What's Not Said

by Valerie Taylor

  “I’ll come back here. You know, I am keeping the apartment. You’re watching it, remember?” Chris slid the keys across the table. “I’ve kept my options open at the office to come back if I want to, and I always have my great American novel to finish.”

  “Right. Like you’ll have a lot of time to work on that. Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. One lucky dude.”

  Yes, I hope I am. Chris gulped a last swig of beer, left a ten, and headed toward tomorrow.

  7

  Christopher’s Mettle

  Chris settled his long lanky swimmer’s body into his exit row aisle seat. He’d sized things up as he boarded. The flight didn’t appear full and, so far, no evidence of cranky, screaming babies. One positive reason to fly the redeye cross-country. Another was the middle seat was unoccupied.

  He unzipped the case that held his Bose noise-cancelling headphones, a gift to himself a few years back when he realized the amount of flying he’d be doing if he wanted to see Kassie on a regular basis. The headphones were pricey but worth it for the peace and quiet they provided.

  When it came to his preferences in tunes, Kassie accused Chris of having a midlife music crisis.

  “Look who’s having a midlife crisis?” Chris would tease her. “I’m just an old soul.”

  The week before he’d left home Chris uploaded songs for his pleasure and for theirs. Norah Jones for foreplay. Barry White for the deed itself. And a healthy dose of Stevie Wonder for post-coital cuddling. Mood music for sure.

  Not that they needed it. From their first time together in Venice, they had what he thought was the unique capacity to make symphonies of their own. And did they ever. He wiped his eternal, internal grin off his face.

  As the plane ascended above the clouds that resembled puffy white cotton balls against the midnight-blue sky and the obligatory ten thousand feet, Chris put on his headphones, pushed his seat back, and closed his eyes. He was excited about his first trip to Fenway. He loved baseball. So did Kassie. Even though he wasn’t a Red Sox fan, he looked forward to sharing the experience with her the next day. And he’d fantasized about making love afterward. It’d been thirty long nights since they’d last been together. But who’s counting?

  Chris tried not to stress thinking about what Mike’s reaction would be and prayed Kassie would make it through the ordeal. They’d practiced what she’d say many times. Something like, “Mike, it’s obvious you and I have been growing apart for a very long time. I’m very sorry. Neither of us seems eager to take any action to make things better. It’s about time we open our eyes and our hearts and agree we both would be happier if we go our separate ways.”

  Then, she said she’d stop, take a breath, and let Mike absorb it all before she’d go for the jugular. Kassie believed it was important to pace the delivery of bad news rather than just blurt it out.

  “Mike,” she’d continue, “you need to know I’ve filed for divorce. The legal papers are scheduled to be served to you next whenever. I’ll fill in the blank. I need you to decide whether you want them delivered to you at home in the evening, or during the day at the office, which could be icky.”

  Oops, Chris told her to stop right there. She can’t tell him it could be icky. She’s a marketer, for chrissake. She should know Mike would not take her seriously, and then where would she be?

  Chris would make her go through it all over again. She’d get right to the end and freeze, confused on how best to end it without passing judgment on the process with some expletive deleted like, “Oh Mike, just sign the frigging papers.”

  He recommended she stay calm and just ask Mike where he’d like the papers served and leave it at that.

  “What if he asks you why you want a divorce?” Chris asked more than once. Would she tell Mike about him? Wouldn’t she have to if they were going to move in together?

  Every time he’d ask her those questions, which was often, especially when they were spooning, Kassie would say, “It’s not about you, Chris. You know the marriage was doomed and over long before I met you. You are an unintended consequence. In a good way.” She certainly had that response down pat.

  Chris felt a soft nudge on his shoulder.

  The flight attendant leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Sir? Anything to drink?”

  “Sure, water. Flat, no ice.” Chris grinned at her and returned to Kassie.

  Unintended consequences. What had she meant by that? Was he an accident? Was he her exit strategy from a bad marriage? How long would she stay with him? Kassie always gave him the same answer.

