by Gregg Stutts
Michelle arrived at the Beachcomber and checked her phone. It was just past seven-thirty. Still nothing from Max. She opened the door and went inside. Springsteen’s “Born to Run” was playing while the Monday Night Football pre-game show was on the screen over the bar.
She looked around and saw Chris sitting at the end of the bar. He immediately got up and came to greet her. After a long embrace, he said, “You look incredible, Shelle.”
She smiled and said, “Thank you. You too.” And she wasn’t just being polite.
“Let’s go upstairs and sit on the deck,” he said.
The full moon was low in the sky and painted a path of light across the water. The lights from a number of boats were visible just off shore. In the distance, a large freighter seemed to barely be moving as it headed down the coast from north to south.
“I didn’t realize how much I missed the beach until I was back,” she said.
“It’s so good to see you,” he said. “I couldn’t believe it when you called.”
A waitress handed them each a menu and asked for their drink orders. Michelle ordered a glass of chardonnay. Chris ordered a brand of beer she’d never heard of.
“I’m starving,” Michelle said.
“Well, everything here is good,” he said. “If you like sushi, maybe we could share a couple rolls.”
“That sounds great,” she said. “Why don’t you order for us?”
When their server returned with the drinks, Chris ordered a Beachcomber Roll and a Green Dragon Roll with two garden salads.
They each took a sip and looked out over the ocean. It couldn’t have been a more perfect evening. There was a breeze, but not enough for Michelle to need the light sweater she’d slipped into her purse.
“I was trying to think of the last time I saw you,” he said. “Was it your wedding day?”
“That was the last time. Hard to believe it’s been fourteen years, huh?” she said.
“Shelle, I heard about your daughter. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” she said and took a sip of chardonnay.
They sat quietly for a moment taking in the sights and sounds of a late summer evening on the boardwalk.
“I used to love coming to the beach in September,” she said. “No crowds. Weather was still warm. It was like time just slowed down.” She took another sip of wine.
If it was possible, Chris looked even better than he had in college. It was hard for her to not notice his arms and chest in his black t-shirt. He certainly hadn’t quit working out.
“What brought you back, Shelle?”
She swallowed some wine and set her glass down. “It’s a long story.”
He smiled and slid his chair a little closer. “I’m in no hurry.”
Their waitress brought their salads and asked if they wanted another drink. They did.
Michelle drizzled some dressing on her salad and took a bite.
“If you’d rather not go into it, I understand,” he said.
She set her fork down and held her glass so the moonlight sparkled through it. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of ocean air and slowly exhaled. When she opened her eyes, she looked at Chris who was watching her closely. “Things were good. We were happy. Until Sarah got sick.”
“What did she have?”
“Leukemia,” she said. “It was awful.” She took another sip. “We tried everything. Chemo. Bone marrow transplant. Special diets. Supplements. Every alternative treatment we found.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Nothing worked,” she whispered. “She just kept getting worse.” She looked at Chris and could see his eyes filling with tears. “And after fourteen months of doing everything we knew to do, she died.”
“Oh, Shelle, I’m so sorry.”
“So I lost Sarah,” she said. “And then I lost Max.”
“Was Sarah your only child?” he asked.
“Yeah, we couldn’t ever get pregnant again. We saw several doctors. None of them had an explanation. We talked about adoption, but never pursued it. We both kept hoping we’d get pregnant again, but it never happened.”
“I know that’s painful,” he said, touching her arm.
His touch felt electric. “Max didn’t handle Sarah’s death or the infertility well at all. He just kept getting angrier and angrier and more and more distant,” she said. “He wouldn’t talk about any of it.” She paused for a moment. “I tried to get him to see someone, like a counselor. He wouldn’t do it. Our marriage has been dying a slow, painful death. Like Sarah did.”
Chris put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her tight. “I’m so sorry you had to go through it alone,” he said. “What have you told Max?”
“I told him I’ll be home by the end of the week,” she said. “I feel like I’ve given all I can give though. I don’t know if I can go back.”
They finished their drinks while watching the moonlight dance on the waves, interrupted only by their waitress clearing their salad plates and dropping off their sushi rolls. She asked if they wanted another drink. They both said they’d have one more. The sushi rolls were the best Michelle ever tasted.
It was almost nine-thirty when they finished dinner. Michelle tried to pay for her part of the check, but Chris insisted on getting it. She argued, but he held firm.
After paying, he said, “Let’s walk down the boardwalk and get some ice cream.” He paused. “Like we used to.”
“On one condition,” she said. “You let me pay for the ice cream.”
“Deal,” he said.
