Willa shadows me through the tent into the lot, where Ethan appears at my side. “Where are you going?”
I lift my shoulders with effort. Every bit of me seems to weigh a thousand pounds. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want to talk or not?”
“I think we should, don’t you?”
Ethan searches the fairgrounds, his blond hair blowing in the breeze, then strides across the pavement toward the Auditorium, limping slightly. He opens the door, and I trail him into the dim, quiet world of pallets and stacked boxes. The fairgrounds are set until the end of ninety days. Possibly for longer than that, though I can’t imagine staying longer unless I have no other choice.
Ethan leads me into an office, where I perch on a table covered with clipboards and papers. My hands are freezing, my stomach leaden with dread. Willa sniffs the desk and rug, then trots over to sit at my feet. Ethan is a stranger to her, which is one more way it feels like I’ve started a life without him. It’s felt that way for a while now, and time apart has only made it more obvious.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I think of seven ways to say it. To hedge and suggest and timidly inquire. But it won’t matter how I do it. It never does. Instead, I say, “You’re high.”
“What?” He glances toward the door. “No, I’m not.”
“I saw you nodding out five minutes ago. I think you are.”
Ethan stares at me, mouth ajar. After five incredibly long seconds, he says, “Okay, I took some pills. But it’s the first time.” I nod, though I don’t believe him. He moves closer and takes my hands. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I didn’t…I have no excuse, except my knee.”
If he admits to this, there’s more he won’t admit to. The other night, the past days, months, years. His hands clutch mine so fiercely that his knuckles pale. Holding on tight. Ethan is as guilty of it as I am. Maybe he wants it back, too, but it’s gone. It’s a painful thought. It’s the truth.
“You swore you were clean.” I pry my hands from his as gently as possible. “You promised.”
“Jesus, Rose. It was one time. Do you even understand how stressful this has been?”
My irritation rises. It’s the same story as the past five years: everything is worse for Ethan, or so he believes. “Yes, I do. Some people lost everything and everyone. They lost their kids, and they’re not using that as an excuse.”
Like Tom, I don’t say. Nothing more happened after the food truck, except I feel closer to him than I did. I don’t know if we’ll become something more, or if we’ll remain friends as we are, but it doesn’t matter. I told Mitch I’d leave Ethan because of Ethan, and I meant it.
Ethan’s eyes narrow. “Not everyone’s as perfect as you, Rose.”
He’s ramping up for a fight, spilling over with the anger I know well. I’ve often wondered how he can view me with such loathing when he never did before, but now I think I understand. Ethan may still love me, but his addiction hates me. As the person who keeps him from his pills, I’m an obstacle, a bother that must be dealt with by any means necessary until I shut up and go away. It wants me weak and ashamed and powerless, maybe because it’s all of those things, too.
“I never said I was perfect, Ethan. But you promised—”
“You can’t understand that I made a mistake? You can’t fucking move on?”
I hesitate, then shake my head.
Ethan mimics my head shake. “What does that mean, Rose?” he asks, his voice booming in the stillness. Willa cowers behind my legs, and I feel bad I brought her into this. “Do you want to end it? Should I get my things and move out?”
My silence has always been protection against saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing. The word burns in my stomach, begging to finally be heard. It’s a single syllable, yet it’ll destroy everything. It’ll change my world, and Ethan’s, and the kids’ as well.
But everything else has changed. Maybe there’s never been a time more suited to change than now. I have the key to my prison cell; I only have to fit it into the lock and turn.
“Yes.” I force the word out on my breath. My hands shake. My head buzzes. Now that I’ve said it, there’s no going back. I know that as surely as I know I don’t want to go back.
“What?” Ethan whispers.
He didn’t expect an answer. That much is clear from the way he sways, arms limp at his sides. This is usually the point where I start to cry, where I crumble and he apologizes, says he’ll never do it again. I believe in chances, in redemption, but I’m done being a pushover. I’m done disregarding my needs for his wants.
“Yes,” I say, louder now. “I can’t do this anymore.”
