A real job? The kids just didn't understand.
Then again, maybe she was right. Maybe he simply wasn't cut out for running his own business. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for much of anything, period. “Except being a kept man,” he muttered, his voice just above a whisper.
Nora slipped out of Leslie’s room, pulling the door closed behind her. She glanced up and saw him, and the look that crossed her face spoke volumes to him. He turned around and walked back toward the kitchen, listening to make sure she was following him.
He still could hardly believe the events of the last 24 hours. It shocked him to see how quickly things could unravel when you tugged on the right string. Why, oh why did he take that first drink? He ran both hands through his hair, lacing his fingers behind his neck. Why did he even go out last night?
And that was really the problem, anyway. He went out to make some stupid point to his wife. He went out to prove to her she couldn't tell him what to do, that he was busy, too; that he had a life, too. And it had all been a lie. He had no business meeting, no one to go out with. He went to the bar completely alone, on a night when he knew she'd have issues with his absence.
He just happened to stumble across a couple of guys he knew from his drinking days. Funny thing, too, finding them still sitting at the same table, at the same bar, just where he'd left them ten years ago. They welcomed him back like he was a long-lost brother, especially when he started paying for drinks.
Leaning his hips against the counter, he rotated his head in wide circles, trying to work out the kinks forming in his neck and shoulders. Paying for drinks. He had absolutely no idea how much money he'd spent. “There goes another row of stitches unraveling around me,” he muttered under his breath. “I'm going to be naked in no time.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. Just talking to myself.” Jake refilled his mug with more hot water. “I... I was wondering something.”
“What?” Nora gave up on getting any work done, not while he was hovering around the kitchen. She carried her cup to the microwave, then started gathering things up into a few neat piles again while she waited for the tea to reheat. She would just have to work like a madwoman in the morning and hope for the best.
“Why haven't you asked me about last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don't you want to know where I was, and who I was with?”
Nora didn't answer right away as she took her cup from the microwave and sipped the steaming drink in silence. When she finally looked up at him, her eyes were dark, impenetrable. The urge to squirm was almost overwhelming, and Jake clenched his fists at his sides.
“No, Jake, I don't want to know where you were and who you were with last night. For you to go out and get drunk again, after all these years, simply blows my mind. You just drew a line in the sand for us. No, I don’t want to know. In fact, I no longer care enough to want to know.” She hitched one shoulder up in a half-hearted shrug. “Besides, I think you’re hoping I’ll ask so you can unload your guilt. Exonerate yourself. Sorry, but I’m not going to relieve you of anything.”
A mental snapshot of the waitress' face, very close to his own, made him rub his eyes. He could still feel her young body pressed against his. Should he tell Nora about her? Things couldn't possibly get any worse. Besides, he'd said no to the woman. Even drunk, he'd pushed her away and refused her advances. Kinda.
“There was this waitress....”
“Good grief, Jake!” Nora interrupted him, shaking her head. “Do you want me to kick you out? Don't come clean for my sake. It's too late. If you've got confessing to do, call a pastor. Call a friend. Go talk to God.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and Jake nearly cringed. She'd never looked at him like that before, not even back in his drinking days that he could remember. “Call someone who cares.” She finished her drink and set her empty cup in the sink.
“And now that I see you’re feeling better, you can sleep on the couch. You are not welcome in my room so do not slither in at two in the morning again. I will make a scene. If you need anything, get it now. I'm taking a shower, then I'm going to bed. Alone.”
Jake watched her walk away. Tell someone who cares, she'd said, as though she didn't. What made his heart pound in his ears was a mounting fear that it was true.
“What have I done,” he groaned despairingly. How many times had he asked himself that question in the last twenty-four hours?
Hearing the shower start, Jake pushed away from the counter and headed toward the bedroom to gather a few items. He grabbed his pillow, the extra blanket from the end of the bed, and his Bible. Then he scooped up his alarm clock; he wasn't about to let the kids wake up before him and catch him sleeping on the couch.
Jake sat down on the edge of the bed, deflated. “God? Can You hear me? Or have I screwed things up with You, too? I don't know what I was thinking. You've got to help me. Help us. I don't want to lose my family.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his head down. “I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix this.”
The shower shut off and he knew he'd better not be in the bedroom when Nora came through the door. Clutching his pitiful little pile of necessities, he turned his back on their bed. As he passed the bathroom door, he thought he heard her sniffle, but he wasn't sure. Nora cried over everything, because she felt things so acutely, but he had yet to see her shed a single tear over this whole situation, and that realization only deepened his fears.
~ ~ ~
Nora awoke from a fitful sleep to the sound of the bedroom door opening, the telltale squeak of one hinge giving him away. Instantly alert, and utterly amazed at her husband's audacity, she watched as Jake eased into the room.
“Get out. I'm warning you, Jacob Anderson.” She didn't yell...yet.
“Please, Nor. It's almost six, and the kids might wake up. I don't want to have to explain why I'm sleeping on the couch.”
“Not my problem. Get out.”
“Oh, come on. Don't be ridiculous. It's not like I'm climbing in bed....”
“Get out!” This time she did yell. Jake backed out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. She heard the bathroom door open and close across the hall.
