Stages of Grace

by Carey Heywood

  Suddenly I feel paranoid for watching it at all, so I turn the TV off and go to clean my plate. Our apartment does not have a dishwasher. I can almost hear Jon's sing-songy voice as he would say, “you cook, I'll clean” when we talked about the lack of dishwasher. These days, I do all the cleaning. There are a pile of dirty dishes in the sink that had not been there that morning. I cannot help but notice that there seem to be more plates than one person might use during the day. I wash them, placing them one, by one onto the plastic drying rack beside the sink.

  I go to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth before changing into pajamas and going to bed. It feels strange, having the bed to myself. I plop down into it without a care and take my time getting comfortable. Sometime in the night, I start when I hear the front door close. I lie there, eyes shut, doing my best to appear asleep. Jon switches on the bedroom light when he walks in. Still, I pretend to sleep. I hear him walk over to my side of the bed and can sense him over me. He stands there for a few moments. I do not move an inch. With my entire being I wish him away. I almost open my eyes when I feel the feather light touch of his finger brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

  Was that affection? I am too startled to respond. As quickly as his fingertip brushes my cheek, it is gone. Jon turns off the light before undressing and climbing into bed. I lie there stunned, hopeful. Jon still cares. He has to. I drift back to sleep with a feeling I have not had in months: hope.

  The next morning I wake early. I would have loved to sleep in, but I had gone to bed fairly early and have an internal alarm clock. Jon is still asleep so I ease out of bed to not disturb him. His touch the night before was still affecting me. I feel almost light and cheerful. Wanting to surprise Jon, I quietly set to baking cinnamon rolls in the kitchen. It’s my mother's recipe, and Jon loves them. I remembered my mother as I made them. My parents died in a car accident six months after Jon and I had moved in our apartment.

  My grief had been so palpable at that time that Jon had been my one saving, well, grace. I was an only child and handling my parents’ estate had been overwhelming. Jon had helped me sort everything out. My parents’ house had been a nightmare to deal with. There was still a mortgage on it, and due to the housing crisis in Cleveland, had been underwater in its value. I had a few nerve wracking moments with the bank holding the mortgage, but with Jon's help, was able to get everything squared away.

  Cleaning out my parents’ house had been especially hard. I saved photos and other memorable items. I felt such an overwhelming sadness that since I had no children or brothers and sisters or aunts and uncles that their memories were only known to me now, that their passing was only felt by me. Once the estate was settled, I was able to pay for their cremations and the rest went to paying off my student loans and some credit card debt. Jon had been with me, holding my hand as I released my parent's ashes into the Cuyahoga. My parents had loved that river. Maybe that was why I did too.

  I am just taking the rolls out of the oven when Jon comes out of the bedroom. Setting them on the stovetop to cool, I smile up at him. Jon moves past me to the fridge, ignoring the rolls, and gets a soda. I move my gaze to the rolls so Jon will not see my smile fade. I make a plate for myself and take it to our small table to eat. Jon goes to sit in his armchair and turns on the TV. After eating, I wash my plate and go to take a shower. Jon walks in as I am about to step in the water, and I grab a towel to cover myself, startled.

  "Don’t worry Grace. You have nothing I want to see," Jon says, pulling a bottle of painkillers from the medicine cabinet before slamming the door closed behind him.

  I stand there allowing his words to sink into my core. I have nothing he wanted to see. What does that mean? How could I go so quickly from the most beautiful girl he had ever seen to this? As much as I want to turn the water off and curl up in a ball on the bathroom mat to cry, I don’t. I step into the stream of water. It is hotter than I expect, and I rush to turn the knob to add cool water. As I shampoo my hair and clean my body, I cry quietly, curious if the man I love will ever come back to me.

  Those words become a chorus in my head: “nothing I want to see, nothing I want to see.” I remembered the days when Jon could not keep his hands off of me. From our very first stolen date at the bowling alley. I had two beers with Jon. Afterward, as he waited with me in the parking lot for my friend to pick me up, he kissed me for the first time. It was a September evening, and even though we were having a bit of an Indian summer, it had cooled off outside once the sun had set. We were sitting on the back of his car, looking up at the stars. Jon was making me laugh by making up names for constellations.

