by M. R. Joseph
“I’m just going to finish this up. Make sure you call your mom. Tell her Haven and I will see her this weekend.”
“Rinny …”
He tries to speak. I won’t allow it.
My voice cracks a little.
“Please, Mack. Not now.” I can no longer feel him standing behind me. A few moments later, I hear him on the phone with Jocelyn. I go into the bathroom and shut and lock the door. I fall against the back of it and cover my mouth stifling my cries. I shake uncontrollably. Why can’t he just understand how much we need him? He’s all I ever needed.
After dinner, we watched a movie with Haven. I study the both of them as they cuddle on the couch. I think about how wonderful our life is. Haven goes to a wonderful, private school. We moved into a bigger apartment with spectacular views of the city. I think about all of our accomplishments as a family. The memories we’ve made with vacations and holidays. I smile when I think of our parents and how happy they are that we’re all a family. Not that we weren’t before. The day our parents moved next to each other, we all became a family.
I excuse myself to give them some alone time. I kiss Haven on the forehead and she knows she only has another half hour before bed when I point to the clock. I’ve become a strict parent. I’ve become Mae. God help us all.
An hour or so later, Mack climbs into bed. It’s dark inside our room. Mack slips his arm around my waist and pulls me towards his chest. He kisses in between my shoulder blades. Smaller kisses follow across to my left shoulder, then again to the center, then to my right shoulder. As good as it feels to have his lips on my skin, I still feel so uneasy. I want to shove him off of me, tell him to go away, but I can’t because I’m scared.
I roll over into his arms and kiss him. The fire between us will always be here, even when he goes away. I waste no time as I straddle his hips and ease him inside me. I take my time; riding him systematically as he places his hands on my hips, guiding me and my moves. I hang my head back and savor all the sensations I’m feeling. I get lost when his fingers dig into my skin. I love the sounds of his heavy breathing every time I raise myself up on him and then lower myself. Picking up my pace and then slowing it down. I know how this drives Mack into a frenzy, and the thing I love most is the look on his face, and as the moonlight shines into our bedroom window, I see the spark of lust in his gorgeous eyes. He’s ready. I’m ready. I cry out to Mack, “I’m coming. I’m coming.” I squeeze my eyes shut for a second and open them to find Mack staring at me. His jaw is agape and his grip deepens into my flesh, and I whisper, “Let go, Mack. Let go.” As if on demand, he thrusts once upwards into me, and I know he has let go.
I collapse onto his chest and wrap my arms around his neck and a sudden pang enters my heart and I am so afraid of letting go of him—of this moment—of this second in our lives together. I cry silent tears.
“Please, don’t leave us anymore. Please.”
“I love you, Rinny,” is all he says because I know there’s nothing left to say. He has to go and I pray my pleas to him change his mind about our life when he gets back.
I felt him get out of bed. I felt him kiss me on my head. I smelled his cologne. I felt the smoothness of his cheek against mine. I heard him whisper to me how much he loved me. I was awake, but I didn’t open my eyes.
I’m awake, and I didn’t tell him goodbye. I feel like a monster. Who have I become? I’m wrong for shunning him like that. You don’t do that to people you love. You fight with them, not let them walk out the door.
When the sun rises, I make some coffee, and hop in the shower before I have to wake up Haven for school. I check my phone and see that I missed a call from Mack. I listen to the voicemail, and he sounds so lonely, so regretful, but as I listen I also realize what he means is the truth. This is his last assignment. I got through to him. When he gets home, we’ll be a family. A real family, because this time I’ll answer the question he asks me all the time. I’ll answer; yes, I’ll marry him.
CORRINE ~ PRESENT DAY
I can’t process. Every word coming from the television is muffled. It’s like I’m listening to it under water. I can barely hear the screams coming from Jocelyn. I can hardly hear the cries of my mother and father. I can hardly hear Owen’s voice saying, “Oh, my God, no. Please, God, no.”
All I can do is stare at the screen. I can’t process. I can’t process.
The news breaks. Lt. Commander August calls to warn us of a possible bombing where Mack was taken. We pray he’s wrong. The TV tells a different tale.
