Then There Was You (Twist of Fate)

by A. J. Daniels

  Without giving it much thought, I pull out my phone and send Nate a text. In a perfect world, we would’ve had this conversation face-to-face, but the world isn’t perfect and seeing him again, seeing the look of hurt in his eyes will be my undoing. I don’t think I can go through with it then.

  Me: I have to choose him. I’m sorry.

  The three little dots appear almost immediately but then stop, and it isn’t until the Uber is pulling up to my house do they appear again before Nate’s message comes through.

  Nate: I understand.

  My thumb hovers over delete contact but I can’t bring myself to make it that official no matter how much I know I should.

  Chapter 18

  After struggling to get a very drunk Jack into the house and to bed while trying not to wake up Londyn, I collapse on the couch with a mug of rooibos tea and prop my feet up on the edge, curling my hands around the round cup and resting it on my bent knees.

  This was the third night in a row that I’ve had to wrangle a drunk Jack into bed after he indulged in one too many drinks while we were out. I know he said that it was the only way he could get some sleep without the nightmares returning but it’s not healthy and I’m really starting to worry about him.

  After that first night out with Jack, I told him that he should just move in to the other guest room. There was no point in him continuing to rent the Airbnb by Muizenberg Beach. Plus, I kind of wanted to keep an eye on him and his alcohol consumption. I had to swallow hard against the lump forming in my throat when I got home yesterday evening and saw the stash of empty liquor bottles littering the side of the bed with a passed out Jack lying face down in a puddle of drool.

  It takes me a while to gather up the remaining collection of bottles and throw them in the recycling bin and then clean up the kitchen. I’m pretty sure the bottles I pick up are a collection from the last three days’ worth, but I’m too scared of the answer I may receive if I ask.

  It’s close to one in the morning but there’s no way I’m going to convince my body to sleep right now. There’s still too much stuff swirling around in my brain like a tornado looking for a spot to touch down.

  Alcohol is the only thing helps.

  Jack’s mumbled words play on a loop in my head and no matter how hard I try I can’t forget the look in his eyes when he uttered those words.

  My phone beeps on the couch beside me with a new message and my heart dips at the sender. After texting Nate that night, we decided that it was going to be too hard to maintain a professional relationship outside of school. So, we cut all communication that wasn’t related to our students. It almost fucking killed me, but I felt it was necessary.

  Nate: Tell me again why we decided to cut all communication?

  Me: Because it was too hard.

  Nate: Right.

  Nate: Guess I suck at it.

  I smile. Little does he know he’s not the only one feeling the loss right now.

  Me: Nate?

  Me: I miss you too.

  Nate: Have a drink with me tomorrow night? Dunes?

  I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and cut a glance in the direction of the bedroom where I set Jack up temporarily. It’s too weird sharing the same bed with Jack that I shared with Nate, so I convinced my husband to stay in the guest room for now until we figure out some stuff about our relationship. Most wives would be ecstatic to learn that their husbands weren’t really dead. Me? I felt like fate was playing a cruel joke on me.

  My brain’s telling me not to go, that I made a vow to Jack and to back out on it now would be wrong. But my heart… my heart is begging to feel the comfort of just being near Nate again. Of feeling his arms wrap around me one last time. I blow out a frustrated breath. It would be nice if my brain and my heart could agree on something just once in my life.

  Me: I’ll be there.

  Nate: Lekker.

  I grin, easily picturing and hearing him say the Afrikaans word as if he were sitting beside me at this very moment, but it falls almost as fast it appears because I just lied to someone I love. I’m not going to be at Dunes tomorrow night after school. In fact, I’m not going to see Nate tomorrow at all. Or the next day after that or the next after that.

  It’s for the best I tell myself.

  * * *

  I pull into the staff parking lot of the school after dropping Londyn off at the airport. I’m grateful when I see Pam’s car already in the lot. I grab my purse and phone as well as the envelope from the passenger seat, set the alarm on the car and head into the school. As I approach the front, I can’t help but admire the building for the last time. If you’d seen this place from the road, you wouldn’t have guessed that it was a primary school. A brick walkway is surrounded by lush bushes and greenery leading to a building with three archways, in the middle, a set of three steps takes you up to a patio area and a front door with glass tiles surrounded by dark wood paneling. To the right of the walkway is the expansive sports field and to the left is the high fence separating the Olympic-sized pool from visitors entering through the front gate. The entire building is shaped in a U, with the front entrance encompassing the bottom curve. Pam’s office is immediately to the left after you enter into the foyer area.

  Picture upon picture of past pupils decorate both walls of the foyer. It’s still surreal seeing myself in one of those photos, wearing the old school uniform of maroon and white with the blazer that had the school logo embroidered on the left breast pocket in gold. To think that I had started out as a pupil when I was six years old and am now a teacher. Was. Was now a teacher because as soon as I hand this letter to Pam, I’ll no longer be considered a staff member at Pinelands North Primary School.

  “Come in,” Pam’s voice calls from behind the partially closed door after I knock. “Ah, Annika. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you. How are you, Pam?”

