by Adam Zorzi
Jill took the entire week off, too. Abbie slept in the master bedroom with Dan during the day. Jill didn't hover. She left for short periods to run errands and car pool for Katie. He could hear her as she kept busy with fall cleaning, de-cluttering, and packing boxes for charity pick-up. She maintained her exercise regimen. Maybe she did some work from home. Most importantly, she was available if he needed her.
What he needed most was to be left alone by everyone except Jill. She protected him. She made excuses to condolence callers as she had in Florida, re-routed flower deliveries to senior citizen centers, and kept a condolence call journal. He was in no condition to write thank-you notes and didn't want Jill to do it on his behalf. His plan was to pretend nothing had happened.
By the end of the week, he and Jill took brisk mid-morning walks with Abbie. They chose a time between the pre-work runners and lunch-time runners when the park was quiet. They travelled along his usual running route. The weather wasn't wintry, yet. Both of them wore light running jackets, but the walks felt good. Dan knew he was recovering when the slight breezes didn't sting his face and legs. He no longer felt like target practice for lightning bolts.
Mostly, they walked in silence holding hands. Abbie danced along seemingly thrilled to have not one but two humans accompanying her. They completed half of the six -mile circuit by Friday. Dan expected to jog during the weekend and run by Monday. He'd go back to work Monday.
Surprisingly, there hadn't been any phone calls from work about the installation. He'd told Jill he'd take those calls, but so far his team seemed to be managing without its leader. He dreaded returning to the office not because of work, but because of Bella. He simply couldn't face a conversation with her.
He thought about what Dr. Spellman had said about his inability to call her even as a courtesy to let her know there'd been a change in plans never mind his life. He doubted he would have been coherent if he'd attempted such a call. Rob had required treatment by an EMS team before he'd been able to convey the news. Dan knew it would have been impossible for him to say his father was dead aloud.
They went to dinner at Rob and Suzanne's house Saturday night. Dan enjoyed being out of the house with people he considered safe. Suzanne had prepared a simple meal, but presented it beautifully. She was preparing for holiday concerts with the RSO, her quartet, and solo gigs. She always had stories about mishaps both in front of and behind the stage. At a special performance Thursday night, the stage lights had gone out and the orchestra, along with the vocal soloists, continued in darkness. The audience had raved about the experience and suggested that more concerts be performed with lighting effects.
“How did you know what to play if you couldn't see the score, Aunt Suzanne?”
“There's a small LED light attached to each music stand. Even if there hadn't been, I've been playing that particular piece for thirty years. I have it memorized. Most of my colleagues do, too. All the vocalists sing from memory. The challenging part was seeing the conductor. I enjoyed it. The audience was completely silent. There wasn't any coughing, flipping program pages, or rattling of cough drop wrappers. The artistic director is thinking of doing something similar for Halloween next year. It was a novelty and successful.”
“Sounds like you had the most exciting week of any of us.” Dan spoke for the first time. “Anything else going on? Rob?”
“Work was busy, having shuffled patients last week. I'm really glad I added two colleagues last year. Makes things much easier to schedule now that there are five of us in the practice.”
“I completed fall house-cleaning and sent a lot to charity,” said Jill. “I don't know how three people and a dog can collect so much stuff.”
“Because, Jill, one of them is Dan the hoarder.”
“Stop, Rob.” Jill shook her head. “I mostly got rid of my stuff—CDs, worn training gear, and business suits and pumps I'll never wear. I'd been hanging onto clothes thinking at some point I might have to make a presentation to a straight laced client, but if it hasn't happened in five years, I think I can let it go. I also got rid of some of Abbie's worn toys, collars, and leashes. Kaitlyn and I picked out two new collars and leashes one day after school. She deserves to look snazzy. She's black and looks good with red and bright blue. She needs a new winter sweater, too.”
They'd bought stuff for Abbie—his dog—without consulting him? Dan didn't like that, but he kept quiet.
