The Edge of Mercy

by Heidi Chiavaroli

  I looked at Kyle, nearly an adult. Lucky for him, he’d inherited both his father’s height and looks. More and more lately, I noticed a younger version of Matt in our son. Those brown eyes, so like his father’s until . . . until when? Until he’d married me? Until the combination of stress and success had rubbed the shine from them? When had my husband stopped being happy?

  I blew a strand of hair from my face. “I guess I’ll meet you two there.”

  Kyle grinned, a shadow of guilt playing on his dark features. “Dad said something about us catching up. Mine is one of the first races, so even though Coach’ll kill me, I’m going to skip the rest. Dad has a meeting tonight so it’s the only time we can talk.”

  Behind Kyle, the grandfather clock my great-aunt handed down to us called out the hour with four simple chimes. I loved that clock. Always steady, always consistent, even through the night while we slept and didn’t pay it any attention.

  “I thought this was a big meet.”

  Kyle shrugged. “Aren’t you the one always telling me family’s more important?”

  “Okay . . . I’ll see you there, then.”

  “Don’t even bother, Mom. D-R has the top sprinter in the state. Enjoy the rest of your day off. I can hang with Dad.”

  Did he not want me there?

  “I don’t care if you come in last. I love watching you run.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy.”

  But I had a terrible sense he really didn’t want me to go. Had Matt said something to him? We should all talk together, shouldn’t we, as a family?

  I brushed off the feeling, tried to convince myself it was only my imagination.

  A warm arm came around me and I gave my son a hug, grateful he still let me. When we parted, I tapped him on the top of his chest, and when he looked down I chucked him on the chin. “No worries, kiddo. Go out there and whip those Falcons, okay?”

  He gave me a lopsided smile and ran upstairs to change. Ten minutes later he was out the door, his father’s shiny Rodrigues Landscaping truck waiting in the drive.

  I headed upstairs to the master bathroom, peeled off my clothes, and pulled on some jeans. Who was Matt to dictate me missing my son’s race?

  I checked my makeup in the rearview mirror and grabbed my purse from the passenger seat. Just before my fingers pulled the handle of the door, I thought of my husband, certainly in the bleachers, ballcap on, watching our son complete warm-ups.

  Something like a soggy tennis ball settled in my stomach. I remembered the last time I’d seen him—night before last. The way he’d stood at the mantel, one hand on it, facing the window. Telling me he needed a break. He didn’t want to be with me.

  Bitter bile gathered in the back of my throat. I thought of Kyle’s not-so-subtle suggestion that I not come to his race, and quite suddenly my hand felt too heavy to pull open the door.

  I grabbed my keys back up and started the Mercedes. Half an hour later I walked into Chardonnay’s, and glanced around the posh room. A squeal from a corner booth caught my attention. Essie—dark blond hair primped and large silver hoops dangling at her ears—waved from the center of the group of women.

  I greeted the ladies and squeezed in next to Jen, Essie’s friend from college and now my coworker at the hospital. She gave me a sideways hug, a thousand unspoken words in the action.

  My sister always did have a big mouth.

  “So she told you guys, huh?” I ordered a chardonnay from the waitress.

  Across from me, Mariah reached out a perfectly-manicured hand. “I’ve been there, honey. I know it hurts like the dickens now, but when he’s dishing out those alimony checks, he’s the one who’s gonna be groaning.”

  Essie slapped Mariah’s arm. “I didn’t say they were getting a divorce, stupid.”

  Mariah stared blankly between Essie and me. “I thought you said—”

  “A break. I said he wanted a break.”

  Mariah raised her eyebrows and grimaced, as if to say, What’s the difference?

  Indeed. Besides a few signatures, what was the difference?

  “My friend and her husband split apart for a time and it did wonders for their marriage,” Katie said from where she sat on the other side of my sister. “Maybe good will come of this yet, Sarah.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Listen, I appreciate you all trying to make me feel better, but I didn’t come here for sympathy. I just want to get my mind off things.”

  They nodded. An awkward silence filled the table as the waitress brought my wine.

  “How are the boys?” I asked Jen.

