Seventy-Two Hours

by Stringham, C. P.

  When I returned home and wasn’t quite myself, I told everyone I had a touch of the flu. It enabled me to take the week after New Year’s off from school as well. I’d been upfront with my building principal, Roselyn Sheetz. I had to be. After giving her my doctor’s note, she was more than accommodating and tried urging me into taking an additional week off just so I’d feel more myself before going into radiation therapy. She’d already been through a similar experience herself. I thanked her for her kindness and understanding, but I chose to decline her offer. Getting back to work, to return to a normal routine, seemed to be what I needed to get my mind off of everything.

  I was set to have a radiation treatment each day, Monday through Friday, over a six-week period of time. When they started, I’d finish up with my last class of the day and leave at the start of my prep period. I went alone despite Carson’s protests. I was fortunate and the side effects were minimal. It seemed to affect my appetite the most. It was virtually nonexistent during the week. Which was good. My energy level after my treatments could be described as somewhere near sloth-like. An appetite during that timeframe would have had me packing on the pounds.

  No one at school knew what was going on. I didn’t even tell my closest friends and colleagues. I figured if my husband didn’t know, I shouldn’t be sharing it with anyone else either.

  While shopping with my mother three weeks into my treatments, she said, “What do you say we get ice cream for lunch?”

  I came to a stop in the middle of the aisle at Macy’s and said, “Ice cream?”

  She huffed and rolled her eyes at me. “It’s not going to kill you, you know.”

  My heart jumped a little over her comment, but she couldn’t possibly know. A simple figure of speech had new meaning to me now. I recovered. “What?”

  “Eating ice cream. It won’t kill you,” she repeated. “Besides,” she continued as we started walking through the cosmetics department side by side, “Chris loves you exactly the way you are. I don’t understand what you’re trying to prove by dieting. You’re already attractive. The way you’re beginning to look now is bordering between waif-like and eating disorder victim.”

  “Good thing my self-confidence is strong, mother.” I was starting to think her invitation for shopping was one big ploy to get me alone so she could harp on me. Swell.

  We entered the mall common area. It was pretty busy with other Saturday afternoon shoppers. No doubt they were trying to overcome a bout of cabin fever due to the recent cold temperatures forcing everyone to stay indoors. February could be brutal in the Twin Tiers.

  “I know things have been strained between you and Chris—“

  I stopped short and interrupted her with, “Are we really going to discuss this in a very public place? Really, Mother?”

  “It’s not like I’m shouting, Jennifer. And they’re strangers to boot. If they overhear a word or two, it’s really not a big deal.”

  “Maybe not to you,” I said softly. “But I do work in a public school and I’m always running into students and their parents. I really don’t want my personal life discussed in a shopping mall.”

  While in the hospital recuperating, I’d had the mother of two former students for my nurse. Small community living. I asked her not to say anything to anyone about seeing me in the hospital because my family and I wished to keep it private. She assured me that she’d adhere to HIPPA laws and then went on to sincerely wish me luck with my further preventative treatments.

  I stopped while my mother waited for me to remove my shoe and fix my sock where it had balled up uncomfortably under my toes.

  My precautionary request about being overheard went out the window when she said, “You aren’t having an affair, are you?”

  I almost fell over as I hastily attempted to wrestle my shoe back on. “You. Cannot. Be. Serious.”

  She averted her eyes from mine quickly lest I kill her with my stare. “Don’t get all uppity with me. I am being serious. Your husband shared his concern with me weeks ago and I told him at the time he was being silly. But now, I’m not so sure.”

  I didn’t know what was worse. The fact that my husband thought I was having an affair or that, instead of coming to me about it, he went to my mother. Adding to it all, my mother was expressing her concerns as well.

  After taking a cleansing breath, I declared, “I’m not having an affair.”

  “I would hope not. You have it made with the one you have already.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  She reached out, grasping my forearm, and stopped our forward progress. “Don’t take this lightly, Jennifer. A husband that’s feeling left out can be a dangerous situation.”

  I couldn’t wait to hear the point she was trying to make. “How, pray tell, is it dangerous,” I scoffed.

  “Chris said you’ve been distant and barely talk to him. You go to bed early and he feels you’re doing it to avoid him,” my mother ticked off while giving me a stern look. “Now, I don’t have to tell you what happens when a husband feels neglected for too long, do I?”

  “Why don’t you enlighten me anyway? Just in case,” I said challengingly.

  “Even a strong and good man, like Chris, will stray, Jennifer. What you’re willing to take for granted, another woman will gladly snap up,” she declared before expelling a deep breath.

  My mother was annoyed with me beyond belief. She’d always been Chris’ biggest fan, but this was the first time she so blatantly voiced her opinion.

  “Well,” I said before sniffing loudly, “I will take your words under advisement. Is that all or would you like to continue berating me in front of Christopher & Banks?”