The man on the screen speaks again. He repeats what made Jocelyn scream and why everyone else around me is crying.
“Sources say that the bombing of a town in the city of Baniyas, on the coast of Syria, produced no survivors. A few dozen citizens were confirmed dead, some bodies were not recovered. Among them was the body of kidnapped war correspondent, MacIntyre Cooper. Cooper was taken by an army ruled by one of the top commanders of Al Qaeda nearly six and a half months ago. Our sympathies go out to his family from all of us at the network. We’ve lost a good man. He will be dearly missed.”
What this means doesn’t even scratch the surface of being dearly missed. The phone rings off the hook. It’s constant. I want someone to shut it off, but I can’t get up from my chair. Not that I could even if I wanted to. All I can think about is Haven. What do I tell her? How do I tell her?
Our baby girl. Mack’s baby girl. Our world.
She will be the only thing that will keep me going. She was the reason I was born. Mack brought her into my life. Life will never be the same. I’ll never be the same, but my will to live will be Haven.
He’ll never see her graduate from high school or college. He won’t see her walk down the aisle. He won’t see her become a mother. He’s going to miss it all.
I made the decision a long time ago that I would devote my life to that girl. I had a choice. I could have just been the friend and helped out when I could. I could have willed myself not to be in love with Mack. I could have met someone, fallen in love with them, and had my own babies. Sometimes, when the heart wants something so badly, when a heart bleeds for another like mine did for Mack, you sacrifice things you could have had.
Owen places his hand on my shoulder. Turning my head methodically, I see he’s crying, but I’m stone.
“Corrine, I’m so sorry. I’m just so sorry.” Owen is also under water. I see his mouth moving, and I hear words coming out of it but nothing sounds clear. Owen kneels on the floor in front of my chair and grabs my hands, but I just stare at him. What do I do?
“I think I’m ready for bed now. Can you ask my dad to help me up the steps?” His face is red and confused. I want to go to bed.
“You want to go to bed now? What … do you want me to call someone? Anyone? What do you want, Corrine?”
I look into his eyes. They’re not the eyes I want to be looking at. Those eyes I’ll never see again.
“Can you ask my dad to help me upstairs, please?” He nods.
Dad comes over and assumes the same position Owen just was in.
“Corrine, sweetie, you want to go to bed?” Daddy is crying. I nod.
“I’m tired, Daddy.”
“Okay, baby.”
Daddy and Owen get me out of my chair. The wailing still goes on. The screams from Jocelyn continue. I want to go to my bed.
“Daddy, is Haven still at the Miller’s house?”
“Yes, Corrine. Do you want me to go get her?”
“No. I’m tired, Daddy.”
I feel Owen and my dad staring at me. I reach my room, and I climb into bed. Clothes on, shoes on, no medicine taken. I don’t care. Maybe if I close my eyes, I’ll wake up, and it will all have been a terrible nightmare.
Yes, things will be different tomorrow.
TWO HUNDRED DAYS AGO
Work is keeping me quite busy today. I’m hoping to get home before Haven goes to bed. I feel bad that while Mack’s away, I’m working a lot. The last photo
shoot I did was complicated. So many problems between re-shoots and my editor not liking about eighty percent of the shots I took. I’m doing my best to do my part on the editing, but this damn headache will not go away. Jocelyn has been a Godsend staying with Haven and me.
I rub my temples as I continue to stare at the screen on my monitor. There’s not enough coffee or headache medicine to make me feel any better.
My phone rings and I pick it up, reluctantly.
I practically moan when I answer.
“Corrine Blanchard.”
“Corrine?”
It’s Mother.
“Ma, I can’t talk now. I have a major deadline and it’s not going smoothly …”
Cutting me off she says, “Corrine, are you near a TV?”
She sounds upset.
“No, why? What’s going on?”
“Corrine, turn on the news.” At that moment my assistant Marla runs in.
“Corrine, oh God. Hurry turn to a news channel on your laptop.”
She looks shaken and I’m wondering if there’s been another terrorist attack.
Mae yells into the phone, “Do it, Corrine. Please.”