  She folded her napkin on her lap. “Let’s just say the promise of this night out was the only thing that kept me sane today. Would you believe I left those boys alone for ten minutes outside and next thing I know they’re making our shed into their own personal bathroom? Complete with a beach pail urinal.” She stuck her tongue out. “I’m lucky I got to it before they decided to do more than pee in it because believe me, that was coming next.”

  Katie laughed. “At least your kids are old enough to be alone for a few minutes. I got in an argument with my trash man today. He refused to take my trash because it was too heavy. I told him three infants in diapers don’t make light trash. He told me I should try cloth diapers.”

  Mariah wrinkled her nose. “You all are sure making me want to pop out a few. Rick’s been hounding me. I can’t imagine. I told him no ring, no babies. And truth is, I’m not even sure I want a ring that badly after all I went through with mistake number one.”

  Essie breathed in deeply, then out. Then again, with dramatic flair. I stifled a laugh. “What’s she doing?” I mouthed to Mariah.

  “It’s some yoga-Buddha technique she’s learning.”

  Essie, with much show, continued her breathing. “T’ai chi. I’m learning a calming technique. When I’m tempted to contribute to the complaints and negative thoughts of those around me, I try to center myself into a state of peace. You guys should try it. It works.”

  While I embraced—or rather, never contended—my parents’ faith, Essie had done all she could to avoid it. Whether through self-help books, t’ai chi classes, a study on transcendentalism, or many hours on a shrink’s couch, she tried everything, drinking in each new venture with wholehearted enthusiasm.

  “Well I don’t know about the rest of you, but I didn’t come out tonight to center myself. I came to get a buzz and complain about life.” Mariah tipped back her gin and tonic.

  Jen flagged down the waitress and ordered nachos for the group. “I’m just happy to go back to work tomorrow and get a break from their shenanigans. We’re still short on CNAs though, so chances are I’ll be bleaching out bedpans anyway. Beach pails, bedpans . . . I suppose I’m destined to clean urine.”

  “‘The only person you’re destined to become is the person you decide to be.’ Ralph Waldo Emerson.” Essie tossed her honey-colored hair over her shoulder.

  “Will someone shut her up?” Mariah rolled her eyes.

  Undeterred, my sister put a hand on my arm. “Speaking of making your own destiny . . . maybe now’s your chance to do something more than bleaching out bedpans yourself. You’ve always talked about going back to school, becoming a nurse practitioner. This is an ideal time, sis.”

  I’d learned long ago not to be offended by Essie’s offhand comments. Still, I loved my part-time job as an RN. I didn’t even mind cleaning out the occasional bedpan. Besides, now was not the time to find my wings. Now was the time to stay grounded, to fight for my marriage, fight for my family. “I’m still processing the fact that my husband’s leaving me. I don’t think I’m ready to hurl myself into school just yet.”

  “Why not? Maybe now’s the perfect time. What else are you going to do when you’re not at the hospital your twenty hours a week?”

  “Remind me why I came tonight?” I said. Yes, I knew I had no life outside of work and my family, but it never mattered to me. Even now, I didn’t need anything e
lse. Didn’t want anything else. What I needed was Matt, Kyle, and my part-time job.

  Essie crossed her arms and rested them on the table. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it like that. It’s just . . . you’ve been living for Matt and Kyle all these years, even for your patients. Maybe it’s time you did something for yourself.”

  Maybe she was right. I thought of the other night, of Matt standing at the mantel of our spacious living room, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, his soft yet piercing words.

  “I need some time, Sarah. Some time away to think. We need a break.”

  Suddenly all I’d worked for, all I put my hope in, unraveled before my eyes. Essie was right. What did I have to show for my thirty-five years? An outgoing, handsome son, yes. But what else? A broken marriage? A boxy, three-story colonial? A part-time job I’d originally taken as a step toward my true dream?

  I wanted to go back home, climb into bed, pull the covers over my head, and not come out again until God realized I did nothing to deserve this disorderly bump in my otherwise smooth life.

  Mariah’s face blurred before me. The room swayed. I fumbled for my purse and keys, throwing a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “I need some air.”

