“So, Jen knows you’re suffering and that you’re not in therapy?” Brandt tried to clarify.
Mac half-shrugged. “She still tries to talk to me about it, but I do everything I can to avoid the topic.”
“Why?”
“To protect her from it, I guess,” Mac said.
“Protect her?” Brandt repeated, surprised. “Listen Mac, you’re not going to protect anyone by trying to hide any of this.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Trust me, you’re not alone, my friend. Few people know this, but I’ve been suffering from anxiety and depression for years.”
“Anxiety and depression,” Mac repeated, adding a snicker. “It just doesn’t make sense. You’ve seen my kids, my beautiful wife. I have a great job, a nice home.”
Brandt grabbed a pen from his jacket pocket, as well as a folded white envelope. Tearing off a piece, he jotted down a telephone number and handed it to Mac. “His name’s Faust Fiore. He’s one of the best therapists out there. Give him a call, Mac.” He stood to leave. “And you should let Jen know what’s going on. She’s your wife, for God’s sake.” He patted Mac’s shoulder. “There’s no reason to go through this alone, buddy. Believe me, it’ll only make things worse.”
Mac nodded. “Thanks Brandt.”
As Brandt left, Mac looked at the piece of paper before sliding it into his pants pocket. “It’ll only make things worse,” he said under his breath, adding a snicker. “How in the hell can things get any worse than this, Brandt?” He took a long drink.
⧝
Avoiding a visit to the Progressive Club, Mac went home to see if he could get some actual work done. He was at the kitchen table, his head buried in a ream of blank papers when Jillian walked in. “What do you want?” he asked her.
She looked sideways at him, her face painted with disgust. She didn’t reply.
“I just asked you a question,” he said, his voice louder.
“I came to get a drink. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you.”
“Then make it quick,” he said.
“Whatever,” she mumbled.
Mac detested the word, as it either served as a term of surrender or a disrespectful dismissal. Instinctively getting to his feet, the hair on the back of his neck stood erect like the hackles of an attack dog. “What did you just say to me?” he hissed.
In an instant, Jillian’s face changed from cocky to frightened. “I’m…I’m sorry,” she stuttered, her voice thick with emotion. She hurried out of the room, never getting her drink.
Mac swallowed hard. “Damn it,” he said, giving it some thought. If I live a hundred years, I doubt I’ll ever be able to erase that scared look on Jill’s face from my memory. He shook his sorrowful head. And I caused that.
He walked over to the window to see Jillian out in the backyard. Tipping the vodka glass to his lips, he gulped until his throat was set on fire. With one last swallow, he slammed down the glass and slid on his shoes.
Beneath a shedding tree, Mac approached Jillian. “Sorry about yelling at you like that,” he said.
The teenager shrugged. “What…” She stopped before completing her favorite word. “It’s fine,” she said, obviously fibbing.
“No, it’s not fine,” Mac said. “I’m sorry. I am.” He looked up at the sky. “I’ve just been really tired lately and stressed from work…” He shook his head. “Can you forgive me?”
She half-shrugged, still avoiding any sustained eye contact.
“Wanna have a game of catch?” Mac asked. But before she could answer, he ran off to the shed and grabbed two mitts.
Although Jillian tried to conceal her excitement, from the moment the first ball was thrown neither could stop smiling.
Mac punched his fist into the old catcher’s mitt, while Jillian bit on her bottom lip in a display of intense concentration. “Come on, Jill,” Mac encouraged, “right down the pipe. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The girl let one fly. The slap of leather caused Mac to stand and pump his arm. “Strike!”
Jillian nodded.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Mac said proudly. “You keep throwing the ball like that and you’ll be in the playoffs next season for sure.”
Sharing the late autumn sunshine, the two continued to play catch. Sophie was just happy to run back and forth between them, doing her best not to get stepped on.
⧝
When they finally came in from their much-needed one-on-one time, Mac found Jen and Brady seated at a cluttered kitchen table. Jen was helping their youngest boy with a fundamental math problem: six plus seven. Brady struggled as much with the reasons for learning the math as with the problems themselves.
“It’s stupid,” Brady claimed. “I can’t.”
Jen began to answer. “Brady, I already told you…”
Without thinking, Mac took a seat. “It’s not stupid, Brady,” he interrupted, taking over without meaning to, “and I’ve told you, we never use the word can’t around here.” Mac smiled. “Son, math is just another way to open your mind and flex your brain.” He lifted his arm to flex his bicep. In spite of himself, Brady giggled. Mac ruffled the small boy’s hair.
Jen stood. “My God, Mac, when did we stop working as a team all together?”
Mac felt confused. “Huh?”
She walked away, shaking her head.
Instinctively, Mac stood and started after her—but he stopped. Though he felt bad, he chose to take care of his son. Even as he reclaimed his seat at the table, he knew it was the wrong choice.
“Thirteen,” Brady answered.
“What?” Mac asked, looking back at his son.
“The answer is thirteen,” said the young boy.
Mac looked down at the paper. One eyebrow rose in a display of confirmation. “You’re absolutely right. Thirteen it is.” He then looked toward the living room where Jen had disappeared. I didn’t mean to interfere and one-up her, he thought.
