Seventy-Two Hours

by Stringham, C. P.

  And that’s when his cell phone rang. The preprogrammed ringtone conveying it was work related.

  Perhaps conditioned into believing he would always choose work over me, I pushed myself up, sought my discarded shirt, and walked away.

  “Jenny, wait,” he called after me, but I kept going.

  I padded barefoot down to the lake and without a second thought, dove in. I swam under water until my lungs felt as if they were going to burst, and then I floated to the top and took a deep breath of warm summer air. I treaded water for a while. Just keeping myself afloat. Sort of a parallel to the current state of my life.

  We should have never gotten as carried away as we had. It only stirred up feelings that weren’t supposed to exist anymore and would only contribute to more pain. More regret. Even feelings of confusion. What if Chris returned to his previous stance of wanting to work things out? It would kill me to endure another experience similar to this weekend.

  Chapter Eight

  March 20, 1991 – Sayre, Pennsylvania

  My mother played with my veil for what seemed like the hundredth time while I waited to take my nuptials inside the sanctuary of Church of the Redeemer Episcopal Church. It apparently wasn’t draping properly. Or so she kept muttering. I couldn’t tell which of us was more nervous. You’d think she was the one getting ready to get married. Maybe, in a way, she was. She had told me before that, from the moment I was born, she’d been planning my wedding. It was a mother/daughter thing. At any rate, I was certain those plans hadn’t included a wedding in which her daughter was four months pregnant.

  I’d been wrong about the time of conception. My first prenatal visit calculated the pregnancy occurred closer to Thanksgiving than Christmas and the expected due date was August 20th. An extra month made all the difference in selecting a suitable wedding gown. At sixteen weeks, there was a pronounced dome shape to my once flat stomach and it facilitated the need for a dress style that allowed for comfort and expansion. We weren’t trying to conceal the pregnancy from everyone. That would’ve been foolish. Besides, we weren’t embarrassed by it. Most of our family and friends knew. Most everyone in our community as well.

  The veil wasn’t the only thing not cooperating. No. The weather was less than favorable as well. In fact, instead of rain, we woke up to four inches of fresh, powdery snow. According to the TV weatherman, that was all we were supposed to get. I wasn’t feeling particularly confident.

  Finally, my mother stood back and regarded me with her head tipped to the side a little. “There. I think that’s perfect,” she replied.

  “What if I move my head?” I asked knowing her answer already.

  “Don’t,” she said with a laugh that was accompanied by a warning look.

  My mother looked beautiful. Her long chestnut brown hair was pulled back at the sides and cascaded down in the back with soft, loose curls. She chose a dress the color of the sky just before a summer rain storm struck. The bluish-gray hue made her blue eyes look electric. The sleeveless gown complimented her motherly dimensions making her look curvy and sophisticated with a splash of silverscreen film goddess. At middle age, my mother was going to outshine the bride for sure.

  She blew me a kiss before rushing out to meet with my brother. He’d be the one taking her to her seat.

  I had two bride’s maids; my friend Lisa and Chris’ younger sister, Cathleen. They were giggling with excitement as they waited with me for my dad.

  Chris and I wanted to keep our wedding small. And we did to a certain extent. While the number of people in our wedding party stayed small, our parents invited half of Bradford County to attend the ceremony and the other half were invited to join us for the reception being held at Son’s of Italy.

  The ceremony itself seemed to go by in a blur. Of this, three moments would stay with me forever. The first came when my father led me down the aisle and my eyes landed on my future husband. He was elegantly dressed in a black tux with tails. When our eyes met, the nervousness I’d been feeling dissipated quickly along with any small doubts I had harbored about what we were doing. In that very moment, I knew everything was as it was meant to be.

  The second moment came after the Declaration of Consent when Reverend Drake asked, “Who gives this woman?” and my father stood beside me and replied, “Her mother and I.” He proceeded to lift up my veil in delicate fashion before giving me a kiss on the cheek. He whispered something to me in such a way that only Chris and possibly the Reverend could hear. He told me he was proud of me. He then shook Chris’ hand. He walked away with his head held high and an expression of absolute peace on his face before taking his place beside my mother. I didn’t know how important one word could be until he said it. He was “proud” of me. So much better than the word “disappointed” he had said months earlier.

  The third moment came about during our vow exchange. Breaking away from what we rehearsed the evening before, Reverend Drake announced that Chris had requested a moment to say a few words. Chris squeezed both of my hands in his larger ones and said, “Jenny, not long after we began dating in high school, I knew I had met the girl I was going to marry. As soon as you came into my world, everything and everyone else faded into the background and you became the center of my universe. We may have been kids when this all started, but I have had the privilege of watching you grow into the wonderful woman you are today. I feel like the luckiest man in the world because I’m marrying my best friend. I love you, Jenny.” Struck dumb, I simply replied, “I love you, too.”