  Jon pointed across me to a grouping of stars low on the horizon. When I looked back at him, smiling at his ridiculous name for them, I was not expecting his face to be right there. Locked in the gaze of the bluest eyes I had ever seen, Jon leaned in to kiss me. I had felt lit from within, as though every nerve ending on my body was emitting heat. I was so surprised I had kept my eyes open the whole time. His lips were soft, and the kiss was sweet. After our kiss we looked at each other almost stunned. I wondered if he felt the same way I had. Our second kiss followed not long after. This one was less sweet and more of a promise of things to come.

  I had been almost sad to see my friend pull up. Jon had my number and promised he would call the next day. I traced my lips, feeling his phantom lips still on them. Claire, my friend and neighbor, teased me on the ride to our building. She had never seen me like this and was still stunned I had ditched my date for him. It had been completely out of character for me. Claire had seen Jon, so it was easy to see why I had been so taken. Claire was just hopeful he had some cute single friends for herself.

  I dry off after my shower. Our bathroom does not have a fan for the steam, only a small window that I should have opened but didn’t. The window is meant to vent the steam, but it is too cold outside this time of year. I use my hand to wipe condensation off the mirror and look at myself. Nothing to see now, and once I had been so desirable. We would get past this. I dress and brush my hair, leaving it down. Maybe Jon will be happy to see how long it is getting.

  Jon is in his armchair when I come back into the front room. The roll I had eaten is the only one missing from the tray. He hadn’t had one. Why not? I look at the tray and back to Jon. He's sitting with his head down, still reading. He had not even acknowledged I had come in to the room.

  "I made rolls."

  "Not hungry," he says. turning a page of his book.

  "But I—"

  Jon huffs and looks up at me. "Yes?"

  "Nothing."

  I hurry back to our bedroom and sit on our bed. Why am I so upset? My emotions are overwhelming me. I bring my hand up to cover my mouth as I quietly break down. I don’t want Jon to hear me. I don’t want Jon to see me like this right now. He must have heard me, though, because I look up, and he is standing in the doorway, coldly looking down at me.

  "You're crying over some fucking rolls."

  "I…I…I"

  "You what?"

  I just sit there shaking my head.

  "Spit it out!"

  Jon is yelling now and standing over me. I shrink further down, pulling my shoulders in, a sitting fetal position. He words a roar in my ears, I cannot understand him. Why am I getting yelled at for crying? It is surreal, almost as though I am watching from the other side of the room. His anger is now wholly directed at me. All I try to do is love him and support him. Why is he so angry at me?

  Jon tries to lift my chin up, to make me look at him. I struggle to keep my face down, his fingernails biting into my skin, I want him to go away. I don't want him to see me like this. He throws his hands up in frustration and storms out, banging the door shut behind him. From the bedroom I hear a crash in the kitchen and then the jingle of keys being taken off the hook by the door followed by the boom of the front door closing behind him. I want to go see what the noise in the kitchen had been but feel incapable of standing. Falling over onto
my side, I pull my legs up into my arms and hug myself.

  When I am all cried out, I go into the kitchen to see what Jon has done. The pan of rolls no longer sits on the stovetop. The pan is on the floor, and a sticky mess of rolls is everywhere. Instead of crying again, I start cleaning. I throw away all of the rolls, even the ones that had landed on the countertop and not the floor, telling myself I will never make rolls again. Once the rolls are in the trash, I take a soapy sponge and begin cleaning the icing from the walls, countertops, cabinet doors, and floor. I notice right away he took my keys, meaning he probably took my car too. Where did he go? When would he be back?

  Given the weather and being without my car, I feel trapped and stir crazy. I gather up our laundry and a roll of quarters, huffing it downstairs to the laundry room for our building. I lock the door behind me using Jon's keys. The machines are smaller than the machines at the Laundromat down the street and cost more, but I have little choice on foot. Taking up four of the twelve available machines, I separate our clothes into two loads of colored and two loads of lights. I take out my book, Arrows of the Queen. I brought it down with me so I could sit on a stool in the corner of the room and read. It is a book I've read before but enjoy so much I reread when I have nothing else.

