The Marriage Intervention

by Hilary Dartt

  By the time they sobered up and drove home, it was almost light out. They tumbled into bed, had lazy, slow-motion sex and slept until after noon. Josie remembered thinking several times that night how lucky she was, how much she loved him and how she couldn’t wait to experience their future together.

  One winter, they borrowed a friend’s four-wheel drive truck and north for a day. They planned on sledding, but when they arrived in the tiny mountain town a couple of hours from Juniper, they realized Paul had forgotten to pack the sleds. Since this was the first big snow of the season, the stores in town were all sold out. So they grabbed some supplies, got a cozy hotel room and spent the evening watching the snowfall, roasting marshmallows over the fire pit and making love in the gorgeous Jacuzzi tub.

  Sure, they’d bickered over the forgotten sleds at first. He blamed her for distracting him by insisting on a coffee run before they left Juniper and she blamed him for not packing them in the first place. But they made up and turned it into one of the best one-night getaways ever.

  A couple of months later in the spring, they had gone to a kite-flying event at the Juniper library. The mayor of Juniper wanted to beat some record for the number of kites flying all at once, and Josie convinced Paul they should go. She went out and bought a fancy kite—a dragon with a long plastic tail that supposedly shimmered in the breeze when the sunlight caught it. Only, the kite wouldn’t fly.

  While Paul held the dragon by its belly, Josie took the string and ran as fast as she could so he could release the kite. It would soar up, looking so promising, its short tongue fluttering … and then it would plummet. Over and over again.

  The wind carried Paul’s various curse words to Josie’s ears as she reeled the string back in at least a dozen times. When they finally called it quits, they were laughing so hard they couldn’t stop. They pulled an old blanket out of the car and laid on the grass, watching the 847 other kite-flyers beat the standing record for the number of people flying their kites at the same time. Afterward, they went for pizza and beer, breaking into giggles several times as they relived the disastrous incident. When they realized other patrons were glaring at them, they got their food to go and giggled all the way home.

  “I guess kite-flying won’t be on the list of skills we teach our kids,” Paul said that night as they laid in bed in the dark.

  They laughed again, and Josie drifted off to sleep in his arms thinking about their future children, girls with her black hair and his blue eyes, boys with his strong chin and her quick smile.

  What had happened to that couple?

  It was as if, several years ago, they came to a fork in the road of their marriage and took two different paths. Maybe the paths were parallel, heading in the same direction but never intersecting. Or worse, maybe they headed in completely opposite directions.

  ***

  Josie owed Paul an apology.

  The realization that it was her fault—at least, partially—their marriage wasn’t what it used to be hit Josie hard. She kept a big secret, for a long time. And during that time, which spanned their entire marriage, she probably acted and reacted in ways that weren’t normal for her because of that secret. How could she not have realized that?

  In addition to apologizing, she needed to reassure Paul that at the end of this school year, Scott would be gone and out of her life for good. Would he accept her apology? Would he forgive her?

  It was lunch recess, and Josie sat in the teachers’ lounge tapping her fork against the edge of the Tupperware that held her salad.

  “You gonna eat that salad, or just make music?”

  Susie Lighthouse, sweet as a summer day in her pink dress, breezed into the lounge and slid into the seat across from Josie. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, woman? You look so serious.”

  Josie sighed.

  “Have you ever done something you regretted, Susie?”

  Susie unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite before nodding. “Yeah,” she said when she finally swallowed. “Like toilet papering Stephanie Hall’s house sophomore year of high school.”

  “Really?” Josie wrinkled her nose. “That’s all you’ve got?”

  “Oh! This one time, I played doorbell ditch with my friends, and we rang Mrs. MacMillan’s doorbell. She was my next-door neighbor. She was really old. I mean, like almost a hundred. Poor lady. It took her seven minutes to answer the door, and then we were gone. My friends convinced me to hide in Mrs. MacMillan’s shrubs, and they were laughing like loons as she stood there calling, ‘Who’s there?’ over and over again. She looked so sad when she finally shut the door. I still feel really bad about that.”

  “Really, Susie? That’s it? You’re married, aren’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, but I don’t regret that!”

  Josie laughed. “That’s not what I meant. Haven’t you ever done anything you regret, in your marriage?”

  Susie looked thoughtful for a minute.

  “Well, you know,” she said. “I’ve been short with Rick, or turned him down for sex.” She giggled. “I’ve criticized him for wearing mismatched socks with shorts. Of course I experience guilt or remorse, but just little twinges. I wouldn’t say I regret those things. You know? Like, real regret?”

  When Josie didn’t respond, and instead took a few bites of salad, Susie’s brow furrowed.

  “What’s going on, Josie? What’s wrong?”

  Josie shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

  “I know it’s not nothing,” Susie said. Then, like a trained ninja interrogator, or a teacher, she waited.

  “Fine,” Josie finally said. “Fine. It’s just that lately, I’ve experienced a lot of regret when it comes to my marriage. I know I’ve done so many things wrong. I want to fix it, but I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do. I mean, I want to apologize. But is that it? What then? An apology is one thing, but how do I change?”