The whites of his eyes are huge with disbelief and quickly reddening. I offer nothing else. No platitudes, no explanations. It’s all been said in the past and then patched with promises that were never kept.
“How can you say that?” His voice breaks on the last word. I watch him cry as dispassionately as I can. Perhaps our past should have rendered me heartless where he’s concerned, but I still hate to see him hurting from a blow I’ve inflicted.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Ethan’s laugh is bitter. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I’m sure you are. I was right all along. How long has it been? How long have you wanted this? I was right, and you’re a fucking liar.”
I clasp my hands to control my trembling. I want to tell him that I tried. That every time I thought I’d found it again, he pulled the rug out from under me. I thought—hoped—there was more left. Maybe I should’ve spoken up sooner, but I wanted us to survive this as badly as he did.
Ethan turns to the desk behind him and sweeps its contents to the floor. The notebooks and stapler hit with a crash. The papers twist and float in the air before they land on the carpet. “Well, now you can fuck whoever you want, if you aren’t already. Maybe Barry’s free tonight. Hope you two have fun together.”
He’s attempting to hurt me as I’ve hurt him, and arguing will only prolong the agony. I’ve always hated my silence in the face of his fury, but this time—this last time—I’ll make it work for me. Ethan switches gears suddenly, his eyes pleading. “Why? Why are you doing this? It was one time.”
I measure my words before I speak. “It’s not this time. It’s all the times, it’s everything. I don’t feel the same anymore. I’m sorry.”
“Again with the sorry. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t do it.” His short laugh says this is exactly what I’d expect of you, as though I haven’t spent years encouraging and forgiving him. Even, as much as I don’t want to admit it, enabling him—by keeping secrets, keeping up appearances, and keeping quiet. “Fine. Have it your way, Rose. I’ll move my stuff now.”
He waits for a reply, for me to change my mind. I could apologize, ask to try once more, and this would all go away. But then my cell door would clang shut again. “Okay,” I say.
Ethan shakes his head incredulously. “I’ll let you tell the kids how you’ve been lying all along. I have no fucking words. I can’t even look at you.” He walks out the office door. “Fucking liar!”
I hear the outer door slam and release my breath. My body vibrates with a mix of tension and relief, and I sink to the desk, hand at my mouth. I did it. I actually did it. Except now I have no idea what to do.
Breaking up with one’s husband of twenty years is bad enough. Doing it while trapped behind fences means there’s nowhere to hide. I don’t know if Ethan will retrieve his belongings immediately, but I can’t be there when he does. Willa and I wander through the pallets to the shelves, where I find a blanket, a package of Nutty Buddies, a bag of crackers, and bottled water before I head out the far door to the side lot. When no one is there, I quickly cross to the museum.
Everything inside is as it was, minus the few books we took, and Willa trots off to inspect this new world. I climb into the front seat of the Model-T and imagine Ethan packing his things. My breath shortens, and I glug down water. I’ll ha
ve to tell the kids. Jesse won’t die of shock, but Holly might. I have to think of a way to explain that won’t leave her hating me. Or Ethan.
I spread the blanket over my legs. Willa makes a running jump into the car, then plops down on the blanket, where she looks up at me with sympathetic dark eyes. I open the crackers and give her a few.
“Shit, Willa,” I whisper while she crunches. She sets her chin on my thigh when she’s finished. I’m glad she’s with me—a warm, small ball of comfort when I’m chilly with disbelief. “I did it.”
Willa sighs morosely, though her tail thumps, and I laugh because it’s exactly how I feel. Under all the strain, all the astonishment and exhaustion, I’m lightweight, like I’ve been filled with helium. My bed will be my own. I won’t be waiting for the sobriety check, for a fight, to hear how I’m not measuring up. If there are eggshells, I can stomp the shit out of them. I’m beholden to no one, and it’s fucking glorious.
I rest my cheek on the back of the seat. “Fucking glorious,” I say to Willa, and close my eyes.
