You Should Smile

by Lee, Renee

  When I got to the last photograph, it had something stuck behind it – another piece of paper, thinner material. Tentatively, I pulled the thin paper away from the back of the photograph – and that’s when the bile churning inside me finally lurched up my throat. I heaved and I ran to the kitchen sink, making it just in time as I threw up yesterday’s dinner.

  As my insides wretched, the image of an ultrasound, a tiny little dot of a being, once alive and there on paper, haunted my thoughts.

  After I’d thrown up all I could, I wobbled over to the couch in a semi-catatonic state. I had no idea what to do. It was a strange feeling, really, because I tried to function in a logical manner. I knew the photographs had to be old. His hair looked different. Gina looked different. I even admitted to myself that he’d never cheat on me with her anyway.

  It still didn’t help me think rationally, though. I was despondently sick at the thought of him with her....not to mention another woman. I couldn’t even think about the threesome itself. Again, rationally, I knew that people did that, that it wasn’t necessarily out of the bounds of sexual proclivities…..but all I could see was yet another woman he’d had sex with. Another person who’d felt his touch, felt his passion, seen his smile. If the thought itself wasn’t bad enough, now I had the mental images to prove it happened. I wasn’t mad at him and I didn’t even expect that he should have told me, necessarily. It was just one more surprise, one more jack-in-the-box moment in our relationship.

  Perhaps what made my heart hurt worst of all, though....worse than anything else....was that I knew that this was the very reaction she wanted me to have. She’d gone “no holds barred” on the Rule Book. She’d gone for the jugular. She’d instituted the “nuclear option”. Right then, in that moment, I was too shaken to think about fighting back. It was just too much to take.

  I was letting her win…..again…..and that made me sickest of all.

  Have you ever been watching a movie and the heroine loses your trust somehow? You’ve bonded with her. You’ve supported her throughout, but then she does something to disenchant you. You’re shaking your head at the screen. You’re screaming, “Don’t do it!” It’s too late, though. She’s going to do it. She’s going to disappoint you.

  I hope you can forgive me.

  I had to run away.

  I knew I shouldn’t run, but I couldn’t face him and his anger. Not this time. He wouldn’t be mad at me, of course, but he would be furious at her, furious at life, furious in general. This would become about him and his anger and I would be cast in the role of calming him down, trying to tame him, trying to save him – and us – from his wrath. It would be bad, really bad, this time. Things would break. Messes would be made. Someone would get hurt. Aftermath. Consequences.

  I didn’t have the energy to deal with it. I didn’t have the courage. I wasn’t strong enough.

  I needed space.

  I needed time.

  I needed a fucking break – from everything.

  I picked up the phone and called Grant. He and Ethan had gotten a research grant to study in Scotland over the summer and they were already there.

  “Hey, Princess! What’s up?!”

  I don’t even know why I wasn’t crying. I was still in a daze, barely cognizant of the world around me, acting purely on survival and instinct.

  “Grant.....I need you. Can I come stay with you all for a while in Edinburgh?”

  “Oh, honey. Of course you can…..Is it Thad?”

  “Yeah, but can’t talk about it right now. Not yet. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Love you.”

  “Love you, Princess. Will you be okay until you get here? Can you make it okay?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be okay. See you soon,” I whispered and hung up the phone.

  I finished packing up my stuff and wrote a note to Thad.

  Thad,

  I got this in the mail today. Try to understand why I needed to get away – from you, from this, from everything. I love you, but I just need time. Please don’t try to reach me.

  Shay

  I taped the note to the outside of the envelope and placed the envelope against the inside of my door as I left. He had a key and I knew he’d come to the apartment when I didn’t show up and he couldn’t reach me. He’d see it as soon as he opened the door. I winced as I thought about the damage he’d do to my apartment when he found it. I hoped my landlord was an understanding person.

  I turned off my phone, hailed a cab, and headed to the airport.

