Against his better judgment, he opened the small suitcase. He rooted around a little, then slipped his hand into the zippered pocket on the lid. Cool, slippery fabric met his probing fingertips, and he brought out a fistful of lacy lingerie, things he'd never seen before.
A vile, black emotion reared up inside of him, and with a growl, he upended the whole bag, spilling its contents on the floor. Something in a blue glass jar labeled “Allure” rolled across the tile and skittered to a stop in the corner. Her things that had been neatly folded and precisely packed, scattered as he pawed through them, trying to find more evidence of his wife’s deception.
He dumped out her bathroom kit, make up and accessories skittering across the floor. A second cobalt container tumbled out and broke, spilling its intoxicating fragrance into the air, something he realized she'd just recently begun wearing. He scooped up a handful of her shirts, bringing them to his nose, smelling the scent over and over again, torturing himself with the suspicion that this new sensual perfume of hers was for someone else's taste, someone else’s pleasure.
Jake finally stood, his stomach clenching and twisting, and he stumbled back to the sofa. He sat, his face turned away from the mess in the entryway, breathing in through his mouth so he didn’t have to smell her betrayal. He fought to keep his reaction under control. He clutched the edge of the couch cushions, rocking back and forth, clamping his jaw shut as he tried to hold everything in. But a sob wrenched its way up from his gut, tearing through the band around his throat, and another, then another, until he was weeping, his whole body quaking in the violence of his anguish.
When she emerged from their bedroom just after seven the next morning, he was sitting up, coffee in hand. He watched her as she made her way from the bathroom to the kitchen, passing the pile of her things with only a brief, acknowledging glance. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down on one of the stools at the counter.
She looked almost as bad as he did, he thought. Her eyes had dark circles under them, they were puffy and bleary, as though she'd been crying too. Her hair was tangled, there were long, angry marks on one cheek from where she'd lay on creases in the pillowcase, and she still wore the same jeans and top she'd had on when she came home the night before.
“Are you leaving?” He asked.
“Probably.”
“When?”
“As soon as I can figure something out.”
“Have you told the kids?”
“No.”
“I want to be there when you do.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” There didn't seem to be anything left to say. Well, maybe one more thing.
“Who is he?”
23
“Who is he?” he asked again when she didn't answer; louder, more demanding this time.
“It's no one, Jake. There's no one.” Nora didn’t look at him. She just sat on the stool, her ankles crossed, her hands wrapped around the mug on the counter in front of her. She hadn’t even taken a drink. She didn’t look like she was lying this morning.
“So you're not seeing anyone?” Why was he so quick to hope?
“I'm not seeing anyone.” Then she turned lifeless eyes to him and added, “Not anymore.”
Jake felt his heart stop, then suddenly jerk back into action. It pushed up against his throat until he thought he might explode. He leapt up and began pacing the floor. Not anymore. Not anymore. Not anymore. Her words throbbed inside his head to the rhythm of his footsteps.
“Stop pacing, Jake. You're making me crazy.”
“Making you crazy?” He stopped marching back and forth and stood, his feet apart, his arms akimbo at his sides. “I’m making you crazy?” His voice was trembling with rage. He could hardly believe she was making this about her.
“Don't yell at me.” Even her voice sounded lifeless. She turned away and gazed out a window at the overgrown backyard. He wondered if she noticed that he'd neglected mowing it for a few weeks.
“Stop pacing. Don't yell. Be quiet. All you do is give me orders, Nora. You know what? You have no right to tell me what to do. None, whatsoever. In fact, this is me telling you what to do. Get out.” He walked over to her pile of clothes, kicked at a tube of mascara with his bare foot, then bent over and started shoving things back into the suitcase. “I'll even help you pack.”
His hand swept through the lotion that had spilled last night, and he realized too late the broken pieces of glass were still there, too. “Ouch!” he roared, angry at himself for not paying attention, frustrated that even while trying to be tough, he would appear weak and wounded to her. He carelessly pulled a large blue shard from his palm, then grabbed an item off the top of the pile in her bag, and pressed it against the bleeding wound. The silky fabric of the negligee slithered against his hand, and rather than absorbing his blood, it seemed to repel it. He tossed it away from him, repulsed by the sensation. It made him think of snakes.
Jake looked up and found her watching him from her perch, unresponsive to either his anger or his injury. “Are you just going to sit there?”
Nora turned away again without answering him.
“Hello! Are you in there?” He raised a fist and knocked his knuckles against an imaginary surface. “What is wrong with you, Nora?” He stood up and kicked at the pile of clothes, scattering the things all over the entry again. “How could you do this to us? How could you?” Now he really was yelling. His voice broke embarrassingly, and he stormed down the hall toward the bathroom to wash his hands.
More than the blood, he wanted to scrub the stench of her affair off his hands. The sultry fragrance suddenly turned rancid in his nostrils, and he barely made it to the toilet before he started gagging.
