Three Shoeboxes e-book

by Three Shoeboxes (epub)

  Turning his back to her, Mac started for the kitchen.

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Go wash your hands for dinner,” she instructed the kids, trying to remain positive. It wasn’t easy. For years, I’ve managed this house and raised our kids, she thought, and when it finally comes time for me to find my own success in the world, my husband’s going to be my biggest obstacle? She couldn’t believe it.

  ⧝

  A shroud of silence hung over the dinner table. There was no hiding it; the termite of miscommunication had taken a few nasty bites.

  “We need you here,” Mac finally blurted, sounding desperate.

  “I’ve been here, Mac,” Jen said, trying to remain calm. “Besides, the kids will be in school while I’m at work.” She studied him. “If we work together, there’s no reason we can’t…”

  He popped to his feet, threw his chair under the table and stormed off, leaving Jen absolutely befuddled.

  As she sat in quiet contemplation, trying to make sense of it all, it didn’t take long to decide, I’m taking the job. I need to. The health of my soul depends on it. She shook her head.

  There was silence, the kids squirming with the realization that their parents were engaged in another heated battle. “Why do you guys fight all the time now?” Bella asked.

  “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” Jen said. “This is between your father and me. We’ll be fine.”

  “Sure Mom,” Jillian mumbled sarcastically, her mouth still swollen.

  They all looked at their mom in disbelief.

  “Just finish your dinner, please,” she told them.

  The anxious silence droned on.

  ⧝

  After tucking the young ones in, Jen found her puffy-eyed husband sitting in his recliner staring off into space. We need to talk this out, she thought. “Ready for bed?” she asked Mac.

  He nodded and, without a word, followed her into the bedroom. As she got changed, she watched him strip to his underwear, turn on the TV and sit at the edge of the bed, entranced. She took a seat beside him. “All right now, do you want to tell me what’s going on? We’ve had a plan in place for years and now it’s a problem.”

  He stared at the TV.

  Momentarily abandoning her hope of discussing the newspaper job, she adjusted her focus. “Just because Dr. Lawrence didn’t work out, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t find a therapist who can…” She stopped.

  He continued to stare at the TV.

  She grabbed the remote, turned off the set and stood in front of him.

  He gazed up, almost catatonically. “I’m fine, babe,” he lied.

  To her surprise, those three dismissive words unlocked an arsenal of dark emotions that she didn’t realize she’d been keeping at bay. “You’re not fine,” she snapped back. “You won’t tell me what’s going on with you, but you stomp around this house angry at everyone. I don’t even know if you’re still getting the anxiety attacks. Or if you’ve completely swapped out your medicine for alcohol.”

  Mac could barely maintain eye contact.

  Jen stared at him. “I’ve tried to figure out how I can help you, Mac, and make things better. I swear I have. I’ve asked again and again, but you won’t let me in.” She paused, trying to remove the quiver from her voice. “If you want to lock me out, then there’s nothing…”

  “I think my creative juices have dried up on me,” he mumbled, an explanation that seemed to surprise him even more than her.

  What? He’s never failed at work, she thought. Why does he fear it now? “Don’t be stupid,” she told him, “you’re the best in the business. I know it. You know it. And everyone else knows it, especially Ross.”

  Mac offered a half-smile in trade for her encouragement.

  “Is that what this is all about?” she asked.

  He looked into her eyes; it only lasted a moment but it was a glimpse of her husband, the man that hadn’t been around for weeks.

  “And I’m not sure you still remember,” she whispered playfully into his ear, jumping at the chance to connect on a deeper level with him, “but work isn’t the only thing you’re good at.”

  His eyes had already drifted off. “Huh?” he asked. “What?”

  Jen said nothing, a heavy sigh her only proof of frustration.

  Mac returned to reality for a moment. “Come here,” he said.

  Almost involuntarily, she rolled onto him, where they started to play and become intimate.

  Suddenly, Mac froze. “Wait,” he said, “I… I can’t.”