  ***************

  Thad:

  I wondered why she hadn’t called me back. I’d left three messages since she didn’t show up on site that morning. It wasn’t like her not to answer. I wondered if something had happened at the department. Maybe that asshole Chair was giving her a hard time. I just hoped she hadn’t started drinking.....

  Normally, I would’ve texted Grant, but I knew he’d just gotten to Scotland. I decided to wait until later and if I didn’t hear from her, I’d head over to her apartment to check on her.

  By 7:00 that night, I still hadn’t heard anything from her, so I went to her apartment and knocked softly. No answer. I was getting really worried by that point. I searched for the key to her apartment on my keychain and used it to open the door. Something knocked against it and slid as the door swung across the carpet. An envelope.

  I reached down and saw my name on a note attached to the outside. Those next moments are seared into my memory – like an etching on a gravestone.

  ***************

  “Oh, god no. NO!” I screamed as I flipped through the photographs. A quaking pain stabbed my heart when I got to the ultrasound at the end. Emotions ran through me and I gasped for breath, trying to control my thoughts and channel my anger. Think clearly. Think.

  My blood pressure was rising, the dull sounds of a heart beating wildly permeated through my temples. Rage. Rage. Rage.

  Gina did this. I would fucking kill her. Choke her. Watch the life leave her eyes. I could feel the furor beating against my chest, begging to be released. I wanted to hit something. I needed to hit something. Rage. Rage……..No. No. Breathe.

  I took another deep breath and tried to force rational thoughts. Where is Shay? Where would she go? Why wouldn’t she talk to me? Why wouldn’t she let me fucking explain before she ran off?

  Rage….. “Motherfucker!!!” I roared. I clenched my hands into fists and pulled frantically at my hair. I needed to talk to her. I had to try to explain. Wait, what would I say? How could I even explain it?

  I forced memories long repressed back to the surface. My mind went back to that time – one of the lowest points of my life. Drugs. We’d done drugs earlier that night – cocaine. It was the only time I’ve ever done it, but Gina’s “friend” wanted us all to try it beforehand. I was already drunk. We’d lost the baby a little over a month before. I was still engaged to a woman I didn’t love. I didn’t give a shit anymore. About anything. Fuck if I knew Gina had set up a camera, though. Probably for a moment just like this. The anger burned again…

  Rage….Rage….No. Breathe. Fucking breathe!

  Those pictures….Oh god, Shay had been looking at those pictures! I felt the tears rolling down my face. She must’ve been devastated. How would I react if I’d seen pictures of her with two men? I would be livid – atomic bomb livid – and hurt beyond words. I couldn’t even fathom how she was feeling. Should I have told her this? Was she mad because I didn’t? This wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities of something I could predict, though. I didn’t know there was a camera. I prayed she wasn’t upset because I didn’t tell her…..

  Then, with a sudden understanding that alarmed me, I realized. I knew. I knew why she ran. It wasn’t that I didn’t tell her. She couldn’t face me. She couldn’t deal with me. My rage dissipated, only to turn to complete despair. Despondent. Broken. I knew I’d lost her and I had no idea how to get her back….or even if I ever could.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

&nbs
p; Shay:

  Nearly one month had passed and I was finally smiling again. My appetite had started to return and I was beginning to gain a little of my weight back. The dark circles under my eyes were beginning to fade.

  I hadn’t spoken to Thad since that morning – before I saw the photographs. He’d called a few times that day, but I deleted the messages without listening to them. He never called back. I didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing in the end, but it is what I asked for. He’d respected that, at least. I thought of him every single day, a thousand times a day. I’d stop in a little shop or go into a pub and I’d see something or think of something that reminded me of him. I noticed this week, though, that those thoughts didn’t make me cry like they did a few weeks ago. I was learning to smile again. When I thought of him now, I hoped he was okay. I hoped he was grinning. I still loved him with all of my heart.

  Grant and Ethan have been great. Grant wanted me to call Thad back and hear him out at least. He finally gave up trying to convince me, though, when he realized that I needed this time for myself.

