Seventy-Two Hours

by Stringham, C. P.

  Fast food was hardly what others considered “comfort food,” but to me it was. It was forbidden food. I knew how horrible it was for me so on the occasion I was having a bad day, I permitted myself to indulge on the culinary wild side a little.

  After my breakfast was gone, I took a walk along the marina. Boats of all types and sizes went out and came in. A lone person on a jet ski zipped back and forth through the wake of a boat. He would speed up just before he hit the peak and then the jetski would go airborne. It was an activity I’d seen the boys do before when we were visiting Jim and Nancy’s cottage. I smiled thinking about happier times. My children had certainly made a difference in my life. The ugliness of my current marital state aside, Chris did give me wonderful sons.

  Thinking about our family only made me feel worse. Everything would change now. Everything. And I knew that going into the weekend. I wasn’t as worried about Carson. The two of us understood each other. Hudson may be the most surprised since he was away at college the majority of the time over the past two years. Still, he would ultimately understand. Our separation would affect Clinton the most. I turned every possible scenario over and over in my mind about telling him and what his reaction would be. Each scenario ended negatively. Clinton needed routine. He needed stability.

  Chris wasn’t awake when I returned to the cottage at ten. I’d left his door open in case he got sick so at least his obnoxious snores weren’t making their way downstairs anymore. Thank God for small miracles.

  I made coffee. Lack of sleep meant consuming copious amounts of caffeine. I yawned while putting the final scoop into the filter. The stairs squeaked giving away his approach. I didn’t turn around to greet him. “How are you feeling this morning?” I asked him while in my mind I imagined striking him in the head with the coffee pot.

  “My head is killing me and it feels like I have a carpet on my tongue.”

  “Coffee will be ready in about five minutes.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “And thanks for last night.”

  “No need to thank me,” I said tersely.

  “I vaguely remember your helping me up to bed. It couldn’t have been easy. I had a lot to drink.”

  “Eleven beers.”

  “You counted them?” he asked with a touch of consternation.

  When I finally turned to face him I replied, “I cleaned up from your party-for-one last night. You can’t imagine the pride I felt when I saw all of those empties. So, of course, I had to count them. I had to know how many you had under your belt before you left to buy more beer. You know, provided you finished the old before you ventured out for the new,” I explained in a saccharine-sweet way. “But I could be wrong. Maybe you saw that you were almost out and decided to go and get more beer first. Which was obviously the smarter thing to do. And, well, you’re such an intelligent man so I’m sure that’s what you did, right?”

  Chris wouldn’t meet my eyes. He looked off biting his lower lip. His actions told me the latter didn’t happen.

  “What the hell is the matter with you, Chris? Driving with six beers in you!” I knew this because there were six Amstel Light bottles on the porch. “What would you say if the boys behaved in such a way?”

  He put his hands to his head and rubbed at his eyes and then temples. “Alright. I get it. I used poor judgment. I agree. Let’s just drop it, okay?”

  “Fine,” I spat out. However, I wasn’t close to being done with him.

  He saw the newspaper I’d purchased. “You went to the store?”

  “I went to breakfast.”

  “By yourself?!?” he asked incredulously.

  “All by myself. I ate it in the marina all by myself, too”

  “How long ago?”

  “I left around seven-thirty and got back a few minutes ago.”

  His brows were pinched tightly together. “I didn’t hear you coming or going.”

  “I’m not surprised. Between the snoring and the air conditioner, how could you hear anything,” I declared.

  “I guess I was really out of it.”

  “And then some.”

  “The last time I felt like this was back in college.”

  “Really? You never told me about that.” I crossed my arms in front of me and scowled at him. “There’s a lot about your college days you never told me.”

  “Well, it was college, Jen. Didn’t you party?”

  “Um, not really. I went home most weekends.”

  He stepped around me to get a coffee mug when he could no longer take my penetrating glare. “That coffee’s got to be about done brewing.”

