Hindsight

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Hindsight Page 9

by Rhonda Taylor Madge


  Two days before the finalization of the divorce, I received a call from Joe.

  “Rhonda, can we have dinner to see if there are any bits or pieces of our relationship that are salvageable?”

  I held my breath, trying to decide how to best answer. If I said no, would that cause him to show up at the court preceding? I did not trust this man.

  “Ok, Joe. I will meet you at the little restaurant on Shackleford at 6:30.”

  I packed up a few items that he had left at the house and put them in the backseat of my car. I knew this would be the last chance I would have to return them and I certainly didn’t want to give him an excuse to come back to my house.

  I walked into the restaurant with my stomach in knots and my head pounding. The twinkle had returned in Joe’s eye. I wouldn’t let it deceive me this time.

  I sat down and he reached for my hand. “Thank you for coming,” he said.

  “Joe, I’m not sure what you hope to accomplish. You are very confusing.” I didn’t mention Sherri. I remembered all too well that he had told me not to mess with him and he had proven that I shouldn’t.

  “Rhonda, I made a mistake. I’ve had time to think about it. I’m not sure that I want the divorce.”

  “Without any warning, you packed your bags and left me. Within twenty-four hours, you loaded a truck with your belongings and left. How can I live with the fear of you doing that again? I can’t, Joe.”

  The food arrived and I finished as quickly as possible. I wanted out of that place. His mouth began to twitch and something inside of me told me to be very careful.

  He tried to paint a picture of confusion about what was important to him. As he paid the bill, he suggested we get in the car to talk.

  **********

  I crawled behind the wheel of my car, and as he opened the passenger side door, I saw him glance into the backseat. When he saw his belongings, a cloud of darkness descended upon him, scaring me.

  “You didn’t have any intentions of trying to make this work when you came here. Did you?” he asked.

  I froze, unsure of what to do or say. He turned to me with angry, heated eyes and grabbed me by the throat, slamming my face hard against the window. A couple happened to be in the car parked next to me. They watched in horror as I mouthed the words, “Help me. Please.” I watched them lower their heads and drive away.

  Joe grabbed my leg, ripping my pants.

  “Please stop, please stop!” I screamed.

  Suddenly, as quickly as this nightmare started, it stopped. He opened the door and slammed it shut. Blood rose to the surface of my leg and my head throbbed. What do I do? I looked in the rearview mirror and watched him drive away. I burst into tears, the relief opening a river of salt upon my cheeks. After gaining my composure I drove home.

  What if Joe is outside watching?

  I closed all the blinds and made sure all the doors were locked. Then I called Troy to tell him what had happened. He begged me to let him come over. I didn’t think that was a good idea, knowing it would fuel Joe’s anger. I had the feeling he was a ticking time bomb that could explode at any moment.

  I barely slept as the bigger question loomed in my head. What will happen if he shows up at the judge’s chamber in two days?

  Forty-eight hours later, I dressed for freedom. Landis, my partner, went with me just in case I needed help. I knew Troy should not be in proximity to the courthouse.

  Landis and I walked into the large stone building, where we found my attorney waiting. My eyes were darting to and fro, watching intently for Joe. We made it to the courtroom with still no sign of him. My name was called to stand before the judge. He asked if my husband was present and I replied, “He is not, Your Honor.”

  After a few formalities, the paperwork was signed and once again, I returned to the familiar name of Rhonda Taylor.

  I felt relief, yet I realized I now had two failed marriages.

  I left the courthouse and drove to meet Troy, who waited to hear whether or not Joe had shown up. As he opened his front door I couldn’t help but throw my head back and scream, “It’s over!”

  He ran to me, throwing his arms around my waist, pulling me close. As we kissed, I felt relief wash over the pain, which had paralyzed my body for some time.

  Inside the new home he had recently purchased awaited a fire, wine, cheese, and a small gift wrapped very carefully.

  “It looks as though you were anticipating a celebration,” I said with a smile.

  Troy took my hand and told me he was thrilled that I was no longer married and free to explore a relationship with him. He said, “I have something that I want you to listen to.” As the music began to play, he handed me the lyrics to a song by Basia entitled “Time and Tide.”

  THIRTEEN

  “You will make known to me the path of life…”

  Psalm 16:11

  Nineteen-eighty-nine rolled in with joy and anticipation for what the new year could bring. I was ready to begin a fresh season of life. The big 3-0 was right around the corner, causing me to reflect on my dreams and aspirations.

  As a child, I’d dreamt of having lots of children because I didn’t like being an only child. As my biological clock ticked, I realized my dream of motherhood was possibly just that—a dream.

  A surprise phone call from Mother made me look deeply within myself once again.

  Mother had been attending church with Howard Lee every Sunday since they married. Her call was to tell me she had accepted Jesus into her heart as her Lord and Savior. I could tell she was excited and I knew I should share her elation, but my heart was indifferent.

  All I could muster up was, “That’s great, Mother. I’m happy for you.”

  God took Daddy. Would I ever believe otherwise? I knew I needed God, or at least I grew up believing my Mama Dora when she told me I did. How did she forgive God for taking her son? How do people have faith when life is so hard? So many questions lingered in my mind. Even though I had cried out to God to forgive me, then joined the church, I had fallen right back into my old patterns.

