Moments We Forget

by Beth K. Vogt

  No. That wouldn’t work. I could see Geoff’s reaction already. How he would go still. How his eyes would widen behind his glasses. How he would—just for a moment—stop breathing. Assuming I would say, “The cancer’s back,” telling him our worst nightmare had returned to haunt our waking and sleeping hours once again.

  If I’d learned anything in the past year, it was to not beat around the bush, trying to figure out how to soften the verbal blow. To just say what needed to be said and deal with the fallout afterward.

  “Geoff, I got fired yesterday.”

  There. That was the plain truth. Now what else could I say? My husband would ask why and how, and when he heard what happened, he’d come rushing to my defense.

  I’d have to be ready for all those reactions.

  “We’ll be okay financially. I got a good severance package.” I needed to remember to have the paperwork close at hand. “We have my bonus.”

  The last statement was true, but that money was allocated for the kitchen reno, not as an emergency fund in case—when—I got fired.

  And I could look for work. But where? Who would hire me when I would take the same mental and physical challenges to the next job?

  Getting another job wasn’t an option. The reality slammed against me, stealing my breath away.

  Sure, I’d look good on paper. I had an excellent résumé. Years of experience. But as soon as a new employer saw me working . . . or struggling to work, day in, day out . . . well, there’d be no reason for my new boss to be as patient as Mr. Hampton had been.

  I came to a stop at a street corner. Looked up, calling Winston to heel beside me, bending to ruffle his ears. “Good dog.”

  Now if I only knew where I was.

  I closed my eyes. Opened them again as if a second glance would equal a magical second chance to recognize my surroundings. This moment . . . it was like so many moments in my day after day after days. The bewilderment would roll in, tangled up with fear, and the questions would start.

  What was I doing?

  What do I need to do next?

  Who did I just talk to?

  Do I have a meeting later today?

  Winston whined, tugging at the leash, his face turned up at mine. “Let’s go.”

  Instead, I turned around and headed back the way I’d come.

  What a way to live—going backward. Retracing my steps, hoping to find my last familiar spot.

  With every slow step, I regained my bearings. That house with the bright-yellow door . . . I remembered that. That miniature stone wishing well in the front yard . . . I remembered that, too. Home was a bit farther away than I expected, but at least I knew where I was. When a car pulled alongside me and then slowed down, I picked up my pace, focusing on the sidewalk stretching out in front of me.

  “Hey there, gorgeous. Can I give you a ride?”

  Winston barked a greeting as my shoulders slumped.

  Geoff.

  “You scared me.” I stopped, my reproof wiped away when I grinned at Geoff in his used Outback.

  He leaned with one arm out the driver’s side window. Offered me a smile—the smile I knew so well. “I went home and Zach said you went for a walk, so I decided to come looking for you. I’m surprised to see you this far from home.”

  “I lost track of time.” Winston tugged on his leash, pulling me toward the car.

  “You getting in?” Geoff eased the car over to the curb.

  “Now that I know you’re not some stranger, sure.” I settled into the passenger seat, Winston in my lap. “Winnie needed a good long walk this morning.”

  “Looks like he got one.” Geoff dodged Winston’s attempts to lick him and kissed me. “Sorry I’m all sweaty. I was planning on taking him for a little run when I got back from the gym.”

  “You can probably skip that. I think I wore him out.” I fastened my seat belt with a sharp metallic click. “Is it okay if we drive around for a bit? Especially if Zach and the crew are still there.”

  “I won’t complain about the noise since it means they got started on the renovation. I can’t wait to see our new kitchen.”

  “It’ll be a while before that happens—at least a week longer than we planned.” I rolled my window down halfway for Winston, who propped his paws up on the edge. “I was thinking we might have to make some adjustments. Maybe scale things back.”

  “Why?” Geoff slowed to a stop at a four-way intersection and glanced at me. “After all our discussions and decisions—now you want to make changes?”

  Why was Geoff surprised? This was what we did best. Change.

