"Let him go," Toni said, her mouth twisting. "Let them both go. They're useless. Frank gets you pregnant and can't handle it. As for Brad—well, he can't seem to get the job done."
Kerry gasped. Frank looked stunned. They'd never heard Toni speak so cruelly.
Neither had I.
"I think it’s time you stopped," I said. "This isn't about Kerry. It's about you. It's about the fact she's expecting and you're not. I know it sucks, but it's also life. Deal with it. Don't take it out on Frank and don't take it out on me. It's not fair, and it won't make the pain go away. It'll only make it worse."
"You don't understand—"
I raised my voice. "I understand you're embarrassing yourself. I understand it's the pain talking and not you. And I understand you owe Kerry and Frank an apology. That's what I understand."
Her face darkened. It now resembled the deepest, hottest embers of humiliation. "You don't understand a thing! Not a goddamn thing!"
Then she grabbed a glass and threw beer in my face.
"Mom? Dad?"
The twins stood in the doorway. Each held a game controller, and both looked scared.
"Is Mrs. Jordan okay?" David asked, his adolescent voice cracking.
I picked up a napkin and wiped my face. "No, but she will be."
"Let's get this mess cleaned up," Frank said, gathering up the bowls. "Looks like we're done playing cards for tonight."
I tossed the napkin onto the table. "Gee, you think?"
* * *
Toni and I rode home in silence.
I drove. In her current emotional state, I didn’t trust her behind the wheel. She didn't argue, which told me how horrible she felt.
I swung into our driveway. She didn't immediately get out. I glanced over but couldn't see her clearly in the darkness. I could, though, hear her sniffling.
She kept a small package of tissues in the center console. I pulled one out and handed it to her. She took it. She didn't thank me.
A minute passed, two minutes. I listened to the engine tick as it cooled.
Finally, she said, "I was pretty awful tonight."
"Yes, you were."
"I don't know what to say, other than I'm sorry. I didn't mean the things I said. You're not the reason we're childless."
"Neither are you, but I get the feeling you blame yourself."
She stared into the darkness and whispered, "I do."
The engine stopped ticking. With the heat off, the interior quickly grew chilly and I shivered. It might not have been entirely from the cold.
"You're my wife," I said. "You're my partner and my best friend. We live this life together. What we accomplish, we accomplish together. Same goes for the opposite. We share in everything, the good and the bad. When we hit a speed bump, we help each other." Earlier she had used the same phrase—speed bump—to describe the failure at not being pregnant. I wanted to let her know that I had been listening, and that I remembered. "Blame makes it easy to focus on the past, when we should be looking toward the future."
Toni grabbed another tissue and blew her nose.
"Are you going to be okay?" I asked.
"I don't know. I said some pretty horrible things." She shifted in her seat. I sensed she was facing me. "Do we have a future?"
"Of course we do. I'm not going to throw away the best thing in my life because of a few harsh words and a wet face." I shivered again, this time strong enough to hurt. The Advil had worn off, and my body ached. "Can we go inside? It's cold, and I need another painkiller."
"That's right, I forgot." Toni cracked open the door. The dome light winked on. She removed an amber-colored vial from her purse and shook out a pill. "Vicodin. Kerry gave them to me."
"I'll stick with ibuprofen."
"Don't be stubborn. You're hurting."
"It's not bad. I'll be fine."
She lifted my shirt, exposing the ugly bruise on my chest. "Not bad?"
"So I'm a little sore."
"More than a little, mister." With a cat-like grin, she slipped the pill in her mouth, leaned across the center console, and kissed me. I felt her tongue push the pill into my mouth. I tried to pull away, but she grabbed my head and held it in place. Her tongue pushed farther into my mouth, forcing the pill into the back of my throat. I had no choice but to swallow.
She kissed me in earnest before pulling away.
"Thank you for understanding,” she said. “You're the most amazing man. I'm lucky to have you."
"The feeling goes both ways."
We got out of the car. The night was clear, moonless and vast, with stars shining like silver sequins.
"Let's get you tucked in," Toni said. "It's past your bedtime, and you need your rest."
"But I thought we would fool around."
"Not tonight, mister. It's sleepy time for you."
As if on cue, I yawned. My jaw creaked painfully. Was there any part of my body that didn't hurt?
"You win," I said, and followed her into the house.
She glanced over her shoulder. "Was there any doubt?"
* * *
I fell asleep quickly, so quickly I barely remembered crawling into bed, and dreamed my dreams. About what, I didn’t recall. But I did know one thing.
I didn't like them.
Chapter Four
I woke the next morning groggy from the narcotics and in a lot of pain. My muscles ached, my joints felt stiff. And whoever had taken the baseball bat to the back of my neck was going to suffer big time.
With considerable effort, I shrugged off the covers and stood.
Disorientation swept over me. An image surfaced in my mind, greasy, like oil on the skin of a bubble.
Stars falling.
That was it—no sky, no earth, no nothing. Just stars falling.
The bubble burst.