Brady patiently awaited his father’s attention.
Mac caught his son’s blank face and smiled. “I’m telling you, Brady, all you have to do is apply yourself and someday you’ll be flying the space shuttle for NASA.”
Brady’s dancing eyebrows considered the possibility before his innocent eyes showed belief.
Mac and Brady became consumed in the remaining problems of addition and subtraction, completing the homework assignment in record time.
⧝
Once Jillian and Brady had been tended to, Mac ventured off to Bella’s bedroom. He knelt beside his little girl in a room awash in pink. Together, they spoke to God. “Now I lay me down to sleep,” Bella prayed, “I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
There was a pause. Mac nodded for her to continue.
“Father,” she said, “please bless my mom, my dad, my brother and sister, and Sophie—our dog. Amen.” As an afterthought, she added, “Oh, and God, please make Mommy and Daddy stop fighting.”
“Amen,” Mac agreed before tucking his innocent child into bed and pulling the covers under her chin. He finished the nightly ritual with a kiss. “Sweet dreams, princess,” he whispered.
“Sweet dreams, Daddy.”
He paused at the door to catch one last glimpse of his yawning angel. From the mouth of babes, he thought, sadly turning off the light.
⧝
Jen stepped into her bedroom a few hours later, finding it in complete darkness—and Mac asleep. He’s probably just faking, she thought, considering her own survival strategies as of late. At least I’m not the one who has to pretend tonight. She stared at him for a long while. One second he’s barking at Jillian, she thought, and the next, he’s playing catch with her. She inhaled deeply. How did we ever end up here? she wondered, still unable to understand how things had turned so bad so
quickly. And wherever we’re heading, it doesn’t feel like the same place. Something had recently snapped in her—like a switch being thrown—and she knew it. She was now more concerned with being a protective mother than a supportive wife—who continues to be neglected and abused by her husband.
⧝
No matter how many times it occurred, Mac was no match for the instant startle sensation. Struggling for oxygen, he sat up straight in bed. As if in imminent danger, his body froze while his mind sensed the primal need to flee. But two invisible chains had tethered his legs. The symptoms came on fast and furious: heavy sweating, hyperventilation, spiraling thoughts of impending doom, nausea, twitching and tightness of the body—even a thumping heart that felt like it randomly skipped a beat.
As quietly as possible, he got up, grabbed his pillow and headed for the living room.
Shutting off the lights, he collapsed onto the couch, trying desperately to ride out the macabre wave.
To his surprise, Jen entered the room several minutes later. “You’re going to stay out here again tonight?” she asked.
“What difference does it make?” he asked in a wounded voice, his forearms draped over his eyes.
“Maybe you should start looking for another…” she started to say under her breath before stopping and leaving the room.
Mac sat up straight, continuing to suffer through the full blown attack. The symptoms quickly evolved into tingling extremities. Sitting white faced and alone, the attack’s intensity lasted no more than five excruciating minutes. My life’s become a living hell, he thought. But to the credit of his unbending will, he’d stayed away from doctors—even as the attacks were becoming more frequent.
⧝
Streetlights strobed in and out of the tinted windows. A soft ballad played on the van’s radio, while the windshield wipers kept perfect beat to it all. Bella and Brady were dressed in Halloween costumes, while Jillian stayed home to hand out candy.
As the rain continued to fall, Mac rubbed the back of his neck, trying to work out the knots. Looking to his right, he found Jen dozing off. He released an agitated breath before his eyes began dotting between the road ahead of him and the rear-view mirror. Bella and Brady were asleep, their eyes shut and mouths agape. Mac continued to search behind them, while a cloak of worry was draped over him.
“Now what’s bothering you?” Jen asked, breaking the thick silence and startling Mac.
He exhaled heavy, his wide eyes never leaving the rear-view mirror.
Jen turned her head to look behind them.
“Now what’s bothering me?” he roared, spit covering his mouth. “What do you think’s bothering me?”
Jen gritted her teeth, ready to do battle. There was some shuffling from the backseat, halting her and sending her into an obvious state of frustration. “Who do you think you are,” she hissed, “talking to me like that? I really have had it with you.”
Mac glared at her, feeling a complete lack of love for his spouse. “You’ve had it with me?” he said, continuing at a hush. “What a joke. I bet you haven’t had it with Joel, though, have you?”
The two stared at each other with disgust.
“Maybe your new boyfriend’s the reason you’re late coming home from work all the time?” he suggested.
Jen’s face burned red, while she clearly choked on her indignation.
“As a matter of fact,” Mac added, “I think your boyfriend’s right behind us. Maybe he’s going to follow us home to do some trick-or-treating?”
Jen turned to look out the rear window again, but snapped back when she realized there was no one behind them. “You are such a child, Mac,” she said. “I told you weeks ago that Joel is gay. More importantly, he’s my colleague and my friend and, if you can’t handle that, then too bad.”
“Too bad?” he screeched.
“Yeah, too bad. If you weren’t so busy at work, so preoccupied with everyone but me, then I wouldn’t need Joel or anyone else to confide in.” She started to cry. “If you remembered how to be a husband, then…”
Mac slammed his fist on the steering wheel, causing Jen to shut up. Whimpers from the back seat traveled toward the front of the car.
