Broken Together

by K. L. Gilchrist

  “Ruth is unavailable at the moment. May I have her return your call?” Donna said.

  “Hi Donna. Tracey Jones calling. Can you take a message to have her call me as soon as possible?”

  “Oh, hello Mrs. Jones. I’ll give her the message.”

  “Thank you. Have a good morning.”

  Tracey hung up and slid the phone back onto the side table. It was good neither Lisette nor Janette answered the call. God must be in a blessing mood.

  What to do now? Tracey had returned home after kid drop off just to talk to Ruthie. Since that wasn’t going to happen right away, Tracey snatched up her keys and purse. She’d use her nervous energy to go to the store.

  Shopping didn’t work out so well. Tracey hadn’t made a list. She ended up roaming the grocery store aisles. Every fifteen minutes, to break the monotony, she called someone. First, she called her best friend, Monica Bonner. But Monica was rushing to a meeting and couldn’t chat over twenty seconds. Then she dialed Charla, her sister-in-law, but that diva was ignoring her calls, busy with a hair appointment, or gossiping to two or three other people because she never answered her phone. Tracey didn’t want to shop. She wanted to talk.

  And that was how she ended up sitting at the kitchen table of her mother, Alice Watson. Tracey wound up telling her the whole story from the night before. Alice frowned when Tracey got to the part about calling Ruthie.

  “He’s a man,” Her mother’s voice droned. “Trust me, he’s just letting a young chick flatter him for a hot minute.” A solid woman with a handsome face, Alice never minced words. Understanding and affection were not her strong points.

  “So I’m supposed to go with what he told me?”

  Alice walked out of her pantry and over to the sink where she washed and peeled white potatoes and yellow onions to place in the crock pot for dinner. Then she moved to the counter where she took a drag off the cigarette she’d left burning in a tin ashtray, stubbed out the butt, and pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “He’s not going anywhere.”

  “I never said he was.”

  “Yes you did. When you came in here looking like your dog died.”

  Tracey chewed her bottom lip. “Ma, I’m not worried about him leaving me.”

  Alice stopped peeling and slicing potatoes and looked over at her. “Then why’d you come see me? You enjoy watching me put food in my crock pot?”

  Tracey recognized that look. In Alice’s world, Brian either had the son-in-law role in her life or he did not have it. Anything else fit in the category of pure drama.

  “So what if he lied?” Alice said.

  “What?”

  “Let’s say he lied. You ready to go plant a foot in his behind?”

  “Ma, please.”

  “Ma please, nothing.” Alice opened the refrigerator and pulled out a thawed rump roast. “If you go digging around for garbage, you’ll find it.”

  “You’re saying leave it alone?”

  “I’m saying, do what you have to do. But be ready for what you find.”

  Tracey swallowed hard and stared back at Alice, who had left the crock pot and started shutting the kitchen down so she could leave for work. When Alice exited the kitchen, Tracey followed, though she fought the urge to go back and check the pantry for half-empty bottles of Bacardi Rum to make sure Alice hadn’t fallen off the wagon.

  “I only stopped by to check on you,” Tracey mumbled. “I figured I’d say something about me and Brian while I had your ear.”

  “Well, you said something. And I’m letting you know it’s nothing. Brian is a sweetheart, better than most, I’d say. But he’s still a man. He’s over forty, and he’s feeling it. He still home every night?” Her mother asked.

  “Unless there’s an emergency, yes.”

  “At church each week?”

  “Like clockwork.”

  “Y’all still going to that Christian strife group?”

  “It’s called life group Ma, and yes, we go once a month.”

  “Um-hm.” Alice dropped items for her day into her burgundy leather shoulder bag: a crumpled pack of Virginia Slims, a lighter, a red-handled hairbrush, a tube of hand lotion, and spearmint gum. “He been charging or spending a lot?”

  “I pay our bills. I balance the checking account every week. Our money is fine.”