He bent over the bowl as everything left from the night before came up, including the coffee he’d been drinking for the last two hours. Even when there was nothing more, his body continued dry-heaving, his hands clutching the vanity on one side and the edge of the bathtub on the other, leaving bloody hand-prints all over the white porcelain. His empty stomach still churned and growled, but straightening, he rinsed his mouth with water from the sink, the coppery tang of his blood mingling with the acid taste in his mouth. Then he slumped to the floor, his back to the wall, and looked down at his palm. For such a little puncture, it sure bled a lot. And hurt a lot. Or maybe it was just the gaping hole in his heart projecting pain to the wound in his hand.
“Oh God, help me. Help me. Help me, Jesus.” They were the only words he could come up with, and he repeated them over and over again. Finally, he stood, washed his hands with soap and hot water, relishing in his pain, taking extra care to make certain he no longer smelled like Nora. Then he cleaned up the bloody prints he’d left all over the tub.
By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Nora had returned all her things to the suitcase. It stood upright, propped against the open front door, her garment bag folded neatly in half, resting on top. The broken glass and lotion were gone, even the aroma seemed to be dissipating out into the world, although not quickly enough for him. Her boots were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Nora.
Jake could see her car parked in the driveway, so he knew she was still here somewhere. He didn't know whether to look for her, or sit and wait for her to show up again. Apparently, she wasn't going to get out as he had demanded, and he didn’t know if he had it in him to force her out. He headed down the hall to their bedroom for a change of clothes, but as he pushed open the door, the smell of her perfume assaulted his senses and he felt his stomach roll.
She’d slept in their bed while her body was drenched in her lover’s stench.
He backed out and pulled the door closed behind him. He couldn't get away from it.
As he made his way back down the hall, he glanced into the kids' bedrooms. Nora was lying on Leslie's bed on her side, her face turned toward the wall. She didn't act like she was aware of him, but he knew she was. He hadn't made any attempt to walk through the house quietly.
“So
does this mean you want to talk now?” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he taunted her from the doorway. “It’s a little late for words, Nor.”
“What's there to talk about?” she responded, not looking at him.
“Um. What's there not to talk about? Like what are we going to do with the kids? What are we going to do with the house? What are we going to do about the bills?”
“Really, Jake? Do we have to hash all this out right now?” She brought her legs up to her stomach, as if the idea of dissecting their lives was repugnant to her. How did she do that so smoothly, turning words around to make the sharp edges point at him? Fine. Then he’d push from the other direction.
“I don't know what we're waiting for. The kids are gone, you're already packed, and we're both here. What better time than now?”
“I'm not going to talk to you about this right now, Jake. I don't think either of us is in any condition to think clearly about our future.” She still didn't look at him.
“I disagree. I really don't know what good waiting will do. Conditions aren't going to change any time soon. Stop making excuses; I'm ready to talk right now.” He wasn't about to let her control how this was going to go down. Right now, he had the upper hand, even if just slightly, and he wanted to keep it that way.
“Leave me alone.”
“I will not let you off the hook so easily! You don't get to make the calls around here anymore. You relinquished that right when you... you... spread your legs for some stranger. Get up and behave like a woman with at least a modicum of decency, even if you have to fake it! Or get out!”
Nora rolled over and pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “Fine. I'll go.” She slipped her feet into the fuzzy slippers she'd removed, and stood up. “I have to get a few things, first.” She waited for him to step aside, then she walked by him out of the room.
There was that sickening smell again, and he nearly gagged. His anger surged and he followed her, reaching for her just as she opened the door to their bedroom.
“What is that stuff you reek of?” he snarled, his face so close to hers, he could see the tiny flicker of something—fear?—in her green eyes. He had her pinned against the door, his hands wrapped around her upper arms. “Is that something he gave you? Because it makes me want to hurl.”
Nora didn't look away. “Jo gave it to me.”
“Well it smells like sex. And it makes you smell like a…like a whore.” He leaned forward and sniffed at her neck, and she trembled slightly when he tightened his grip on her arms. His blood was pumping hard, adrenaline surging through him, and he groaned deep in his chest. Before he knew what he was doing, he was kissing her neck, her face, her mouth, roughly, possessively, both angry and terrified at how close to the edge of insanity he felt. “You are mine,” he ground out against her lips. “Mine. And I will not share you.”
He wrapped one arm around her, pinning her arms to her side, and buried the other hand in her hair, pulling her head back so he could have better access to her face. He could taste tears but he didn't know if they were hers or his... and he didn't care.
Whore! The toxic, black voice growled in his head.
My whore, he responded, just as blackly.
24
Nora lay on her side, her back to Jake whose body was curved possessively around hers. She could hear his breathing begin to slow as he slipped into the heavy sleep of a spent man. She didn't dare move for fear she'd wake him.
She wasn't afraid of him; not anymore. She no longer had any reason to be. Maybe he'd forced himself on her, but she didn't really resist. Her body ached, though, in places where it shouldn't, not after love-making. His behavior this morning was reminiscent of his drinking days when he'd come home intoxicated, and demand his conjugal rights. Granted, he'd never been quite so rough with her, but she didn't think it was because he was a kinder, gentler Jake back then. No, he'd just been too drunk to be anything but sloppy, and she’d been too miserable to refuse him. This time, however, she was fairly certain that to resist would have only made things worse for her.
