In Medias Res

by Yolanda Wallace

  “But was she right?”

  Jennifer had sighed loud enough to wake the dead. “What good would it do if I said yes? You’d just find a way to let me down easy.”

  “I haven’t had my final fling yet. There’s still time for me to turn you into a cliché.”

  Another joke. And a bad one at that. Apparently, tequila also makes me insensitive.

  “One night with you wouldn’t be enough for me, Syd. It would just be the beginning.”

  The seriousness of Jennifer’s response—and the apparent sincerity behind it—had taken my breath away. “What am I going to do without you?” I had wanted to put my arms around her and beg her to tell me everything was going to be okay, but with drowsiness setting in, my limbs had felt so heavy I hadn’t been able to force them to move. “Tell me this isn’t the end of us.”

  “There’ll never be an end. Not for us. Wherever I am, I’ll always be there for you. But you have Jack now. You don’t need me anymore.”

  “I’ll always need you.”

  “But he’s the one you said you wanted. He’s the one you said you’ve been looking for. He’s also the absolute worst basketball player in the world, but if you can live with that, so can I.”

  Jennifer had stayed with me until I had fallen asleep. She’d returned the next morning to nurse me through the ensuing hangover—and to see me through the biggest day of my life. The next week, she had caught a plane to Darfur and I’d thought I’d lost her forever.

  On the video, Natalie won the catfight for my wedding bouquet, coming out of the pile with the battered and bruised flowers. “So,” she said, turning to Jennifer, “are we moving to Canada or Massachusetts?”

  The answer had been neither. They’d broken up a few months later, when Jennifer had decided she could make better use of her medical skills in drought-stricken Africa than the Windy City. For Jennifer, it had been the start of a new kind of love affair—the one between her and the Dark Continent. Her stays there had grown longer and longer, her visits to the U.S. shorter and shorter until Natalie had decided she was over it.

  “I want a girlfriend who’s going to fuck me in person, not over the phone,” she had said. “When you’re here, your mind’s there. And when you’re there, I never hear from you. I’m tired of watching the news praying I won’t see your name appear in the scroll at the bottom of the screen. ‘Crusading American doctor Jennifer Rekowski murdered in East Africa.’”

  I ejected the tape and returned it to its place on the shelf.

  “What are you doing?” Jack asked.

  I turned to face him. “Remembering.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “We have to talk,” I said.

  “I agree, but can we talk over lunch? I’m starving.”

  “What I have to say isn’t for public consumption. It shouldn’t be unexpected, but that doesn’t mean it won’t come as a bit of a shock.”

  “That sounds ominous. What is it?”

  I could see him steeling himself as if he were one of his patients preparing himself to receive bad news.

  “There’s no easy way to say it so I’ll just say it.” I took a deep breath and spoke the words no wife ever expects to say. “I want a divorce.”

  Jack sat down hard. He took a moment to gather himself. When he was able to speak, he was a great deal more composed than I would have been if the shoe were on the other foot. “Three questions immediately come to mind: why, how long have you felt this way, and is there someone else?”

  I wanted to break it to him gently, if such a thing existed.

  “You are everything I’m supposed to want.” I needed to explain the situation to him as well as myself. “I feel more comfortable with you than any man I’ve ever met. Even when I realized that my heart was somewhere else, I thought I could make it work, but I can’t. Jack, I’m—”

  “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. I love you, Syd,” he said, trying to reassure me—and himself. “We can work it out.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “What about this afternoon? That didn’t feel like good-bye. Not to me.”

  “It did to me.” To me, it had felt like the final nail in the coffin.

  “There is someone else, isn’t there?” He was trying to cast the blame elsewhere instead of placing it where it belonged: on me.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me,” he said sharply. “It would help me understand why you keep pushing me away when all I want to do is help you. Were you—Are you having an affair?” His voice was tiny. Choked. As if the emotions he was fighting back were too much for him.

  “No,” I replied. “One night is not an affair.”

  It took him a moment to fully grasp what I’d just said.

  “One—So you have—With who?” he sputtered. “And don’t try to tell me that it doesn’t matter. I can’t think of anything that matters more.”

  “I never thought anything would happen between us. I thought we had missed our chance. But when I saw her—”

  “Her?” he asked, jumping on the slip. “You cheated on me with a woman? Most men wouldn’t call that cheating. Unfortunately for you, I’m not most men. Who was she? That Marcy person? That would explain why she cleared out of here so fast, but please don’t tell me you were willing to throw away our marriage for a roll in the hay with someone who drives a souped-up tricycle for a living.”

  “This isn’t about her,” I said. “It has nothing to do with her. She was a friend when I needed one, nothing more.”

  “If you didn’t sleep with her, if she’s simply an innocent bystander and doesn’t have anything to do with us, then tell me who does. Or do I even have to guess? It’s Jennifer, isn’t it?”

  I didn’t answer him. My silence was enough.

  “Of course it is,” he said. “Who else would it be? She’s the only person in this world you seem to give a damn about. I knew you were close, but not that close. You swore to me that nothing had ever happened between you two.”

