For Life

by L. E. Chamberlin

  No.

  I had myself under control, but my hands begin trembling again almost immediately. My mouth goes dry and my keys suddenly feel slippery against the palm of my hand. I know, I know, even without looking inside that recycling bin, what I’ll find.

  But I look anyway.

  Two empty whiskey bottles are nestled among a mountain of green and amber beer bottles, far too many for one man to have drunk alone in one night but not so many that I could blame this on a party, although I like to think he would’ve told me if he had a party planned for this weekend. No, this is evidence of something else entirely.

  For a moment I just stare into the bin, hoping that what I’m seeing - and smelling - will disappear on its own. But the smug gleam of that pile of empty glass bottles can’t be denied.

  I said it was over, and he started drinking again.

  I can’t get myself back in the car fast enough, but my hands won’t cooperate. I fumble with the keys, and they slip from my numb fingers and clatter to the driveway. When I swipe them from the asphalt I scrape my knuckles in the process, and it is that little bit of physical pain that jolts me back to myself.

  That bastard. One big fight and he’s already back to his old ways.

  I manage to start the car with shaking hands, but my heart is hammering so hard in my chest that I don’t know if I can safely drive. I take a few gulps of air and put the car in reverse, praying to whatever forces in the universe still exist to guide me home in one piece.

  As I back out of the driveway, I swear I see the blinds twitch in Grady’s office. The thought of him hiding inside his house, hung over, too cowardly to face me because he spent the entire night drinking makes me want to hit the gas and drive my car through his fucking garage door.

  Instead I peal out of his neighborhood, my heart in my throat, wondering what the hell to do with this information. Not again, my heart pleads. This has to be some mistake. Please, please, let this be a mistake. I can’t do this again. How will I explain this to the kids?

  But it’s not a mistake. The evidence was all there for me to see, and maybe the signs were there all along too and I just refused to believe them. I didn’t want to admit that Sandra could be right, didn’t want to deny myself happiness even though I know the kind of happiness I crave isn’t realistic. It’s a fantasy, no more tangible than the words he whispered to me in bed. They all add up to exactly nothing in the end. Nothing but heartbreak.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Grady

  I wake to Ares poking me with his wet nose and whining softly. Even that much noise ricochets in my head, setting off more throbbing behind my eyes, which are sealed shut. When I try to swallow my throat feels as though I’ve been eating fire and my mouth tastes as if I tried to put the fire out with swamp water. Even my teeth ache.

  Ares nudges me again and I crack one eye open. Through the haze I see that it’s past ten. Fuck. I have so much to do this morning. My truck is filthy, there are sticks all over my backyard that have to be collected…

  Not to mention I have to try to straighten things out with Cassie. My head starts thumping again just thinking about it. Jesus Christ, I’m a mess. I don’t even remember how or when I got to bed, things are that fuzzy.

  I fumble for my phone, but it’s not on my nightstand where I usually plug it in before I go to sleep. Was I that out of it? I wonder if I can sit up, but the second I try to roll over my head answers that question for me. My whole body feels weak, as if someone ran me over with my own truck.

  Craig and Dave came over last night, but I don’t recall them leaving. I just hope they didn’t drive. Craig drank enough for everyone, but I guess that’s what losing your wife does to a man. I know it did that to me. Nothing like a bottle to drown yourself in when you’re at rock-bottom. Unless the bottle itself is your rock-bottom.

  I realize that Cassie might’ve tried to call last night, and I fumble again for my phone. Ares whines and races into my office, which faces the street. I usually put the blinds up for him first thing in the morning, and I hear him rustling them impatiently, trying to see what’s happening outside. It sounds like someone’s here, but every noise is amplified as if it’s happening right inside my brain, so I can’t gauge if I’m hearing a car in my driveway or a truck driving down the street.

  A wave of nausea forces me out of bed, and I half-crawl to the bathroom, shaking the whole way. Once there I empty the remnants of last night into the toilet and collapse on the floor. The tiles are refreshingly cool under my flaming cheek, but after a moment I start to shiver so violently my teeth rattle.

  I’d hoped it was just a bad cold coming on. I took some extra vitamin C last night, but this isn’t a cold. It feels like flu, and I just hope to God I didn’t get my family or friends sick. I have to get to my phone, I think. I’ve got to call Cassie. Even though we had a huge fight and I walked out of there pissed off yesterday, I didn’t mean it about ending things. She just made me so mad I had to get out of there before I said more shit I shouldn’t have.

  I muster enough strength to get myself into the living room, where I crack the sliding glass door wide enough that Ares can go out and relieve himself. Then I make a half-hearted search for my phone before collapsing on the couch again. Sleep closes in on me and I have enough presence of mind to tug the blanket down over myself before I’m out cold again.

  * * * *

  The shrill digital bleating of my house phone wakes me again in the afternoon. I can only imagine it’s my mother, since she’s the only one who calls me on this number. Ares is next to me, looking distressed and whining softly, probably because I haven’t fed him yet today.

  I roll over and note the time on my wall clock. I can’t believe I slept until two p.m. My body obviously needed it, because the aching has subsided and my stomach feels less queasy. In fact, as I drag myself off the couch, it growls and I realize I’m pretty hungry.

