Heartbreak at Roosevelt Ranch

by Elise Faber

My news would further cement that.

  He was in uniform, his duty belt still around his waist. I’d always loved him in blues. He was the female fantasy come to life.

  “What’s wrong, babe?”

  The question, filled with obvious concern and actual emotion for the first time in what felt like forever, coupled with him extending his arms, made me forget everything. The woman’s voice in the background of the call, the way he’d said I was nothing, his distance, how he’d been so oblivious and missed so much.

  I wanted those arms around me. I wanted that comfort.

  I wanted my husband back.

  With a sigh of relief, I stepped into his embrace. Tears slipped down my cheeks, dripping off my chin and pooling onto the collar of my shirt. With Rob, it had always been different. All the walls that existed to keep me safely distant weren’t there with him.

  But lately they’d crept in with my husband, and I didn’t know how to stop building them.

  Not when he kept hurting me.

  Not when I allowed myself to be hurt without talking to him.

  Yet in that moment, none of it mattered. I had my husband, my best friend, and he was there for me.

  “Shh,” he said, stroking the hair back from my face. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”

  “Why’s Mommy crying?” Allie asked.

  I sniffed, trying to quiet my sobs. I didn’t want to upset her or Max.

  “Mom?” Max asked, grabbing me around the leg.

  “I-I’m okay,” I said, my voice only slightly shaky. “Just a little upset.”

  “Why don’t you guys go pick out your books, and I’ll read to you tonight?” Rob said.

  “Okay!” Allie started to run off before making a skidding turn and throwing her arms around me. “Love you!”

  “Love you too, baby.”

  Max touched my arm, and I glanced down at him. He studied me for a long moment before nodding and pressing a kiss to my hand. “Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you too, buddy.”

  He ran upstairs.

  Rob waited until the pounding footsteps had faded before he took my hand and led me toward the kitchen. “Okay, spill,” he said, pushing me down in a chair then crouching in front of me.

  “It’s Rocco. He got out today and fell down a ravine. H-he broke his leg, and Dr. Johnson wants to keep him overnight in case of internal bleeding.” I took a deep breath because my voice was getting shrill and my eyes were filling with tears again.

  “How did he get out?”

  It was a reasonable question. And also one I didn’t want to answer.

  “Sandy isn’t sure,” I hedged.

  Rob raised a brow and sat back on his haunches. “Why would Sandy be unsure?” His tone was harder now, laced with no-nonsense cop.

  “Because Rocco was at Bow Wow Patrol when he got out.”

  “Why?”

  I hesitated.

  “Melissa.”

  “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.” My eyes went to a spot over his right shoulder, mentally dissecting the kitchen clutter. I needed to sort the mail, finish the dishes—

  “Melissa”—my gaze flashed back to his face, angry and dark—“you need to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  I burst to my feet. “I wanted to tell you. I tried to tell you, but you blew me off.”

  “We talked last night.”

  “Gah! I hate it when you do that.” I paced the floor we’d laid together and wasn’t that memory a nice little slap in the face at a moment like this? “Nitpicking my words, tacking on little disclaimers so that you don’t have to be wrong. Yes, we talked last night. No, you didn’t give me enough of your precious time so that I could tell you what’s been going on in my life.”

  He opened his mouth, closed it. Then he sighed and said, “I thought it was our life.”

  “It hasn’t been our life for a long time.” When he didn’t reply, I said, “You might have been home with me and the kids in body, but your mind wasn’t here, your heart wasn’t and hasn’t been here for months.”

  Silence.

  “You pulled back, Rob, and I miss you.”

  For a second, I thought my husband might actually make an appearance. His eyes softened as he stood and crossed to me, lightly brushing his knuckles down my cheek when he got near.

  Then his face closed down. “What haven’t you told me?”

  He might as well have slapped me. The words were cold, his expression tight and frigid.

