by Jason Starr
As if Dana didn’t have enough to deal with, if Tony continued to harass her she’d have to look into getting a restraining order. It didn’t help that now Adam had some kind of crazy vendetta against Tony. Had he really gone over there and “attacked” him in the shower? That explained how he’d gotten so beaten up, and it was so like Adam to storm over to the gym and do something so insane. What had he been thinking, Gee, I think I’ll go beat up a bodybuilder? Yeah, like that would work. It was just like when he went into the closet to get the gun that night. The man never learned.
Wired on caffeine, extremely agitated, Dana needed air.
On her way out, she saw the barista eyeing her again.
“What the hell’re you looking at, bitch?” Dana said, not aware that she’d actually said it until she was halfway down the block.
When Dana entered, she braced herself, expecting Adam to lash out at her again, but the house was quiet. She went upstairs, and in the hallway outside her bedroom it suddenly hit her how much she’d lost. Her life had been so good, she’d had so much, and she’d given it all up, why? Because she was bored? Because she felt ignored?
She started crying, the tears flowing down her cheeks. She was leaning with her head against the wall at first, and then she sat on the floor with her head hanging between her legs. It had been years since she’d cried this hard, and she’d never felt so worthless, so helpless.
After maybe a half hour of intense sobbing, she felt numb and dazed. She didn’t want her marriage to be over. She knew things had gotten screwed up, beyond screwed up, but she didn’t think it was unsalvageable. Until today, things had been getting better, and it wasn’t like either of them had fallen in love, or was even in an active affair. She’d broken up with Tony and—apparently—Adam and Sharon had only been together that one time. In a way, her affair—and, yes, she was willing to admit that it had been an affair and not a mere fling—had been worse because, although he’d cheated on her with her best friend, she’d been with Tony dozens of times. He could rationalize what he’d done—we got caught up in the moment; it just happened—but what she’d done had been calculated and premeditated. If he could forgive her, then she didn’t see why she shouldn’t forgive him. Yes, they’d hurt each other, but a lot of married people hurt each other and worked things out; they didn’t run away.
Thirsty and worn out from all the crying, she went down to the kitchen. She was about to open the fridge when she heard TV noise coming from the living room. She approached cautiously and then saw Adam lying on the couch. She was behind him and he was facing the other direction, so he probably didn’t know she was there. She knew he wasn’t actually watching TV because Rachael Ray was on and he couldn’t stand Rachael Ray.
She was going to leave, give him some space, but she felt bad just standing there, not saying anything.
“How’s your face?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. She figured he was just ignoring her.
She waited a couple of minutes, watching Rachael Ray explain how to make “extra-chunky salsa,” and then she said, “I just want you to know it meant nothing to me. It was stupid, I have no idea why I did it. I think I should probably go back into therapy.”
She thought playing the therapy card would at least get a response, show him that she was willing to take responsibility for what she’d done, but he didn’t have any reaction.
She continued, “I still love you very much. I want to be together if you want to be together. I mean, we’ve been married twenty-three years. It’s crazy to just throw that all away without even trying to fix things.”
He still wouldn’t answer. She wondered if he was asleep, and she took a couple of steps into the room to get a better view of his face. Suddenly she had a horrible thought: He’s not asleep, he’s dead. For a few horrified moments she imagined the next few moments—touching his body, feeling his cold skin, her hysteria. Maybe he’d OD’d or slit his wrists. She expected to see a puddle of blood on the floor. Then she saw his eyes, and they looked wide open but lifeless.
“Adam.” She didn’t scream it, but she said it suddenly, like she was saying “Boo,” trying to scare him.
Adam’s head turned toward her, and she said, “Thank God.” Her pulse was pounding. “Sorry, I thought you were . . . never mind.”
He turned back toward the TV and resumed staring.
Dana remained there until her heart rate returned to something close to normal, and then she started to leave.
“I talked to Clements,” Adam said. Dana stopped. “About what?”
Adam was still facing away from her, looking at Rachael Ray. “I told him about the note that . . .” He paused, as if struggling to find the right words, then said with disgust, “. . . that Tony left.”
Again Dana realized how badly she’d hurt Adam. “What about it?” she asked weakly.
“What do you mean, what about it?” he snapped, sounding like he hated her. “It was almost exactly like the other note, the one that threatened to kill me.”
Dana hadn’t thought about this before—or at all, really—because she’d had so much other crap on her mind. Why would Tony have left a note threatening Adam’s life and claiming to be involved in the robbery? Tony might’ve been trying to harass Dana and her family, but leaving a note didn’t seem like something he’d do.
“Are you sure the notes looked the same?” Dana asked.
“Yes, I’m sure. It was the same paper, same print. Everything was the same.” “That would be weird,” Dana said.
“What?” Adam asked, though Dana knew he’d heard the first time and was trying to be harsh with her intentionally, to try to upset her.
“I don’t see why he would’ve done that,” she said.
“Clements asked me if Tony had ever been to the house,” Adam said. “Had he?”
Dana immediately thought about the bouquet of flowers. She didn’t want to tell Adam about this, afraid that it would lead to more questions about the past and that he’d accuse her of having sex with Tony in their house, in their bed, and she didn’t want to get into another big argument.
