The Husband Lesson

by Jeanie London

  The second bedroom had a pitched roof, twin beds and lace curtains on the dormer window. The only painting in this room appeared to have been done by a child. A street scene with stick-figure trees and lots of brightly colored cars zooming in opposite directions. Karan found it charming. Something about the sight seemed to strike Marisol, too, because suddenly she burst into tears and loud heaving sobs.

  Raphael was right there, hugging his mom around the legs. Only when she sank to her knees and hugged all her kids in a little pile of bodies did Karan realize that she looked relieved, like she was crying good tears.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHARLES SAT ON THE GALLERY steps, breathing deeply of the breezy night air, glad for the time to decompress before dealing with the situation at hand.

  After seeing Amy and her boys off, he’d processed the paperwork for the new arrival, leaving Rhonda free to talk with Karan after wrapping up tonight’s group session. He hadn’t met the Sanchez family yet, except on paper, but Tammy had gotten them settled.

  Tomorrow there would be counseling evaluations and dealing with the practical aspects of leaving an abusive home. Most families arrived here with no more than a desperation to end the violence and an escape bag filled with personal information.

  Some families couldn’t even bring the bag. Tomorrow the staff counselors would begin the process of helping the Sanchezes replace any important documents that had been left behind. But tonight they would be left to acclimate to their temporary new home, to enjoy the feeling of safety.

  When the door opened, Charles knew Karan was behind him. The lighter tread on the wooden floor of the gallery maybe, a sound he suddenly remembered.

  Light footsteps skimming over the planked bedroom floor, barely audible in the darkness after she wrapped up her nightly ritual in the bathroom and came to bed.

  A sound that ramped up his pulse.

  The feel of her sliding between the sheets and slipping into his arms, her warm, sleek body unfolding against his full length. That first breath he took filled with her.

  “You always smell so good,” he said.

  He could see her smile in the darkness before she snuggled closer. “Must be my moisturizers.”

  “Oh, Charles.” She sounded miserable now to find him sitting exactly where he’d found her last night. “Rhonda asked me to come by. I had no idea you’d still be here.”

  Rhonda had wanted him to stick around so they could discuss the situation with Amy. Bracing himself, he looked up.

  There Karan was, silhouetted by the porch light, the lean, delicate shape of her so familiar, even with her features shadowed by the glare behind her.

  No denying that the sight of her jarred him on the inside where it counted. His anger no longer felt so surprising. Charles supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by that, either.

  He was.

  Why? He’d already figured out that part of the problem between them had been him—he wasn’t interested in the demands of marriage, or long-term commitments for that matter. Why should he be angry at her because of that? Because she’d figured it out faster than he had?

  But had she? Karan had never once called him out for being a bad husband—and he had been, especially toward the end of their marriage. Rhonda was right about one thing—he’d avoided Karan as their relationship had unraveled. He hadn’t been able to deal with the amount of emotional energy she demanded on top of what he was expending at the hospital. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever told Karan that.

  “Did Rhonda talk with you?” he asked.

  Karan nodded.

  “You’re welcome to sit down.”

  Now it was her turn to brace herself, hesitating as if she suspected him of a trick. He patted the step beside him and left the decision to her.

  “If you’re feeling the need to make me feel worse, trust me when I say I couldn’t possibly. You may not think I feel anything, but you’re wrong. Please take my word on this. I’m not entirely sure I can handle your…input right now.”

  His fault. Not only because he’d gone off on her last night, but because he’d been hard on her about stupid things. He hadn’t exercised fairness or good judgment, which only undermined his credibility about more important matters. Such as Amy.

  Did that have more to do with him than Karan?

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For last night?”

  He nodded. “And because I’ve been making this harder for all of us than it should be.”

  “Oh.”

  To his surprise, she did sit then, and he didn’t bother to steel himself for the closeness. Nothing he did would minimize his awareness of her beside him, the almost-brush of her bare arm, the hint of that same delicate scent wafting through his senses. Her moisturizers? Or her?

  Keeping his gaze steady, he counted the landscaping lights outlining the walkway to the parking lot. Two, four, six…

  “Apology accepted. I know I came as a shock. Finding you here was a shock for me, too.” She gave a soft laugh. “Finding myself here was a shock.”

  He wanted to ask what had happened to bring a woman who’d been so meticulous about what she put in her body into community service and therapy on a DWAI charge. With her sugar issues even a drink or two could get out of control fast, which is why she’d always been so disciplined.

  But Charles didn’t ask. The right to ask personal questions hadn’t been his for a long time, particularly after last night. She didn’t offer anything else. Like him, she stared ahead, waiting. Or maybe remembering what it felt like to sit side by side the way they had so long ago.

  He was. She shouldn’t have the ability to make him feel anything at all. But he did feel.

  “You okay?” He wasn’t really sure whether he referred to the news about Amy or about whatever had gotten Karan into trouble with the law. Both. Either.

  “I had a few stellar moments before Rhonda got a hold of me.”

  Rhonda wouldn’t have been anything but efficient and kind. “Did she mention the orientation?”