  I recited the facts in monotone. “I cooked for Justin’s work colleague a few days ago. His wife is an executive at a cooking channel. She loved my food, checked out my blog and recipes, and asked to set up a meeting with me today. They want me to come to New York for a screen test.”

  “No.”

  I blinked, startled from my recitation. “What?”

  “No. You can’t go to New York for a screen test.”

  I stepped back.

  Rob stepped forward.

  I lifted my chin. “Why not?”

  “Your place is here. The kids.” He shook his head, turned away. “Rocco already got hurt because of this stupid idea—”

  “Rocco getting hurt was an accident.”

  “Because of this woman and her meeting,” he said, taking his own turn at pacing the floor. “He would have been at home if not for that.”

  “It’s not Tammy’s fault Rocco was injured.”

  “Fine,” he snapped and thrust a hand through his hair. “It was your fault.”

  My stomach twisted, that wonderfully painful guilt flooding in. I held it close, let it batter me even as I pretended my husband’s words hadn’t cut me deep. “You’re being unreasonable.”

  “You’re being irresponsible.”

  I laughed. Laughed until my stomach hurt and tears threatened. I’d been called a lot of things in my life—by my mother, by jerky kids at school growing up, even by Kelly in her teenage years when I’d been more mom than sister.

  But never by my husband.

  “Irresponsible.” A shake of my head. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

  “I—”

  The pounding of footsteps radiated through the floor above our heads and was punctuated by a resounding, “MOM!”

  It also gave me the out that was needed. My insides felt like they’d been sliced by knives. I was exhausted. I was hurt and emotional and . . .

  “Go read to our kids,” I murmured.

  For once, I didn’t head to the fridge, didn’t pull out ingredients and start cooking my pain away.

  Instead, I grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter, a glass from the cupboard, and headed out the back door.

  Some things just called for wine.

  I didn’t look back as I went through the door and settled myself into a chair on the deck. I didn’t need to. This house and family were my everything, and I could track every movement without a wasted glance.

  I heard Rob climb the stairs—not bothering to avoid the creaking one. I listened to the kids’ muffled but clearly excited voices as they talked about their days. I watched the glow disappear from the deck as their lights were flicked off. I heard quiet footfalls descending . . . and that damned squeaky step again.

  I heard Rob’s car start up.

  And drive away.

  I finished the bottle of wine.

  15

  I woke up with a pounding headache and a violent urge for bacon, eggs, and hash browns.

  Food would have to wait for aspirin to kick in though.

  With a groan, I rolled to the side and saw the time.

  Of course.

  The kids were going to be late for school.

  But that seemed slightly less important when I noticed that Rob’s side of the bed was untouched. For all the years we’d been married, the only times he hadn’t slept by my side were when he’d been on a night shift.

  I guess that wasn’t the case any longer.

  Forcing my eyes from the neatly made half
of the bed, from the pillow that was undented, I hustled into the closet.

  No time for emotions and regrets.

  My kids needed to get to school.

  I brushed my teeth, threw my hair into a ponytail, and grabbed the first set of clothes my hands touched.

  Three minutes for me being somewhat presentable to the rest of humanity might be a record.

  I poked my head into the kids’ bedrooms and, finding them empty, rushed down the stairs, hopping over the creaking step, and skidding to a halt in the kitchen.

  My sister was there, helping Allie into her backpack. Max was sitting on the floor, already wearing his, and playing with Abby.

  Kelly glanced up and smiled. “After yesterday, I figured you might need relief this morning.” She straightened the pack on Allie’s shoulders. “Now you just turn around and go enjoy a nice long shower. I’m taking the kids to school. Dr. Johnson called your cell earlier and said Rocco would be ready to come home around noon.”

  My eyes flashed to the counter, and I saw my phone there. I guess I’d been so out of it the night before I hadn’t brought it upstairs.

  “Rocco!” Max yelled, making Abby laugh.

  I smiled.