She still wasn't afraid. He didn't mean to hurt her, she knew that, not physically, anyway. He just wanted to break her on the inside the way she'd broken him. The things he called her, the words he used while having his way with her, even the way he pushed her physically without causing any real damage, it was all evidence that he didn't want her bleeding on the outside. She understood. That was why she didn’t stop him. Maybe pain would fill the dead, emptiness in her heart, at least for a while.
She didn't want to think about anything; divorce, children, guilt, or the apologies that he was certain to heap on her head when he came to his senses. He would attack her character, all the while beating himself up for forcing his way on her, for wanting to be with her at all. She would watch him with empty eyes, fully knowing what to expect, because he was so predictable. He would rant and rave at her, asking her why, why, why, and she would say nothing, knowing there was no way he could, or would, even try to understand her actions.
If she stayed, he would do it all again and again, and she would let him, knowing it was his way of staking his claim on her, of proving his manhood to her, to himself, and in some sick way, to Tristan. He would apologize after, she would hold him, and tell him she understood. Because she did. The sudden clarity that had opened her eyes to her own destructive behavior, gave her a strange and removed sensitivity to what Jake must be going through.
Eventually, if they chose not to divorce, living together might be possible again. It might get easier, but this would always be between them, always lurking in the shadows of the photo albums, the family videos, the memories.
She eased her body out from under his heavy arm and scooped up her scattered clothing off the floor. Her left inner thigh was already beginning to shadow, and she winced when she touched the teeth marks above one collarbone. The skin wasn't broken, but it was raised and red. This was no teenage love-bite she was now sporting.
“Jerk,” she muttered almost inaudibly. “How am I supposed to cover that up?”
She crossed the hall to the bathroom and turned on the shower. There was no amount of hot water that could wash off the way she felt, but it might help her relax enough to take stock of the situation. She had a long day ahead of her, and she still didn't know where to begin. “If nothing else, maybe I can wash the whore smell off of me. Jerk,” she said again.
By the time she was done in the bathroom, she was feeling irritable and cantankerous, rather than calmer and more collected, but at least she’d made a few decisions about the immediate future.
Jake was back in the living room pacing the floor, and that irritated her. He had changed his clothes, but he still looked rumpled and out of sorts… and that irritated her, too. He waited until she had crossed the room to the kitchen before he spoke.
“I made fresh coffee.” It sounded almost like a peace offering, but she didn't acknowledge it, or him. She filled the tea kettle instead, and put it on a burner to boil. She desperately wanted another cup of coffee, but she wouldn't admit that right now for the world.
“What time do you have to be at your presentation today?”
“I don't,” she replied. “There isn't one.”
“Oh. What happened?” Jake stood with his thumbs hooked into his pants, looking like a little boy who was pretending to be brave and unaffected by the bully's unkindness.
“Nothing happened. There just isn't one.”
“As in, there never was one, or it's been canceled?” A slight edge crept into his voice.
“There never was one.” There wasn’t any reason to lie to him. He knew the worst, and now the details seemed insignificant to her. He obviously felt differently.
“What do you mean? So this was all a set-up? You lied about it so you could spend the weekend with your lover? Where were you planning on going? What if I'd asked questions? Like which development you were going to be at?” His voice became louder and louder. “How did you exp
ect to get away with it?”
As if echoing his emotions, the tea kettle began to whistle, softly at first, then more shrilly as steamy water sputtered out the top of the spout. She didn't move until he shouted, “Would you get that stupid thing? Can't you hear it?”
Nora turned the burner off, poured the hot water over a couple of mint teabags in her porcelain teapot, and readied a cup and saucer for when it had steeped the way she liked it. She stood at the counter watching the steam puff cheerfully out of the teapot spout, trying to be objective and honest with herself.
Was she purposefully goading him? Was she intentionally antagonizing him, trying to get a reaction out of him, so that he would be the bad guy? She snorted softly and shook her head. I don't care, she thought. I don't care that I'm the bad guy.
In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realized how freeing it was to shoulder the blame for the failure of their marriage. She was so accustomed to being responsible for making everything succeed, that the cloak of blame settled comfortably around her, like an old friend. If she was responsible for her actions, then she would be responsible for the repercussions as well.
“I'm going to find a place of my own, Jake,”
“You're not taking the kids,” he cut in, crossing his arms. She could see his chest rising and falling, his breathing fast.
“I'm not taking the kids. But I'm going to say this once, and just once, so listen carefully.” She didn't miss the flush that crept up his neck from beneath his shirt. “If you so much as have a sip of wine-vinegar dressing, and I find out about it, you will have hell to pay. I will not have you endangering their lives. Is there any part of what I just said that you don't understand to be a threat and a promise?”
Waters Fall Page 18