68
Rose
I wake when the museum door opens, Willa snoring at my side. Mitch calls, “Ro, you in here? Rosie?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice scratchy. Mitch and Pop come into view, and Willa rushes to greet them. “Over here.”
Mitch gives me an odd look, then walks to the front of the car. “You’re actually sitting in the Model-T. I thought Tom was kidding.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ethan came to our hall and started packing his shit and slamming things around. We asked him what was going on, and he said we should ask his ex-wife. We looked all over, then asked Tom if he’d seen you. He said to check the Model-T.”
“How’re you doing, Rosie?” Pop asks.
At his gentle voice, his kind eyes, my chest weights with sorrow. I burst into tears and drop my head into my hands, shoulders shuddering with sobs. I thought my marriage would last forever, and though the certainty of that lessened over time, this is truly the end. Maybe it’s fucking glorious, but it’s fucking heartbreaking, too.
The car shifts under Pop’s weight. He draws me close and holds me tight the way he always has. After Mom died, when he was shattered himself, he never made me feel as though he couldn’t handle my grief along with his own. It makes me feel worse that I’ve kept so much from him.
“I couldn’t do it anymore, Daddy,” I eventually manage to sob out. “I’m sorry.”
Pop shushes, rocking me the way he did back then. “You don’t need to be sorry, baby doll. I hoped you guys could work it out, but only you know what’s best for you.” His thick fingers brush my hair. “What happened?”
I sit up and fish out a boob tissue. One blow and it’s useless. A box of tissues appears over my shoulder, and I find Mitch in the backseat, her mouth twisted in sympathy. “Did you bring these with you just in case?” I ask.
Mitch bonks me on the head with the box. “I just found them in an office, goofball.”
I blow my nose a thousand times while they wait. When I’m done, I take a few spares. “I thought he was high at dinner. He said he took something. I don’t believe it was only today, but it’s not just that. The past couple of years, he’s been—he says things that…aren’t nice. About me.” I blot a new tear that comes with the rush of humiliation, hoping Pop won’t ask for specifics. “I was an idiot for putting up with it at all, let alone for as long as I did.”
Mitch squeezes my shoulder from behind. Pop’s jaw works, and I set a hand on his arm. “I know you want to punch him, but please don’t. It’s over, and you’ll only make things worse.”
“I don’t want to punch him,” Pop growls. “I want to kill him.”
I smile; I expected nothing less. “He can’t hurt me anymore. Promise you won’t try to defend my honor.”
Pop nods grudgingly. “If he does it again, though…”
“I know.” I recount the story, though I omit the Barry part to tell Mitch later. “It’s not just that he took a pill, or twelve, or twenty. It’s that I don’t feel the same. Even if you could guarantee he’d be sober forever starting this second, it’d be too late.” I sniffle again. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m actually happy right now.”
“Then I’d hate to see you sad,” Pop says with the familiar twinkle in his eye.
I laugh and kiss his cheek. Laughter is the way we got through Mom’s death and all the lonely months afterward. “Is Ethan gone? Did he take his things?”
“Yup,” Mitch says. “He’s gone.”
I wipe my eyes one last time and step out of the Model-T. Telling the kids will get harder the longer I wait, and I want them to hear it from me.
We walk through the burgeoning twilight to our Expo Hall. I keep my head down. If Ethan is out here somewhere, I don’t want to see him—I’m sure there’ll be more than enough awkward encounters in the coming days. I wash up in the bathroom and stop by my room after. Ethan’s bin is gone, along with his coat, his extra shoes, and the suitcase I brought for him. The air mattress has been liberated of its blanket and his pillow. His chair and lantern are gone. Only my backpack, suitcase, and the cardboard box that holds random items remain. The emptiness is depressing and heartening at the same time.
I set my storage box beside the mattress, then pull my solar lantern from my backpack and set it on top. I’ll find a blanket later. Maybe a cot, too. It feels strange to have a big bed when it’s only me, and air mattresses are cold at night.
When I emerge from my curtain, Mitch sits in a chair in our living space. “How’re you doing, lady?” she asks.
“As days go, I’ve had better.”
