“Arianna said she looks like me. Is that true?” she asked pointedly.
“Yes, somewhat.” His answer was barely audible.
“What does somewhat mean? Arianna said she looks just like me.”
“I really don’t want to have this discussion,” he said, shifting his eyes back to the soft glow of the fireplace.
“Well, I do. I need to know.”
“There are similarities and there are differences,” he said after a long silence. “What does it matter, Ava?”
“It matters because I need to know that you don’t see her every time you look at me.” She couldn’t help but snap at his listless tone.
“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed.
“Did you feel sorry for her the same way you felt sorry for me? Is that why you married me? Pity? Poor, orphaned country girl lost and alone in the big city? Did it make you feel valiant to swoop in and save me from Victor the way you saved her from having to bed a thousand strangers?” He turned to her with harsh eyes.
“Who’s putting this garbage in your head?” he snapped.
“What’s happened to you anyway?” she started, her anger getting the best of her and the conversation contorting into something she hadn’t intended. “You just stare at that damned fire every evening, and you have completely given up, Jonathan! Not that you ever tried that hard in the first place! You’re just this empty shell anymore. A shell that doesn’t talk or feel or care.”
“You have no idea how hard I’ve tried.”
“Really? Well, I haven’t seen it. From the minute we got here, I haven’t seen it. You can’t even answer my questions about your whore!”
“Stop calling her a whore,” he growled, glaring at her. Ava stared at him, taken aback.
“I see. I wasn’t sure until now, but–” Tears blurred her vision as she stared at him and her chin quivered. “You still love her,” she realized aloud.
“No, Ava, I don’t. That’s not true,” he said, unable to explain further. She waited, hoping he would clarify and set things right somehow. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to do that, she stood. The conversation that should have put things going in the right direction had been a complete failure. She walked slowly to the bedroom, more scared and insecure than before, and closed the door softly.
As she cried herself to sleep, Jonathan found himself unable to leave the couch to go to her, which reaffirmed his decision as the only option. He looked forward to not feeling the heartbreak of being a disappointment and not feeling the guilt of being unable to reach out to her. His only relief was that she would be happy again one day.
∞∞∞
Jonathan finally spoke to Ava during breakfast on Christmas Eve morning.
“They furloughed today.”
“I assumed,” she answered curtly.
“Did we give Christmas cards this year?” he asked unexpectedly, looking up as if they had forgotten something terribly important. Ava shook her head.
“I’ll go pick some up after breakfast,” he said.
“But Aryl said–”
“Yeah, I know, but a few cards aren’t going to make a difference,” he insisted. She waited for him to continue the conversation, hoping that he was using the Christmas cards as an opening to try to set things right before their evening with Maura. However, he wasn’t. He merely set out to buy the last minute Christmas cards without another word.
He returned a while later and laid them on the table before shaking snow off his coat and hat. She picked them up to look them over, and he took them from her hands abruptly.
“I’ll take care of it this year,” he insisted and searched for a pen. He began to write cards to the handful of special people in their lives. He penned generic openings, greetings and closing signatures on all of them except one each for Aryl and Ava. Aryl’s was simply a request and an apology with no explanations. He felt Aryl knew him well enough to know the reasons. While Ava made shortbread cookies and mashed potatoes to take to Maura’s dinner, Jonathan sat at the table for a long time deciding on just the right words for Ava’s card. He decided to keep it simple and tell her the one thing he knew she needed to know; the one thing that, for reasons he couldn’t understand, he found impossible to say.
Ava,
I have always loved you more than anything
or anyone in the world.
Jon
A few hours later as Ava readied to meet everyone at Aryl’s for drinks before Maura’s, Jonathan made a last minute excuse to stay behind, claiming he needed to shave and look around for a missing bottle of brandy to take to Maura’s. He handed her the Christmas cards with instructions to be sure Aryl received his.