  During the middle of our first date, he had asked me if Jennifer and I were an item. I had told him that Jennifer was gay and I wasn’t, but it wasn’t a problem for us because she and I were just friends. He had made me attest to the just friends bit on our third date, when we had started moving from casual to serious.

  “At that point, nothing had.”

  “So when did that change?” A look of recognition crossed his face. “Never mind. I already know. It was last week. The night she got back from her latest mercy mission. I offered to sleep at the hospital so you two could stay up all night and play catch-up. You played catch-up all right. You used the opportunity to take advantage of my faith in you. In us. So how was it?” he asked bitterly.

  “That really isn’t your concern.”

  “As long as you’re married to me, it’s my concern. I haven’t signed my name on the dotted line yet so you’re still my wife. Tell me how it was. What did she do for you that I couldn’t?”

  I didn’t have to fake it with her the way I did with him. Was that what he wanted to hear? Had I expected him to be happy for me? To wish me well? On some level, I suppose I had. Otherwise, his vehemence wouldn’t have stunned me nearly as much as it did.

  “Jack, please don’t make this hard for me,” I said.

  He let out a snort of disgust. “Why should I make it easy?”

  He had a point. I had done to him what I wouldn’t do to Marcy. I had led him on.

  “It’s over. Just let me go.”

  “If it’s freedom you want, you can have it. You’ve always had it. But I deserve an explanation. What am I supposed to tell everyone?”

  “The truth.”

  “I don’t know what that is,” he said with a rueful laugh. “Does Jennifer know about this? Did she put you up to it?”

  “No one puts me up to anything. You know that. If it makes you feel any better, the last time I saw her, she told me to forget I ever met her. For a while, I did. Qui
te literally, in fact. But that’s behind me now.”

  “What’s in front of you?”

  “The chance to finally be myself. And I’m going to take it.”

  “No matter who you hurt?”

  The pointed question had an unexpected sting.

  “Would you rather I stay with you and pretend or leave and be happy?” I asked.

  “You can be happy with me,” he insisted.

  “How am I supposed to do that when you can’t give me what I want?”

  “I can look the other way if I have to.”

  “I could never ask you to do that.”

  “You’re not asking me. I’m offering.”

  “I can’t commit fifty percent of me to you and fifty percent to someone else. It’s all or nothing. Anything less than that wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

  “Who are you to decide what’s fair and what isn’t?”

  “Who are you to decide what’s not? You said you wanted a marriage based on honesty. What you’re proposing isn’t what I’d call honest.”

  “It could be. If we were adults about it.”

  “I don’t want an open marriage, Jack.”

  “It sounds like you don’t want a closed one, either.”

  “I do,” I said, “but not with you.”

  I took off my rings and placed them in his hand.

  “Syd, don’t do this. If I don’t understand, how can you expect your parents to? Or anyone else, for that matter?”

  “You don’t have to understand me. Just respect me and the effort I put into making this decision.”

  He squeezed my discarded rings in his palm, undoubtedly thinking back to the day he’d slipped them on my finger as we promised to love each other until death do us part. “There’s nothing I can say to convince you to change your mind?”

  I slowly shook my head.

  “Then I want you to give Jennifer a message for me.”

  It was my turn to steel myself for what he was about to say.

  “You tell her that if she hurts you, she’ll have to answer to me.”

  We held each other and cried the way we had never allowed ourselves to when we were together. In time, I thought we could be friends, provided we worked hard enough at it and wanted it badly enough. With the pain I had inflicted still too fresh in his mind, the last thing Jack wanted or needed was to be around me. Fine by me. I had a plane to catch—and history to rewrite.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I was alone when my taxi showed up. Alone and wondering if I would always be that way.

  The cabbie stuck his head out the driver’s side window. “Somebody here call for a pick-up?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  I pushed myself off the steps and helped him load up.

  “Which airline?” he asked, making notations on the clipboard that hung from the glove compartment.

  “United.”

  I had booked the first flight available to Chicago. If I knew where Jennifer was, I would have joined her there, even though the last time I saw her, she’d said that wasn’t what she wanted.

  “I won’t be the lie you tell,” she had written—after helping me uncover the truth.

  I would try to track her down soon enough. But first things first. I needed to go home. I needed to see my family.

  I called my brother while I was standing in line at the sidewalk check-in. The small airport was unexpectedly busy. Almost as if a hurricane were bearing down on the island and all the tourists had been ordered to evacuate.

  “This is Pat.”

  I could hear testosterone-filled voices in the background. The Bears were preparing for Sunday’s playoff game with the Cowboys. Patrick was probably working on the backup running back’s gimpy left ankle. With Chicago’s ball-control offense, the team would need as many people to carry the load as possible.

  “I’m calling a meeting of Team Paulsen and I need to know if you’re free tonight.”

  “What time will you be getting in?”

  “My flight lands at five, which means I’ll have to fight my way through airport and drive-time traffic.”

  “Then why don’t we meet at my place? It’s closer.”

  Patrick’s house was a stone’s throw from the airport. My parents’ house was way out in the ’burbs.

  “Are you sure Kristin won’t mind?”

