by Ford, Julie
Kneeling down on the floor, she reached out a shaky hand and rubbed Bobbie’s back. “Hey, son—can you say goodnight to me? I won’t be able to tuck you in for a few nights after today.” The stress of holding back her emotions and trying to sound light at the same time caused her voice to crackle.
“Why is Daddy so mad at me? He’s always mad at me. I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.” Bobbie sniffed.
“Oh no—you didn’t. He’s mad at me. He loves you—he just can’t show it sometimes, that’s all.” Josie bit her lip hard but a tear still managed to escape. “You know he’s so busy…trying to be a judge and all. It’s not you.”
“You swear?” He sniffed again and turned over to face Josie.
“Yeah. But he’s not mad anymore. As a matter of fact, we were out there laughing and talking ’bout how good you did tonight. Just now, before your daddy had to, um, run back to the office for something.” Josie forced a smile as another tear ran down her cheek. She prayed that the darkened room would mask her face. “Okay?” She kissed him lightly on the cheek.
For a moment, Bobbie’s gaze darted about his mother’s face. “Okay—night, Momma. Night, Jack. Night, Sampson.” Turning back to the wall, he closed his teary eyes and fell quickly to sleep.
After closing the boy’s door behind her, Josie stood motionless, squeezing her eyes shut tight, trying to control the waves of raw emotion rippling through her body. Aware that she needed to rest, she headed down the hall to her room, but knowing that sleep was out of the question she couldn’t decide what to do next. Hopeless and exhausted, she leaned against the wall and sank down to the floor. As she suppressed the sobs causing her chest and abdomen to heave, her throat ached like something from the inside was trying to claw its way out.
When the pain became too fierce, she covered her mouth with her hand to contain the agonizing sound that escaped as she forfeited to the mounting pressure. Wrapping her arms tightly around her shins, she released her emotions in a flood of tears that rolled quickly down her face and dripped from her chin to stain her jeans.
Disconnecting herself from the world around, she buried her face in her knees and closed her eyes, letting the darkness envelop her. Her sobbing continued and the pain in her throat subsided as a new ache took its place—that unrelenting pain that had followed her around her whole life. The ache that came from feeling like she’d never fit in, that nobody understood her, that she didn’t deserve to be loved. A hurt that intensified with every day she neglected to deal with it, doing everything in her power to avoid feeling it. Moving out from her core, the pain intensified as it coursed through her entire body. She wanted to make it stop but she couldn’t; she didn’t know how.
In her mind she saw John’s face at the table the night before as he tried to make excuses to keep her from accompanying him on the trip. His cold eyes on her as he disapproved of her dress. The bracelet that dangled from Trisha’s wrist. Then tonight… What did he mean when he said, “I am done with this?” Done with me, our marriage? She’d done everything in her power to make him happy. Why couldn’t he love her?
Lori’s words made another appearance in her mind—I will never understand why John Bearden married you in the first place. Tonight wasn’t the first time she’d heard the very same sentiment. Not out loud of course, but she’d seen it in the eyes of John’s family and the workers at his campaign.
She squeezed her arms tighter around her legs.
“I hate that damn school—I hate volunteering.” She hissed the words out. She wondered why she’d been making herself do it all these years, forcing herself to be someone she wasn’t, something she didn’t even want. The pain in her gut intensified and the crying was causing her head to ache. I’m a failure at everything. Motherhood…marriage…those damn costumes. She wanted to find a hole to crawl into so she could curl up and die, for only in death would the pain truly end. She thought about moving into her closet, where she could hide in the corner, and shut the door—darkness being her only solitude at this point. But Josie couldn’t move—she didn’t have the strength. Alone in the dark hall, curled up in a ball on the floor, with her children sleeping just yards away, she sobbed for hours.
No one heard her cry.