  “Then drive me to work, will you? Quit this foolishness and forget talking to Ruthie.” Alice turned around, leaned toward the staircase, and hollered. “Jamal! Get up!”

  A door creaked open. Then came feet walking the wooden floor above. Then another door squeaked, followed by a toilet flush.

  “Plug this pot in and turn it on medium before you leave today!” Alice yelled up the stairs.

  Tracey’s baby brother would shuffle around upstairs for a few minutes until he heard the front door slam; then he’d dive back in bed. He’d phoned Tracey the week before, needing money to fix the transmission in his battered Honda Civic. Since he hadn’t called back to pester her, Tracey guessed he either found another method to get the cash from someone else or he decided he didn’t need to drive his car right away.

  On their way out the front door, Tracey spied an envelope in a small wicker basket on the glass-topped end table. She grabbed it fast, speed reading the words: Final Notice. Electric bill. Tracey shoved it in her coat pocket. She’d open it later on and see how much her mother owed PECO.

  In the car, Alice pulled out a cigarette and rummaged through her back for the lighter.

  Tracey protested. “Ma, please don’t smoke in here. The smell lingers and you know Brianna is allergic.”

  Her mother made a face as she returned the items to her purse.

  They drove out to the Haven Senior Living Center where Alice worked as an LPN. At least a hundred times a year she told Tracey and Jamal that she was getting too old to do this work. Most days it involved moving and lifting people. Heavy people. But every time Alice’s kids tried to talk with her, she brushed them off and continued with life as usual. That was Alice. She said she planned to work until she died.

  “Bring my granddaughter around sometime. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen her or Tyler.”

  Tracey stopped the car in front of the entrance. “I promise I’ll bring them over next week. I’d drive them over sooner, but Brianna has dance practice twice this week.”

  “When’s the recital?”

  “March.”

  Alice stepped out to the sidewalk. “Listen, call me later and let me know the date. Last time I almost missed it.”

  Tracey wanted to say there’s not much to miss with a group of awkward five-year-olds in glittery leotards and bright stage make-up, grinning and missing their steps most of the time. “I’ll bring you the flyer this Friday.”

  “Mm-hm.” Alice changed the subject. “Kyle coming to see his son anytime soon?”

  Ugh. Not now. Kyle Addison, Tyler’s biological father, worked as a sports agent in New York City. Tyler stayed with him and his parents on Long Island every summer. Kyle only traveled for business and vacations. Alice knew that. And she never missed an opportunity to discuss it.

  Tracey sighed. “Ty will stay with him in June—same as always.”

  “Mm-hm. Bye.” Alice shut the door and headed into the senior center.

  Tracey pulled the car out into traffic. Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it. “Hello.”

  “Tracey?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Ruthie. Is there something you need?”

  Tracey ignored everything her mother just told her. “It’s about Brian.”

  Long pause. Ruthie spoke again, her voice lower. “Can you meet me today?”

  “We can’t talk right now?”

  Ruthie’s words dripped out low and slow. “We should meet face to face.”

  Whoa. Wow.

 
“Can you come here today, during my lunch hour?” Ruthie asked.

  “Yeah … uh … I’m free until three.”

  “Don’t come in the office. Pick me up on the corner at one.”

  “This is about Brian and Lisette.”

  “I figured that,” Ruthie said. “See you soon.”

  Tracey pulled over and parked. She sat motionless for a minute. Her phone buzzed again.

  “Hello.”

  “Tracey, what’s going on?”

  Monica! Comfort washed over Tracey at the sound of her best friend’s voice.

  “Bestie,” Tracey sighed. “You will not believe what’s happening.”

  3

  True to her word, at one that afternoon, Tracey spied Ruthie waiting on the corner a block away from Germantown Family Medical Associates. Ruthie wore light green scrubs beneath a black leather jacket. Most days she styled her waist-length silver hair in a neat bun, but on this day it cascaded in soft waves down her back.

  Ruthie opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat. Tracey leaned over for a quick cheek kiss and a hug.

