Learning Lessons: A Losing His Wife Novel

by KT Morrison

  Jess wanted Tyler to say his good-byes now before Pete got here. Same when he would come pick them up on Friday nights. This had to be hard for her husband, he didn’t need this in his face. Didn’t need to see the new family living in his old house. She exhaled, blew the ghosts away.

  “Okay, boys, your dad’ll be here in about ten minutes. You sure you have everything?” She’d packed all their bags, knew they had the essentials. But favourite toys changed almost daily and it could be a big deal if something got left behind. Pete could, of course, just swing by and pick it up. Tyler had convinced her it would be better for Pete if he didn’t stay here when they were gone. It might have made things easier, but he said it would be hard on Pete. He might root through their things, or, who knows? ...Do something crazy like throw all their stuff out if he got set off staying in his old house. It would have been better for the boys probably, just stay in their own home, but maybe Tyler had a point. It was just a few extra days, and they had such a good time with their dad at their Aunt Patty’s.

  “Yeah, mom,” they both said, practically together, looking down at the floor while Tyler still held them.

  Tyler squeezed them tight, let them go then and they stepped back, looking pretty morose. He said, “Babe, did you find my passport?”

  “Yeah, I got it. I got you insurance too, I put them together. They’re in your carry on.”

  “Okay. You sure I need a passport?”

  “I don’t think we do,” she frowned, “rules just changed, I don’t want to get some weird re-route or something and end up in a state that needs a passport.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, dudes, bring it in for a huddle.” Pete and Andy came in and they all put their arms over each other’s shoulders. He kissed them both on the forehead, one-two. He stood up, said, “Be good,” and he headed for the kitchen. He turned, said to Jess, “You seen my sunglasses?”

  “Packed. In your carry on.”

  He smiled to her, “Thanks, Jess.”

  “Oh, did you get to the snow fence today?”

  “Ah shit, babe, no, sorry, I forgot.”

  “All right. It’ll be okay, probably.”

  She squat down to her boys’ level, called them to her now. They came in and hugged their mommy hard. “Unh, careful boys, you’re getting so strong.” She squeezed them back, said, “Like Tyler said, Be Good.”

  Pete sat in his car in the driveway of his home. What used to be his home. Everything inside him felt so heavy and resigned. Everything inside him desperately wanted to give up the fight. His body was weak and the weight inside him so black and heavy he could feel everything he had slumping, giving in to gravity, wanting to quietly pass away and leak out his asshole.

  “You can do this, Pete,” he whispered inside the old Buick with the duct tape over the stereo. “You can do this.”

  He got out and proceeded his Death March to the front door. It opened as he got there. She’d been watching, waiting. He hoped he looked stronger than he felt.

  “Hi, Pete,” she said quietly and she held the door open for him to come inside.

  She looked so good. Maybe a little older than he remembered. He was the one who took all the force of this devastation in his marriage but there was a little splashback. She was his beautiful Jess still, but the toll of what she’d done showed on her face just the tiniest bit. He wanted to take away her hurt, then, on the exhale, he smiled thinking what it would be like for her to take the hurt a thousand times more.

  “What are you smiling about?” she asked him.

  “Oh, didn’t realize I was.”

  “Andy, Petey,” she called out to the kitchen. “Thanks again, Pete.”

  “I’d take my boys every day of the year if I could, Jess.”

  “I know you would, Pete. You’re the best dad. I just mean thanks for not making this difficult. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

  “Boys would suffer. They’ve suffered enough.” He saw it. He’d got her. “Okay, boys!” he called out. They were already coming, headed down the stairs. He could see they were excited to see him and it made his heart swell.

  “Dad!” Petey yelled and came to him. He hugged them, squeezed them tight.

  “You guys ready for a big weekend? Your auntie has big plans...”

  Petey nodded and hugged his dad’s neck.

  “How about you, Andy?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Good. If you got everything I think we should get going...”

  “Hey, Pete?”

  “Jess?”

