After All I've Done

by Mina Hardy

  “All I can tell you is that last August, you told me you didn’t need any kind of proof to use for the prenup and that you’d found out something else. You didn’t tell me what it was.”

  “Did I tell you about burying a box in the back yard?”

  I almost laugh, but I see that she’s not joking. “No.”

  “Did I tell you I was sleeping with someone, who apparently I was also in love with, who I was going to leave Jonathan for?”

  “What? No!”

  “I thought I just forgot telling you.” She giggles, low, but it sounds more like her old self.

  I join her, and for a minute or so, it’s nice. Not like old times, but it’s nice. When it fades away, she shifts in her chair.

  “What are we going to do about all of this?” I ask her finally, when a minute’s passed and neither of us have said anything.

  Diana looks at me, and then she shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Diana

  The house is very quiet and feels very empty, even though Jonathan and I have both been sitting at the kitchen table for over an hour. We’ve each drunk about a pot of coffee apiece, but the cinnamon crumb cake he pulled from the fridge has gone untouched. I think we’ve both lost our appetites.

  “You’re lucky. They could have kept you a lot longer,” he says.

  “Sure. Right. Lucky.”

  Dr. Levitt signed me out, so long as I agreed to continue treatment with her, or someone else if I didn’t trust her. Someone had to oversee my meds, but, she said, she no longer believed I was a danger to myself.

  “By the way,” she’d said, “I want to assure you that while I did have a discussion with your husband about the time period of your amnesia, he was the one who called me. I would never have reached out to him without your permission, and I told him that I wouldn’t continue to discuss you with him unless you knew about it.”

  Now, home, facing him, I can’t deal with any more lies. I tell him everything I know, including that I’ve found my car. It’s far from enough, but at least it’s something. It’s the first time in years—maybe the entirety of our marriage in fact—that I’ve felt like Jonathan not only listened to me but actually heard what I was saying. No nodding along only to completely ignore everything I’d told him. No gaslighting or backpedaling to excuse himself. I wouldn’t say he’s owned everything that happened between us, but it’s a start.

  His guilt helps.

  What surprises me are his tears. He listened stone-faced when I confessed that Val and I had conspired against him to start their affair, and why we’d done it. But when I tell him everything about Cole, the length and depth and breadth of the relationship that I still can’t completely believe existed, Jonathan buries his face in his hands and weeps. Heart-wrenching, body-wracking sobs. The sound of it is horrifying, worse than listening to someone vomit. It’s the sound of agony. Of something dying.

  “You can’t possibly love him,” my husband says finally through the rasp of his tear-torn throat. He looks at me through swollen eyes. His nose drips.

  It’s disgusting, but that’s not what makes me turn away. I’ve never seen him cry, so this is unsettling enough for me to get up from the table and lean against the kitchen counter. He swivels in his chair to follow me with his gaze. I should comfort him, shouldn’t I? But I can’t, and more than that, I don’t really want to.

  “I don’t know what I feel about Cole. But what about you? Do you love Val? Because she loves you.”

  Jonathan doesn’t say anything, which is not fair, but totally typical. Hours of conversation about what we are going to do and how we mean to do it, and yet in the end he’s still got to control every goddamned thing, even his own truth.

  “You can admit to me you had sex with her,” I say, “but you can’t look me in the face and say you love her? You can’t say it even without looking me in the face.”

  “So this is the end of us,” Jonathan says. “For real.”

  His words rock me harder than I expect them to. I close my eyes. Having known it forever doesn’t make it any easier to accept now.

  “Yes, Jonathan. This is the end of us. For real.”

  “I never thought you’d remember. When they told me you had amnesia, I thought, man, what a lucky break, she won’t ever remember,” he says in a small voice that sounds like someone kicked him in the nuts.

  Again with the luck for something that was anything but. “I wouldn’t ever remember what?”

  “That you were going to leave me. You told me the night of the accident that you knew all about me and …” He stutters on her name. Coughs. “Valerie.” I listen for the sound of love in his voice when he says it, but I don’t hear it. “You told me that you knew I was planning to take her to Punta Cana. All of it. But you were willing not to bring any of that to court if I just agreed to your terms.”

  “Did you agree to them?”

  His laugh is derisive. “Hell, no. You were being ridiculous. Totally out of line. Just … honestly, Diana, I thought you were having a breakdown. Wanting to divorce me? Okay, fine, but trying to screw my mother over?”

  A chill spikes through me. “What do you mean?”

  “You wanted to draw up legal documents kicking her out of the apartment and banning her from any of our jointly owned property, ad infinitum, no matter which one of us ended up being awarded it. You wanted me to agree, as part of our divorce agreement, never to financially support her in any way for the rest of her life, and you even wanted me to take back any gifts we’d given her. Which you know, Diana, you can’t do. It was insane.” Jonathan lets out another laugh, this one more confused and sadder. “Insane. There was no way I was going to settle on all that, no matter if you did take me to court about the prenup. I mean … she’s my mother.”

  “Why would I have done that?” My memories are shredded lace, slipping through my fingers. “I love your mother.”

