Sail (Wake #2)

by M. Mabie

  She didn’t get overly emotional when she retold me how it went down, until she got to the part where her mom said that she’d always wished she’d talked to Blake more before the wedding after what she’d heard us say.

  “My mom feels bad she didn’t make me talk to her that day. But she thought that since I told you to leave, I wanted to marry Grant. She said she hadn’t heard everything we’d said to each other, only the louder parts, but assumed if I really didn’t want to get married, I would have called it off,” Blake had explained. Looking back, it would have been confusing had she not heard the quieter things we’d confessed to each other that shitty day.

  Blake said that had been the hardest part, but it was like a fog had lifted while talking to them and being honest about what she really wanted. They just wanted her happy.

  She only talked to Grant via email. Knowing what I did about how they communicated, and how conversations happened more between their inboxes anyway, it was nothing new. Apparently, her message was brief, saying she was moving out and she, her dad, and Shane would be by later in the week to get most of her things.

  She told me that finding an apartment was on her shortlist of tasks to do. I wanted her to come here. I said that I’d help her, but she maintained she was going to get an apartment until everything was final.

  I didn’t like that, but as we’d never really dated publicly, and I hadn’t even met her parents, I couldn’t really ask her to move in, even though that was what I’d wanted most. The crazy part was, I didn’t feel so out of control about any of it. We were talking more than we ever had and calling whenever we wanted.

  No hiding. No waiting.

  What Aly said couldn’t be further from how I felt. She didn’t know Blake and she was only trying to cause trouble. I didn’t see Blake as a cheater. She was with me. The things we’d both done were because we couldn’t fight the pull bringing us together. Over and over. And talking to her as much as I was only confirmed that.

  Having the open line of communication made me feel less crazy. It was a revelation going to sleep and not worrying about what she was doing. Not thinking about her next to somebody else while she slept. It was fucked up. With some of that tension and stress gone, it allowed me to think a whole lot clearer about how dead-on she’d been about doing this the right way. The right way meant being honest and not rushing, impulsively making decisions that affected more than just our lives.

  But sitting in my office, after everyone else had left for the day, I just craved to be with her for the first time where we could relax a little. I wondered if our relationship would be different.

  I mean, she wasn’t divorced yet. Yet. But she had an appointment with her family’s lawyer next week after he got back from a business trip. Things were moving forward. I could feel it.

  But I needed her. I wanted her. I wanted just the two of us to get away. Find a page we could be on together and go from there.

  The only thing was convincing her to go. “I need to make her an offer she can’t refuse,” I thought in my best Godfather inner voice. I was, after all, a godfather.

  Me: I have a present for you.

  Honeybee: If it’s another picture of a guy with a micro-penis again, I’m going to be very disappointed.

  Me: No. It’s better. It’s a real present.

  Honeybee: What is it? I want it. I hope it’s a one-way ticket to somewhere tropical and they have fruity drinks with umbrellas.

  Fuck yeah. It couldn’t have gone any better. It was like selling water in the desert.

  Me: What if it was?

  Honeybee: When do we leave? Ha. Ha.

  But it wasn’t a joke. I was ready to buy tickets and confirm reservations somewhere precisely like that.

  Me: When could you leave?

  Honeybee: Don’t tease.

  Me: Are you at your parents’ house yet?

  Honeybee: No. I haven’t even left work. I’m finishing up the last revisions on a revamped menu, and then I’m heading out.

  Me: Anyone there with you?

  It was impulsive, and I could’ve found a much better price had I used a travel agent. I’d become pretty good at arrangements given how much I traveled. I could book a hotel, flight, and car in ten minutes—if push came to shove. I’d figured out the location of the first picture that caught my eye and found the nearest resort. Costa Rica.

  Honeybee: Just a few chefs in the kitchen, but I’m at my desk.

  I dialed her number without hesitation. This was happening.

  “So when can you leave?” I asked instead of saying hello when she picked up.

  “What’s today? Tuesday? I could leave Thursday.” Blake laughed. She wasn’t going to fight me at all. Hallelujah. Then she added, “I have to send this off in the morning. Then I have a phone conference to confirm some transition dates. I think we’re going to the house tomorrow night for my stuff.”

  “Can you really take off work?” I inquired. Her bosses were great. I think they were a lot like Marc had been before I bought into Bay Brewing, with respect to time off. If your shit was done, have at it.

  “Yeah, I’ve got plenty of time. Would I be able to check my email?”

  First I thought about telling her no, but then I figured saying yes would buy me a few extra days. So, I caved. Surprisingly, we were full of fucking compromises.

  “Sure, whatever you want,” I assured her.

  “Where are we going?” Finally, a card I could hold.

  “I’m not telling you yet. I’ll email you your flight info later.”

  I wanted to make sure we got the same flight out. I had a little travel magic to make happen.

  “Okay. I’m excited.” And she truly sounded it. It felt so fucking good to hear her sing-song voice, so eager and relaxed. It only confirmed to me that she needed a break as much as I did.

  But what I needed more was to feel like I was making her happy.

