Queen of Broken Hearts

by Cassandra King

  When Austin filed for divorce, I thought Haley would see at last that they’d gone beyond a so-called trial separation to a permanent dissolution of their ten-year marriage. Instead, she turned a deaf ear to me when it came to Austin. Although I urged her not to call him, to let him call her if he needed to discuss anything about the kids or their situation, she wasn’t able to stop herself. One evening I came into her house and overheard her crying and pleading with him to return to his family, saying she’d forgive him anything if only he’d stop the divorce proceedings and come back. Without a word, I walked across the room, took the receiver out of her hand, and clicked it off. “Leave him alone, Haley,” I said sternly. “He’s made his bed. For God’s sake, let him lie in it.”

  “But this woman he’s with, Mom—this Muffie!” she sobbed, wild-eyed. “She’s been married twice, and she broke up another man’s family. She sent me that picture so I’d file for divorce, but I fooled her, didn’t I? She’s nothing but a scheming, conniving homewrecker! Why can’t Austin see that?” She’d gone on to swear that Muffie had stolen her husband, and I’d hooted, saying Austin was a person with a free will, not a Rolex watch. Rather than being destroyed by the discovery of Austin’s mistress, as I’d feared, Haley had been vindicated. She’d gone from feeling rejected when Austin moved out to feeling sorry for him instead. “Poor Austin,” she said sadly, shaking her head. “If it hadn’t been for that awful woman, he’d still be with his family. One day he’ll see her for what she is and come back to us, wait and see.”

  After much persuasion, I’d gotten her to see a therapist twice a week after school, a woman I didn’t know but who came highly recommended. After Mack’s death, I’d persuaded Haley to attend a support group for adult children of alcoholics, and it had really helped her. But this time I haven’t seen much progress. Although the therapist urged Haley to attend one of my first-stage group meetings in addition to her therapy, Haley refused, insisting she couldn’t stand to be around so many depressed women. I’d tried in vain to convince her that was the point: They ministered to one another.

  Sitting by Haley’s hospital bed the morning after the call from Abbie and Zach, I push her damp, tangled hair from her forehead and watch her sleep a drugged sleep, her chest moving up and down like that of a puppy sprawled out in sunlight. At least it wasn’t the sleeping pills this time. Petite and slender, Haley barely weighs a hundred pounds, and she’s one of those women who can’t eat when upset. During that awful time after Mack’s death, I’d made Ovaltine milk shakes to keep her going. Since Austin moved out of the house in December, she’s lost twelve pounds. When Abbie called me last night, Haley hadn’t eaten anything for two days. Too weak to put the kids to bed, she forced herself to eat some of the pizza she’d ordered for them, only to be unable to keep it down. It terrified me to think what might have happened if Abbie hadn’t awakened on hearing her mother. When we arrived at the emergency room, Haley’s electrolytes were so out of kilter that her heart was beating erratically. “Anorexia,” the doctor on duty proclaimed at the conclusion of his examination, and I called him out of the room to explain what was going on. The only way I kept her out of the psych ward was by showing him my credentials and swearing she was under a therapist’s care.

  Slumped in a hard, vinyl-covered chair next to Haley’s hospital bed, I jump when a hand is placed on my shoulder, and raise my head to see Dory. Rising, I go into her outstretched arms but resist when she tries to drag me out of the room. “Then you might as well crawl in the bed with her,” Dory whispers, eyes flashing. “You look like shit. And from the looks of her, Haley’s so out of it, she’s not going to wake up and miss you. Come on—we won’t go any farther than the waiting room.”

  In a tote bag, Dory has a thermos of coffee and miniature date-nut muffins wrapped in foil, still warm from her oven. I haven’t thought of being hungry until I eat one, then I devour three. “Jasmine called you, I guess,” I say, looking at Dory gratefully when she pours coffee into the cup-shaped lid of the thermos and hands it to me. Last night I had no choice but to ask Jasmine to stay with the children while I took Haley to the emergency room. When I called Jasmine early this morning to check on them, she thought it best that they go on to school and day care, in spite of being up half the night. Playing with other kids would be the perfect distraction at this time, she said, and I agreed.