  Thirty minutes and four dollars in quarters later, I move all of the laundry into dryers. I am lost in my book until I hear stomping and doors slamming upstairs. It’s as the though the air is pulled from my body, a feeling of dread settles in its place. Jon is home, and given all the door slamming, is angry that I am not there. I stand in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Leave the clothes and tell him where I am or stay with the clothes and let him stew? I hear the door slam again and heavy footsteps on the stairs. He is coming down.

  I open the door and feel a blast of cold air. "Jon?"

  He is halfway down the stairs when he hears me. Jon comes down the rest of the stairs and approaches me so quickly I automatically back up in the room until the wall is at my back.

  "Don’t you ever leave without writing a note again," he hisses in my face.

  I look down and nod, wondering why he can leave without telling me where he is going. The dryers’ buzz indicate they are done. Instead of offering to help me carry the loads back upstairs, Jon turns and leaves. I slowly begin unloading the laundry into our baskets and then carefully carry them up the stairs to our apartment. I am surprised to find the door locked and fumble to get Jon's keys out of my pocket. I unlock the door. Jon is sitting in the leather armchair. I almost ask him why he locked the door when he knew I was coming up with my hands full. I raise my eyes to his, and he lifts an eyebrow at me, almost willing me to ask that question.

  I don’t. Instead I look back down and pull the laundry behind me to our bedroom to fold and put away. It is barely mid-afternoon on Saturday. How am I going to get through another night and day of this? As I fold laundry, I think about the first time we did laundry together. We were still living separately, and Jon had brought his laundry to my place for us to make a date of it. We went to a Laundromat near my old apartment. Jon kept me laughing by telling me jokes the whole time and stealing sweet kisses when no one else was looking. When our laundry was done we used the long tables there to fold our clothes.

  I could still remember how embarrassed I was when Jon picked up a pair of my underwear with one hand and fanned himself with the other. It was still early on in our relationship, and we had not gone all the way yet. Jon wanted to. I did too, but I was nervous.

  I snap back to reality, stiffening when I hear Jon clear his throat behind me. I am not sure what he wants and slowly turn to face him, eyes down.

  "Grace, are you keeping something from me?" Jon slowly makes his way over to me.

  "What? No," I say, confused.

  "You haven’t baked in ages and now you're doing laundry. I say someone has a guiltyconscience."

  "I just—"

  "You just what?" he screams.

  "Wa-wanted to make you happy."

  "That’s just it. You haven’t thought about anything else but yourself and now suddenly you're thinking about me. You are up to something. You cheating on me?"

  "No, no. I swear. I would never."

  "You were with another guy when I met you. How can I trust anything you say?"

  My mouth drops open, and with wide eyes I look up at him.

  Jon pulls me up to him and grinds his hips against mine. "You used to always be so hot for it. Now you're just a frigid bitch to me. Is that why? Are you getting it somewhere else? One of those fancy doctors you working with bending you over in the back room?" he spits in my ear.

  I'm crying now, putting my hands on his shoulders in an attempt to push myself away from him. "No, no."

  Shaking his head at me, he mumbles, "You better not be." before turning and leaving me there, reeling.

  I start shaking so badly my legs collapse, and I fall to the floor beside the bed. Where did that come from, I wonder, trying to understand. It had been months since Jon had touched me, and he had never touched me like that. Did he just accuse me of cheating on him? With one of the doctors I worked with? He had taken my gesture of making something for him as an admission of guilt. I have no idea how he could even think that of me. Jon knows where I am at practically every moment of the day. It was him, not me, that would take off with no word as to where he was going or when he would be back. Sometimes, I wish he wouldn’t come back.

