Trouble Won't Wait

by Autumn Piper

  God, I hope this isn’t another of Mike’s surprises.

  They all leave in Mike’s truck, so I go in the kitchen to start the breakfast casserole I always make on Christmas. Later, we’ll go to Mark’s for lunch, which will be a welcome entertainment today.

  Being the idiot I am, I miss Adam already. I guess his “visitor” was the reason he didn’t mind when I told him I couldn’t come by yesterday. Which would be why he didn’t really want me calling, either.

  I hear the truck driving up, along with another, and then a ruckus as people go through the side gate. The door at the bottom of the stairs is closed, but they go in the door to the den down. They’re carrying something heavy in. More than one man grunts, along with the kids’ excited instructions for where to put the thing. Their voices carry up through the heat vents.

  The other man tells Mike something about the cord being short, and I recognize his voice. Adam. Jesus, what is he doing here? He can’t just come in my house and, well, he can’t come here and anything!

  “Now she can run when it’s snowy too.” Ben. “She’s worked real hard, but she looks good, doesn’t she?” My little Ben, my sweet, sweet son.

  “She looks really good, Ben,” Adam answers. “Tell her Merry Christmas for me, okay?” Adam sounds normal, not torn up inside like I am. But he’s got Laura waiting for him at his house. He leaves as they all exchange Merry Christmases, then my gang troops up the stairs.

  “Mom, surprise, Mom! Come downstairs!”

  It’s Adam’s treadmill. I stare at it with no words to say. I hear how Ben and Rachel snuck over there Tuesday before the sledding and paid him for it. Ben had already called him, using the number from my phone. Adam managed to keep our charade up, not spilling my secret. Or the kids’. He probably felt bad and didn’t want to destroy my marriage, knowing he wasn’t going to be with me. Good guy-bad guy.

  It’s a peach of a treadmill, not something from a department store. This thing cost in the thousands. Ben couldn’t have paid him much for it. He didn’t have much money.

  Adam wanted me to have a treadmill so I wouldn’t go out when it was raining. Maybe he didn’t want me running past his house anymore. Probably. Oh God. That hurts. Why couldn’t he just break it off with me? Was I so persistent he couldn’t shake me off? I’m crying now, and doing my damnedest to make the kids believe they are tears of joy over their gift.

  Ben tells me he contributed one hundred thirty-two dollars, and Rachel had sixteen. A hundred and forty-eight bucks. Ben says Adam is nice because he knocked off the two bucks they were short.

  I hold my stomach all the way up to the bathroom, where I retch, the empty heaving spasms bringing more tears, these from pain. No, I don’t think bulimia would work out for me. Puking sucks.

  When I’ve pulled the pieces of my shell back together, I get breakfast on the table for my family–my heartbroken husband, my son whose father is a fallen idol, and my daughter, who has no notion of the pain all around her, but will soon notice Mommy isn’t wearing Daddy’s ring anymore. And me, the one who caused every bit of it.

  Yeah, it’s true. I could have forgiven Mike after that first time, and watched him like a hawk so it never happened again. None of this would be happening if I had.

  And as for my own pain, well, who do I have to blame, but myself?

  * * * *

  Before we leave for Mark’s, Ben approaches me downstairs. “Mom?”

  “Yeah, Bean?”

  “I have a confession.”

  Join the crowd, little man. “What is it?”

  “Mr. Kraft, Adam? Well, he gave me the money back this morning.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugs. “He said to give Rachel hers, and Merry Christmas from him to us.”

  “All of the money?”

  “Yeah. I felt bad, ’cause I know you think we spent all our money on your present, but we still have our money. I just wanted to be honest.”

  “Thanks, honey.” Please, always stay this honest.

  “Mom, he’s real nice, Mr. Kraft. Adam. Maybe you should go on a date with him.”

  My hands are covering my face when I shake my head.

  “Momma, he thinks you’re pretty. You are. You’ll get over what Dad did. People always get over broken hearts.”

  This from one who’s gleaned his vast store of wisdom in matters of the heart from teen shows on Nickelodeon.