  I stumbled toward the door, my chest tight and my stomach queasy. My life was not supposed to fall apart like this.

  I pushed open the heavy black doors. The cool night air washed over me in swift waves. I sat on a bench and breathed deep. In and out. In and out.

  “Hey, that’s some good t’ai chi.”

  I looked at Essie, rubbing her sleeveless arms against the chill. She slapped my leg to signal me to move over before she sat. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean anything by it. I get it, and you’re right—it’s too soon to start rearranging your life. You haven’t even talked things through with Matt.”

  I nodded. Ground my teeth.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “No. I think I am going to head home, though. I shouldn’t be out tonight. I should be home, trying to fix things.”

  Essie gave me a hug and walked me to my car. I slid into the silver Mercedes Matt bought me on my thirtieth birthday and lowered the window.

  “Sometimes things need to break,” Essie said. “That way they’re stronger when they’re put back together.”

  I forced a smile. “Who’s that, Henry David Thoreau?”

  “No, that’s an Essie Special.”

  I gave her a wave and pulled onto Route 44.

  I didn’t want a broken marriage, a broken anything. After I married Matt, I’d worked hard to have my life—our lives—neat and orderly. Essie was wrong. Broken things never became stronger. They weakened, were more susceptible to damage. That’s why I kept Grandma Martha’s teacup on the top of my hutch where no one could see. If I ever dropped it again, it wouldn’t be a single crack.

  It’d be an unfixable mess.

  Chapter 3

  I turned off Netflix when I heard the truck pull in the drive. I pushed my hair out of my face, stuffed the remote in the couch, stood, sat, then finally stood again as the door opened.

  Kyle entered first, his track bag and cleats slung over his shoulder.

  “Hey, how was the meet?”

  He shrugged. “Second place.” For one heart-wrenching moment I thought he’d burst into tears as if he were seven years old again and finding out the truth about Santa. Instead, he booked it up the stairs just as Matt crossed the threshold.

  My bottom lip quivered along with my stomach.

  My husband threw his keys in the woven basket atop the pine entry table, purchased from a top-end furniture store. I’d wanted to refurnish a table I found on the side of the road. Matt wouldn’t hear of it. “Hey.”

  I didn’t respond.

  He walked into the living room, sat in his La-Z-Boy, and splayed his fingers over the tops of his legs, as if poised for battle.

  I wanted to give him one. Either that, or a two-year-old’s tantrum. He had started it, after all.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  Yes, we did.

  “I told Kyle.”

  “And?”

  “He was upset.”

  “You don’t say?” I didn’t care that my sarcasm was ugly, I didn’t care that it certainly wouldn’t win him back. All I wanted to do was hurt him like he’d hurt me. Like he’d hurt our son.

  “No one’s saying this is for good, Sarah. Let’s get through the summer. I need some time to think, to get away.”

  To get away from me.

  “Why, Matt? Why all of a sudden do you need this?” I didn’t have the guts to ask if there was another woman.

  “We’ve been together for seventeen years, every day. Don’t you ever want some time to yourself?”

  No, I didn’t. I wanted to be with him. My husband, my best friend.

  Silence ate up the space between us. I studied his profile, the slight crook in his nose he’d incurred at the age of fifteen from one of his mother’s many boyfriends.

  His gaze fell to my left hand. “Made meatballs tonight?”

  Making meatballs. The only time I took off my rings. I didn’t want to lie to him, but I didn’t want to tell him I’d lost my wedding bands either. He’d know something was up when he didn’t find meatballs simmering on the stove.

  He shook his head, released a long sigh, letting the question drop. “Do you ever think that Kyle’s as old as we were that night your dad dragged me to your house?”

  The back of my eyelids burned. I swallowed down hot emotion. “Is that it, then?” Was our entire marriage only obligation to him? “You’ve done your time, now you want out?”

  He stood, fists clenched. “I didn’t say that. But that’s just like you to twist my words around, isn’t it? All I want is some time away, but you have me lining up lawyers.”

  I grabbed on to the hope that it could be so simple. Just some time away.