“Gran's lonely.”
They all looked at Katie. “She misses Granddad so much. She's sick of people coming over any time they feel like it. She sent an email to all her friends to ask them to call before visiting and that if the phone goes to voice mail, it means she's resting not that she's lying on the floor in need of 911. She told three people that she didn't want one of those Medic-Alert necklaces for old people who fall and need help getting up. People make really stupid suggestions just because Granddad died. She's not sick. She's sad.”
Tears flowed down Dan's cheeks. He couldn't help himself. His mother sounded like she was in terrible pain and there was nothing anyone could really do to help.
“How do you know this, Kaitlyn?” asked Rob.
“I email her every day after school, Uncle Rob. Sometimes, she doesn't write back until bedtime. She takes afternoon naps like Dad.” Katie shot a furtive glance at Jill. “I told her I was working on not having to go to Charleston for two whole weeks at Christmas. She said she'd be fine and that Grandmother and Grandfather Carter missed seeing me at Thanksgiving. I didn't tell her Grandmother Carter just missed a chance to show me off and tell everyone I went to St. Margaret's, too, like she did plus Mom and her sisters.”
Jill gave Katie a stern look that Dan knew meant they'd talk later. He was rooting for Katie's persuasive abilities.
“That's very thoughtful of you to keep in touch with Gran. I called her once, but she didn't want to talk. She said for your dad and me to wait for her to call us.”
“That's what she told me, too, Uncle Rob. She needs privacy.”
Before they left, Rob took Dan aside and asked how he felt. Dan told him the truth. Still grief-stricken, still on heavy meds for Mørk, and seeing Dr. Spellman once a week. “I'm going back to work half-days starting Monday. I hope to be back full-time by the following week. Dr. Spellman added a new prescription that helps me focus in the mornings.”
“Good. I'm sorry if I pissed you off in Florida.”
“No, Rob, it helped. Katie was afraid of me. She'd never seen me have a visit from Mørk. That, combined with being upset herself, must have been awful for her. Dr. Spellman said it's too soon to know if she inherited this awful depression. Symptoms don't show up until about age seventeen. Rob, you're one lucky man that you and your sons didn't inherit it. I wouldn't wish this on anyone.”
“Do you think Dad had it?”
“He must have had some mild form. I remember he could be moody, but I now see that he lived exactly the structured kind of life that keeps episodes to a minimum. He never worked long hours, was always home for dinner with the family, and had a standing card game with other couples on Friday nights. He golfed every Saturday morning, went out with Mom and friends Saturday nights, and did something with us as a family on Sundays.
“I once considered that boring, but we grew up feeling loved and secure. I think that's why he was such a careful planner. He wanted to limit surprises. I understand now why he wanted to downsize and sell the house. He didn't want Mom to have to do things alone when they could make decisions together and then enjoy their lives. I forgive him that.”
“And the other problem?”
“I can't forgive him, Rob. I can't.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dan spent the first two hours of his first day back at work with the team. They offered condolences, expressed their willingness to help him ease back into work, and moved on to debrief him. It had gone extremely well with only a few hiccups. Each team member congratulated Dan for being so precise and detail-oriented with the ven
dor. His anticipation of problems in key areas and making design adjustments had prevented downtime. The training he supervised was precise and brief. As a result, the help line hadn't been flooded with questions. Staff hadn't been overburdened with information. As Dan had insisted, they'd been given instruction not tech-speak. Feedback from department heads was positive—staff saw a sleek user-friendly design and experienced a faster, more efficient system. Productivity in the first quarter after installation was projected to rise.
After a quick coffee with some of the key team members, Dan steeled himself to go into his office. He closed his door and approached his desk cautiously. He dreaded what he'd see—the message light on his landline was on. He ignored it. He sat and reached into his locked bottom desk drawer and removed the burner phone he used for calls to Bella. He scrolled through the caller ID list. Bella had called every work day morning between 8:30 and 9:15 as usual, including this morning. He didn't check for messages.
