Broken Together

by K. L. Gilchrist

  A long pause hovered between them before she asked, “What do you want, really?”

  He spoke slow. “I want my wife back. And I need all this craziness to stop right now. I’m so sorry about what I did and for the fallout afterward. If I could take it back, I would!”

  Tracey looked down at her lap. She hadn’t appreciated the cold shoulder she’d received after his meeting with Lisette, but she needed to let that go for now. Make a decision and stick by it. Better or worse. Partnership or cold pizza.

  “Maybe we can go somewhere. Do something nice for a change,” she said.

  Brian let out a soft chuckle. “That would be good.”

  “Ma wouldn’t mind hanging out with her grands. Where do you want to go?”

  He put his hand over hers on her lap. “Surprise me.”

  18

  Plush.

  Tracey took four steps into the suite and let the door swing shut softly behind her. She glanced around, grasping the key card tight in her palm. Not too big. Not too small. A window view of the whole city. She craned her head around and peeked in the next room. King-sized bed with huge pillows. Soft colors. Nice. The Ritz Carlton.

  The perfect place to rekindle romance.

  Or set the stage for a devastating separation?

  Who knew at this point?

  Tracey let her bags rest on the carpet, reached her arms out, stretched and smiled. After Brian told her to surprise him, she didn’t waste time trying to come up with ideas. That would have been amateurish. She’d gone home after church, changed her clothes then pulled out the big guns.

  She’d called Charla and the guru of all things romantic had delivered wonderfully. One phone call to her had netted Tracey information about every one of the Ritz Carlton room specials. She’d picked the Bed & Breakfast package, called the hotel and made the reservations, and quickly dialed Charla back.

  “Go on and drop that hairdresser act, sweetie. You need to write a book. How do you know about all these places?”

  “Ricky and I make a game out of it. Each month we come up with something new. Each person tries to top the other person. Five years of that adds up.”

  “Write that book. And what am I taking with me? See-through nightie? Candles? What?”

  “Use your imagination,” Charla had advised.

  Thank God for her sister-in-law. The suite was beautiful. Tracey paced around the carpet for a minute, and then walked into the bedroom and let herself fall onto the bed. Soothing. Her muscles were grateful. The room smelled fresh and inviting. Just what they needed. A change of environment. Something different from their everyday grind.

  After a few moments of letting herself float on the cloud that was cleverly disguised as a bed, she stood up and walked back to where she’d dropped her bags. She dug her phone out of her purse, sat on the couch and called Brian. He answered after one ring.

  “Hey Tracey.”

  “Hey, yourself. I’m here.”

  “Are you ready to tell me where ‘here’ is?” He teased.

  All during the week, each time she’d tried to tell him where they were going that weekend, he’d rushed out of the room, telling her he didn’t want to know. At first, she thought he was being cold, keeping his mind focused on other things, but he joked about it with her every day that week. That started to excite her. By the time he’d left the house that Saturday, he didn’t know where he was headed that evening. They’d made a deal that she’d have to call him and tell him where to meet her.

  “Ritz Carlton. Rittenhouse Square.”

  “Classy!”

  “I know. We have a suite.”

  “What’s the room number?”

  “Come find out. Go to the front desk. Identify yourself and ask for Mrs. Jones. They’ll tell you where I am.”

  “It’s like that?”

  “No, it’s more than that. Much more.” Tracey clicked off the call.

  Ooh! Now that felt good. Like back when they were newlyweds. Under the right circumstances, he could still make her insides feel like hot melted marshmallows. She couldn’t deny it—she missed being intimate with him. Sure, they’d been sleeping in the same bed for weeks now but they didn’t make love because she’d told him she needed more time to get over the affair. Well, she still wasn’t over it completely, but she did want to enjoy her husband again. And why shouldn’t she? Brian was her husband.

  Time to get ready. Let’s see. Dinner. When should they go eat? Hmm. She wouldn’t worry about it. They could decide together once he arrived and relaxed with her for a while.

  Music. The day before Tracey rooted through the CD organizers in the family room and collected all of Brian’s Motown CDs, lugged them upstairs to the office then loaded her iPod with slow songs. “Distant Lover,” “Quiet Storm,” “I Want You,” “Ooh Baby Baby,” “You Make Me So Very Happy,” “Since I Lost My Baby,” “Baby I Need Your Loving,” “I Call Your Name,” “Rocket Love,” “All This Love,” and “If This World Were Mine.” Brian loved Motown. It was all his parents played when he was a kid and he couldn’t get enough. She’d have added “Neither One of Us Wants to be the First to Say Goodbye” to the playlist, but that was too darn painful considering all they’d been through in the last few months. She also left off “Let’s Get It On,” a song so obvious it was cheesy. She set up the mini-speakers on the nightstand, attached the iPod to it, dialed to the playlist, clicked play and adjusted the sound. Perfect.

  Ambiance. The room already smelled pleasant, but candlelight would be pretty. She envisioned them holding each other, flickering light surrounding them. So she placed six lavender vanilla pillars on brass holders to catch the wax.

