by Taylor Dean
“I have to go. She’s waiting for me. We’re taking off for a few weeks just to let things simmer down around here. She’s telling her husband as we speak.”
“She’s married?” Chloe asked, shocked. In spite of everything, Chloe felt disappointed in Mark. However, her utter disillusionment with Mark had probably led to this very moment.
“Yes. An unhappy marriage also. It’s for the best, Chloe.”
An unhappy marriage. They used to be happy together; the blissful, perfect, carefree couple. But that seemed like ages ago now.
“I’m using the Bahamas trip tickets. They’re going to expire soon anyway. It’s high time one of us reaps a little pleasure from our purchase. We’re leaving today.”
A knife to her already broken heart. “And she’s going with you?” Somehow, Chloe swallowed through a parched throat.
“Yes. I know our actions are less than commendable. We’ll let the dust settle before we return, give you some time to get used to the idea. Him too.”
“Him?”
“Her husband. She said he wouldn’t take it well.”
Was this concept a surprise to Mark? Naturally a spouse doesn’t “take it well” when the other leaves. No matter the condition of the marriage, it’s the end of a chapter, the end of a dream, the separation of two that had become one.
The mood in The Room changed perceptibly. Mark stared at the floor for several moments. When he looked up, his blue eyes were glazed with unshed tears. All anger and sarcasm seemed to leave him as he said tenderly, “I’m sorry, Chloe. I’m so, so sorry. For everything. You and I, we didn’t survive. The odds were against us. I’ll always love you and I’ll always remember the good times. Please forgive me.”
Chloe nodded.
He stepped forward into The Room and Chloe tensed as the familiar smell of his aftershave hit her nostrils. He kissed her on the lips ever so lightly and whispered, “Goodbye.” And then to the The Room at large, he again said, “Goodbye.” His voice broke ever so slightly.
Chloe followed him down the stairs, walking stiffly, zombie-like. The ache in her gut gnawed at her belly, burning fiery and hot.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Chloe said again.
Mark turned, his grasp never leaving the doorknob as if it was his escape hatch and he’d perish if he didn’t walk out the door. He nodded. “I know.”
The front door closed and the house was silent.
It was always silent. All life, laughter, happiness, and joy had long since been silenced in this house.
Chloe wandered to the window and watched Mark toss his suitcases into his car and hop into the driver’s seat. He seemed eager.
The memory of sitting in her Grandmother’s lap, learning to read from easy readers from the nineteen-sixties crossed her mind.
See Mark go. See Mark go fast. See Mark go really fast.
It had always been a private joke between them. She’d been blessed with her Grandmother’s name as her middle name, Janet.
Chloe Janet.
Mark and Janet were a staple in old school easy readers.
Look, Janet, look. See Mark go. See Mark go fast. Go find Mark. Hurry, Janet, hurry. Run and find Mark. Run, Janet, run.
The old easy readers weren’t being used anymore. It seemed fitting. For the second time in this huge world, Mark and Janet were no more.
After Mark left, Chloe stood in the living room, a lone stationary figure, not really sure what to do with herself. What now?
She wanted to cry; she should cry. It was an appropriate time to cry. But she only felt numb. Dentist-numb. Knock-me-down-and-kick-me-and-I-won’t-feel-a-thing-numb.
Then she noticed the track marks the rolling suitcases had left on the carpet. That won’t do.
Taking a deep breath, Chloe knew what she needed to do. She started in the kitchen, cleaning and disinfecting every surface, including the floors, until they gleamed in the sunlight and the room reeked of bleach. She sniffed proudly, loving the smell of clean. Moving on, she tackled the living room. After fluffing the couch pillows and lint rolling the couches and chairs, she dusted the tables until the smell of lemon-fresh dusting spray permeated the air. She vacuumed the carpet until the vacuum lines were just so. The look of freshly vacuumed carpet sent a little thrill up her spine. She often avoided walking in certain areas, just to prevent spoiling the pristine appearance.