His landline voice mailbox was full. He put his head in his hands and wept. He couldn't bear to listen. Very few would be work-related. The staff would have been informed he was out of the office. Most formal requests were made via email rather than phone calls.
Bella refused to email him or provide her email address. Another one of her rules to keep their affair private. She had a nothing-in-writing, no gifts, no evidence policy. When his burner phone was close to expiration, he bought a new one and gave her the number.
He couldn't bring himself to tell Bella his father was dead. He couldn't say no one could have taken better care of the sick, grieving man he'd been than his wife. He couldn't say his eyes had been opened to the fragility of his child.
Almost every voice mail would be Bella. She was the only person on earth who called him Daniel instead of Dan. Hearing her mellifluous voice say his name would break his heart. It was the most beautiful sound on earth. It really didn't matter what she said. She had the ability to evoke fiery declarations, exquisite pain, and the purest of pleasures. Whatever tone she used or role she chose would break down every defense he had. He'd shatter. He'd never be able to function. He'd be of no use to anyone.
He simply couldn't listen to her recorded voice. He wouldn't make himself press call and hear her live voice. She'd pull him back into the deepest darkness in which he lived without her if he told her how much his father's death had changed him. He'd disappoint her again. For the first time since learning that his father had died, he considered ending it all. Life without Bella wasn't living.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dan paced in Dr. Spellman's outer office. It had been three weeks since his father died and his medication had worked until now. The receptionist had told him he'd have to wait five to seven minutes given that he'd been worked in on the last weekday before the Christmas holidays. He felt like five to seven hours had passed. Dr. Spellman's office would be open every day except Christmas and New Year's Days. Why did everyone have to see him today?
He was next. Dan endured a quick vital signs assessment by a nurse before the great man walked in. By that time, he was hyperventilating.
“Dan, sit still, take deep breaths.” He handed Dan a chilled bottled water from a small refrigerator beneath his desk. “Drink this. Take your time. There's plenty of time for you to tell me what's bothering you. You're safe. I'm your doctor. I'm not going to let anything happen to you.”
Dan did as he was told and slumped in the comfortable upholstered chair like the deflated person he felt. He continued to take deep breaths until he felt able to speak coherently.
Dr Spellman sat on a swivel stool in front of his desk. Dan's chart was visible on the computer monitor. Spellman ran through the usual checklist of symptoms, medication efficacy, and need for prescription refills and made nodes on the chart before allowing Dan to speak without interruption.
“That bitch ruined my marriage and my life,” he finally spat.
In that infuriating way doctors have of playing stupid or uninformed, Spellman questioned him. “What bitch?”
“Bella.”
“The 'girlfriend, for lack of a better term'?”
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. He'd already been put through interrogations twice in two days. He couldn't bear a third by a condescending jerk with an MD after his name.
“My notes indicate that you've responded to medication, returned to work, and plan to leave tomorrow for a two week holiday trip. What's changed?”
“Everything. Everything's changed. I'm not going to Charleston although I'd hardly call it a holiday trip. It's more like penance for my father having the bad timing to die at Thanksgiving and having to do double duty with my in-laws at Christmas to compensate.”
“Not going sounds like a relief.”
“Jill disinvited me.”
“Even better. That sounds quite thoughtful.”
Dan struggled to stand so he could walk out in a huff, thought better of it, and settled himself deeper in the chair. Spellman was going to play Devil's Advocate indefinitely unless Dan told him the story from the beginning.
“Don't shrink me. Just listen.”
“I'm listening. Please continue.” Spellman sat with his hands relaxed on his lap and the heels on his shoes hitched on the lowest bar of the stool.
“Work is going okay except that my voice mailbox is filled with messages from Bella since the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. She calls every work day on the burner phone during our regularly scheduled time. I don't answer. I can't answer. I don't want to hear her voice.”
