Learning Lessons: A Losing His Wife Novel

by KT Morrison

  She finished, put the mug in the sink, she’d deal with it in the morning. She pat Sargent, guided him to his dog bed, then she tried to make her way up the stairs as quietly as she could. She got to the landing and stood frozen, alone in the dark in an almost square hall with four doors in it. There were two doors here that led to two very different lives. It would be very easy to slip into that other bedroom. The one she shouldn’t even think of entering, the one right across from her baby boys.

  She opened the door to the guest room, stood and watched Tyler sleep for a moment. He was laying on his stomach, his head turned to the side, away from her, but she could see that strong profile against his white pillow. His arms were up above him, thick and muscular, dark ink drawn on them, bent, his big hands up on either side of his head.

  She couldn’t wait to be with him again, but they’d have to get through the holiday first.

  22

  Pilgrims

  Tuesday, November 22nd

  The lights in the gymnasium were off. She didn’t have it dark, there were a few hurricane lamps on, sitting on cardboard boxes that had been papered up to look like cargo crates.

  Jess was sitting on the edge of the stage that lined the one wall of the room that served as an auditorium and the place where they played basketball, did gymnastics... Normally this place was filled up with the springing sound of hollow rubber balls and kids yelling, the echoes of their voices making the place fill up with an almost indecipherable buzz of kinetic kid energy. Right now she had the place dead quiet and all eyes were on her. She was dressed as well as she could as a Pilgrim and she was trying to give every one the best idea she could about what the experience must have been like for those people traveling the ocean unsure of what they were coming to, cramped onto a creaky old cargo ship with a bunch of sailors who didn’t like them. She had a long black skirt and shoes, her black cardigan, and her hair was tied back in a tight bun under a Pilgrim’s coif.

  The kids were sitting cross-legged on gym mats laid out on the parquet floor below her. Not just her own class, but two classes of second-graders and two classes of third-graders. The teachers had them close together trying to give them an idea of what it might be like in those close quarters.

  Jess continued, “There were mostly farmers and shopkeepers on board, weavers and servants. Some people came as families and some men were on their own. Some were out of work in England and looking for a new life, some were just looking for adventure.” She paused for effect, looked around to make sure she still had their attention, said, “Thirty-five of them were Pilgrims...”

  She hopped down off the stage, left her microphone for Carol who was entering stage left, ready to tell them about who the Pilgrims were. Jess disappeared quietly behind the boxes on the right and made her way to the back wall, leaned herself against it next to Sara. They both watched Carol work her way stiffly through the Pilgrims’ story.

  Sara had her head back, leaned against the cinderblock wall, watching through sleepy eyes. She said, “Your dad going to make it?”

  Jess whispered, “Yeah, he’s coming tomorrow, I’m picking him up at the airport.” She kept her eyes ahead, Carol was reading from her script, a white blue-lined sheet in her trembling hand. “You’re driving out to Battle Creek?”

  “Nah. I canceled.”

  “Oh, no. Why?”

  “Can’t do the family thing right now. Not in the spirit. Too many questions I can’t answer.”

  Jess chuckled, nodded. “I hear you. What are you going to do?”

  “Just me and my little man.”

  Jess waved her hand around between their thighs, searching for Sara’s and she found it, put her fingers through hers. “Please, come for dinner. Please, come have Thanksgiving with us,” she said, looking up at her friend.

  Sara kept watching Carol, smiled, said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

  23

  Grampa

  Wednesday, November 23rd

  They’d come in off the people-mover from the parking garage an hour before her dad’s plane was arriving and Tyler wanted to have lunch. He’d driven and it gave Jess a thrill to see this big muscular guy in the driver’s seat of the minivan; like he was a dad. Her husband. It was like that day driving out to the water park, this crazy thrill, like she was playing house.