  “Stop that, Chris, your insecurities are showing. What I mean is that I never intended to fall in love with you, or anyone else for that matter. But I did. And you’ve got me whether you like it or not. Hence the consequences.”

  That made little sense to him, but his being in love with an older woman didn’t make a whole lot of sense either.

  In love? Was he really in love with her? He had never told her or any woman, other than his mother, he loved them.

  Dear God. Right on cue, Stevie Wonder sang “All is Fair in Love” in his ears. One of Kassie’s favorites. Chris’s mouth went dry as sandpaper. He took a large gulp of water. He’d thought Kassie liked the song because the lyrics were apropos to her and Mike’s relationship. But now, as his flight streamed toward a woman with expectations he was uncertain he’d be able to fulfill, he feared those words would come back to haunt them and reflect on their relationship as well.

  Enough of Little Stevie Wonder. He’d save him for better times. He scrolled his iPad to his meditations app, clicked the track labeled “Sleep.”

  “Good morning, folks. We’re about twenty minutes west of Boston, so I’m going to ask the flight attendants . . . blah-blah-blah . . . ” was what Chris heard as he stretched the kinks out of his body and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

  Well, that was fast. Now the fun begins.

  He cringed at the prospect of retrieving all his luggage, a nuisance that had to be done. Kassie arranged for an SUV from Boston Coach to meet him and take him to the hotel. And he reserved a Hertz car to pick up later, away from the airport where it would be cheaper. As Chris came down the escalator, he spotted the “Gaines” sign and was grateful the driver was already there. Since it was early morning, it didn’t take long for the luggage to make its way to the carousel. One by one, he grabbed each bag while the driver loaded not one, but two luggage carts.

  As they each grabbed a cart and pushed them out to the curb where the car was waiting, the driver couldn’t help himself.

  “All this for one guy?”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry about that.” Chris played along and chuckled. It didn’t matter which coast. The reaction was the same.

  “No problem. You moving here or just passing through? You can’t have all this just for vacation?”

  “Here until September to start. We’ll see,” he said determined to keep his options open. Chris counted each bag. All made it. Thanks Michelle, or was it Melissa? Didn’t matter.

  Chris climbed into the back seat and pulled out his phone. It took a second or two for it to adjust to East Coast time. Four voice mails and three texts popped up. His mother called, of course. She knew he was moving to Boston, but he hadn’t told her the whole story. He figured someday he’d have to come clean about being involved with a married woman. Someday would have to wait.

  The other messages were from friends wishing him luck and hoping he’d find his way back to San Francisco. Some warned him that becoming a Red Sox or Patriots fan was like selling his soul to the devil. Remember his San Francisco roots.

  As the car proceeded away from the airport and through the tunnel, the blue sky sparkled with the morning sun. Roots, huh? Growing up, his family moved several times. Chicago, Phoenix, and then back to Chicago again. It wasn’t until he graduated college that he found his way to San Francisco in search of the perfect job. Not sure where his roots were. Maybe here, maybe there. Perhaps somewhere else.
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br />   No matter what, Chris felt free and unencumbered. Kassie made him feel that way. She wanted them to live together with no intention of marriage. She wanted to be free of that institution. Her word was good enough for him.

  “Mind if I make a phone call?”

  He clicked on her personal number. It went to voicemail. “Hi, this is Kassie O. I missed your call, but you know what to do. Talk later.”

  Not satisfied, he called her business cellphone. “Hello, you’ve reached Kassie O’Callaghan. Your call is important to me. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you asap. Thanks and have a great day.”

  Strange. No answer on either phone. WTF? He chose not to leave a message. She’d be able to see he’d called.

  Chris gazed out the window as they made their way through Boston on I-90, just passing the Citgo sign next to Fenway. Suddenly, things weren’t going according to plan. Great day? Or a harbinger of the future? There was only one way to find out. Game on.

  8

  Bowed Vows

  Dr. Alexander returned to Mike’s exam room and with few words gave them a heads-up Dr. Singleton was on his way. He then left Mike and Kassie alone to wait. Kassie turned off her cellphone and sat rigid, as if she was mummified, in the forest-green vinyl chair alongside Mike’s hospital bed.

