“Where have you been? I’ve called everywhere looking for you—why didn’t you leave a note?” Accusation strained his voice and matched the anger on his face.
She hung the black purse on the chair and sat down. “I was at the river, at the support group. I told you I was going there this morning.”
He frowned. “No you didn’t; I would have remembered.”
She looked at him, stung by the certainty in his voice because she knew she had told him.
“I did, but fine,” she said, her voice clipped. “I’m home now, so it doesn’t matter.”
He sat down across from her, taking her hand. “What’s wrong, Beth? Did something happen at that meeting? Did somebody upset you?”
She looked at him, feeling his concern was a sham. “Actually, I was fine until I walked into the house and you started fussing—”
“I’m not fussing, okay? I’m not. I worry about you when you’re not where you’re supposed to be. My God, anything could happen; you might have fallen somewhere, you might be hurt. That shouldn’t make you mad; you should be happy that I’m concerned.” Her face was a total blank, and that irritated him even more. More and more lately she had turned a cold shoulder to him, as if she could not care less about his worries, his concern for her.
Elizabeth stared. Was he earnestly sitting there waiting for a pat on the back? It was ludicrous and she was in no mood to be patronized by anyone, especially her husband. How could this have gone on for years without her noticing it before? Anger tumbled over inside her and then out.
“Do you really want to know how you make me feel?” she asked. Michael, stiffening at the anger he heard, nodded.
“You make me feel damaged.”
“What!?”
The unfairness of that statement propelled him out of the chair. “I do not! How dare you say that. I take damn good care of you, but you don’t appreciate anything I do for you, what any of us do for you. You just don’t give a damn, do you?”
She was standing now, fingers perched on the table for balance.
“Look at that. You can’t even stand up by yourself anymore,” he said hotly, “and you’re not doing one damn thing to help yourself. You delight in making us crazy.”
“There is nothing I can do,” she cried. “Don’t you understand that?”
“There is. One of the new therapies—you could be in physical therapy, there’s a lot you could do, should do, but you’re too busy with these new friends of yours. What do you do at the support group, wallow in each other’s sickness and disease?”
Her hand shot out on its own and slapped him hard. It was a moment frozen in time as they looked at each other, anger and shock marking their faces. Elizabeth, white and trembling, was appalled she could do such a thing.
Michael felt the sting vibrate over his cheek and down into his heart. The explosion reflected the months and weeks of buried hurts, and anger over how each perceived the other.
The long moment hung over them silently, icily . . . destructively.
Finally, Elizabeth, her voice shaking, spoke. “Michael . . . I—”
“Damn you, Beth. And damn me for being a big enough fool to still love you.” His anger was dreadful to watch, his hands clenched into fists, but before any more words could be spoken, he turned and stomped away. She heard the front door slam shut and for the first time in her life, she didn’t care that he was gone.
This enmity had been building for a long time. Tonight, it had finally erupted. She wondered what would happen now. Would they both tamp the relationship back into a respectable box so they could go about the semblance of a normal life?
She realized she couldn’t do that anymore. Wouldn’t do it. She was too upset to eat and instead went to bed, far beyond tears, far beyond regrets.
Sleep came in fits and turns, but with the glimmer of dawn, she had made a decision.
They could not live together anymore. They were on opposite sides of a door, each trying to open it, inevitably pulling in the opposite direction.
Michael had not come home, but that didn’t concern her. There was a couch at his office. A shower, too, and he kept a change of clothes there. Those were provisions in case he had to pull an all-nighter or if he had to fly out at an ungodly hour. It had never before been because he walked out of his house or away from his wife.
Elizabeth waited until she knew Carol would be awake and called. Her cousin listened to the clipped instructions, not daring to ask questions, but instead hurried over to help her cousin pack.
Elizabeth decided she was moving to the river. Permanently. Or at least until things between her and Michael cooled enough for them to talk. At this moment she had doubts about that ever happening.
She left a note for him on the kitchen table, so he would know where she was and also what not to do.
Dear Michael,
I want to say I’m sorry about last night, but I realize I can’t. You are angry at me, and I with you, and I see no resolution. Perhaps a time to reflect about what we both want is what is needed now. You said last night you still loved me. I still love you, but I don’t like you very much right now. The weight of your worry is simply too great a burden for me, and it seems to get heavier each time we are together. I am sorry for getting sick. I never, ever meant for this to happen, but now that it has, I have to deal with it as I see fit.
It puzzles me why that makes you so angry.
I plan to stay at the river indefinitely. If I need anything, I will contact you through your secretary, Sheila.
My hope for the future is that things will turn out for the best. What love I have is yours, but understand, I must be alone right now.
Elizabeth
Much later that day, after she got settled in at the river home and Carol had left, dusk was just casting its shadows. She leaned against the doorframe, looking out at the river. Her shaking hand crept up over her mouth and she briefly closed her eyes, trying to shut out the pain, but there was nothing she could do about hearing the sound of her heart breaking . . . yet again.