  A few clouds had appeared in what was once a clear blue sky. To the west, clouds also advanced over Pikes Peak, an almost-certain indicator we’d have rain this afternoon. Everyone in Colorado knew the saying: If you don’t like the weather, wait ten minutes.

  I just needed to tell him.

  “I got fired, Geoff.”

  “You got fired . . . from your job?” Geoff stopped looking at the road to stare at me.

  “Yes. Mr. Hampton is offering me a decent severance package—” maybe I should have waited until we were home so we had the paperwork—“but yes, he called me into his office yesterday and told me that I was terminated.”

  “And you’re just telling me this now?”

  “I was asleep when you got home last night. And you were gone when I woke up this morning . . . and that is not the point.” I paused. Took a breath so I could lower my voice and stop stating the obvious. “We haven’t had a chance to talk about it before now.”

  “What happened?”

  “I made a mistake yesterday—”

  “One mistake and you get fired?”

  “It wasn’t just that mistake.” I stopped, not wanting to spend the entire conversation on the defensive. “We both know I haven’t been doing my job, Geoff. I’ve never gone back to work full-time. I’ve tried, but I just don’t have the energy. And I can’t process things like I used to. I lose track of time. I lose track of papers. I’m anxious all the time about everything I’m not doing. I’m surprised Mr. Hampton didn’t do something before now.”

  This wasn’t Mr. Hampton’s fault. I couldn’t do my job at the bank anymore. Hadn’t Geoff listened when I’d said all of this over and over again during the past months?

  Winston twisted and stood on his back legs, nuzzling my neck and chin, trying to lick my face. Small canine comfort . . . but I’d take it.

  There should be some relief that I’d told Geoff what had happened. But his reaction was creating distance between us, when all I wanted to do was ask him to pull over, to stop the car, to hold me and say, “Everything’s going to be okay, honey.”

  We drove in silence the rest of the way home, pulling in front of the detached garage behind the house. Zach’s truck was still parked outside, but the other workers’ vehicles were gone. The silence grew between Geoff and me as we sat in the car.

  At last, Geoff turned toward me. “Are you sure you don’t want to fight for your job?”

  “Yes.” I rolled the window down completely, gulping in a few deep breaths of the fresh air. “I can’t do the job anymore. I’d like to look over the severance package together.”

  “Okay. Can I shower first?”

  “Sure. I’ll make some breakfast.” I rested my hand on top of my husband’s where it sat on the steering wheel. “We’ll figure this out. There’s my bonus—although I know that’s basically been spent. And I can . . . maybe look for something. Something part-time. Or I can work from home . . .”

  “We’ll be okay, Jilly.” Geoff lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a brief kiss against my knuckles. “Compared to what we’ve been through, this is nothing.”

  Any thoughts of preparing a nice breakfast disappeared as I stepped out of the car, dodging the industrial-size blue dumpster sitting in our driveway and pulling Winston along with me. Inside, I lifted Winston into my arms as I faced the evidence of the workers’ efforts. Where a wall once had been s
tood a gaping hole. All of the upper and lower cabinets were removed, along with most of the countertops.

  “Hey, guys.” Zach nodded.

  “You’re making good headway today.”

  “The crew likes demo day.”

  “That’s obvious.” Geoff rested his hands on his hips. “Taking a break?”

  “I, um, needed to talk with you.”

  “Okay.”

  “We found a problem when we were tearing out the cabinets. Actually, two problems.”

  “No. Not this early on.” My arms tightened around Winston.

  “Yeah. These things happen. We can’t do anything further until we deal with these two issues, so I sent the crew home.”

  “What’s going on?” Geoff scanned the room as if he could figure things out himself.

  Zach motioned to the space where our old fridge used to sit—and where the lower part of the wall was now missing. “Apparently there’d been a leak sometime in the past, and it’d been repaired. You can see the newer piece of drywall.”

  Geoff nodded. “Yeah. Maybe I noticed that when I moved in, but I didn’t think much of it.”

  “I decided to check it out—that’s why there’s a section of the drywall removed.”