  It was. I poured coffee for myself and then put the pot back on the warmer ignoring Chris’ outstretched mug.

  “Thank you,” he said sardonically.

  “Anytime,” I chided back while putting milk into my coffee and then returning the milk to the fridge.

  “Do you have something for headaches in your purse?”

  “Nope.” That was a lie. It served him right to suffer.

  He set his mug down loudly. “Look,” he started in a consolatory tone. “I’m not going to apologize for my behavior last night. I think I’m permitted to tie one on for the first time in our 21 years of marriage. Especially in light of what’s going on.”

  “While we’re discussing our 21 years of marriage, may I ask you a question?”

  He sipped his coffee and seemed to be considering where the conversation was going. “Only if you’ve had a change of heart.”

  I scoffed, “I’m afraid not. You brought up your college life this morning and it made me realize just how little I know about your social life at college.”

  He seemed amused by my comment as he chuckled and said, “My social life at college, huh? It was pretty boring. When I wasn’t in class, I was doing extra class work, or working a part time job. When I had enough time off, I came home to be with you.”

  I knew at that moment he had no recollection of his drunken confession during the wee small hours. It gave me great satisfaction when I said, “So, the night Sela performed fellatio on you, was that a weeknight or one of those weekend nights when you didn’t come home to be with me?”

  It was as if I had struck him across his face with the back of my hand. He stared at me, his eyes narrowing, as he licked his lips and swallowed. “What?”

  “You were really out of it last night,” I said repeating his words from earlier. “You passed out before you expanded on it.”

  “Jen—“

  “No,” I interrupted. “Don’t be so shy now. You weren’t last night. It’s not every day a normal guy like you has a woman show up uninvited in your bed begging for you to finish her off. Share the rest of the story. I’m all ears.”

  Chris paled instantly. “Jesus Christ.”

  I sat my coffee down. It no longer appealed to me. The acid from it was already doing a number on my stomach. “You sanctimonious hypocrite. You’ve grilled me this weekend. Made your vulgar remarks and yet you’re just as guilty.”

  “I don’t know what I said, but you have to believe me, Jen. I never slept with her,” he offered with his hands out in a nonthreatening manner.

  “You left her give you a blow job.”

  “It only happened that one time. I swear. I had been drinking, which is no excuse. You’re right,” he back-peddled when he saw my expression.

  “When did it happen?”

  “It happened. Does the rest matter?” he asked in an attempt to sidestep.

  I took a breath and counted to ten. “When?” I urged.

  “Jen.”

  “Were we married?”

  “Please, if you would—“

  “Just answer the goddamn question!”

  “Yes.”

  My heart pounded in my ears. “Was I pregnant?”

  He shook his head.

  I pushed him out of the way so I could get around the L-shaped, bar-style counter. My mind was spinning with the new information. We married in March. We lost Spencer in July
. He didn’t return to college until the end of August. In October, we went to New York where we conceived again. We knew about the pregnancy by the beginning of November. That meant his little bedtime surprise with Sela happened in the first eight weeks of school. While I was going through the worst bought of depression in my life. For some reason, it only made it worse. I would have preferred if it happened while I was pregnant. Instead, it happened while I was at my lowest.

  He followed behind as I barreled up the stairs. The pain from last night’s stubbed toe didn’t slow me down. Just before I entered my room, I spun on him, catching him off guard. He slammed into me. My teeth rattled in my head.

  “Chris, leave me alone right now. For the love of God,” I begged having reached my limit, “leave me alone.”

  “I want to explain, Jen. Please let me,” he urged as his eyes searched my face.

  “You know what?” I began, “I’m hurt. I am and I guess after what I’ve done, I shouldn’t be. But I am.” I stuck a finger in his face and looked at him with absolute animosity. “But how dare you put me through the shit you put me through this weekend knowing what you did in your past.”

  “It happened a long time ago.”