When Michael opened the back door of his home and found it empty he was only puzzled. Thinking Elizabeth must be resting he started walking that way but noticed something white on the kitchen table. It was the letter written by his wife. He read it once, then again and sat down, rereading it once more.
He was incredulous. He thought it was a joke. He had been miserable all day and was determined to make things right this evening. With a bouquet of flowers in one hand, he was fully prepared to do any amount of groveling. He just wanted to make things right.
Letter in hand, he glanced around the room, disbelieving. The events of the night before ran though his mind. So he had gotten rattled last night. So what? Couldn’t she see he was desperately concerned about her, he was in agony about her? Looking at the letter again before crumbling it up in a shaking hand, he realized this was all he got for the grief he had endured.
She had left him.
He couldn’t believe it. He searched the downstairs, ending in the bedroom; when he saw the pieces of luggage missing, he began to get chills. He rubbed the back of his head, walked to the back door, saw the car was gone and wondered what he should do.
The shock, which began to dissipate after several minutes, was soon replaced by anger. He was furious at how unfair she was being. How could she treat him this way? How could she betray him like this? Restless, he ran down the steps to the backyard and immediately turned and ran back up when he heard the phone ringing, hope crushing his chest.
“Michael?” It was his mother-in-law. Damn. He rubbed a hand over his eyes.
“No. She’s not here. Where? At the river, Virginia Mae. You’ve got the number? Good. No, I don’t know how long . . . Well, you will just have to ask her.”
He listened a few more moments, frowning. “I can’t comment. As I said, you’ll just have to ask her.” And before she could say another word, he hung up.
He walked into the living room and dr
opped to the sofa, elbows propped up on his knees, hands raking back his hair. He didn’t know what he should do. Elizabeth didn’t want him to be around her.
And he could not fathom why she felt the way she did. Damaged? He suddenly wondered if the disease could impair her mind. He had never done anything to provoke that feeling. Nothing! Never! It made no sense.
He grabbed a pillow and curled it under his head.
He stayed there for a long while, barely noticing as streetlights came on outside and brightened the darkness. He ignored the phone ringing twice more. It would not be his Elizabeth. He knew that without a doubt.
And he could not understand.
Virginia Mae impatiently punched in the number to the river and drummed a hand against the table, waiting for her daughter to answer. When she finally did, Virginia Mae demanded an explanation.
“I just got off the phone with Michael. He said you weren’t home, that you’re staying at the river—for how long he didn’t know. What is going on, Elizabeth?”
A tone of disapproval resonated through those words but Elizabeth, tired but calm, didn’t care. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What?” Her daughter was refusing to talk to her? She didn’t understand. All she wanted was a simple answer. “You may not care to discuss this, Elizabeth, but I am your mother. I have a right to know what is going on with my daughter. Look, you sound tired. Just let me know when you’re coming home and I’ll come over and we can talk then, okay? That’s reasonable.”
It couldn’t matter less. “I have to go, Mother. I’ll call you next time. Until then, don’t call. And don’t come here. I need to be alone.”
Virginia Mae pulled the phone away from her ear, dumbfounded at hearing a click and then the dial tone. Her daughter hung up on her. Elizabeth had never done that in her life! What was going on? Feeling the first scrapes of panic begin to claw, Virginia Mae punched a new set of numbers into the phone.
“Carol? When was the last time you saw Elizabeth? Today? Good God. You were the one to help her move?” she accused. “Why? You think I should ask her? Well, I just did and she hung up on me. Now, are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to get in the car and drive all the way down there at this time of night?”
Virginia Mae listened as her niece told her, using the nicest and fewest words possible, that it was none of her business. “If I could be of more help, I would, Aunt Mae, but Elizabeth didn’t explain anything to me. As a matter of fact, she made me promise not to say anything to anyone. And that’s why I’m saying good-bye now.”
Again, Virginia Mae glared at the dial tone emanating from the phone. She vented a tiny bit of her anger by slamming it back onto the receiver.
Who else to call? Kellan? Maybe if she called Michael back and threatened to call Kellan for some answers . . . Better yet, call her daughter back and threaten the same thing. Her hands flew back to the phone and then paused. It was late, and Elizabeth had sounded very tired. Could this wait until morning? After all, if her daughter was in any danger, Michael would never have permitted her to go away. This simple truth gave her a great deal of solace and made her decide to wait until morning. But come morning she was going to get some answers.
What she didn’t know then was it would be useless to call Kellan because her granddaughter already knew.
Elizabeth had called Kellan that afternoon after the move and did most of the talking.
Kellan hung up the phone, frowning. This was unreal. The premise of her life had just broken apart. Her parents—the only two people still married in her social circle—were separated?
She sat there overwhelmed. Why couldn’t they deal with this together? Why apart? Why couldn’t they talk about their differences? She slumped back in the kitchen chair, shaking her head. She was glad her housemates were out. She didn’t want anyone to know about this yet.
It was several weeks before the country would discover whether the groundhog would see his shadow. Early spring or a longer winter? She shivered, looking at the snow outside. Kellan used to think spring the most romantic time of the year. But only if you were in love . . . as her parents had been.
