For Life

by L. E. Chamberlin

  Lust has worked its magic on me so thoroughly that it isn’t until much later that I try to wrap my head around the logistics of what Grady said. Building a new life together.

  We have one child who barely remembers us together and another who doesn’t recall us ever living under the same roof. We have two homes, and though mine is slightly newer and larger, Grady’s is the home the kids have been in the longest, because he bought it soon after we divorced. We’ve got an aging cat prone to puking everywhere and an overzealous guard dog who likes to corner small fuzzy animals and will probably swallow the cat whole the moment he lays eyes on him. And right now the two of us can barely be in the same room with each other without wanting to fuck each other’s brains out. How the hell are we going to manage a blended household with all that going on?

  This is all moving way too fast. Maybe not the sex, but the rest of it. Panic grips me, squeezing my chest, making my mind race with all the things that can go wrong. We haven’t even been on a date in over a decade and here we are secretly fucking like rabbits and planning to shack up again.

  I have to talk to someone. I’ve been texting Sandra, but I didn’t let on that anything was going on with Grady. I decide to call her and see if I can meet her for drinks after work on Friday to get some perspective on this situation. She knows how to handle men better than any other woman I know, so I know whatever she says will be something I can use to work through things in my head and take some action. Having a plan calms me, and I take a deep breath and try to get myself together.

  * * * *

  I don’t know how to start this conversation.

  Sandra has been very patient with me. We’ve chatted about the weather, her boy-toy, and the menu far more than any of those subjects required. I’ve downed half my margarita. I can tell she’s trying to let me move at my own pace, but she’s getting restless and her patience is running out. She checks her phone, which has been sitting next to her on the table, and then slips it into her purse and focuses all her attention on me.

  “Talk,” she orders, flipping her hair back over her shoulder.

  My heart plummets. I take another swallow of my margarita and gather my courage. “I don’t know how to start this.”

  “Bullet points.” She snaps her fingers. “Now. Quick like a Band-Aid—”

  “I’m sleeping with my ex-husband.” It rushes out of me before I can think of a more delicate way to say it, loud enough that a few heads turn at the table next to us.

  She looks shocked for a full five seconds before recovering and taking a sip of her vodka and soda. “Well, now I know why you opted for the tequila,” she quips.

  “It’s not just sex.” I rake my fingers through my hair and fiddle with my straw. “I think I’m in love with him and I want to get back together.”

  Sandra narrows her eyes and sets up straight in her chair. “Let me stop you right there, sister,” she begins, setting down her drink and fixing her fierce amber gaze on me. “No. N-O, no. Don’t even.”

  I open my mouth to speak but she cuts me off before I get a word out.

  “Look, I get that an old flame is a great place to turn for sex. God knows, it’s efficient. It’s almost a sure thing, unless it ended badly. Especially if it ended badly. But you do not,” she pauses and takes a deep, steadying breath. “You do not travel down a road like that twice.”

  Wow. I suppose I was expecting some sort of “Sex and the City”-esque, “You go, girl” type of rah-rah support. Not a flat-out condemnation. She sounds almost angry.

  “You don’t understand,” I begin, but I already know how I’ll sound. Like I’m rationalizing.

  “Cass. What I understand is that you’ve been divorced forever and you barely speak to each other. You told me he broke your heart and you can’t stand to be around him. And now after spending a week together at a funeral you’re fucking him?” She shakes her head. “I get it. He’s in a bad place. You feel sorry for him. But that’s all this is. You have to know that. Don’t be stupid, Cassie.”

  Now she’s just pissing me off. “He’s not in a bad place.” My face flushes and I continue, “That’s not what this is about. We re-connected.”

  “At a funeral.”

  “Well, sort of, yeah…”

  “Where emotions are high and everyone is trying to feel better.”

  I see where she’s going with this, and I feel stupid that I haven’t considered that aspect of things as much as I should have. “It wasn’t exactly like that, it was more—”

  “And despite not talking in a decade, you had a magical connection that you just had to pursue, then and there, without thinking about the consequences.”