“No,” Dana said. “Never?” Adam asked.
“As far as I know . . . no, never.” “Did he know Gabriela?” “How would he know her?” “Did he know her or not?”
“I have no idea. I don’t see how he could’ve—”
“Do you think he could’ve robbed the house or not?” “No,” Dana said.
“Why not?”
“I just don’t think it’s something he’d do.” “Why not?”
“Because I just don’t.”
Adam was quiet for several seconds, then said, “I’ll call Clements and tell him. He said he’s gonna send somebody by later to pick up the note.”
Another several seconds passed, and then Dana, still talking to Adam’s back, said, “So what do you want to do?”
“About what?”
Again she felt like he knew full well and was trying to agitate her.
“What do you think?” she said. “I’m willing to work on it if you are. I feel awful about everything, and I know we have a lot to work out, but I think we can get through this. I mean, you see patients all the time in these situations, and you help them and they wind up staying in their marriages. People make mistakes, but it doesn’t have to be the end.”
“Sometimes it is the end,” Adam said.
The coldness in his voice sent the clear message that as far as he was concerned the conversation was over; there was no room for discussion.
Dana stood there for a while, stunned, and then she left before she started crying again.
Adam didn’t come to bed. Although he and Dana usually slept with a lot of space between them, barely touching, the bed still felt very empty without him, and she woke up several times during the night and cried into her pillow until she fell back asleep.
In the morning she woke up as Adam was closing one of the dresser drawers. He left the room immediately, probably going
to shower in the guest bathroom. Later, when Dana heard the front door slam, she got out of bed.
She went downstairs. Adam hadn’t left any coffee for her, but this time she didn’t feel like it was passive-aggressive; it was just plain aggressive.
He’d also left bagel crumbs on the counter and hadn’t bothered to put his dishes in the sink. Then Dana noticed that he’d written something on the blackboard in the kitchen where they sometimes left notes for each other. She went closer and saw I want you to move out.
Dana cried for a long time, knowing there was nothing she could do or say to change Adam’s mind. She would try to talk to him again, but she knew it wouldn’t help. Sometimes it is the end.
The worst part was that she was going through all of this entirely alone. Normally, Sharon would’ve been the only friend she’d feel comfortable talking to about something so personal and traumatic. She considered calling other friends, like Deborah, whom she’d grown up with in Dix Hills, Long Island, or Geri from the PTA, but she felt embarrassed and ashamed to actually say, “I’m getting a divorce.” She felt like saying the words would make it real, there’d be no turning back, and as soon as she told someone, word would get around the neighborhood, and there would be more drama. Everyone would be talking about her, even people she hardly knew. Did you hear Dana Bloom’s getting a divorce? Oh, no, that’s so terrible. Everyone talking about her like she was this poor defenseless thing, a victim. Being divorced would become her new identity because, after all, what other identity did she have? She had no career, no young children. Her life had no meaning.
Dana got back into bed and didn’t want to get up. She was more scared than depressed, but she was aware that a depression was setting in and had a feeling it would only get worse. There was no way she’d be able to get through the stress of moving out, finding a new apartment, and the legal and financial nightmare all alone. She needed to get back on Prozac. Talking to someone, a professional, would probably be a good idea, too. She convinced herself to call her psychiatrist, Dr. Feldman, whom she hadn’t seen in what, three years? She took the soonest appointment Feldman had, this coming Wednesday afternoon.
Sometime in the afternoon Dana heard Marissa come up the stairs and go into her room. Dana hadn’t really considered the effect the divorce would have on her daughter. Yes, Marissa was twenty-two, so it wasn’t exactly like having to explain the situation to a young child, but it was still going to be a big deal in her life. Dana suddenly felt extremely guilty—for deserting Marissa and for being a bad mother, especially lately. Since Marissa had moved back home, had Dana been there for her at all? No, she’d been off in her fantasy world with Tony, thinking about herself, as usual. Dana couldn’t believe that she’d been in such a fog, that she hadn’t seen the effect that the affair had been having not only on Adam and her marriage but on her entire family.
Dana got out of bed sluggishly. She knocked on Marissa’s door and then heard, “What is it?”
“I need to talk to you,” Dana said.
After a long pause Marissa said, “Come in.”
Dana entered and saw Marissa lying on her back in bed with her iPhone, texting someone. Suddenly she had a flashback of Marissa as a fiveor six-year-old in the same bed, having a nightmare in the middle of the night and calling out, “Mommy!” Dana would always get up—Adam was such a deep sleeper, he would’ve let her cry all night—and get into bed with Marissa and hug her tightly and assure her that everything was going to be all right. Sometimes Marissa would fall right back asleep, but other times Dana would get into bed with her and tell her made-up stories about the adventures of Marissel and Marissel’s parents, Arthur and Diana. The characters were very thinly disguised versions of Dana, Adam, and Marissa, and at the end of each story, Marissel always wound up happy, home in bed, with her parents in the next room.
“What do you want?” Marissa asked, sounding irritated, like she often did lately.
“Can I sit down?” Dana asked.
