If he wants a fight, I’m ready this time, she thought, her anger rising within her like steam inside a kettle. I’m right and he’s wrong, drunk or not, and I’m not going to give in like I do every other time.
“Yeah, you’re all part of the problem.” Darren was red-faced and belligerent now. “If the media wasn’t so biased, we would have won more seats tonight. But they’re itching to latch on to this backwoods cowboy out of nowhere, making him to be some kind of hero. He’s as bad as Reagan, Schwarzenegger or Trump.”
“You shouldn’t judge him just because he’s a Republican or an entertainer.” Chessa felt her self-righteousness mount along with her anger at her husband’s drunken state. “As long as a man does what’s good and right for the people, that should be all that matters.”
“You’re an idiot. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
That hurt. Even though Chessa’s brain kept sounding he doesn’t make sense, he’s drunk, her heart was still wounded and she suddenly felt a sharp pang of doubt. I don’t know why I even married this man. I didn’t even know him well enough. I don’t really know him at all.
Chessa couldn’t help her pride from getting in the way, so she blurted out, “well you’re just a mean drunk who thinks the whole world revolves around you.” She immediately regretted engaging with him but it was too late. She couldn’t take her words back.
“Obviously I know a lot more than you do when it comes to politics. I know who’s good for our government and who isn’t. I was going to wait to surprise you and tell you my good news when I was in a better mood but since you think you’re so smart, how’s this for who’s smarter—The National Democratic Party leader called me tonight with a proposition. He wants me to start thinking about running for president.”
“President?” Chessa’s voice rose with incredulity.
“As in, of the United States of America.” Darren gave her a superior smile. “I’ve got five years to prepare for it. Our candidate doesn’t stand a chance against Martin Greene this time around. So the Democratic party is already looking ahead to the next election and they think I’m their man.”
Chessa knew what her husband meant, but she couldn’t believe it. She stared at him for a moment, trying to wrap her mind around what he had said. Great, she thought, not saying a word. Now he’ll never be home, and we’ll never start a family.
Chessa shocked herself with that last thought. But she realized in that moment that she wanted with all her heart to have a baby, to start a family. To change our life around and be happy again.
“What’s wrong, aren’t you happy to hear your husband might become the next president of the United States?” Darren asked impatiently, jarring her out of her trance.
Here goes. Chessa took a deep breath and exhaled. “No, it’s just that…well, I was hoping, now that this election is over, you would start spending more time at home with me, especially with the holidays coming up. And I was hoping we could work on starting a family.”
Darren’s face turned a deep shade of red and his eyes flashed with anger as he stood just inches away from her, his six feet of height towering over her smaller five-foot-five frame. “You are the most selfish woman I have ever met!” He practically spit the words at her. “All you think about is yourself. Just because you don’t have a big career like I do doesn’t mean we don’t have a lot going on. We’ve only been married a year, for crying out loud. I don’t want a baby now or any other time soon. I thought I married a girl who was smart and who would be a good partner, who would appreciate being the wife of a US Senator, not to mention a possible president. But she’s just some dumb girl who wants to go around barefoot and pregnant. Here I thought you’d be proud of me.” His voice trailed off with a pout.
Chessa smarted from his words, but felt guilty that she hadn’t been happy for him.
She approached him to say she was sorry and give him a hug, but he roughly shoved her away. Her back hit a wall corner and she felt a sharp pain between her shoulder blades.
“Get away from me.” Darren turned and grabbed a bottle of whiskey sitting on a nearby service bar and poured some into a glass, spilling half of it.
Chessa stood silent for a moment choking back tears, her back and her heart aching, and quietly retreated upstairs to try to go to sleep. I’m not going to let him see me cry.
The next day, sitting at her desk going through a pile of paperwork at Safe Horizon, Chessa still felt a dull ache in her upper back and was reminded of her husband shoving her.
Could it be that I’m a victim too? She couldn’t help but wonder. But then she thought of the many victims who came to them—women who were battered, bruised, or bleeding, with eyes swollen shut, broken teeth, or broken bones. I’m not as bad as they are, she reasoned. Darren just had too much to drink. He didn’t mean to hurt me.
Tonight will be different. She willed herself to think positively. Darren had decided to stay in New York the day after the elections to make some local congratulatory rounds and start to garner support for his potential presidential bid. I’ll cook him a nice dinner to celebrate his news, and we’ll spend a quiet, peaceful evening together. Maybe we’ll even be intimate.
When she got off work, Chessa stopped at the grocery store and then came home to prepare a special dinner to celebrate her husband’s good news. By six, she had carefully set the table in their cozy dining room, lit a few tapered candles, and took the roasted duck out of the oven. It was one of Darren’s favorite dishes.
Darren had told her he would be home by six. When seven p.m. arrived and she didn’t receive a call, Chessa started to worry and tried Darren’s cell phone. It went to voice mail. She kept the duck in the oven on warm, blew out the candles, and turned on the television to distract herself from thinking the worst.
Another hour passed, and still she received no phone call. Now her worry was turning to anger. How dare he not show up for dinner and not even bother to call?