* * * *
The clock on the wall indicated two in the morning when Josie found herself in the study, sitting cross-legged on the leather couch staring at a bottle of gin on the matching ottoman in front of her. Next to the bottle was a tumbler; the ice in the bottom was starting to melt. Dark clouds from the lingering storm blanketed the sky, preventing the light of the stars and the moon from shining through the single window. The low light from John’s desk lamp was barely enough to illuminate the shelves of books, diplomas, and golfing pictures festooning the surrounding walls.
Josie’s tears had finally stopped, but the soreness still remained along with the knowledge of what a failure her life had become. The pain behind her eyes was so intense that even the low lamp light became too bright, and she reached over and switched it off. As the darkness surrounded her, she had the sensation she was sinking slowly, spiraling down into an abyss of emptiness from where there was no return—and sadly she was comfortable there. Uncertain that she’d ever be able to pull herself back out, she reached down and poured the clear liquor into the tumbler.
The burning sensation she felt as the cool liquid rolled down her throat made her feel better, temporarily at least. The physical pain was a welcome release; somehow being able to define the source made it easier to bear. And for a moment she was free. Free from the rawness that the events of the last two days had left her unable to suppress.
After draining the glass, Josie got up and walked over to the stereo. Fumbling around in the darkness, she knocked the golfing trophy she and Gina had won last spring to the floor. Replacing it back on the shelf, she pressed the play button and closed her eyes, letting the gentle sound of guitar strumming wash over her as “Allison”, by Elvis Costello, softly filled the room. Josie listened intently, waiting for the music and lyrics to soothe her soul.
As the tears started to well in her eyes again, she shut the music off. Even the words of the greatest songwriter who ever lived were causing too much additional pain for her to bear right now. Making her way back to the couch, she poured another glass—then picking up the bottle, she drank until she no longer felt any pain.
* * * *
John hesitated outside the door leading from the garage to the kitchen. As he listened, his apprehension changed to concern when he didn’t hear any movement from the other side. He stepped into the deserted kitchen, looked around, and saw a clean sink and empty countertops. The clock on the stove read seven-fifteen a.m. Josie and the kids should have been eating breakfast and getting ready to leave for school by now.
Where is everybody? Moving out into the family room, he could hear the muffled sound of voices.
“Jocelyn? Kids?” he called out. Turning down the hall, he could hear Bobbie’s anxious voice coming from the study.
“Is she breathing?”
Jack’s voice came next, sounding unsure. “She’s sleeping.”
“She’s sleeping really hard. I think…” Beth said.
“What is going on around—” John was at the door to the study. His pulse started to quicken, sending waves of panic through his body when he saw Josie lying motionless on the couch. “Oh my God! Jocelyn?” Hurrying to see if she was all right, he pushed Jack and Bobbie out of the way. As he moved around the ottoman his foot connected with something hard that rolled out and almost tripped him. Looking down, he saw an empty gin bottle. The dissipating scent of alcohol reached out to him with the truth.
On the couch, Josie was lying on her side with her knees pulled up, still dressed in the same clothes she’d worn the night before, her corduroy jacket draped over her. Nestled up to her legs, Sampson was turned over on his back, resting his head on her hip, his front paws in a praying mantis position with his back legs spread-eagled. He was ignoring th
e intrusion.
When the bottle collided with the heavy wooden leg of the desk, the sound caused Josie to stir. She mumbled something incoherently.
“Look, Momma’s not dead—she just moved,” Bobbie called out with a sigh of relief.
“No—Momma’s not dead—but she’s gonna be.” John’s words came out sibilant, filled with venom. He couldn’t believe she was drinking again and it appeared that this time, she’d outdone herself.
“What?” the kids all chorused.
John looked down to see three pairs of horrified little eyes gaping up at him.
“Just a figure of speech.” He shook his head. “She needs a cold shower and some hot coffee, then she’ll be all right.” He let out a long sigh as he regarded Josie a second longer. Damn it, not today. “Okay, time’s up. You kids go on now and get dressed. I’m going to call Granny Carol to come carry ya’ll to school. So get moving or you’ll be late.”