  “You just change.” Susie said, as if changing were the simplest thing in the world. “You make the choice, in every situation, to be the new Josie. To make the change. One choice at a time.”

  “I can do that,” Josie said. “Thanks, Susie. Really. That’s good advice.”

  The new Josie was prepared to conquer this change. But she wasn’t prepared for what she saw when she left school that afternoon.

  ***

  Because she hadn’t finished her work until an hour after school ended, Josie thought she was the last teacher to leave. But when she walked downstairs, she discovered a scene that made her hackles rise.

  Blair Upton perched on the edge of Scott Smith’s desk, her tiny hip draped in a bright orange skirt. Josie could see her from the back, and her perfectly coiffed French twist moved snappily from left to right.

  Blair was threatening Scott just as she had done to Josie.

  The adrenaline started pumping through Josie’s veins. Her hands shook. She gripped the banister hard, already planning what she would say. After she finished throttling Blair and her skinny little neck. Expletives aside, Josie would ask Blair how she slept at night, why she couldn’t just leave them alone, and why she’d always had it out for Josie.

  But as she descended the final stairs to the bottom floor, she got a wider view of what was happening in that office, and she suddenly felt more intrigued than angry. Blair Upton’s arm reached out to Scott Smith’s waist, and her talon-like hand wrapped around his belt. Her fingertips were inside his pants, and she was leaning forward, pulling him towards her seductively.

  For his part, Scott Smith didn’t look like he minded at all.

  Hmm. Interesting.

  Josie wondered how long this had been going on. Instead of confronting Blair, though, she started forming a plan, and she made a mental note to take the first step as soon as possible.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The chili simmered on the stove, filling the house with the scent of onion and garlic. Acoustic music played on the stereo, and Josie took sips from a glass of wine as she added the
beans, tomato sauce and seasonings to the pot. Cornbread muffins baked in the oven, and Negro Modelo chilled in the fridge, waiting for Paul.

  Josie had her apology all planned out.

  Paul should be home any time now, and she’d welcome him with a nice, hot dinner, a good, cold beer and the speech she’d worked on throughout the day. She heard his car pull into the driveway, and she took a deep gulp of wine and an even deeper breath.

  You can do this, Garcia.

  Apologies didn’t come easy to Josie. They never had. Once, when she’d pinched her brother’s arm until she drew blood (because he got mud on her brand new jean jacket), her mother had said she had to stay in her room until she apologized.

  Three days. Three entire days Josie sat on her bed, intermittently staring at the wall and reading a book. Finally, boredom forced her into Juan’s room.

  A simple, “I’m sorry for pinching you,” would have sufficed, but she added on, “But it was your fault.”

  “Back to your room, Josie Maria Esperanza Garcia!” their mother said. She’d sneaked into the hallway the moment she heard Josie’s door open. “You don’t put a qualifier on an apology. You should not have pinched your brother and that’s that.”

  The second stint had been a bit shorter. Two days.

  But she was all grown up now, she reminded herself as she stirred the chili and put the lid on it. Josie jumped when she heard a knock at the door.

  Why would Paul knock? Maybe it was a delivery. Or a neighbor coming over for a cup of sugar. Sometimes Lynnie from across the street needed to borrow wine.

  “For cooking,” she always said, her wrinkled face twisting into an expression Josie couldn’t quite read. Was it mischievous or just grateful? Josie wiped her hands on a dish towel and went to answer the door. She simultaneously noticed the patrol car in the driveway, pulled the door open and realized what the car—not Paul’s jalopy—and the knock meant.

  That split-second realization dawned just in time for her to brace herself against the door as her vision began to gray around the edges.

  Two uniformed police officers stood on the stoop, looking nervous. One of them played with a button on his shirt, and the other clenched and unclenched his hands.

  “Is Paul—” she began, but found that her voice wouldn’t come out.

  “He’s alive, ma’am,” the hand-clencher said.

  Josie exhaled.

  The other cop took a deep breath. “Comstock, er, Paul was in a car accident, Ms. Garcia,” he said. “He’s at Juniper Medical center now. He sustained significant injuries, including abrasions to the side of his face and a laceration on his forehead.”

  “Speak English,” she snapped.

  The hand-clencher cleared his throat. “He’s cut up pretty good, Ms. Garcia. We’re going to take you to the hospital right away.”

  ***

  The back of the hand-clencher’s patrol car smelled like vomit and urine. Josie almost gagged when she got in. She felt trapped and helpless. At the moment, there was nothing she could do. The cops were running lights and sirens, and even though the drive to the hospital was completely out of her control, she felt somewhat at peace because she knew they’d get there faster than she could.

  At the house, an eerie sense of calm came over her when the officers told her Paul had been in an accident. The world went silent, and her movements became slow and deliberate, like she was walking along the bottom of a swimming pool.

  Turn off the stove.

  Put the cork in the wine bottle.

  Get your phone.

  Turn off the stereo.

  Turn on the porch light.

  Put on some shoes.

  Grab a jacket.

  Lock the front door.

  As the wife of a police officer, she always half-expected someone to knock on her door, just as the hand-clencher and his button-fondling sidekick had done this evening. She had played the moment out so many times in her head that she felt almost prepared for it.