  When she says it like that, it sounds… Stupid. Wrong. Careless. I’m shocked that what we’ve shared could seem like that to anyone. “I don’t think you—”

  “He’s an addict, remember?” she counters, looking me straight in the eye, her mouth firm.

  “I wouldn’t call him an addict,” I interject, but she bulldozes past me.

  “You told me he drank nonstop in the last year and a half of your marriage and was barely there for you and the kids. You told me he neglected obligations, got a DUI, and by the end you didn’t want him alone with the kids. He is a textbook alcoholic, Cassie.”

  I did tell her all that. And once upon a time, that’s exactly how things were, but the Grady I just spent a week with in Delaware is different. He’s the adult version of the boy I fell in love with before all the drinking started - steadfast, generous, and protective.

  “Let me break this down for you, sweetie. He feels like shit and he wants to feel good again. That’s what addicts do. They seek a high - drugs, drinking, gambling, sex - and they chase it. Having sex with your ex is an endorphin rush. That’s what he’s doing, Cass, so don’t think it’s anything more than that.”

  Tears sting my eyes. “He hasn’t had a drink in ten years,” I protest softly. “I don’t think he was ever even an alcoholic. He doesn’t even drink at all now.”

  Her hand closes over mine on the table. “Now you’re just denying what you knew was true for years and years. You know how this works. You’ve told me about your dad, and you know about my family and my ex. People like that don’t change, Cass. A dry drunk is still an addict.”

  Her reaction suddenly makes sense. Horror creeps through my body like ice water through my veins. Is she right? Have I just made some horrible mistake? Have I rationalized everything to the point of delusion? Did I spend a decade recovering from a hell I’m about to step back into?

  When I don’t speak, Sandra softens her approach. “How far has this gone, Cass?”

  “I’ve— We’ve—” I’m not sure where to begin. “We’re seeing each other again. We’re not ready to tell the kids just yet, but we will, soon.”

  She eyes me skeptically. “And you don’t think that’s moving a bit fast?”

  “Yeah, sort of, but Grady says—” I hear myself before the words even leave my mouth. Grady says. Like the little woman who just steps in line with the agenda of her man. Like the girl I was who bent and bent and bent until I broke.

  I down the rest of my margarita without making eye contact with Sandra. The silence at our table is deafening.

  “You need to talk to Dr. Gaul,” she says firmly.

  “Yeah.” I nod and signal to the waiter for a refill. “Yeah, I had planned to do that anyway.”

  “I won’t be the only one who thinks this is a bad idea, either,” she continues. “Be prepared for that.” Her certainty that Dr. Gaul will condemn me makes me nervous. After all, Dr. Gaul was Sandra’s therapist first - she and I met in one of her women’s therapy groups several years ago.

  When I don’t look at Sandra she sighs and says, a bit more gently, “Just promise me you’ll be careful with yourself. I don’t want to see you get hurt, and this has disaster written all over it.”

  “I’ll be careful. And we’ve already discussed the couples counseling.”

 
Suddenly saying “we” makes me feel like a fraud, even though it’s true. Grady and I did discuss couples counseling. But if what Sandra says is true, there really is no “we.”

  Only me and an addict.

  “Just for the record,” she says, “I think this is a huge mistake.”

  “This I gathered,” I snap before sucking back the rest of my margarita with trembling hands.

  “Please don’t let this come between us,” she pleads. “I’m only speaking from experience. I just want what’s best for you.”

  Pulling three ten-dollar bills from my purse and slapping them on the table, I reply, “Well, thanks for your support.” My voice is shaking as hard as the rest of me.

  I grab my purse and coat and hurry out of the restaurant. “Cass!” she calls after me. “Cassie, honey, just wait!” But I don’t look back.