  I disregard that thought as soon as it passes through my mind. I would always want Jon with me, the old Jon, the Jon I fell in love with. I just have to figure out what to do to get him back. I know he is hurting and angry because he is out of work. Maybe if I helped him find a job. I am just scared the help would offend him, but things were so much better when he had a job. When Jon was still working we had our own little morning routine. When our alarm went off, I would jump in the shower while Jon went to the kitchen to start a half pot of coffee and then climbed back into bed and sleep until I was done in the shower. After my shower I would walk, still in a towel, over to his side of the bed and kiss his cheek, my wet hair falling all around his face.

  Jon would always pull me down into his arms and kiss or tickle me until I was gasping for air before getting up with a grin to take his shower. I would get dressed and pour each of us a cup of coffee. I took mine with milk and sugar, and Jon took his with just milk. Jon would shave after his shower, and I would bring him his cup of coffee and chat with him while he shaved. After our coffee, we would brush our teeth, I would throw on some make up, and we would walk out to our cars together, kissing once more before going in our opposite directions. I used to keep a box of breakfast bars in my car and would eat one on the way to work each morning. The office building Jon worked in had a cafeteria that he would get a muffin or bagel from each morning.

  When Jon was first laid off, still actively seeking a new job and going on interviews, he kept the same morning schedule, even when he started collecting unemployment. It wasn’t until much later that he started sleeping in. Jon had not said anything to me about it and one morning, when I asked him if he had made coffee, he snapped, telling me to make my own. I made a pot the next day. After my shower, I came over to kiss him on the cheek, and he cussed at me. Told me to “fucking leave him alone.” I wasn’t opposed to cussing. I did it myself. Guy cuts me off in traffic: asshole. I drop something on my foot: shit. There was a difference between being okay with cussing and being okay with being cussed at.

  When it happened, I said nothing, letting myself stew on it all day. When I came home that evening, I told Jon how much it bothered me and to not do it again. His reaction at the time surprised me. Suddenly, I was the one actually at fault in the scenario because, if I had thought about it, by waking him up when he had no job. What I was truly doing was rubbing it in his face that he had nowhere to go that day while I did. I could see his point and said as much but went on to try and explain that he still should not have cursed at me. It was disrespectful. Jo
n would not budge his argument that what I had done was worse and that it somehow justified him. The argument was going nowhere so I dropped the subject.

  I never went to wake him up again. Over the days that had passed since that argument, I also stopped drinking coffee in the morning because the smell woke him up. I stopped getting dressed in our bedroom because the noise woke him up. Doing anything I could to not accidentally wake him up, like waiting in my car while it warmed up. If the weekends were a judge, Jon didn’t wake up in the morning until after ten. I was fine with this if he was still trying to get another job. In the beginning when I got home from work, Jon would excitedly tell me about all of the places he had applied. When that stopped, I made the mistake of asking him one day.

  Jon railed at me, asking me if I thought he just laid around on his ass all day and did nothing. Did I comprehend how tight and difficult the job market currently was? I must have thought so very little of him to assume all of these horrible things of him. I had tried to explain I thought none of those things, and of course I knew the job market was tight and was only asking a question. It seemed anything I said after that was being twisted around as though I was making a cruel attack on him. I began to doubt myself, wondering if I was so awful and if he would leave me.

  That thought horrified me. I loved Jon so much, and we had been through so much together. What I wanted more than anything else was to just go back to how we were when we were happy. I knew that if Jon had a job again things would be better. I just didn’t know how to convince him to look for one without seeming pushy or judgmental.

  Suddenly, I have a wonderful idea. What if I begin applying to places for him? That way he'd be happy when he got an interview and never even know to be upset if he didn’t get called back. At my office we get the daily paper. I could check the wanted ads on my lunch breaks.

  Having a plan makes me feel better, I just don’t know what to do about the rest of this weekend. I know I should put away the clothes but what after that? Should I stay in the bedroom, away from him? I end up not having to find out. As I am hanging up the last of his shirts I hear the front door shut. Peering through the cracked bedroom door down the hall to the front room, I can see my keys are gone. Jon has gone somewhere. It’s starting to annoy me that he keeps taking my car without even asking, and I am curious about where he is going or what he is doing. His comments about me cheating on him seemed so outlandish at the time. Could Jon have just been feeling guilt over something he was doing himself?