Seventy-Two Hours

by Stringham, C. P.

  “What the hell do you know?!? Huh? This was your fault anyway,” I spewed out what had been bottled up inside of me for weeks.

  Only, since that bitter thought first entered my mind, I had had the presence of mind to keep it to myself. I was simply being spiteful to throw it at him now and in such a way.

  He was up and stormed over to me in a few quick strides. “Me? My fault? How can you say that?” he asked with a stung expression where anger boiled underneath.

  I was shaking. Almost violently so. My head sort of felt disconnected from my body. Hands and feet numb. I wondered if that was how an emotional breakdown felt; like it was some basic self-preservation instinct that came out urging me to crawl into a shell instead of continuing. I was so beaten and tired.

  Chris grabbed my upper arms. “Answer me,” he ordered firmly.

  “You talked me into it. I wasn’t ready,” I got out before stammering ridiculously fast with the rest, “and now this…this leftover me. I feel so empty and sick every day. My heart hurts every day. I don’t even want to get out of bed, but I do. All I want to do is sleep.”

  “Both of us were involved in making our baby. Both of us wanted her. Don’t you dare blame me for what happened. Nobody is to blame. Not even you. It happened. End of story,” he said through tightly clenched teeth. “It’s been over three months. You need to stop dwelling. If you don’t, it will destroy you.”

  “You think I should be over it by now, huh? You and the others? As if I can just turn it off like a switch?” I confronted him with as I pounded myself in the chest. “Don’t you think I would if I could? Do you think I like being like this? Miserable? I guess you’ll just have to put up with it until I’m not miserable or…” I trailed off with the rest. I’d let him do what he wanted to finish it.

  “Or what?”

  “That’s entirely up to you.”

  “I want you back, Jen,” he said on a whisper. “I miss my wife.”

  “Maybe you should be home more.”

  “You wanted to stay home to start your Master’s. I had to go back to Rochester for mine. It didn’t leave us with many options.”

  He was speaking the truth. After losing the baby, there was no need to change our schooling plans. I was attending Elmira College and living at home with my parents. Chris was finishing out his semester at RIT and commuted home on the weekends. It didn’t leave a lot of room for privacy or time to work through the mess our lives had become.

  “I think you should stay in Rochester for a while. Maybe we need space.”

  He let go of me so quickly I almost fell over. I hadn’t realized how much I was relying on him to hold me up. “I’m calling Reverend Drake on Monday. Your mom says he’s a counselor.”

  “No.” The last time I’d seen my priest was during the small internment service we had for Spencer. So many bad memories. I’d never sit through counseling with him. Never. “I don’t need it.”

  “If you think you don’t need it, than prove it.”

  For the first time since Chris and I had been a couple, I felt helpless and weak. I told myself he wasn’t trying to be a bully. He was genuinely worried about me.

  I looked to the tan carpeting. “Sometimes I wonder if it happened because I didn’t want to have her at first,” I admitted something else I’d been keeping to myself.

  “God, no, Jen.”

  “Really? It’s never crossed your mind?” I asked.

  “Never.”

  “It has mine.”

  He stepped closer and took my hands before kissing the backs of each of them. “It was no one’s fault. You did nothing wrong.”

  “It happened under my watch, so to speak. During the easy part. All I had to do was follow some simple dos and don’ts,” I explained as I laid out the facts, perhaps, in such a way, as to try and convince him of my obvious neglect. “Simple, and yet I failed at it somehow. Don’t know how, but I did. It’s punishment. I’m being punished for not wanting her when I first found out.”

  “Is that what’s been eating away at you?” he asked softly and I reluctantly nodded. “That’s crazy talk. You’re an intelligent person. You know better.”

  “Is it? Don’t tempt fate, isn’t that the saying?”

  “If anything, this has taught us just how precious life is. No, we didn’t get to know her, but it doesn’t mean we didn’t love her all the same,” he reasoned. “And maybe, in time, we can try again.”

