CHAPTER 6
Final Straws
My health issues caused me to need another surgery in early spring shortly after our first anniversary. Once again, Trooper refused to leave my side as soon as I was home from the hospital. It was also when I finally realized just where I stood in my marriage and began to accept that it could not be salvaged.
The morning after I got out of the hospital I awoke briefly to the delicious smell of French toast and sausage cooking. I remember thinking, “Wow. What a sweet thing for Marc to do,” before I fell back asleep in a comfortable drug induced fog. When I woke an hour later, he asked me whether or not I was ready for breakfast and I said that I was. But what he brought upstairs for me wasn’t French toast and sausage. It was cold cereal and coffee. Thinking maybe I had just imagined the smells earlier I asked him whether or not I had dreamed the French toast and sausage. “No,” he said, “I made them for myself.” I was too surprised to even respond as he turned and left the room.
Ryan arrived in early May for his summer visit, and tensions were high in the house. Marc had started to blatantly lie to me about money and issues with Ryan, and I suspected he was sending his ex-wife more money than just his child support payments. I learned he was borrowing money from his parents, and he never seemed to have any funds for when we would all go to dinner. Whenever we went shopping he would wander off when it was time to pay, and every month it was one excuse after another about why he didn’t have money for any of the utilities bills we had agreed to share.
Marie called several times a day to either talk to Ryan or yell at Marc. I found out that she had been unhappy Ryan had fun with me when he had visited during spring break. We had played imaginary spy missions and spent time working on craft project gifts for his mom and half-sister. Unfortunately as a result she felt threatened and had told him he couldn’t love her and like me at the same time, so he had to choose between us. Not wanting to choose, Ryan unhappily avoided me every chance he could, leaving the room when I came in and hiding out in his bedroom for almost the entire month of May. It was easier for him to do that than risk having fun and letting something slip to his mother. I loved Ryan, but knew that I had to be careful in what I said or did since he was so emotionally fragile at times because of his mother’s abuse and ultimatums. He was being used as a weapon against his father, a bargaining chip, and held “hostage” at times to get her demands met. Marc would use him as a weapon against his mother by spoiling him with gifts and trips that she could not provide. Even his paternal grandparents gave in to him and gave him anything he wanted. The first Christmas I spent with Marc and his family, his parents gave him almost $1,000 in gifts, including $150 cash. What eleven-year old boy needs $150 cash? He managed to lose almost half of it before we even got him back to his mother’s house after the holiday. The rest she stole from his wallet.
Marc had started being secretive as well. Whenever his cell phone would ring, he would look at the caller ID then take the call outside. Our home office had been set up originally with matching desks side by side on the same wall with our computer screens visible to each other. Now he wanted the office arranged so that our desks faced and his screen could not be seen unless I walked around behind him. There were times when I would walk into the office to pay bills and he would immediately shut down his computer and leave the room.
I decided to tell Marc I wanted to separate as soon as summer was over and Ryan went back to his mother’s house. It was apparent after more than a year in counseling that there was no love or affection for me on his part, and the agony I felt for Ryan’s situation was frustrating. My hands were tied and I was unable to convince his mother that I wasn’t a threat to her status as the sun Ryan’s world revolved around. Marc wasn’t paying me back for the funds I put out to pay off his collection accounts as he promised—his reenlistment bonus had gone quickly into a stereo and speakers for his car, and then mysteriously was gone. It was becoming more and more difficult for me to keep up with the bills to support the three of us. I was working two jobs just to try to keep the household afloat.
I wanted us to go back to square one and start “dating” again and work on our relationship. I imagined a small ceremony to renew our vows when we had pulled it all back together again—not the elaborate wedding I had paid for that Marc had insisted upon but just a small ceremony with us reconfirming our commitment to each other. I still believed that we could work things out because I really did not want to divorce again.
I know.
“Love” is blind.
Trooper continued to throw up and become even more fearful of things. I was taking him to day care now at least twice a week because it seemed to help him. He didn’t throw up while he was there, didn’t seem afraid of the men there, and came home so exhausted he usually fell right to sleep for the rest of the evening. When he didn’t go to day care, he spent most of his days sleeping unless I was home on the weekend and then I would often take him to the bay near our house to go swimming, or take him to the dog park to run.
Ryan spent most week days at the youth program on base, and when he wasn’t there because Marc couldn’t afford the full summer he wouldn’t walk or play with Trooper during the day. The most he would do was to open the back door for him to go outside to use the bathroom. Ryan’s days were spent playing video games or watching TV even if he had been told not to and was given chores to do. He would call us frequently during the day to try and figure out when we were going to be home so that he could try to get his chores done in the 15–20 minutes it would take for us to get home from the base.