Next, she conquered the stairs. There were eighteen steps, and thirty-two rungs on the banister, but she didn’t examine why she knew such useless information. The knowledge scared her. It bespoke boredom. Uselessness.
Chloe carefully combed each stair with the carpet rake until each strand stood on end as if it were brand new carpeting.
Perfect.
The upstairs took a little longer. Mark had left a mess in his packing wake. Chloe tidied his closet and drawers as if he’d be returning, even though she knew in her heart he wasn’t. Mark had showered before he left, leaving the bathroom in a humid, steamy state. She stood in the lingering steam for just a moment, absorbing its warmth, imagining the comforting strength of Mark’s arms around her.
It wasn’t meant to be.
Chloe painstakingly scrubbed the shower door using a sponge, squeegee, and a few sprays of a homemade vinegar, lemon juice, and baking soda mixture. It was her usual morning ritual, hence the second time she’d done it that day. Water deposits were the bane of her existence. She polished the sink faucets with hydrogen peroxide till they sparkled.
Next she wiped down all of the doorjambs and baseboards until a speck of dust could not be found. Mark had bumped the wall in the hallway with his suitcase, leaving a nasty black skid mark. It wouldn’t wipe off. Chloe grabbed the corresponding paint from her garage supply and saw to the quick touch-up.
Tearing the sheets off both the master bedroom and guestroom beds, she laundered the linens with an extra dose of scented fabric softener for good measure. The smell made her happy as she slept at night. After all, she needed something to keep her happy. She and Mark had been sleeping in separate beds for so long she forgot what it felt like to sleep with someone else at her side. She missed the quiet strength, the companionship, the comfort of sleeping next to your loved one.
Dismissing the depressing thought from her mind, Chloe vacuumed every corner of the upstairs, moving furniture out of the way and meticulously cleaning the little crevices between the carpet and the baseboards. After that, she scrupulously attacked the dust hiding under the beds and lurking in the closets.
By the time she was done with her cleaning, three hours had passed. As she smoothed the last bedspread into place, she breathed a sigh of relief. The rhythm of work provided a balm to her aching soul.
Everything is fine. Everything is perfect. I am in complete control.
It was her mantra. Mark may have left, but the house was spotless, just the way she liked it.
Chloe changed her clothing and combed her hair until it shone. Plopping down onto her favorite chair in The Room, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The AC hummed quietly in the background, cooling her with its refreshing breeze.
Everything was in its proper place and she could relax with no worries whatsoever.
So why did she still feel like crying? Why did the ache in her chest burn a little more intensely today?
Suddenly, a loud banging noise reverberated through the entire house, making the windows rattle. What the heck?
Chloe rushed down the stairs, avoiding the main walkway so as not to disturb the perfect flow of the freshly raked carpet. The angry banging continued.
It must be Mark.
He forgot his key. He wants to come home.
Of course he does.
A glance through the peephole revealed a complete stranger, however. Her heart sunk in her chest at the dashed hope.
“Open the door! I know you’re in there, you coward!”
The knocking became even more insistent. The stranger wasn’t going away. “Open the door, Brennan!
”
Hesitantly, Chloe opened the door, the heat of the Arizona summer hitting her as if she’d just opened the oven door. She faced the crazy man squarely, without flinching. He paced her doorstep like a caged animal, his business attire askew. He wore tailored suit pants with a dress shirt and tie, but the dress shirt was untucked with the top few buttons undone and his tie had been unknotted. It hung loosely about his shoulders. His state of undress seemed to speak to his state of mind. To prove the point, his keys jangled in his hand anxiously.
“May I help you?” Chloe asked with trepidation.
“Where’s Brennan? Mark Brennan?” the stranger grunted, his face red, the veins in his neck bulging.
“He isn’t here.”
“Figures. When will he be home?”
“He won’t be.”