  “We’ll go to the North Side Diner,” Ruthie said. “You know the way.”

  Tracey nodded, her stomach muscles tightening. She gripped the steering wheel until her fingertips tingled. Ruthie could have instructed Tracey to drive to Constantinople and she would have said no problem and kept going.

  “A cup of clam chowder and hot tea with lemon, please,” Ruthie told the brunette waitress.

  “Just coffee for me. Thanks.” Tracey pushed her menu to the center of the table. Her appetite was nonexistent, but sipping the hot drink would give her something else to concentrate on as they talked.

  Two beats after the waitress walked away, Tracey glanced at Ruthie. She cleared her throat and rubbed her hands together. “I want to know if —”

  “Brian is involved with Lisette?”

  “You’ve seen things?”

  Ruthie nodded. “I’ve noticed changes in Brian’s routine for weeks now.”

  Tracey searched for the right words. “What have you seen?”

  “Little things. Wherever he is in the practice, Lisette finds a reason to be there. There’s not tons of space in the rooms and hallways up there, but I walk by his office and I see her sitting in there chatting with him at least three or four times a day.”

  Tracey took a minute to digest that piece of information. When the waitress returned to the table and put their orders in front of them, Tracey didn’t budge.

  “They talk.” Tracey nodded. “What else?”

  Ruthie pushed her long hair away from her shoulders and leaned closer. “Lisette volunteered to work the late shifts on Tuesday and Thursday.”

  “Okay.”

  “You know I don’t do evenings, but I stayed late one Tuesday last month. I went to his office to ask a question and saw the door half-shut. I tapped on it. Then I pushed it open. Lisette was in there. Brian had his back to me, and I saw her arms wrapped around his waist.”

  “Whoa.” Tracey slumped in her seat.

  “A kiss? A hug? I’m not sure,” Ruthie said, shrugging her shoulders.

  Tracey’s hands shook. She dropped them to her lap and laced her fingers together. But then her nose decided to run, and she pulled a tissue from her purse to wipe the wetness. Her drink remained untouched.

  Ruthie shook her head. “This isn’t like Brian.” She looked away. Her voice dripped with disappointment. “He’s like family, you know. Like the son I never had. When we first met—when I worked at Einstein—he even dated my middle daughter for a while. Jennifer. The one who moved to Miami to sell real estate. I’ve known Brian since then and I never took him to be a cheater.”

  Tracey pulled out another tissue. Her nose was running like a faucet. And she wasn’t the only one shook up. From the way Ruthie’s voice wavered, it pained the woman to discuss this.

  Ruthie continued. “I tried to talk to him. The day after I walked in on them in his office, I pulled him aside to ask him about it. He insisted I didn’t see anything. Now I’m getting up there in age, but I don’t have dementia. Don’t let the gray hair fool you.”

  “So he kept denying it?” Tracey asked.

  “No. He caught up with me later, mumbling and looking embarrassed. He said it was a mistake. That they’d gotten too close. Then he told me he’d appreciate it I’d keep the incident to myself.”

  “Besides the embrace … is there …”

  Ruthie leaned over the table further, nearly spilling clam chowder down the front of her scrubs. “There’s pictures.”

  “Of what?”

  “I’m not sure. Lisette was talking to Janette, and I overheard her saying how much fun she had with Brian. Then she whipped out her phone. But when she looked up and saw me she shut up real fast, grabbed a stack of files and hustled out of there.”

  Tracey’s cheeks grew hot. “So you didn’t see the screen?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  “Anything else?”

  Ruthie scrunched up her face. “I think they’re using nicknames for each other. The other day, I heard him say something that sounded like “Boy” or “Troy” and she answered to it. Twice.”

  Tracey grit her teeth. Brian’s explanation of Troy? Big bold hairy lie.

  Ruthie she sat back from the table. “Nothing else to tell you. That’s it.”

