The black-robed lady left the bench long before Mac emerged from his fog. It took a few nudges from Attorney Dube to bring him back. “Mac, are you even listening to me?” Dube asked.
“What? What’s that, Roland?” Everything was so blurry.
“There was nothing more I could do,” the sad-looking lawyer confessed. “These proceedings are a crapshoot at best and we drew the wrong judge today. She’s a tough one and she doesn’t screw around when it comes to domestic violence.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her rule in the favor of…” He stopped.
Mac remained catatonic.
Dube grabbed his arm. “Listen to me, Mac. The judge has imposed some stiff sanctions here. We have a court date scheduled in two months. I know it hurts, but in the meantime you have to stay clear of Jen and the kids. The restraining order is only temporary, but it’s still no contact.” He finally slowed down. “It’s also imperative that you attend every domestic violence class. And I promise you, Mac, if you violate the restraining order, this judge will revoke your probation and send you straight to jail. Do you understand?”
Mac shrugged. “I don’t understand anything anymore, Roland.” I can’t see my children for two months, he thought. What else matters? In a room full of people, he felt completely alone. And then it happened—a panic attack to beat all panic attacks. Mac felt like his entire central nervous system had been hacked, making his body—inside and out—involuntarily convulse.
On her way out of the courtroom, Jen wiped her eyes and stopped before her shattered husband.
Expending every ounce of energy just to breathe and stay conscious, Mac couldn’t look at her. It didn’t matter. Even if his body wasn’t shutting down, his despair would not have allowed it. You fuckin’ bitch, he screamed somewhere inside his spinning head.
⧝
Feeling like he’d just experienced surgery without anesthesia, Mac went down to the abandoned lake to where he and the kids had sailed on many sunny days. The moored boat rocked back and forth, beckoning him to board. He contemplated it. But without the kids… he thought, his heart heavy with grief. I lost my babies today, he thought and, without notice or permission, his mind returned directly the birth of his last child.
⧝
For the fourth time in his life—the first being with Jen—Mac fell head-over-heels in love.
“Congratulations,” the doctor exclaimed, “You have a healthy baby boy!” Overwhelmed, Mac took his son Brady into his arms and carefully inspected the fragile, squirming gift. Ten fingers, ten toes and the wail of a siren that made his eyes fill with tears. The boy was beautiful, absolutely perfect, and—for the third time—the endless possibilities for the future washed over Mac like a magical tidal wave. He cried for the dreams they’d share together and the lessons he was anxious to impart: baiting a hook, hitting a curve ball, being a gentleman without being a weak man—all of it. Mac was sure that this boy was his reward for every good intention he’d ever had.
⧝
Mac opened his eyes in the present. What I didn’t realize, he thought, was that all of those dreams were contingent upon the success of my marriage.
Without another thought, he walked into the icy water—clothes and all—and waded up to his waist. Numb from the shock of it all, he collapsed backwards, surrendering to the lake and his natural buoyancy. The water was bitterly cold, enveloping him and threatening to swallow him whole. He could feel the chill but it was more like his body’s afterthought. As his ears submerged, all sounds became muffled. Only his feet and face floated above the water line. The sound of other people had mercifully been removed. He could only hear his breathing now, shallow and labored. Fuckin’ bitch, he thought, picturing his traitor wife testifying on the witness stand. How could she do this to me? She screws around on me and I lose my kids? Yeah, that’s real fair. What a crock of shit! So, what happens if the bitch suddenly dies? The kids would go with their father, right? They’d have to, unless the authorities could prove I had something to do with it. His mind continued to spin like an internal gyroscope that was out of control.
A rippling wake bucked his flaccid body, rocking him up and down, threatening to yank him under. He didn’t care. In fact, at this point it made no real difference whether he stayed afloat or sank to the very bottom. Might be best for everyone if I went down, he thought. He looked up toward the sky and felt like he was floating face down in it. The water had completely removed any sense of gravity, making him feel like he was suspended in time and space. It would have been relaxing, even peaceful, if his heart wasn’t sending pain signals to his brain, pleading for some sort of relief. He prayed hard, his tearful eyes lifted toward the heavens; his soul, raw and open to his creator. Please God, I need your help—now more than ever. But he did not feel God’s presence with him, not a hint that the Divine cared enough to even listen. Right away, he knew this was not Jen’s fault. I can’t blame her for this, he thought. This feeling of abandonment and isolation was of his own doing. He’d spent years drifting away from his faith, with no real need—or so he thought—for the Lord in his life. Now, on his back and in desperate need for any sign of mercy or comfort, he felt completely alone. His once-stoic faith was now an empty vessel, incapable of holding a single drop of water to soothe the fire that burned in his soul. “I’m so sorry,” he cried out, “so, so sorry.” He closed his eyes and mourned deeply. At least show me a sign that everything will be okay, he begged, anything…please. But there was no sign. Instead, he simply floated above the water like some abandoned fishing bobber, irrelevant and adrift.
