by SE Reynolds
I remember one night, not long after I'd made the suggestion that we enroll you in boarding school, I had a terrible dream. I dreamt a man broke into the house and tried to take you out of your bed. I woke up with tears in my eyes. I realized I had been so selfish. I needed to be a better wife and a better mother. I needed to know you were okay, so I got out of bed and went down the hall to your room. I saw your father in your bed. I felt like I was still dreaming, but I wasn't; it was just the beginning of a nightmare. Instead of making the nightmare stop, I let it be. I let what I saw be. As time went on, you seemed happy. You seemed unaffected. Your father stayed the same, doting on you, protecting you, and allowing me to be a fixture in the home. I convinced myself I didn't see what I saw. Maybe I was still dreaming. When I would wake up and see your dad was not there, I would make myself believe he was working in his office or comforting you from a bad dream, but deep down, deep in a very dark place inside me, I knew what was going on, and I became paralyzed. I didn't know what would happen if I let the truth out. Would your dad turn on you, turn on me, leave us? I had no skills other than being a wife and mother. I was so relieved when you went to college and so happy when you met and married a wonderful man. I no longer wanted your dad all to myself. I just wanted you to be safe. I wanted you and Joshua to live happily ever after, and you did. But my poor sweet little girl, you got sick. You do not deserve this. You deserve to see your husband do big things, to see your son get married and have kids of his own. There is one thing I do know, my sweet girl, you are strong and can overcome adversity, and this time you have a wonderful man to help you get better. And you have me if you still want me to be a part of your life, and your recovery. I will always take care of you as long as God allows me to live. I do not have the courage to tell you this in person. I'd rather not speak of this anymore. But it is up to you, Melissa. It is your story to tell, not mine. I love you, my beautiful angel. I pray you forgive me.
Love,
Mom
The letter slips from my hand and drifts to the floor. The image of a beautiful little girl with blonde curls sleeping in her bed only to be—I hear the front door open.
"What are you doing?"
I look up, and Josh is standing in the doorway of the foyer.
"I didn't know you were home today, Stacie. What are you doing? Is that my stuff?"
"Yes," I answer, "I was just trying to help you unpack. I didn't realize that this was old stuff you probably wanted to put in the attic. I'll just put it all back."
Josh walks towards me and the box. His foot lands on the letter. I gasp.
"What's wrong, Stacie?" I stare at his foot.
He follows my stare, moves his foot off the letter, and picks it up.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have read this."
Josh sits down in my office chair and reads the letter. The room fills with deafening silence as I watch the color drain from his face. He puts the letter down and sits quietly for another minute. Finally, he turns towards me.
"I knew. Melissa told me the night before she died, but I didn't know Mimi knew. I can't believe Mimi knew and did nothing to stop it."
"I'm so sorry, Josh. I don't know what to say."
"Don't say you are sorry. Don't apologize for what happened to Melissa. Mimi allowed it to happen when Melissa couldn't stop it. When Melissa was old enough to stop it, she didn't. She let it happen until I came along. It's just sick on so many levels."
Josh stands up and crumples the letter with his fist.
"You have no idea, Stacie. You have no idea how sick people can be."
"He sounds like a monster, Josh. I used to get cases like this where the wife tries to leave because she finds out her husband is hurting her children. I couldn't stomach it. They took those cases away from me. I couldn't—"
"Of course, you couldn't, Stacie, because you are good all the way through. If Mimi could have stopped it, if Melissa could have, things may have turned out so differently."
"Differently? Josh, Melissa was changed the first time her dad touched her inappropriately, and yet you still had a great marriage, a wonderful boy. She even confided in you about it."
"She didn't confide in me. She confessed."
Josh paces back and forth in front of the desk. He is still squeezing the balled-up letter with his fist.
"Goddamn, Goddammit! You have no idea, Stacie. So much shit has gone down. I can't deal with it anymore. Do you understand? I can't deal with this anymore!"
I've never seen Josh like this, so out of control. Tears stream down his cheeks. He stops pacing and collapses in the corner of the sofa and sobs.