  “Uh...that last storm leaned the snow fence right back. The snow is crushing it. I’m worried those little cedars we planted aren’t going to be protected if another storm comes. Do you think it’ll be okay?”

  “No storms forecast for the next few days.”

  “Do you think you could come by, just prop it back up if there’s a storm coming?”

  He looked at her there. His pretty wife. Her sweet face and her silky blonde hair and those big pale blue eyes that he could stare into forever. Ready to travel, her thin, toned legs showing off their gorgeous shape under her tight yoga pants, her big wooly socks over her perfect feet.

  He said, “Hey, Petey?”

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  “Could you take Andy out to the car?”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  “Thanks, buddy. Get him in his car seat.”

  Petey took his little brother down the driveway holding his hand.

  Pete turned to Jess, looked down on her. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, I can’t do that.”

  “Pete, c’mon, I—”

  “You want me to bring our boys to my sister’s. Don’t want me to stay in my own home with them while you’re gone. You want me to come back here and fix the fence that leaned over? On my time?”

  “Pete—”

  “Your He-Man can’t take care of that? Why doesn’t he do it?”

  “But we’re leaving in—”

  “Jess. No.” He held a hand up; just stop speaking, Jess. He shook his head, trying to shake away the tears he felt coming. Fuck, Jess.

  “Jess, all the time I knew you, all the time I spent loving you, I could never have predicted this. I could never have seen you like this. I never, ever knew you were such a poisonous cunt.”

  His words slapped her right in her face. She was stunned, her head quivered, her mouth hung open. Then she turned mad.

  She pulled her open hand way back to hit him. Her eyes were wet, she was tearing up. She didn’t swing. He’d never seen her mad. Never saw her raise a hand, ever. The truth hurts.

  He stood there ready to take it. He didn’t even flinch.

  “Go ahead. Do it if you want. Everything you’ve done—you think that’s going to hurt?”

  “Get out,” she whispered, her arm still held back.

  “Go ahead if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “Get out, Pete,” she said, a tear streamed down one cheek and it rolled over her delicate jaw and down her neck.

  He turned his back to her, slammed the door behind him. Didn’t want her to have the chance to glower at him from the door as he backed away. Let her upset face ruin his weekend.

  37

  Flying Kites

  Friday, February 10th

  Pete took Friday off. After his run, after a nice warm breakfast with Patty, Russ, and the kids, he let them go off to work. He made himself a ham sandwich, put it in a Ziploc bag, gathered his things together. He drove the kids to school and got Andy to Daycare. He needed a day to himself too.

  He stopped at the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-thru, got himself a large coffee and then headed out to the 270, the big wide highway that helped him bypass the city, then got on the 23, Portsmouth-Columbus Road, heading south. It was nice and quiet this time of the morning. The 23 was a peaceful two-laner, two lanes south, two lanes north. Well-ploughed, everyone going at a good steady pace. It was a pretty grim looking day out there, wintry but dry, not too c
old. Here it was, ten in the morning, and it was so dark and scary out it looked like the sun was setting.

  He drove in quiet. He was going to get the radio fixed but he figured maybe it was just time to trade the Buick in. See what he could get for it without a radio. He enjoyed the quiet anyway. It let him think. The rubber hiss off the road put him at ease.

  About a half hour later he had to pull off at Circleville and he found a McDonald’s. He parked and ran in and dropped a quick number two. That second coffee of the morning really doing the trick. He snuck out without buying anything, got back on the 23 heading south.

  After Chillicothe the 23 became the 35 but if you didn’t look at the signs you wouldn’t know it. He started to feel a little sleepy after an hour and a half and he turned the defroster off of the hot setting. That warm air buffeting his face felt nice but after his run this morning it could lull him right to sleep.

  Somehow he made it without dozing off. Two and a half hours on the road from Columbus and now he could see it. He was at the Ohio River. He could see it in the distance, wide and brown at this point even in February. On the other side was West Virginia. He could see the changing landscape on the horizon. It was getting rockier here, the terrain rolling and wooded. Less snow, which was nice, the roads just wet.