  All around her the hospital breathed to life. Equipment silenced overnight clicked on and purred, providing a fair amount of white noise. Not enough though to mask conversations among staff that ranged from medical-speak to what plans they had for the Easter weekend. Kassie wasn’t convinced her plans were in jeopardy just yet. There was still a chance Mike’s tests would come back fine, and they’d head home shortly. One could hope.

  Mike and Kassie shared proverbial silence. If the hospital furniture and medical equipment could talk, they would say an emptiness hung heavy like the fog on a damp night at Fenway Park. As the minutes passed, a feeling of dread filled the void. Their breathing became heavy, in unison, as each waited for the other to speak. Whoever speaks first loses, right?

  Mike bowed his head and fiddled with his gold wedding ring, which he had enlarged twice over the years as he’d gained weight. Kassie stared at the heart monitor; at least he wasn’t flatlining.

  “So, what now?” they said together, eyes meeting.

  “You tell me. Seems like you’ve got some explaining to do.”

  “Let’s wait,” he said, rotating his ring again and again.

  “Wait? For what? What are we doing here?”

  “You know why we’re here. You saw me last night. I can’t pee. I’m nauseous. And my back is killing me.”

  “Don’t forget your swollen feet. And your bad attitude.”

  “Really, you gonna go there now?”

  “No, I guess you’re right. That can wait ’til later,” she said, willing Bad Kassie back inside. Trying to get back on topic, Kassie asked about the treatments the doctor mentioned.

  “Well, I’m not receiving treatments exactly, like in a hospital or anything. I think he meant treatments in general—my blood pressure medication and watching what I eat.”

  “You’ve been taking your meds, right? And I tried to work on your diet. Maybe you’ll need to tweak that a bit. And what about smoking? Shouldn’t you stop?”

  Kassie refused either to accept responsibility for Mike’s current condition or to commit to solving whatever his pending diagnosis. She recalled her lawyer’s warning as they discussed the pros and cons of divorce.

  “Don’t wait too long,” her lawyer had said. “You know what you need and want to do. Mike’s ten years older than you. I’ve seen this with other couples. He could end up with health issues that make it difficult for you to leave him. Then you’ll be stuck.”

  This can’t be happening. “Stuck,” she thought out loud, looking down at the beige floor tiles flecked blue and green.

  “What did you say?”

  Kassie was spared from answering as the privacy curtain screeched and two handsome men—one short, one tall—walked in. She knew the short one and assumed the tall gent was Dr. Singleton.

  “Hello, Mike. Sorry to see you here this morning. This must be Mrs. Ricci.”

  “Dr. Singleton? Call me Kassie.”

  “Glad to meet you, Kassie,” Dr. Singleton said with a strong handshake and a warm disarming eye-to-eye hello.

  Kassie hadn’t met this doctor before. She had her doctors, Mike had his. She asked him if he was a general practitioner or a specialist.

  “I am a specialist, Kassie, a nephrologist.”

  He seemed to give her a moment to let that sink in before adding, “A kidney specialist.”

  It appeared not to faze him he had to introduce himself and explain his role in her husband’s healthcare. Were they in cahoots? Was he complicit in Mike’s deception?

  The doctor asked Mike what had happened. Mike related the events, the dinner, the bathroom scene, all from his perspective. To Kassie, Mike’s version sounded accurate. All she could add was how shocked she was when she heard him throwing up in the bathroom, how pale he looked, and that his feet were so swollen she didn’t think he could wear shoes to the hospital so she found flip-flops for him to wear.

  Then softly, but still loud enough for all to hear, Kassie looked squarely at Mike and said, “I didn’t know about your kidney problem. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  With a nephrologist in the room, Kassie feared the situation could be more serious than she thought.

  Dr. Singleton raised an eyebrow at Mike.