  Still, the ride to the hospital felt interminable.

  Josie texted Summer and Delaney: Paul’s been in an accident. The guys who came to tell me said he’s alive, but they’re taking me to the hospital to see him. I’ll keep you posted.

  Of course, both of them responded immediately.

  Summer: Oh, honey, are you okay?

  Delaney: Have you talked to him?

  Josie answered that yes, she was fine and no, she hadn’t talked to Paul.

  Summer: Keep us posted, okay?

  Delaney: Hang in there.

  Josie wanted nothing more than to be with Paul in person, to see for herself that he was all right. And when she did see him, she knew what she had to do. She had to apologize right away. What if the crash had been fatal, and he’d died not knowing she was sorry for her juvenile secret-keeping, petty behaviors and childish pet peeves? He had to know, right away. Josie had to tell him he was the most important person in her life, and that she’d do anything to sustain their marriage.

  Finally, after Josie rehearsed and re-rehearsed her new and improved apology, the hand-clencher parked at the Emergency Room entrance. Josie wanted to fling the door open, but had to wait for the button-fondler to let her out.

  “Seriously,” she muttered to herself. “Don’t you guys have a sense of urgency, like, at all?”

  The door opened and she jumped out, ready to start running into the hospital, but the button-fondler grabbed her wrist.

  “Ma’am? He doesn’t look good. Okay? I know you’re anxious to see him, and you’ve got to believe us that his injuries are mostly minor. But I want you to have fair warning that he looks pretty beat up.”

  Josie nodded and he released her wrist. She gathered herself and walked calmly to the front desk. A tall, skinny nurse who looked not much older than a high schooler led her to Paul’s room. She saw his name scrawled on a whiteboard outside the door. The nurse, whose name tag identified her as Joan, gestured for her to go in.

  ***

  Paul looked horrible. Awful. His left eye was swollen completely shut, enveloping the long eyelashes she so loved, and he had a neat row of stitches above his left eyebrow, in the same spot where he’d gotten hooked with a fish hook as a kid. A dark purple bruise covered the entire right side of his face.

  Even though he was wearing a hospital gown, Josie could see another bruise on his right shoulder and a scrape running along the back of his left arm.

  Her first reaction was anger. She would find the person who did this, and she would wring his neck. At least. She wanted to yell, “Who did this to you?” but instead, she tiptoed over to the bed and sat on its edge. An IV entered Paul’s arm at the inside of his elbow, and she wasn’t sure if she could hold his hand.

  “Hey, baby,” he said.

  Josie jumped.

  “I didn’t know you were awake,” she said.

  He took her hand. “I am. Just resting my eyes.”

  “What happened?”

  Paul took a deep breath. “We were making a left turn from Coal Mine Road onto Boulder Drive and someone hit us. Ran a red light.”

  “Was he drunk?”

  “No, it was a lady. She wasn’t drunk. Just distracted. Probably texting or something, didn’t look up in time. This is why I tell you not to text and drive.”

  Josie, a bit irritated, nodded. “I only text—”

  “Summer and Delaney, I know,” he said.

  “And it’s always voice to text,” they said at the same time.

  “But you look pretty banged up for such a small collision,” she said.

  He laughed. The sound came out strangled, and he winced. “She was going pretty fast.”

  A beat of silence passed.

  “Listen, Paul, there’s something I need to say to you.”

  “Geez, Josie, give a guy a break. Can this wait until tomorrow? They want to keep me overnight in case I have a concussion or something.”

  Or something? she wanted to say. Don’t you even know what they
’re watching you for?

  But instead, she nodded. “Of course. I’m so sorry. You’re probably exhausted.”

  He nodded, the movement stiff and barely visible.

  Even from inside the cubicle, Josie could hear a commotion coming down the hallway toward them. When she distinguished the frantic footsteps from the frantic whispers, she smiled.

  “Summer and Delaney are here,” she said to Paul.

  He smiled, too. “Better go out and greet my fan club.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It was time for a do-over.

  The day after Paul’s accident, doctors cleared him for discharge. Josie took the day off from work and drove him home around noon. Naturally, a shower was the first thing he wanted, so she put her famous chili back on the stove and waited for him to come out.

  She braced herself when she heard him turn off the water. He never took long to dress, which meant her big moment was imminent.

  “Keep it simple,” she whispered to herself.

  Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.

  She set bowls of shredded cheddar, chopped green onions and sour cream on the counter. Not the most romantic dish, but it did fit in the comfort food category. Paul’s steps sounded in the hallway, and Josie smoothed her shirt and rearranged the bowls of condiments.

  He walked in, wearing sweat pants and a tight black t-shirt. He looked like he’d been in some kind of bar brawl. For the first time in their marriage, Josie felt awkward, self-conscious. She wanted to go to him, hug him, repeat, “I’m sorry,” until her voice went hoarse. But she didn’t know how he’d react. He didn’t even know what she was sorry for.

  So instead, she said, rather stupidly, “I made chili.”

  “Smells good,” he said.

  He leaned against the counter. She lined the bowls up compulsively. Spoons. She needed spoons. And a butter knife, and butter, too.