Spellman didn't respond so Dan plowed ahead.
“Two days ago, I was looking for a computer file at work so I could get a jump on the year-end activity report. I couldn't find it. I don't know if it was deleted or misfiled or what, but I couldn't find it. I was annoyed that I wasted an hour and still couldn't find it.
“I didn't want to go through hard copies in the filing cabinet, but I did and still couldn't find it. I yanked hard on the top file drawer and spilled coffee into it, ruining not just pertinent files, but all my files for the year. I first went to the men's room to get paper towers. None there. I went to the break room, grabbed a roll to take to my office to mop up, and argued with some prissy type who didn't want me to take it. By the time, I got back to my office, I was pissed. The aroma of coffee coming from the file cabinet was nauseating, and the burner phone was ringing.
“I was sick of Bella harassing me so I picked up. She said she was so relieved to hear my voice. She thought something terrible had happened to me. She'd called hospitals. She'd checked online obituaries looking for my name. She sounded frantic and relieved.
“I blew her off. I told her she should have known if she hadn't heard from me that I wasn't interested in talking to her. She pressed me. I finally told her that my dad died the day before she was to have visited at Thanksgiving. She was Bella at her most compassionate. It made me sick.
“She sweetly insinuated that I must have been in a coma if I hadn't had the presence of mind to give her the courtesy of a call to tell her there'd been a change of plans. She'd come to Richmond. When I never showed at our rental house, she became seriously worried. She made calls to the police, hospitals, and even the morgue. She thought I'd had an accident or heart attack.”
He paused, gulped down the remaining water in the bottle, and took a deep breath.
“I basically said it was over and she was harassing me. Bella is brilliant. Phi Beta Kappa, Summa, Order of the Coif. Even before she became a lawyer, she could best just about anyone in an argument by calmly pointing out things that were obviously unreasonable and mistakes in logic. Kind of like what you do, Dr. Spellman.”
Spellman didn't react. Of course not. Prick.
“I was angry. I took all the feelings I had—anger, guilt, grief—out on her. I screamed and shouted. She kept asking questions in that infuriating reasonable tone of hers that I didn't want to answer. I finally told Bella I needed my wife and couldn't see her anymore. I told
her I'd kept a log of her daily calls and if she didn't stop calling me, I'd get a lawyer to get a restraining order or sue her for harassment or whatever legal thing I needed to get her to leave me alone.
“She hung up. I felt relieved. I could focus on my marriage and not feel guilty about Bella. That night, I slept well for the first time since Dad died.
“Yesterday, my wife got an email at her job from Bella that basically told her to get me in line because I was about to humiliate her and our daughter for no reason. Court proceedings are public and I had zero chance of getting a restraining order. I'd be lucky to keep my job when my employer found out I'd had phone sex at least once a day at work for a year.” Dan rolled his hand in the air to indicate on and on and on. “You get the idea.
“Jill was furious. She told me I was no longer invited to spend Christmas with her family in Charleston. She and Katie would go without me. Katie didn't want to go to Charleston. She can't stand the thought of spending that much time with Jill's pretentious mother. I told Jill Katie could go with her for a week and I'd come get her and go on to visit my mother in Florida for the second week. Jill said no. She refused to negotiate time with her child.
“That's when I told her everything—the year-long affair and my plan to divorce her and marry Bella, thwarted by my father's death. I told her that's not what I wanted anymore. I wanted to keep our family together. If she needed time to adjust, she'd have the week at Christmas with Katie and another with just her parents and sisters. She told me not to say anything to or plan anything for Katie. She called me a raging time bomb she wouldn't allow near her child. Katie had finally overcome her fear of me and Jill wasn't going to allow any setbacks. She left to pick up Katie from school.
“I pretended to have a headache and went to bed so I wouldn't see either Jill or Katie last night. I took a taxi here first thing this morning.”