  I used to love his mother.

  “Like I said. Batshit crazy. I have no idea why you wanted any of that, and you wouldn’t tell me.” Jonathan gets up to pour another mug of coffee, the last in the pot.

  All of this is making me so tired. I don’t feel the way I did before going into Solace Point. No fuzzy head, nothing like that. But I’m not a machine. I really want a nap.

  “Speaking of your mother, where is she?” I’d been expecting her to welcome me home.

  “At her place, I assume. I told her to wait until one of us texted her before she came over. I thought you could use some time. That … we … might need some time. To talk.”

  It’s rare moments like these, when he shows even the tiniest scrap of awareness beyond himself, that I can tell myself I wasn’t an idiot for marrying him in the first place. Our marriage is over, but at least maybe I wasn’t a total fool at the start of it. Only, as it turns out, at the end.

  “I’ll text her. I’m sure she’s rabid to get over here and cook us some dinner or something.” I sigh, the weight of this task suddenly daunting. “Where’s my phone?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Cole

  I haven’t heard from Diana in four days. I tried the Taktok app, but my message to her remained not only unread, but undelivered. She might have deleted the app. I resorted to the tracking app. That little blue dot hasn’t moved in four days.

  She’s at home.

  Still, something bad’s happened to her. I know it. I feel it. So, although I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, I go ahead and do one more.

  I know the big house, of course, since I’ve dropped her off there in the past. But the app is showing her location in the smaller structure next door. Where her mother-in-law lives, I remember that, and the thought that maybe Diana’s taken refuge there is a relief I’m not quite ready to allow myself. If she’s separated herself from him, why hasn’t she tried to get in touch with me?

  I pull into the lower driveway and park. I have the chance to back up and leave without taking th
is next step, but damn it, I left her once when I could have changed things. I’m not doing it again. She might not want to be with me—and that’s a chance I have to take—but I do have to make sure she’s all right.

  I’m expecting Diana’s wanker of a husband to answer the door, and I’m more than half-hoping he does, so I have an excuse to punch him in the face. Instead, an older woman with short platinum hair opens it. Her lip curls at the sight of me.

  “Yes?”

  I don’t bother with niceties. If shit’s going to hit the fan, it might as well start blowing now. “Hi, I’m looking for Diana. Is she here?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m a friend of hers. We were supposed to be in touch, but she hasn’t been answering my messages.”

  “Maybe that’s because she doesn’t want to talk to you,” the woman says.

  I hold out my hands to show her I mean no harm and give her my best old-lady-charmer grin. “I’d sure like to be able to ask her that myself.”

  The woman’s eyes narrow. “What did you say your name was?”

  “I’m Cole. Is she here?” I’m tall enough to look over and beyond her, but she’s got the door closed enough to keep me from seeing too much.

  “Cole?” The woman blinks rapidly, then smiles. “Oh my. Diana has mentioned you.”

  “She … has?” Taken aback, I don’t know what to say next.

  The woman stands aside, door wide open. “Would you like to come in? Diana will be right back.”

  I follow her inside the small, well-furnished apartment. She waves me toward a table set with a mug of coffee and a puzzle book. I don’t see any signs of Diana here, but I stop myself from calling out her name.

  “Would you like something to drink? A cup of coffee? I have some fresh, right here,” Diana’s mother-in-law says. “Let me get you some while you wait. It won’t be more than a few minutes, I’m sure.”

  “All right,” I tell her. “A cup of coffee sounds great.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Diana

  “Have you seen my phone?” I sort through my oversized purse, which was hanging on the back of the chair and look up at Jonathan. “I haven’t had it since before they took me away.”

  He grimaces, like my description of what happened has offended his delicate sensibilities. I can’t care very much about that. What happened sure as hell offended mine.

  “Text it, please,” I ask him.

  He does but neither of us can hear anything. Now I’ve lost my phone again. At least it’s probably not buried in a box in the back yard. Probably.

  “Tell me the rest of what happened that night,” I ask him and get up to make us both more coffee. When I pull the filters out of the cupboard, I knock against a few of the prescription bottles. Empty. I toss them into the trash. I have new prescriptions now anyway—ones that are not supposed to make me into a lunatic.

  “We were fighting. About my mom, about everything. You started complaining that you felt sick. Then you got a really bad pain in your side. Like, you were doubled over with it. In agony. We decided it was quicker to drive you to the hospital.” Here he hesitates. I can see him struggling. Finally, he admits, “I’d been drinking. I thought I was okay to drive, but the roads were wet, and those damned deer—you know how bad they are. One ran out right in front of us. We hit it.”

  “You were driving. You hit the deer.”

  “The road was pretty empty. We both managed to get out of the car before anyone came. I called for help. You told me to just get out of the way, and we’d say you were driving.”

  He’s lying again, of course. That’s what he does. I don’t bother to call him out. “There was no tractor trailer driver.”

  “No.”

  The voice in my dreams, the one telling me I’d be okay. That was a real voice, but it hadn’t belonged to a stranger. It was Jonathan’s.