  My mother simply shook her head before releasing my arm and walking away. My answer silencing her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Present Day

  Chris suggested we pack up and go home (the back and forth theme of the weekend,) but I felt a quiet evening would be better for him. A good night’s sleep after a rather tumultuous day and then a fresh start in the morning. He didn’t argue with me. In fact, he seemed relieved when he almost dropped on to the sofa and stretched his long legs out on the coffee table. While he made himself comfortable, I made us grilled cheese sandwiches. Something simple and fast. Putting formality aside, I chose to take our plates into the living room area where we could both relax versus sitting at the bar or dining room table.

  “Thank you,” he said as he sat up and accepted his plate.

  As I took a seat in the nearby armchair I said, “You’re welcome and be—“

  “Shit!”

  “--careful. The cheese is hot,” I finished after the fact. “Sorry.”

  Cheddar and Swiss cheese oozed from between the two pieces of sour dough bread as he returned it to the plate. He sat it down on the table, wiped his hands on his napkin, and then took a drink from his can of ginger ale.

  When he recovered he said, “Not your fault. I should know better than to do that. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

  “We both skipped lunch and it’s almost bedtime,” I said with a nod. “Of course, second degree burns are a costly price to pay for a full belly.”

  We chuckled.

  “While we’re sitting here, you know,” he said without meeting my eyes, “together like this, may I ask you a few more questions about your, um, cancer?”

  “Precancer,” I corrected him. “I guess you may. There isn’t much more to fill in with.”

  “Did you have any side effects from the radiation?”

  I met his eyes as he finally looked at me. “Nothing major. There was, of course, the weight loss. Exhaustion,” I told him. “And then towards the end of the six weeks, the external beam caused radiation burns on the surface of my breast.”

  “That’s another reason for the tattoo? It left additional scars from the burn?”

  I sat my sandwich down and narrowed my eyes as I gave his question some thought. “The tattoo wasn’t solely for cosmetic purposes. That
was only part of it. I guess, in a way, it was about rebelling. Once you successfully complete having a tumor removed and go through radiation treatments, you need to take a stand. Make a statement about it. Mine was caught early and I beat it. Even if it isn’t a long term defeat. I wanted to reclaim my body.”

  “I think I understand that.”

  “It still bothers me to see it,” I admitted, “I feel damaged.”

  “You stopped changing your clothing in front of me.”

  I nodded. “I was self-conscious and also hiding my physical changes from you.”

  “Hiding it so you could keep your secret.”

  I cleared my throat and said, “Partially.”

  “And why else, Jen?” he asked softly and when I didn’t answer, “Please. Tell me.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut not able to take his penetrating gaze. “Because. I figured the indifference came about because you were having an affair and I felt inadequate,” I confessed. “But you weren’t. It was worse. You were just indifferent.”

  Chris got up from the sofa and came around to me and freed me of my plate. He then made me turn in my seat before taking both of my hands into his and kneeling in front of me. He searched my face and declared, “That’s not true. Not true at all. We had each grown so far apart, I didn’t know how to close the distance between us.”

  This wasn’t true. He did make one attempt in the past six months. One in which I vehemently turned him down cold. It was towards the end of my treatments. I was worn out and tired of everything. Tired of being tired. He came up behind me while I was taking a glass down from the cupboard and wrapped his arms around me before cupping my sore breast in his left hand. My first reaction was to tense up as my one hand held onto the cupboard door and the other was midair with the glass. I couldn’t even recall what Chris said to me as it transpired. It was when he squeezed my breast that I launched into a defensive. A defensive against his cheap thrill after months of apathy. A defensive for the jolt of pain that went through my entire body like a lightning bolt. But most of all, a defensive to keep my secret just that; a secret. I elbow-jabbed his sternum and screamed at him through clenched teeth not to touch me. He released me and I spun around on him like a caged animal; fear and anger fueling me. Chris stepped back struggling with his own emotions as shock, hurt, and anger crossed his face in that order. I waited for him to respond only he turned and stormed off. Blessedly.

  I could read Chris’ expression and knew he was recalling the same incident. Realization was setting in.

  “God. I wish you would have told me. I wish you would have hit me upside the head and made me take notice,” he murmured in an apologetic way.

  I closed my eyes tightly. Maybe, if I closed them, closed them incredibly hard, I could hold the tears back that were threatening to fall. I was stronger than that. I was a cancer survivor and I did not want to be comforted.

  I bolstered myself up and answered him, “I did it without you. As I said, it prepared me for where things are heading with us.”

  “I can’t do this, Jen. I can’t lose you.”

  “It’ll be hard at first. For both of us. But we’ll get through it. Couples break up all the time and survive it,” I reasoned.

  “That’s just it. I don’t think I can survive it. I don’t know how to let you go.”

  And then he put his head in my lap. I found myself stroking his hair and comforting him. The antithesis of what I expected. He let go with chocking sobs against me. It was heart-wrenching seeing him like that. Broken and defeated.