  I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry during the ceremony, but pregnancy hormones seemed to have a mind of their own. I needed a tissue and Chris seemed to be at a loss as he checked around in his pockets and with his best man, my brother, and my priest before he looked to the pews for help. My mom was quick to come to the rescue as she hustled up to the alter and gave me a handful of balled up tissues and then dashed back to her seat without saying a word. I noticed her eyes weren’t dry either. Tissue emergency eradicated, Reverend Drake resumed the proceedings. Since this was our family church, my mother insisted on the traditional, longer ceremony that included multiple scripture readings and Communion.

  An hour and ten minutes after it started, it ended. Chris and I were officially joined as husband and wife. No matter how hard either of us tried to contain the goofy smiles that formed on our faces each time we looked at each other, we were unsuccessful. Our happiness was commented on by everyone that went through the receiving line and it seemed contagious.

  Going into the reception hall, the energy level and high spirits were palpable. Country folk knew how to have a good time when all their work was done and there was celebrating to do. Drinks flowed, food was served, and then the dancing began. While my husband held me in his arms and we swayed to the music, one thing and one thing alone consumed my thoughts. I couldn’t wait to be alone with him. In a way, having to stay at the reception was agonizingly sweet torture. Chris thought so, too.

  We made the hour-long commute to Binghamton, New York where we would spend our wedding night at a downtown luxury hotel. There would be no honeymoon since both of us had classes to report to come Monday morning. The drawbacks of being college student newlyweds. Between school, pregnancy, and wedding planning, I was ready for a vacation.

  Satisfied when our belongings were taken care of, Chris made a dash for the king-size bed and threw his long body across it. “You know what I’m thinking?” he asked.

  I took my shoes off and kicked them aside before collapsing on to the bed beside him. “What are you thinking?”

  He reached out and stroked my cheek while his eyes lingered on my mouth. “I was thinking I’ve never made love with a married lady before.”

  I threw my head back and laughed throatily, “How ironic, I’ve never been with a married man before.”

  “What a coincidence.”

  I met his hazel gaze and said, “I wonder if it’s going to feel any different between us?”

  “B
ecause were married now?” he asked with a peaked eyebrow. “Of course it will. It’s going to turn a great thing into something even better.”

  And, suddenly, the exhaustion from the long day drifted away as my husband proved his point so many blessed times, I lost count.

  Chapter Nine

  Present Day

  I decided to air dry after my swim. No sense repeating yesterday’s actions and dripping water all over the floor and stripping in the entry. Avoiding Chris may have been a deciding factor as well. I was on the dock, flat on my back, and soaking up the rays of the early afternoon sun. Another gorgeous day at the lake. Being there was something I could definitely get used to in my spare time. As I was thinking that, another thought crossed my mind. In a second or two of deliberation, I decided that I was going to take a week or two and go away somewhere. I didn’t look at it as running away so much as it was getting away. We all needed time to ourselves so we could get re-centered. Ending my marriage was an action I brought on, but it didn’t mean it was coming easily. I needed some time to accept it.

  And then would be the chore of telling our family and friends about our split. My friends, those closest to me, knew my frustration level had grown exponentially with my husband over the past year so it wouldn’t be a complete shock to them. They’d be saddened, but understanding and supportive. Our families were going to be the antithesis of understanding. My parents would voice their disapproval and do their best to persuade me to work things out. My mother was fond of saying, “Marriage, like everything else, takes a lot of hard work to make it right.” She’d tell me that if I was unhappy, I should do my best to work with my husband to change it. I had complained to her on several occasions about Chris’ absences. She would remind me about how important his job was and how many people relied on him to do it right, including our family of five. I’d hear how, with a husband like Chris, I’d never have to worry about him cheating on me with someone else because he was deeply committed to me. After comments like that, I wanted to tell her that being ignored was practically just as bad.

  I flipped onto my stomach rolling the bottom of my tank top up so I could get some sun on my back. I even curled the waistband of my shorts down a full turn. I’d probably fry my skin. Creamy ivory complexion was something else my father had passed down to my brother and me along with the auburn hair.

  I felt someone approaching as the dock shook with little tremors before I heard it. I stayed still. Maybe he’d think I was asleep. Or dead. Whatever.

  “When the hell did you get a goddamn tattoo?!?”

  Initially, I was startled by the tone of his voice when he asked the question and then I got angry. “I’ve had it for two months. Don’t you find it strange that your wife has had a tattoo for that long and this is the first you’ve noticed it?” I replied without looking up.

  My tattoo wasn’t very large. Maybe two inches in diameter. Black ink. It was a simple Celtic symbol called a Triple Spiral. It was also strategically hidden from plain sight. I was a teacher after all. Respectable. In need of keeping up appearances. I had it placed on the upper left side of my buttocks. Normally, it was well concealed, but not with the waist of my shorts rolled down.

  I would swear to it on a stack of bibles that I could feel the heat of Chris’ laser eyes as they stared a hole into my backside. For some reason, his indignation was making me smile although he couldn’t see it. Pity.

  “Why?” he asked exasperatedly.

  “Why not?”