“I’ll see you at Maura’s then?” she asked, looking him in the eyes for the first time in days.
“I’ll see you later,” he said, remaining expressionless. He kissed her cheek and turned, not wanting to watch her leave. When the door closed, he waited a few moments before he dragged a chair over to wedge it under the doorknob. He put Ava’s card on her pillow and walked to the bathroom, rolling up his sleeves slowly. He pulled the straight razor out of his leather bag on the edge of the sink and stepped into the bathtub. Sitting down, he unfolded the straight razor and stared at it for a few moments. Then he closed his eyes and ran through his memories of Ava. He wanted his last thoughts to be of her.
∞∞∞
“Where’s Jon?” Aryl asked, letting Ava in.
“He’ll be along. He had to take care of a few things, said for us to head over to Maura’s and he would meet us there,” she said, her mood muted despite the pleasant atmosphere of Aryl and Claire’s apartment. “He also said to give you this.” She held out the Christmas card labeled ‘Don’t open until after midnight.’ Ava handed one to Caleb as well and held a few in reserve intended for Charles, Maura, and Sven.
Claire sat by Arianna, putting finishing touches on a long, last strand of garland. She had spent hours wiring together scrap tree branches that Aryl had brought home, tying in red bows that she had made from the ribbons of one of her dresses. She had draped a length of it over the fireplace mantel, the cracked living room window, and the doorway to the kitchen. She had set candles around, and Ava was amazed at how such small touches could improve the look of the place. The radio played Christmas carols in the background and the mood, despite their subdued celebration, was contented. A light snow fell outside, and Aryl had saved extra firewood for a roaring fire.
Arianna remained quiet; she had been for much of the last week. Caleb had been watching her closely, waiting for a complete breakdown, but it hadn’t come. She remained calm and lost in her thoughts.
“Hot buttered rum, anyone?” Aryl asked, making good use of his last bottle of rum for the holidays. Caleb was the first to jump up.
“Right here.” He held a mug out to Aryl, who led him a few steps away from the others, so they could talk privately. He talked as he poured.
“What do you make of Jon lately?” Aryl asked, holding up the card before tucking it into his back pocket.
“Maybe he’s finally coming around.” Caleb shrugged. “Dealing with what happened last fall, or it could be the Christmas season, or maybe he knows what we’ve been planning, so he’s excited? He did come up on us a few times while we were talking things through.”
“Maybe . . .” Aryl shrugged. “There’s something else, though. I know getting jumped by those guys kind of messed him up, but you know what he asked me the other day?”
“What?” Caleb asked, sipping his drink.
“He asked me, if anything ever happened to him, would I take care of Ava. Like a sister, you know. Kinda caught me off guard. I mean, those guys did a number on him, but he was nowhere near dying.”
Caleb looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “He asked me the same thing a couple days ago. Made me promise that I would and promise again that I wouldn’t say anything about his asking.”
Aryl leaned back on the counter with crossed arms,
thinking.
“What time should we leave here in order to be on time? It’s a bit of a walk, and Maura will skin us alive if we miss her son’s choir performance,” Claire called from across the room. Aryl barely heard her as he pulled out the Christmas card, turned it over slowly, and opened it. It wasn’t a Christmas card, but a folded piece of paper; on it only two sentences.
‘Don’t let Ava come home after midnight mass. I’m sorry.’
“Keep everyone here,” Aryl ordered, ran out the door and down the staircase to Jonathan’s door.
∞∞∞
“Jon!” He yanked on the doorknob and burst through the door. He checked the living room, then ducked his head into the bedroom, but saw no sign of Jonathan. He threw open the bathroom door, and his face went white with the scene laid out before him. He leaned on the door handle to steady himself.
Jonathan didn’t look up, didn’t even flinch when the door slammed into the wall behind it.