. As soon as I turn my laptop on, I go right to the network Mack works for. On the screen is nothing but Mack’s face.
I drop my phone. I look to Marla, then back to the screen. Scrolling below the anchor at the desk it says:
War correspondent MacIntyre Cooper is being held against his will by Syrians. A video has been released and we are reporting this to you as information becomes available. The tape was sent to our sources in Washington and was made available to us as of three p.m. today.
And I see it.
Two men with masks on. Dressed in black. Two machine guns. Someone kneeling on the floor with a black hood on. Hands tied behind him. Clothes are bloodstained.
The video rolls. I don’t understand what the men in black are saying, but I hear Mack mumble a few words. I can’t make the words out over the men in black. The anchor explains what is being said.
Held until demands are met. Will kill me if demands are not met.
My office is suddenly filled with people saying my name. I hang up on my mother and continue to look at the screen. They take off the hood, and I see him. His beautiful face swollen, bruised, and bloodied. His chin hangs down, and I can’t see his eyes. I want to see his eyes. Why can’t he lift his head? I need to see his eyes.
Gasps fill the room. My heart pounds and I vomit in the wastepaper basket next to me when one of the men in black grab the top of his head by the hair and pull it forcefully upwards. His eyes are swollen shut, and his lids protrude out from his face. He’s been beaten.
Mack. They have my Mack.
Haven. I need to get to Haven. I grab my bag and phone and rush out of the building. My focus is to get to my girl and protect her from all the bad.
It’s been a few weeks since the kidnapping. I went to Washington with Jocelyn to talk to someone from the state department. There’s not much to be said. We know there is a media blackout on the situation because, to the kidnappers, journalists are worth something. So they play their games and try to make their deals. Still, less media coverage, the better. We’re told it will keep Mack alive. Haven thought I had to go away on a shoot and that Daddy was asked to stay a bit longer where he was for work. Haven is with my parents because Haven’s grandmother, Grace, is out of control. Praying every five seconds, won’t leave her church, and I don’t want Haven to know what’s going on. I talked to her school, the parents of her friends—anyone who has a direct relationship with Haven. My fear is her finding out the truth. So this is where I become the lowest of the low. I lie to my girl, and it kills me to do so, but I’d rather lie than have to explain that bad men have her daddy and they will cut off his head if their demands are not met.
We meet with Lt. Commander August who briefs us on everything. He will be our contact as well as Don Gould, who runs the news network Mack works for.
Jocelyn is in bad shape. She’s never been the same since John was killed on 9/11. Now because of that day, and what is going on in the world, her son’s life is in jeopardy.
We were only in Washington for a few days. Back home with Haven, I try to make life as normal as possible for her. She asks a lot of questions. I keep up with my lying.
I try to concentrate at work, but it’s difficult. At home, it’s no better. My boss offered me a leave of absence, which means no pay. We live in a gorgeous apartment with gorgeous bills. So, I’ll keep working and try to keep my mind occupied.
At night, Haven and I cuddle after she’s finished her homework and had a shower. We talk about her day and my day. I need her. When she falls asleep, sometimes I let her just sleep in my bed. On the nights where the fear and anxiety take over, and I do nothing but cry myself to sleep, I carry her to her bedroom. I haven’t washed Mack’s pillowcase. I keep it next to me as I sleep. I inhale his scent and play his last voicemail to me every night before I allow the anti-anxiety meds to kick in, and I drift off.
It can’t still be dark. My alarm is going off. I can’t find it to shut it off. I can’t find the lamp, or see my hand. I’m blinking, but nothing is happening. I keep rubbing my eyes, and they hurt. I have a pain in my head. I fall out of bed and yell for Haven. I feel around, but I’m so confused I don’t know what I‘m feeling.
“Haven! Help me! Help!” She’s not here. She stayed at her grandmother’s. She’s in Merrick, and I’m here alone. I can’t see. Why can’t I see? Oh God, please help me. I feel for my bedside table, and I feel my phone. I can hardly breathe; I’m so scared. I push numbers over and over again and nothing happens. Why doesn’t anyone answer? Someone has to answer. No one does, so I scream. I scream like I’m being tortured, which I am. I scream and scream and scream. I scream so loudly and for so long, I’m going hoarse. I crawl around on the floor until I can see a very dim light. I follow with my one hand along the wall and the other feeling the floor. Someone is calling my name and banging on the door.
