ABOUT HER

by Kimberly Adams

  Cal listened. He answered me with an eyeroll. “Are you plotting a new book?”

  I threw my hands in the air, backing against the bookshelf. “Jesus. Never mind. I don’t know what’s going on and I’m done talking to you.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you getting so worked up?”

  I pinched my eyes closed.

  Always. Always, the same statements.

  Why are you so upset? So overdramatic? Making a big deal out of nothing?

  I remembered Cal was cold. Cal was the month of March in Ohio, when everyone craved spring with every ounce of their remaining sanity. Cal was the frigid snow that kept entering the forecast. Even though I chose to live in Ohio, I was always disappointed by the snow in March. But the snow didn’t give a crap about me. The snow kept coming.

  Some winters would be relentless. Some winters would have these surprise, seventy-degree days peppered throughout the arctic void of November through March, giving you just enough hope to hang in there. Just enough to remember what the other seasons were like.

  So you kept on going. Those beautiful days, when the ice melted and the rivers and streams and creeks flooded the pothole paradise of our roads, and you could catch a small glimpse of the spring that was bound to come eventually.

  It always came. Cal always warmed up again. Cal always came around, if only for a little while.

  I remembered taking a walk alone in the woods that March after we divorced, and I was thinking about how the Ohio winters were like my marriage.

  My failed marriage. My marriage that was over. My marriage to the stranger.

  That’s how I thought of him. The stranger. The man who was the father of my children, my first love, and the best actor I’d ever known. In his defense, he wasn’t truly an actor. He was a sociopath, who knew no other way to be but his way, to get his way. I sidestepped a protruding root in the ground and thought of him spread out on a cold slab in the morgue, with the team from CSI discussing his case as they referred to an old MRI he’d had done of his brain, years before.

  “His frontal lobe lights up like a firecracker. How could the doctors not have known he was a psychopath? His poor widow. How he must have tortured her.”

  Groaning, I felt my phone vibrate in the pocket of my dry-fit jacket.

  Cal. “Hey. Sorry I missed your call,” I said, which was code for I ignored your call because I hate your voice.

  I remembered that day so vividly, because it was the day. The day I’d wanted to come so badly since the moment he ran out the door and ran to Lana. That cold March day in Ohio, I’d been with Jake for only two months, long enough to love him harder than I’d ever loved Cal.

  I walked to the edge of the ravine, staring at the rushing river water. My fingers traced a knot on the tree as I struggled with my irrational heartbeat.

  “Hey,” he answered, clearing his throat. “That’s okay. I was trying to get Leah’s passport, but they want the custody paperwork.”

  I sighed, wrapping my arm around the small oak tree for support. Leah was trying to go away for the weekend with her best friend’s family to Canada and needed a passport. Cal insisted he could take care of it, but I knew it’d come down to him calling me for help.

  “God. Everyone wants that novel,” I said, referring to our shared parenting agreement.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  I hated when he used that tone. Pitying. Feigned concern. And yet the betrayed wife that I was soaked it up and reveled in his attention.

  The trained wife.

  The abused wife.

  The ex-wife.

  “Hanging in there,” I said. In truth, it’d been a terrible day. A nervous breakdown day. A day I had to leave work in tears and walk through the woods to clear my head. I’d made it into the office that day thanks to Jake, which was hard enough sometimes, but Cal had texted me just as I started working.

  Cal: I hate myself for what I did. Something happened. Something so small and insignificant but I am so small and petty that I spin it and piss myself off. You’ve seen me do it a million times. But you know me well enough not to put me in that situation.

  That text. That jumbled, run-on text.

  The first indication that maybe there was trouble in paradise. The first hint that maybe, just maybe, Cal had regrets.

  Maybe Lana wasn’t all that he’d ever wanted.

  Cal sighed. “Sorry about my text. I know it was kind of cryptic, and I didn’t mean for it to be... you know, she just said something that pissed me off, and you know me so well... you know what to say and what not to say, and... anyway, sorry.”