“Put it down, Jon.” It was all he could think of to say, his voice shaking slightly. Jonathan didn’t acknowledge him, his eyes fixed on the straight razor pressed into his left wrist. “Jon, don’t do this . . . give me the razor,” Aryl said softly, taking a cautious step away from the threshold. Jonathan’s set expression was that of an already dead man. His only response was to press the blade slightly harder into his wrist, causing the skin to puff up on each side of the blade and a small drop of blood appeared. Aryl’s eyes darted frantically as he tried to think of anything he could say that would prevent Jonathan from pulling the blade sharply to the right.
“Go away, Aryl,” Jonathan whispered, his eyes still fixed. Aryl took another small step forward.
“I’m not leaving, Jon. Now give me the razor.” Aryl saw Jonathan tense and his fingers gripped the handle of the blade until his knuckles turned white. Aryl’s mind raced. “Jon!” he yelled. “If you do this–” He paused briefly and tried to keep control of his voice. “If you do this, I swear to God Himself, I will take Ava and personally deliver her to Victor.” Jon’s dead eyes flickered.
“You promised you’d take care of her.”
“If it were an accident, Jon. But if you do it yourself? Forget it. I can’t deal with Ava grieving a husband who took his own life. Especially after watching you do it.” He hesitated as Jon looked down at the blade and began to breathe deeper and harder.
“You already promised,” he growled, eyes fixed on the task he had decided upon.
“I lied,” Aryl said flatly. Jonathan shook his head tightly in denial.
“Caleb will do it,” he whispered.
“Caleb’s got his baby to worry about now. And it’s just a matter of time before Claire comes to me with the same news. We have to take care of our own first, Jon.” Jonathan was quiet for a moment before he looked up at Aryl.
“You wouldn’t do that to me, Aryl,” he said pitifully.
“I could say the same thing to you.”
Jonathan lowered his head, his face slowly fracturing into a thousand, painful pieces and started to shake. His grip was loose on the straight razor, and Aryl took two quick steps and grabbed it out from under his fingers. He let out a heavy sigh of relief, folded the razor, and put it in his pocket with a shaking hand. Jonathan covered his head with his arms as whimpers and grunts turned to loud, uneven sobs. His guttural cries were heartbreaking to Aryl as he collapsed on the bathroom floor. He bent his knees and held his own head.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he caught a glimpse of Caleb standing at the bathroom door, looking worried and confused. Aryl made a few motions and expressions that Caleb understood. He was to take the others and go on ahead without them. He turned to leave but looked back at Jonathan anxiously. Again, without words, Aryl told him it would be all right.
A long time passed before Jonathan’s sobs started to quiet, and he wiped at his face, keeping his head down, not wanting Aryl to witness any more of his breakdown than he already had.
“Jesus Christ, Jon, it's Christmas Eve,” Aryl finally said quietly. “You were really going to do this . . . on Christmas Eve?” he said in disbelief, staring at the side of Jonathan’s head with betrayal on his face. Jonathan sniffled, cleared his throat, and wiped his face on his sleeve.
“I just can’t do it anymore, Aryl.”
“Yes, you can, Jon. You have to. Every day we all wake up and struggle to put one foot in front of the other with no promise that at the end of the day, life will be any better. But you get up anyway. You keep breathing and hold on to faith that somehow, someday things are going to change for the better. Probably when we least expect it.”
“That’s a problem, then,” Jonathan said, with a ragged sigh, “because I don’t have any faith that anything is going to change. I can’t see how.” He shrugged and slowly moved his head helplessly. “Every time I find the strength to stand up,” he said through clenched teeth, “I get knocked back down again.” He looked at Aryl, confounded. “I don’t understand. But I can’t get up again, Aryl, not when I know exactly what’s going to happen. It’s just a matter of time,” he finished, leaning his head against the wall beside the tub. Aryl thought for a moment, poignantly, about his friend. He had always been the one in charge; the organized, fearless leader of the group. He had been powerful, successful, and confident. Now he sat hopeless in a bathtub ready to end it all.