"I had to put her out of her misery; she was so sick, so damaged."
I get up off the floor and slowly walk towards the couch.
"Josh, I don't understand what you are saying. Put her out of her misery? Melissa?"
I sit down next to him, but I keep space between us. Josh wipes his face with his sleeve.
"Melissa was so sick. I watched her beauty, her strength, her life fade away. I literally watched my beautiful Melissa, who shined wherever she went, rot away. I couldn't take it anymore. She told me what her dad did to her the night before she died. It was like a final confession. I slept on the couch that night. I should have comforted her, but I couldn't. I was so pissed off."
"Of course, you were, Josh. That man did horrible things to her for so many years. Of course, you were angry. But Josh, I still don't understand what you mean by putting her out of her misery?"
Josh stops crying and reaches for my hand. He speaks slowly like he is telling a scary story to a third-grader.
"I woke up the next morning, the morning after she told me all of this. I went to the bedroom to check on Melissa and to take a shower. As soon as I got to the doorway, I smelled rotting eggs. I stood there just watching her. Melissa was lying face up in the bed. Her face was so shallow, and her mouth was wide open. I suddenly had this weird thought; how easy it would be for a fly to land in her mouth and lay eggs. She had no hair; all of her beautiful curls were gone. Her arms were folded on top of her stomach, you know, like outside the covers. She could have been dead, dead and lying in a casket. I just watched her for a minute or two. She was still breathing but really heavy; her chest was going up and down and up and down. Melissa was suffering, not just physically but mentally. I knew it wouldn't be long, so I went over to the bed, grabbed my pillow, and covered her face. She didn't fight me. She didn't thrash around like you see in the movies. She just laid there and let me do it. I think she wanted me to do it."
I let go of Josh's hand.
"You killed her," I whisper.
"No, Stacie, I put her out of her misery. It was only a matter of time. I just sped up the process."
"You killed her, Josh."
Josh puts his face in his hands.
"Yes, I guess I did. Oh my God, Stacie, what have I done."
Josh sobs again. His sobs become more guttural, more wrenching. I feel my heart slowly breaking. I don't know what to do or say. I wish he never told me this. I wish I never opened the box. I wish I went to work and let things be. I don't want this life to change. If anyone were to find out about this, Josh's life would be over; our future would be over. JJ would lose both parents. I don't want to go back to my old pathetic existence. I couldn't bear it.
Without another thought, I grab the box of tissues off the desk and sit closely next to Josh. I pull his hands from his face and give him the tissues.
"Does anyone else know about this, Josh?"
Josh shakes his head.
"Thank God," I say.
"I know you loved Melissa and what you did, well, it was out of love, right, Josh?"
"Yes, yes, I did it for love."
"Well, I love you, Josh, and I know you are a good man and wonderful father. I will keep your secret, and I will protect you. Do you understand me?"
The heartbreak I felt only moments earlier is changing into something foreign to me. I feel needed, I feel st
rong, I feel in control.
"I will take care of you, Josh. I will take care of us. As long as we are together, nothing will hurt you."
I put my arms around Josh's neck and pull his face close to mine.
"Do you understand, Josh?"
"I understand. Thank you, Stacie, thank you."
Chapter 43 – Joshua
I'm so insignificant, I think as I stare at the view through my office window, a view that looks no different than a Wal Mart parking lot without the carts and their little stalls. When you think of City Hall, you think of grandeur and big white buildings with boxy green shrubs surrounding it, maybe a statue or two. But my City Hall is a building of brown brick façade with insides made of glass clerk windows, orange Berber cubicles, and small offices with fake wooden doors. I'm the mayor, and my office is no bigger than Stacie's linen closet. I take two steps back to my desk, and staring back at me is Melissa. I still have her picture on my desk. I think it's from the mother-of-the-year photo shoot. She's sitting at the kitchen counter holding a coffee mug I gave her for Mother's Day. Best Mom Ever! It reads in hot pink letters. She deserved that award. Despite her fucked-up upbringing, she was the perfect mother to a kid that has an attention span of a flea.