  That’s it? That spoke volumes. It blew Tracey’s mind. Ruthie described a different man than the one Tracey married. The Brian Michael Jones she knew was a Bible reading, choir singing, holistic-health following, God-fearing Christian. Now this fool with the nicknames, taking selfies with smart phones, was hugged up in the office with a hot nurse? Who was that guy? Not her husband. No way.

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?” Ruthie asked.

  Tracey glanced at her hands resting on the gray and white patterned Formica table top. Why’d they look so strange? She blinked. It was hard to see the sparkling diamond and gold wedding ring on her finger because tears had blurred her vision. Stop it! An issue needed to be handled. Nothing more. Tracey loved Brian. And he loved her. One tear dropped out of each eye. She blotted both salty drops before they could race down her cheeks, crushing the tissue tight in her palm. No more of that.

  “Divorced my husband twenty years ago,” Ruthie said before pausing for a sip of tea. “My ex-husband Carl? Hard-working guy. An electrician. Worked for the city and took care of his spouse and children. But he grew up old school where if you were a family man, you had your respectable wife. And you could also have a woman. His wife raised his kids, cooked his meals and went to church. His woman laid with him on Saturday nights, drank with him, hung out with his buddies and stayed in the background. That life was fine for Carl, but it wasn’t okay with me. We had three daughters when I discovered his lies and I filed for divorce.”

  Tears threatened again. Tracey blinked them back. If she dropped any more her face would be a mess of streaked foundation and liquid disappointment. “Brianna’s in kindergarten. Tyler has two years of high school left. We want to take the family to Hawaii this December.”

  Ruthie reached over and covered Tracey’s hand with hers. Tracey kept talking, throwing out random statements about life in their household as if speaking about normal life would overcome the exposure of her husband.

  Ruthie spoke the words Tracey couldn’t seem to express. “Can’t see yourself leaving him?”

  “No.” She sniffed. “My son doesn’t live with his father. I do not want a repeat performance with my daughter.”

  “I see.”

  The diner seemed quieter than earlier, and Tracey noticed customers leaving the tables surrounding them.

  “Ruthie, I looked him in the eyes and asked if he had a relationship going on with Lisette.” Tracey sniffed.

  “What did he say?”


  “No.”

  Ruthie took a deep breath. “That could be a good thing.”

  “Really?”

  “If he’s denying it, it means he’s ashamed and praying to God he doesn’t get caught. He doesn’t want to hurt you or the kids. It means he doesn’t want you to leave him. Now, if he was a different man? He might have said he’s entitled to his happiness. Or, he can do what he wants. Or, he could tell you he wants to start a new life.”

  “This is crazy.” Tracey sighed. “But I appreciate you talking to me.”

  Ruthie turned her gaze to the window. “I wish I had more to say.”

  “Did you ever confront Carl’s girlfriend?”

  Ruthie grunted as she turned back to Tracey. “What for? Going after her wouldn’t have done anything except ruin my dignity. If I’d chased her away, he would have found another one to take her place.”

  “Where’s Carl now?”

  Ruthie’s lips upturned into a slight smile. “Retired. Married to wife number five. He never could keep it at home.”

  “You were right about him.”

  Ruthie nodded. She slid her arms into her leather jacket and glanced at her watch. “I have to get back now.”

  Tracey asked one last question. “Did you start that fight with Lisette?”

  “No. I tried to talk to her about spending so much time in Brian’s office, and she got loud on me. When she walked out into the hall, I followed her. She called me a nosy old woman and a few names I don’t answer to, and then she screamed at me to mind my business. Brian told you?”

  Tracey snorted. “Yeah.”

  Ruthie placed a ten on the table, stood up, and slid her purse on her shoulder. “So that’s why you called?”

  Tracey didn’t answer. She placed money on the table, grabbed her purse and coat and followed Ruthie out of the diner.

  When Tracey dropped Ruthie off, she kissed Tracey’s cheek before she got out of the car. “Call me any time, you hear me. Talk to your husband again. Ask God to give you strength and help you. You can always ask God to take this cup away from you.”