They walked downstairs and turned north up the boardwalk to find some ice cream. As they walked, their hands grazed lightly against each other. And then a moment later, their fingers were interlocked as naturally as they had been in high school.
Michelle could feel her life in Arkansas beginning to slip away, like a hard-to-remember dream. It was a feeling she wasn’t going to fight.
CHAPTER 17
Thursday, September 12
Once football season started, days and weeks always became a blur. It was already Thursday, the day before their second game. Thursday practices were a forty-five minute walk-through. If the team wasn’t ready by then, no amount of practice the day before a game was going to help. Max was happy with the focus and enthusiasm. It had been a good week of practice.
At 4:55, he blew his whistle and pulled the team together at mid-field. He reminded them to get a good night’s sleep, to make sure their game shoes were shined and to get themselves ready to beat Siloam Springs the next night.
He didn’t feel like cooking, so he made his usual stop at Feltner Brother’s. He planned to go through the drive-thru, but when he saw Dante’s mother coming out of the restaurant, he parked. He’d only talked with her briefly at the funeral and not since then. He got out of his truck just before she got in her car. “Ms. Jones,” he called.
She looked at him with a look Max could only describe as terror. It was as if she’d heard her name called and turned to see a zombie coming toward her. “Ms. Jones, it’s Coach Henry,” he said. “I saw you coming out of the restaurant. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
“How I’m doin’?” she said. “My baby is dead is how I’m doin’, Mr. Henry,” she said as she opened the car door and got in. “Just please leave me alone. I shouldn’t even be talkin’ to you.”
She got in her car, shut the door and wasted no time driving way. Max tried to make sense of her strange reaction. As he walked inside to get his dinner, he wondered what she’d meant when she said she shouldn’t be talking to him. It didn’t sound like a grieving mother. It sounded more like a grieving mother who was afraid. Of what, he didn’t know.
On the drive home, he couldn’t stop thinking about Michelle. He’d given her the space she asked for. He resisted the urge to call her. But maybe now was the time. The longer she was gone, the more he missed her. The more he needed her. The more he regretted how he’d failed her.
It wa
s time to call her.
Chapter 18
After dinner with her parents, Michelle went for a walk on the beach. The sand felt cool on her feet. The mid-September clouds were brilliant shades of orange, yellow, pink and purple. The smell of the salt air brought back a thousand memories.
She walked south and looked out toward the horizon. Somewhere out in the Atlantic, off the coast of West Africa, a tropical storm was forming. The odds of it hitting the east coast of the United States were low. For an area still trying to recover from Hurricane Sandy, that was welcome news.
Her thoughts drifted to Chris. After their dinner on Monday night, they’d gone out for coffee on Tuesday. And then a long walk on Wednesday. He had a commitment at school he couldn’t get out of otherwise they would have been together again tonight. He taught history at the older of the two high schools in Brick Township. The one where they’d first met.
She found herself thinking more and more about him and less and less about Max. She felt guilty about that, but what was she supposed to do? She’d done all she could to rescue her marriage, but saving a marriage took two people. What was left to save anyway?
After a thirty-minute walk, she turned around and headed back toward the house. It was on the walk back she made the decision. She wasn’t going back to Arkansas. The connection with Chris was real. He rekindled feelings in her that had been dormant for a long time. Maybe she was never meant to marry Max. Maybe she was meant to be with Chris.
Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Chris: This meeting is SO boring! I’d rather be with you!
She replied, Sorry!! I wish I was with you too!!
He texted again, Want to go to the football game tomorrow night? Brick is playing Toms River East.
I’d love to! I’ll meet you there.
It’s a date!
Can’t wait!! And she couldn’t. Being pursued, and wanted, made her feel alive.
Chapter 19
Max got home, turned on SportsCenter and watched while he ate his burger and onion rings. He told himself he’d call Michelle as soon as he was finished eating. The truth was that he was procrastinating. He felt as nervous as a high school kid calling a girl to ask her to the prom. Of course, today’s kids didn’t ask a girl to the prom over the phone. Now it was as complicated as asking a girl to get married.
After he finished his burger, he was in the mood for some dessert and found some chocolate ice cream cones in the freezer. Michelle knew he loved them and had gotten two boxes. They’d been in there for a month or more, but he had never opened them. Now he could see that probably made him seem ungrateful, which if he was being honest, was true.
The ice cream reminded him of something their pre-marital counselor had told them just weeks before they got married. He looked at both of them very carefully and said he was going to give them a formula for assessing their marital satisfaction.