I can't help but wonder if Melissa getting cancer was like karma. She kept me from Rose and made me believe horrible things about her; she destroyed the few memories I had of Rose, and in turn, she got a terminal disease. I remember the night before Melissa died, how stoic she was as she made her final confession. A dormitory whore? That's what she thought of Rose. That's so laughable. She lied to me about Rose because she thought Rose was a dormitory whore? That's it? That's why? I wish that was it. Then Melissa would have truly died of natural causes if only that was it.
"I knew you'd make something of yourself; you just needed me, the right kind of woman. Not Rose. She was just the dormitory whore."
"You took it away from me."
"Took what away, Joshua?"
"My choice, my time…my—"
"Wrong, Joshua. I gave you a future; I gave you a son; I gave you potential."
"Bull shit Melissa, this is bullshit. I don't get it. You told me Rose was with her dad doing those grotesque things, so I would forget about her? It's so messed up. Where do you come up with this shit, Melissa? You have to be so demented to come up with this shit!"
"I'm not demented, Joshua. I'm experienced. This shit, as you like to call it, wasn't made up. This shit, Joshua, was my reality."
I needed to stop the car, to stop this, to stop what I heard, but it was too late. Everything was too late. Finally, I got to the shopping center that was a block away from our house. I turned into the parking lot and turned the engine off. I felt like I was part of an audience watching a monologue of some bad, one-woman play, something I would have endured with Rose. I sat back and let Melissa's words seep out and poison me even more.
"I was sixteen. I thought my life was normal and that my dad just loved me more than the way other kids were loved. Maybe other kids were loved that way, at least I had hoped. I was in my living room waiting for Tommy to pick me up. We were going to the movies. I desperately wanted to see Pretty in Pink. I even wore a pink sundress with little white flowers speckled all over it. It was such a sweet dress. My dad was jealous of Tommy. The only way I could go out with him was if I gave my dad special attention. He wanted me first before sharing me with Tommy that day. Tommy was early. Kim, our cleaning lady, was there. She let him in. She didn't tell him to wait in the foyer, I guess. Tommy saw us. I could see half of Tommy's face. It was distorted, like when you see a dead animal on the side of the road with its guts hanging out. You aren't sure what it is at first. Tommy ran out of the house. I was sure Tommy would tell the entire school what he saw. But Dad was well known, had money, power. I guess Dad made sure Tommy wouldn't talk, and I would never have a boyfriend again. I knew you would be disgusted like Tommy and would never want to see Rose again. You remind me of Tommy, Joshua, but I never loved Tommy the way I love you."
I pulled the car out of the parking lot and drove home. I needed to get away from her before I did something I would regret, so I left Melissa in the foyer. I walked straight to the kitchen and poured four fingers' worth of bourbon. Mimi was there. She tried to speak. I held my hand up to wave off her words and headed straight to the back deck. I collapsed on the recliner and gulped the bourbon-like water. I needed to be numb and fast. I needed to blend into the darkness of the early winter evening. I needed privacy to think, to decide, to plan, to breathe. The image of Melissa and her father was forming in my head. I couldn't let that happen. My sweet Melissa was long gone, and I had to accept that, but what was worse is she took my beautiful Rose with her. I cried that night. I hadn't cried like that since the day Melissa told me Rose left.
It has been a month since Stacie and I spoke about my last moments with Melissa. I thought I had successfully buried it all, but I stupidly dug it back up. The letter, Melissa's confession, the loss of Rose, it all overwhelmed me. I had to get rid of the gross feeling that was overtaking me. I didn't mean to confide in Stacie; it just came out like vomit in my throat that I'd been swallowing down, choking on for almost two years until it just spewed out. Now, Stacie knows the truth, at least the important parts that make up the truth. I couldn't tell Stacie about Rose and Melissa's betrayal; there was no need. It would've just muddied the waters. I told Stacie the important things. Melissa was sick, she was a victim, she was deteriorating before my eyes, and the rest of her days would be full of pain if it weren't for me. I had to put Melissa out of her misery, for all our sakes. Melissa never fought the pillow that was smothering her. She didn't because, like me, she knew it was for the best. She didn't want to watch me resent her in her final days. Things would have taken longer to clean up if she held on until she inevitably died.