He looked awful. “About as bad as I feel,” she muttered, lying back on her pillow. All she wanted to do was to sink down beneath the covers, and close her eyes again. Was it really morning already?
Ten years ago, when he showed up for what seemed like the millionth time, reeking of whiskey and cigars, smudged make-up traces on his lapels, she was waiting for him. Standing in their little apartment kitchen, her pixie cut sticking on end, distended belly stretched tight around the growing body of their second child, she asked him why. When he couldn't answer her with anything other than 'I don't know,' and ‘I’m sorry,’ she told him that if he ever got drunk again, not to bother coming home. The doors and windows would be locked to him, and he would be put out of their lives forever. They had three-year-old Leslie and a baby on the way, and she was done cleaning up after him. No more calling in sick for him, no more leaving the security locks off, hoping it would be her husband stumbling into their home at all hours of the night and not some stranger, no more lying awake in the early morning hours wondering where he was, who he was with, waiting; dying while a new life grew inside of her. She calmly slid a packet of papers across the table to him and went to bed.
He wouldn't read them, not in his condition, she knew, but she'd labeled the manila envelope very clearly. With a black, wide-tipped marker, in all capital letters, she'd written on the front, divorce papers. If he bothered to look, he would also find paperwork for a restraining order, but she doubted it would come to that. She knew he had no intention of going anywhere. He loved her, she had no doubt, and he loved his little Leslie. He just loved himself and his alcohol a little more.
Jake made the decision to stay. He put in his time with Alcoholics Anonymous, he sought out accountability at church, and he stayed home at
night. The money he wasn't spending at the bars was put into a savings account for a down-payment on a home, and a month before their eighth anniversary, they moved in here.
They’d been full of hope in those days. Jake’s sobriety, a new home, a growing family, her business, so many new beginnings. But somewhere along the way, things began to go off course a little at a time. In fact, sometimes it seemed to her that they were struggling even more than when Jake was drinking. Back then, the alcohol was the tangible source of blame. Now, there was nothing solid to put a finger on, or point a finger at, nothing to blame the anger and frustration on.
There was only this prevailing cloud of unsettling discontent and despair.
Next month, they'd be celebrating sixteen years of marriage, but as far as she was concerned, there was little left to celebrate. Even before Jake's unexpected drinking excursion, Nora's disillusionment was overwhelming, and she dreaded the upcoming milestone, especially after the last few weeks. Her mother was already making plans to keep the kids for the weekend, so they could have some time alone, but Nora left things up in the air with her, not wanting to commit to anything. She wasn’t making plans to leave Jake, but that didn’t mean she felt like going out of her way to spend time alone with him, either.
“I hate my husband,” she said into the stillness of their bedroom. At first, the words sounded silly to her, childish. She'd never spoken them out loud before, and flushed with embarrassment. But then she tried them again. “I hate my husband. I really hate my husband.” She nodded, now feeling a little proud of herself for being brave enough to say so. “Yep. I hate my husband.” She sat up on the edge of the bed and said it again. She told her lamp she hated her husband. To her reflection in the mirror above the dresser, she said, “Do you know that you hate your husband?” She looked up at the ceiling. “God? Are You listening? I hate that man You gave me.” Then she had the decency to cover her mouth in shame. But she didn’t take it back.
Sobered, she pulled on a pair of leggings, a fluttery skirt with an uneven hemline, and flipped through the hangers in her closet until she found a silky little top with three-quarter sleeves. She'd go without a jacket today. Grabbing a pair of silver sandals, she opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall. Jake was apparently still in the bathroom. She knocked, a sharp rap on the hollow door.
“The bedroom’s all yours, Jake.”
“It's me, Mom.” Felix opened the bathroom door, a forlorn look on his face.
“Oh! Well, good morning, sweetheart!” Nora reached out and ruffled his already messy hair. “You're up early.”
“I heard you stub your toe, Mom. You yelled like a freak.”
“My toe? I didn't stub my toe.” She held up her foot for inspection. Jake must have made that one up, but she wasn't letting him off the hook so easily.
“Dad said you did.” Felix scowled, and shot a glance toward the kitchen.
“Hm.” She leaned down and spoke in a stage whisper. “He's got a good imagination, doesn't he?”
Felix just looked confused. “Well, I heard you yell.”
“Oh that. Yeah. Sorry I woke you up. I didn't mean to. Are you okay?”
“No. Dad got up on the wrong side of the bed and is being totally poopy. You might want to stay out of his way.”
“Ah. Yes.” He woke up on the couch, Felix, not the wrong side of the bed. She forced her smirk into a grimace for Felix’ sake. “I think I'll take your advice and steer clear, okay?”
“You seem to be in a good mood in spite of your toe that you didn't stub.” Felix was still grumbling, his shoulders slumped as they walked down the hall together.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I think I am. I didn't start that way, on account of the toe I didn't stub,” she hopped on one foot to demonstrate, hoping to cheer him up a little. “But I'm feeling better now. Maybe instead of my toe, I just stubbed the poopy out of me.”
Felix couldn't help it. He giggled. “Mom!”