  They ate at Johnny Mercury, a retro fifties diner in the airport. Tyler put back a Smokehouse Double Burger and a Drunken Milkshake. Jess just had a Coke and picked at his fries while she watched him eat. Kid could eat. He needed fuel for that body though, and he wasn’t driving some Hyundai.

  She had rubbed his hand while they waited for the bill and she asked him what he was like at school.

  He seemed to bristle and she said, “You know what I mean, what was it like being a big jock in college?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Oh, not that,” she’d said. “I don’t care about that. I mean, not really. I just wondered what...I just want to know more about you.”

  “Well, it wasn’t that long ago. I was like this,” he said and waved his hands over himself for her, smiling and showing her the goods.

  He was right. Wow, he was right—it was just three years ago.

  “What were you like at school?” he leaned forward, raised a curious eyebrow for her.

  “What do you think?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, finally said, “Studious.”

  “A nerd?”

  “No. Fun. But did well. Good marks.”

  “Mm,” she’d hummed. “Yeah, that’s pretty close.”

  “What do you think I was like?”

  She’d smiled. “I don’t even want to say.”

  “Yeah, pretty close,” he’d laughed.

  Jess paid the tab, left the tip, and now they were walking through the long modern arched concourse of the renamed John Glen Columbus Airport, looking for arrivals out of Southwest Airlines, her dad flying in from Phoenix.

  They were walking side-by-side through the packed Thanksgiving foot traffic and Tyler looked at her, held his hand out for her to hold it.

  She put her hand out, let her small little digits wrap around his thick palm, her thumb hook around the other side, she squeezed him tightly like she didn’t want to lose him in this crowd. He smiled and she sighed and they walked on and she felt so good.

  How had she let it come to this? How had her marriage loosened its belt so much that its pants were going to fall right down? She was walking with a man that wasn’t her husband, holding hands like they were in love. They’d had sex—powerful, earth-shattering sex—many, many times. He lived with them. She wasn’t going to let him leave. She was going to introduce him to her dad. As what? Her friend, she guessed.

  She’d left Pete at home. Knew he would suffer. She had a butterfly thrill right now thinking of him at home worried about all the things she and Tyler might get up to. Worried that he was submitting to Tyler and exposing his weakness to her masculine father.

  She didn’t know why his pain tickled her. It was like she was hurting him for something he’d done to her. Retribution. And like that made it okay for her to do the fun and dirty things she wanted to do especially since he wanted her to hurt him. Their relationship had become a twisted painful infinity symbol.

  They arrived at the glass wall where her father’s flight would be disembarking. There were dozens of people already there, dotted along the glass a few deep. There was a sliding glass door off to the right where other flights had already started to let passengers out.

  “You nervous?”

  “Excited,” she said, beaming.

  “You love your daddy?”

  “Do you think I was a daddy’s girl?”

  He snickered, put his arm around her and pulled her close to him, looking down into her eyes, said, “Yeah, I can see it. You were definitely a daddy’s girl.”

  She shied away, giggling.

  “Maybe,” she said, hearing the little girl coming out in her o
wn voice; not liking it but also somehow liking it.

  “You still are a daddy’s girl, aren’t you?” he laughed and he put his hands under her open coat and squeezed her sides, and she said, Stop, but she didn’t want him to.

  They were face to face, she looked up into his beautiful blue eyes and she couldn’t help biting her lip. She kissed him, softly and quickly. He pulled her back, kissed her and held the back of her neck.

  “Mm, Tyler,” she sighed and she wrapped her arms around his thick neck, laid her head on his chest.

  “Here’s people now,” Tyler said, and she looked past the long glass wall, could see passengers coming out of TSA into the arrivals section, headed for the baggage carousel.

  She stood on her toes to see over the people in front of her, looking to catch a glimpse of her dad.

  “What does he look like?” Tyler said.

  “White hair, tan. Distinguished.”

  They both scanned the passengers as they slowly filed into the baggage claim.

  “What does your dad think of Pete?”