  “I love you, Benny. Thanks for buying me such a nice present.” I hold him against me, but I’m pretty sure it’s him keeping us from falling over.

  I need to visit the bathroom again before we leave. So now Mr. Kraft gave my kids their money back for his pricey treadmill. Is this a guilt offering, also? My breakfast makes a u-turn, back the way it came. This isn’t good. No more food for me today.

  * * * *

  At my request, Mark and Kenna are going to treat Mike as a guest in their home one last time. Kenna pulls me into her kitchen shortly after we arrive, and asks me how I’m doing. Word is all over town about our big scene last night.

  I tell her my end of it, how I successfully deceived him into believing I wanted to reconcile. I wait for her judgment, expecting her to think I’m a cold-hearted bitch. Instead, she congratulates me.

  Mark enters the kitchen, smirking conspiratorially. “No ring any more, huh? So are ya on the market, or did Kraft call dibs?”

  “Shh, Mark! God!” I’m rolling my eyes, which I do too often around him. “No market, no Kraft.” I say it with my back to him so he can’t see my cringe.

  But he’s giving Kenna some look, because she raises her brows and bites her lower lip in a “beats me” look.

  I know he’s putting her up to asking, so I might as well get it out there. “Adam’s married, Mark. I just found out.”

  “Married?” He sounds like he thinks I’m once again the believer of an incorrect rumor. “Nah, he’s single.”

  Mark is so annoying. Thinks he knows everything, or at least more than I do.

  “He has a girlfriend, then. A very pregnant one.” I know I sound destroyed, and he’s moved to face me beside Kenna now, so he can see the misery.

  His eyes squint behind the fake glasses.

  “Drop it, okay?” I say. “It’s Christmas. Make it my gift.” Tears well up even though I will them away, so Mark agrees.

  I’m feeling sick again. I can’t afford to date another man. If I suffer another breakup, I will get too thin.

  The day goes by quickly, if in a haze. We stay at Mark’s longer than usual, since neither Mike nor I want to go home and face our losses.

  Dumb and Dumber, I mean, Dave and Danny, eat with us and add a pleasant element by flirting with me as much as Mark will allow. I’m sorry to say the flirting is one-sided, since I am woefully tired and still unable to keep any food down.

  * * * *

  At home, the kids want all their new clothes washed to take to Arizona tomorrow. I’m relieved I won’t have to keep up appearances once they’re gone, but scared of the time when I’ll be alone with my thoughts. I stay busy getting their things laundered and packed, and tucking them in bed.

  Mike has been watching a lot of TV today. He finds me finishing up in the laundry room. “I’m gonna head out to Mom’s tomorrow, I guess.”

  I nod. I was hoping he’d go without a fight. I’m not certain if I want this house, but it’s the kids’ home, and I’m the one who gets them to school and picks them up. It’s logistically impossible for Mike to do that.

  “If you want me to keep on with the company books, I will.”

  He’d spend a fortune replacing me, and the new person wouldn’t know what was going on most of the time. Of course, it’s in my best interest for his business to stay afloat.

  Mike looks relieved when he leaves the room.

  It’s another long night. I manage to doze here and there, but my sleep is haunted by gut-wrenching dreams. In one, I’m eating alone at the Mexican restaurant, while Mike and Lana are on a doubl
e date with Adam and Laura. Lana has all the wait staff laughing at me by the time I wake.

  * * * *

  Mark picked up Mom at the airport at some painful time like six this morning. She’s turning right around, loading the kids in Mark and Kenna’s minivan, and driving back to Phoenix today. Mom really, and I mean really, hates the cold. This works to my advantage, because with all the rush of getting five kids loaded up, she doesn’t have a chance to notice my lack of a wedding ring, or pick up on my woeful vibes.

  Ben gives me an extra-long hug, and promises to call me every day, reminding me in a whisper that I should go on a date with Adam.

  God, if he only knew!

  Mike and I walk back into the house together, but worlds apart.

  Inside, Mike turns and asks me accusatorily, “Did you trick me into falling in love with you again? Thinking you were taking me back?”

  I look straight in his eyes and ask, “Did you trick me into thinking you only screwed Lana once?”