“Ms. Blanchard. Ms. Blanchard, can you hear me?” I cry and scream yes, help me. Someone help me. I can’t see. I can’t see. The voice is growing nearer so I know I must be near the living room. I hit my head a few times, but I continue on.
“Ms. Blanchard, help is on the way.” The voice is our doorman, Darnell. I recognize it. I stay still and rock back and forth. My chin is tucked under my chest. And I wait.
And I wait.
Darnell keeps talking to me. I answer him that I’m okay. I want Mack. I need Mack.
The sound of the heavy door to our apartment crashes open, and I wait to hear his voice. Mack’s voice. But I don’t. I hear someone say they are a police officer. It’s not Mack. That’s how I know I’m awake in the darkness and somehow this is still a nightmare.
The darkness remains for five days. Slowly, the light begins to show through but only in one eye. Chances of the vision coming back in said eye—slim. Poked and prodded. MRIs, CAT-scans, blood taken, spinal taps.
First diagnosis: Optic Neuritis. What is that exactly? Inflammation of the optic nerves in the eyes. The reason why I lost my sight suddenly. Several things bring this on. This brings me to my second and final diagnosis: Multiple Sclerosis.
A disease of the Central Nervous System. Turns out I’ve been having symptoms for years but for some reason, at this particular time, it’s decided to rear its ugly head. The bad headaches, the difficulty concentrating, chronic muscle fatigue. Anxiety. And just when I thought all of it was because of Mack’s kidnapping. I couldn’t be more wrong. The disease can hide for years. The symptoms are vague and may appear to be just from normal, daily life.
Why now? I don’t know. Maybe in this fucked up universe some powers that be said, “Hey let’s fuck her up some more and give her a disease.”
It’s a progressive disease. I’m in pain most days. I can’t drive, or take care of Haven. More lies had to be explained to her when I got out of the hospital. I told her I fel
l and had to have surgery on my knee. I told her it would be a lengthy recovery and that we would have to move until her dad got home. I can’t live on my own. I can’t live in the apartment and take care of Haven by myself. I moved back to Long Island to live with my parents. I sublet the apartment so the rent is taken care of. I can’t work. Who can be a photographer when you can only see out of one eye? No one.
We enrolled Haven in school in Long Beach. One week she is with Jocelyn, and the other week she shares with her other grandmother in Merrick. The constant battle with her was why she couldn’t help take care of me. I didn’t want her to see me this way, but living next door to Jocelyn couldn’t keep it that way.
Adjusting has been a challenge to say the least. I need help with everything I do. Getting dressed, showering, and walking. I’m too young for this. I’m too young to have to rely on my parents to help me with everything. I’m too young not to work and do what I love. I’m too young to have the person I love most in this world ripped out from under me. I’m angry. No, I’m more than angry. I’m fucking pissed. I’m so mad that this is my life. I cry every night for him. Of course I do. I play his voicemail in order to go to sleep at night. I want to look up at our old, fading stars on my ceiling together. I want to hold him and rub the scar over his eye that I gave him and tell him without words that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so damn stubborn. Why didn’t I say yes and marry him? Would he have quit traveling if I did? I’m not so sure any of that would have made a difference. I still would have this disease, and Mack would have to be the one to take care of me. Would he even want me knowing that I’ll just get worse as time goes on? Why would a handsome, intelligent, powerful man like Mack want an invalid?
I see a shrink. He doesn’t help, except he gives me pills to try to make me happy. The only way I’d be happy again is if Mack were here. Haven makes me happy, and she makes me sad. It makes me sad I can’t swim in the ocean with her, or coach her in softball. It makes me sad we can’t live back at our apartment in Manhattan. It makes me sad I can’t take photographs of her like I used to. I am so pathetic even I’m tired of hearing me whine.