⧝
In their darkened bedroom, Mac threw on a pair of pajama bottoms. Jen wore an old nightgown. Both bitter and exhausted, they slid beneath the bed covers.
Jen’s cell phone rang. She grabbed the phone, looked at the caller ID and sent the call to voicemail.
“Who the hell’s calling you at this time of night?” Mac asked, feeling his hackles rise.
“It was Joel, my photographer at work.”
“Why is he calling you so late?”
“How do I know?” she said. “I didn’t take the call, did I?”
“It seems strange to me that some guy…”
“Joel’s not some guy,” Jen said, cutting him off. “He’s gay.”
“Sure, he is,” Mac responded, still on the defensive.
While moonlight illuminated Jen’s silhouette, she rolled over, placing her back to Mac. “He is gay, Mac,” she repeated. “Not that it should make a difference either way.”
“What does that mean?” Mac asked.
“It means that there’s no reason for you to be jealous. I would never…”
“I’m not jealous,” Mac quickly countered.
“Okay,” she said and lay motionless—her back still to him.
In the silence, he shook his head. “Well, goodnight,” he muttered, stretching to give her a kiss.
Although subtle, she moved away from him.
“What is it now?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, yawning, “I’m just not feeling well, that’s all. Is that okay?”
“I guess it has to be okay, doesn’t it?” he snickered. “Seems to me that you’re the one who should go see a doctor,” he continued. “You haven’t felt well for a while.” There was an aggravated pause. “At least not with me.”
“What are you talking about? I tried to initiate lovemaking with you a few days ago.”
He said nothing.
“And what does that mean,” she exploded, “at least not with you?”
“Nothing,” Mac muttered in a whisper. “Joel’s gay, right?”
Sighing heavily, Jen shifted her weight, trying to settle into a comfortable position for the night.
While Mac placed his hands behind his head and stared into the darkness, Jen pretended to fall asleep—again. But her frigidness would prove no match for the unforgiving anxiety that was preparing to steal Mac’s sleep. He was already filled with worry over Jen having an affair at work. Jen claims Joel’s gay, but he’s definitely trying to get close to her. In one part of his brain, the idea of his wife cheating was absolutely ludicrous. But logic wasn’t actually in command most of the time now. How does she know he’s gay? Mac wondered. His imagination was in high gear and his thought process wasn’t about to take him to any place nice.
⧝
During breakfast, Jen never even looked at Mac. She’s still pissed off, he thought. “No breakfast today?” he asked.
“There are bagels in the fridge,” she said, finally acknowledging his presence. “They’re easy enough to toast.”
A sucker shot of anger made his face burn. He stood to leave the room.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
“I need to get ready for work,” he said, glaring at her.
“I told you,” she said, shaking her head, “Joe set a ten o’clock deadline for me, so you’ll have to truck the kids around today.” She began writing instructions.
“Well, isn’t that considerate of Joe?” Mac said, rage boiling up in him. “Doesn’t he remember you still have kids? I don’t understand why he can’t assign the early assignments to someone else.”
On cue, all three kids got up from the table, threw their breakfast dishes into the sink and hurried out of the room—a bad look from Jillian being left behind.
Jen sighed, halting Mac’s spiel. “Joe also understands that the kids have a father,” she countered, her words dripping with sarcasm.
Mac was beside himself. “I have work too!” he yelled.
Jen continued to write. “Then you’ll need to work something out, won’t you? They’re your kids, too, Mac.” As he struggled to maintain his composure, she added. “They can take the bus this morning, but you’ll need to pick them up from school.” She slid the paper toward him. “I’ve written the times down here.”
Mac gritted his teeth, but before he could speak Jen rattled off a list of places to transport the kids. “Jill is staying after for basketball practice. Bella has to be at dance by four and Brady usually gets a snack as soon as he gets home.”
You can’t be friggin’ serious, he thought.
“He likes those animal crackers,” she finished.
“Are you sure that’s everything, Jen,” he barked, “‘cause God knows I don’t have any work of my own to get done.”
“Welcome to parenthood, Mac,” she said, minus the venom he’d injected into his words. “I’ll bring home take-out, so the kids will have something to eat for dinner.” She left the kitchen, said goodbye to the kids in the living room and shut the front door behind her.
“Damn it!” Mac moaned, snatching the paper off the table and looking at it. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.” For a moment, he stared at the door, feeling dizzy on the toxic cocktail of emotions that fizzed inside him.
⧝
Mac entered the living room to find Jillian, Bella and Brady already dressed for school and watching TV.
“Did you guys eat breakfast?” he asked, at a loss over their normal routine.
They all nodded, never looking away from the TV.
“Yup,” Jillian said, “you saw us eat breakfast.”
“Everybody have a snack,” he asked, ignoring her disrespectful tone, “or whatever you need for school?”
They all nodded, still hypnotized.
“Yup,” Jillian said.
Clueless, he continued his line of questioning. “Everybody’s homework’s done?”
“We don’t have homework yet, Dad,” Bella said, her eyes glued to the TV. “We just started school.”