  During that month in Edinburgh, I realized a lot about myself. For the first time in years, I started dealing with my abandonment and trust issues from the past. For the first time in years, I began to understand why I always ran away. For the first time in years, I realized that my emotional needs couldn’t be solved with a bottle of wine. For the first time in years, I actually started healing.

  Edinburgh is an amazingly beautiful city. I met all kinds of interesting and kind people there – strong people full of pride. Sometimes I’d walk the Royal Mile at night, just so I could see Edinburgh Castle shining at the top of the hill. I’d imagine I was living in the 1500s, looking up at the castle and wondering what it was like back then. The city helped me grow stronger.

  Grant, Ethan, and I often went to a local pub just off the Royal Mile. It wasn’t a touristy place; it was a hidden gem, an authentic pub full of local, regular patrons. We met many of the characters there and grew to love them as friends. One particular old man was there every night. His name was Ian. He was 75 years old and a retired shipbuilder. His wife had died seven years earlier, so he told us he hung out every night at the pub to be surrounded by friends. He was lonely.

  One late summer night, I stopped by the pub to grab one drink – just one – before heading back to Grant and Ethan’s place. Unlike bars in the U.S., I never felt awkward or scared going out by myself there. That night, Ian was sitting in his usual spot, laughing with a friend. He turned to face me, his red-gray bushy eyebrows dancing above his red-tinged nose.

  “Aye, Lass. How’re ye?”

  “I’m fine, Ian. How are you?”

  “Been bett’r, I s’pose. Today’s me annivers’ry.”

  My heart hurt for him. “Oh, Ian. I’m so sorry. I know you miss her.”

  “Aye, lass. I shor’ do…..ev’ra day. If I co’ have one wish, just one wish, lass, I’d wish fer one mor’ night……Just one mor’ night.” His eyes grew teary and he smiled a rueful smile full of crooked teeth.

  Then, he grabbed my hand and covered it with his own. His hands were worn, leathery, aged with life. “Go home t’ him, lass. Go home t’ him now. Dinnae waste anotha’ night….nae one mor’ night.”

  I’d never mentioned Thad to him, but he somehow knew. He’d seen it all along. It was always written on my heart, I guess. It always would be.

  I hugged him tightly. “You’re a wise man, Ian. Thank you – for everything.”

  He patted my arm. “G’bye, lass. Life is short. Be happy.”

  I flew back home the next day. Summer was ending. Classes would begin soon, as would my new job. I was ready to face my realities again. I was ready to face him.

  Chapter Thirty

  I entered my apartment with fear of what I was about to see. Would it be trashed? Holes in the wall? I held my breath and opened the door – only to see a pristine living room and kitchen area. It had clearly been cleaned and vacuumed, as well. A month’s worth of massive mail sat on my kitchen counter. Good lord, how much mail did I accumulate in a month? In my haste, I’d completely forgotten to arrange for someone to get my mail. There was a note lying beside the stack of mail with my name written on the outside. Thad’s writing. I knew he’d done all of this – picked up my mail for me, cleaned my apartment. The offending manila envelope was gone.

  With shaking hands, I picked up the letter and began to read:

  Smiles:

  I don’t know when you’ll read this letter, but I want to start out by saying I’m sorry and I love you with every breath I take. Sorry doesn’t seem enough anymore for what you’ve been through this time. You asked for space and I’m going to give it to you – even though all I want to do is jump on a plane right now and head to Scotland to beg you to come back. (See, I know you better than you think I do.....) Going all caveman isn’t what you needed, though, so I’ve stayed put – beating myself up, controlling my anger, and still loving you more than anything or anyone I’ve ever known.

  I’ve been taking an anger management class and going to counseling. My last anger management class is next week. I’ve learned techniques on dealing with my pent up rage. It’s been eye-opening and helpful. The counseling is helping, too. I’m finally talking about my feelings and my dad leaving.