“That’s nice, Mac,” she growled. “Keep acting like an animal. The kids don’t have enough to be afraid of.”
Mac scanned the rear-view mirror again before quieting his tone. “What do the kids have to be afraid of, Jen,” he hissed, “having their mother trade in their father for a newspaper photographer?”
“No,” she retorted at a scream, “having their mother find a real man who…”
“No more, please!” Bella yelled out. “I can’t take it anymore.” Her weeping was contagious, rubbing off on Brady.
Mac peered into the rear-view mirror and cringed. His two frightened children were sobbing.
“See what your insane jealousies have done to this family?” Jen managed through gritted teeth. “It’s going to end, Mac. I swear it. You’ll be living alone before I allow these kids to live in fear.”
Mac cracked the window to let in a blast of fresh air. His flushed face felt ready to burst. Jen’s blaming the family problems on me, he thought, illogically, and not the affair she’s trying to keep secret.
While he shook with fury, Jen comforted her children. “You have no right to accuse me of something I’d never do,” she whispered over her shoulder to Mac. “It’s your fault we’ve grown apart, not mine.”
Sobs and sniffles played back up to the rain that pelted the windows. The entire family returned home in a state of utter despair, sharing their grief with Jillian at the front door.
⧝
Once the children were put to bed—Jillian slamming her bedroom door shut—Jen took her shower. Mac stepped into the children’s rooms to say his goodnights. From the girls’ rooms to Brady’s bedroom, he shouldered the brunt of their fears.
“Dad?” Brady asked.
“What is it, buddy?”
“Are you and Mom gonna split up?”
Mac took a seat on the foot of the boy’s twin-sized bed. “I want you to know that Mom and I owe you kids an apology. We shouldn’t be fighting in front of you. It’s wrong and I’m sorry.”
There was silence, the little guy still awaiting his answer.
Mac spoke softly. “I don’t want you worrying about anybody splitting up. Mom and I are dealing with some adult issues right now…things that you and your sisters shouldn’t be concerned with.”
“But are you gonna be livin’ alone like Ma said?” Brady asked.
“No son, I’m not going anywhere and neither is Mom.” In response to his son’s doubtful eyes, Mac concluded, “You have my word.”
A tiny grin replaced the young boy’s anxious frown. He snuggled beneath his spaceship covers, satisfied with his father’s solemn promise. Mac kissed Brady’s forehead before heading off to the girls’ rooms.
⧝
Bella was sitting up, waiting for her father. “Daddy,” she began tearfully, “I was wonderin’…”
Mac hurried to her bed and placed his finger to her trembling lips. “Don’t wonder about anything, princess. Just because Mom and I fight, that doesn’t mean that anything’s going to change around here, okay?” He kissed her cheek and ran his fingers through her hair. “I love you and your sister and brother more than you could ever imagine. Mom and I just have to find a way to stop fighting.” He kissed her. “For now, just know that Mommy and I love each other. Now get some sleep.”
His innocent daughter looked up at him.
“What is it?” he asked his little girl.
“Can you say my prayers with me?”
He and Bella got on their knees and clasped their hands together.
“Now I lay me down to sleep,” Bella recited, “I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the
Lord my soul to take.”
There was a pause. As always, Mac nodded for her to continue.
“Father, please bless my mom, my dad, Jillian, Brady and Sophie. And God, I know I keep asking but can you please make Mommy and Daddy stop fighting?”
“Amen,” they both said.
Mac stood and hugged her again. “I love you, princess. Sweet dreams.”
“Love you more, Daddy,” she whispered before closing her eyes.
⧝
Mac caught Jillian coming out of the bathroom. “Goodnight, Dad,” she mumbled, starting for her bedroom door.
“Whoa,” Mac said, “no kiss goodnight?”
Jillian reluctantly went to him.
Mac kissed her cold cheek. “I want you to know that Mom and I owe you an apology. We shouldn’t be fighting in front of you. It’s wrong…and I’m sorry.”
Nodding, Jillian turned to walk away.
“You don’t accept my apology?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Sure, if you don’t fight again tomorrow.” She reached her bedroom door. “But you will,” she said before stepping into her room.
⧝
In the master bedroom, Mac discovered that Jen had already gone to bed. She was obviously pretending to be asleep. “Jen?” he whispered, feeling emotional over the conversations with his three worried children.
There was silence. He placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.
He didn’t expect the contempt in her voice; it startled him.
“And I wasn’t kidding,” she said. “If you can’t control your adolescent paranoia or your emotional outbursts in front of the kids, then maybe you should start looking for another place to live.”
He grabbed for her, but she violently shook off his attempt at tenderness.
“Come on now, Jen,” he pleaded. “You’re being ridiculous. I know we’ve been going through a really rough stretch, but…”
Jen turned to face him; there was great pain in her eyes. Grabbing his pillow, she threw it in his face. “Get away from me,” she hissed. “I don’t want you near me.”
“But Jen, the kids.”
“Get out of my bed!” she said with even more conviction.
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