  “Umm … no, it was Zoe Catherine,” Dory replies, popping a whole muffin in her mouth. “Jasmine called her before school. Zoe said for me to tell you this: She’s bringing Cooter to his doctor for a checkup this morning, and they’ll stop by afterward to see Haley.”

  “Oh, Lord,” I say with a weak smile. “What do you think the hospital staff will say when they see Cooter again?”

  A couple of weeks before, Cooter had a mild heart attack, and Fairhope was still talking about the uproar he’d caused at the hospital. Once he got to the emergency room, he’d insisted it was just his “hiney hernia” acting up again. When he was hooked up to the EKG, however, the medical staff suspected a heart attack. Cooter said no wonder—his heart was broken because the love of his life had turned down his marriage proposals. When the cardiologist on duty told him there was no such thing as a broken heart, Cooter mocked the doctor, saying he was so young that he was still wet behind the nose. The staff hadn’t been able to tell what was causing his erratic heartbeat, so they probed into his activities to determine the problem. The poor cardiologist asked if he’d taken Viagra, which insulted Cooter so badly that he’d yanked off the EKG probes and tried to leave wearing nothing but a hospital gown. “I don’t need to take no damn dick medicine, by God!” Cooter bellowed, much to the delight of the people sitting in the lobby, who cheered him on.

  The only way they got Cooter back to the examining room was to give in to his insistence that they call Zoe Catherine. When Zoe arrived, Cooter clutched his heart and howled so piteously that it set off a code blue, and the whole staff came running into the examination room. Cooter swore he was going to die right then and there because of the way Zoe had broken his heart. Zoe said she’d break more than his heart if he didn’t shut the hell up. A nurse on duty was a friend of Etta’s; relating the story to me, Etta and I laughed so hard, both of us bent double. “My friend said Cooter was using cuss words none of them had ever heard before,” Etta whooped, wiping her eyes, “and one of the younger doctors thought he was speaking in tongues!”

  Dory asks me, “What’s going to happen to Haley?”

  I shake my head wearily. “I’m sick with worry about her.” I absently blow on the hot coffee before taking a sip. “And I feel so helpless. Seems like I’m able to help everybody but her.”

  Dory frowns as she chews another muffin. “I tell you, this thing with Haley and Austin has gotten me thinking. If Son dies before I do, or if we split the sheets, I won’t ever marry again. Once in a lifetime is more than enough for me. Why do any of us do it?”

  I smile and take a sip of my coffee. “Funny, last time I saw Lex, he said the same thing. If this keeps up, the species will die out in no time.”

  “Hey, what’s going on with you and Lex? The other day I called him to invite the two of you to the Mardi Gras dinner I’m having, and he said he hadn’t seen you in weeks. No matter how hard I tried, he wouldn’t say anything except I should ask you about it, not him. Oh—and thanks for confiding in your best friend. I was embarrassed to admit you hadn’t told me a damned thing.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” I protest. “I’ve been too busy to see anyone lately, as you well know. Rye’s mad at me, too, for not going to all the Mardi Gras stuff. Not only is Wayfarer’s Landing finished and demanding my every spare minute, it seems every client is going through a crisis. Not to mention my own daughter.”

  “Yeah, I know how crazy your life’s been lately, but I also know something is going on with you and Lex. You can’t fool me. Did you hurt his feelings?”

  “Evidently,” I say with a shrug. “Though I have no idea w
hat I did.” Actually I do, but I’m not about to tell Dory, have her jump me.

  Her eyes are soft and thoughtful as she chews. Swallowing, she says, “You know what Haley needs, don’t you?”

  “Please don’t say another man.”

  “Yeah, right. That would do her in for sure. No, she’s got to attend a retreat.”