  * * * *

  In an urge to get as far away from Sandra as I possibly can, I head into the mall and duck into a Christmas shop. An overpowering cinnamon aroma assaults my nostrils, so strong I can nearly taste it, but on the off chance she comes looking for me she’d never think to come in here, so I head to the back of the store and pretend to dig through the overstuffed bins of ornaments as I consider what she just said to me.

  …moving a bit fast…

  …disaster written all over it…

  …still an addict…

  And the most damning: You do not travel down a road like that twice.

  Is she right? Am I being stupid? I think about the whirlwind in Delaware, the unexplainable lust and tenderness I felt for Grady, the way we naturally turned to each other as if not a moment had passed. I recall frantic need I still felt for him leaving his house when I should have been thoroughly satisfied.

  I rifle idly through a box of wrapping paper rolls and think about Adam. Our relationship had been so easy. We didn’t fight like Grady and I fought. I didn’t second-guess anything. Our lovemaking was sweet and respectful and every now and then a bit naughty, but it never had that sharp bite of need that I have with Grady. Adam was dependable, and I stood on completely solid ground with him.

  But once upon a time, I stood on solid ground with Grady, too. Our problems came several years into our relationship. Whatever Grady was going through at the time - he changed. He wasn’t the man I fell in love with. I didn’t make a careless, stupid mistake marrying him. I may have been young and in love, but the Grady I fell in love with was a rock.

  And Sandra is wrong about our grief making us chase an endorphin rush. We didn’t need grief to make us combust. Sex with Grady always had that same heat. When we were eighteen and getting it on in parked cars, when I was pregnant with both our kids, even the last time we had sex on the morning before I kicked him out, it was scorching, urgent, mind-blowing. Every single time.

  But what she might be right about is us basing our current feelings on something that happened because of shared history. Lust is one thing, a life together is another. And although he’s the father of my children and my first love, how well do I really know the man Grady Mahoney is today?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Grady

  Happy hour with my partner is always the same. I love the guy like a brother, but sometimes I could strangle him. Tonight is one of those nights. I walk in, and there’s Craig to the left of the bar with his wife, Katie, and her sister, the beautiful blond Kira.

  I do what I always do when we come here. I get a club soda with lime and help myself to an extra lime wedge from the end of the bar. Then I head over to their table, non-alcoholic drink in hand, to say hello.

  It might seem strange to come to a bar when I don’t drink, but it’s not torturous for me in the way it might be for someone else. Sometimes I have a passing whim to drink a beer, but I don’t, because I’ve made this promise to myself. I don’t stop anyone else from enjoying their good time, I just do my thing.

  Kira has a look in her eye that I’m all too familiar with from my days in the dating scene. She’s at that perfect age for marriage and babies and I can practically see her ticking off boxes in her head every time we meet. Katie and Craig have made it their mission to set me up, and Katie has decided her younger sister and I would make beautiful babies. Kira is everything that, were I a single guy, might turn my head. She’s comfortable in her own skin, friendly to everyone, and throwing me just enough signals to tell me she’s interested without making herself appear desperate. I know if I asked her out for this weekend, she’d give me her number and tell me to call for next weekend. That’s the type of woman she is.

  And suddenly I’m exhausted with this whole thing. The pretense that Kira and I will ever be anything more than friends. Katie’s weird dream of partners married to sisters. Even this bar, which is a laid-back place to spend an evening and serves the most delicious burgers I’ve ever eaten. It’s all great. But it’s not what I want. I want Cassie’s pot roast, Call of Duty with my son, the rare laughter of my daughter when I tease her. I’m not like so many of the others here who are trying to escape their domestic prisons. I’ve been watching domestic life through the other side of the chain-link fence, dying to break in, and now that the gate’s been opened, I can’t imagine what in the hell I’m even doing here.

  “I’m just saying hello,” I announce to the table. “Good to see you, Katie. Kira.”