When Mac opened his eyes, the blue sky had vanished, suddenly replaced by a bank of dark gray clouds. Of course, he thought. The first drops of rain pelted his face and splashed the water around him. Not the sign I was looking for, though. He just lay there. Screw it, he thought and closed his eyes again, as the bleak skies opened up and stung his skin with a hard driving rain. Screw it all! For the first time in his life, he felt pain while being on the water.
⧝
It was late when—soaked and shivering—Mac picked up the motel room’s phone. He’d spent hours going through every detail of the nightmare in his tired mind; all of the blame continued to circle back to Jen. At the risk of violating the restraining order and going to jail, he called her.
“Hello?” Jen answered, sounding exhausted.
“You have no right to take my kids from me,” he said, louder and angrier than he’d intended.
“I have every right, Mac,” she answered, calmly. “A big part of my job as their mom is to protect them.”
“From me,” he screamed, “protect them from me?”
“Look Mac, you left me no choice—acting like a lunatic, destroying the house…making those threats. The kids shouldn’t have to live like that. I shouldn’t have to…”
“Jen, please,” he cried, cutting her off. “I love the kids. I would never hurt them. You know that.”
“But I don’t know that, Mac,” she whimpered. “I don’t know anything about you anymore. You’re angry and you’re violent.” There was a cruel pause. “Look, God only knows what’s going to happen to our marriage, but as far as the kids—the last thing I want in this world is to keep them from you. They need you.” She took a deep breath, sounding strong again. “But until you get help, I don’t feel comfortable with them being around you.”
Mac was so enraged that he actually began to froth at the mouth. He couldn’t hold back any longer. “You fuckin’ bitch,” he roared, berating her, “you betrayed me! I needed you and you betrayed me, so let’s forget about our failed marriage, okay? As far as the kids, I’m their father. I helped bring them into this world. I have every right…”
“Just hang up and call the cops,” he could hear Diane yell in the background.
“Mac,” Jen interrupted. “I’m not going to be victimized by your malicious outbursts anymore.
Go get help and then we can talk. But if you call here again, I’m contacting the police.” She sounded firm in her decision.
Mac slammed down the phone. She’s dead wrong, he thought, The kids aren’t in any danger around me. He collapsed onto the lumpy motel bed. In one single fucked-up day, I lost everything that means anything to me. Sitting up, he grabbed his vodka bottle, put it to his lips and tipped it to the ceiling. He pictured Jen’s smug face and coughed on the fire water that trickled down his throat. Fuckin’ bitch! he repeated in his aching head.
He took another long draw. There’s always an accident, he thought, his mind returning to the darkness, Jen could have an accident. Accidents happen all the time. I remember when I was in college, my professor was going through a nasty divorce. Then, his wife just up and drowned. That guy didn’t lose anything—not his kids, his house, or his dog. And if I remember right, he collected enough insurance money to retire early. Mac nodded. Now that’s what you call justice! Lucky bastard. He stared off into space. But if I kill Jen or hire a professional to do it, the kids won’t have a mother. Tears streamed down his face. And I know what that’s like. He took the breaths his body kept forgetting to take in. There’s always the possibility of an accident, he finally told himself, and I’m due to catch a break at some point.
⧝
An entire world away, Jen was stunned from the call. She turned to find her sister, Diane, shaking her head.
“I told you,” Diane said, “just call the cops and let them deal with him.”
“Thinking back now,” Jen said, taking a more careful account, “I was so consumed with getting the newspaper job and with…” She shook her head. “Mac lost his job…he found Joel’s watch on the kitchen table…” She slowed her breathing to avoid hyperventilation. “My husband needed me and I wasn’t there for him, Diane.”
“Whoa Jen,” Diane jumped in. “I understand the whole marriage bond and all, but how were you supposed to be there for him—as a punching bag?”
“He’d been drinking, Diane,” Jen snapped back.
“Yeah, and the selfish asshole’s been drunk for months. The judge was right to impose the restraining order and you know it.”
“Our family’s ruined, Di. Do you understand that? The kids can’t sleep. They’re already asking for their father. What do I tell them, huh?”
“Tell them the truth. Tell them that their father couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”
Bella stormed into the kitchen and glared at her aunt, then at her mother. “You don’t have to tell us anything!” she screamed, tears glistening on her face. “We already know it’s your fault that Daddy’s not here.”
Mortified, Jen stood and took a step toward her daughter, her arms opened wide.
Bella stepped back, recoiling from her mother.
“But Beans, I didn’t…”
Bella refused her touch. “You’re the one who made Daddy go away,” she whimpered, “and you’re the reason he won’t come back.” Jen could see the little girl was overwhelmed with emotion. “You don’t have to tell us anything,” Bella wept. “We know.”
Jen took another step toward her young daughter.
Bella hurried out of the room to be with her sobbing brother, whose muffled cries could be heard in the distance.
“My God, what have we done?” Jen asked, looking at her self-righteous sister.
For once, Diane was at a loss for words.
Jillian stepped into the room. “I’m glad he’s gone,” she said, her tone and face both even, “and I hope he doesn’t come back.”
“Oh Jill,” Jen gasped, and began to cry.