  She glances up at me from behind her desk, her short blonde hair glowing in the morning sun. “Is something wrong?”

  I hate the way she can so easily pick up on my mood changes. She did the same thing when I was a pupil here. Like she could see something was bothering me but wanted me to come to her. It’s a tone that begged you to confide in her even when you didn’t want to.

  I sigh, taking a seat in one of the plush chairs in front of her desk and hand her the sealed envelope. She takes it from me with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips but doesn’t say anything until she’s read through the long letter.

  Pam mirrors my sigh, sliding her glasses off her nose and placing them on the desk in front of her. “I feared this was coming.” Putting the letter on the desk, she sits back in her seat and folds her hands in front of her. “Can I ask you something and will you answer honestly?”

  “Um… Yes?”

  “Is this…” She points a finger at the letter without unfolding her hands. “Because of Nathaniel Walker?”

  “H-How… um, what?” I stammer.

  “Annika, I’ve known you since you were a child. Despite so many years passing, there’s very little about your reactions that have changed. I know the two of you had something going on but in recent weeks that seems to no longer be the case. I had feared that you would hand in your resignation to keep it from getting awkward here at school.”

  “Well, I-” I start but she cuts me off with a raised hand.

  “And while I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I don’t think it’s necessary. You are both adults and I trust the both of you to keep it strictly professional when you’re here.”

  “I appreciate that, Pam, I really do. But,” I let out a fast breath, “I just can’t continue to act like nothing’s wrong anymore. It…” I pause, looking over at her and wondering just how much I can confide in her. When she gives me that soft, motherly smile I decide to just lay it all out there. “My, uh, husband… well, it turns out that he isn’t actually dead, and he showed up here in Cape Town a few weeks ago. I ended it with Nate and hoped that things could maybe go back t
o the way they were before, but I’ve come to realize that they just… can’t. It hurts every time I see him in the halls, or our classes do gym together. It would just be easier for both of us if I bowed out since he has been teaching here longer than I have. Plus, I don’t think it’s fair to the kids.”

  That motherly smile turns sad, and I have to swallow hard against the pang of guilt from disappointing yet another person in my life.

  * * *

  “Annika!”

  The loud knock on the front door is followed by Nate’s booming voice. I guess Pam must have told him that I had resigned from my position at P.N.P.S. and was not coming back. Either that or he figured it out after I stood him up last night and wasn’t at school by the time the students arrived this morning.

  In truth, I was. I saw him walk past Pam’s office and down the hall towards both of our classrooms, but I made sure I was behind the door frame and that Nate didn’t see me. Pam tried one last time to get me to stay before I pushed my way through the door, around the corner, and out the front door of the school. I didn’t allow myself to breathe until I was in my car and merging onto the freeway that would take me home.

  As soon as I walked through the door, I chucked my shoes and climbed into bed, fully clothed, pulling the comforter over my head. That’s when I allowed the tears to finally fall. Now I am equal parts grateful that Jack isn’t here, and wishing he was so that Nate would leave because hearing him call out desperately for me is breaking my heart even more than it was already.

  This isn’t the way I pictured us ending. In fact, I never pictured an expiration date for Nate and me, but it is how it has to be now. I couldn’t keep seeing him, keep working with him, knowing Jack is waiting for me at home. It doesn’t feel right, but neither does walking away from Nate.

  After several more minutes of his insistent knocking and pleading going unanswered, I hear the rev of his car, the bass of his music kicking in and then fading in the distance as he drives away. It’s better this way I tell myself as I force my body to get out of bed and start dinner for when Jack gets home.

  I tell myself the same thing as Jack enters me later that night and finds his release first.

  “It’s better this way,” I repeat to myself, sinking further into the sofa where I moved after Jack rolled over and fell asleep, his snores now filtering down from the bedroom. I owe it to Jack. To our marriage. To our history.

  Chapter 19

  I eye the newly refilled glass of beer in Jack’s hand and mentally count back how many I think he’s had since we sat down less than two hours ago. The pitcher is empty again and I am almost positive I had only one drink out of the two pitchers we’d ordered. Since there is still half of one sitting in the middle of the table, it means Jack drank almost one and a half to himself.

  Jack waves his hands around in the air as he speaks sports with one of the guys sitting at the bar directly beside us. I have never seen my husband so animated before. Usually Jack likes to keep to himself when we come out to watch the game. Yes, he was the popular jock in high school and was at all the parties, but not like this. Never like this. I feel like the man sitting in front of me is a complete stranger. One who looks like and sounds like my husband.

  The bruise on my bicep still stings whenever my sleeve brushes against it, and it hurts like a bitch when I accidentally bump my arm into something. That is the biggest change. Before he left on deployment, Jack would never have thought about laying a hand on me. Not in a way I didn’t enjoy anyway. But the more he drinks, the more I feel the man I knew is slipping away and someone entirely different is taking his place.

  Ever since he came back he’s been different. I no longer see the boy who left for basic training all those years ago or the man who left for deployment several years later. I know they say war changes a person, but I didn’t expect this much of a change. Maybe I am naïve, I don’t know. Or maybe it is the stress of the last while finally catching up to me.