  God surely is disappointed. I don’t want to think about it. He has disappointed me, too.

  **********

  My relationship with Troy moved along nicely until things came to a screeching halt when he was offered a promotion in Detroit, Michigan.

  It was obvious he was uncertain of what to do. He said, “This is great for my career, but where does that leave us?”

  “Well, absence supposedly makes the heart grow fonder. We can try a long-distance relationship and see what happens or we can end it,” I replied.

  “Do you want to end it?” he asked.

  “No, Troy, I don’t. But we have only dated eight months.” Surely he understood I was still gun shy of another serious relationship.

  We agreed that, regardless of the many miles between us, we were going to give it a shot. He would be moving the first week of July; he asked if I would travel to Michigan with him to help him move into his new home. The company he worked for took care of the sale of his home in Little Rock, and he decided to rent an apartment for a while before making a decision on another purchase.

  We arrived in Motor City and took a couple of days to explore before the moving van arrived. The van arrived early on our last day together, giving us the day to unpack. I’d planned a nice dinner and got busy preparing in the kitchen. As the sun went down, I turned on some music and lit a few candles. The ambiance, combined with the aroma of homemade spaghetti sauce, should have been an indication for Troy to stop unpacking and enjoy our last evening together.

  I was wrong. Troy continued to unpack, and with the opening of each new box my internal temperature rose another degree. All he could say was, “Just a couple more boxes…”

  I snapped. “Are you telling me those boxes are more important than spending time with me? I leave in the morning and we don’t know when we will see each other again.”

  I walked out the door and slammed it as hard as I c
ould. I’m not sure if I was upset about the stupid boxes or if the reality of the many miles between us was already weighing on me. Tears streaming down my face, I went for a brief walk, hoping to give us both a few minutes to clear the air. I returned to find the same scene I had left.

  He didn’t seem to care. The tears didn’t make him stop; he was a man on a mission. I turned the stove off and said, “Fine! Have it your way.” I grabbed a blanket and fell asleep on the couch. I awoke early to a hush that filled the air.

  My tears resurfaced as we drove to the airport. The silence was deafening. “Don’t you have anything to say?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  I got out of the car without saying a single word. I walked miserably through the airport, and the flight attendant on my plane even asked if someone close to me had died.

  “No, my boyfriend and I just ended our relationship,” I answered through muffled sobs.

  Two long weeks passed without a word from Troy. Then one evening my phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Rhonda, it’s me,” Troy said with an uncertain calm in his voice.

  My heart leaped, then sunk, then leaped again. I swallowed hard and tried to sound casual. “Well, hi. How’ve you been?”

  “Look, I just need to tell you something. I recently went out with someone,” he stammered.

  “What am I supposed to say, Troy?”

  “Rhonda, you don’t need to say anything. I wanted you to know that when I was with her, all I could think about was you. I now know that you are the one for me. That is if you will have me after the way I acted. Will you forgive me?”

  He’d said the words every woman longs to hear, and over the next several minutes we were chatting like two crazy teenagers catching up on the past two weeks we’d been apart.

  We made plans for him to fly to Little Rock on Labor Day weekend, and not a day passed when we didn’t talk. My heart’s fondness for him continued to grow.

  **********

  My work partner, Landis, had recently been promoted to the home office in Kansas City, Missouri. He asked if he and his fiancée could take me out to dinner to celebrate before moving. We decided on the last weekend of August, a week prior to Troy coming home.

  Landis told me to be ready by 6:00 p.m. I put on a little black leather skirt and leopard print sweater. My long hair had just the right amount of volume and my black suede heels finished the outfit nicely. I looked in the mirror and laughed, thinking about the looks I’d get if I wore this outfit in Bumpus Mills. Those sweet folks would surely think that I was working the corner of Second Avenue.

  I was standing by the door and waiting for Landis to arrive when I noticed a limousine driving slowly down my street. It came to a stop in front of my home. The driver got out and walked up to my door, asking for Landis.

  “Sir, you must be mistaken.”

  “If you are Rhonda, I know for certain that I’m to pick you up and take you to a restaurant called Graffiti’s. Landis must be paying for the bill.”

  I was shocked. “Well, I’m Rhonda, so let’s go.”

  As we approached the restaurant, the maître d’ walked to the limo and opened my door, greeting me with a smile.

  “Welcome, Miss Taylor.”

  My goodness, I wasn’t sure what to say. There was a line of people streaming from the door, all of them curious as to who had just arrived in the limo. The maître d’ took me to a table set for two.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I think there is a mistake. I’m meeting a couple. There should be three seats.”

  The maître d’ didn’t seem to listen but proceeded to pull my chair out for me to take a seat. A long-stemmed yellow rose lay before me—my favorite flower. A card with my name on it was lying next to the rose. My heart began to beat rapidly, even though I wasn’t sure why. Landis had become a good friend, but these details were over the top. I opened the card and read, “If you would like to have dinner with a very lonely gentleman, look over your shoulder.”