Mac stepped in front of the television.
“We still have five minutes, Dad,” Brady groaned.
“But I have work to get done,” Mac said, “that is, if you don’t mind.” He looked at Jillian. “Can you walk them to the bus stop?”
“Sure, but Mom usually…”
“Good,” he said, cutting her off. “Then I’ll pick you up after school.”
“Do you know the times?” Jillian asked, skeptically.
Mac nodded, displaying his instructions. “Mom was nice enough to write them down for me.”
Picking up on the sarcasm, Jillian rolled her eyes.
After Bella and Brady kissed their dad, the kids left the house for school.
Mac looked at Jen’s instructions one more time and, shaking his head, threw it onto the end table. He picked up his cell phone and dialed. “Hi Barbara, it’s Mac. Please tell Ross I’ll be working from home again today.” He nodded. “Thanks.”
With a pad of paper in his lap, he tried to do some work—but struggled terribly with it. This is pathetic, he thought. As he started to fidget, he grabbed the remote control. The TV was a nice distraction and he watched for a few minutes before nodding off.
⧝
Mac watched as Jen and the kids sat parked in an abandoned lot, laughing over something Mac couldn’t make out. Out of nowhere, a speeding car slammed into the side of their van, nearly tipping it onto its side. Mac screamed out, but there was no sound. He tried to run to his family but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. He saw Jillian’s face in the passenger window; it was dripping in blood. He screamed again. There was silence. And then Jillian turned to look at him, only it wasn’t Jillian’s face any more. It was a boy, a teenage boy, begging for Mac’s help.
�
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Glistening in sweat, Mac awakened. Trying to recapture his stolen breath, he sat up straight and waited for reality to take hold. He glanced down at his wristwatch. “Oh shit,” he said, jumping to his feet. He began searching frantically for the paper detailing the kids’ pick-up times. He found it on the end table. After a quick glance, even more panic flooded him. Damn it, he thought before sprinting out of the house to get the kids. The entire day’s gone without a lick of work to show for it, he realized. I’m so screwed.
⧝
Jillian, Bella and Brady stampeded into the house, with Mac behind them. “Guys, I still need to finish up some work,” he told them, “so I’ll be in the kitchen. Do you have homework to get done?”
“Not yet, Dad,” Bella answered. “We just started the new school year.”
Mac nodded. “That’s right, you told me that already. Then watch TV or go upstairs and play…whatever. Just keep it down so I can get my work done.”
“I’m hungry, Dad,” Brady said.
“Then go grab a snack, Brady. Mom said she’s bringing home take-out for dinner.”
While the kids headed for their bedrooms, Mac grabbed his papers and moved to the kitchen to work alone on a new project. Scott bailed me out on the Woodpine deal, he thought, but it isn’t going to go that way again. He pondered the recent weeks of failure at work and felt disappointed in himself for letting everyone down, especially himself. And this new project is already threatening to make or break my career.
⧝
As Mac paced the floor, one creative block after the other triggered the start of another anxiety attack. He couldn’t concentrate and was pouring a drink to relax when Brady and Sophie barged in.
“Dad, can I…”
“Get out!” Mac screamed at his son. “I told you I’m trying to get some work done in here. Get out now!”
The young boy stood frozen in shock, while Sophie bared her tiny teeth and growled.
Jillian burst into the room, grabbed Brady and shot her dad a look that made a panic attack seem like a giggle fit. “He was only looking for a snack, Dad,” she said disgustedly before pushing Brady out of the room, with Sophie on their heels.
“Damn it,” Mac roared, tossing a ream of papers into the air. As they floated to the floor, he stood and finished pouring his drink. He tipped the glass to his lips and drank hard, savoring the slow burn. Shaking his head, he grabbed a box of animal crackers and headed for the living room.
⧝
He found that his children were now timid—even fearful—in his presence. Shit, he thought. “I’m sorry, Brady,” he said, “Daddy didn’t mean to snap at you like that. It’s just that…” He stopped and took a seat on the floor. “How ‘bout we just watch some TV together?”
Jillian and Brady looked at their father like he had three heads, while Bella clicked on the remote control. “It’s my turn to pick,” she announced.
They each took a seat on the couch where they ate animal crackers and watched TV.
“Dad?” Jillian said, tentatively.
“What is it?”
“We can’t just have animal crackers for dinner.”
Mac looked at the front door and nodded, angrily. “Mom’s supposed to be bringing home dinner.”
“But it’s already past dinner time,” Jillian reminded him.
“Then order a pizza.”
Jillian stood. “Fine.”
While she headed for the kitchen to make the call, Mac climbed up on the couch with his two youngest children.
“Dad,” Bella said, “there’s this terrible girl at school.”
“What girl?” Mac managed, still preoccupied with staring at the front door.
“Her name’s Ali.”
“What’s wrong with Ali?” he asked, still distracted.
“What’s not wrong with Ali?” Bella said. “She’s always in everybody’s business and sometimes she even bullies people.”
