were a little big on her and had puffed out like a soft, downy turtle shell.
Bordering on dizzy, he strode over to the crib and reached out to her. She didn’t flinch. Gently at first, he rubbed her back.
“Jessica,” he cooed softly.
Her pajamas were soft as a cloud under his hand. He rested it for a moment to see if he could feel her tiny body expand with air.
Was she still or was that a breath? Or was it just his hand? Or his mind playing tricks on him?
“Jessica,” he repeated, alarm creeping into his voice.
She remained motionless and silent, like a marble cherub.
Please wake up. Come on, baby, please wake up for Daddy!
With jittery hands, he scooped her up into his arms and turned her over so he could see her face. An image of Jessica flashed uninvited into his mind, her blue face, tongue swollen and sticking out of the side of her mouth, eyes bulging open.
Just as quickly, the horrid nightmare was replaced by her soft, pink face that started to grow red as she finally erupted in tears, angry that she had been startled awake.
“Oh, Jesus, thank you,” he said, tilting his head to the ceiling. John hadn’t been to church in ten years but he had found religion today.
Her upset cries were music to his ears. He rocked her and kissed her all over her face.
“Good morning, little angel. I’m sorry Daddy woke you. Come with me, I’ll make it up to you.”
He took her out to the living room, sat her in her playpen for a moment while he put a bottle on to warm, changed her diaper with much practiced skill, and fed her while she rested in the crook of his arm. After a good burping, she was a happy baby and he put her back in the playpen so he could prepare breakfast for Anne.
“I love you, baby. Daddy will be right back. I have to go apologize to Mommy.”
She made some unintelligible noises and grabbed her stuffed bunny so she could gnaw on its ear with her drool-caked gums.
The phone started to ring just as he entered the bedroom. He contemplated answering it, but first things first.
“Rise a
nd shine, Anne. Your resident ass has come to say he’s sorry and to serve you breakfast.”
He walked over to her side of the bed so he could give her a kiss and lay the bed tray across her lap.
The tray fell from his hands.
“Anne! Anne!”
Kneeling beside the bed, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook.
Her lips had turned a light shade of purple. Her eyes were closed and didn’t even flutter as he tried to rouse her.
“Oh God, Anne!”
John held her in his arms, shouting her name between sobs. Her lifeless body felt like a two-ton weight. Anne’s head dipped heavily into his chest while he rocked her.
Out in the living room, Jessica smiled as she heard her grandmother’s frantic voice on the answering machine.
“Anne, honey, it’s your mother,” she shouted. “Your father and I just got the paper and checked your lottery numbers. You won! Anne, you won the lottery! You won twenty-five million dollars! Anne, pick up the phone! You’re a millionaire!”
Chapter Three
Five years later
The kids next door giggled uncontrollably as they chased each other around the yard with water pistols. Keith, Eileen and Sarah spent every afternoon finding new ways to douse each other with buckets, hoses, cups and water pistols the moment they were let out of preschool. It had been a hot spring and an even hotter start to summer. Hearing their high-pitched laughter reminded John that he would have to pick Jessica up from school soon.
Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, he stepped out onto his back deck to watch them.
“Hi Mr. Backman!” Sarah shouted as she sprinted past and ducked behind a tree to lie in wait for Eileen and Keith. She was wearing a little flower print sundress and her long, black hair was matted to her head from sweat and water. John watched as the other two bounded into the yard and surrounded the little girl. She squealed and fired off a couple of shots, hitting Keith in the face, before taking off to the front yard.
John slumped into a chair and took a long pull from his beer. He’d been in the house all day, kept comfortable by the central air he’d had installed last year. Now that he was out in the sun, he remembered why he’d stayed in the house. His father kept complaining that he was pale, even though he explained to him that tanning was officially out, a dangerous habit of the past. No sir, a little darkening of the pigment was all he really needed.
Despite the heat and humidity, the warm caress of the sun on his face did feel good. He’d have twenty minutes, tops, before his skin would start to burn. If he timed it just right, he’d have the beer finished at the exact moment it would be time to head back into the house.
It was peaceful out in the yard. Most of the neighborhood was still at work, firing off emails in Manhattan offices or working in any of the thousands of various stores in Long Island’s malls. The few stay-at-home mothers on the block were inside their air conditioned homes, preparing dinner, getting ready to watch Oprah or playing with the kids.
The shrill chirping of cicadas was hypnotizing. They had started a week ago when the heat wave swamped New York and hadn’t stopped since. At first, they were a welcome sign of the impending arrival of summer. By day three, they had become highly irksome. Now, almost seven days later, they had transformed into just another shred of white noise, like sleeping with the television on low. He suspected that when they finally did stop their hazy, hot and humid love song, people all across the area would talk in whispers for fear they’d disturb the silence.
Knocking back the rest of the beer, he stretched from the chair only to find that he had sweated so much his shirt was plastered to his back. Rivulets of sweat ran from his hairline and down the sides of his face. The metal surface of his patio table was scorching to the touch. His heart picked up a few extra beats as the full force of the heat hit him at once.
“Man, it’s hot.”
As he went back into the house, the palpitation of his heart visibly pulsated along his neck and throat. His mouth felt like it was jammed full of sawdust.