  Are you kidding me? Jen thought, releasing another sigh.

  “I’m sorry, babe, but I just had an idea,” he said, pushing her off him. “If I don’t write this stuff down now…” He jumped up and headed for the door, leaving his wife half-naked.

  “Fine,” she said, hardly concealing her disappointment, “get to work then. I’m going to sleep.”

  ⧝

  Without accomplishing anything significant, Mac returned to bed a few hours later. He looked at his wife. She’s already sleeping, he thought. It must be nice. He sat on the edge of the bed, preparing to face another bout with pain. She has no idea, he thought, never considering that this truth was of his own doing. His fear-inspired insomnia had become a nightly routine. I can’t get any rest or find any peace. He looked at Jen again. I can’t feel anything but fear and sorrow now.

  ⧝

  Jen awoke early to find Mac already gone. Sitting erect, she slid up in the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. She stared at the empty pillow beside her, thinking, I can’t believe how much Mac has changed. As much as she was concerned about him, she was equally bewildered. He’s become a shadow of the man I’ve always known, she realized, but the real reasons for this remained a puzzle with several missing pieces. She’d never felt so frustrated and scared.

  ⧝

  Jen’s right, Mac thought on his way to work, but the idea of her leaving the house now— Panic plucked another cord in his heart, causing shivers.

  On the drive, he pondered how much he’d changed. What’s odd is that daily stressors don’t seem to be real factors at all. In fact, he was so wired all the time that he actually felt comfortable under duress. It’s when I’m at ease that the world begins to unravel and I can’t breathe or swallow or even walk. If he was sitting still, he’d suddenly want to jump up and flee from some invisible enemy. And when I’m in public, I feel like the walls are closing in all around me and I’m going to lash out and hurt someone. He shook his head. Even during prayer, I can’t avoid the feeling of being in danger. Often, he found himself alone in the living room, drinking vodka and wondering when and if his courage would ever return. I probably shouldn’t have stopped talking to Jen about all of this, he thought, but I’d rather she focus on the kids until I can get my shit together. The idea of being a selfish father seemed much more painful than the torment he suffered alone.

  Chapter 7

  The Anderson family—minus Jillian—was seated at the kitchen table, preparing to dive into another home-cooked dinner.

  “Where’s…” Mac began to ask.

  Without a word, Jillian took a seat at the table. Her face was flush.

  She’s been crying, Mac realized. “What’s wrong?” he asked, as he reached for the bowl of mash potatoes.

  “Nothing,” Jillian said, trying to dismiss him with a subtle shake of her head.

  “I asked you what’s wrong,” he barked, making her eyes go wide and her siblings sit up straight.

  “The kid that’s been bullying me,” she began, clearly trying to contain her emotions, “no matter what I say or do, he won’t stop.”

  Mac dropped the big plastic spoon. “You’re being bullied?” he asked, feeling his own face burn red. A cauldron of rage bubbled just beneath the surface.

  Jillian nodded. “And he’s relentles
s,” she muttered.

  Mac studied his daughter’s avoiding eyes. She’s legitimately scared, he thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jen squirming in her seat.

  “He keeps calling me a lesbian,” Jillian added, “and…”

  “Why is he calling you a lesbian?” Mac interrupted, distracted from his rising anger. “Not that there’s anything wrong with…”

  “I know that, Dad, but I’m not a lesbian,” Jillian huffed. “He’s just trying to hurt me and get other people to join in the fun.”

  Mac was now on his feet. “How long has this been going on?” he growled.

  Bella and Brady began nervously fidgeting in their chairs.

  “It started at the end of school last year,” Jillian explained, “but then he started bullying me on Facebook this summer. I told Mom…”

  “What?” Mac screeched, redirecting his attention toward his wife. “You knew about this?” he roared, spittle flying from his bottom lip.

  Eyes wide, Jen nodded. “Yes, Mac, I did. Jillian told me that some punk was…”

  “And you kept it from me?” he interrupted.