  Dancing for Brian? She’d practiced a little during the week so she’d brought along her heels. If the moment was right, she’d do a small routine and see how he liked it.

  Clean up. It was just after five in the afternoon. Brian would likely arrive at the hotel in less than an hour, and she still needed to shower. She ran her fingers through her hair. Clean. Still smooth from when Charla had flat ironed it a few days earlier. The shower steam would mess it up, but she didn’t care. What was the point of protecting it? If things went well for them her hair would get messy anyway. She left her shower cap in her overnight bag, stripped off her clothes and headed to the bathroom.

  While she adjusted the water temperature she heard Marvin Gaye’s voice singing away in the background. Distant. So many ways to be distant and not all of them had to do with geography. There she was in a hotel suite trying to reconnect with someone she saw every single day. He was the one who hurt her to begin with, but now she was the one buzzing around a hotel room, lighting candles, playing music for him? She sighed and shook off the negative thought. She had to get past it immediately. Romance and resentment? Not good bedfellows. She wrapped a towel around her torso and left the bathroom long enough to crank up the volume on the music and grab two vanilla candles to burn in the bathroom as she showered.

  Skin slick and soapy. Water, warm and steamy. Tracey kept her eyes shut and listened to the music. Smokey was singing now, his voice like a feathery caress. Quiet Storm. Tension melted away, sliding in a mass from her neck, down her shoulders, over her back and down the drain. She pushed everything off her mind as she washed and rinsed her skin. The affair. Family troubles. Tyler’s decision. Brian’s attitude. The money thing. She envisioned all of it flowing down, down, down. Dissolved into the mass of shea butter scented bubbles floating around her feet. She tilted her face up towards the spray and let the water droplets dance against her face. Massaging. Then she stepped back, squeezed liquid soap into her wet hands, lathered her body all over and started again. Troubles gone away. All that was left was the warmth. A wet cocoon shielding her from her own memories.

  “Lovely,” a man’s voice purred.

  She opened her eyes and gasped, startled. She’d been
so into her shower she hadn’t heard Brian come in.

  “When did you … ”

  “You look absolutely beautiful.” His voice was deep. Low. Sounded like he was seeing her for the very first time. He stood with his face peeking inside the ghost-white shower curtain. Not moving, just looking at her, wide-eyed. She stood still and nude and met his gaze. Butterflies turned cartwheels inside her belly.

  “Thank you,” she smiled.

  “You’ve lost some weight. You looked great before. But now you look so smooth.”

  She looked down at her feet. Water and white bubbles swirled around her toes. The weight loss was from stress. But telling him so would have broken the mood.

  “I’m finished. I’ll get out so you can come in.” She moved to the back of the shower and pulled at the curtain from the other side.

  “No.” The mesmerized look remained in his eyes. “Stay there. Don’t move.”

  He was gone in a flash, then back to the bathroom, a stripped down brown and smooth muscled version, stepping into the shower spray and letting water splash down and around him. She reached back and grabbed a fresh washcloth from the bar, handing it to him with the bottle of shea butter soap. Then she stepped back and watched him do the same thing she’d just done. Listen to music and clean up. The song had changed and now Brian sung along with The Four Tops, “I Believe In You and Me.” Reminiscing probably. That was their song, the song had been playing on his car stereo when he proposed to her. He hadn’t had a ring with him. Only a promise of one as he’d taken her hand, traced circles around her ring finger and blurted out, “Marry me?” His voice sounded as good as it did that day. Tracey couldn’t sing a single note, but she wanted to join him in song and be a part of his melody. She put her hands on his back, slid her fingers down and washed off the rivulets of soap. Moved closer and wrapped her arms around his strong body, slick with clean water. He broke the embrace. Turned and kissed her. Took her breath away. His eyes were closed. She shut hers and let her body mesh with his. Melodic.

  Tracey held Brian’s hand tight as they lay together between the sheets, warmed by each other’s body heat. The candles still let off their light but the room was darkened as sunset faded into night.

  She felt so light she would have floated off the bed if not for the weight of his body as her legs intertwined with his. The music continued to play. This time it was DeBarge serenading them with “All This Love.”

  “This is really nice. The room smells great and I love the music,” Brian said, his voice smooth.

  “Thanks, I thought you would.”

  “You took care of everything.”

  “I know.”

  He let go of her hand and reached down to start caressing her hips. “Seems like you always take care of everything.”

  “Well, I try … ”

  “You do a great job. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome,” Tracey whispered. Two words of response was all she allowed herself to say. If she said anything else, flames of resentment would rise up inside her and kick her out of the dreamy feeling they’d managed to create together tonight. A week earlier he had called her a robot. That hurt. Lisette probably hadn’t been a robot during their time together.

  “Trace?”

  “Umm hmm.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. What makes you think something’s wrong?”

  “You’re digging your toenails into my ankles.”

  She pulled her feet back.

  He kissed her on the forehead. His lips lingered there for a moment, making her warm. “Tell me?”

  She sighed. “You called me a robot.”

  “Huh?”

  “Last week when we had that argument. You said I walk around the house like a robot.”