  His last comment caused my stomach to roll. “I don’t know if I can do that again,” I confessed as fear continued to play havoc with my digestive track.

  “I completely understand. It isn’t something we have to make a decision about today. We’re young, Jen. We have lots of time,” he said while cupping my chin and tipping my face up to meet his eyes. “I love you and I only want what’s best for you. For us. Whatever it takes, we’re going to get through this.”

  “I’m not sure I’m strong enough.”

  “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You will overcome this and it will make you even stronger,” he soothed.

  “Then why does it feel as if it’s crushing me?” I asked in a forlorn whisper.

  He put his forehead against mine and said, “Then don’t let it crush you, my darling.”

  “You planned this nice weekend and I can’t even bring myself to enjoy it. The entire time we were walking all I could think about was who would have been watching the baby for us while we were away,” I confessed my foolish thoughts. “I do that all the time. Wonder about what might have been.”

  “I’ve done that, too.”

  I did a double-take not believing my ears. “You have?”

  “It would be impossible not to. She’d be two months old now. I’ve wondered if she may be sleeping through the night yet.”

  I was somewhat relieved knowing I wasn’t alone. Chris suffered the same loss I had, but I’d never taken a moment to think about how he was coping. Since he so easily went back into his normal routine, I’d assumed he had overcome the grief. In a way, I resented him because of it and it only forced an unnecessary wedge between us.

  “That night, when she was moving around so much,” I stated softly. “If I’d only known.”

  “You didn’t know. We didn’t know. It isn’t like we could have acted fast enough for it to make a difference anyway,” he reasoned. “You heard the doctor, it wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

  We were told the baby’s over-active movements that night could have actually been caused by her struggling due to a lack of oxygen. It would have been counterproductive and only resulted in making the cord tighter. While we lay there together, marveling at her movements and the strength behind them, she was slipping away from us.

  A strangled cry escaped my mouth. I’d promised myself weeks ago I was done crying in front of others. Especially Chris. I had done pretty well until just then. An onslaught hit me and I had no other choice but to let it go and I was taking my husband of six months right along with me.

  He tried holding me tightly to him as I shook and trembled, burying my face in his chest and clinging to his chambray shirt as if it were a lifeline for my very survival. Even with his firm embrace, I was so limp, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, he couldn’t contain me. Finally, he swept me off my feet and carried me to the bed so I could more or less spill over it in a pathetic mass of tears and sobs. It went on for what felt like an eternity.

  I wouldn’t have blamed Chris if he chose to walk away at that point. I really wouldn’t have. Three months was a long time to put up with the way I had been. Pushing him away when all he wanted to do was help. Or maybe pushing him away when he needed help, too. I’d been very selfish while I allowed myself to drown in misery.

  “I’m sorry,” I collected myself enough to say to him.

  He searched my face as his bottom lip quivered just a fraction. “For what?” he asked in a murmur.

  “For everything.” And it was a long list.

  �
��You can’t take the blame for everything, Jen,” he replied. “I coped by staying busy and pretending everything was fine. That wasn’t fair to you.”

  “You know I still love you, right? That hasn’t changed. It may not seem like it and I may not seem like I’m the same person and I guess I’m not,” I rambled trying to convey my train wreck of thoughts. “But I couldn’t have made it this long without having you in my life now.”

  He threw his arms around me and hugged me fiercely against him. “I love you, too,” he returned hoarsely. “I needed to hear that from you. More than you’ll ever know.”

  It was as if that short conversation on the bed was the antibiotic for the illness that had set into our relationship. A few heartfelt sentences began the healing process between us.

  I kissed him because it had been such a long time and I had forgotten what it felt like. How great it felt. And he was holding me. Holding me. Holding me. Something inside of me let go at that moment. It was as if the ache in my heart was floating away allowing me to breathe again. The weight of despair had kept it smothered never letting any light in. Any warmth.