  “I didn’t keep anything from you. Jill and I talked about it, and she wanted to handle it herself.”

  “And you didn’t think I needed to know about it?”

  Peering into his eyes, Jen leaned in to Mac—as though she were about to speak in code—and said, “You had other things going on and didn’t need anything more to worry about.”

  “I’m her father,” Mac snapped back, unwilling to even entertain that his wife had been considerate. “It’s my job to protect this family.” He shook his head. “But I can’t do my job if I don’t know what’s going on around here, can I?” He looked toward Jillian. “Who is this little bastard?”

  Bella and Brady began to cry.

  The panic in Jillian’s eyes grew. “He’s no one, Dad. I’ll…I’ll make him stop.”

  “Oh, I think we’re beyond that now,” Mac said. “I want his name and I want to know where he lives.”

  “No Dad, please,” the teenager begged, “he’s just a stupid kid.”

  “I’m not going to say a word to him, Jill. But his father and I are going to have a nice heart-to-heart talk.” Mac could feel a river of adrenaline rushing through his throbbing veins.

  “But Dad…”

  “Mac,” Jen interjected; she was now on her feet as well.

  Whimpers from Bella and Brady played dreadfully in the background.

  “What’s his name, Jill?” Mac asked, ignoring his pleading wife and frightened young ones.

  Jillian hung her head and began to cry. “Ronnie Stevens.”

  “And where does this Ronnie Stevens live?”

  “You can’t go over there, Mac,” Jen protested. “There are other ways we can deal with this.”

  “Where?” Mac yelled, still focused on his teenage daughter.

  “On…on Gifford Road,” she whimpered, “the green house right on the side of the school.”

  Mac threw his chair under the table and marched toward the front door.

  “Mac, don’t,” Jen yelled, on his heels. “It’ll only make things worse.”

  “I’ll never tell him anything again,” Jillian called out from the kitchen before joining her sister and brother in a chorus of sobs.

  Mac never looked back. “Let’s see if the little bastard ever bullies you again,” he said and, with a primal grunt, slammed the front door behind him.

  ⧝

  Before he knew it, Mac was standing on the front step of the Stevens’ green house. He pushed the doorbell, never letting up.

  The front door flew open, replaced by an annoyed man standing in the threshold. “What is it?” the homeowner asked, clearly not happy with the rude intrusion.

  “Are you Ronnie Stevens’ father?” Mac asked, getting right to the point.

  “Who the hell are you?” Mr. Stevens asked.

  “The name’s Mac Anderson and my daughter, Jillian, just told me that your son’s been bullying her.”

  Mr. Stevens’ brow folded in disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like Ronnie.”

  “Because he’s a great kid,” Mac jumped in, “and he’d never do something like that, right?”

  “Listen buddy…”

  “No, you listen, buddy. If you can’t teach your kid to be a gentleman, I’m happy to come back and teach him the lesson myself.”

  “Is that a threat?” Mr. Stevens’ stammered, his voice rising a full octave.

  “Oh, not at all, buddy. It’s a promise,” Mac said through gritted teeth. Throbbing with rage, he took a step forward, causing Mr. Stevens to backpedal into his house. “Just make sure Ronnie leaves my daughter alone.” Mac turned and started down the steps.

  “If you ever come back here again,” Mr. Stevens called out, trying to retain some dignity, “I’m calling the police.”

  Mac stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turned and glared at the wide-eyed man. “And if your son ever picks on my girl again, the cops won’t be able to help either one of you.”

  ⧝

  Trembling from anger, Mac sat in his parked car for a long while. What the hell was that? he wondered, realizing that he’d completely lost control. I’ve never threatened a person in my life.

  ⧝

  The next few days whipped by in some trance-like blur for Mac. On Saturday, the last family outing of the summer was planned for the local zoo. Even in the thick heat, a frigidness hung between him and Jen.