  “We were married, Chris. Cheating is cheating. That makes us both cheaters no matter how you want to spin it,” I argued vehemently. “Now, just go away.”

  He grabbed my upper arm to stop me. “Wait. I need to explain.”

  “You went into pretty good detail last night. I don’t think I can listen to any more detail,” I told him coldly. “Now, let go of my arm before I rip your goddamn balls off and feed them to you.”

  Chris flinched. I’d never talked to him in such a violent, threatening way. “I love you. I know you don’t want to hear that right now, but I’m going to say it anyway. We will finish this conversation later. Mark my words,” he said softly. “At the moment, I’m going to honor your request and leave you alone. I think we both need to calm down and return to it later with cool heads.”

  “That’s ironic,” I replied from over my shoulder as I began walking away. “Last night, you told me how much you hated me.”

  “I was drunk, Jen.”

  I didn’t want to stay and argue with him. My door closed with a rattling slam. I pulled my duffle bag out from under the bed and put it on top. After yanking the dresser drawer open, I grabbed handfuls of clothing and began stuffing them inside. I wasn’t satisfied until everything was packed.

  Why did I talk him into staying? If I hadn’t, we would have gone home and the rest wouldn’t have happened. He accused me of only wanting to stay out of guilt and that about summed it up. Little did I know I wasn’t the only one carrying around something to feel guilty about. And there lay the reason for the overwhelming anger that had me in the mindset I was in since I found out. He tried to use time as an excuse. Time didn’t matter. We were married and he permitted another woman to perform a sexual act on him. Then he tried to blame it on his alcohol consumption. Under the influence or not, it doesn’t make it okay.

  I pulled out my phone. I’d given his weekend away a chance. Now it was time to go home. I had every intention of calling my mother for a ride when I discovered my phone battery was deader than a doornail. Worse yet, my charger was at home on the kitchen counter.

  Talking to Chris in general was beyond my emotional ability at the moment. Talking to him about taking me home was going to make it even worse. I felt so alone. Alone and helpless. Once I started crying, I didn’t stop. Instead, I buried my head in my pillow and let it out until I fell asleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  April 6, 1994 – Sayre, Pennsylvania

  I waited until the last minute to take Hudson to the Easter egg hunt our church was hosting. Chris promised me he would be back in time because all he had to do was “drop a report off at the office.” I should have known better. Even though it was a Saturday, weekend days were never off limits from his job responsibilities.

  I watched Hudson as he did his best to keep up with the older children involved in the egg hunt. He was wearing a pair of navy blue chinos and a white dress shirt with a cute yellow and blue polka-dot bowtie clipped at the collar. His chestnut hair bounced with each of his steps that resembled bounding leaps. Every once in a while, he’d look up to see where I was. Hudson was outgoing, but he always kept track of his mommy. When he found his second egg, he turned and held it up proudly for me to see before putting it in his basket. I clapped and cheered him on. The smile he gave me next melted my heart.

  Granted Chris couldn’t be around for every special event, there were some things he was missing that couldn’t be duplicated. This was one of them. Last year, Hudson wasn’t old enough to participate. This year, he was 21 months old and enjoying it immensely. So was I.

  “Hey, Jen, how are you!”

  I took my eyes off of my son long enough to see our priest’s wife making her way over to me. “Hello, Molly. I’m great. How are you?”

  She got up beside me and held her hands out to me. “I’ve got this funny skin rash and I don’t know what it is,” she joked over the Easter egg dye staining her hands.

  I laughed. “That’s some rash you have there. At least it’s a pretty rash.”

  Molly was 33 and, as far as wives of clergy members went, she was pretty laidback. She was a teacher, but chose to take subbing jobs since her husband’s could potentially move them to a different parish. It also allowed her to spend more time with their two school-age children; Emma, nine, and Caleb, seven.

  “Did your mom tell you how many eggs we colored?”

  “Twenty dozen,” I answered as Hudson fell and I tensed ready to spring into rescue mode.