  Chris’ mouth moved over mine delivering possessive, demanding kisses. His hands worked in a frenzy removing my sweater. He was probably afraid I’d stop being caught up in the moment with him. It had been a long time since we had been together. Since a few days before the baby was born. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  I fumbled with his belt, pulling to free it from the buckle as I opened his pants blindly. Not satisfied until I had his arousal in my hand; the length of it growing and hardening to an almost indecent size and I felt myself go wet with longing.

  The first time we’d made love as teens I’d been afraid of it. The discomfort I’d felt worried me that something was wrong with me or that maybe due to the size of it I’d never feel sexual pleasure. But I’d been so wrong to worry.

  “Jeez, babe, give me a second,” he chuckled as he worked his jeans off. “Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”

  I used that opportunity to slip out of my pants as well. While I balanced on one foot, standing beside the tall bed, he worked on my bra, tossing it aside. My breasts were at the perfect height for his sitting form. Perfect for his hungry mouth as he began to devour them one at a time; teasing the peaks with his tongue and teeth before his lips sealed around one nipple and then moving to the other. And I was lost in delirium.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” I declared breathlessly.

  “I’m right here,” he answered as his hands simultaneously moved down either side of my back to my buttocks, cupping them and pulling me closer against him. His heat invaded me. Warmed me from the inside out. Even chasing away the chill of sadness that had set into the far recesses of my mind.

  I ran my fingers through his hair as my chin rested on his head. I liked how he wore it now. Brushing the collar of his shirts instead of the short athletic style he wore through high school and undergrad school. It wasn’t curly, but had a distinctive wave that spun through my fingers with ease.

  When I couldn’t get my mind off of what I really wanted, I took his shoulders into my hands and pushed him back onto the bed. I climbed onto him. Our hands clasped together. Meshing perfectly like always. I hovered over him, taking him in slowly, as muscle gave way to shape to him and all the while our eyes stayed on each others. Piercing. Telling. So much was expressed in his eyes. No wonder they were called windows to the soul. Longing. Adoration. Hope.

  I leaned forward, my hair falling around my face, and I smiled at him. For the first time in a long time, a genuine, heartfelt smile and not an obligatory smile. Or worse. A decoy smile. I’d used those plenty when I didn’t want others to know how I was feeling.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he told me.

  “I’m sure I’m a mess from crying, Christopher.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I knew from the day I asked you out and you said yes, you were the one for me. Always.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Present Day

  I woke up at 2AM with my sheets sticking to me. The window in my room was closed up and the air was somewhere between sweltering and hellacious. I was a spoiled crème puff used to better creature comforts. Our house was always the perfect temperature in the summer due to a wonderful central air unit. I needed it most at night. Sleeping was hard for me to accomplish when I was hot. And, at that moment, I needed a drink. Pretty bad when the activity of sleep left you dehydrated.

  My door gave off a high pitched squeak as I padded down the short, carpeted hallway to the stairs. Chris’ door was closed. The sight of it made my blood boil. Hoarding all the cool air. Maybe he’d get hypothermia. It would serve him right. Selfish bastard.

  I helped myself to a bottled water and drank from it greedily while leaning against the counter. Parched didn’t begin to describe how I felt. My tongue was like sandpaper.

  A noise from the porch startled me. It sounded like glass clanking, but it didn’t make sense. The recyclables were still in the blue container sitting by the trash. We hadn’t put any garbage out so the idea of an animal getting in to it didn’t sound right. What else could it be? A chill went down my spine. I hadn’t turned the lights on when I got downstairs and only had the glow of the fridge light for a brief moment. Surely if someone was lurking outside, they couldn’t see me. Could they?

  My adrenaline shot through the roof as my heart pounded in my ears and chills spread outward like an affliction. I never reacted that way at home. In the familiar, I was inclined to investigate. Not then. The extra adrenaline fueled my sprint all the way upstairs and into Chris’ room. I hissed his name over and over trying to stir him in a quiet manner. Receiving no answer, I charged to the bed, stubbing my toe badly, and feeling around the bed for him. It was empty. Not even turned down.