Realization dawned. “Are you the wife?”
The way he said it made her sound like something quite distasteful. “Yes,” she answered, her voice shaky.
He stilled, looked her up and down, pausing momentarily on her eyes. Then he shook his head in disbelief. “He’s an idiot.”
A compliment was hidden somewhere in that comment, yet it felt like an insult.
He took a step closer. “What are you NOT doing to make your husband run off with MY wife?” he said through clenched teeth.
She gasped, a sharp pain searing through her chest. The man was clearly upset, not just upset, perhaps seething. Understandably so. Still, there was something in the way he said those accusing words that made her feel about two feet tall. Unfortunately, his words held the ring of truth and she couldn’t deny it. He spoke in anger, but he couldn’t possibly know how right he was. Chloe let out her breath in defeat. She didn’t want to witness this man’s pain. It clearly reflected her own.
The tears were coming and they were coming right now. Maybe they were a bit belated, but now they were approaching with full force. Chloe felt the heat rush to her cheeks and knew she’d turned red as an apple. At that moment, her eyes met his for the second time and she knew the absolute devastation at his words was obvious in every detail of her expression. Seemingly comprehending each other’s pain, they stared at one another for what seemed like an eternity, yet the moment only lasted a few brief seconds. In that short glance a myriad of emotion seemed to make a silent transfer between them.
His features softened, his anger seemed to calm, and he ran his hand through his hair tiredly.
In spite of the fact that he appeared to be composing himself, his remorse came too late. His scathing words still stung. Chloe grabbed the door and slammed it in his face, the message clear: leave me alone. Her reaction had been delayed, but it felt good to object to his thoughtless words. The clink of the lock rang in her ears. Her back rested on the door as she tried to catch her breath. She covered her mouth with her hand and sank to the floor beneath her, suddenly gasping as though she’d just run a marathon.
The incident brought back memories of Mark. A slam of the door had been their beginning, the commencement of their love story. Perhaps it was a strange start, but it was theirs nonetheless, and the memories were precious. They shouldn’t be over, it didn’t seem possible.
But they were. Utterly and completely over.
The stranger—the husband, the one whose wife had just ran off with Mark—still stood at her door. “Wait…I’m sorry…I didn’t mean that. Please, I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
It was more of the same for the next few minutes; muttered apologies that were rather effusive at times, and more door banging, albeit now the “banging” had transitioned into a polite knock.
There was no way she’d open the door to him now. Tears streamed down her face and heart-wrenching sobs erupted from deep within her gut.
What are you NOT doing to make your husband run off with MY wife?
Good question.
Chloe spent the next three days hiding out in the safety of her home, staring into space and contemplating her new circumstances. Surprisingly, the husband showed up on her doorstep several times. Chloe stood on the other side of the closed door each time, peering at him through the peephole, wondering what he wanted and feeling like a coward. He would ring the doorbell only once, politely knock a few more times, and say aloud the words, “I’m sorry,” while facing the closed door. Each and every time.
It didn’t matter. The damage was done.
Even though his caustic words had been uttered in anger, they had been said and they couldn’t be unsaid.
One time he left a beautiful bouquet of flowers on her doorstep, and another time, a box of chocolates. After he’d left she retrieved them from her doorstep quickly. If she hadn’t grabbed the chocolates in a timely manner, she would’ve found a melted mess in the stifling heat of the Arizona summer. All things considered it was a rather brave and risky stunt. It made her feel as though he knew she was home and watching him through her peephole. He knew she’d get them before they melted. The thought bothered her. Was he watching the house?
She skipped dinner and ate the entire box of chocolates in one sitting—and she didn’t feel guilty for it either. Best dinner she’d ever eaten. Clearly, the husband regretted his unkind words, angrily expressed in the heat of the moment, and wanted to make things right. She appreciated the gesture.