  “I’ve got these guys today,” my sister said. “You take care of getting the fluffball settled.”

  The tension in my gut eased. “You’re a goddess.”

  Kel bowed. “I know. Go get in the car, munchkins,” she said to the kids, raising her key fob and pressing a button. We watched through the kitchen window as the two doors to her minivan slid open. “Never thought I’d say it, but minivans rock.” A grin. “Now, go spend an inordinate time on personal grooming while you have the chance.”

  “Breakfast?” I asked as she scooped up Abby.

  “Done,” Kel said as Max and Allie sprinted out the front door without a look back.

  “Boosters?”

  She nodded. “Justin installed them last night.”

  I let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, sissy.”

  “Anytime.” She hugged me and went outside.

  I waved after she’d settled Abby into her seat, smiling when she pushed a button and the doors closed.

  Minivans did rock.

  Then I saw Rob’s note propped next to the coffee pot, and my smile slipped away.

  Will be at Henry’s if you need me.

  I crumpled the paper and jammed it into the overflowing trashcan.

  What the hell did that mean?

  I grabbed a coffee cup and filled it. Was Rob hanging out for the morning? Is that where he’d spent last night?

  Had he left and was staying there permanently?

  No. We hadn’t gotten to that point. Right?

  Right?

  Dammit. I hated this, I thought, bustling around the kitchen as irritation and fear and concern washed through me. I grabbed a package of blackberries and some homemade vanilla yogurt, layering it and the berries into a bowl before topping with a few scoops of granola.

  I sat down at the table, spoon in hand but stomach no longer hungry.

  There was so much between Rob and I—baggage, barriers, resentment—but we’d always been able to talk things out in the past. Except . . . maybe we’d never really dealt with it all.

  I knew I’d done my fair share of ignoring the small stuff that I hadn’t wanted to battle over, and God knew, I was good at boxing up emotions I didn’t want to deal with.

  Was this how marriages imploded? Too much compartmentalizing, too much ignoring of the problems and pretending that everything was okay?

  No.

  That wasn’t us. This was just a rough patch. We’d get through. We always did.

  I stood up, setting my bowl in the sink, and turned to head upstairs for a shower. But there was that trash again. The lid sat askew, papers spewing out onto the floor. Reminding me of everything that wasn’t right in my life.

  Ugh.

  I shoved the garbage down angrily, slammed the top closed. “Couldn’t he have at least taken the flipping trash out before he left?”

  Left me.

  Left us.

  Then tears were in my eyes and dripping down my cheeks. I pretended they didn’t exist as I climbed the stairs. I ignored them as they mingled with the warm water of the shower.

  And, fancy that, my eyes were dry by the time my body was.

  My heart, on the other hand, was bruised and aching.

  “So he’ll need the cast for a few weeks, then we’ll take another X-ray, and if all is good, Rocco will be a free man.” Dr. Johnson smiled as he patted Rocco on the head. “Or dog, rather.”

  “In the meantime, I’ve got to keep him calm?” I glanced at Rocco’s tail, already tapping against the floor like a propeller spinning a million miles per hour.

  The vet snorted, a lock of his dark brown hair falling forward over his eyes. “Do your best. Most dogs don’t start to perk up for a few days.” He gave a pointed look at the propeller tail and Rocco’s bright eyes. “But I think this one will prove me wrong.”

  “He’s got energy,” I agreed.

  Dr. Johnson touched my arm. “Speaking of energy, are you okay? You look a little”—he hesitated like he realized he was hovering in dangerous territory—“overwhelmed.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Rocco will make a full recovery.”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  “Any other questions or concerns?”

  Silence descended, and I struggled to hold everything inside. I wasn’t the vent-to-strangers type, but there was something about the white coat and doctor’s office setting that made me want to spill my guts.

  In the end, old patterns persisted and my guts stayed firmly not spilled.