“Does this mean I can wear anything I want?” Beth’s eyes were blinking quickly while her feet danced around as though she were standing on hot coals.
“Yeah, Baby, whatever you want. Hurry up now and then get back to the kitchen. I’m going to get something ready for you to eat.”
“You are?” Jack looked skeptical. “Shouldn’t we wait for Granny Carol?”
“I’m perfectly capable,” John assured them as they made their way out of the study, looking back cautiously as they went.
He stared back at his wife. “God Almighty, Jocelyn. What have you done now?” Shaking his head, he moved over to the phone on the desk, dialed the number, and waited for his mother-in-law to pick up. After hanging up, he regarded Josie forlornly before retrieving the empty bottle from under the desk. What should I do next? Leaving her for now, he shuffled off to the kitchen to start breakfast.
* * * *
As soon as Carol and the kids were on their way, John showered and dressed before returning to the study. He moved the watered-down tumbler of gin from the ottoman over to the desk; the smell of the liquor caused his nose to wrinkle. John had never been a drinker. The taste and smell of alcohol made him sick, and the most he could ever tolerate was the occasional glass of wine, or a social beer.
Reaching down, he gently removed a strand of Josie’s hair that had fallen across her face. Her skin was blotchy and her eyes were swollen, but she looked peaceful. Beautiful, even.
“What’s happened to you,” he mumbled, remembering how captivating and full of life she was when they first met. But slowly, over the years the vibrancy that had attracted him to her had started to fade, and then the drinking had begun.
He sat down on the ottoman and rested his elbows on his knees. With his face in his hands, he watched her as she slept.
“Tell me what to do, Babe. I can’t go on like this much longer,” he said. The disappointment ringing loud though his voice was only a whisper. He knew she was in pain but felt powerless to end her suffering.
At first, he’d tried to understand, but her reasons made no sense to him, and therefore bore no conclusions. Next, he simply ignored the drinking in hopes it was just a phase. When her problem evolved from a private nuisance to a public embarrassment, they’d finally struck a deal. But once again she’d been pushed to the brink, and just like every time before, he’d not been there to pull her back.
Now more than ever, he felt ill-equipped to be a husband, much less a father. All he could recollect of his own dad consisted of the old man barking orders and settling for nothing less than compliance. Then one day his mother ran the bastard off when he brought his mistress home for Sunday supper.
Josie stirred, disturbing Sampson. Rolling himself off the couch, the dog gave his fur a quick shake before padding out of the room. John knew he couldn’t put off waking her any longer.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he stood, leaned over her, and began shaking her shoulders, trying to rouse her from her stupor.
* * * *
Still somewhat intoxicated, Josie’s brain fought consciousness. Stop! Why am I moving? Josie’s head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, and her stomach was starting to churn with the sudden movement of her body.
“Leave me alone,” she mumbled, reaching up to push him away.
“Time to get up, Jocelyn. We’ve got to go.” His voice was firm but even as he pulled her up to sitting. “Plane takes off in less than two hours.”
Plane, what plane? Where am I? Josie tried to focus but the room was starting to spin. The sun streaming through the window told her that it was morning. What day is it?
Pressing her palms to her temples, trying to still the swirling motion in her head, she asked, “The kids. Is it time for school?”
“They left here about thirty minutes ago with your momma.” John leaned down and, wrapping both arms around Josie’s body, he hoisted her up to standing.
“My momma?” Josie tried to comprehend why her mother would have taken the kids, but suddenly, her stomach felt like it was going to heave. Then why is someone trying to get me up? Josie’s legs gave out beneath her and John quickly caught her before she fell back onto the couch. Oh, for the love of Pete, why won’t he let me be?
Josie looked up and saw John’s blurry face staring down at her and slowly her hazy mind began to replay the events of the night before—the play, the fight, something about throwing tools and yelling obscenities. It was all a bit foggy, but she started to remember. As another wave of nausea rolled through her body she was full of dread when she realized why he was so insistent on getting her up.