  He wrinkles his nose, knowing he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

  “One more thing, did you really get waxed?”

  I smile. It will kill him. “Oh yeah, Mikey, I did. I’m very smooth.”

  He hangs his head.

  I hope he’s wondering who will get to enjoy it. I guess I am, too.

  * * * *

  Once Mike packs his meager little suitcase–I’m sure he’ll be back repeatedly for things he forgot, but I’m not about to help him with this–and leaves, the house takes on a very lonely demeanor.

  I try to burrow into my bed downstairs, but keep thinking of Adam. Twice I almost call him, to yell and rant and tell him what a jerk he was. Each time, I get physically ill.

  Now I’m ensconced–a word straight out of a historical romance, ensconced–on the couch. Nobody else is around to disturb me, so I should be able to rest just as well here as anywhere.

  Noon comes and goes. My cellphone rings, but I won’t look to see who it is. The only calls I plan to answer are from my mom’s phone, in case the kids need me. I’m trying to read another romance novel, but I hate this heroine. I know she’s going to get what I’ve lost twice in one month.

  * * * *

  I slept the afternoon away, and now it’s evening. I ate some cereal earlier, and sure enough, couldn’t keep it down. The house phone has been ringing, but I’ve turned down the volume on the answering machine. I don’t want to hear from anybody today.

  Dammit, somebody is at the door! I’m turning off the lights, hiding out. I hear a key turning in the lock.

  “Mandy!” It’s Mark. Of course. He has a key for when we’re on vacation and he takes care of stuff, just like I have a key to his house.

  I flip the lamp back on, but don’t bother to get up.

  “You look like shit,” Mark says. Like that’ll boost my spirits.

  “Fuck off.”

  He thinks that’s funny. He ruffles my smooshed hair and yanks on a hunk of it. When he flops down on Mike’s recliner, he makes it look like one of Aunt Clara’s dwarf-size furnishings.

  “Been callin’ all day.”

  “Been ignorin’ the phone all day.” I know I’m scowling; I bet he thinks I look like a pouty little snot. “Kinda wanted to be alone!”

  Another chuckle. “Aunt Clara called me. Said she couldn’t get you to answer. Wanted to see if you hooked up with ‘That Adam.’”

  There I go, rolling my eyes again.

  “Tell her no, and I’m going out of town.”

  “Where ya goin’?”

  “I’m not. I just don’t want her pesterin’ the shit outta me. You either. Get lost!” My arms are crossed in my full pout posture, but I’m swaddled under my comforter so he can’t see.

  “Thought I’d hang here and watch TV.”

  “Mark!” Why does he have to bully me now? I start crying, which I know he hates. Girl tears are too much for him to handle. “Please, I have stomach flu. Just go away. Leave me be!”

  Thank God, mention of stomach flu on top of my tears is enough to run him off. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Don’t!”

  As the door swings shut, I hear, “I will.” Smug bastard.

  I bury my head under the pillow, crying and half hoping the oxygen supply will be too little to sustain me.

  Someone is prolonging the hell of my life by pulling the pillow away. I look up to find Mike, my gorgeous, devastated, soon-to-be ex. Sitting on the couch next to my middle, he looks like I feel. His eyes are ringed and puffy, and his skin looks a little green.

  I let him wipe my tears away and brush back my hair. Hard to believe he’d still want to comfort me after what I did to him. I’d rather hate him, but he’s making it hard. Why is he being so good to me? That’s simple: because he loves me. If I tell him about loving Adam, will he go away? I’d rather have him angry at me. Then I could reciprocate, and the fury would eclipse my guilt.

  I’m going to tell him. I can’t stand this kindness, him feeling like he’s responsible for my hurting. He is, in a way. But he has no inkling what I’m truly distraught over at this point. I’ve grieved for my marriage, moved on to a fresh pain. I’ll swallow my self-righteous pride over not physically cheating on him, even though I’ll be relinquishing my position of higher moral ground above him.