  “Did you remember to pack the cooler with ice?” she asked him on the drive there.

  “I don’t remember you asking me to,” he countered.

  “I have to remind you to fill the cooler with ice now?” she said.

  “How’s that?” he asked, his blood pressure on the rise.

  She never responded; she just looked at him with a blank face.

  “If you have something to say, Jen, then…”

  Jillian cleared her throat loudly in the back seat. “Another fantastic family memory,” she mumbled under her breath.

  The car returned to silence.

  ⧝

  As if they were on a mission, every animal from the white tiger to the three-toed sloth was visited. While Mac spent time explaining and discussing each species, Jen took charge of the picture taking and distribution of snacks. Toward the end of their concrete safari, Brady noticed one of the zoo keepers standing inside of the lion’s enclosure.

  “Hey look, Dad,” the excited boy called out, “that guy’s standing right near the lion and he doesn’t even look afraid.”

  Mac wrapped his arm around his son’s shoulder. “Now that’s a brave man, huh? I bet if you wanted to, Brady, you could be a zoo keeper when you grow up.”

  Brady shook his head. “No Dad,” he said with conviction, “when I grow up, I want to be just like you.”

  Jen walked away from the lion’s enclosure with Jillian and Bella in tow.

  Taken aback by the sincerity in his young son’s voice, Mac’s eyes watered. “No son,” he whispered under his breath, “you can do a lot better than that.”

  “Can we get ice cream now?” Brady asked, hurrying to catch up with his mother and sisters.

  “You can get anything you want, buddy,” Mac called out, lagging behind the group.

  ⧝

  The newspaper read September 4. Jen gushed over her first published by-line since returning to work. On his way by her desk, Joe Bigelow stopped. “It didn’t take you long to keep your promise, Jen,” he said. “Great piece on the Board of Health cover up. I’m not sure they appreciate it, but I do.” He winked. “It’s a fine piece of journalism.”

  Jen couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so proud—or happy.

  Abigail Rose stepped up next and patted her on the back
. “You’ve even made me look good,” she whispered, “so I’m buying lunch.”

  Joel Ward, the newspaper’s photographer, quickly joined in on the celebration. “Did I hear someone mention a free lunch,” he teased, “’cause this diva’s famished.” He jammed his ring-clad thumb into his chest.

  The girls laughed.

  “Fine,” Abigail said, “but Jen can order whatever she wants.” She looked back at Joel. “And you’re being held to a ten-dollar limit.”

  Laughing, the three of them headed off to the local pub. Even with all the excitement, Jen thought, I can’t wait to get home and share this with Mac. Her proud eyes misted over. He’ll finally be able to understand what this work means to me.

  ⧝

  It was nearly five o’clock before Jen arrived home, beaming like a kid on Christmas Eve. Her pocketbook wasn’t even off her shoulder when she shoved her first article in Mac’s face. “It just ran this morning,” she said, unable to contain her excitement. “Joe told me he thinks it’s a great piece.”

  While Mac slowly read the article, Jen spoke to Jillian about the “incredible” photographer who’d been assigned to her. “Joel’s photography is the best I’ve ever seen,” she said excitedly. “He’s got such a way of expressing his passions through his work.”

  “Really?” Mac blurted. sarcastically.

  “He’s really good, Mac,” Jen said, innocently.

  “Well, good for Joel,” Mac said before folding up the newspaper and handing it back to her. “Nicely done,” he said before nonchalantly patting her arm. “Congratulations.” His words echoed with emptiness.

  She felt crushed. If he was any more excited about my success, he’d be sleeping, she thought and began to cry.

  Ignoring her, Mac turned to his daughter. “Come on, Jillian, you need to finish your summer assignment. Get it out. I’ll help you.”

  He’s so cold, Jen thought, throwing a dishtowel across the kitchen and rushing out of the room. That’s the last time I share any of my writing with him, she thought, the hurt and regret growing stronger. I should’ve known better, she cursed herself.