The image was unsettling, like watching a Stanley Kubrick film on mushrooms.
I limped into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
The day had only started, and already I didn’t like it.
* * *
I found Toni in the kitchen, sitting at the table and reading the morning paper.
“Good morning, sleepy head. How are you feeling?”
“Every part of me hurts.” I shuffled over to the coffee pot. “You want a refill?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
I poured a cup, opened the cabinet that held our cold medicine, and found the Advil. I shook out a tablet, thought about it, and added a second. I popped them into my mouth, followed by a coffee chaser. The whole mess burned going down.
“You look terrible,” she said. “Didn’t you sleep well?”
“Right through to morning.”
“Me, too. I don’t think I dreamed.”
“I did. Bunch of weird ones. I bet they had something to do with the pill you gave me.”
She went to the sink and rinsed her coffee cup. When she was done, she turned and crossed her arms under her breasts.
“I’m not going to apologize. You needed the sleep, and you weren’t going to get any if you ached all night.”
“Your concern is duly noted.”
“I did what I thought was best. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same had the situation been reversed.”
“I might have, but not the same way you did.”
The corners of her mouth turned up. “It was kind of sneaky.”
“Yes, it was.”
“You want some eggs? Taking ibuprofen on an empty stomach isn’t good.”
“Sure, thanks.”
She opened the refrigerator door and reached inside. “Over easy, scrambled, or an omelet?”
“Surprise me,” I said, picking up the newspaper. “But no mushrooms. I’m not in the mood today.”
* * *
By the time we’d finished breakfast, I felt well enough to help with the dishes.
Toni stood at the sink, her hands in warm, soapy water as she scrubbed the skillet clean. I stood beside her, dish towel in hand
.
“How’s your thumb?”
I glanced at my bandaged hand. “I cleaned it this morning and didn’t see any redness or swelling, nothing to indicate an infection. I’ll keep checking it for the next few days. I think the nail’s a goner, though.”
“Small price to pay for keeping your life.” She handed me the skillet. I dried it and put it away.
“Have you thought about what you want to do today?” I folded the towel and laid it on the counter. “Yard work is off my list for now, so we’ve got some free time.”
“I’ll cut the grass. You go lay down. Your body needs to heal.”
“How about we go lay down together? I’m too sore for romance, but we could cuddle. I know that’d help me feel better.”
“But the grass—”
“—will be there next week.”
The sounds of children playing outside drew her attention, and her gaze drifted to the kitchen window. She watched them: the childless mother.
“Hey,” I said, and touched her shoulder. “What’re you thinking?”
She didn’t look away from the children. “I was awful last night. I need to make up for it.”
“What’s say we forget about last night. Neither of us was at our best.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I didn’t do anything right, either.”
“You ended up with beer on your face.”
“And we both had our say about it. We told each other how we felt. There’s nothing else to cover. It’s time to move on.”
“Is that what you tell your patients—pretend it never happened?”
“You’re twisting my words around. Last night happened, and we addressed it. It's over. What good would it do to dwell on it?”
Still gazing out the window, Toni said, “I can’t put it aside as easily as you can. I don’t have your capacity for forgiveness.”
“You see misbehavior every day at work. Do you hold grudges against your students?”
“Of course not. They’re only kids.”
“You forgive them.”
She hesitated. “I suppose.”
“Then forgive yourself. You're as deserving as they are.”
I wanted to add “it’s as easy as that” but didn’t. Nothing about self-esteem and change was easy: ask any homeless person in a shelter, any drug addict in rehab, any criminal in a jail cell. If it were easy, we would all live in a perfect world.
“You’re asking too much,” she said. “I don’t have enough room. My heart is too constricted.”
“There's always room for forgiveness.”
“Perhaps not for me.”
I considered what she was asking. “You really want to do this?”
She nodded. “I think I have to.”
“And cutting the grass will be enough? We won’t have the same discussion later?”
She finally turned to face me. There was a hint of relief in her eyes, and no small amount of gratitude. “Promise.”
“Fair enough. I only ask that we do it together. I’ll trim and edge, you push the mower. Deal?”
“Deal.” She gave me a hug. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
* * *
It took us two hours to finish the lawn. Toni smiled the entire time.
I struggled with the trimmer. It was gas powered and required a pull on a starter cord to fire it up. With my wounded thumb, I couldn’t grip the handle properly. Each time I gave it a yank, it would slip through my fingers. I tried pulling left-handed. It was still painful, not to mention awkward, but finally the trimmer whirred to life. I was in business.
We ended our respective jobs at nearly the same time, though I should have finished long before her. Toni put the lawn mower in the garage. I set the trimmer next to it.
“Time to hit the showers, mister,” she said.
“Sounds like a plan.”
In the bathroom, I shed my soiled, sweaty clothes. I saw in the mirror that the bruise on my chest had spread to my back, and the color had deepened to a brutal purple-black. No wonder my body ached.
Toni entered the bathroom and saw the bruise. Her expression darkened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You wouldn’t have let me help if I had.”