  “I’ll check with her, but I don’t see why she would. You’re family, not company so we won’t have to run around picking up the kids’ toys in order to make the place presentable for you. Is there anything else you need me to do?”

  “I’m about to check in so I don’t have time to make a ton of phone calls. Can you call Mom and Dad and get them on board? Tell them we’ll meet them at your house at seven. I’ll take over from there.”

  “I can do that. Do I get a hint about the topic of tonight’s meeting?”

  “Sorry, no home field advantage.”

  “Oh, well. Can’t blame a guy for trying. See ya tonight, sis.”

  The flight to Miami was short and sweet. A brief layover at Miami International gave me just enough time to have a watered-down drink and overpriced sandwich in one of the airport restaurants. I spent the flight to Chicago practicing what I was going to say. By the time I landed, I still didn’t have it down pat. All I needed was an opening. Once I got started, I would be fine. But I couldn’t figure out a way to set the table. Should I begin with a joke or should I simply dive right in?

  After enduring the interminable wait for my luggage at O’Hare, I spent a good fifteen minutes trying to find my car in the long-term parking lot. I had lost my ticket stub before my flight to Key West. At the time, remembering the number of my parking spot hadn’t been very high on my list of priorities. I found my car by pressing the panic button on my keychain until I got close enough to my car to set off the alarm.

  I tossed my bags in the trunk and drove to Patrick and Kristin’s subdivision. I parked my two-year-old BMW next to Dad’s ten-year-old Ford Taurus, the deadly dull but dependable vehicle he had steadfastly refused to part with despite my many offers of a complimentary upgrade.

  “I don’t care how a car looks as long as it gets me where I’m going,” he had said time and time again. “It’s what’s under the hood that counts. The rest is just pretty packaging.”

  It’s what’s inside that counts. I hoped he would continue to feel that way even after I shared the feelings that were churning inside me.

  Patrick opened the front door before I could ring the bell. “Anxious much?” I asked as he closed the door behind me. He shadowed me as I hung my hat and coat in the hall closet.

  “Let’s see. The last time you called a family meeting, it was to tell us you were quitting your six-figure job for one with an annual salary of, um, zero. Now Mom thinks you’re either dying or having a baby. So, yeah, I’m a little anxious to hear what’s going on with you. The floor’s yours.”

  He tossed me the ancient Spalding football that had been present at every family meeting since I was nine years old. The person who held the ball during the meeting was the only person allowed to speak. Each Paulsen respected the power of the football. Its privileges had been abused only once—when Patrick had attempted to convince Mom and Dad that his first vehicle should be a Harley instead of a Taurus. He had filibustered for hours on gas mileage comparisons, safety concerns, and “the coolness factor.” When all was said and done, he ended up with a wicked case of laryngitis—and a brand-new Taurus.

  I tucked the football in my arm like I was a running back looking for daylight.

  My audience consisted of only four people, but my heart pounded as if I were about to give a speech to four hundred. My parents, my brother, and my sister-in-law were looking at me with such trepidation that I knew I had to get to the point and fast.

  “Before I begin, let me ease your minds by saying this isn’t a matter of life and death.”

  “Oh, thank God,” my mother said, momentarily forgetting the ground rule
s. She covered her mouth apologetically and waved at me to go on.

  “You’ve undoubtedly noticed that Jack isn’t with me. He knows we’re here and he knows what I intend to discuss with you. I have his support and I hope I’ll have yours.”

  My mouth went dry and I struggled to swallow.

  “This isn’t a matter of life and death, but it is a matter of the heart. My heart hasn’t been in my marriage for a while.” I took another calming breath. “Before I left Key West, I asked Jack for a divorce and he agreed to give me one.”

  My mother reached for the box of tissues someone had placed on the coffee table before my arrival.

  “Even though I have feelings for someone else,” I continued, “I didn’t leave Jack for someone else. I left him for me. I left him because I was finally able to admit I’m not what he needs and he isn’t what I want.”

  I looked at my dad. I wanted him, more than anyone else, to hear what I had to say. He had been my biggest fan when I was growing up but also, in a way, my biggest detractor. By adhering to his edicts, I had excised a vital part of myself. A part that, like a phantom limb, I had continued to feel if not see. A part that had grown back.

  With his gruff exterior and Far Right political stance, Dad was like Archie Bunker without the comedic flush. Mom was a less ditzy Edith.

  I had set impossible goals for myself. Dad had set impossible standards. Standards I could no longer meet. He was the one I had always tried to please. The one I had always wanted to make proud. I still wanted to do that, but it was time for me to live by another set of rules. Rules I had stubbornly insisted did not apply to me.

  “I want Jennifer.” I almost laughed at how ridiculously good it felt to say that out loud.

  Three words. Three simple words. Why had it taken me so long to utter them?

  “I have done everything you’ve ever asked me to do. Now I’m asking you to return the favor: accept me as I am, not who you wish me to be.”

  I placed the football on the table, opening the floor for comments. The explosion I had expected didn’t come. Mom, Dad, Patrick, and Kristin looked at each other, but no one moved. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dad reached out and picked up the ball.