  Wednesday, January 6, 2010

  HE WAS REVVED UP and excited on the phone. I’d made him happy and I loved telling him yes. That could have been my resolution for 2010. Tell Casey yes more. How could I possibly tell him no when he offered me something I needed so much?

  The Monday after New Year, I’d immediately started looking for apartments in my old neighborhood where I’d lived before I married. I adored the shops and cafes within walking distance in that part of town. Having parks nearby, even though I rarely went to them, was ideal. There was something calming and invigorating about looking from your window and seeing grass and trees.

  Not that staying at my parents’ house wasn’t great. It was, but it was also strange. I hadn’t lived under their roof since before college. It was a peculiar dynamic. I didn’t know how Shane had dealt with it for so long, but I had to admit he was finally doing a lot better. Maybe he was just staying because he was lonely.

  I got a call back on Tuesday morning about an apartment that was in a different area of Seattle than I was used to, but I thought I’d check it out anyway. The guy on the phone said he was finishing up some renovations and that I’d been the first to call. It seemed lucky and I’d take whatever good fortune that happened my way. He told me it was his retired parents’ building and that they’d done a lot of work to freshen it up. It was going on the market as soon as it was completely occupied. Apparently, he informed me, full buildings sell faster than empty ones.

  He said he’d give me another call late the next week to set up a walk through and to get my references. It was something I badly needed to get done.

  My parents were actually being great about everything. They were disappointed by the way I’d handled, well, everything, but they didn’t rub my nose in my mess. Instead, they were helpful and compassionate.

  Grant was a totally different animal. I’d called his phone to set up a good time for us to get my belongings, only to get his voicemail. I left a message, but didn’t receive a call back. I figured he was upset and angry I hadn’t come home. Well, not the way he wanted a
nyway.

  Still, I had to communicate with him somehow and let him know I was coming, so resorted to our tried and true way—email. When I opened my personal account and looked at some of the messages we’d sent to each other over the past months, it kind of made me sad. It wasn’t a relationship. It wasn’t love. What Grant and I had was a friendship that developed into marriage. No urgency. No need. No playfulness. Only instructions and confirmations. He was loyal and nice enough, but if that’s what I’d coveted in a companion, I should have just bought a dog.

  I typed out a short message, apologetic in tone, but not in a way that might lead him to think I was coming home or even that I wanted to. I didn’t like knowing I’d hurt him, but I had. And for the first time, I was ready to face it. There are things in everyone’s life they wish they’d done better. Or just flat out done. Breaking up with Grant, when I didn’t dream of or crave a life with him, was at the top of my list.

  I had to move forward though, because reverting back into my old ways of trying not to rock the boat only stood to knock me overboard. I was doing him no favors by making light of what had happened and the way the future of our marriage looked. I ended the email telling him I’d like to get my things in the next day or so because I was going out of town. I omitted details of the vacation. Not to be deceiving or dishonest, but because I realized it simply wasn’t his business anymore.

  Vacation was a crazy idea. From the outside, it may have looked like I was trying to run away from my responsibilities, but that wasn’t how it felt. It felt like finally running toward the biggest one. I’d hurt Casey so many times, over and over, and by God if he wanted to fly off somewhere with me for a few days, I saw no reason to deprive him anymore. I’d resisted being with him on so many occasions, most of which never worked out for either of us in the long run. I was breaking that habit. Not just for him, but for me. I wanted to spend time with him. I craved it.

  I knew the months ahead would get a little hectic. My job. His job. Everything my impending divorce would bring into the picture would be a challenge. It was going to be nice to start the year off on a good note, though. A better note. A truthful note. A Casey note.

  I daydreamed of sandy beaches and relaxation the whole day as I worked.

  I’d been working on a new identity for a restaurant called The Clover, a traditional Irish establishment that hadn’t done a thing to their menu, or any other part of the place, for over thirty years. My latest version of their menu went through last approvals by the owners without a single hang-up. They loved it and I was glad. I was happy to see months of work finally pay off.

  Shane picked me up from the office and we headed to the house. Initially, I’d thought Grant would be at work. It was still early in the evening, and I was shocked seeing his vehicle in the drive at that time of day on a Wednesday. I hadn’t been back since everything happened and my car sat there, too. Parked where I’d left it last year.

  Had it only been a week?

  “You ready for this?” Shane asked.

  “I told you, if this is weird, you don’t have to come in. I know you’re friends.” I felt sour about putting Shane in that position, but he’d offered more than once to help. Although I didn’t have many things, having him there helped. I wasn’t quite so alone.

  “You’re my sister, Blake. Grant and I got along because you were together. He’s an all right guy, but you’re what matters here. To me. To Mom. To Dad. Don’t worry about it.” Then he chuckled under his breath. “It is kinda funny that he helped me move out of my house when Kari and I split. Now I’m helping you move out of his. It has a karma-ish feel to it, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t think that’s funny,” I told him. His attempt at making light of the situation for my benefit didn’t go unnoticed, but I really wasn’t looking forward to going inside. In terms of karma, I was the one who was in for a double dose.