  Karan nodded, her hair looking pale and luminous in the dim light. “I’m surprised you agreed. I thought I’d been officially banished from the kingdom.”

  Avoidance, Rhonda had said. Did that explain why sending this woman packing last night had felt like the only solution?

  “I reacted in the heat of the moment,” he admitted. “Overreacted.”

  She faced him then. He could see her surprise and he knew she was upset. Enough so she was willing not to blow him off, although after last night he hadn’t given her any reason to listen to his apology, not after condemning hers.

  “Amy and her sons had to leave because of me.”

  No argument there. But Charles didn’t know what to say or how to respond. She surprised him by how affected she seemed to be, by how much she seemed to care. Why couldn’t he remember her ever caring about anyone but herself?

  Tammy had told him she’d have had trouble interviewing the new resident earlier without Karan’s help with the children. Coverage had proven a problem, but Tammy hadn’t needed to pull Rhonda out of session. They’d agreed to address the issue of coverage at the next staff meeting.

  Charles wouldn’t have thought Karan would be able to handle kids, especially small ones. But when he considered it, he remembered her being very fond of her best friend’s kids.

  “Rhonda said Amy and the boys would be okay where they’re going,” Karan said. “Is that true? I know you’ll be honest.”

  He didn’t doubt it. He’d been brutally honest ever since she’d reappeared in his life. But without the anger, he didn’t feel the need to lash out at her, was relieved he was able to push past it tonight.

  He didn’t want to make her feel any worse. He didn’t like to think of himself as acting like an asshole. Yet that was exactly what Rhonda had thought he was. She might not have said it in so many words. She hadn’t had to.

  “They’re on their way to a safe place. I’m sure Rhonda told yo
u it’s a good thing we found out about the threat when we did.” That much he could offer.

  Karan nodded, but he wasn’t convinced she believed him. Not when she remained so stoic.

  He couldn’t think of anything brilliant to say, nothing that would change the facts, nothing to bridge the distance between them, between the couple they’d once been and the strangers they were now. The only thing he could do was manage his anger. He owed that to both of them.

  He’d figure the rest out later.

  “Give the orientation a shot,” he said. “It will help you navigate this place.”

  “Do they have a class on making popcorn?”

  At face value that statement was intended to be funny. But he heard something so honest in there. Not funny. Not in her tone. Not in the smile that seemed to take effort.

  “I don’t think popcorn’s going to be a problem again. That microwave you bought can probably make it without you.”

  She gave a laugh, a soft sound that whispered through the dark quiet. And somehow he knew he’d made her feel better.

  Maybe she wasn’t as much a stranger as he thought.

  The ensuing silence even felt familiar somehow, broken only by the sounds of the night. A breeze rustling leaves overhead. A branch scratching against the house. A compressor from some delivery truck in the Walmart parking lot. Someone leaning on a car horn in the distance.

  “If I’m attending the orientation,” she finally said, “does that mean I’m no longer exiled to the thrift store?”

  “It’s up to you. You can stay there if you want.”

  She met his gaze, and he got the distinct impression she was trying to gauge whether or not to believe him. “You’ll be okay if I’m here?”

  He nodded.

  “Then I will do my level best not to screw up again because I have to be honest, I wasn’t all that crazy about picking up donations. The volunteer is a jewel of a man, just so you know. He deserves a raise or an award or something.”

  Again, she was using humor to mask how she felt, or keep it manageable, maybe. For her.

  “Listen, that schedule I gave Rhonda…I won’t make another. You do what you need to do here and don’t worry about me.”

  “We’re good?” She didn’t bother hiding her surprise.

  “We’re good.” He would not allow his emotions to get out of control again. Period.

  “Great.” The smile she flashed him was bright enough to light the dark. “Well, I’ve got to be off the roads by ten or I’ll wind up behind bars in an orange jumpsuit.”

  More humor, but it sounded as if she had a court-ordered curfew to go along with her community service and therapy.

  “Drive safely, Karan.”

  She rose to her feet in one fluid move. “Have a good night, Charles.”

  Then she headed toward her car with those light steps, a graceful motion so uniquely hers. She didn’t look back.

  He watched her slide into her car and reverse before flipping on the lights of her sports car. Then she drove toward the security gate. The brake lights flashed. He could see the guard wave at her. Then she was gone.

  Charles sat there, going over the night in his head. To his surprise he realized he’d meant what he said. They would be good. For whatever reason Karan was in his life for the present. The situation was temporary. He needed to remember that. Only he could control how much he allowed the past to influence the present. Karan had been the epitome of socially adept when dealing with him, which was no less than he would have expected from her.

  Could that be adding to all this anger?

  Had he wanted something more personal from her?

  His impulse was to dismiss the thought as nonsense, but he didn’t need the internet to know what avoidance meant.

  Karan had been the first woman he’d fallen in love with. He’d married her, wanting to live life with her. Before he’d realized she was too high maintenance and he wasn’t marrying material. He enjoyed dating when he met someone who interested him, was content with the lulls in between. He’d married his work, committed heart and soul to his patients. He didn’t have much commitment left. Certainly not enough to weather ups and downs or the emotional drain that came with marriage and long-term entanglements.