  Oh, how I ate that shit up.

  “What did she say?” I edged, cautious.

  “Nothing. Something. It doesn’t matter. It just made me realize how...”

  “How what?”

  Yeah, I bit.

  “How I wish I could go back. Change everything. Go back in time.”

  I gripped the tree.

  There it was.

  All the tears, all the heartbreak, all the sadness.

  Oh, how I’d imagined that moment.

  “Go back,” I repeated, my breath caught in my throat.

  “Yeah. I was talking to my buddy at work about that job in North Carolina. Why don’t we just go?”

  “We?”

  I was afraid I’d snap my phone in half.

  “Us. You, me, and the kids. Pick up and start over. Forget Lana. Forget Jake. Pretend none of this ever happened.”

  I shook my head at the river.

  Pretend.

  Pretend none of this had happened? Pretend that I could ever touch his skin again and not imagine her whore hands all over him? Pretend he hadn’t fucked her and lied for months, or hadn’t thought about her while he was lying in bed next to me? Pretend?

  Pretend I wasn’t starting to finally wake up from the fog of abuse and torture that he’d put me through?

  And then, I answered.

  “I love Jake,” I heard myself say, and my heart fluttered to support my voice. “I am in love with him.”

  “You barely know him,” he said, without a moment of hesitation.

  “I know him better than I knew you, obviously.”

  The snap in my tone was enough to put him back on guard. “Yeah, whatever. I gotta go.”

  He disconnected.

  I lowered my phone, slipping it into my pocket.

  That one text, only a couple months after he’d moved in with Lana, had evolved over the past few years into him screaming at Lana upstairs about how she was useless and I was perfect.

  I went home that night and told Jake about my phone call with Cal.

  “Lizzie,” Jake said, pulling me into his arms. “If you still want to work on your marriage, I won’t be the one to stand in the way of a family. I won’t be that guy.”

  I widened my eyes, appalled. That early into our relationship, Jake knew some of the things Cal had done, but he didn’t know the entirety. He didn’t know the monster that I’d lived with for most of my marriage.

  “No, Jake. No. Even if I wasn’t with you, I wouldn’t be with Cal. I’ll never be with Cal again.”

  He smiled then, the widest smile he’d ever given me.

  “Listen,” Cal said, pulling me out of my pit of memories and back to the library. “I have my gun. She’s a woman. What do you think is going to happen, Lizzie?”

  “I know you don’t think much of women, but as a gender, we’re pretty damn clever.”

  “Why is everything an argument with you?”

  I pinched my eyes shut. “I paid a lot of money so I don’t have to argue with you anymore. Consider yourself warned. I’ve done my due diligence.”

  When I opened my eyes, he started to say something, but Virginia was bustling into the parlor.

  “Dinner is served! Come now, let’s all gather at the table. I imagine Jake should be arranging that tow about now, so you’ll want full stomachs for the ride home.”


  I didn’t look at Cal again as I made my way to the dining room. Lana was setting a casserole dish in the center of the table, and I cringed at the squish of the oversized spoon as she shoved the utensil into the concoction. “I made your favorite, Cal,” she said. “Garlic cheddar chicken.”

  His favorite? “Aren’t you still lactose intolerant?” I asked Cal.

  Lana blinked, staring at him with wide eyes.

  Cal shrugged, choosing a chair. “Eh, it comes and goes.”

  “Is that why you’re always in the bathroom after I make this?” Lana demanded, and I chuckled at her very personal comment.

  “Thanks,” he snapped at her.

  “I just mean...” she trailed off, choosing the chair across the table from him. “Sorry.”

  “I grew out of it,” Cal replied, and I rolled my eyes, irritated as Virginia chose the seat next to Lana. I was stuck sitting next to Cal unless I chose a chair at the head of the table, which would be directly between Cal and Lana.

  No thanks.