  I think back to my parents and how thirty years of being together is about to be flushed down the drain all because my father felt like he had to hide who he really was. My heart breaks for him because I can’t imagine having to hide such a significant part of yourself for so long, but I’m so mad at him too. How could he ever think it was okay to put my mother through that?

  When Dad finally came out and told me the reason for the falling out between him and Mom, I wanted to hate him so much. I wanted to lay the blame at my Uncle Dave’s feet. After all, if he had just stayed away maybe Mom and Dad wouldn’t be going through this right now. If he had just minded his own business, those feelings Dad had for him wouldn’t have resurfaced. God, I wanted to scream at all of them. How could they do this to me? Until Londyn reminded me that it wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about me at all. It was about them, and about Dad finally owning up to who he is, and I am being selfish by demanding my father continue to ignore that part of himself so he and Mom could continue being the perfect couple everyone thought they were.

  I sigh. I feel bad for ending the FaceTime call with Londyn abruptly after that little come-to-Jesus moment. I know she is right. Of course, she is, but I am not ready to admit that… to myself or anyone else. I want to live in my bubble of anger a little while longer. My world feels like it is crumbling under my feet and that bit of anger gives me something to hold onto, something that anchors me because if I just let myself accept it, accept that everything I believe about my parents is a lie then I am going to lose it, and I can’t lose it. I am the one who always has their shit together, dammit. My hand tightens around the glass and I take a long drink of the now warm beer.

  So, yeah, a part of me is raging mad at my father, but I kind of get it. It sucks so hard that my mom is hurting through all of this. I mean, she’s the one who had to find out that the man she loves isn’t who she thought he was.

  I look up at Jack. The low lights of the bar painting him in a soft glow. He has barely looked at me since the waitress set down that first pitcher in front of us. His gaze was locked on one of the TVs above the bar and then he began talking to that guy. I am pretty sure that I could slip out and he wouldn’t realize I am gone until it’s last call and he needs a ride home.

  Is this the end for us too? It is a silly thought. He hasn’t done anything to really make me consider leaving him.

  Except put his hands on you, a little voice in my head says.

  It was an accident. I hadn’t been listening to him and he grabbed my arm to get my attention. So he grabbed me a little too hard causing finger shaped bruises to appear the next day. But it’s not like he had ever done that before. Jack would never hurt me.

  You never thought your dad would hurt your mom either.

  That is different. My dad lied to my mom for thirty years. Thirty. Years. Jack has never lied to me, he just gets a little rough and that’s all. And it was only the one time.

  It only takes one time.

  I mentally shake myself. I feel like a crazy person arguing with the voices in their head. What Jack does isn’t intentional. I know it isn’t intentional. But… I can’t help but remember the way his eyes darkened when he yanked me around to face him, and the stench of beer that radiated from him.

  From all the countless hours of research I had done on POWs the one thing that stands out is the fact that most of them turn to drugs or alcohol as a way to deal with some of the flashbacks they still endure and because they have trouble adjusting back to civilian life. So that’s all it is. Jack is trying to adjust to being free.

  Yup, it is all totally normal. Completely normal.

  Now if only I could convince the annoying voice inside my head to believe the same.

  “I’m going home,” I say to Jack, picking my purse up from the ground at my feet. I fully expect him to go on not paying attention to me but as soon as I stand and begin turning away from the table, Jack pushes up from his seat and grabs my arm pulling me into him. I lose my balance a bit and stumble into the round table. My fac
e heats as I glance at the surrounding tables and realize almost everyone has just witnessed what happened.

  “Did I say I was ready to leave?” he seethes, spit flying and landing on my face. “Sit your fat ass down and be quiet while I finish my beer.”

  “Jack, please,” I plead, ignoring the pain radiating from where his fingers are digging into my flesh.

  “Sit. Down.”

  My ass has never hit a seat so fast in my life. Jack glares at me as he reaches for the pitcher and pours the remnants into his glass. I let out a relieved breath when his attention finally turns back to the game on the TV, the incident evidentially forgotten. Our waitress approaches and I can see that she wants to ask if I’m okay. I subtly nod my head before she can get the words out. She sends me a sympathetic smile, picks up the empty pitcher, and heads back to the bar.

  A small part of me wonders what would’ve happened if I had told her I wasn’t okay. Would she stand up against my husband for me? Would the bartender? Would the bouncers by the door? People like to think that they’d be brave enough to stand up for someone who they see is being abused, but the stark reality is that it’s not true. People are too scared to get involved. They keep their heads down and continue in their naïve bliss, too engrossed in their phones to notice when someone is in pain.

  * * *

  “Don’t you dare disrespect me like that again,” Jack seethes, spinning me and pushing my back against the wall with his hand around my throat, as soon as we’ve entered the house.

  “How did I disrespect you, Jack? I just wanted to come home. I’m tired.” I claw at his arm, trying to get him to let me go but his grip tightens as he snarls in my face.

  “We leave when I say we leave. I think I’ve been too lenient on you.”