He tossed his empty beer bottle into the blue recycling bin and cringed when it shattered. Walking on sea legs, he paused at the windowsill by the sink and eyed the bottle of Xanax. He thought about popping one in his mouth and how it would take about ten minutes for the drug to take effect and stem the rising tide of anxiety. It was a pretty high dosage, thanks to the tolerance his body had built up to it over the years, now used only for extreme occasions.
John took a few deep breaths to settle his slightly racing heart.
His stomach turned and he felt an urgent need to run to the bathroom. He’d ridden out many panic attacks sitting on the bowl, shivering with fear and drenched in sweat while unleashing the shit of the damned.
Look at you. Only thirty-seven and you can’t handle a little heat. Dad has more stamina than you, and he’s pushing seventy.
The pills rattled in the bottle as he plopped into a chair. John slammed it onto the table.
“Not today.”
Instead, he closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. It only took a few minutes to regain his equilibrium.
The cool air in the house calmed him. As quickly as it came, the sense of dread had receded. The entire incident was painfully common for John. Living with anxiety disorder was like walking across a landscape where every square inch was filled with trap doors. It gets to the point where all you do is worry. Is this the one that will open and swallow me up? Eventually, instead of moving forward, you freeze, consumed by your own fear of what’s underneath the next trap door. Sooner or later, you have to make a decision. Do I stand here pissing my pants or do I keep on walking?
John chose to walk.
He grabbed the remote off the kitchen counter and turned the stereo on, hitting the button for CD One. A few seconds later, Tom Waits was lamenting the loss of love to liquor in a voice that could only be attained by hard living and occasionally gargling vodka with a shot of broken glass. He’d had speakers installed in every room of the house except Jessica’s, so Tom’s soulful cries followed him as he went upstairs to change his shirt, splash some water on his face and give one last check of his email before heading out to pick Jessica up from school.
“Hey Sherry,” John said as he caressed his second baby, a two door, midnight black Jaguar XK, fully loaded with a 4.2 liter engine and an Alpine audio system that had contributed mightily to his future hearing loss. It was the one ostentatious purchase he had made over the years and he made no apologies. He’d wanted a Jaguar ever since he was a kid when his father had explained to him that people who drove Jags were people who had the world by the balls. It took him three years after winning the lottery to finally indulge himself, and he was glad he took that leap. He sure as hell didn’t have the world by the balls but at least he looked the part.
He desperately wanted to open her up today but thought better of it because of all the kids getting out from school. Maybe later, when Eve came over, he’d take a drive and see just how long he could push ninety on the Long Island Expressway. Of course, he’d have to wait until the rush hour traffic cleared, which could take until seven o’clock.
An Aerosmith song ended on the radio and now he was forced to listen to an ad for a pill that made you horny. Who buys this crap? he thought. He went to punch in another radio station but a bump in the road made his finger hit the SEEK button instead. A caller on a sports station was hollering about the mismanagement of the Islanders and called for the resignation of the entire front office. John quickly changed the station. He hadn’t been able to listen to or watch anything related to the Islanders since Anne died. There were a lot of things he couldn’t do since that day.
Before he fell into another bout of painful remembrance and introspection, Jessica’s school pulled into view. Hundreds of kids were darting in every direction, some lining up for the half dozen yellow buses, others to their parents’ car and many more just walking home. He pulled as close to the front entrance
as possible, which meant he was about fifteen cars away.
Grade school boys walked by yanking off clip-on ties, laughing about things ten-year-old boys laughed about (farts, most likely). Little girls walked in packs wearing their uniforms, pleated blue skirts with powder blue knee socks and white shirts. One boy came running up behind a girl and smacked a stack of books out from beneath her arm. She immediately gave chase and caught up to him just a half block away. John winced as he watched the girl yank the boy’s hair so hard he fell into a nearby bush.
Lesson learned. Mess with a girl and she will get you back, sooner or later.
Jessica came running to the car, her long auburn hair trailing freely behind her. She looked so much like Anne, especially when she smiled, it was almost as if she’d never left them.
She stopped at the door and turned around to wave goodbye to her friend Mary who was off to join the bus line. A second later she was in the car and chattering away about some incident that happened in the lunch room that day between a sixth grader and the lunch room monitor. It was hard to figure out the exact thrust of the story because she was talking so fast and further hindered by her lisp, thanks to the two front teeth she’d lost recently.
“And hello to you, too,” John said.
Jessica stopped momentarily. “Oh, hi Daddy,” and leaned over to give him a kiss.
“Don’t forget to buckle up, squeak-pip.”
Jess had always been a tiny girl. When she was a baby and he had to take her for her doctor visits, she was consistently in the lower percentiles for height and weight. Now at age six, she was still the smallest kid in her class. When she was two, he started to call her squeak-pip, saying she wasn’t big enough to be a pipsqueak yet. It still held true, and in his heart, probably always would.
She gave him an exasperated sigh. “I know, Dad. I already did. I’m not some little kid.”
John did his best not to chuckle. That would only provoke her.
She continued on with her story. Five blocks into it with still no real understanding of just what exactly had transpired in the lunch room, John interjected, “Hey, did you miss me? I missed you.”