  You deserve an explanation for what you saw in those pictures. I know you know who sent them. By now, I’m sure you’ve realized it happened long before I met you. I did file a restraining order against her with the police and turned everything over to them. For now, that’s seemed to work. I haven’t heard from her again, at least.

  I’ve thought over and over in my head how to explain what happened. I was so stupid. I didn’t know she’d set up a camera. I guess she thought she could use them against me someday – and she did. There is no limit to her malice. Maybe you don’t want to hear all of this, but I want to leave no secrets. No more surprises.

  That night was about five weeks after the miscarriage. I was already looking for a way out. Gina could tell I was pulling away. A few days before, she came to me and said she wanted to bring her friend, a woman she’d met at another conference, into our bed. I’m not going to lie, every man fantasizes about that, probably, and I’m no exception. I hesitated at first, but Gina said she really wanted it for “us”, to help us heal. I’m no martyr, for fuck’s sake, but she’d just lost a baby, too, so I finally agreed.

  Her friend came to our place and brought cocaine with her. She said it’d help loosen us up a little. Gina had done coke before; I haven’t done it before or since. That night, I’d already been drinking bourbon, so I was feeling the effects of that before her friend even got there. I gave in. I was drunk. Our baby was gone. I was with a woman I didn’t love. Honestly, I didn’t give a fuck about anything or anyone at that time. I’m glad you didn’t meet me then.

  After it was over, I felt empty and pissed off. Gina and I got in a huge fight because I made that woman leave. I couldn’t stand to look at either one of them. That was really the final straw with Gina. I broke it off soon after and she moved out. Then, I found the diary and learned her motives.

  So there’s the story. There is no ‘good’ explanation for what happened. That period was the one of the lowest points in my life, documented ruthlessly by a woman with no soul. And though I know that participating in the threesome wasn’t ‘wrong’, it’s not something I’m proud of, either. What I regret more than anything is that I put myself in a position where she could do this. She won again.

  I understand why you left. I know why you needed to. I know that you couldn’t face me and why. I’m sorry. I’ll never let my anger get out of control again.

  Shay, I can’t imagine how you felt looking at those images. I can’t even fathom how I’d feel or what I’d do if the situation was reversed. If you’ll let me, though, I promise you this: I’ll spend every waking moment of my life helping you forget.

  Come back to me.

  I love you.


  Pickup Grinner

  Tears streamed down my face as I read his words. They weren’t really sad tears, though. I wasn’t really sad or mad. I was actually at peace with everything, even though it still hurt to think about what happened. Mostly, my heart ached for the sight of him. My body yearned for his touch.

  I looked to the rest of the mail and there I saw them – manila envelopes addressed to me with Thad’s name written clearly in the return address. One envelope sent to my apartment every single day I was gone – nearly four weeks’ worth.

  They were numbered in the left-hand corner, so I began with “#1” and opened it. There was a beautiful photograph of us together one day at the job site. It was my favorite picture of us together. He was hugging my waist and we were both grinning. We looked so in love, so happy. Taped to the photograph was a note: “I told you that I would spend every waking moment helping you forget. This is the beginning. Step One: From this point forward, I want manila envelopes to remind you of something happy – a photograph of us in love, a photograph of something you love, a photograph of something beautiful. Every day.”

  Okay, I was completely bawling now, but they were very good tears. Happy tears. I smiled as I reached for the second envelope. It was a photograph of the ‘A Hand UP’ house – completely finished! It looked so beautiful! A pain scattered across my heart as I thought of all the people from the site I missed. I hoped they’d understand why I left. I read the note: “The house is finally finished. It looks so great, Shay. We couldn’t have done it without your help. Everyone misses you. Mom sends her love. She misses you, too.”

  I continued to go through and open the envelopes, revealing photographs of things we’d shared, photographs of places and things I loved, and photographs of people I loved. All with sweet notes attached. It was breathtaking. He knew exactly what I needed.

  Then I saw a card in the pile from a postmark I didn’t recognize. No longer fearful of the unknown, I opened it to read scrawled, unsteady writing: