My words dripped with contempt, and I shook my head. Breathe in, Breathe out.
Sadie looked up at me, twin spots of red on her cheeks. “What are you talking about, Theo? What would you do, and what would you want your colleagues to do? The right thing to do is inform a coworker I’m going to stay and speak with you.” She punched at her phone and then put it back in her bag. “If you want to talk now, then we’ll talk. But I’m going to be late, and work needs to hear about it. That’s called common courtesy.”
A few choice words slipped back down my throat, and I gripped the counter, hoping they didn’t choke me. “Well, you don’t choose to use common courtesy when it comes to me now, do you?” I threw the words at her, turned my back, and walked toward the bedroom. My anger seized me from within, and I slammed the bedroom door shut, the quake of the force shaking the doorframe itself.
What was wrong with me? Fuck that. So much was wrong with me. But uncharacteristic heat still coursed through my system when I thought about the hole I’d blasted through Sadie with my behavior. Stupid, petulant behavior. Doc would have told me to go back and apologize. “Apologies are necessary for any relationship,” she’d have said. “Even those on the verge of rupture, especially if you want to keep that relationship from dissolving.” I forced myself to return to the kitchen.
“I’m sorry. That’s all I can say.” I beelined for the garage, hoping to keep any more anger at bay until she left the house.
A few moments later, Sadie put her hand on my shoulder. Recoiling internally, I tried not to flinch externally.
“Do you need a ride?” she said.
“No.”
“So you’re not going in to work today?”
“Nope.”
Just like Doc, Sadie possessed an aversion to one-word answers, but something kept me from speaking more.
“Okay,” she said. “Then do you want to talk about my statement or how you’re doing this morning? Going from kind to unkind in sixty seconds seems to be par for the course these days.” She paused. “This is difficult. Life, the PTSD, the lack of control, the divorce papers, all of it. But you seem a little off today...”
I turned to her and hoped to keep my face unreadable. A long time ago, she’d been able to read my emotions with a simple glance, whether I was angry, tired, confused. This time, all three might have been part of the equation. “Leave it. I’m done here.” I averted my eyes. Conversation over.
. . . . .
Twenty minutes passed. I wore a path in the carpet of my family room as thoughts about Sadie and who we were to each other bombarded me, followed by resentment at her “no driving for Theo rule.” The wall became a punching bag for both my left and right fists.
Punch. Fuck the service. And Afghanistan. And PTSD.
Punch. Fuck this life, Doc. All of it.
Punch. Fuck Sadie. She can’t tell me what to do.
On the fourth punch, the wall had had enough, and sweat beaded on my brow. I found a framed picture in my bedroom and covered the evidence of my meltdown before remembering I was due into work. My boss depended on me to be on-site and do my job, and the clients also expected me to show up. A cool shower and an ice pack and bandages for my knuckles were in order, and then—well, I’d take myself to work, Sadie’s rules be damned.
The chances of her finding out about a solo driving journey were slim, as I was due home before she was. Would the kids tell if they knew? Revealing that secret wasn’t in the plans, so I decided to risk it.
It was a short drive, and when I arrived, I felt more like myself despite the throbbing knuckles. I logged into the system, saying a quick hello to the usual folks who walked back and forth in front of the reception desk. A sticky note on the side of the computer had my name on it. “Andrew M. called for you. Says you’ll know what he needs.”
He probably wanted to get my answer on another work project he’d proposed. I’d left the papers at home on the table because the argument with Sadie had distracted me. But I’d seen enough, and what he wanted me to do was interesting. What about the screen time, the possible increase in stress? Would taking on that project help or hurt me?
Being up front with Andrew might be warranted. Up until now, I’d not told him about my background, and he’d been polite enough not to pry. Family and past lives had been off-limits in our conversations. And despite our rapport, even calling him a friend—or at least an acquaintance—I didn’t know much about him.
Personal information didn’t matter when it came to doing work for him though. Decision made, I placed the call.
Andrew picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Theo. Thanks for calling me back.”
“No worries. Is this about the proposal you had me looking at?”
“It is. Just wondered about your level of interest.”
“I’ll be honest. The details are amazing, and I’d love to look at it...”
Andrew laughed on the other end of the line. “But. I hear a ‘but’ coming. Those are always easy to infer.”
“I’m not sure I have the time.” I glanced out the front window, trying to figure out how to phrase what I wanted to say. The bright sun bolstered me, blasted my misgivings away. “Things at home are...up in the air right now.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. It’s that...”
“Hey, I get it. Why don’t we agree you’ll pass on this proposal, but I’ll ask again on the next one. I’m sure something will come up in the next week or so. And then, we can head out for a burger or something. The kids will be gone over the weekend.”
A bit of information from the guy who didn’t say much. He could say the same of me though.
“Sounds good. But—” Tonight might be a good time to meet with him. A few hours away from home...”Any interest in grabbing that burger tonight? Only if you have time.”
“I can make that happen. Does six at the Kennedy Grill work?”
The perfect spot. Close enough to drop the car off at home after work and walk to dinner. “Sure.”