  But Charles hadn’t found that out until after marrying Karan. That wasn’t her fault. He had a part in the failure of their marriage, too. Was that what Rhonda thought he was avoiding? Then the anger made sense. He still cared for Karan, if only because he’d once loved her. He’d be a heartless bastard if he didn’t care.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Karan’s Journal

  Just some random thoughts…

  I’M SO TIRED BUT NOT AT ALL SLEEPY. Relaxation exercises aren’t working. I’ve tried classical music and a cup of herbal tea. I’ve tried counting sheep. I’m still awake at 2:00 a.m.

  I can’t believe that man.

  Hot one minute. Cold the next. Is it any wonder I ran screaming from him?

  I thought about watching a movie, but somehow watching a movie in my living room all by myself in the wee hours because I can’t sleep is too close to the image of Wannabe Jenny eating microwave dinners.

  At least she probably hadn’t torched anything.

  So here I am. I already reviewed the questions Rhonda gave me this week, but, well, I’ve got to do something with all this stuff floating around in my head, keeping me awake. This journal seems like a good place to put it all.

  Most important of the stuff is my mood. Or moods, more accurately. Unexpected and swinging. I’ve never thought of myself as a moody person, but I keep reacting to everything. Charles. All the things happening at New Hope. In the span of a week, I’ve felt utterly dismal about the alternative sentence, shocked by running into my ex, humiliated by the popcorn fiasco, good about my competence because I actually managed to accomplish something of value with my letters. Of course, that feeling got doused by a tsunami-size mistake that wasn’t close to being as easily fixed as replacing a microwave.

  But as I write, I’m noticing a theme here.

  Me, me, me.

  I seem to be writing that a lot. Why is that? There’s so much going on at New Hope, and I’m not really a part of it. Or, only a tiny part at best. Why am I so focused on the effects of everything on me?

  What about Amy, Cody and Bryce, who are spending their first night in a new emergency shelter, threatened by someone who was supposed to love and care for them? They didn’t need another move and more disruption in their lives, did they? Seems to me they’ve had more than enough.

  What about Marisol who only has strangers and her five-year-old son to comfort her when she was so clearly distraught? I don’t know much about her situation, but from where I’m standing, she seems to have her hands full.

  And LaShanna. She already has two adorable high-energy sons and another on the way. How is she ever going to keep up with those two while caring for a newborn, trying to recover from birth and hiding from an abusive spouse?

  The very thought makes me dizzy…but that’s because I’m imagining myself in that situation. I don’t get the impression that anyone at New Hope is doing the same. No. They seem to be expending their energy on helping.

  Like Tom, who cheerfully gives up one of his two days off to do exactly what he gets paid to do the rest of the week.

  And the thrift store volunteers, who sort, clean and price the never-ending parade of donations Tom brings into the store in trash bags and broken boxes.

  The administrative volunteers.

  The nurses.

  The counselors.

  The sheriffs.

  Rhonda, who not only cares enough to assist running the place despite a full-time job and a private practice, but who is also willing to take on an alternative sentencing program to see if people who need help can also help.

  And Charles, who cares more about his patients than he did me and our marriage, is taking time away from his precious operating room and his spectacularly
busy social life to lend his expertise to Rhonda.

  From the outside it doesn’t appear as if any of them are spending as much time thinking about how things affect them as they are actually helping.

  I think about how things affect me a lot. About how humiliated I feel to be court-ordered to help. About how inconvenienced I am not to be able to drive. And about Charles.

  I don’t know what I feel about him. I only know I seem to think about him an awful lot. About what he thinks of my efforts at New Hope, about his opinion of me every time I screw up. I shouldn’t care what he thinks. I told myself I didn’t, but after dealing with him again, I realize that’s not true. Is there some perverse little part of me that still cares about the man when he’s made it loud and clear he doesn’t care?

  That strikes me as a bit sick, which makes me wonder if there’s some divine master plan at work here. Am I at New Hope because I need as much help as the residents?

  Or am I just thinking about me again?

  How do I even tell?

  Now here’s something to discuss with Rhonda because I don’t have a clue. When I look around my living room, I see a lot of effort and expense that doesn’t come close to accomplishing what a few paintings on Marisol’s walls did. Those paintings took a generic space and made an inviting, albeit temporary, home.

  Maybe because the inviting part of a home isn’t so much about the furnishings as it is about people.

  About real people creating art to grace the walls of temporary housing and people who care enough to hang those paintings.

  About a sweet little boy trying to be the man of the family by comforting his mother the best way he knows how.

  It reminds me of the differences between the house I grew up in and the home Susanna made for her family. My mother designed a showcase to impress anyone who walked through the door. But when I think about it, I always felt more at home in my dad’s boathouse or garage. The places where he spent time.

  Susanna’s home is the same way now. Her family lives with kid-friendly furniture and sports equipment all over the place. It’s filled with her knickknacks and mismatched antiques, of Skip—when he’d been alive—and that stupid fish he’d been so proud of he’d stuffed and hung it on the wall. It was the first thing anyone saw when they walked through front door—a glassy-eyed dead thing with its mouth wide-open.