  While my mind was spinning with theories on his whereabouts, I permitted some choice words out as my toe began to throb. I limped out of the room and checked the other second floor rooms for my husband. He was nowhere to be found. I descended the stairs at a much slower rate than I had climbed them while straining my ears listening for the slightest of sounds. At least my eyes were adjusted to the dark.

  I took deep breaths that were meant to channel bravery before going to the front door doing my crazy heel walk on my left foot. The front door was unlocked. Throwing caution to the wind, I switched the porch light on before barging out to meet my fate whatever the consequence.

  Instead of meeting up with a black bear or a skunk or even a raccoon, I found Chris poured into the lounge chair I had occupied that morning. He appeared to be sleeping although I couldn’t be certain since he was facing the other way. Beer bottles littered the porch floor. There were easily a dozen of them. He’d only brought a twelve pack which meant, at some point in the night, he had gone for reinforcements. Binge drinking was not Chris’ style. Not even close. Two were his limit on the occasion he did drink.

  At least the mystery sound was explained. I started towards him to wake him up and get him inside. If I couldn’t, I really didn’t know what I’d do with him.

  Two steps away, he startled me by saying, “Turn the light off.”

  “You’re awake,” I said relieved.

  “Yes, and blinded.”

  I hurried to open the door and switched the offensive light off. I used the porch railing as my guide to return to him since my eyes needed to readjust all over again.

  “What are you doing, Chris?”

  “Getting shitfaced.”

  His words struck me in my stomach like a blow because it was so unlike him to say such a thing. “I can see that, but why? It isn’t going to change things.”

  “Sure it does. I was pissed earlier and now I’ve taken on a more lackadaisical attitude towards it all.” His speech was slurred beyond belief. “You don’t give a flying fuck so why should I, right?”

  “Lovely.”

  “What? You don’t agree?” he asked with amusement as he popped the cap off a new bee
r.

  His behavior was madness. I couldn’t leave him out there unattended to drink himself into oblivion.

  I sighed heavily as I stopped beside him. “C’mon, Chris. Let’s go inside.”

  “Not until I’m done with this beer. Don’t want me to be wasteful, do you?”

  “Actually, I think you’ve had more than enough.”

  “Go back to bed, Jenny.”

  I sighed loudly reaching out and taking hold of his arm, “Please, come inside.”

  “All this concern may give off mixed signals.”

  “I do care,” I told him in a firm, parental voice. “I’ll always care.”

  He used my outstretched arm to get up. In the process, he almost fell over and took me with him, not once, but twice. Chris had six inches on me and at least seventy pounds. I didn’t want to have firsthand knowledge of what it felt like to have him land on me. All this happened while I tried to forget the pain in my toe.

  He pulled me up short while he guzzled the rest of the beer. Apparently, he couldn’t walk and drink at the same time. I tugged at his arm and he started walking again. It took an eternity to get inside and another eternity to get him up the stairs. His last beer pushed him over that final hurdle between drunk and unbelievably drunk.

  “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

  “I dunno.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Chris, either you do or you don’t. It isn’t a trick question.”

  He moaned a little as he made up his mind. “I do. I gotta piss like a race horse.”

  I guided him to the bathroom and prayed to God he could handle the task on his own. He took forever. I knocked on the door and asked if he was okay. It took him a minute to answer before a loud ruckus made me open the door and rush in to find him on the floor with his jeans down around his ankles. His shirt was off and it appeared he was trying to wrestle out of his pants when he lost his balance.

  “Are you okay?”

  Chris looked like a turtle stuck on his shell with his legs and arms flailing. He kicked his legs until the jeans gave up their fight and settled on to the floor beside him. It was amazing how such an intelligent man could transform himself into a falling-down, blithering idiot with just the right amount of alcohol. He was almost unrecognizable to me.