Unconditional

by Linda Rettstatt

  I couldn’t summon anger or sarcasm, though, as I sifted through this box of buried treasures. Memories of us. Packed away and left in this damp, cold place. Like a grave. I didn’t know I was crying until Audrey set a hand on my shoulder and, with her other thumb, wiped a tear from my cheek. “Come on, Meg. Leave this stuff. It’s time to go.”

  “Is everything upstairs packed?” I asked. I wasn’t ready to go.

  “Yes. Nikki and Chico just left. Are you finished down here?”

  “No. There’s one more thing. The christening outfit. The one you and I both wore. If I have it, it’ll be in a box marked ‘baby things.’ There are a bunch of clothes in there Mom had saved. She gave them to me when she and Dad moved.” I tugged frantically on boxes, even though I knew there was no reason to hurry. Thomas wouldn’t be coming home. He and Francisco were in St. Lucia. I’d always wanted to go to St. Lucia, and Thomas said we would, ‘someday.’

  Audrey, easily four inches taller than me, reached for the boxes on the upper shelves. “Got it.” She hoisted the box in her arms. “Okay, let’s go.”

  But I had to look inside first. I opened the lid and removed a tiny crocheted sweater and matching yellow and white cap. I pressed it to my cheek. “Oh, Aud, can you believe we were small enough once to wear this?”

  “That must have been all yours. I was never that size. Can’t you sort this out at home?”

  I folded the sweater and placed it back into the box on top of the cap. “I don’t see the christening outfit. Let’s go.” I was one huge, filled to near bursting, ball of emotion. Audrey was her usual pragmatic, rational self. I didn’t want to fight, because I’d never win.

  I left the basement door open, hoping the entire house would smell of stale water by the time the boys returned. Then, just for fun, I changed the alarm code before I locked the door behind me for the final time.

  Audrey placed the baby box in the trunk of her sensible older model Chevy Malibu, and we headed to the storage facility I’d rented.

  Chico and Nikki leaned against the side of Chico’s sleek black pickup truck. I gave Chico a thorough going over. He was tall and thick, in the way wrestlers are thick. His biceps bulged beneath the sleeves of his sparkling white tee shirt, and his Levi’s fit tightly over meaty thighs. An earring gleamed beneath a shaven head. I instantly thought of Mr. Clean, except Chico was cuter. Mr. Dirty, perhaps. I grinned at my private joke as heat surged to my face. What was wrong with me?

  I hurried to the storage locker I’d rented and punched in the code to unlock the sliding door. The door glided up, exposing the empty locker, like a gaping dark yawn. Chico and Nikki wasted no time filling the space with my stolen furniture. I smiled as I imagined the look on Thomas’s face when he returned home, after he convinced the police he was not trying to rob the house, after he convinced the security company that he was, in fact, the homeowner and simply didn’t know the security code.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dante Piccolini, age forty-five, died on Sunday from injuries received in a car accident. He is survived by his loving wife, Terri, and two sons, Dante, Jr., and Gabriel. Internment Wednesday at 3 p.m. in Allegheny Cemetery.

  ~ * ~

  Forty-five. So young. I felt sorrow for his wife. She would have to fill in the gaps—where Dante sat at the dinner table, the dent his body left on his side of the bed they shared, and his seat in the bleachers for their sons’ sports games.

  As I drove to Allegheny Cemetery later that week, I was struck by the life happening on the streets of Lawrenceville. So much life. But I was on my way to witness a final goodbye.

  I parked inside the main entrance of the cemetery, and I waited. Maybe they wouldn’t show up. Perhaps it had all been a mistake, a misprint. Dante is at Gabriel’s soccer game. But, in the side mirror, I saw the hearse, like a black ghost, gliding through the open gate. And I saw Dante’s widow, her head resting against the window of the limousine, her face weary with grief. I shifted the car into drive and fell into the back of the line.

  The service lasted nearly twenty minutes. Chairs had been set up under a canopy for Dante’s family. His wife shook with sorrow. His sons, one on either side of their mother, leaned into her, sadness drawing their youthful mouths down.