One side of her mouth rises, and she combs her hands through her dark hair. “I wish you’d told me what was going on.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t feeling very share-y about being someone’s doormat.”
“Don’t apologize. I just love you.”
“I love you, too.” I put my hands on my hips and raise my eyebrows. “Now that I’ve done my thing, I expect to be hearing all about you getting it on with Barry.”
Mitch gets a good laugh out of that. “Keep holding your breath. When are you telling the kids?”
“Now. Wish me luck.”
“It’ll be fine.”
I leave on shaky legs and cross the lot to the Pavilion, where the soldiers and other young people hang out much of the time. The large circular space is half-filled with pallets of food and other provisions—the spoils of the first trip to Bi-Mart, plus a subsequent trip to retrieve what was left. Jesse sits at a grouping of tables close to one wall, a boot on the tabletop and one arm slung over the back of his chair, chatting with Marquez and another soldier. I wonder if Barry asked him about joining their ranks, and, if so, what Jesse decided. His confident and easy posture, as though he’s one of them, is likely my answer.
A small garbage can is full of soda bottles and empty chip bags. The soldiers are smart enough to keep their extra rations away from prying eyes. Holly and Clara sit on a table, feet swinging while they talk to each other and a girl named Amber. Holly waves, and I wave back, though I don’t move farther in.
I knew this would be difficult, but now that the moment is here, it feels impossible. I tuck my chilly hands into my coat pockets and tilt my head for Holly to come over, arranging my stiff lips in what feels like more of a grimace than a smile.
Holly kicks Jesse’s leg and starts my way with him just behind. When they get close, her eyes flicker with alarm. “What’s wrong?”
“Everyone’s okay. I just need to talk to you two somewhere private.”
“About what?” Jesse asks.
I shake my head, then open the glass doors and lead them past the Auditorium to the museum. I had the words planned out, but now I can’t think of a single one. There’s no way to soften the blow, no promise of better things to come, or even a future with two houses that would be awkward yet normal in the old world.
Af
ter the museum door shuts behind us, Holly spins around in the open space. “This is so cool. I forgot all about the museum.”
“Remember how you always wanted to climb into the wagon and play pioneer?” I ask. “There’s no one to yell at you now.”
Holly grins and tucks her hair behind her ear. “I’m totally going to.”
I don’t want to wipe the smile off her face, and instead of saying what I should, I ask, “Did you forgive your brother for being a jerk?”
Jesse grunts, and Holly nudges him. “Yes, but only because he promised to sneak me vegetarian food.”
“Seems fair,” I say. I can’t bring myself to destroy this perfectly normal moment where life feels as it should, as it has, even with the craziness around us. I want one more minute before it’s lost forever.
“What’s up, Mom?” Jesse asks, effectively ending the minute. He even stands like a soldier—relaxed yet straight-backed—and he watches me carefully.
I swallow and lean on the admissions desk for support, looking between their expectant faces. “Your dad and I…” I take a breath and let it out slowly. “We’re going to be living apart from now on.”
Jesse blinks, and his composure takes a hit before he straightens again. He may not have expected to hear this today, but he doesn’t look all that surprised. Holly is another story. Her face has paled, her features twitching as her brain struggles to keep up. “What do you mean, living apart?”
“We’ll both still be here,” I say. “No one’s going anywhere, but we won’t be together.”
“She means separated,” Jesse says. “They’re separating.”
Holly’s eyelids are pink, the precursor to tears. “Why?”
I take her hand in mine, holding it between us. “Dad’s been using on and off for a while now. Years, really. Pills, sometimes…other stuff. It’s been…difficult. We’re not getting along, and I just—I can’t do it anymore. It’s too much. I’m not happy, and neither is he.”
“He’s using?” she whispers. Every fear she’s buried for four years is apparent in her trembling lips and stricken expression. I want to tell her he’ll be okay, but I don’t know that he will be, not if he has access to a pharmacy’s worth of pills. A world’s worth of pills, if he’s outside the gates.
The Cascadia Series (Book 1): World Departed Page 67