  “As I’ve discussed with Mike, chronic kidney disease doesn’t develop or even progress overnight. Most often it creeps along. Symptoms can be nonspecific, like fatigue or loss of appetite. High blood pressure, like Mike has, is also a symptom, but it too can be a symptom of other illnesses. So, in the early stages we treat the symptoms and try to get things under control. I need to see what else Mike may have going on here before we decide on next steps or further treatments. No need for alarm.”

  Kassie nodded as if she understood, but she didn’t. She knew nothing about chronic kidney disease and struggled as much with Mike’s dishonesty as she did with this news. For better or worse, in sickness and in health, ’til death we do part echoed in her mind. She’d experienced for better or worse with Mike; she gathered this was the sickness part.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, Kassie, I’d like to examine Mike alone for a few minutes. Why don’t you give us ten? The café should be open by now if you’d like to get coffee and something to eat.”

  “Tea, doctor. I drink tea, and I know where it is. I’ll be back,” she snapped, unhappy at being summarily dismissed. Bad Kassie snagged her bag, swept the curtain aside, and stormed out.

  “Forgive her. She’s not herself today. This isn’t easy. Her mom died here last year.” She heard Mike explain away her alter ego.

  That’s right. My mother’s not here when I need her. But then again, she never was.

  Desperate for some real, non-vending machine tea, Kassie found her way to the cafeteria. The tall doctor was right, it was open. But then she knew it would be. She felt a stabbing pain in her gut. Hunger or fear or just plain fatigue? She didn’t know. She’d start with tea and go from there.

  Scanning the seating area for somewhere quiet, she spotted lots of scrubs in various faded colors occupying the tables, feeding on carbs for a long day ahead. Kassie chose a small table with a bench seat in a corner. The tea was too hot to drink right away. Why was coffee instantly consumable, yet tea was scalding and undrinkable for an hour? What’s with that? Didn’t matter.

  God, she was exhausted physically and mentally. She worried she could become so tired she wouldn’t be able to think straight or keep her wits about her. Kassie crossed her arms on the table and rested her forehead on them. After a few minutes, she raised her head with a big yoga inhale and tried to shake the cobwebs. What time was it anyway?

  “Oh, no. Chris.” The phone call. She turned on her phone. No message, but she c
ould see in her Recents file he’d called. She checked her office phone. Same deal. She looked around, recognizing no one. It should be safe for her to call him from there.

  No answer. She hung up exasperated and took another deep cleansing breath. Chris was probably tired and asleep. She had to leave him a message. He’d wonder where she was. What could she say at this point? What should she say? She had nothing definitive to tell him. Would Mike be released that morning? Could they still make the game? What about all their other plans?

  Time to control what she could. Voicemail again.

  This time Kassie put on a happy voice. “Hi, lover. You will not believe where I am. At the hospital with Mike. Long story, long night—”

  An incoming call interrupted her.

  “Hey, KO. I made it!” Only two people ever called her that, Chris and her mom.

  “Welcome to Beantown!” She paused, before changing her tone. “Hey, I was just leaving you a message. You’ll never guess. I’m at the emergency room with Mike. Long story, long night.”

  “What the hell?”

  “I know. Don’t worry. I think things will be fine. He got sick during the night, and I had to rush him here to Boston Clinic. The doctor’s examining him right now. Hopefully he’ll be released soon.”

  “Guess I shouldn’t ask how dinner was. Gee, babe, you okay?”

  “Kind of. I’m not sure what’s going on with him. Some kidney thing. Great timing, huh? I’m glad you’re here. Fenway is probably out. Sorry. We’ll get there another time.”

  “That’s too bad. All of it.”

  “I need to get going. I’ll keep you posted. And I’ll see you later. No matter what.”

  “You gonna tell him about the divorce?”

  “I don’t know. Hope so. We’ll see. I don’t want you to worry. This is my problem.”

  “Right,” Chris said. She could hear the heavy emphasis on the ’t’.

  “Listen, stay there. Leave me a key at the front desk in case you fall asleep. Get some rest. You’re gonna need it.”