“If you want to,” Marissa said. Then she added, “You don’t look good.” Dana sat on the edge of the bed and said, “First of all, I’m sorry.” “Sorry for what?”
“That you had to see all that yesterday. I know how . . . disturbing this must be for you.”
“Disturbing?” Marissa laughed sarcastically. “I just don’t know what took you guys so long.”
“You know?”
“Dad called me before and told me.”
“Told you what?” Dana was afraid that Adam was already bad-mouthing her.
“That you guys are getting a divorce, and I think it’s a good thing, to be honest. You two have been making each other miserable for years.”
“It hasn’t been years.”
“It’s been years,” Marissa said. “So why stay together if you can’t be happy? You should both go find people you’re, I don’t know, more compatible with.”
“It’s not so easy,” Dana said, not sure if she meant going through a divorce, finding another man, or both.
“Oh, come on,” Marissa said. “You’re hot. Even Xan said so.” “Really?” Dana needed the ego boost.
“Yes, really. His exact quote was ‘Your mom’s hot.’ ”
“Well, that was very nice of him, he’s very sweet, but I’m not so confident about that. I think most men my age will be looking for women your age.”
“You didn’t have any trouble hooking up with that guy Tony, and he’s like, what, twenty years younger than you?”
“First of all, what happened between Tony and me was never serious, it’s important for you to know that. I know Dad’s going to make it out to you like I got into this actual relationship with another man, that that’s why we’re getting divorced, but that’s not the way it is at all. I’m not leaving him. What’s happening between us is mutual; it’s not any one person’s fault. And I want you to know how sorry I am that you had to find out about it the way you did. I know how upsetting that must’ve been for you.”
“Oh, pa-leeze,” Marissa said. “You guys getting a divorce isn’t exactly a bombshell. Besides, I already knew about you and Tony.”
“You did? How?”
“Hillary heard you and Sharon talking about it the other day. I still can’t believe it, though, about Dad and Sharon. That was a real surprise. I mean, I just didn’t see that one coming at all.”
Dana’s eyes were getting teary, but she didn’t want to start crying again, especially not in front of Marissa. She had to look away.
“Don’t worry, Mom, it’s gonna be okay. I told Dad that I think that was so wrong that he hooked up with Sharon. I mean, she’s your friend, but Hillary’s my friend, and it’s just not right that he did that.”
Dana put an arm around Marissa and said, “I just want to make sure you’re okay with all of this. I don’t want you to have resentment, toward me or your father.”
“Stop thinking about me,” Marissa said. “Just do whatever you have to do, and I’ll be fine.”
Dana couldn’t hold back the tears now, and she leaned her head against her daughter’s shoulder and sobbed.
Dana went back to her bedroom and got back into bed. She eventually dozed. When she woke up she was surprised that it was past six fifteen and that she’d been asleep nearly three hours, because she didn’t feel at all rejuvenated. Though she wasn’t hungry and didn’t feel like getting out of bed, she knew that eating something would probably be a good idea. She had mild hypoglycemia, and when she let her blood sugar get too low she got very anxious, irritable, and depressed.
Heading downstairs, she noticed that Marissa’s room was empty. At the bottom of the staircase, in the foyer, she called out, “Marissa!” but there was no answer. She probably went out to meet a friend or something.
Next door Blackie, the Millers’ German shepherd, was barking loudly. Sometimes Blackie started barking at the mailman or at other delivery people.
Dana went to the kitchen and made a sandwich: turkey breast with lettuce and tomato on wh
ole wheat. She really wasn’t in the mood for food. She managed a few bites, then put the rest away in the fridge. She was loading the dishwasher when the back doorbell rang.
That was unusual. She and Adam and Marissa used the entrance occasionally, mainly when they parked in the driveway, but they almost always entered with a key. Her first thought was it was probably a delivery person, or Con Ed to inspect the meter. That would explain why Blackie was still barking so wildly. Dana wasn’t expecting any deliveries, though, and didn’t the Con Ed guy always ring the front doorbell?
She was too frazzled to think any of this through in any greater depth. She parted the curtain that covered the windowpane on the door and saw Xan.
He was wearing dark sunglasses, and when he saw her peering through the glass he smiled widely and gave her a little wave.
She immediately let go of the curtain and thought, Shit. She couldn’t let him in looking like this again. She was in a ratty T-shirt and baggy sweats and wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup.
“Um, one second!” she said, and she rushed upstairs.
As fast as she could she changed into jeans, a better bra, and a tighter longsleeved black top, and then she put on lipstick and a little blush and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She checked herself out in the mirror on the dresser. She still looked like crap, but it was better than nothing. Then she said, “Shoes, shit,” and went for something with a little heel—black leather boots—and went back downstairs.
She opened the back door, and Xan smiled widely. “Hey,” he said.
She’d forgotten how good-looking he was. He lifted his sunglasses and rested them on top of his head, and she was momentarily startled by the blueness of his eyes.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m sorry about that. I was just, um, in the middle of something.”
Blackie was still barking like crazy.
“That’s okay,” Xan said. “I didn’t mind waiting.”
“Marissa’s not here right now,” Dana said. “Would you like to come in?” “If that’s okay with you.”