“All right. See you then.”
Chapter 11: Sadie
The minutes spent in my car allowed me time to contemplate Theo’s dismissal—which stung—and my life, which for the most part, was good, great even. Blessed as a wife and mother, only Theo’s PTSD and the hot mess of my (sometimes) guilt caused me issues, but it took every ounce of my energy to fight back, stand tall, and move forward each day. The realization our lives were going to be different whether I stuck with Theo or not was too much for my wounded self to take on a Monday morning.
Jackie whistled in her office as I rounded the corner to mine. Apparently, a good night’s sleep did wonders for her. The same could not be said for me.
I opened the door to my office and stopped. There, at the foot of my desk, stood Andrew. As unexpected as it was to see him, I’d have been a liar if I said he wasn’t a sight for sore eyes.
Willing the puffy-eyed look to vanish, I moved deeper into my office. “Hey, there, Andrew. I didn’t expect to see you here.” I hung my jacket on its designated hook.
“I was in to check on Jackie, and she said you’d be in soon. I thought I’d see how you were. Did the late night get to you?”
“Nope. I was okay yesterday, although I have to say I did hit the hay a little early last night. I’m not cut out for all-nighters anymore.” Keeping the smile out of my voice proved difficult. I wasn’t ready to be frank with Andrew, and he was only there for small talk anyway. Averting my gaze might help.
“Well, thanks for letting me sleep away most of the night. I’m sorry about that. I dropped the ball on that task, didn’t I? If we do this again, I’ll let you
get the shut-eye next time,” Andrew said.
My insides stuttered, and I was glad my head was down as I examined the pages of my desk calendar. Next time? Would there be a next time?
“You’re welcome—” The phone cut off my words and gave me a natural out, allowing me to avoid the place the conversation might lead. Where did I want it to lead? “Would you please excuse me?” The phone trilled again.
“Certainly. Have a great week. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” Andrew smiled a sweet, slow smile, saluted me, and crossed over the threshold. Boy, did his pants fit nicely to his backside. Gah.
“Get a grip,” I mumbled to myself. “Get a grip on reality and answer the damn phone.”
As I picked up the receiver, sweat beaded on my palms and my fingers shook, remnants of both my argument with Theo and the effect Andrew seemed to have on me. I barely remembered being so discombobulated about Theo when I was younger. Had I been?
“Good morning, Sadie Rollins speaking.”
“Hi Sadie. It’s Mom.”
Oh shit. Not a week went by I didn’t phone my mother, who lived one town over. Except for yesterday. Shocked she hadn’t already called to find out why I hadn’t spoken to her, I resigned myself to an early conversation with her instead of Andrew.
“Oh hi, Mom.” I fell into my chair, already exhausted by my morning.
“Don’t ‘Oh hi, Mom’, me, Sadie Rollins, or Lancaster, or Rollins-Lancaster, whatever you go by now. How are you? How are the kids? I didn’t hear from you yesterday. I thought something had happened to you.” Mom always asked how the kids were doing. The conversation concerning the kids and their little lives could take at least fifteen minutes. And she always jumped to dire conclusions. Why would she think something had happened to me, a healthy woman in her late thirties? Would she ask about Theo? If anything critical were going to happen, wouldn’t it most likely occur to him?
“Everyone’s good, Mom. Charlie has a project, and the outline for it is due sometime soon...this week...and he seems to be handling it all himself. And Delia starts ballet on Tuesday night. She has her tutu hanging up on her bedpost and her slippers ready to go. Lexie is with the babysitter during the day, which of course, is a dream for both.” I tapped my fingers against the edge of the desk. How to tell my mother I had a mountain of work to do and needed to end the call?
“Well good. Say, should Charlie be handling that project by himself? Does he need help? Did you ask him if he wanted help?”
The vein at the top of my forehead started to thump, and I pressed my left index finger against it. “Mom, he’s set up in the dining room, and I told him to ask for help if he needs it. I can’t be a helicopter parent. Charlie wants to do it himself, so I’m going to let him. There’s only so much I can handle.” The conversation needed to finish, before I allowed my mother to ruin my day.
“All right. I guess I should trust you.” Yes, you should. No reply from me meant she continued. “Well about that weather? We’ve been having a lot of rain, right? So much rain the weeds are almost as tall as the sunflowers. I should try to get out there and do that weeding, but I have so much to do inside. Never ends, does it?”
Those same words had filled my ears for years. “All right now, well, I need to get going, Mom. I got in a bit late because Theo—”
“Oh. Well when are you and the kids coming over?”
Was Mom crazy? Did she not hear me when I said the name Theo, or did she simply choose to ignore the mention of his name? Could she dance any more around the subject of someone who used to own my soul? She avoided Theo because she didn’t want to see how he was doing, because she couldn’t stand I might need a little help from her. Because if she knew we needed extra hands around the house from time to time, then she might be morally obligated to head over once a week, and Mom didn’t want to do that. Mom didn’t ask me how Theo was doing because if she didn’t have the details then she wouldn’t, no couldn’t, accrue guilt. It was always about her, when really, this time it wasn’t, and it hadn’t been for a long time.