  I thanked the vet, bent to lift Rocco up—

  “It’s not your fault,” Dr. Johnson said.

  My laugh was brittle. “That’s what everyone keeps saying.”

  He raised a brow. “Then it’s probably true.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  A smile and a flirtatious wink. It would have been overkill on a less attractive man. On Dr. Johnson—young and muscular and sweet—it only added to the general appeal.

  When had I started to notice the general appeal of other men?

  Right around the time that my husband might have been unfaithful.

  Any amusement I felt dried up at that thought. Dr. Johnson must have noticed it because he snagged my keys from the exam table, scooped up Rocco, and headed for the door.

  “I’ll get him settled in your car if you want to head to the checkout desk.”

  “Thanks,” I said, but he was already out the door.

  Well, what was seeing one more male’s back? They were familiar territory these days.

  Sighing, I grabbed my purse and left the exam room.

  I paid, careful to save the receipt because Bow Wow Patrol was going to reimburse me, and walked outside to my car. Then stopped dead. Rob was standing next to Dr. Johnson, the pair in an intense conversation.

  A conversation that abruptly ended when I came over to them.

  Rob gave Dr. Johnson a hard look as he patted Rocco on the head. That look transformed into a fierce glare when the vet stopped in front of me and squeezed my hand.

  “Hang in there, okay?” Dr. Johnson waited until I tore my eyes from my husband and met his. “And you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” He handed me a card. “Cell’s on the back.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered as he walked away.

  My gaze hit the pavement, tracing the cracks as I took a deep breath and prepared to navigate the glacial ice storm that was my husband.

  Peace. All I wanted was peace.

  I shored up my spine. “Hi.”

  “Hey.”

  “I—I’m sorry about Rocco. It was a horrible accident, but Dr. Johnson says he’ll make a full recovery.”

  I paused. Waited.

  Nothing.

  I bit my lip, pressed on. “So, anyway. I need to get him
home so he can rest.” I hesitated a beat, thinking my husband would respond to me. When he didn’t, I went on rambling, “Then I have to pick up Allie and take her to Kelly’s for her riding lessons, and for some reason I agreed to ride with them. Then Max has a playdate with Caleb after school then I’ll pick him up from soccer and . . .”

  I ran out of steam.

  And got silence back.

  Awesome.

  Seriously, why did I bother?

  I pushed past my husband. A man who, just months before, I would have said that I knew better than myself.

  This cold person in front of me was a stranger.

  “I’m tired of being shut out,” I muttered, tearing open the passenger door and tossing my purse inside. “I’m tired of feeling like a pathetic puppy that keeps getting kicked. I’m”—I sighed as fatigue flooded through me—“just tired.”

  Rob was still standing by the open trunk of my van, but now he was scratching Rocco under the chin.

  “You shouldn’t leave him unsupervised with the trunk open,” Rob said. “He already got hurt once on your watch. You need to be more careful.”

  “You mean be more careful and supervise when you’re right there?” I asked, slamming the door and walking toward the trunk. “Because by my count you’ve got two eyes and hands, and you’re fully capable of supervising.”

  Rob’s stare snapped to mine, but he didn’t apologize.

  He didn’t say anything further either. Which, really, at that point, I considered a win.

  I shoved between him and the car, checking that Rocco was safely away from the trunk so I could close it.

  “What’s this?” Rob asked, fingers plucking into my back pocket.

  “What’s what?” I asked, after the lift-gate clicked closed.

  “This.”

  I turned, saw that he was holding the card Dr. Johnson had handed me. “It’s the vet’s card.” I shrugged. “He’s been very kind and helpful about Rocco.”

  Rob snorted. “I bet he has.”

  Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?

  Now, I don’t get mad often. I really don’t. Sure, little things annoy me and pester my thoughts. But I’m the stewing type, not the blow-my-top-like-a-volcano type.

  Until I hit the Point.

  I’m guessing anyone in the universe could see that I’d hit that Point.