  “Answers like that got you pushed into the lake before.”

  “If it’ll make you feel better.”

  This time, he sat down beside me with one leg dangling off the dock and the other leg tucked under so he was on an angle and could see me. “Does he like tattoos?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Chris, it has nothing to do with him. Do you honestly think I’d get a tattoo to impress a man?”

  He’d really blow a gasket if he saw the other one. That one involved exposing, what he would consider, forbidden flesh.

  I felt his fingers as he pulled the waistband down further. “What is it?”

  I rolled onto my right hip so he’d remove his hand and snapped, “It’s a Celtic symbol that means Maiden, Mother, and Crone. It signifies female power. Carson researched it for me.”

  “Carson?”

  “Do you even live in the same house that I do? How is it that everyone else in the house knows that Carson and I went together to get tattoos?”

  “Jesus Christ. Both of you have tattoos?” He didn’t sound pleased.

  I sat up putting my tank and shorts back into place. “Since when do I need your permission to do something to my own body?”

  “We’re still talking tattoos, aren’t we?”

  I scoffed, “Nice.”

  “I just wanted to clarify. You could have been making another reference.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  He shook his head, waved off my comment, and said, “I can’t believe you encouraged this tattoo business with Carson.”

  “He came to me and asked. He thought it was something special we could do together since he’d just turned 18. He got a Celtic symbol, too.”

  “What teenage boy does that? Goes with his mom to get matching tattoos?”

  “They’re not matching tattoos and what’s wrong with us getting tattoos together?”

  Chris tossed his hand out and said, “Aren’t you concerned about Carson?”

  I’d figured out where he was going. We were about to get into something the two of us had never discussed. “Just come out and say what’s on your mind, Chris,” I ordered.

  He laced his fingers together and said, “He’s rather…feminine.”

  “Chris, if you’re trying to say gay then, yes, he is.”

  “Is he? Did he tell you?” he asked incredulously.

  Chris wasn’t homophobic. Not at all. So I was surprised by his reaction.

  I decided to be gentle, yet direct, “It’s not like he made a grand announcement. I’ve just always known since about the time he was 12 or 13. Couldn’t you tell?”

  “No,” he answered sharply and then with a sigh, “Sometimes.”

  “You haven’t been home a lot over the past few years. Not like I am. Carson and I have gotten very close,” I explained. “We talk. We talk about lots of things.”

  “About us?”

  “I didn’t have to tell him much. He just knows. He saw it happening.”

  Chris nodded as he took it in. “And this business with Steve? Does he know about that, too?’

  “He knows something happened, but not what or with whom.”

  “Well, I guess I should be glad the two of you have each other to confide in then. At least now I know why he’s been so distant lately.”

  “Oh, no. Don’t you dare,” I warned. “Don’t you dare blame your son’s distance on me. You’ve done it yourself. Things are going to be worse with Clinton if you don’t wake up and get yourself involved with him as well.”

  “Is that right?” he said defensively.

  “The truth hurts. I know it’s not easy facing your mistakes. I’ve made some, too. It’s not too late to make things right with your sons. To be more available.”

  “Thank you for your platitudes.”

  “Separate your anger with me from your relationship with your sons. They’re going to see even less of you after you move out.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” he said as he stared out at the lake. “I’m not ready to move out.”

  “But you said—“

  “And I’ve changed my mind,” he interrupted. “My family lives there.”

  “We can’t both live there. It defeats the purpose of a separation and divorce.”

  “It’s a big house.”

  “That won’t work,” I stated with noticeable effort.

  “What’s the matter? Afraid Stevie Boy won’t like visiting if I’m living with you?”

  “Screw you.”

&
nbsp; “And speaking of that,” he said with his face set in concentration, “Did you have to run off like that earlier?”

  “The office was calling and you needed to take the call.”

  “I didn’t take the call.” I looked at him with doubt. “I didn’t,” he defended.

  “Well, in that case, I suppose the phone stopped us from doing something we shouldn’t have been doing,” I said while looking past him.

  “I disagree. My feeling is we wouldn’t have started doing it in the first place if it wasn’t right. You kissed me back. I didn’t force you to do any of that. You’re the one that started the undressing end of it,” he spat out while using his hands like a mad Italian trying to get his point across. “Straddling my lap like that. You were an eager and active participant.”

  I looked down at my hands where they sat in my lap. “We got carried away. It was emotional. Nothing more. It meant nothing to either of us.”

  “Don’t say that! Don’t you dare speak on my behalf!” he yelled hotly and then looked around at the neighboring docks before bringing his voice down in check. “What happened in there was the natural progression of two people that have a history and still care about each other.”

  “I knew this was going to happen,” I groaned.

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “You. You’re suffering from that same delusion again that things can be worked out between us.”

  A smile played over his face. “I’m fairly certain that if that damn phone hadn’t rung, we’d still be otherwise engaged. Especially with you and the way you can be.”

  “Me?!?” my voice rose to glass shattering octaves. “Just what do you mean by that?!?”