  In that moment, I hated myself. Hated what I had become. In all the time I’d been angry at him for his shortcomings as a father, as a husband and partner, I’d never done anything to change it. Oh, I’d made my snide remarks and complained from time to time, but I’d also grown complacent. Not once did I make an ultimatum. Not once did I insist he be present and offer our family his undivided attention. I just bitterly took up the slack and moved on. Because of it, I’d only helped to enable his behavior. Why would Chris feel the need to step in to alleviate my physical and mental workload? I came across as Wonder Woman; able to do everything. So while my silent resentment towards him grew, he stepped further and further away from his family responsibilities and focused on his job.

  As clarity returned, I pushed Chris away. I needed to get up. Having him so close to me at that moment was only going to make me come undone emotionally. I still wanted to think things through. Clear-headed. Calmly. Ignoring the look of total abandonment on Chris’ face, I put some distance between us.

  “Where are you going?” he asked on a hopeless whisper.

  I waved his comment off and kept my back to him. “Nowhere. Just stop. Please. I can’t think.”

  “Jen,” he continued.

  “Christopher, I need a minute.”

  I attempted to rationalize my anger. He’d taken advantage of me. Took me for granted. I carried everything. Not the income burden. He’d be the first to point that out. My mother would be the next in line. That didn’t matter. A marriage was comprised of many different components. Along with financial support, there was the all important emotional support as well. Something our marriage was completely lacking in of late. And what about parenting? It shouldn’t be tossed on to one person. It should be shared. If anything, Chris had only helped to bring about one outcome; my independence from him. That was my dawning revelation.

  I didn’t realize I was ramrod straight and staring at him in deep concentration until he interrupted, “What, Jen? What’s wrong?”

  “You made me not need you anymore. That’s the conclusion I’ve drawn,” I admitted in a murmur that sounded more like an accusation than a revelation.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  I nodded slowly. “Yes, I think I do,” I disagreed. “Our family life became my burden. I had to do everything.”

  “Please. Just give me another chance.”

  “It took cancer to make me see it. I was exhausted. Scared. Alone,” I replied. “All of that happened while I was already feeling guilty about Clinton. His trouble’s been on my watch. I’m an experienced educator and I don’t know how to give him the support and tools necessary to help him.” I brushed my hand under my nose in a real ladylike fashion. “When I got through the cancer end of it, I felt so relieved, so much exhilaration, and yet I had no one to celebrate it with. That’s when I went out and found someone else.”

  “This only proves you still need someone, Jen. I’m here now. I can’t change what’s already happened. I’m truly sorry for not being there. I should have been. I’ll admit it all over again.”

  I decided to continue on as if he hadn’t said anything, “Hopefully, this school year will be a turning point for Clinton. I’m determined to get to the bottom of it. The fact he didn’t fail any of his classes this past year blows my mind. I’m still afraid to question it by asking his teachers how it happened. Too afraid to find out my colleagues graded him differently based on who he is,” I admitted out loud for the first time.

  “Clinton is Clinton. You have no reason to feel guilty. We’ll work together to help him. I can take him in to work this summer. He just needs to be busy,” Chris offered. “Something to spark his interest so he can funnel his restless energy in to something worthwhile.”

  “You say that now, Chris, but I really don’t believe I can count on you. You and Clinton are like oil and water. You have zero patience with him. He knows it and plays off of it,” I challenged. “The first time he messes up and you set into him, he’ll know he’s gotten the better of you. It’s the pattern he’s come to expect. You’ll give up on him and he wins.”

  “Not this time.”

  I could tell he was getting angry. Maybe that was better than seeing him fall apart. Angry Chris didn’t tug on my heartstrings and I wanted to remain focused.

  I watched as he got himself back in check. To his credit, he did remarkably well.

  “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to fix
this, Jen. Just tell me what I can do to make it up to you,” he replied as he approached me. His eyes searching my face the entire time he stood in front of me. “We could go into counseling. Would you consider that maybe?”

  I regarded him closely as doubts kept popping up. Could Chris change? We had reached rock bottom. Could things still be salvaged? Even with him recognizing and accepting his share of the blame, could we overcome?

  “For counseling to work, it would require both of us to be present. How will you do that with your work schedule?” I tossed at him.

  “Our marriage is more important. I’ll make the time. I won’t lose you. I’m nothing without you.”

  I bit my lower lip fighting the urge to throw my arms around him. I’d waited so long to hear him say that to me. While I was going through radiation treatments, I used to imagine what it would have been like having him alongside me. Those days when I was wrung out and every bone ached and my thoughts were consumed with the fear of things to come.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked as he took my chin into his hand and drew my face up so I had no choice but to look at him. “Talk to me. Please.”

  “I want to believe you.”

  “Good. That’s a start.” He seemed to relax his shoulders, but his eyes were just as intense. “Trust me, baby. I want this more than anything. I’ve had so much time to think this weekend and I know I need to change, but I can’t do it alone. You need to change, too.”

  “Me?” I regarded him warily.

  “Yes, you. You have to get after me. I’m going to do my best to be a participant in our marriage. But I also need you to be patient. And stubborn. This is new to me. I’ll mess up. Get caught up at times and I need you to remind me,” he explained with humility. “I know I can be single-minded. Focused on one thing so much the other things around me disappear into the peripheral. You have to make me see the entire picture.”