  She shrugged, looked down at her loafers, tapped the toes on the tiled concourse floor. “He doesn’t hate him.”

  “He knows you could have done better.”

  She slapped his chest, chastised him, “Tyler,” she said.

  There was a woman watching them flirt. Well-dressed, middle-aged with dark hair, looking over her shoulder at Jess and Tyler—she looked Jess up and down, smiled and nodded to her. Jess reached down and held Tyler’s hand again.

  “What’s he do?”

  She said, “Retired. Engineer. He stopped working five years ago. Lotta, lotta golf these days.”

  She squeezed Tyler’s hand when she saw her dad. “There he is,” she said.

  Her dad had come into the claim area, just a bit taller than most of the other guys. Looking good, real good at sixty. He had a black polo shirt on, he was more tan than ever, his hair thick and pure white, parted to the side. She bounced and waved her arm to him over the crowd but he couldn’t notice her.

  “Come on,” she said to Tyler, squeezing his hand and trying to pull him through the crowd, pull him closer to where the sliding glass doors were opened. Tyler got ahead of her, made way for her, parting the crowd with one hand, people clearing away without protest for a man of his size and strength. She drummed her palms on his back with excitement and gratitude that he was getting her through.

  “There he is, there he is,” she bubbled.

  Her dad was coming through the doors, his eyes scanning the crowd looking for her, and she hopped around Tyler and threw her arms around him.

  “Daddy!” she cried and she squeezed him tight, one leg kicking up.

  “Hey, lollipop,” he laughed, putting his hands on her waist.

  She hugged and hugged until he said, “Okay, sunshine, pop’s got a sore neck.”

  She let him go, said, “Is it okay?”

  “Yeah, Jessy, just hurts when I look left and when my little girl tries to strangle me. Who’s this guy?”

  She turned and Tyler was right behind her, up close, looking to shake her dad’s hand.

  “This is my friend I told you about that’s staying with us. This is Tyler. Tyler, this is my dad, Conrad.”

  “Oh, hey, yeah right, good to meet you,” he said, shaking Tyler’s hand, giving him a good dose of eye contact. “I didn’t know he was so young.”

  “Where’s Grampa staying?” Pete Jr. said.

  Pete was up on a step stool, awkwardly holding out the wand from the Dyson, vacuuming along the top of the curtain rod in the Dining room. He heard him but his brain was late making sense of it. He said, “Huh?” but started to answer. “He—”

  “Where’s Grampa staying?” Petey said again.

  Pete stepped down off the stool and shut the vacuum off. “He’s staying at a hotel, Petey.”

  “Oh,” he said, looking down, obviously disappointed.

  Sorry, kid, he thought, your mom’s boyfriend’s taking up the only spare bedroom in the house. He booked Conrad a room just about two minutes down the road, prepaid for it. He’d lend him his Buick too, to get back and forth over the next few days.

  Petey was helping, looking out for Andy and walking around with a cloth and a spray cleaner wiping at things like his mother would do. Pete ruffled his hair, said, “Don’t worry, Petey, he’ll be here all the time, he’ll just drive down the road to sleep. You won’t see him any less.”

  Petey took Andy and his cleaning stuff into the kitchen, getting himself to work in there, and Pete watched him a moment.

  He smiled. He had some exciting news.

  Right now, however, his twisted little soul was surfing on a big wave of emotional pain, a thirty-foot Pipeline, its slippery feet carving on the crest while sickly sweet but humourless dread ruffled what was left of its hair. His face fell just thinking about it. He shuddered. Jess right now was off with Tyler. Picking up her dad just like she’d told him when she was stroking him in bed. His face tightened like he would cry. What would she be doing? Kissing him, holding his hand, her and her dad, and Tyler all laughing in the van. Maybe laughing at Pete. Conrad would like Tyler, wouldn’t he? He looked like the kind of man that should be with the apple of his eye.