  “Human bodies don’t just grow out of lactose intolerance, but okay,” I said, mostly under my breath. “Mm, garlic. Yum.”

  Virginia poured us all glasses of an expensive looking riesling, and I accepted graciously.

  “Cal always says my cooking is delicious,” Lana snapped. “He’s always boasting about my skills.”

  I ignored her stupid jibes, wondering if ‘boasting’ was on her word-of-the-day calendar.

  Sometimes I pitied her. There she was, flattering herself and reliving the memories of the one- or two-times Cal had complimented her cooking.

  “It really is,” I forced, taking a small bite. After I chewed and swallowed, I said, “Cal was always complimenting my organization skills, like the way I could organize all of the take-out menus in our town in a binder. Color-coded tabs. Laminated even.”

  Cal chuckled next to me, nodding. “Yep. She even wrote little notes, like ‘average delivery time’ or ‘charges extra for substitutes.’” He grinned at me. “Do you still have that binder?”

  I shook my head. “No. I left it at the house when we sold it.”

  “That had to be expensive,” Lana chimed in, taking a sip of water. “Eating out all the time.”

  I met her eyes. “Well, two income household. Both parents working full time. It gets busy and hectic.”

  There was my you have no job jibe. Score one for immaturity.

  “Well, there’s nothing like a home-cooked meal,” she said. “It’s the way to a man’s heart, you know,” she added.

  Snide.

  “You’re assuming that every man has a heart,” Virginia said before I could fling a spoonful of cheesy garlic bullshit at Lana’s face.

  Cal laughed again. “Oooh, burn,” he said, nodding at Virginia.

  Cal sat at the table like he was the prize at a tennis match, and I refused to spar with Lana for one more second. “Come to think of it, you know what I still do have?” I asked. “Your salt and pepper shakers. You know, the wooden ones? You can have those back if you want. I think you said they were a gift at for your first wedding, for you and Mary.”

  Lana speared a piece of chicken. “That’s not necessary.”

  I smirked. “I keep them in my kitchen, like little trophies. Kind of like ‘I Survived Being Married to Cal’ awards.” I was laughing now, and Virginia laughed with me, the sparkle in her eyes shimmering with genuine amusement. “I’ll pass them on to you when it’s your turn,” I offered Lana.

  Gloves were off, and cattiness took a back seat to full-on anger. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

  “Lizzie, knock it off,” Cal snapped.

  I settled back in my chair with my glass of wine.

  They ate and I sipped my wine, exchanging glances with Virginia. I wasn’t going to eat another bite of Lana’s food, and Virginia knew it. “I made a marvelous pie for dessert. Let me go slice us all a piece.”

  When she left the dining room, Cal turned to me, narrowing his eyes. “What in the hell is your problem?”

  I heard music begin from the kitchen. The Beatles again.

  Hey, Jude.

  So loud.

  Too loud.

  “I don’t have a problem, Cal. Lana is desperate for your attention, and I was merely giving her something to feel desperate about.”

  Hey, Jude.

  “Fuck you,” she retorted, slamming her fork onto the table.

  Everything happened slowly, but all at once.

  Cal pressed his hand to his forehead, folding over before sliding off his chair. I watched in incomprehensible confusion as he landed in a heap on the carpeted floor.

  “Cal?” Lana cried, bursting to her feet.

  Hey, Jude.

  She swayed, gripping the table and trying to focus.

  After a moment, she dropped to her knees, bringing her plate down with her. Cheese and chicken smacked the red carpeting.

  Lana was unconscious.

  I looked down at my wine glass, realization settling in my gut like I’d swallowed entire rocks.

  “Oh, not to worry, dear,” Virginia said as she returned to the table, setting a piece of pie in front of me. “There’s only a mild sedative in your glass. You see, I decided it was time,” she began, settling back in her chair. She made no attempt to see to either Cal or Lana.

  My heartbeat thundered in my chest before slowing considerably. I gripped the stem of the glass, biting my lower lip.