  Dante got a military funeral, and everyone startled as the seven rifles discharged three times. I turned to leave. Dante’s wife walked back to the limousine and, as she passed in front of me, I reached out a hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Her reddened eyes lifted to meet mine. “Thank you. Do I know you?”

  “No. We’ve never met.”

  “Did you know my husband?”

  I shook my head. “No, I… I’m just so sorry.”

  She regarded me for a minute, then ushered her sons into the limo and crawled in after them.

  I stumbled toward my waiting car—the brand new, silver Lexus I’d gotten on trade for the BMW. I was sure I’d lost money on the deal, but I had gained distance from Thomas.

  With my afternoon calendar cleared and a beautiful early summer day, I drove to North Park. After using the public restroom, I set off on one of the trails around the lake. I felt inside my pocket for my cell phone.

  Halfway around the lake trail, I stopped and rested on a shaded bench. I dug into my pocket and extracted my phone, flipped it open and hit ‘1’ on speed dial.

  “Hello.”

  “Thomas, I need to talk to you.”

  “Why? Do you want to know when I’ll be going out of town so you can pick up the washer and dryer? Or maybe you’d like to hire an armed security guard to shoot me when I come home.”

  I had to admit that sounded appealing. “I thought we’d settled that. And I am sorry about the security code. That was a childish impulse on my part.”

  Silence.

  “Thomas?”

  “I have to give it to you, Meg. You were brilliant. Once I got over being handcuffed and shoved into a police cruiser for breaking into my own house, I almost saw the humor in it. Now, what do you need to discuss that can’t wait until this evening?”

  “I don’t want to get into it on the phone. I’m at North Park. Can you come now?” My heart pounded.

  “I’m at work. Is something wrong?”

  “It’s important, and it can’t wait. Please? I’m on the lake trail, by the bike rental. And you owe me,” I added.

  “Meg, I can’t just take off…” He huffed out a breath. “Fine. I could use a break. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  He didn’t argue or insist on knowing more. I didn’t know if that was love, guilt, or friendship. Habit, perhaps. He’d forgotten he no longer had to do my bidding.

  While I waited, I shielded my eyes and watched ducks on the lake. A memory washed over me. I was five years old and feeding ducks in some pond. My grandfather had fisted the back of my bunched up dress, holding me fast while I leaned toward the water. He would not let go. He would not let me fall. I sat with this memory behind my closed eyes, breathing in the fresh spring air.

  “Meg?” Thomas called out as he approached the bench.

  I turned my head and squinted up at him. He was breathtaking with the sun glinting off his dark hair and olive skin. The bench seemed to drop from beneath me. “Sit down. We have to talk.”

  “What’s going on?”

  My heart slammed in my chest and my hand reflexively covered my middle. “There’s only one way to say this. I’m pregnant.”

  He didn’t sit, but stared, first at my belly, then into my eyes. His jaw dropped. “You’re pregnant? But…”

  I sucked in my lower lip and nodded.

  He sat down heavily, color drained from his face. He drew in a shaky breath. “You’re pregnant.”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes glazed as he faced me. “How did this happen?”

  “How? Uh…”

  “You were on birth control.”

  I wrung my hands together in my lap. “About that. I…uh…stopped taking the pill
in January.”

  His eyes widened. “You…what? How far along are you?”

  “Eight weeks. It happened in March, that last time you and I… I thought a baby would bring us closer.”

  Thomas stood and began to pace while dragging a hand through his hair. “Are you crazy? You’re a therapist, for godsake.” He towered over me, blocking the sun. “You know a baby is not the solution to a troubled marriage. God, could the timing be any worse?”

  I felt as though he’d slapped me. “I didn’t realize our marriage was troubled. I thought we were ready. Don’t worry. I don’t expect anything from you. I just thought you should know.”

  Hands braced on his hips, Thomas stared out at the lake. “When are you due?”

  “December.”