My thumb clicked the END button on the phone, and for the first time in my life, I hung up on my mother. Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned back in my chair and smiled.
. . . . .
The first day we realized Theo needed help was one of those frigid December mornings that unexpectedly energizes the world. I’d risen to go for a pre-dawn run, before the bustle of day care and work began. Tiptoeing out of the still-sleeping house, I ran the two blocks to Brighton Avenue and reveled in the dots of ice and snow hanging hazy under the streetlamps. The road was empty, save for a few cars, and the crunch of my footsteps on the pavement rang out as the miles added up. My lungs ached from the frosty air and my nose grew numb, but when I meandered back to the driveway, a sense of vigor permeated my being, and I was ready to begin my day.
So as not to wake my still-slumbering house, I slipped my key into the lock and then tiptoed to the kitchen, listening for signs of life; the only sounds were the purr of the ancient refrigerator and the whisper of the furnace. A creak on the staircase alerted me someone had interrupted the near silence. There in the foyer stood a sleep-rumpled Theo, his eyes expanded by an emotion that looked like concern.
“I can’t do it,” he said, his posture a sign of defeat.
Words refused to form as confusion filled me. “Do what?” I asked as I began to peel off the multiple layers of winter running garb.
“I can’t do it.” Theo stood rooted in his spot, although his body seemed to sag more with every word he spoke. He’d been moody lately, volatile almost, but I’d been so busy I hadn’t taken the time to find out what the problem was.
“Honey.” I moved toward him and gripped his shoulders, which caused Theo to flinch under my touch. “Are you actually awake?” Theo had been known to sleepwalk and talk before. The last time he’d done it he’d ambled right out the front door and all the way to the neighbor’s house before waking up on his own.
“Yes, I’m awake.” Irritation infused his voice. “And I can’t do it. I can’t live like this anymore.”
“Live like what?” I asked.
“Have you not noticed?”
“Not noticed what? I’m sorry...but...what do you mean?” What was Theo trying to tell me? It was too early for my brain to be working on all cylinders.
“It’s...it’s...” He dropped his head toward his chest.
“O-kay.” My damp running socks stuck to my feet as I worked to slip them off, then the chill of the ceramic tile floor shocked my toes on the walk back into the kitchen. Why was he talking about this—whatever this was—at 5:53 in the morning? Why not wait until later? Making coffee rose to the top of the priority list. If I waited any longer to get caffeine into my body, my day would turn from delightful to deadly.
“You don’t understand, Sadie.” Theo had followed me into the kitchen and slumped into a chair. “Charlie called out while you were running. He was scared. I went into his room to bring him into ours. But when I went to pick him up, it was like my arms wouldn’t work. His thrashing—something about it...I panicked.” Theo paused, his face haggard in the low lighting. “It isn’t that Charlie’s too heavy. It’s that I can’t get through...the screaming, the flailing...it brought me back. I can’t help him.”
My body felt drained of all blood as I glanced then at my husband. At the man who still played volleyball on the weekends and coded websites well into the night. The man who carried me over the threshold on the night of our wedding and tugged the children in the little red wagon with the wheel that squealed like a banshee. The slouch of his shoulders and curve of his spine indicated a true problem, and the fingers of his right hand tapped against his thigh, as if to remind him at least one part of him still work
ed properly. I pulled his fingers against mine and looked into his eyes, studying them. They were the same, but different—Theo, but not. Slightly muted, not as strong as they once had been, like old decals that had faded in the sun.
I’ve rarely been struck speechless, but that day, not even one single appropriate word came to my mind. The quiet of the kitchen surrounded me as I thought about what it meant to Theo and me if he had issues to work through. Up until that time, Theo had always been the robust one in our household. But on that wintry December morning, the entire universe as we knew it shifted without warning, and now, my veneer had started to crack.
I pressed my back against my office chair, daring it to ground me in the here and now. Where did Theo and I stand? What did our argument that morning mean? Holding the kids together, the family together, mainly for the sake of his health and happiness, was becoming too much. Simply caring about Theo wasn’t difficult, but we’d made our choice, hadn’t we? All signs pointed to the fact I needed to let go. Scorching tears ran down my cheeks, and I clawed at my chest, hoping to keep it from caving in as I thought about what to do about Theo and our situation.
. . . . .
After my cathartic cry, the scene outside the enormous plate glass window of my office held my interest for a long time. Thoughts of everything that had happened over the last twenty years hovered in my mind. Speaking to my mother did that sort of thing to me, brought memories and emotions to the surface that had no business being there. Here I was, a thirty-eight-year-old woman and mom of three, and my mother had managed to push the exact buttons she knew would bother me. Somehow, she always had.
Putting off work just a bit longer, I reached into the lower drawer of my desk and pulled out the small, leather photo album hidden there. Recent technology made photo albums almost obsolete, but having physical proof of my life, something tangible to hold in my hands, made it easier to wade through the muck and focus on all the wonderful treasures scattered throughout my current existence.
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