  When the guys were here last night I had some pizza while they knocked back way more alcohol than was necessary or healthy. The pizza was the last food I ate, and then I threw it all up this morning. So my gut is pretty empty and still a bit cramped from vomiting. I make a mental inventory of my cabinets and wonder if I have any chicken noodle soup.

  My phone has stopped ringing, but as I gingerly make my way over to the console to see whose call I missed, it starts ringing again. The display reads “MAHONEY CA” and I say, “Hey, Ma,” when I answer it.

  “What’s wrong? Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

  “Sorry, I was sick today and I misplaced my phone last night.”

  “Grady, I’ve been calling you for two days!”

  “Ma, don’t be ridiculous. I just talked to you Thursday.”

  “I called you Friday night, and a bunch of times yesterday. No answer. Finally today I decided enough was enough and I was calling the house phone. What in the world is going on?”

  “Wait -” I struggle to do the math. “What day is it?”

  “Sunday,” she says impatiently.

  Sunday. Fuck.

  “Oh my God,” I groan. “I was so sick I slept right through.”

  Now her voice is really worried. “Son, what happened?”

  “I have some kind of flu or virus or something. The guys were over Friday night, and I wasn’t feeling well. I remember I woke up and cracked the door for Ares—”

  I realize with horror that my dog hasn’t eaten all this time. No wonder he’s shadowing me. I make my way into the kitchen to see that he’s nosed the top off the storage container where I keep his food and I’m relieved. But his water dish is dry as a bone, so I fill it and he dives into it gratefully.

  “I had no idea I slept that long,” I repeat.

  “Well, Cassie and the kids are here. I figured you two had an argument, because she wasn’t planning to be out here for another two days.”

  Everything comes rushing back. “She told you what happened to Caden’s friend?”

  “God, yes, t
hat poor boy. Just as well she brought the kids out here to escape all that. It made the national news, so I can imagine the whole town must be in an uproar.”

  “Yep,” I reply. I can only imagine who’s tried to get in touch with me in the past 36 hours.

  “Cassie’s not doing too well,” she says in a hushed voice. “Did you two fight? She’s not saying anything. I figured it was because of the kids.”

  “Yeah, we had a fight,” I admit. “It was pretty bad.”

  “It must’ve been,” she says. “She’s not herself at all. You should come out here and make that right. I’m serious. She’s not okay.”

  “I’m going to,” I say. “I’ll come out after I see a doctor and make sure what I have isn’t contagious. I don’t feel well enough to make that drive, and I sure as hell don’t want to get on a plane if I’m just going to infect everyone on it. In the meantime, I’ll get in touch with her, okay?”

  “All right, son. Feel better.”

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  I make another attempt to find my phone, but then I give up and head to the urgent care so I can see what the hell is wrong with me. I have a flight to catch and a woman to make amends with.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Cassie

  Being in Delaware with their family is good for my kids, even though Chloe’s asked several times when Grady will be here. I don’t know what to say. I have no idea how to even begin to address what I saw at Grady’s house. Chloe and Caden don’t know much about the reasons we split up when they were younger. Once when they asked us, Grady said he was too young and stupid to realize what he had. I never said anything to them about the drinking at all, although I know Grady’s told them that he had a problem with it when he was younger and quit. How on earth will I explain what he’s done? It will break their hearts. I don’t even have the nerve to be honest with Donna about it just yet. This news will kill her.

  And of course he hasn’t called me.

  Late in the afternoon, Donna pulls me aside and says, “I just want you to know he’s okay.”

  “Who’s okay?”

  “Grady. He can’t find his phone and he’s been sick. He went to the urgent care today, and he’s not contagious, he just has a bad cold. He had Craig and Dave over on Friday night, started feeling sick when they were there, and woke up really sick on Saturday morning. Then he went back to sleep and didn’t wake up until a couple of hours ago.”

  “How do you know all this if he can’t find his phone?”

  “I called him on the land line.” She smiles and wraps her arm around my shoulder, pulling me against her. “Remember those?” she teases. “I actually know how to use one.”

  I try to return her smile, still reeling from the revelation. The explanation makes sense, but I can still smell and see those bottles. I can’t get that shocking moment out of my head. And how do I know he’s not just saying all that to his mother? Of course he’s not about to admit to going on a bender.

  “Are you two okay?” she asks softly. The worry lines that disappeared just a couple months ago as she came to terms with Carl’s death are back around her eyes and mouth.

  “We had an argument,” I admit.

  “He’ll cool off eventually,” she says, and then I feel horrible, because he shouldn’t have to cool off. He should have a woman who doesn’t second-guess him, not one who holds onto anger for things he did a decade ago. He should have a woman who believes in him, heart and soul, not one who doubts his every move, waiting for the other shoe to drop so she can scurry into her righteous little corner and fling blame at him. I’m so ashamed I can barely swallow. I want to confess to her what I’ve done, but I can’t stand to see disappointment in her eyes, too. Not after everything.

  I grasp for something to say, anything to take the shadows from her face. “Renée said she’s bringing the kids by later.”