  “Mike, I have something to tell–”

  But he cuts me off. “I want you to know, I didn’t plan to keep it up with Lana. I really messed up that first night. Then she kept calling me, and you didn’t want me…” He tips his head back and squeezes his eyes shut tight, trying to hold back tears. “I never did anything like that before, I swear it.” He’s still stroking my hair, and in spite of my resolve to never believe him again, I do. “Maybe we should give it a month. Even the score, like Baldwin said. You go out with whoever you want, do whatever you need to. After the month, if you’ll have me again, we’ll patch things up, with a real therapist this time.”

  Whoa, Nellie! Is this guy desperate, or madly in love and truly repentant? Isn’t bargaining one of the stages of grieving too?

  “Mike, I don’t think we could get past that.” Could we? He looks serious, but he can’t be thinking clearly right now.

  “We can if we try, baby. Please, just think about it.” He gathers me up, holding me against him like he’ll never let me go. I’m starting to think maybe he won’t, when he lowers me gently back to the sofa. His lips touch mine momentarily before he rises. “Let me know when you decide, okay?” With that, he departs.

  * * * *

  Why is it when you have something on your mind and can’t sleep, the dark of night lasts twenty or more hours? I’d swear I’ve been on this couch for a good week, but the clock says it’s only been about fifteen hours.

  About eleven PM, my cell rings, quite a few times. I don’t want to think about who it is.

  Did Adam sneak off to call me? Is he calling to tell me not to call him like usual? Or maybe Laura had to go back to wherever she’s been. Texas.

  So maybe he’s alone now, and wants to pick up where we left off. Cheating bastard. If I hadn’t surprised him, would he have told me? Rat bastard.

  I haven’t even eaten anything, and I need to throw up. Why bother? There’s nothing left to heave. I’m just staying here and ignoring it.

  God, she was beautiful. Even pregnant. I was cute pregnant, but not beautiful. I wonder if the pregnancy is the reason he said no like that when I asked if he had kids? Doesn’t think unborn children count, I guess.

  Which reminds me, I haven’t taken the flippin’ birth control pill today. I guess I’d better haul my dehydrated butt in the kitchen and take it. Who knows, I might feel up to releasing some sexual tension by New Year’s. Maybe I’ll sleep with Dumb or Dumber just to spite Mark for being happily married. Danny’s the cute one. He’d be my choice.

  I could sleep with him, for a whole month if I want, and Mike will take me back. I could have as many flings as I want in that month, and he’ll take me back. Cou
ld our marriage ever be the same, though? There are two major things I can’t see myself getting past. First, his physical infidelity. How will I ever trust him to resist temptation again? How will I feel the next time he goes hunting, or anywhere I can’t keep track of him? The other thing is, I’m not sure I’ll ever feel the same again, after falling for Adam.

  I’ve made it to one AM. Great, only five more hours to morning proper. And then what, huh? A long day of nothing. No purpose, no reason.

  I’m not suicidal. My kids are reason to go on, but not much help right this minute. I could write, but my romance would end up a tragedy. I used to do poetry. Morose and depressed always works with poetry.

  I dig out a legal pad and pen. Wish I had my voice recorder.

  Wonder which hurts more,

  A fresh love torn from my heart,

  Or losing one I’ve years adored?

  How ’bout angry?

  You tricked me and you suck.

  I wanta make you hurt and cry,

  Flat the tires on your truck,

  Hit you ’til you tell me why.

  That could be about either Adam or Mike. Maybe something silly.

  ’Manda Lawson shrunk her ass,

  Met a guy who made a pass,

  When she found out he was hitched,

  Impotence on him she wished.

  I write until dawn, scribbling and scratching, and listening to the CD I made for Adam, until I can no longer ignore the need to retch. Christmas is all gone now, so I guess it doesn’t matter that he was what I wanted for Christmas. I guess he was just a silly flirtation.

  Once I convince my heart of that, I’ll be fine.

  Chapter 17

  I’m standing in front of the damn treadmill. Ben thinks it has been used a lot because it has five hundred miles on its running odometer. I know Adam ran five or more miles a day on it, so he probably bought it after he moved here in September. I’m going to try it out. I put a check in the mail yesterday after the kids left; Adam should get it today. Wonder if he’ll cash it?