“What about Ava? How the hell do you think this would affect her?” Aryl asked. Jonathan shrugged.
“She’d get over it. I’m not the man I used to be. She said so herself, I’m just a shell. You and Caleb would care for her until she met someone. She’d forget all about me.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever been more wrong about anything in your life,” Aryl scoffed. “This would destroy her, Jon. She’d always blame herself, maybe even follow you.” Jonathan’s head turned toward Aryl, absorbing the possibility he’d never considered. Aryl fed into it. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Jon, but she’s been pretty low herself lately. She has no real family, barely clings to shreds of hope, all of which revolve around you. So, how long do you think it would be before she climbed into this bathtub herself?”
Jonathan’s mouth was gaping slightly and his eyes fearful.
“She wouldn’t,” he whispered.
“What would stop her? What would she have to live for without you?” His head fell back, and he stared at the ceiling in defeat.
“She’s never going to believe me about Elyse. Or forgive me. She’s still going to leave.”
“You have to make her believe you, Jon. And with enough devotion, she will forgive you, and she won’t leave.”
“You think she won’t?” Jon asked meekly.
“Jon. It looks like you’re going to have to get out of that bathtub and put one foot in front of the other just like the rest of us.” Jonathan didn’t move. “We’ll help you, Jon.”
Jonathan shook his head. “I’ve leaned on you two enough,” he said.
“Nonsense. We’re friends, Jon. Practically family.” He paused looking for the right words. “I wouldn’t have Claire if it weren’t for you. You know her parents would have never allowed the marriage if it weren’t for joining your firm.”
“Sure,” Jon said sarcastically. “And look what joining my firm got you.”
“That’s the point. It got me Claire. I don’t care how it ended as long as it ended with her. And look at Caleb. You know as well as I do that if life had continued unaltered, Arianna would have gotten more and more out of control. She would have put off starting a family, probably indefinitely, so the parties could continue. Caleb would have only been able to put up with that for so long. I know it’s only been a week since she’s known, but there’s a change in her, Jon. A visible change. And I have never seen Caleb this happy. Not happy like with money and power and security, not happy like when we would win over a key client. But deep down to his very soul happy.” Jonathan shook his head in amazement.
“How the hell do
you do that, Aryl?”
“Do what?” he asked as he stretched his legs to stand.
“I see destroyed lives, and you see a baby that otherwise wouldn’t have been born. I curse this building when the heat goes out, and you pitch a tent in the living room with Claire and pretend you’re camping . . . I just don’t see things the way you do.”
“You never started looking, Jon. But for now, you don’t have to. Right now, just keep breathing. That’s all I’m asking.” He reached a hand out to help pull him up from the bathtub and then stepped aside to let Jonathan move to the sink. He leaned on it for a moment, took a deep breath, and bent to wash his face. His left wrist was red and swollen along the line where the blade had pressed and he was sure it would scar. He washed a few drops of dried blood away. He felt guilt wash over him, like he had committed some horrendous felony.
“Please don’t tell, Ava,” he asked quietly, looking over but not meeting Aryl's eyes.
“I won’t,” Aryl promised. “Keep your sleeves down and no one will notice.” Jon nodded numbly. “I’ll be right back. There’s something I want to show you.” He slowly raised his head to face his reflection after Aryl left.
He didn’t recognize the man who stared back at him.
Aryl returned a short time later with his coat and gloves. “Get your coat. We’re going for a walk.”
A light snow fell as they briskly walked in silence.
∞∞∞
“Here it is.” Aryl stopped suddenly and turned toward a dilapidated, brick building.
“Here what is?”
Aryl pointed to the building. “A way out,” he said, starting to brim with excitement. “Caleb and I have been working on this for a few weeks. We were going to wait to tell you until tomorrow, sort of a Christmas present. You don’t have to do anything but say yes. We’ve already got everything worked out.”
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