  “Time?” I ventured, my lungs refusing to function properly.

  She nodded, sliding her fork into a piece of warm cherry pie. “It’s time, Lizzie. You’ve lived through more than any woman should. More than any mother should. You try to wear a smile, but I can see through your smile. I can see your pain. I can hear you talk about Leah and Clay, your precious two remaining children. I know Lilly isn’t here on this earth anymore. Once, but no longer. And there is no accountability. And you’re tortured. And the torture must end. It’s time for Cal and Lana to pay for their sins.”

  TWELVE

  Cal and I dated each other for four months at the end of 1997. He was in the midst of his first divorce, and he was my first relationship. I couldn’t quite remember those months as a romance, since it was mostly one-sided. I idealized Cal, though his behaviors would have been red flags to any educated, experienced woman.

  Alcoholism.

  Narcissism.

  Abuse.

  In January, Cal called me at my video store and told me it was over. “We’re in two different places,” he said quickly. “You’re going to college. I want a family. I’m just going to end up hurting you.”

  Oh, it hurt, just like the first break-up does. The pain was unbearable at times. I threw myself into my college courses, making the Dean’s List for the first time that semester. I clung to my friends. To Trina. To my sister. To the memory of what I’d been before Cal.

  And I started to get better. By April, I was moving on. Confident, clear-headed, and realizing that my relationship with Cal had been unhealthy.

  Toxic.

  “He saved you by breaking up with you,” Trina reminded me. “He was bad news, Lizzie. He liked to hurt you and disappoint you.”

  Trina was wise beyond her years.

  In April, one late night at the video store, the phone rang. Trina answered it, then scowled. I met her eyes.

  “Here. It’s Cal, and he sounds drunk,” she whispered, handing me the phone.

  My heart had clenched, stopped beating, and then leapt out of my chest, all at once. I hadn’t spoken to Cal in months, and I hadn’t been prepared for that feeling.

  “Hello?” I managed.

  “Lizzie, I need to ask you a question,” Cal said, clearly hammered. I wrinkled my nose at Trina, rolling my eyes.

  “Okay. What?” I asked, trying to puff up my feathers and put on my guard.

  “Do you still love me?”

  The words hung in the air, bitter, like a shot of expensive perfume at a department
store that you hadn’t really asked for but agreed to anyway. You knew your hands and your clothes would smell like the perfume for the rest of the day, and eventually it’d give you a headache.

  I hesitated for a moment. One brief, foolish moment.

  “Yes I still love you, Cal,” I said.

  He groaned. “See, that’s what I was afraid of. I miss you and I want to be friends with you, but we can’t be friends if you still love me. It would just complicate everything.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Aren’t you dating someone?” I’d asked.

  I knew he was. I’d heard through the grapevine that he was dating a woman with a little girl.

  “Oh, that’s over. She was crazy. She actually called the cops on me! She got pissed off about something I said in the car, and I slammed on the brakes and she took that as a threat or something and called the police on me. Said I held a knife to her, but we were just joking around. Crazy bitch.”

  I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me.

  More red flags that had begun to drip dye, staining my innocent mind.

  “That is crazy,” I’d agreed, my teenage self reveling in his words. It wasn’t easy to find information about an ex in 1998. There was no social media, and cell phones were few and far between.

  It made it that much easier to move on after a break-up.

  No contact.

  “Right. So, I want to be friends and I miss you, but we can’t if you still love me.”

  “Okay then, I don’t love you,” I said.

  Most desperately.

  “You just said you did.”

  Customers were piling up.

  “I’d rather be friends with you than nothing at all,” I said.

  He was hungry. I was feeding him. Some people ordered fried food at the bar. Jalapeno poppers. Chili fries.

  Cal ordered an Eager, Desperate, Ego-Stroking Lizzie, what would become his favorite snack in the coming years.

  “Okay then, let me think about it. I’ll call you this weekend.”

  And that was that.

  The mind-fuckery began that night, and it lasted from April until June.