We often played board games to determine who would do which chores for the coming week. Winner got to pick which chore the loser had to do for a week. One week Ryan was to hand wash all the dishes. Part of it was discipline—he had not done his chores the previous week, so Marc decided that the dishwasher was off limits for the week. When we realized early in the week that Ryan’s idea of washing the dishes didn’t include soap or hot water, he got the chore for two weeks. While he was now using soap and hot water, he wasn’t carefully cleaning all the food off the dishes or silverware, and would put them away with food still dried to them.
He was a good kid, smart, but lazy—a trait that his parents and grandparents had helped to develop since they never held him accountable for doing a good job and would always pay him his allowance whatever he did, regardless of whether or not it was done correctly. As a result, Ryan realized he didn’t have to try, didn’t have to work, and really didn’t have to take pride in anything he did in order to get his allowance. He told me once that his dream job was something that would pay him millions of dollars but not require him to do anything. When I realized that he wasn’t really washing the dishes but just swishing them in the water, I bought very inexpensive paper plates and plastic forks and knives to use for a week, putting away all the silverware.
While that sounds like I was also “enabling” him to be lazy, that week I cooked steaks, chicken, pork chops and other foods that were eaten easier with silverware rather than plastic. They complained because the forks and knives kept breaking. The paper plates would get soggy and they would wind up eating paper with their food. I told them I was tired of eating off of dirty dishes and silverware and if Ryan wasn’t going to take pride in his chores and do a good job then not only would he not get paid his allowance, but they could get used to eating with paper and plastic. Not surprisingly he then realized that there was a definite connection between just doing something to get by and doing a good job. After that there weren’t any other problems that summer with him doing his chores right the first time instead of taking short cuts.
The weekend in June that everything finally blew up, Marc had been evasive every time I asked him when he was leaving to take Ryan back to his mom. She had recently moved with a boyfriend to South Carolina and so they were going to meet half-way in Georgia over a weekend. Since I knew that it had been a stressful summer for all of us, I wanted to try t
o plan a fun trip to Valdosta and the Wild Adventures theme park for us as a family and mostly to try to cheer up Ryan since he was unhappy with having to move to South Carolina and leave all of his friends from school. Not knowing when exactly they were meeting, it was difficult for me to ask for time off from work or make hotel reservations. Finally he told me that they were not meeting in Georgia, she was in fact, going to be picking him up at the house because she wanted to “inspect” it.
Before Marc and I married, but after we were engaged, I had issued an invitation for her to come to see my house where her son would be staying during school breaks and summer vacations. I knew that if the situation was reversed I would want to know where my son would be staying when he was away from me for an extended period of time, and felt that it would also let her know that I was willing to be a cooperative part of their lives. The invitation was declined. Later, after we married whenever I made any home repairs, improvements, or got new furniture to make the house more comfortable for two more people living there, the subject of the house and the money I was spending became a topic for fights between her and Marc. Every time something was done or bought, he felt it necessary to brag to her how much it cost, especially when I had redecorated the spare bedroom to Ryan’s specifications so that he would feel like he had some-place of his own, even if just for two months a year. We had repainted the walls, replaced the light fixture with a new ceiling fan and light kit. Ryan had picked out a futon bunk bed combo that I hoped would encourage him to invite over some of his new friends from the summer day camp he attended while we were at work. He had become enamored with Samurai, and so the room had been decorated with themed posters and Oriental décor that he picked out, matching sheets and comforters. Each time Marc told Marie how much things had cost, or what had been done, she would insist that he wasn’t paying her enough child support and the fights would begin. Later, when she demanded her right to “inspect” the house, I told Marc that the invitation had been rescinded. I did not want her in the house where she could see with her own eyes the extent of my remodeling efforts or furniture purchases—things that were paid for with MY income alone. If she was truly concerned about the environment Ryan was living in, I was more than willing to have Florida’s Child Services come inspect the house, but she was not welcome.
When Marc and I became engaged, his father (yes, his father) insisted that I have a pre-nuptial agreement drawn up to protect myself and my home from Marc’s ex-wife. Unfortunately, when I refinanced the house to pay off some of Marc’s collection accounts after we were married the lender insisted that Marc’s name be put on the loan and the deed—thus voiding our pre-nuptial agreement. Marc immediately agreed to draw up a post-nuptial agreement, but at that point I never imagined we would be divorcing, so it was something that just kept getting postponed. When I finally realized over a year later that our marriage was not what I thought it was the post-nuptial agreement became a priority. Marc, however, now refused to sign unless it specifically stated what he would get in the event of a divorce. Considering that he came into the marriage with less than nothing, I was tempted to tell him he would leave with exactly what he came in with, but I needed him to sign a quit claim on the house and didn’t want to start an ugly fight over it. I still didn’t believe that we would get a divorce. This was supposed to be my “happily ever after” urban myth. We just needed to work out the bugs with our relationship and how he dealt with his ex-wife.