  “I can’t even get her to the group meetings. I’d love more than anything for her to sign up for a retreat, but she’s so deep in denial, she won’t even discuss it. I’ve tried, and her therapist has tried—”

  “Let me talk to her,” she says, her face lighting up. “And I didn’t mean just any of the retreats. I meant the first one ever held at Wayfarer’s Landing, on the day of the spring equinox. It’s going to be awesome.”

  I stare at her in surprise. “She’s not going to be ready that soon. Even the mention of it will scare her off.”

  “Not if I don’t tell her what goes on.”

  “Dory! You know how I feel about the participants being fully aware of what goes on at the retreats.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get your panties in a wad. I’ll just talk to her about it, okay? No pressure, and no hiding the truth.”

  “Let me think about it. If she’ll come to the group meetings first, then—”

  With a sharp intake of breath, Dory interrupts me. “Uh-oh. Lord Vader approaches.”

  She and I had chuckled to hear Jasmine’s latest nickname for Austin, Darth Vader, saying he’d gone over to the Dark Side. If that were true, then Jasmine was hell-bent on wiping out the forces of evil. As I feared, once Jasmine and Zoe Catherine heard about Muffie Chisholm, Austin was a marked man. Zoe had taken an old bird’s nest, cut out a picture of a cuckoo bird and placed it inside, then mailed it to Muffie’s address in Perdido Bay. She’d made an official-looking card for it that read: “The common cuckoo, Mufferius Chisohelis, is a parasitic, opportunistic bird that shamelessly lays its eggs in other birds’ nests.” Jasmine was even bolder. She’d gotten Tommy to take Lex’s boat out on the bay and patrol the Webbs’ house until they spotted Austin on the deck. The difference was, Jasmine yelled at Austin to look their way. When he did, both Jasmine and Tommy dropped their drawers and mooned him. Jasmine said if the sight of their great big black and white asses hadn’t scared Austin into repentance, nothing would.

  I raise my head to see that Lord Vader has entered the waiting room and is heading straight for the two plastic chairs Dory and I have pulled into a corner. My heart sinks; although Austin has given no indication that he’ll fight Haley for custody of the kids, I live in fear of it. If he were to, Haley’s hospitalization for anorexia would most likely work in his favor. I’ve seen dozens of cases where mental instability and other such disorders were more of a deciding factor with a judge than adultery. Not only that, I’ve never known of a custody battle that wasn’t nasty; Haley is too fragile for such a thing.

  “Hello, Austin,” I say, keeping my voice as even as possible. Dory gives him a withering stare without bothering to speak.

  “The Webbs have a friend who works in the emergency room,” Austin says, his eyes flinty and his jaw tight. “So I heard about Haley.”

  “The Webbs are aptly named, aren’t they?” I can’t resist saying. “You’ve probably heard that Haley’s fine, then. She was undernourished, dehydrated, and her electrolytes were off. But it looks like she’ll go home as soon as the doctor comes in this morning to sign the release papers.”

  Austin and I stare at each other until he becomes uncomfortable and looks down at his feet. “When I spotted the two of you in here, I was on my way to see her,” he says, glancing up at me.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I ask coolly.

  “You can’t stop me, Clare.” His voice is as even and pleasant as though we’re discussing the weather. “Legally I’m still her husband, and I have every right to see her. More rights where she’s concerned than you have, actually.”

  With a lunge toward him, Dory snarls, “Now, see here, you shitass—” but I put out my arm to block her.

  “It’s okay, Dory. I was just making sure that Austin has thought this through.”

  At the retreats, I suggest that the participants try to bring out the best in their exes during negotiation: Tell them you know they want to do the right thing. It’s a variation of the old you-can-catch-more-flies-with-honey adage. I’ve heard myself say it a hundred times, but actually applying it makes me want to gag, and I understand for the first time the groans and grimaces of the participants. Seeing where I’m going, Dory settles back into her chair.

  “I won’t try to stop you, Austin,” I add in a neutral tone, “now that I see how worried you are about Haley.”