  “Oh, Meg.” He remained silent for a few moments. Finally, he asked, “What do you need me to do?”

  I need you to be my husband again, to tell me you were confused, but now you know it’s me you want. I need to you be straight. I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  “What about health insurance? You’re on my plan from work, but once we divorce, that ends.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. “I wonder how hard it is to get on a plan when you’re pregnant.”

  “We could hold off on the divorce until the baby’s born. You’ll have expenses, need to take time off work. I’ll take care of all of it. And doctor’s appointments. I want to go with you.” He sounded excited.

  I couldn’t breathe, and I wanted to run. I didn’t know how to do this—to be Thomas’s pregnant ex-wife, to let him stand over me while a technician showed us our baby inside me, and then send him home to Francisco. Did this mean Thomas would be my Lamaze coach? Would he be present for our baby’s birth? Cut the cord? “That’s not why I called you. I called because you have a right to know about the baby. I don’t want anything from you.”

  “I intend to be a part of our child’s life, Meg.”

  “You gave up that right.”

  His face contorted. “How could I have given up something I didn’t even know about?”

  “If you’d known about this baby, would you have still left me for Francisco?” I searched his face, fearful of the answer.

  “Meg, it’s not that simple. This isn’t about leaving you. And it isn’t about Francisco. It’s about me, being who I am. Finally. Being honest.”

  “Honest?”

  “I know. It’s not fair, because by being honest with myself, I’ve had to hurt you. I hate myself for that. But, in the long run, it’s best for both of us.” He steadied his eyes on mine. “I will always love you. And I will love our child. If you try to keep me from seeing this baby, I will fight you. Know that. I don’t want to, but I will.”

  I thought about Dante Piccolini. He had no choice. He had been ripped from the lives of his wife and sons without any say. I recalled the sadness in their faces. They looked lost. I gazed at this man with whom I had vowed love for a lifetime. “That won’t be necessary.”

  He held my hands. “We’ll get through this, Meg.”

  “I do not want Francisco to have a place my child’s life. That man is not to become a third parent. Is that understood?”

  Thomas brushed his thumb across the inside of my wrist—an action that once sent shockwaves through me. “We’ll talk about that another time.”

  I pulled my hand free. “You’re probably right about the insurance.”

  “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your car.”

  We strolled to the parking lot looking like any other couple enjoying a walk in the park on a summer day. His hand wrapped around mine again. But I didn’t hold on the way I once had. And when I let go, he simply slipped his hand into his pocket. We walked only inches apart, but the divide between us could have swallowed up an elephant.

  Chapter Twelve

  Audrey fussed over me. It was cute, sort of. Annoying, mostly. “Will you please just sit down?” I asked.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” She looked like a puppy waiting for the stick to be thrown so she could fetch it and bring it back. If she had a tail, it would have been swishing back and forth, creating a breeze.

  I’d returned from round one of apartment hunting with no success. Discouraged, I’d tried to relax by reading a novel. But Audrey’s constant checking on me forced me to read the same page three times. “Audrey, all I want is a little peace and quiet so I can read this book.”

  Her mouth narrowed into a line. “Okay, I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

  I had hurt her feelings. I would have apologized, but I wasn’t sorry. I needed space. Which was exactly why I needed my own place. “Thank you.” I resumed reading, even though I wasn’t absorbing most of the words. My mind drifted miles away. I had decided it was time to call my parents and tell them everything. I’d been rehearsing my speech all morning, struggling to find the right starting point. ‘Mom. Dad. I have good news and freakishly bad news about my marriage.’ Okay, so ‘freakishly’ may be a poor word choice. ‘Hi, Grandma and Grandpa. What’s new with you?’ Not subtle enough.

  I tossed the book aside, not bothering to mark my place. I’d left my cell phone in the bedroom, so I grabbed Audrey’s house phone from the side table. Taking a deep breath, I dialed.

  “Hi, Audrey, honey.” My mother’s voice sounded as bright as Florida sunshine.

  “Hey, Mom. It’s Meg. How did you know this was Audrey’s phone?”