Kellan was glad she had never been in love.
Restless, she got up, walked toward the kitchen window and with crossed arms leaned against the sink. Most of her friends’ parents had divorced long ago. Some collected the legal documents like worn-out trophies. The fact that her parents were still married and so much in love had been almost a novelty. But it had also been strength, a reality not only to hold on to, but also to aspire toward.
Most of her friends had multiple lovers and relationships, all with an ease similar to trying on and discarding makeup or accessories. Entanglements that were emotionally rootless had never appealed to her. When she thought of loving someone, it was in the way she saw her parents behave—they wanted to be together, they enjoyed each other and therefore enjoyed their lives together. Together their love embraced Kellan, wrapped her in a blanket of security that made everything possible.
Where had they gone wrong?
Kellan wondered fretfully if it was possible to really love someone forever.
She checked her watch, slung a purse over her shoulder and, with a backpack in one hand, she went out, started the car, and headed for the library.
Ultimately, her parents would simply have to fix things up themselves. Kellan pushed aside the heavy weight of disappointment and forgot about springtime and romance. That was the stuff fairy tales were made of and anyway, she was far too old for make-believe.
Sipping coffee and settling in after her first night there, Elizabeth realized the argument between her and Michael had been serendipitous. She had been aware of the anger slowly churning between them for quite a while. She wasn’t sure how or even why it started. She, for one, was glad it had finally spewed over the top. It allowed her to make an honest escape. She could stay here and conduct the experiment with her friends and not be fearful of interruption. And she wouldn’t be weighted with Michael’s worry every time he was around. Thank God.
There was one exception, of course: Virginia Mae. She had called again this morning, fussing and fretting and worrying about Elizabeth.
“Think of all the horrible things that could happen to a woman alone,” her mother begged. It was a familiar weapon. Fear used to be a great deterrent to doing anything, Elizabeth recalled.
When Elizabeth was a teenager, Virginia Mae made certain Elizabeth knew of all the break-ins, rapes, and violent crimes that ever happened in the city. She had been on pins and needles the whole four years Elizabeth had been in college, and took extra pains to inform her daughter of the real and supposed dangers that awaited her in the actual world—which just so happened to be any world without her mother standing guard.
The day Elizabeth married Michael had been a moment of vast relief for Virginia Mae. She was able to hand her daughter to someone else for safekeeping. To a point.
Eventually, whenever Michael was out of town Virginia Mae took it upon herself to call Elizabeth every night to ask: “Are all the windows locked? The doors, too? You’re sure? All right, darling, then sleep well. Oh, and make sure you lock your bedroom door and keep the phone right by your bed. Good night.”
It was years before Elizabeth finally shed the fear her mother had draped over her. It took her that long to finally realize that her mother lived alone, and went out and about with nary a thought to the dangers she constantly paraded in front of her daughter.
That was the day Elizabeth started drawing a line in the sand. A very polite one, because Virginia Mae’s feelings were so easily hurt, but no longer would she answer dumb questions or listen to the horror stories her mother seemed to keep at her fingertips. It was then Elizabeth started making jokes and laughing at it, pushing it away with humor her mother didn’t find amusing.
“No, Mother, I’ve got the front door open with a sign out front, inviting all sexual predators to come in.”
Virgi
nia Mae complained to Michael, who was of no help. He joined in the fray, laughing and joking in a way that caused Virginia Mae to accept the fact her daughter was indeed an adult.
But she wasn’t taking this new tone her daughter was using very well. Elizabeth had actually slammed the door shut on their conversation—she would not discuss with her own mother why she had left Michael. That didn’t bother her as much as Elizabeth’s not moving back in with her.
When Elizabeth took the morning call from her mother, for the first time she refused to carry any of the guilt her mother was trying to throw on her.
“Mother, stop it right now. If you want to waste your time worrying about me, that’s your problem. I can’t control what you do. But neither do I have to listen to you fuss and complain about it either. I’m fine, this is what I want to do right now, and I don’t want to discuss it further. I’ve already talked to Kellan, so don’t you bother her. And do not come to visit without making sure you’ve discussed the time with me so it will be a time I’m here. Uh-huh. I’m sorry you feel that way, Mother, but that’s the way it’s got to be for right now. I love you. Good-bye.”
As soon as she hung up Elizabeth called Adrienne. “Want some company? Yes, I’m here . . . for a while. Yes, I’d like to discuss specifics. I’ve talked to Mehalia. Good, I’ll be right over.”
Elizabeth walked into the Moores’ house filled with purpose and direction. She hadn’t felt so good in a very long time.
She marveled once again at the lightness of this house, not only because of the sun streaming in from the large multitude of windows, but also because of the easy and relaxed atmosphere the occupants created. Or usually created.
“Come, come sit down and partake of some of our coffee and low-fat Danishes,” Ian implored. She stared at him, surprised. Normally he was dressed in nice but casual clothes—khaki pants, short-sleeved shirts with sweaters draping over the shoulders, very collegiate.
A Sundog Moment Page 26