  “Oh? Not staying?” Katie affects a pout. She’s perfectly polished, a slightly older version of her sister, makeup and hair immaculate, nails manicured, a cloud of perfume surrounding her. Both women are stunning, and for the first time I give some serious thought to Craig’s mental state. If he loves his wife - and I have no reason to think he doesn’t - why is he here, in this bar, with his sister-in-law, for crying out loud, instead of home making love to Katie? They do this every Friday night.

  I’d rather be at Cassie’s sneaking glances of her ass in yoga pants. Or making out with her in secret in the kitchen. Or pretending to fix her sink again while her juices coat my tongue. And I realize there’s absolutely no reason not to be.

  “Heading to Cassie’s,” I say, and the two women cool, just slightly. Kira’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes anymore when she levels her bright blue gaze at me, and there's a tightness to her mouth that says I've just dropped way down her list.

  “Oh? I didn’t realize you two were friendly these days.” Katie’s voice is light, but her unspoken subtext is clear: Why are you wasting my sister’s time? But I’m not the one wasting Kira’s time.

  “It’s a recent development,” I say, excusing myself and more than satisfied with my decision. “Enjoy your evening, everyone. I’ve got to go.”

  December 1997

  Grady

  “Chloe will never have a grandfather,” Cassie whispers sadly into my neck. “She’ll never even know what that’s like.”

  Tonight we had a dramatic scene with Cassie’s parents, who insisted on having dinner with us even though they can’t stand me and all they do is rip her to shreds. Cassie’s alcoholic father first embarrassed her by talking way too loudly, then scared her by zoning out so abruptly we thought he was having some kind of attack. Cassie and her mom argued the whole time. Chloe picked up on the tension and fussed through the whole meal, and neither of Cassie’s parents even acknowledged her, which was the thing that really pissed me off. They were too busy laying into Cass for taking a semester off school to be home with our daughter.

  Finally, I was so furious I put down my fork, picked up Chloe’s carrier, and said, “We’re done.” When I took Cassie’s hand in mine, she squeezed it for dear life and allowed me to lead her out of that restaurant and home to the safety of our little apartment.

  Bastards, the both of them.

  But now we’re in our bed, Chloe’s asleep in her crib, and Cassie has finally stopped crying.

  “My dad would’ve loved Chloe,” I reassure her.

  “Your dad. Not my dad.”

  “Cass…”

  She nestles closer, curling i
nto the crook of my arm. “He doesn’t love me, so he can’t love her. How can a person who can’t get their head out of a bottle love anyone?”

  “I don’t know, baby.”

  “Everything was so good when I was little. My mom was happy, and I had a dad, a real dad who spent time with me and paid attention to me. He used to read me bedtime stories, every single night…” Her voice trails off as the memories well up inside her, the good clawing to the surface, trying to break through all the bad. “But then the drinking got worse and he wasn’t the same. Half the time he was angry, so angry and mean, and the other half of the time he just sat in his chair. It was like a waking coma. You could talk to him and he just… wasn’t there.

  “I couldn’t believe my mom never left him. She was so wrapped up in trying to shield us from everything he’d done. He lost his job and people in their social circle started to talk about them. She lost friends and withdrew from all the social events she used to be a part of. He screwed everything up for both of them, and instead of fighting against him she just…” She shrugs against me. “Buried herself right with him. And nothing I ever did was good enough for her - for them. It was like I had to be the best and make up for all his failures, too.”

  The thought makes me furious. I was so lucky, so loved by both my parents. Even though I lost my dad too young, he was the best father anyone ever had during the years he was alive. My mother has done the work of two parents ever since, making sure Carl and I have all the love in the world. I can’t imagine how Cassie has come out of her childhood as loving and intact as she has, because she sure as hell doesn’t owe her parents for that. And the way they behave now is just bizarre - insisting on seeing her and then systematically tearing her down every moment she’s with them. It’s no wonder Cassie can’t handle seeing them alone.

  “Thank God for Donna,” Cassie whispers.

  “Ma’s good.” My mother would do anything for Chloe. She’s as proud of her first grandchild as if she was the one to give birth to her.