  “Your father and I have caller I.D. now so we can ignore your Aunt Eleanor if we want. Why are you calling from Audrey’s phone? Is she okay?”

  “Audrey’s fine, Mom. I…uh… Is Daddy there?”

  “Yes, I’ll get him.”

  I held the phone away from my ear while my mother shouted my father’s name at a deafening decibel.

  “Mom,” I shouted back into the phone.

  “He’s coming, sweetheart.”

  “Can he pick up the other phone? I need to talk to both of you.”

  Audrey came into the room, and I mouthed, ‘Mom and Dad.’ She signaled that she would leave, but I motioned for her to sit down. I needed moral support.

  “Hi, Meggie.” My father’s rich voice was filled with affection, and I tried not to cry.

  “Hi, Daddy. Mom, are you still there?”

  “We’re here. What’s going on?” my mother asked.

  I let out a shuddering breath and tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone dry. My voice cracked when I spoke. “I…uh…have to tell you some things. So, I…um… I’m pregnant.”

  My mother screamed in my ear. “Oh, sweetheart. Your father and I are both so happy for you. Thomas must be excited, too?” She phrased this more as a question, than a comment. And I wondered what she suspected.

  “He’s…ah… Yes, he’s excited about the baby.” I paused.

  My mother’s radar clicked on. “What are you not telling us? Something’s wrong.”

  I started to cry, and I couldn’t speak. I passed the phone to Audrey.

  “Hi, Mom.” She nodded. “She’s…uh…overcome.” Audrey shook her head. “Not exactly. Meg is staying with me for a bit.” She paused. “He’s…uh…at home.”

  She stared at me wide-eyed, pleading for me to get myself together and take the phone.

  I blew my nose and wiped my eyes, then reached for the phone. “Mom.” But it came out ‘Momb.’ “Thomas and I split up.”

  “But you seemed so happy when we were there and had dinner,” my mother said.

  “We were…acting.” And one of us had more experience at it than the other. “Look, we’re trying to figure this out.”

  “You should go to counseling,” my father said. “It worked for me and your mother.”

  This stopped me cold. Abe and Pauline Ritter went for counseling? “You and Mom had counseling?”

  “Abe, Meg doesn’t need to hear about that.” My mother’s voice sounded tight. “You and Thomas can work this out, no matter how bad it may seem right now.”

/>   There’s bad, and then there’s bad. “I don’t think so, Mom.”

  “Does he want to try to make the marriage work?” she asked, probing for more information.

  I sucked in air like a fish coming to the surface before I blurted out, “Thomas is gay.”

  Silence hissed through the phone. I hadn’t heard a click, so I knew they were still on the line. “Hello?”

  “What did you say, honey? We have a bad connection,” my mother said.

  I repeated slowly, “Thomas is gay. He’s involved with Francisco. His assistant.”

  “Francis? That nice young man who was with him at dinner? But he’s…he’s…a man. Oh, my… Oh, Abe.”

  “You need us to come back up there?” my father asked in his best fatherly, I’ll-kick-his-ass voice.

  “No, Daddy. I just wanted you both to know what’s going on. I’m staying with Audrey while I look for an apartment.”

  My mother gasped. “Thomas threw you out of your house?”

  “He didn’t throw me out. I moved out.” Before his boyfriend moved in. “I don’t want the house.”

  “I saw a show like this on TV last month. This guy all of a sudden started sneaking around and wearing his wife’s underwear. Next thing you know, he was into her makeup. By the time he finished, he looked better than she did.” My father tried to put things into perspective. He didn’t help.

  “Abe, she didn’t say Thomas wore her under things. He isn’t wearing your lingerie, is he?” my mother asked.

  I laughed. My life had become a late night sitcom. I advanced from a giggle to a full-out, doubled-over gasping guffaw. And behind my tear-filled eyes, I saw Thomas and Francisco, modeling my Victoria’s Secret collection. Well the ‘secret’ part fit. “I’m sorry.” I wiped my eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.” Hysteria overtook me.