Mac looked at his daughter. “There’s no such thing as a bully if you don’t allow it, right?”
“I know that, Dad. She’s not dumb enough to mess with me.”
Grinning, Mac turned to Brady and shrugged. “I know I wouldn’t mess with Beans,” he teased.
Bella laughed.
“And I’m having trouble with math, Dad,” Brady said, joining in the conversation. “It’s stupid and I can’t do it.”
“It’s not stupid, Brady,” Mac told him, “and we never use the word can’t in this house. You know that.”
As Jillian returned from the kitchen, Jen walked through the front door, holding two pizza boxes. She cautiously approached Mac.
“You’re late,” he said; it sounded like a growl.
“Sorry, but there was a staff meeting that went over and I couldn’t…”
“We’ve already ordered pizza,” he snapped.
“You’re already learning how to improvise with the kids,” she muttered under her breath. “Not so easy, is it?”
He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Bitch, he thought, the throbbing vein in his forehead threatening to burst open and bleed him out. He gritted his teeth, preparing to do battle.
The kids looked up at him, their frightened eyes halting them both.
Not knowing what else to do, Mac stormed off to his bedroom.
Chapter 8
A week of dark nights passed. Mac was sitting in his recliner when he heard Jen laughing with one of his children in the kitchen. He muted the television to listen in.
“Mrs. Brown said that you didn’t mean to hurt the class turtle,” Jen said, laughing, “but that she’d like you not to turn him on his back anymore.”
Mac pushed down the lever on his recliner and started for the kitchen.
“He looked tired to me, Mom,” Brady said, “so I tried to put him to sleep.”
“But that’s not how turtles sleep,” Jen said, laughing more.
Mac opened the door—and the two went silent. “What’s so funny?” he asked.
Jen took a deep breath and sighed. Brady smiled. “Mrs. Brown told Mom that I was playing with the class turtle when I shouldn’t have been.”
Mac looked at Jen. “When did she tell you that?”
“At the parent / teacher conference,” Brady reported.
Mac’s rising blood pressure threatened to pop his head clean off his shoulders. “Are you friggin’ kidding me?” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re still keeping shit from me?”
Brady made a beeline for the door and disappeared from the room.
“You’re erratic now, Mac, unpredictable,” Jen replied, her flaring nostrils matching his rage. “There’s no way I was going to let you humiliate our children again.”
“Humiliate our children?”
She nodded, confidently. “After your insane reaction to Jillian’s bullying situation, I wasn’t going to risk…”
“My insane reaction worked though, didn’t it?” he roared. “Jillian hasn’t been bullied since, has she?”
“No, she hasn’t, Mac,” Jen hissed, “and you did such a good job protecting her that a lot of her classmates won’t even talk to her anymore.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise.
“That’s right,” Jen said, “but you wouldn’t know that because you’re so consumed with your own world that you have no idea what’s going on in your children’s lives.” Jen glared at him. “Not that Jillian would ever share anything like that with you again.”
Mac was taken aback, watching helplessly as his wife brushed past him and left the kitchen.
⧝
The following morning, Mac had just endured an intense anxiety attack and was slouched in the corner of his park bench when Brandt took a seat beside him.
“How did you know I was here?” Mac asked, sitting up and discreetly
wiping his eyes.
“I had a hunch.”
“I just called out sick from work,” Mac confessed.
“I figured,” Brandt said, looking at the flask. “It’s a little early for a drink, don’t you think?”
Mac shrugged. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Brandt.”
Brandt studied Mac’s face. “You know, I’ve seen that face before.”
“Oh yeah? And where’s that, the gutter?”
“No,” Brandt said, shaking his head, “the mirror.”
Mac stared at his friend but said nothing.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Brandt asked. “Maybe we can figure it out together.”
Mac felt insulted. “Why don’t we just have a drink together instead?”
“We both know that’s not going to help anything, Mac,” Brandt said before leaning in closer. “Come on, you can talk to me. What’s really eating at you?”
“It’s just…I don’t know,” Mac said. “I’m going through a rough patch and the only thing my wife can think about is her own career. I need her to be there for me.”
Brandt looked surprised. “Are you crazy, man? Your wife sacrificed everything to raise your kids.”
“I know that, but…but I just feel off most of the time, Brandt,” Mac said, his voice cracking. “I’ve struggled to understand why, but I just can’t figure it. Nothing’s really changed, not that I know of anyway. But I’m in the dumps all the time now, and that’s when I’m not worried about having a stroke or expecting my heart to explode.”
“Does Jen know?”
“She knows I’ve had panic attacks and that I went to speak to a therapist about them,” Mac said.
“So you’re in therapy,” Brandt said, “that’s a good thing.”
“Not anymore,” Mac admitted. “The shrink I was seeing was a complete buffoon. I’d ramble on and on, and she never once offered any advice to help me get past the attacks.”
“There are definitely some bad therapists out there. But they’re not all bad. Sometimes you have to try out a few until you find the one that fits,” Brandt said, grinning at his clever wording.
Mac’s face remained stoic.
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