⧝
The light from an obnoxious neon sign pulsated through the old, yellowed curtains. The cramped motel room included all the luxuries that forty-seven dollars a night could buy. The short shag carpet—drab green and peppered with cigarette burns—offset the pumpkin-colored bedsheet, which undoubtedly concealed a horror show that any black light could easily illuminate.
Plastered drunk, Mac lay with an empty vodka bottle at his side. “No more home,” he slurred, counting on his fingers. “No more wife.” He hiccupped. “No more kids…” He choked on the last three words and began weeping mournfully. “It’s all gone,” he sobbed, “everything…” He hiccupped. “…all of it.” His body convulsed from the excruciating pain in his heart. “My children…” He hiccupped. “…my life.”
Mac took one last breath when his cell phone rang. Hiccupping, he looked at the number on the phone and quickly answered. “Hello?”
“Dad, it’s me, Bella,” his daughter whispered.
“Oh Beans,” Mac whimpered.
“Mom doesn’t know I’m calling,” the young girl whispered, “but I couldn’t go to sleep without telling you I love you. We all do.”
“I love you too, princess,” he cried, stifling another hiccup, “all of you.”
“We love you more, Daddy. Goodnight.” The line went dead.
Mac collapsed face down on the bed, his body rocking to a mix of hiccups and heavy sobs. What have we done?
Chapter 11
Without much warning, Christmas arrived. Four stockings hung over the Anderson mantle, the house decorated like it was located in the North Pole itself. Music played in the background, while the smells of a home cooked dinner filled the air. Still, something was missing. Even Bella, faithfully standing sentry at her window, couldn’t find it.
“So, is everybody ready for Santa Claus to come?” Sue asked her grandchildren, calling them over to help trim the Christmas tree with her and their mom.
Jillian rolled her eyes, while Bella and Brady began cheering. “Yes…yes!”
Jen chuckled.
“Have you guys been good this year,” Sue asked, “and listened to your mom and…” She stopped. “You’ve behaved in school and eaten everything on your plates, right?” she added, quickly recovering.
Brady nodded.
“Everything but ham,” Bella said. “I don’t like ham.”
“I noticed that at dinner tonight,” Jen interjected, struggling to untangle a ball of Christmas lights that Mac normally wrestled with.
“And we have ham every year for Christmas,” the girl said. “Why?”
“Because that’s our traditional holiday dinner,” Jen said, her tongue hanging out of her mouth in frustration.
“I really love Santa,” Brady said, preferring to return to the original topic of conversation.
“Me too,” Jillian whispered, unclear about her sincerity.
“Yeah,” Bella agreed.
“I hope he leaves lots of presents under the tree this year,” Brady added.
“A tree inside the house,” Sue said. “Now there’s a peculiar holiday tradition, don’t you think?”
Jillian sighed heavily, garnering a few bad looks.
Bella and Brady agreed.
“After America won its independence in 1776,” Sue explained, “many Germans came to the United States and began sharing their traditions. One of them was the Christmas tree, which they decorated with small dolls and ornaments made from sugar.”
“Wow,” Brady said, impressed.
“That’s right, and the reason they placed trees inside their homes was to show their hope for the forthcoming spring,” their grandmother added.
“They made ornaments from sugar?” Bella asked, hanging a plastic Disney ornament on the tree.
“Yes, and they also decorated their trees with apples, roses, candies and colored paper.”
“Mmmmm,” Brady moaned, “what kind of candies?”
“The kind that didn’t last long on a tree, I’d guess,” Sue teased.
Everyone but Jillian laughed.
“Years later,” Sue continued, “a man named Martin Luther was walking home one December night when the beauty of the stars shining thro
ugh the branches of a pine tree inspired him. He hurried home and placed candles on the branches of the Christmas tree in his living room.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Bella said.
“It sure is,” Jen said, abandoning any hope for the ball of lights she’d been tackling, “and that’s why we don’t play with candles or matches, right?”
Bella and Brady nodded.
“But stringing electric lights on a Christmas tree ended up being a pretty neat idea that stuck,” Sue said.
“Can I have a candy cane from the tree, Mom?” Brady asked, impatiently.
“Yeah, me too,” Bella said.
“You guys sure you don’t want an apple instead?” Jen teased.
“No,” they groaned.
“Do you like candy canes, Grandma?” Brady asked.
“Actually, I love them,” she said. “In fact, I haven’t met a candy yet that I couldn’t get along with.”
Jen and the two little ones laughed. By now, Jillian was sitting alone in the corner, wearing her usual scowl.
“Okay,” Jen said, “you can each have one, but…”
“...but only if one of you can tell me where candy canes came from,” Sue interrupted, smiling.
The kids groaned again.
“Oh, here we go,” Jillian mumbled under her breath.
Jen shot her a look that nearly guaranteed her silence.
Sue handed a candy cane to both Bella and Brady. “As you guys now know,” she said, “once folks began using Christmas trees, they decorated them with everything from cookies to candies. At first, straight white peppermint sticks were used as one of the confections. But legend has it that the choirmaster at Germany’s Cologne Cathedral asked local craftsmen to bend the white sticks into the shape of shepherds’ crooks.”
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