  “Nobody questioned it? The police? Nobody?” I ask.

  “It’s not like you were unconscious,” Jonathan snapped. “You were in pain, but it wasn’t like you were in a fucking coma, Diana. You told the cops you were driving and I was the passenger, and they didn’t care about anything other than making sure you got to the hospital. And then, when you woke up—”

  “I had no memory of any of it.”

  “Yeah.” He sighs. “And you were in pain, on drugs … I just didn’t tell you anything because … why? I mean, why, really?”

  “Because it was the truth?” I ask, but I don’t really expect him to agree with me. I mean, if my husband was the sort of guy to make the right choices, would we even be here? For that matter, I think, if I was that sort of woman?

  “It was easier. And I didn’t really want us to get divorced,” Jonathan says. “I still don’t.”

  We stare at each other then. Silent. Both of us weighing what has come between us; maybe both of us wondering if there’s a way, now, to salvage anything we once had.

  “Why’s my car in the shed?” It’s the final question I need to ask. “You told me it was totaled.”

  “The airbag deployed, so the insurance company totaled it.”

  “Then why is it in the shed?” I’m not going to let him get away with more lies. Not about my car.

  “I was going to get it fixed, but it would have cost thousands of dollars. I thought I’d sell it, surprise you with something else, but your name’s the only one on the title. So I put in the shed until I could figure out what to do with it. I knew how upset you’d be if you saw it like that,” he says, defensive. “I did it for you. I do everything for you. Anyway, that car was … unnecessary.”

  There, then. That’s it. The final nail. If there was the slightest, most minuscule chance we might reconcile, there it went.

  Both of us turn toward the sound of the front door opening. In the next minute, Harriett’s in the kitchen. She hands me my phone.

  “I knew you’d want this,” she says. “I was keeping it safe for you. It’s been going off for days.”

  When I open my phone to find twelve texts from Cole and a few missed calls and voicemails, including one from Dr. Levitt, I wonder if she saw any of the notices. Because there’s something I knew but hadn’t thought about for all these months. Harriett knows my passcode. What has she seen?

  More importantly, what has she done?

  “Thanks,” I tell her.

  Harriett hugs me. “It’s so good to have you home, honey. All the family back together, just how it should be. Are you hungry? I was thinking of making a nice garlic and oil pasta and a big salad. How’s that sound?”

  “Delish,” I lie and hold the phone to my ear to listen to the message from Dr. Levitt.

  Hi, Diana. I wanted to let you know something important. I got your toxicology report back, and … listen, I have some real concerns about the meds that were found in your system. They were definitely causing bad interactions, and frankly, I need to talk with you about where you were getting them without a prescription. I am legally bound to report instances of illegal use, but I want to talk with you first. Call me back.

  Harriett is staring as I disconnect the call. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” I take one of the pill bottles out of the trash and study it. “When’s the last time you filled these?”

  “Oh my. I don’t know.” She’s puttering with something in the fridge. “Jonathan, set the table. This is only going to take a few minutes.”

  “Actually, Harriett,” I say, “I don’t think dinner is a good idea.”

  She pauses with her back to me. Straightens. She turns her head halfway but keeps her body still. “Why not? I’d think you were starving for a good home-cooked meal after having to put up with whatever slop they served you in that place.”

  “Harriett, Jonathan and I have something really important to tell you. Can you turn around, please?”

  One of the reasons I stayed so long in this marriage that wore me down to nothing was because of the woman in front of me. Telling her I�
��m divorcing her son, or he’s divorcing me—whichever way it goes—is harder than telling Jonathan. I wait for her to face me, but she won’t.

  “Harriett.”

  “Ma, Diana wants a divorce.” Jonathan snaps this out like he’s cracking a whip. “We’re splitting up. She doesn’t want to eat dinner together right now. You need to go home.”

  Harriett does not turn around.

  A sound begins, something low and dark and growling. It takes me a few seconds to realize it’s her voice. Words—actually, one word—over and over again.

  “No. No, no, nononononono!”

  Harriett slams both her hands against the counter, hard enough to rattle the dishes in the cupboard. I back up a step. I have never heard my mother-in-law raise her voice, much less shriek this way. It is the sound of fury. It is the sound of ferocity. It is the sound a woman makes when she has lost her mind.

  She whirls, her fingers curled into claws. She shakes. For a second, a single, gleaming strand of drool slips from the corner of her lips. I watch in horror as she doesn’t even try to wipe it away.

  “After all I’ve done,” Harriett says in that same awful voice. “After all. I’ve. Fucking. Done.”

  I have never heard her swear.

  “Ma—”

  “You. Shut up. You’ve done enough,” Harriett spits at him. “You and your little man doing all the thinking for you. And you.”

  She turns to me. Her finger stabs. I take another step back, getting out of range. My heart pounds, my palms are clammy, and a red haze is creeping in around the edges of my vision. When they become blinking black spots, I realize … I’m going to pass out.

  “You, you, you … you stupid little girl. You’ve ruined it all. I just had my family all together, all of us, happy and content and together. And you had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?” Froth curdles in the corners of her mouth.