I took Melissa's picture and put it in my desk drawer. It's time to move forward, finally move forward, cleanly. Stacie and I have been focusing on my career, and I think I finally talked her out of her fairy tale wedding. It's a bit too late to have it now. Besides, we would look ridiculous. Stacie, an almost thirty-nine-year-old woman, dressed in a white Glenda the Good Witch gown, and me pretending to be her young, handsome, balding prince. The thought of it makes me cringe. If only I was as successful in talking her out of a baby. It's not the time to start another family; it will never be the time. Instead, we will continue to focus on our next big move, and then eventually, the biological urge she has will fade away. It's time for me to think bigger, go bigger. I am planning on running for the United States Senate next year. In the meantime, I am strategically placing myself and Stacie in all the right places. I need to broaden my base. We are targeting college-educated, working women.
Northern Virginia has more women than men and more educated women than your middle-income housewife. Stacie is key to obtaining that demographic. I need to update my Facebook page by taking down Melissa and putting up Stacie. I need more pictures of Stacie and me together. I'll ask her to come to my office next week, and I can get Ashley to take a couple of shots of Stacie and me working together. I'll have Stacie lean over me while I pretend to work. It will be the cover of our campaign fliers. We will be the couple "working for you."
I know I need to update my Facebook page at some point. They are all full of Melissa's memories. I didn't post anything about my marriage to Stacie. It just happened, and I let it slowly leak out, letting it evolve naturally, hoping people will forget which wife is which until the two just bleed into one. I've been very careful to make it known publicly that Melissa is gone but not forgotten. On our wedding anniversary, I posted a picture on Facebook of Melissa and me on our wedding day. She was beautiful that day; her hair piled on top of her head with a few loose wavy strands falling around her healthy 22-year-old face. She wore a simple but elegant white satiny silk gown that fitted her body perfectly. Her shoulders were bare, but she wore long white gloves, and, in one hand, she held a bouquet made u
p of red roses, nothing else, just red roses. I was in my classic black tuxedo with a red bow tie to match her red bouquet. I held her with one arm drawing her in close to me as her body relaxed into mine. Her arms dangled at her sides, holding her bouquet with one hand. She reminded me of someone who had just finished a relay race; she was relaxed, happy, and accomplished. I remember her whispering to me, almost breathless, "I'm so happy, Joshua. I hope you are too?" Then the picture was taken.
Today would have been nineteen years of marriage for my darling Melissa and me. I miss her every day and especially today. She never ceased to amaze me, even until the end. Her love for me was unique, and for that, I will never forget. Happy Birthday in Heaven, Sweet Melissa.
I got nearly three hundred hearts and likes for that post. On the anniversary of her death, I posted a picture of Melissa and me visiting the National Zoo when JJ was eleven. Melissa asked JJ to take a picture of us in front of the gorillas. I remember whispering in her ear, "gorillas are known to throw poop if you get too close to them." Melissa laughed and gave me a little jab in my rib cage with her elbow. That's when JJ took the picture. It's a perfect picture of us being a happy, fun-loving couple. That's what makes the caption so much more touching.
Today it has been one year since we said goodbye. I never thought our lives together would be cut so short. But in the short years together, you made our house a home. It will never be the same. You were the perfect mother and first lady. You will forever be in our hearts, Sweet Melissa.
That's the last thing I posted, and since then, I haven't had the stomach to look at all the recycled condolences. I should quickly scroll through them just in case someone important sticks out, like the Governor or the Mayor of DC. I will respond privately to them, thanking them for their kind words, letting them know it has been a difficult road, but I have finally moved on. So far, none of the posts seem to warrant a response, so I stop scrolling, and just like a slot machine, the posts slowly stop, landing on the one.