  I pressed my lips together. Arguing wouldn’t get us anywhere. “I’m sorry.” I stood, placed a hesitant hand on the tight muscles of his forearm. He’d worked hard all these years. For me, for Kyle. Maybe he did just need a break. “D-do you think we should see a counselor?” He turned toward me and I buried my face in his neck, inhaling the smoky scent of his cologne. The stubble beneath his chin brushed my forehead as I leaned in farther. “I don’t want to lose you,” I whispered.

  “You’re not losing me.” But his return embrace felt halfhearted, as though he offered it out of obligation. “And I’m not ready to do the counseling thing. Let’s just see where the summer takes us.”

  I wondered if this was his way of easing out of our marriage. I clung to him tighter, breathed him in, not caring how pathetic I looked.

  “There’s one more thing.” He dropped his arms and I concentrated all my efforts on restraining myself from seeking them again. “I’ve asked Kyle if he wants to spend the summer with me in Newport. He can work for the company and—”

  I reeled back as if physically struck. “What?”

  “We have a couple big jobs in Newport. You know, the Waterman mansion and the new golf course going in. There’ll be plenty of work and it’ll give us some time together.”

  “It’s his last summer before graduation.”

  It seemed Matt was trying to pull every tangible thing that held me from beneath my feet.

  “He’d be at work all day anyway and out with his friends at night. I’ve been too busy this spring. This’ll give me some time with him. We can work together, catch up, play a few rounds of golf.”

  I couldn’t fault Matt for wanting to spend time with our son. Besides, if there was another woman, surely he wouldn’t want his son so close by.

  “Listen, I gotta run to the office for a few things. I’ll be home later, okay?” He gave me an awkward peck on the cheek. “I do love you, Sarah.”

  I forced a smile onto my lips, but it fell as soon as he left. He loved me, but clearly it wasn’t just our home or work or our family he needed a break from.

&n
bsp; It was me.

  The next morning Matt’s suitcase sat on the bed in the guest bedroom. I called in sick again to work, for quite suddenly I did feel sick. I didn’t bother with my hair or makeup but took up residence on the couch with a box of tissues and the NBC website open on my laptop to catch up on This is Us. Several times the messy heap of dishes in the sink called to me, but each time I attempted to load the dishwasher another wave of nausea would send me to either the bathroom or the couch.

  Kyle came home after track practice and sat on the coffee table. I closed my laptop. I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t drown in pity. I should have at least checked in on Barb today—my elderly neighbor probably could have even put a smile on my face.

  I missed her. I’d go over as soon as I spoke to Kyle. It had been too long.

  “Hey honey. How was your day?” I said.

  “I’ve had better.”

  I sniffed. “So have I.” I put a hand on his knee. “You okay?”

  He shrugged. “I guess. Dad just said he needs some time . . .”

  “So he’s been feeding you the same lines too, huh?” I laughed, but the words reeked of bitterness.

  “Are you mad I’m going to stay with him for the summer?”

  I dragged in a deep breath, not wanting to let a lie escape, and yet not wanting to hurt my son’s bruised feelings any further. “It’s good for you to be with your father. I’ll sure miss you though. You’re growing up so fast.” My voice cracked, betraying my emotion.

  Kyle’s mouth pulled into a straight line before he gave me a rare peck on the cheek. In it, I felt all he wanted to say, all the pity he felt for me. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too, kid.”

  Except he wasn’t really a kid anymore.

  He went upstairs to his room, and though I told myself I’d get up and check on Barb in a few minutes, time passed and I couldn’t summon the strength to move. Instead, I curled into a tight ball.

  The day Kyle was born was the happiest of my life. Funny how just seven months earlier, sitting on my parents’ red-carpet stairs had been the absolute worst. Matt’s grin couldn’t have been wider as he held our squalling newborn son in his arms. He didn’t stop kissing him, kissing me. When we finally came back home to our small apartment with our bundle, no more than kids ourselves, I remember passing Kyle’s room where Matt rocked him. I didn’t miss my husband’s whispered words. “Thank you, God, for all of this.”