“This looks bad.” She lightly ran her hands over my chest. “You want another Advil, or something stronger? I still have Kerry’s Vicodin.”
“Maybe later,” I said, and turned the shower to hot. “Is there something you wanted to do this afternoon?”
“What I want is for you to stay in bed and heal.”
I grabbed a towel. “I’d rather go somewhere. You know, get out of the house. Yesterday was a bitch. Let’s make today better.”
She stepped closer. Her hand gently traced the scrapes on my face, the bruise on my chest. Then, smiling, she slipped her hand around my penis and gave it a squeeze.
I felt myself stiffen. “Care to join me?” I said, nodding at the shower.
She began to unbutton her shirt. “I thought you'd never ask.”
* * *
I slept after the shower.
When I woke, I found a glass of water and two Vicodin sitting on the nightstand. There was a note stuck to the glass.
EAT ME
I wasn’t sure if it was a reference to Lewis Carroll’s timeless story or a reminder of our adventures during the shower.
Maybe it was both.
Given how terrible I felt, I swallowed both and went in search of my wife.
I found her sitting in front of the computer, reading glasses perched on her nose. The screen displayed a map with directions listed along one side.
I kissed her on the cheek. “What’re you doing?”
“Looking up the town Kerry and Frank visited when they went antiquing.”
I leaned in. “Emersville?”
“Not as big as Shipshewana, but cute. Kerry liked it.”
Shipshewana was one of Toni’s favorite places to visit, a sprawling Indiana town near Michigan’s border where you could buy all kinds of craft items, most of questionable usefulness or value. It was an easy way to waste several hours, especially if the weather was clear and cool.
“Why not just go to Shipshewana?” I asked. “You know what to expect there.”
“It's closer. You shouldn't be gone for hours.”
I scanned the directions. Emersville was less than an hour’s drive. “You think it’s worth the trip?”
“Kerry keeps bugging Frank to go back.”
“Why doesn’t he?”
“You seriously have to ask?”
Frank was a homicide detective. He sweated macho. To take him antiquing was akin to driving bamboo shoots under his fingernails.
“You sure you want to go there?”
“Yes.”
“Let me grab a jacket.”
Chapter Five
The drive to Emersville passed pleasantly enough. Traffic on Interstate 131 was light despite the clear sky and crisp, invigorating air. Autumn was special in Michigan, a time where the land grew into its own. Apple orchards drew visitors by the thousands for cider and donuts and hayrides. Families spent afternoons together scouring pumpkin patches for the perfect Halloween jack-o-lantern. Couples walked hand-in-hand along the trails that wound through the state's many parks.
The real treat, though, was the fall colors. Whole forests blazed with reds and yellows and oranges, a canopy of beauty unparalleled in the Midwest. Visitors flocked to the state from Ohio and Indiana and Wisconsin and even Canada to drive our highways and marvel at a land alive with breathtaking vistas.
We drove through this explosion of beauty until we reached the exit for Emersville.
"Do you know anything about this town?" I asked Toni, who had once again insisted on driving.
"Only what Kerry told me. It's full of little shops and restaurants. A bed and breakfast. A motel. It even has a cafe that serves high end coffees. Not the fake 'gourmet' stuff you find at grocery
stores. We're talking top shelf stuff—Stumptown, Java Master, Monkey and Sons. Sounds like big business, too. Kerry and Frank had to wait fifteen minutes for their drinks."
The average price for quality coffees ran north of sixteen dollars a pound. What kind of population, both in size and household income, would the town need to support a product that expensive?
"How big did you say this place is?"
"I don't know. Can't be too big, not out here."
"Must have one hell of a tourist trade to support an expensive coffee shop."
We approached an intersection. The light turned red, and Toni stopped.
I fidgeted with my shoulder harness. It was digging into my sore chest. "Are you looking for anything specific on this excursion?"
"Christmas gifts, mostly, for my sisters and yours. I doubt Steve would be interested in anything we find there."
"Not unless it was made of microcircuits." My brother was a professor of electrical engineering at the University of Michigan and had little interest in anything bigger than an electron. "You're right about the girls. They love artsy-craftsy stuff."
"We also need something for my parents." She hesitated. "Any chance we'll hear from Doc Vader?"
Toni's parents, Ezra and Della, lived outside Gaylord in a house with lakefront footage and a covered pontoon boat Ezra used for fishing. Both had retired years ago, Ezra from teaching and Della from accounting, where she'd skillfully managed the family's finances into a tidy nest egg. I loved them both dearly.
My father, Ray (or as the family called him, Doc Vader), was another story. He and my mother attended medical school together. Dad specialized in vascular surgery. Mom's calling was internal medicine. Despite her passion for general practice, Dad felt she was wasting her talents on "people who didn't know better and couldn't have cared less." He urged her to specialize in something he felt was challenging enough, whether or not she had an interest in it. Mom flat-out refused and opened an office in one of the poorer suburbs of Grand Rapids, treating anyone who walked through her door, most on a paying basis, some not.
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