  He blinks at me in surprise, then nods curtly. As he turns on his heel and leaves the waiting room, Dory and I watch as he enters Haley’s room, after first pausing to straighten his tie and pat his hair into place. As soon as the door closes, Dory turns to me. “God Almighty, I see why you’re so good at what you do. You’re one cool customer. Aren’t you afraid he’ll smother her with a pillow? No alimony payments then.”

  “Be kind of hard to do in front of a witness,” I say, getting to my feet. “Unfortunately, he’s right. Until the divorce goes through, legally he’s the one to make her decisions if she’s not able; it’s one of those laws I’ve worked to get changed, to no avail. So I can’t keep him out of her room. But he sure as hell can’t keep me out.” Dory holds up her hand for a high five as I turn to follow Austin.

  Austin scurries out as soon as a nurse comes in with Haley’s breakfast, and I take the chair he’s vacated. I elevate the head of the bed so Haley can eat, if I can persuade her to. She’s pale and listless, with purplish smudges under eyes that appear too large for her small oval of a face. When I ask if she’s hungry, she surprises me with a shrug rather than her usual insistence that she can’t even look at food. I remove a metal cover to reveal a bowl of oatmeal. “You used to love oatmeal,” I say with a smile. “Remember?”

  Her rain-colored eyes fill with tears and spill over, rolling down her cheeks. She swipes them away with the back of her hands. “Oh, Mom. I’m so ashamed of myself.”

  “I know you are, sweetheart. But we’re all going to help you get well, if you’ll let us.”

  “I heard you tell Austin that Jasmine took the kids to school. They must have been terrified last night, waking up to find me so sick. I can’t stand to think about what I’ve done to them.”

  I pour milk and brown sugar into the oatmeal. At first she shakes her head, but I place the spoon in her hand as I reach for a tissue to wipe her tears. “You know what they told you last night. If you don’t eat, you’re going to get really, really sick. Last night was nothing compared to how you could be.”

  “Did you see the way Austin looked at me?” she says with something akin to wonder in her voice. He stayed all of five minutes, shuffling his feet and muttering platitudes, his visit obviously motivated by guilt rather than concern. “His eyes were totally blank,” she adds. “There was no feeling left in them. Nothing at all.”

  Absently she dips the spoon in the hot oatmeal and lifts it to her mouth. I hold my breath as she dips it again and again. When she finishes the oatmeal, I casually unwrap a slice of toast and butter it, then smear it with apple jelly. Haley shakes her head when I hand her half a slice, but she takes it. “I don’t understand!” she says sadly. “Austin might not love me anymore, but I’m the mother of his children. Not to love me is one thing, but to feel absolutely nothing for his children’s mother? What is wrong with him?”

  Careful to keep my head lowered, I busy myself spreading butter on the other slice of toast as she eats the one I’ve just handed her. I don’t want her to see my elation at her words. Unknowingly, she’s taken the first step. Since the day Austin left her, it’s the first time she has said “What is wrong with him?” rather than “What is wrong with me?”

  Lana Martin is a striking woman, rail-thin, tall,
and elegant, with a surprising slash of white coursing through the black hair that keeps falling on her forehead. When she lowers her head to read Haley’s list of marital assets, I lean back in my chair with a sigh of satisfaction. Because of her air of calm, no-nonsense competence, I’ve sent her so much business that it’s become a running joke between us. She lives in fear that I’ll change my specialty to marriage counseling, she teases me, and she’ll be out of work. In spite of our joking, both of us know that my clients who’re separated from their spouses and end up in her office don’t want to be there. It astonishes me that Haley’s here today. Following her hospitalization, she began to eat again, thanks in part to the incredible fare toted in daily by Dory, Zoe Catherine, and Etta. As she regained her strength, Haley began the move from grief and denial to anger. A couple of weeks after the hospitalization, Dory stopped to see me after taking Haley an enormous bucket of white hyacinths. “She’s finally gotten pissed off,” Dory declared gleefully, but I reminded her that Haley would feel sad again, too. Even so, her anger has propelled her out of a dark pool of grief into the sunlit chair across the desk from Lana Martin, divorce lawyer extraordinaire.