  “And?”

  “I think there’s a problem with your water pipes.”

  “The previous homeowners said they’d been replaced back in the nineties.”

  “Hearing that doesn’t make me feel any better.” Zach motioned to his iPad on the dining room table. “I did a little research while I waited for you, and this type of pipe—if it is the type of pipe I think it is—was used from the late seventies through the midnineties. If they’re polybutylene, then we’ve most definitely got a problem.”

  “Because?”

  “From what I read—I’m not a plumber—polybutylene becomes brittle over time. Builders don’t use it anymore. That’s why we need to check.”

  “Okay.” Geoff nodded. “You said there were possibly two problems.”

  “I also noticed mold along some of the lower framework behind the drywall. It doesn’t look too bad to me, but I’m not a professional in that area, either. I know enough to know we need to have that looked at, too.”

  “So what do we do?” I spoke up, saving Geoff from asking the question.

  “I already left messages with two guys I know. One deals with mold and the other is a plumber. I probably won’t hear from them before Monday.” Zach gathered his tool belt and gloves from the floor, along with his iPad. “I’ll keep you posted. For now, you all have a good weekend.”

  “Thanks, Zach. You, too.”

  Geoff followed Zach to the front door. Thanked him again. Shut the door. Turned and stared at me. “It’s going to be all right, honey.” Geoff opened his arms, allowing me to step into his embrace, Winston between us.

  “It’s going to be expensive.”

  “We don’t know how serious the problems are yet.”

  “With our luck, we’ll probably have to level the house.” My words were muffled against his damp T-shirt.

  “Very funny.” Geoff hugged me. “We shouldn’t be surprised, right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Trouble comes in threes.” Geoff forced a laugh. “We’ve hit our limit and it’s not even noon on a Saturday.”

  “Oh yeah, right. Ha-ha.”

  “Come on, we’ve got to keep our sense of humor about all this.” Geoff tried to step away. “I need a shower.”

  “I need another hug more than you need a shower.”

  His laughter rumbled in his chest. “How about I get a shower and then we go out for a celebratory breakfast?”

  I leaned back so I could look into his eyes. “Just what exactly are we celebrating?”

  “That we’re in this together. Water pipes. Mold. Whatever.”

  “You’re not sorry you married a woman who is always exhausted and unemployed—?”

  Geoff stopped my words with a kiss, his lips warm, his touch reassuring. Winston licked his chin.

  “Great.” Geoff shoved him away. “That dog . . .”

  “You gave him to me.” I savored our closeness, in spite of Winston interrupting our kiss—and even in spite of the pileup of disasters this morning. Then I stepped away. “Go take a shower. I’ll handle this little guy and grab a quick shower after you’re done. And then you can take me to breakfast. To celebrate—and we’ll look at the details of my severance package.”

  “Oh yeah. Looking forward to that.”

  I was, too—at least to having breakfast.

  I APPRECIATED the familiar comfort of my parents’ kitchen. Functional cabinets, smooth countertops, stainless steel appliances, the round table and matching chairs in the breakfast nook—all so ordinary and all so much more valued now that my own kitchen was partially gutted and awaiting assessments by both a plumber and a mold inspector.

  And after being up all night, dozing on and off between kicking my blankets around and sweating through a pair of pajamas—yet another consequence of the Tamoxifen—the last thing I wanted to do was think about what Geoff and I were going to eat.

  “Thanks for feeding us today, Mom.” I leaned against the counter as she sliced the rolls for the meatball subs, the room filled with the rich aroma of marinara sauce. “I didn’t think about how much the remodel was going to inconvenience us. I mean, I thought I was prepared. But now we’re dealing with the reality of a portable microwave and mini fridge in the dining room for the next couple of months. And eating takeout. Lots of takeout. Pizza. Chinese. Mexican. Repeat, repeat, repeat.”

  “You know you’re welcome here for dinner anytime, Jillian. And I’ll send you home with leftovers.”