  I slowly turned around to see Troy walking toward me, dressed to the nines. I jumped out of my chair when I saw the joy written all over his face. As he reached for me, the overcrowded restaurant burst into applause. The noise surrounding us dissolved in the passion of our embrace.

  “I can’t believe you are here! I thought you were coming next weekend!” I beamed.

  I couldn’t restrain my tears as we sat down and our salads were placed on the table.

  “Troy, I’m not sure I can eat.”

  “Sweetheart, I have a very special evening planned. Just eat your salad,” he replied as he looked down at my plate.

  I followed his gaze and noticed my plate was different from his. I glanced into his eyes, searching for an explanation, but he only smiled. I carefully pushed the romaine to the side, exposing words etched in blue on the beautiful ceramic dish.

  My dearest Rhonda, my lover, my best friend;

  Till eternity with you I will spend.

  My wife, I hope you will be,

  So, my sweet Rhonda,

  Will you marry me?

  Troy, staring intently into my eyes, said, “Well? I’m waiting for an answer.”

  “Yes, Troy! I will!”

  He motioned for the headwaiter, who arrived at the table with a bottle of Dom Pérignon Champagne and popped the cork, indicating a reason to celebrate. Strangers around us shared our joy. Love was in the air as Troy’s kiss confirmed to the world that I’d said yes.

  My childhood dreams for a prince could not have imagined a more perfect proposal.

  Until that gnawing feeling returned.

  I sure hope the third time is a charm.

  I excused myself and made my way to the ladies’ room; diners throughout the room congratulated me along the way. I was so excited, yet that old familiar feeling of fear returned. I will not let anything spoil this night, I said to myself. I touched up my makeup and returned to the man who would become my third husband.

  When we arrived home, I told him I needed to call my mother to give her the news.

  “Mother…”

  “Hi, Honey. It’s awfully late. Why are you calling? Is everything okay?”

  It was good to hear her voice, but I was unsure how she would receive my news. I clung to the certainty that nothing would change her love for me.

  I said, “Yes, Mother. Troy proposed and we’re getting married!” I exclaimed, trembling from both fear and excitement.

  She paused, taking in the impact of what I was telling her. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Mother. I’m sure.” Am I sure? Am I trying to convince Mother or myself?

  No, I’m not sure. I mean, yes—I am sure, but I’m scared. Back and forth my mind raced.

  She quickly remarked, “Well, you don’t want to shoe the horse all the way around.”

  That was Mother’s way of saying I’d better not have to get married a fourth time. I assured her this was my third and final time to walk down the aisle.

  Troy had made plans the following day to visit a jeweler together, as he wanted to make sure that I loved the ring. His thoughtful heart calmed my anxiety.

  There was so much to talk about. We continued celebrating over lunch with a glass of wine and an appetizer, and I declared, “I have always wanted a Christmas wedding.”

  He almost choked on his cheese. He had done a lot of planning to make the proposal special, assuming there would be a long engagement. But as we talked, we both agreed that we didn’t want to be apart any longer than necessary.

  Little Rock seemed to be the perfect location for our wedding, and Troy determined that he would like to marry in the Catholic Church, which suited me fine. With so many plans and a short amount of time, we headed to a Catholic church he had visited on occasion.

  A priest met us and his very first question was, “Have either of you been married before?”

  “Yes, sir. I have. Actually, twice.”

  “Well, the church will be happy to marry you after
you go through an annulment process for each divorce.”

  Troy spoke up. “How long does that take?”

  “I’m afraid, son, that it could take quite some time.”

  I was crushed to have my past interfere with our wedding plans. Troy didn’t understand—nor agree—with the position of the church, and he told the priest exactly that.

  As we walked out, he said, “Let’s go to your church.”

  Admittedly, I was embarrassed to return to Brother James for a second marriage. And I secretly hoped he didn’t keep up with the attendance records.

  “Ok, Troy. Let’s go there now. Maybe we will be lucky enough to see him.”

  To my surprise and without any questions, Brother James said he was happy to marry us.

  “December second it is.”

  And just like that, the wedding plans were set in motion.

  **********

  Troy had never been married and wanted the entire kit and caboodle. My first wedding had been traditional, the second private and quaint. If the third time was to be the charm, we would need to make it memorable.

  Wearing white did not seem appropriate, so I chose to wear a fitted, dark-cream formal wedding dress laden with pearls and sequins. The neckline scooped low in the front and back, the sleeves long and puffed. I decided I would wear my hair up with a small poof for a veil that accentuated my big hair.

  The wedding plans came together quickly, with the festive holiday season providing a backdrop of lights and poinsettias. The bridesmaids would wear tea-length, dark-green skirts and low-cut, velvet black tops with rhinestone buttons. The men decided upon black tuxedos for the formal occasion.

  With the wedding plans in order, the focus shifted to the selling of my home. I put a FOR SALE BY OWNER sign in my yard and it only took one open house for it to sell. How could I be so lucky? I wondered.

  Our good fortune continued as we immediately found a new home in Canton, a city outside of Ann Arbor, Michigan, that was perfect for us. I’d be able to continue my career in the pharmaceutical industry from there. Everything was falling into place nicely, as though it was specially orchestrated.

 

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