  “Hoo boy,” he whispered, and he turned the vacuum on, got back to work.

  He had another little worry to contend with. What happened the other night in bed. Those things Jess had said to twist him hadn’t left his mind. They’d stuck with him. Those were awful things she’d said, she was getting very good at tuning in to his hurt. Those things seemed different in the light of day when he heard them again echoing in his mind in the morning and his cock wasn’t hard.

  As much as he was thrilled by the suffering she was giving him—even right now his heart was clamped tightly in his chest with worry, barely enough room to stretch a full beat, but in his belly there was an odd arousal—he was hopeful that his exciting news might bring an end to this. Give him some sweet relief. He wasn’t sure how much more of this game he could stand.

  24

  Thanksgiving

  Thursday, November 24th

  “Oh my gosh,” Jess said, “sshhh, let me get my camera.”

  She’d gone in to ask her dad and Tyler how many burgers they wanted. Tyler and Conrad and her boys were in the family room, preparing for what was going to be an epic day of Thanksgiving football. Conrad was in Pete’s chair, turned to face the TV, Petey was sitting on the floor on a cushion next to his Grampa. Tyler was laying on the couch, feet up, and he’d fallen asleep. It was a half hour before the game started and he’d drifted off during the pre-game show. He had one arm up, his hand behind the cushion his head was on, his other arm was wrapped around Andy who’d fallen asleep as well, laying along Tyler’s body. It was out-of-this-world cute. She could almost tear up. Andy’s innocent face laying across Tyler’s chest, his sweet eyes lightly closed, his gentle brow relaxed and peaceful, his little pouty lips slightly parted. The funny thing? What made it picture-worthy: Tyler’s face held the exact same expression. They looked related.

  She tip-toed into the kitchen, even though they had fallen asleep in front of the loud television and her steps wouldn’t be heard over it—she just didn’t want them to wake up before she got a chance to capture this. She went to the kitchen grabbed her iPhone off the counter next to the cutting board where she’d been preparing her stuffing. She was walking through, swiping at the screen to get to the camera when she saw Pete coming down the hall in his apron, holding a spatula. He shrugged at her, expectant. He was waiting to hear how many burgers to put on the grill.

  “How many?” he said.

  “Hold on,” she whispered. She pursed her lips and gave him a silent shush, held up her index finger to tell him to wait.

  She padded down to the family room and moved the phone around so she could get a good composition while her father watched her. She moved it lengthwise, it was funnier when you got the scale in perspective, how
big Tyler was. She pressed the red button three or four times.

  She felt good she got it, stood there smiling, watching her little baby fast asleep on Tyler. Her dad was watching her, and it made her feel a little self-conscious. It wasn’t bad what she was doing, was it? That’s her son, and it was so adorable the way they were laying. She could feel her dad watching and now she didn’t want to look over at him. It had to be bad she realized. When she had the camera up she remembered thinking how she didn’t want Pete to have followed her in and catch her doing that.

  She should want that though—Pete would think that hurt was exquisite. Didn’t she want him to hurt, want him to see these things? Or were they becoming too personal now, private between her and Tyler? She was lost in a hedge maze sometimes, not sure where she’d been or where she was going, all the shrubs, the walls, they looked the same sometimes and she was just truly, truly lost.

  She held her palm against Andy’s cheek and watched his eyelids flutter, watched her little boy come awake.

  “Wake up, sleepy,” she said.

  Andy opened his eyes and then closed them, drifted off again. She laughed.

  She grabbed Tyler’s big toe through his sock and shook his foot, said, “Hey, sleepy number two. How many burgers do you want?”

  Tyler was just as slow to wake up. His eyes fluttered, slowly parted and there were his bright blues looking up at her—he didn’t know where he was. He looked around and groaned, contentedly, looked at the football on the TV.

  “Game hasn’t started?” he said, his mouth so sleepy he garbled his words.

  Jess said, “I don’t think so, it’s just noon.”