  “Oh, it’s funny. Kari was a bitch,” he pointed out.

  Then he slapped the steering wheel and turned off the ignition just as my dad pulled in behind us. We hopped out and marched up to the door. It was about to get awkward and I silently prayed it would start raining so we’d work even faster. But no. Of all days, it was sunny and mild for January in Seattle.

  “Are you sure about this, Blake?” my dad asked, carrying a box full of other boxes and packing materials.

  “Yes. I’m sure.” I was sure. Sure it was going to suck. I just needed to be kind. After all, I was the adulterer. I’d broken our marriage vows. I was the villain in the situation. The least I could do was be sensitive. “Do you mind if I go in first?” I asked them as we stood on the porch.

  “No, that’s fine. You go in. Let us in when you’re ready,” prompted my dad.

  Had I mentioned that I love him? I kissed his cheek and fit the key in the lock letting myself in.

  The house was quiet, except I faintly heard the shower going upstairs.

  What were the rules? Could I go up there? Should I wait outside with them for a few more minutes? One thing was certain, it didn’t feel like I lived there. It wasn’t my home. I didn’t feel loss or like I was making a bad move. I only felt sad I’d wasted a lot of people’s time and put them in this position.

  I wanted it over with and to get what I needed, at least for the time being. The essentials. Clothes. Sentimental things, although after reflecting, there weren’t many. The job probably didn’t require both my dad and brother to help me with the few things I wanted. And there wasn’t much sense moving everything to a storage unit, just to move them to an apartment a few weeks later. But I had a lot of clothes and shoes—things like that—which I would need in the meantime.

  And my mugs.

  I trekked into the kitchen at the back of the house, and saw what a mess had become of it. Dishes were piled up. There were take-out boxes on the counter and, above all, the room reeked like a hot trashcan. Compulsion overcame me. The offending receptacle was full, so I emptied it and placed the first bag outside the back door. A second filled up rather quickly and I put it out with the other.

  I hurriedly ran the water hot to rinse the dishes and loaded the washer as my family waited outside. In ten short minutes, the state of the wrecked room improved a lot.

  Hearing Grant come down the stairs, I shut the dishwasher and started it. Then I waited for him to find me.

  “Hi,” he announced when he wandered toward the racket I was making in his kitchen. He was freshly showered, but oddly he didn’t look clean. His hair was messy, his face had a week’s worth of stubble, and dark circles were visible on the undersides of his eyes. I gathered he’d spent his time drinking from the quantity of bottles I’d thrown out. Grant in a crisis was not the Grant I knew.

  “Hi,” I said. Guilt bubbled inside me and surfaced. How quickly I’d forgotten the sensation of it, but in an instant, its force coursed through me. I’d hurt him. “Are you all right?”

  “Are you really leaving me?” he asked point blank.

  I tried to be strong, though I didn’t feel strong. I felt terrible. “Yes. Did you get my email?”

  “No. I haven’t checked my email.”

  “Why didn’t you call me back?”

  “I don’t know,” he huffed. He was agitated.

  “I’m sorry.” I leaned against the counter and my hands held onto the stone against my back. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about you’re done fucking that guy and you’re coming home?” He stalked closer to me. “How about you tell me how you could lie to me for so long? How about you tell me why you did it? Huh, Blake. Just tell me!” He’d never raised his voice to me in the past, but to be fair, I hadn’t behaved like he expected me to either. He was shouting at that point and only feet from my face.

  I bowed my head and took it. I deserved it.

  “I can’t believe you fucked me over like this. And for that guy? What the hell, Betty!”

  My lip quivered a little. Then I was comforted by the sound of the front d
oor opening and my dad calling in with, “Blake, are you okay?”

  I looked into Grant’s eyes and they were red and glassy. Hot tears spilled onto my cheeks and I quickly swiped them away. A cocktail of empathy and anger built in my body. I had no reason to be angry with Grant, but the way he was yelling flooded me with defensive adrenaline.

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I assured, making sure to speak calmly.

  “He’s here to help you?” Grant asked, nodding, a sarcastic grin forming on his tempered face. He was shocked and something in his eyes flared to life again. “Ha. This is rich. What lie did you tell him?” He tracked into the dining room, which opened into the front room, where my dad was just inside the door.

  “Grant, stop,” I urged, but the crazed look on his face told me he wasn’t going to.

  “Hey, Phil,” he said brightly like he was welcoming him into a party. Then Shane came inside too. “Oh, and Shane is here. Is Reggie out there too? Did you all come to help Blake? Did she tell you what’s going on? I’d love to know what story she fed you.”

  I stood in the doorway watching. I knew what he was doing. He was trying to hurt me. And, frankly, that did piss me off. I was so thankful I’d told my family and they were there backing me up, because in that moment I needed it.

  Grant wasn’t a violent man, well until the last week. And it wasn’t like he’d been brutally violent with me, per se. However, the words coming from him were intended to cut me deep, but I was armed with the truth. Finally, that bitch was on my side.