  “I actually used the word robot?”

  “Brian, you were right there with me.”

  He held her tighter. “I’m not a woman. I don’t remember every word I’ve said. If I called you a robot and it hurt you, I’m so sorry baby.”

  “I take care of business around our house. I cook. I clean. I budget. I organize. I drive the kids where they need to go. I make sure everyone has everything they need. I’m no robot, I just get all the thankless jobs done,” Tracey said. “You know I could have gone back to working in marketing after I had Brianna. I liked it and I was good at it. We both decided it would be better for me to support everyone by being available at home.”

  Now they laid there as stiff as cadavers. Tracey dropped her head back on the pillow. Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut, on the one night that whole year they’d been blessed enough to step out of their regular roles and routines and come together like they should? It had felt phenomenal earlier that evening in the shower, and then in the bed together. So good to know her desire was still there and Brian still had the power to make her heart beat fast. The last thing she wanted to do was complain about being a housewife.

  Brian caught her hands and trapped them in his. “Wanna trade places?”

  “Quit playing,” Tracey said.

  “I’m serious. You want to do something different. I’m listening to you. You want to go back to work?”

  “I think about it sometimes, but, no.” She nestled deeper in the sheets. “I’d still have to be available for all the kids’ school and activities and home chores and everything. A job on top of it would make me more tired.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  She had no clue. In the past few months all she’d prayed for was peace and reconciliation in their marriage. Now it looked like they were at a place to start over again. She hadn’t thought of asking for much else. One thing at a time.

  Tracey moved her head closer to Brian’s. “I’m getting what I want right now.”

  “Intimacy?”

  “Exactly.”

  The music changed again. Brenda Holloway sang, “You Make Me So Very Happy.” The room grew darker. They listened to the whole song together without talking.

  “How’re things going with you?”

  He shrugged. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes,” she answered, meaning it.

  “I’m frustrated. School was much harder than my day-to-day right now.” He dropped her hands and rolled over on his side, pulling her arms around his body so she lay tight against his back. “I’m not making a difference. Not like I thought I would,” he snorted. “I can’t get to know any of my patients better because I only get ten minutes with each one before I move on to the next one. Then the insurance work gets worse every year. I’m spending four hours in health care paperwork for every hour I spend actually treating patients.”

  “Your evenings are getting longer.”

  “That’s where all my time is going. It’s ridiculous. I’d be of better use if I was a missionary doctor in Africa. At least then I’d be hands on, getting in there and helping a community in a way that makes an impact. I pushed through school and residency to get to this? Spend a few moments with a patient, recommend them to a specialist or change their medication, then move on? Who am I helping?”

  “You’re helping more than you know. Want to teach me how to do what you do?

  He laughed and pulled her arm tighter around his torso. “If having a different career would give me a chance to sing regularly, or teach more wellness classes, or get in a basketball game with my buddies more often, I’d do it.”

  The only light left in the room was the candlelight, and a few of those were fading. The music stopped. Tracey looked over at the nightstand and realized she hadn’t set the playlist to repeat. When she tried to roll over to turn it back on, Brian pulled her back to him, face to face.

  “Stay close to me.” He kissed her lips.

  “But the music?”

  “Forget about it. Stay with me.” He squeezed her even tig
hter. “I don’t want us to grow apart again. Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you.” She kissed him, then looked in his eyes. “But I’ve got something for you to see.”

  “What is it?”

  Tracey smiled as she pulled away. “I need to turn some lights on. And it involves high heels.”

  19

  “Mom, someone’s at the door for you!” Tyler called out.

  Tracey sat on Brianna’s bedroom floor, teaching Brianna’s friend Jayda to play the Memory game.

  “Don’t leave, Mom!” Brianna said as Tracey jumped up.

  “I’ll be right back, I promise,” Tracey said, rushing out of the room. She rounded the door, flew down the hall, then stopped. Wait a minute. No. Uh-uh. She would not run down the stairs or slide across the front hallway again no matter who might be at the front door.

  When she reached the downstairs hallway, she passed Tyler ambling back toward the kitchen, cell phone in his hand, texting as he walked. Cool. He wasn’t concerned about who was standing on the porch. A good sign.

  Tracey opened the door and stepped out on the porch. A tanned woman smiled and extended her hand. She wore a navy blue polo shirt, khaki pants and brown loafers.

  “Mrs. Jones?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hi, I’m Rose Esper, from The Clean Team. How are you today?

  Tracey raised an eyebrow. “Good.”

  “Ma’am, your husband told us this would be a good time to visit and take a look around the house for an estimate. May I come in?”

  “My husband? Did you say estimate?”

  “Yes ma’am.” Rose glanced down at a white notecard on her clipboard. “Four bedrooms, two bathrooms upstairs. Kitchen, half-bath, dining and two living areas on the first floor. I’m here to take a look at your room sizes. The estimate will be based on that. Oh, and he also said you would decide on frequency.”

  “Frequency?”

  “Yes ma’am, how often you’d like the team to come clean your house. Twice a week, once a week, once a month? However you’d like to customize the visits, we can accommodate you.”