  That brightens her. “Are they staying for dinner?”

  I nod. “I asked her to. I figured you wouldn’t mind. I’ll order pizzas so we don’t have to cook or clean up.”

  “Sounds good,” she says, slipping away because even though her company is family and won’t be there for another two hours, she’s house proud to a fault and has to go scrub something. As she passes me standing numbly in the door frame, staring at my phone as if willing it to ring, she pats my arm. “Don’t give up on my boy, Cass. He loves you to the moon and back.”

  The more I think about it, the more Donna’s explanation makes sense. It wouldn’t have been humanly possible for him to drink all that alcohol alone, and I know he didn’t drink any during the week, because he was with me. Craig and his wife are having marriage problems, and Dave just goes with the flow. The bottles don’t prove anything.

  I’m an idiot.

  Or am I being rightfully cautious? I can’t tell anymore.

  Renée bring the kids over. J.J. and Noah are the evening entertainment, making up a ridiculous song about pizza and giggling so infectiously everyone else laughs, too. My kids adore their little cousins and dote on them throughout dinner. Caden even wipes Noah’s sauce-stained face and rolls up his sleeves for him so they don’t drag in his food. The echoes of our children’s combined laughter peal throughout the house. Even when I excuse myself to use the bathroom and check my phone, their joyful giggling follows me down the hall.

  When I return, I stop in the doorway and watch them. I marvel at my son’s self-assuredness, even in the aftermath of an unspeakable breach of trust. I’m warmed by my daughter’s uncharacteristic lightheartedness, her pleasure in the simple silliness of her cousins’ antics. I admire the boisterous resiliency of the three little ones who no longer have their father. And Renée is finally smiling, surrounded by family, her searing loss tucked away so she can enjoy the here and now. Even Sophie kicks her little legs and babbles excitedly. The energy of the room is infectious. They’re all doing what I should be doing. Living in the here and now.

  Watching Renée smile makes me feel so ashamed. My sister-in-law has experienced real tragedy, but she’s managed to pull her shit together and enjoy her family, while I - like a spoiled, sulky teenager- manage to screw things up with Grady as if his steadfast love isn’t a blessing. One I don’t deserve at that. I sneak back down the hallway and send a text message. I’m a horrible jerk. Please forgive me. I love you. But just like my other ones, the message goes unanswered.

  * * * *

  Later that night a text message comes from Grady, only it’s not from Grady. Craig here, it reads. I have his phone.

  — He couldn’t find it, I text back. I’ll let him know.

  — Figured you’d see him first. Are you really a jerk? I don’t see it.

  — You have no idea.

  — LOL. Tell him I’m sorry for Friday night when he gets there.

  I decide to call Grady’s house, just to let him know that Craig has his cell phone. I have no intention of getting into a full discussion, but I’m worried about him and he needs to know about his phone.

  When I hear his steady voice on the outgoing message, I crack. “Grady.” I can barely force his name off my tongue, as if I’m no longer good enough to even utter it. “My love. I’m sorry. I—”

  Doing this over the phone is cowardly. I need to get my ass back to Ohio and do this face-to-face, but that would mean explaining myself even further to the kids and Donna. I’m already mortified at how quickly I jumped to conclusions. I’ve already cut him deep enough.

  An invisible fist squeezes inside my throat. For a few seconds all I can do is mentally struggle with the apology I can’t seem to choke out, even though it’s been sitting like a lead weight on my chest since he left my house.

  “I screwed up,” I finally blurt. “I keep screwing up. I don’t even know why you want me. I can’t think straight. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I was wrong, and—”

  A sob wrenches from my throat. “Baby. Please. I’m sorry. Call me back. Call me back and tell me you don’t hate me. Just… Can yo
u do that? Please? No matter what?” I end the call before my tears blind me.

  I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t forgive me. I don’t know how I’ll manage to lose him again, because if I walk away from him a second time, I know I’ll never get him back.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Cassie

  At 11:30 p.m. I’m brushing my teeth when I hear the front door creak open. For a second I think maybe Renée forgot something and came back for it, until I hear the familiar tread of Grady’s footsteps - first in the foyer, then around the entire downstairs as he checks to be sure all the doors are locked, and finally on the stairs.

  I fly out of the bathroom and meet him at the top of the stairs, suffused with shock that he came but willing to do and say anything to make him stay. When I ask the question with my eyes, he wraps his hand around the back of my neck and hauls me against him, kissing me deeply in a way that answers, Cassie, I forgive you.

  “I flew,” he says before I can ask.

  “You could have called.”

  “No, I couldn’t have. His mouth is hot on mine, and I respond just as eagerly. He steps me backwards into the guest bedroom, devouring me the whole way, kicking the door closed behind us.

  “I’m sorry,” I weep against his cold neck.

  “I know you are.”

  “I’m going to get better at this.”

  “Baby.” He pulls back to look at me, cradling my face in his icy hands. “We had a fight. We both said things we didn’t mean. Don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m here.” His words are soothing, but his body is as tight as a drum, as if he wasn’t sure he’d be received this way.

  “You’re here,” I marvel. “I can’t believe it.”