  He made a right onto a country road called the 380, should take him through the heart of the Queen City Wildlife Area. He was just about forty-five minutes from his destination. The 380 was a narrow, tough, winding road that ran through rugged, rolling hills. It would climb high, then suddenly dive-bomb down, rattle over a rickety old bridge that crossed a fast-flowing stream. The sides of the road were densely wooded, a thick evergreen forest. Just a dusting of snow in its needles, branches reaching right out over the road. Then the forest would be gone for miles. Vast stretches cleared, scraped away, only the remnants of a surface-mining operation left on a rocky patch.

  It was somewhere along there—maybe halfway through the Reserve, where the asphalt climbed and climbed—that he turned the old Buick at a crest. The road dropped away in another dive into the spire treetops. The sky stopped him, literally made his eyes go wide. He pulled over.

  He’d never seen anything like it. Couldn’t believe he was witnessing it.

  He grabbed his sandwich off the passenger seat, got out of the car and went and sat on the hood. Took his wool hat out of his coat pocket and pulled it down over his ears.

  The sky was low, a chaotic mottled grey—steely blue-greys, ochre-greys, green-greys, twisting and writhing above the blackened tips of the high pines and spruces. It was roiling. The sky was moving in swirls all around him like he was witnessing it being painted in thick heavy oils by an unseen hand holding an unseen brush.

  He opened the baggie and took a bite out of his sandwich. Sat there for a good while shivering and eating, the sky dancing low around him.

  He couldn’t leave things loose anymore. Everything needed to be tightened up. Batten down the hatches as you might say. There was always a storm coming. There was always one. If you left something loose the wind would take it, rip it away, leave everything you had, everything you loved, vulnerable.

  Nip it in the bud, Julio had said.

  He was right. Don’t let things go, Pete.

  Last time he saw Michael—saw him when he was alive—he’d stood in their bedroom, healthy enough in the moment to taunt him. He didn’t remember what it was about, Michael wanted him to do something but he couldn’t recall what it was. It was hazy. Hazy because it was unimportant.

  His mind had held on to the moment Michael put his bare foot on his pristine Pitt Issue #1 (in mint condition) that he had stupidly, carelessly left out of its bag on the floor between the two beds in the room he shared with his brother. He could picture Mike saying to him, Do it. Pete said he would, he would, just don’t wreck it. Then Mike did anyway. Michael was a bully. A bully of the highest order. Some of the things...didn’t like to think of it. But he loved him. He was his brother.

  Michael took a wicked turn in the next week. A bout of pneumonia. Then he was hospitalized.

  Pete could have gone to visit him, but he would look at that comic, still on the floor. He'd imagine his brother’s bare toes scrunch up slowly, deliberately, his damp skin getting a good bite on the clayed paper, bunching up the centre of the cover until it was absolutely ruined. He didn’t go to the hospital. Michael had been in the hospital before, and this time, Pete was really mad. One afternoon he got home from school and his dad was there, not still at work like he should be. He held his hand and told him his brother had died. He was devastated. He loved Michael. He should have been bigger.

  Who gives a fuck about a dumb old comic book?

  But only the passing of time and the tragic loss could ever put that juncture in perspective.

  He crumpled up his sandwich baggie, tucked it into his pocket, took his phone out. He took a deep breath, looked out over the sky. It had gone placid. That weird wonderful moment had passed.

  He texted.

  Pete: Jess, honey, I’m so sorry for what I said...

  First thing Jess saw when she opened her eyes was a gently swaying palm tree against a brilliant blue sky. She could even hear the fronds rustling in the breeze through the open window.

  “Oh, thank God,” she whispered.

  She lay on her side in the motel bed, just a crisp white sheet over her folded up legs it was so warm. They’d come in very late last night. A red eye that brought them into Tampa at about one in the morning. They didn’t check into the motel until 2:30. There was a cute little lizard in the dark on their door step. Straight to bed. Too tired for hanky-panky after all the travel. They had five days, might as well get some rest before they kick it off. She was going to make the most out of every moment they had here.