Too upset to eat, Chessa just turned the oven off leaving the duck in it, turned out the lights, and went to bed to read herself to sleep.
She must have finally dozed off because the sound of footsteps in the bedroom awakened her. It was dark in the bedroom, but she could just make out Darren’s form by the light of the moon coming in between the slats in the blinds. She looked at the nightstand. It was one in the morning.
Darren clumsily removed his clothes and shoes, almost tripping into one of the bureaus. He crawled into bed beside her, lying on his back. Chessa could smell traces of whiskey and the faint smell of perfume—definitely a woman’s scent she didn’t recognize.
She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, so she decided to test him. She rolled over and started stroking his chest with her fingers.
“Hi, honey,” she whispered sweetly. “I cooked a roast duck for you to celebrate your good news, but you didn’t show up for dinner. What happened?”
“Hmmm, what?” Darren was obviously pretending he had already started to fall asleep. “Oh, I’m sorry, I got caught up at work and lost track of time.”
“But usually you call me when that happens.”
“I know. This time I was hit so hard by a last-minute problem that came to my attention that I had to really focus on solving it, and I guess I left my cell phone turned off so I wouldn’t be interrupted. I’m sorry.”
Chessa felt her anger rising but fought to keep it at bay for the moment. Darren always told her she’d get more with honey than vinegar. It was one of his favorite sayings.
“You smell good, but a little feminine. You didn’t get new cologne, did you?”
“Uh…no. But this woman in one of the offices I visited was wearing something really strong today. It must have sunk into my clothes.” Darren shifted away from her, rolling onto his side. “Look, the stress today took a lot out of me. I am really tired. Can we talk tomorrow?”
Chessa didn’t give up. She pressed her body up behind his, the thin silk of her nightie not concealing her
womanly curves. “But, Darren, I’m in the mood. And you won’t be home tomorrow night.” Actually, she really was in the mood, her urges and needs defying her. She wanted him to please her the way he had probably pleased someone else.
Darren shifted from her further, his voice taking on a hard edge. “I said I’m too tired. Good night.”
Chessa rolled away from him onto her other side, hot tears stinging her cheeks.
He’s not only drinking. Now he’s fooling around. She felt helpless and trapped in despair. She prayed long into the night for God to give her the blessed relief of sleep, but it seemed to take hours before she finally drifted off.
When Chessa awoke, sun streamed through the blinds, illuminating the bedroom. Darren was gone.
She sat up groggily. She felt like she had been hit by a Mack truck. Her head and body ached. She went into the adjoining bathroom and looked in the mirror. Her eyes were swollen and her hair was a tangled mess.
Just as the memory of last night started to permeate her morning fog, Chessa heard pots clanging and smelled bacon and coffee wafting up from the kitchen below.
She stumbled down the stairs of their two-story town home and looked at Darren with confusion from the kitchen doorway. “I thought you were going back to DC today.”
“I decided to stay in New York the rest of the week so I can spend time with my beautiful wife.”
He looked handsome, dressed in a white polo shirt and khakis, and was at the stove cooking breakfast. He nonchalantly moved a glass on the counter back a few inches in an apparent effort to conceal it, but not before Chessa saw it was half full with amber liquid.
“Are you drinking already?” Chessa stood in the doorway in the sweat suit she had donned, her arms crossed. Gone was her façade from the night before. I’m not buying any more of his lies, she thought. I want some answers.
Darren feigned innocence, picking up the glass she had already seen. “Oh, this? It’s just a little hair of the dog that bit me.” He threw the contents down the sink. “But you’re right, it’s a little early. Although, it’s almost noon, sleepyhead. I feel bad about last night, so I made you some breakfast. Your favorite—a bacon and cheese omelet with hash browns.”
Chessa felt her stomach turn. “I’m not hungry. And you can’t just sweep away what happened last night by acting like it didn’t happen.”
“What are you talking about?” Darren didn’t look at her, continuing to stir the potatoes on the stove.
“You know what I’m talking about. You came home five hours late last night. Five hours! With no phone call, nothing. And you smelled like another woman. Don’t tell me it was through osmosis. We’ve been married for a little over a year and already you’re having an affair.” Chessa choked out the last words, a sob catching in her throat. I’m not going to let him see me cry, she decided, holding back her tears.
“Honey, that’s not true.” Darren turned and approached her, his arms out to give her a hug, but she recoiled at his touch. His arms dropped to his sides and he said stiffly, “I told you what happened. That’s the truth. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again. Now come on, let’s eat some breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Darren turned and went back to the stove to finish cooking, talking to her with his back turned. “Fine, have it your way. Be stubborn. I’m going to eat, and then I have a golf match with some big shots in an hour. For your information, it’s work-related. Don’t hold dinner for me tonight.”
“You’re leaving?” Chessa hated the shrill tone of her voice, but couldn’t hide her emotions. “We never spend time together. And what kind of way is that to make things up to me?”
Darren slammed the frying pan of hashed browns down on the burner and turned around to face her. His face had instantly changed from the look of a sweet, cajoling husband to a mask of fury. “You should have known what you were getting into when you married me!” he yelled. “Grow up!”