When Marc told me that Marie would be picking Ryan up at the house, I told him that was not going to be possible. She could come to the city if he just didn’t want to spend the time or money to drive to meet her, but she was not to set foot in the house and he would need to make other arrangements with her. Angrily he left the room and two days later he told me they would be meeting the following Friday morning at 10 a.m. in Lake City since she was apparently living in Florida again.
The Wednesday before they were to meet, Marc and Ryan went out to the base where he was assigned to play pool at his squadron club house. For whatever reason, he left his cell phone behind—something he had never done before since it was almost an extension of his ear most of the time. When it rang unexpectedly, it startled me and when it later beeped signaling a message was waiting, I did something I had never, ever done before with any friend, boyfriend, or husband. I looked to see who had called.
See, trust for me is a big thing. Trust and honesty. They were things I gave unconditionally (notice the important use of the past tense verb there). They were things that I expected to get in my relationships as well. I respected Ryan’s privacy in his bedroom and with phone calls to and from his mom. I also respected Marc’s privacy with regards to the computer (which I bought), his email account, or cell phone even though I paid all the bills for them. I never went through his dresser drawers or his closet. I never thought I had a reason to—even when he acted secretive or blatantly lied to me about money I thought that he was just embarrassed about his financial problems. So when that little voice inside my head started to scream at me to listen to the message, especially since I was paying the bill for it, my first impulse was to tell it to shut up.
But it persisted… and I listened to the message.
Marie had called and left a message asking for directions to the house because MapQuest only gave her directions to the main street in town. The whole “meeting in Lake City” was just another lie. At that moment, I committed myself to divorcing him.
I deleted the message and deleted the calls on his cell phone’s missed call log. When they returned from playing pool I said nothing about the call and acted as if nothing was wrong. The next day when I went to work, I told my boss I had a situation I needed to take care of on Friday and would be taking a day of vacation. Saturday I had been scheduled to teach a writing seminar at the university where I taught part-time. I cancelled it.
Friday morning Marc and Ryan were up early. I should have been too… if I was going to work that is. Instead I listened to them moving things around in Ryan’s bedroom and fell back to sleep. When Marc came in and shook me awake, saying that I was going to be late for work, I just rolled over and said that I wasn’t going to work—I was taking the day off to get some things done around the house.
I wish now I had a picture of his face at that moment. It was one of those priceless moments when everything stands still and even the Earth stops spinning for a few seconds.
While I lay in bed for a little while thinking about the panic in his eyes and the shock on his face, I overheard him downstairs arguing with his ex-wife on his cell phone. He and Ryan spend the rest of the day whispering back and forth, stopping whenever I came into the room. When I asked when they were leaving to meet his ex-wife, he said the plans had changed and they would be meeting her on Saturday instead. I said fine, and went about my day doing chores and catching up on letters. I also started to inventory every single thing in the house and mark things with an “M” that I was willing to let him take when I asked him to leave. When he asked me at one point what I was doing, I told him we really needed to get the post-nuptial done and so I was listing what he would get if we ever divorced just like he wanted. He didn’t ask me anything again the rest of the day.
The writing seminar was to have started at 10 a.m. on Saturday, and the drive to Lake City was almost two hours away, so Marc and Ryan left the house around 8 a.m. Saturday morning. I called him at 10:30 a.m. to find out if he was on his way home yet, and after a confused answer that no, he said they were still talking, and he asked why I wasn’t in my writing seminar. When I told him I had cancelled it and would be home all day, he was silent as I went on to tell him that when he came home, he needed to start packing because I wanted him out of the house within two weeks and that I was filing for a divorce.
As it turned out Marie was homeless and had been living out of a rental car for several weeks. They had counted on using my “trust” in them against me—knowing that I respected 72 Ryan’s privacy and would not op
en his closed bedroom door unless invited in by him. Their plan was to sneak her into the house while I was at work and let her stay in Ryan’s room. For how long I don’t know.
She never did come to the house, and Ryan didn’t go back to live with her. Marc and Ryan moved out two weeks later. Before the divorce became final he admitted that he had never really loved me. He just needed someone to keep him in the lifestyle to which he had wanted to become accustomed to. He just wanted someone to get him out of debt and support him enough so he could get custody of his son. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since then.
Trust. Respect. Honesty. Those are critical things in a marriage, in a relationship of any kind. I was crushed.
While my marriage was disintegrating, my father’s health continued to get worse. In mid-October he was admitted to the hospital for a collapsed lung. Two weeks later my divorce was final. Dad was in the hospital for 37 days, getting out the Monday before Thanksgiving. By mid-December he was put in hospice care and died three months later. It took me almost a year to settle his estate and sell the house.
My entire share of the proceeds went to clear up the debt that Marc had left me with. By the end of the year, I was free and clear of all the debt and almost back to where I had been before I met him. It was almost as good as getting a “do-over” if there hadn’t been the memories of them, the “what ifs,” and the doubled mortgage payment.
My Best Friends Have Hairy Legs Page 5