Chloe could forgive him, but had no desire to face him again. Instead, she sat in her spotless house, a permanent fixture in The Room, feeling as inanimate as the lamp or the dresser. Her thoughts were mundane, as humdrum as her life. The wallpaper border repeated its design fifty-one times. The second hand on the clock ticked loudly—reverberating through The Room—three-thousand, six-hundred times per hour. Nothing changed with the passing of time. Absolutely nothing.
Still here.
Occasionally she burst into tears, but most of the time they slipped quietly down her cheeks completely unbidden. The drapes remained tightly drawn, as did the set of her mouth. There was no one to attempt to appear happy for anymore and she felt relieved to not have to try.
She didn’t hear from Mark. Not a phone call to check up on her; nothing. She was really alone, completely on her own. The thought didn’t sit well with her, until she realized nothing had really changed. Everything was the same as always, except Mark was no longer physically present. Lately, breathing the same air was about all they’d ever shared anyway. It was a sobering thought.
On the fourth day, she discovered there were sixty-two slats on the blinds in her bedroom and that’s when she forced herself to get out of bed early. It was time to go forward, time to live her life. Even though Mark thought all she did was sit in The Room, that wasn’t strictly true.
Okay, she had for awhile. All right, several months. She admitted it readily. She’d figured she was allowed.
But then she’d picked up the pieces of her broken life, and tried hard to begin again. She’d taken on four clients in the past six months, four jobs that had each taken at least a month to complete, one a little longer. Of course, under her normal workload for her interior design business, she usually took on over a hundred jobs each year, so Mark might have had a teeny, tiny point. Baby steps were about all she’d been able to handle—and she was moving forward, albeit slowly, but at least there was progress. Everyone seemed to treat her as though she was hardly functioning. Unfortunately, in the beginning, they were right. Why couldn’t they recognize the progress she’d made and appreciate it? It certainly wasn’t easy to get out of bed each morning. That alone had been a huge feat. Strangely, no one else seemed to think so. Go figure.
But, dang it, she wanted to mope if she darn well felt like it.
And she’d felt like moping. A lot.
She was like a stone that had been carelessly tossed into a lake, sinking deeper and deeper with every minute that passed. If she didn’t help herself, no one else would. She was dangerously submerged and she knew it.
Time to get out of the house. The walls were beginning to clo
se in on her. It wasn’t as if she needed to worry about accidentally running into Mark and…his new friend. They were in the Bahamas enjoying her vacation. The entire situation was wrong on so many levels, Chloe could hardly process it.
Life isn’t fair.
She’d learned that lesson the hard way.
Even so, from the beginning Mark had begged her to go away with him and start anew. She’d refused, saying she wasn’t ready yet. It was too soon. She’d wanted to go more than anything, but she’d needed more time before she could go out and have fun. To live and be happy felt wrong. Secretly, she’d felt angry with him for wanting to enjoy a frivolous vacation while facing such emotional turmoil.
He’d given up asking after she turned him down the second time. He certainly hadn’t tried very hard. She’d never said no to the trip, just not yet. Still, she could hardly blame him for abandoning her. They simply hadn’t been on the same wavelength for over a year now.
But the idea of him and another woman carousing white sandy beaches—kissing and laughing, frolicking in the ocean, walking hand in hand next to a fiery sunset—still stung.
Chloe pushed the vision from her mind. She dressed meticulously and took her time with some light makeup, determined to get out of the house and look good while doing it. She threw open the door and walked briskly towards her Honda Civic waiting patiently in the driveway. The oppressive heat of the Arizona summer immediately made her shirt stick to her back uncomfortably. Although she loved warm weather, she and a squelching hot day would never be best friends. The interior of the car was going to be sheer misery. While packing—she could only assume when he’d retrieved his suitcases from the garage—Mark had backed her car out and left it in the driveway. It’d been baking in the sun for days. Fabulous. Thanks a lot. Another strike against Mark Brennan. Suddenly the sound of squealing tires brought her to a standstill.