And with that he wiped his hands on a dishrag, left the kitchen, and headed into the garage to get his clubs, leaving breakfast on the stove.
Chessa stood frozen in place for what seemed like an hour, leaning against the door frame, paralyzed with disbelief and fear. She remembered her wedding day, and how beautiful it had been. But now she realized it had all been a charade. I can’t believe I made such a huge mistake, she thought to herself. I should never have married him. She thought back to when they had first started dating, how her calls and letters had gone unanswered for months, how she had confronted him after her strange conversation with Peggy and how he had denied that he was seeing someone else, dismissing it by saying his enamored secretary was just protecting him. She could see it all more clearly now. He had been lying. He was seeing someone else when we started dating! Then the memory flashed back to her of the ‘lady in red’ Darren had been flirting with at their wedding reception. He was flirting with another woman at our own wedding!
She started trembling and clutched her stomach to keep herself from crying out loud. She had never felt so alone or lost. There’s no one I can even talk to about it! No one who won’t go blabbing it around and get me in trouble. No one who will understand.
And then she remembered Stephanie. Something about her being able to help if she ever had problems with her husband being drunk. I wonder if she really could help. Lord knows I have to talk to somebody before I go crazy. When her foot started to tingle indicating it was falling asleep, she came out of her trance and decided to take action. She picked up her cell phone and called Stephanie.
That night Chessa found herself sitting on a metal folding chair in an Al-Anon meeting in a nondescript church hall in Manhattan. This is a big mistake, she told herself. I shouldn’t have come. I don’t think I belong here.
She was the wife of a United States senator, and if anyone recognized her she figured it would most likely make the morning headlines or stir some type of trouble.
She had confided her fears to Stephanie when her cousin-in-law picked her up from work earlier in the day.
“You aren’t the first well-known or famous person to enter the rooms,” Stephanie said, trying to comfort her. During the twenty-minute ride to the meeting, she had reassured Chessa that it was an anonymous program and no one would give up her identity. She had explained that Al-Anon was for friends or family members of alcoholics and wasn’t designed to help them “cure” or “fix” the alcoholic but to heal themselves. “We get sick too, even though we’re not the ones drinking,” she explained. “We get sick with worry, anger, regret, fear, low self-esteem, self-pity, guilt, and a lot of other emotions. If we don’t get well, we end up making ourselves sick or crazy.”
“Well, I am starting to feel some of those things,” Chessa confided in the car. “But I’m not willing to leave Darren. Maybe I’m exaggerating this whole drinking thing.”
“It doesn’t sound like it. And nobody says you have to stay or go, honey,” Stephanie said soothingly. “We don’t give you our opinion on anything. We just help you to vent and hear yourself think, and let you know you’re not alone. Whatever you decide, you will be okay. All we care about is you.” Stephanie further explained that the program worked by members attending meetings, listening to one another’s stories and sharing their pain. Members also worked through the twelve-step program of Alcoholics Anonymous, usually by getting a sponsor who was available to guide them through it.
“Why would I have to go through an AA step program?” Chessa asked defiantly. “I’m not the one who’s drinking too much.”
“You’ll see how it works eventually. But when you have nowhere else to turn, you have to trust something. It’s really worked for me, and not just because Bob is in recovery. Unless you can get Darren to go to AA—which, if I know my cousin-in-law, is out of the question right now since I’m sure he doesn’t believe he has a problem—you should do something that makes you feel better. Why don’t you just try it and see how you like it?”
Chessa was ready to beg
Stephanie to turn the car around before they were halfway to the church. Now it was too late; the meeting was starting and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself by standing and walking out. There were about thirty people in the small room; about three-fourths of them were women. Chessa sank low in her seat, pulled up the lapels of her raincoat, and left her sunglasses on. Maybe I can at least be inconspicuous, she hoped.
Stephanie sat next to her, patting her back periodically to try to comfort her.
Fortunately, Chessa was not called on to share, and when they asked if anyone was new, she raised her hand and practically whispered out her first name. She remained quiet throughout the meeting and they seemed to respect that. After the meeting, a few women approached her, introducing themselves and offering their phone numbers if she’d like to call. They really are nice, she thought. I just don’t know if this is for me yet.
When Stephanie dropped her off close to eight o’clock, Darren was sitting there on the living room couch waiting for her.
“Where have you been?” he asked her bluntly.
She realized she couldn’t lie to him. “I was with Stephanie.”
“Stephanie? My cousin-in-law? Don’t tell me you went to one of her Al-Anon meetings?”
“I did, and—”
“Are you out of your mind?” Darren jumped to his feet and cut her off, practically shrieking at her. “Do you know that if this gets out, I could be ruined? If people think I’m an alcoholic, they will never vote for me again. I don’t care if I’m running for president of the Central Park Middle-aged Men’s Society!”
“It’s an anonymous program,” Chessa protested. “Plus, I kept my coat and sunglasses on and introduced myself by my first name only.”
“And how many women do you know who are named Chessa?” Darren yelled. “You are a moron. So help me, if this gets out, I’ll…”
The Peace Maker Page 7