  She sat up and looked around the little room filled with joyous, low, early morning sunshine. The room felt warm and hazy and orange. She stretched. Tyler was next to her, laying flat on his stomach his big arms up on the pillow on either side of his head. The sheets were down to the middle of his back and she looked carefully at the drawings on his arm. The dragons, waves, the state of Pennsylvania, FSU (didn’t he go to Albright?), a bunch of American emblems. She drew along the scaled, finned tail of a dragon. Traced it as it curled up along his hard tricep, over the sharp ridge where his big, round shoulder bulged. The dragons were her favourite. Her finger slipped off the tip of the dragon’s tail, into an un-inked landscape. This was uncharted territory, a no man's land, waiting to be claimed. She bent and kissed him. Felt his hard back under her soft lips, brushed them along the bulging cords and knots under his skin. She was in the mood.

  She slowly pulled the sheet down while he still slept. Lower and lower. No briefs? She kept going until the sheet was gently climbing up that hard sexy rump of his. He was naked. She’d gone to bed in just her panties and a T-shirt. She didn’t see him climb in, just put her arm over his back and fell asleep in about thirty seconds. He was a dirty bird. She let it slip lower, down the curve of his ass where it met his thigh, then along his thighs, lower and lower. He was beautiful. She climbed on board. Straddled him like she was riding a horse bareback. Threw a leg over his waist and put her little rump against his. She bent again, pressed her lips to the deep valley that ran between the slabs of muscle under his cannonball shoulders. Kissed her way up to his neck, kissed at his hairline. He stirred. She smiled.

  Her thumbs dug into his muscles, kneaded them, felt their density, their strength. He was a solid, hard mass. He groaned. She sat upright, dug them in, working them like she thought might feel good. He made sounds like it was working. Lower and lower, her hands gave him pleasure, sending some pretty nice signals back to her too. Her fingers very much liked what they were doing.

  “Mm-morning,” he grumbled, his pretty boy lips in a misaligned pout. She wanted to gobble up those lips.

  “Good morning,” she whispered, very sexy-like.

  He laughed underneath her, and t
he firm feel of him moving below her, set her to tingle. She pressed her mound into his back, let her hips gyrate on him. Her lips went to his back again, kissed, then she let her body fall against him. She pressed herself to him, hugged him tight with her arms as best she could.

  “We’re going to have so much fun today, baby.”

  “Mm.”

  Back to kissing, working her lips against his warm skin. She kissed lower and lower, up now on all fours. She bit his rump very gently. He laughed. She bit him again.

  “Mm—ow. Hey.”

  She gave him a little sorry kiss on his bare round cheek. Her hands came up, explored him, enjoyed the sexy feel of him under her palms. She bit and licked him, scratched his perfect boy-rump. She ran her tongue in big friendly circles over his skin. She could feel him tremble and jump.

  “Ticklish?” she asked him.

  “A little,” he mumbled.

  Her tongue ran across a cheek towards the centre, then down along his crack. That really made him jolt. He was laughing up on the pillow.

  She clenched his hard cheeks with her claws, pulled them apart gently. Her tongue licked up the middle, not too deep, just testing the waters.

  “Jess,” he exclaimed quietly.

  She giggled. His legs slowly parted for her.

  She pulled his cheeks wider, let her tongue probe deeper. He was clean, but wow, was he hot in there. Hot and kind of bitter, coppery. She tickled at his little butthole with the tip of her tongue.

  “Jesus, Jess,” he laughed, and couldn’t help himself—his body jumped away.

  “Are you ticklish?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Man, you are so bad.”

  “I know.” She kissed the backs of his thighs. That made him tremble too. She got herself to the side of him. Wanted to get a little deeper. Her tongue slid up the inside of his thigh, tickled its way up until her nose bumped the back of his scrotum. She kissed that now. That really made him jump.