  “I appreciate that too, but don’t give us too much. There’s not a whole lot of room in that fridge. Geoff’s going to be surviving on peanut butter and honey sandwiches for a while.”

  “And you, too, I imagine.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Food wasn’t as much of a concern for me. Months after finishing chemo, my appetite was still off. Not that I needed to give her another reason to worry by mentioning that.

  My estimation of how long it would take to remodel the kitchen was as optimistic as my response to Mom was vague. There was so much to talk about—it was just a matter of picking which topic. And not surprisingly, I’d earned the unofficial title of “Bearer of Bad News” in the Thatcher family.

  Postponing the inevitable, I focused on one of the “We’re Married!” announcements Geoff and I’d sent out that was still posted on the front of my parents’ refrigerator.

  I removed the glossy photo from where it was held in position by a magnet that detailed the Broncos schedule for last year. There we were, Mr. and Mrs. Geoff and Jillian Hennessey, inviting family and friends to the reception our parents had hosted several months after our secret marriage—you couldn’t call it an elopement because we’d only run as far as a local judge’s chambers. Me in the lavender chiffon dress I’d worn when we’d gotten married, and Geoff in a suit, his arms encircling me, our gazes locked, our smiles almost identical.

  “I love that photo.” Mom’s voice was a gentle intrusion on my memory.

  “Me, too.”

  “All in all, things worked out well.”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “Are you ever sorry you didn’t have a traditional wedding?”

  “No.” I repositioned the photo onto the fridge. “No. There’s been very little ‘traditional’ about this past year, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “True. But you and Geoff are doing fine.”

  Yes, well . . . there was no need to dispel that myth right at this moment.

  “I’ll go tell everyone lunch is ready.”

  “It’s too bad Johanna couldn’t join us. I can’t imagine what came up at work.”

  I couldn’t either, although I’d wager personal choice rather than a pharmaceutical emergency of some kind kept my older sister away from lunch today. Her “We’re famil
y!” tirade still echoed in my head. That, more than anything, had prompted the brief text to me: Tell Mom and Dad I can’t make it for lunch. Sorry. Work problems. Having me deliver the message was a nice touch—a subtle reminder it was my fault she wasn’t coming.

  It was still a crowded table in the dining room, what with me and Geoff, Payton and Zach, and Mom and Dad, Winston tucked in his arms. The Crock-Pot filled with Dad’s special meatballs was positioned in front of him, along with the platter of rolls and plates of provolone cheese and homemade sweet potato fries.

  “Put that dog down while we’re eating, Don.” Mom’s command was softened by a smile.

  Dad slipped Winston a bite of cheese and set him down. Winston, moocher that he was, settled at Dad’s feet, ready for the next stealth bite.

  “Dad!” I shook my head.

  “What? What?” Dad’s innocent look was belied by yet another not-so-subtle sleight of hand, rewarding Winston with another nibble of cheese. “Tell us how the renovation is going.”

  I waited for Geoff to say something, but he reached for the plate of cheese. Zach busied himself ladling two scoops of meatballs onto a roll. Of course, it wasn’t his story to tell. And as far as Zach knew, we had only one bit of news to share with everyone.

  Geoff adjusted his glasses, which had slid down his nose a bit. Smiled. “Well, after a few days’ delay, the team started demoing the kitchen yesterday. And that’s when we ran into a couple of problems.”

  “Serious problems?” Dad’s attention was now diverted from Winston’s whines.

  “If by serious you mean potentially expensive, yes.”

  Zach stepped in. “We discovered a leak in the wall where the fridge had been.”

  “Oh no.” Mom paused passing the platter of fries to Payton.

  “It looks like it may have been there before because that piece of drywall is newer than the others.” Zach rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m frustrated because I should have noticed it sooner, but I didn’t. When I removed the drywall, I found signs of an old leak in the pipe—and what looks like mold on the framework. I’m not sure the extent of the problem. We need to get that evaluated, of course. I’ve called a couple buddies of mine and I’m hoping to hear from them tomorrow—or early this week.”