“What?” Her brows arched high above her wide, innocent eyes.
Jake was setting breakfast dishes out on the island when they came into the kitchen. He wouldn't look at either of them, a sure sign that he was feeling badly about the way things were already going this morning. She glanced over at the table, but none of her things had been touched. He must have seen her looking.
“I didn't touch anything.”
Nora didn't bother responding. He sounded like a sulking little boy. Felix, either defensive because of the encounter he’d already had with Jake, or because he sensed the tension in the air between his parents, hiked himself up onto a stool and sat quietly, tracing circles in the pattern of the tile on the counter top.
Just then Leslie schlepped out of her room. She usually got up around six; she now styled her hair, and Nora let her wear a little make-up, so she needed the extra time in the mornings to get ready for school.
“Are you guys okay?” She didn't beat around the bush as she came into the kitchen and perched on another stool next to Felix. She looked over at Nora, then back at Jake.
Nora wasn't going to lie to the kids. Jake, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualms about doing so. “We’re fine, Les.”
Everyone stared at him, but Nora didn’t speak. Let him take responsibility for the situation. She wasn’t going to make any more excuses for him the way she'd done years ago.
“Dad's in a poopy mood and Mom's not.” Felix interjected into the silence that stretched out uncomfortably.
“That’s it!” Jake banged a pan down on the stove top. Everyone jumped at the sound. Even Jake winced a little. “What did you say to him, Nora?”
“Excuse me?” Nora was honestly taken aback by his accusation. “I didn't have to say anything. He's not stupid, Jake.”
“Great. This is just great.” Jake crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his family on the other side of the counter. “So I'm in a crappy mood. Is that a crime?”
“No.” Felix continued to move his fingertip along the grout lines and didn't look up at his Dad. “Sorry.”
Leslie didn't look too happy either, but she smiled tentatively at Jake. “Maybe you're just not feeling good yet, Daddy. Maybe you should go back to bed.”
“Back to bed?” Jake guffawed. “Back to bed? What a novel idea.”
“Jake.” Nora didn't have to say it, but she did anyway. “Cool it.”
“You are telling me to cool it?” Jake raised his arm and pointed at her.
“All right. That's enough.” Nora was not going to do this right now. “I'm taking over breakfast. You go deal with yourself. In the bedroom.” She came around the end of the counter toward him, hoping he would comply before things got ugly in front of the kids.
“I can go to bed now, Mommy? In my own room?” Jake's sarcasm was ugly to hear, but the look on his face was even worse. “Yippy!” He clapped his hands together, three times, hard, then stormed out of the room. Nora opened the fridge and took out the eggs. She began breaking some into the pan that he'd left heating up on the lighted burner.
“What was all that about?” Leslie looked wide-eyed, shocked. Felix kept his head down. When she didn't answer right away, Leslie spoke again, accusation in her voice. “Well? I thought you two were working things out last night. That's what you told me.”
“Hey.” Nora turned around to look at her daughter. “Watch your tone with me. We are working on things, but some things take longer to process through than others. Your dad is dealing with some stuff right now, and we need to let him.”
“Is that why he slept on the couch last night?” Felix asked.
Leslie's head jerked around to look at her brother. “Dad slept on the couch?”
“Yes.” Nora sighed, submitting to the inevitable. They were going to do this right now, after all. “Like I said, he has some things he needs to work out, some decisions to make, and sleeping in the same room right now makes it a little confusing.”
“So how long has all this been going on?” Lesl
ie was not happy.
“A while, Les.”
“He's been sleeping on the couch for a while? How long is a while?” Now she was appalled.
“No. He only slept there last night. And part of the night before.”
“You made him sleep on the couch even though he's sick? Or was that a lie, too?” Leslie crossed her arms over her budding chest, the frown on her face making her look just like Jake.
“Actually, Les, he has been sick.” She wouldn't tell them why. That was Jake's job.
“And you made him sleep on the couch? Because he was sick?” This time it was Felix who spoke, looking aghast over her cold-hearted treatment of his ailing father. Nora squeezed her eyes shut, just for a moment. If only they knew.
“He was barfing, guys. He didn't want to puke on me.”
“Gross, Mom.” Leslie wrinkled her nose.
“Exactly. And last night, well, we just needed to spend some time alone. That, my children, is where things stand for now.” Nora fleetingly thought about the way she'd spent the afternoon, how charming Tristan had been, how good it felt to be flirted with. But just as she was beginning to feel a twinge of guilt, she heard Jake's words from last night, right before she cut him off; echoes of words she’d heard too many times before, words drenched in remorse and shame.
“There was this waitress....”
11
The day of their anniversary dawned overcast and heavy, much the way Jake felt as he peered through the slats of the window beside the fireplace. He was still sleeping in the living room. The kids knew, but they didn't ask about it. Once they were tucked in bed, he and Nora hardly spoke, even though she rarely went back to her office at night anymore. They seldom used the table for meals because it had become her work space, and she doggedly refused his offer to clear a space for her in his office.
She got up and ready in the mornings before the children, made them breakfast, packed their lunches, dropped them off, and then picked them up after school, just like she said she would. She took them to their events, attending most of them without him.
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