  “Relax, Momma, he’s okay,” Molly soothed as an older child helped him up. “See that? All forgotten.”

  She was right. My son had returned to the mix searching for hidden eggs.

  “He seems so little yet,” I confessed. “I can’t help but have this overprotective feeling all the time.”

  “He’s your first. All moms are overprotective with their first.” It was out of her mouth and then the most horrified expression hit her face. “Oh, Jen, I’m so sorry. I forgot.”

  I brushed it off. “No, you’re fine, Molly. Really. I know what you meant,” I assured her as I began rubbing my burgeoning belly.

  Molly’s eyes went right to it. “Your mom’s so excited. Do you know what you’re having yet?”

  I nodded. “A boy.” And I felt my face break into a huge smile.

  “Congratulations! Have you and Chris picked out a name?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You have less than a month to go. That baby will be here before you know it.”

  When I looked out at Hudson, I found him posing for my mother as she looked at him through the viewer of her 35mm camera. Every time I turned around she was taking pictures of him. He had to be the most photographed toddler on the planet. I loved watching my mother with him. She’d been there that terrible day when Spencer was born. I knew that event stayed in her mind all the time because it did mine as well. As far as tragic life experiences go, that one ranked right up there as the hardest. But having experienced it, we had learned to appreciate the gift we received with Hudson all the more.

  My mother and Hudson began making their way back to me. She held his hand as he half-carried, half-dragged his basket. He looked so adorable. A miniature Chris walking beside her. He was his father’s son no doubt about it.

  “How many eggs did you find, Hudson?” Molly asked as she knelt down in front of him. He held his basket up for her to see. “Wow! You have three eggs. What a great job!”

  I couldn’t tell who was happier about his cache, my son or my mother. She was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Mommy, scared,” Hudson declared as he dropped his basket and wrapped his arms around my leg with a death grip.

  I had no idea what had changed his bubbly demeanor from seconds ago until I caught a glimpse of pale blue fuzz out of
the corner of my eye. The Easter Bunny had shown up and was making his rounds. As he came closer, Hudson turned his head and buried his face into my leg.

  “Hudson sweetie, it’s just the Easter Bunny. Don’t be scared,” I crooned to him. “He won’t hurt you.”

  Despite my reassurance, Hudson didn’t budge. He’d made up his mind about the rabbit with the permanent, menacing smile, cottony tail, and strange coloring. He was rather imposing in size, too. From his floppy ears down to his oversized feet, he had to stand seven feet tall. A giant in Hudson’s eyes.

  “Hudson, look at Grandma,” my mom called to him. “Grandma’s giving the bunny a hug. He’s a nice bunny.”

  Hudson stole a glance, but wasn’t convinced. As a matter of fact, the sight of the rabbit patting my mother on the back made Hudson start crying. He struggled against my legs trying to climb up me. Without haste, I swept him up and tried to console him.

  Molly was sending the Easter Bunny on his way so he could terrorize another unsuspecting child. He wouldn’t go without leaving a small bag of m&m’s behind for Hudson.

  “I think it’s safe to say Hudson isn’t a big fan of the Easter Bunny,” Molly said as she brushed Hudson’s wispy, full bangs back from his tear-stained face.

  My mom got a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at his button nose. “That’s okay. That bunny is pretty big for such a little boy.”

  Hudson wasn’t so little anymore. He was in the 90th percentile for his height and weight. At 37 weeks pregnant, it was increasingly hard for me to hold him for any length of time. I readjusted my son on my hip and that’s when it happened.

  “Crap.”

  “What is it?” my mom asked with a smile. “You look funny.”

  “My water just broke.”

  “That’s not possible. You have another three weeks,” she told me with a head shake.

  I groaned, “Jeez, Mother, it did so I guess the baby has other plans.”

  “Oh my goodness!” Molly replied. “This is so exciting! What can I do to help? Do you want me to follow you home and help out with Hudson for a while?”