“No! I’m not going anywhere…with you.” Josie’s words were slurred as she sneered at him through puffy, half-closed eyes. “You can just go on without me…it’s what you want, anyway.”
“Afraid that’s not an option. You’re coming. Now stand up.” He steadied Josie on her feet, and then with one arm around her waist, started walking her toward the door. Her feet stumbled as she tried to keep up. The doorframe somehow looked lopsided, and she worried that she wouldn’t make it through.
“Keep this up and I will have to send you to rehab,” John threatened, struggling to keep her on her feet.
“Yeah, right. You and I both know you wouldn’t risk it winding up in the papers. Although, I’d enjoy watching Trisha try to spin that one.” Josie practically spit Trisha’s name at John as he dragged her down the hall toward their bedroom.
“Keep it up, Jocelyn—you’ll see.”
Reaching out for the wall to steady herself, Josie couldn’t remember the hall being this narrow, or this uneven.
“Maybe rehab’s not such a bad idea. I might finally make it into someone’s campaign add,” she said, and then with a wicked chuckle, added, “although it wouldn’t be yours.”
“Very funny.” John’s expression was angry now as he dragged Josie into the bathroom and over to the shower. Turning the water on, he moved the dial all the way to cold and shoved Josie, still fully clothed, under the shower.
The frigidly cold water was an unexpected shock to Josie’s practically numb system. She felt like the breath had been knocked out of her. Gasping for air and fumbling for the temperature control, turning it to hot, she spit water and venom. “You really are a horse’s ass!”
“And you’re a lousy drunk,” John shot back. “Damn it, Jocelyn, you promised that if I let you go to work you’d cut this nonsense out!”
As the temperature rose, steam poured out of the shower. Josie pulled at the snaps of her shirt and then her jeans, struggling to remove the wet clothing adhering to her body.
Realizing how pathetic she must look, she felt humiliated and angry. “Don’t get me started on the promises you haven’t kept,” Josie said, dancing around as she stripped her wet jeans from her legs.
* * * *
With one arm resting on the wall outside the shower for support, John watched his wife as she fumbled to remove her saturated clothing. His creased brow relaxed and his eyes softened when she finally removed her blouse, throwin
g it to the shower floor. As she reached back to unhook her bra she looked up and saw that he had been watching her. Ripping the bra from her body, she balled it up and flung it at him.
“Show’s over!” she hissed, yanking the glass door shut.
Instinctively, he reacted, catching the bra with one hand. His jaw grew rigid as his mood turned cold once more. “One hour, Jocelyn. Get yourself cleaned up and be ready to leave. I’ll be back to get you,” he said in a cross voice.
Shooting another hard glance at the steamed glass door, he stalked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom where he wavered. As she’d undressed, and just for a second, he’d considered climbing in with her—it had been too long since he’d held her. But then she’d slammed the door in his face the way she always had. Shaking his head, he looked back, knowing it wasn’t too late. Or, is it? Tense with frustration he turned and hurled Josie’s bra against the wall.
The wet fabric stuck briefly, before falling in a waterlogged heap to the floor.
* * * *
Josie stayed in the shower until the hot water was gone. After wiping the steam from the mirror, she stared in horror at the pale, blotchy, swollen face looking back at her. Applying full make-up was futile at this point. Instead, she opted for a little blush and mascara before downing three Advil. Dressed in a sleeveless Tommy Bahama rayon blouse, jeans, and sandals, she pulled her wet hair up into a messy bun and headed for the kitchen in search of some coffee. Her feet faltered somewhat as she wondered, what am I doing? Going on this trip…with him—with them. I must be crazy or something.
After rounding the corner from the entry hall to the kitchen, Josie saw that her mother was back from dropping off the kids, and waiting for her with a hot mug of coffee.
Carol looked aghast as she held out the steaming cup to Josie. “Good Lord, child! You look like hell.”
Josie took a careful sip of the coffee. “Thanks, Momma. I needed to hear that,” she said and felt the pounding in her head intensify with the sound of her own voice.