He said it wasn’t complicated, but they should write it down anyway. Max remembered opening his notebook to a clean page, ready to copy down the formula.
The counselor said the condition of their marriage, whether it was good or bad, joyful or sad, fulfilling or frustrating, would be determined by everything Max did and said plus everything Michelle did and said.
He had written:
The condition of our marriage = everything I do and say + everything Michelle does and says.
The counselor said promises to do better, good intentions and plans that start tomorrow counted for nothing. What mattered was what they each actually did and said.
He hadn’t thanked Michelle for the ice cream. Or for anything else she’d done for him over the past three years. Or for all the ways she had encouraged him and stuck by him. It wasn’t just a lack of appreciation though.
He’d failed to meet any of her needs. He’d failed to help her through the darkest season of their lives. He’d only been concerned about himself. His needs. His feelings. His anger. Sitting alone in his living room, he wondered how in the world he could have been so selfish and so blind for so long.
He picked up his phone and called her. After six or seven rings, she wasn’t picking up. Just when he he expected it to go to voice mail, he heard, “Hi, Max.”
“Oh, hey Shelle,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you were going to answer.”
“Well, actually I almost didn’t answer, but I was going to call you anyway.”
“You were? Oh, that’s good,” he said, suddenly feeling encouraged.
“Yeah, I went for a walk on the beach after dinner. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she said.
“Oh, okay,” he said, now feeling less encouraged by the tone of her voice.
“Max, there’s really no easy way to say this, but it shouldn’t be any great surprise to you, but I’m not coming home.”
It was like a punch to the stomach. He sat down. His chest felt tight. It was hard to breathe.
“Max, did you hear me?”
Maybe she didn’t mean it the way he’d taken it. Maybe she meant she was staying a few extra days. “Do you mean this week?” he said, hoping for the best, but fearing he understood exactly what she was saying.
“No,” she said. “I mean not ever.”
He closed his eyes. He tried to take a deep breathe, but couldn’t. He wanted to think clearly and understand. Under no circumstances did he want to get angry. He wanted to respond well. He wanted to ask for another chance. But the lump in his throat prevented him from saying anything.
“Max, did you hear me? I’m not coming home. I’m staying here.” She paused for a moment, then said, “This can’t be a surprise.”
He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. He finally managed a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too,” she said. “I have to go. I’ll call you soon to make arrangements.” She waited again for a response, then said, “Goodbye, Max.”
He sat on the sofa for several minutes. It was a bad dream. Only it wasn’t. This was real. Michelle wasn’t coming home.
“Everything I do and say plus everything Michelle does and says,” he said softly. He thought for a moment. “No wonder she’s not coming home.”
In the distance, he heard the rumble of a train and the sound of its horn. Once it reached the Main Street crossing, the red lights would flash, the bell would ring and the gates would come down to block traffic. You couldn’t miss the warning signs of an approaching train. Apparently though, it was possible to miss the warning signs of your marriage falling apart.
As he sat there trying to process what had just happened and fight off the darkness that was pressing in on him, three words suddenly popped into his head…
Don’t give up.
Chapter 20
Friday, September 13
He didn’t sleep much. Not more than a couple hours. His mind was swirling with a thousand thoughts. He’d wake up with one thing on his mind and fall back to sleep with another. Never resolving anything. Every issue led to another. Questions didn’t have answers. His mind was a jumble.
Michelle was clear. She was done. She was not coming home. And he hadn’t seen it coming. And a week ago, he might not have even cared. But now he did. He just didn’t know what to do or who to turn to for help. How many times had Michelle asked him to seek out someone to talk to? How many times had she pleaded with him to see a counselor?
Maybe it was senseless to talk with anyone at this point. It was too late. And then it hit him again, the thought he’d had the night before: Don’t give up. How many times had he spoken those very words to his players?
He tried to think of someone to talk to. And then he realized, there was no time to deal with any of this now. The Siloam Springs game kicked off in thirteen hours. The buses were leaving the field house in nine hours. He had a job to do.
His marriage would have to wait. But wasn’t that the exact thinking that led to the current situation? How many times had Michelle taken a back seat to football? A back seat to his needs? His pain?
&
nbsp; Maybe it was time to resign. Quit football altogether. If it wasn’t too late to save his marriage, then giving up football was the least he could do. He’d offered to quit a week ago, but Michelle said that wasn’t what she wanted. She knew he loved football. The problem was that he loved football, and himself, more than he loved her.
Before leaving the house, he did something he hadn’t done in a long time. Something he’d swore he’d never do again. It wasn’t long. Or eloquent. But it was from his heart. He prayed.
God, please help me.
