Indulgence

by Liz Crowe

  I’d always had this need to do something great, to have an impact on the world and to leave it a better place. That need started the day I was born when the doctor told my parents that I was special, that he could see it in my eyes. Of course, as it had taken my parents fifteen years to conceive me, their only child, they already knew that. But those words took hold in their minds and they constantly reminded me of how special I was. Though I never felt important or significant, they encouraged me to keep looking for that one thing that would make me truly happy, my life’s calling. Dad died six years ago from a heart attack and mom followed three weeks later with a broken heart, but their words still haunted me.

  But I couldn’t possibly tell the doctor I thought I was having a midlife crisis. Combined with all of the symptoms she apparently thought I was making up, I was sure she’d think I was crazy. Plus, Matt had to be the first person to know what was really going on with me, not her. He had been the one dealing with my sleepless nights, extreme body temperatures and volatile moods, and he deserved to know before anyone else. But I had to tell the doc something and I suddenly knew just the thing. It had to be in my file and was likely the source of her suspicions.

  “Well, there is something,” I finally said.

  Doctor McNally patiently waited.

  “Matt and I haven’t been able to have a baby. We’ve been trying since we got married seven years ago. We’ve seen plenty of doctors. They say the problem is with me but they can’t pinpoint what it is.”

  “Have you talked to anyone about this? About how you are feeling?”

  “You mean besides all of the fertility doctors?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “No, I haven’t,” I said tersely.

  “Well maybe…”

  “Maybe what?” I stood up. I had a hunch what Doctor McNally was about to say and I didn’t want to hear it. Another doctor had suggested it years ago; I didn’t like the idea then and I wasn’t going to like it now.

  “Maybe you should see a psychiatrist.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well – it’s possible that the stress from not being able to have a baby has been causing the symptoms you think you’ve been having.”

  “The symptoms I think I’ve been having?” Tears welled up in my eyes and then spilled over. “Listen, Doctor,” I hissed, “I am not making this up. My symptoms are real. Just because you can’t figure out what’s causing them doesn’t make them less real, and I’m not going to go see some quack that will want to psychoanalyze every aspect of my life. Thanks for nothing!”

  I grabbed my purse and stomped out of the office and down the hallway. As I used my sweatshirt sleeve to dry my tears, I nearly ran headfirst into a nurse.

  “Whoa, are you okay?” the nurse asked. She grabbed me by the shoulders to prevent the collision and a warm vibe flowed over my body. Her skin was pale and creamy, her hair was thick waves of shiny red curls and her eyes were dark lavender with peculiar yellow flecks.

  “Oh, excuse me,” I muttered. I searched for her name badge but it was hidden under her shoulder-length hair. “I’m, um, sorry.”

  “It’s not a problem.” She released me and the sensation left my body. I watched her as she walked away. Her gait was graceful and smooth, quite mesmerizing, and before I knew it, she was out of sight like she was never there at all.

  I slammed the door to my Jeep and banged the palms of my hands against the steering wheel. Tears streamed down my face. “Why, God? Why are you doing this to me?” I moaned. I dropped my head to the steering wheel and sobbed.

  “Why do I have these symptoms?” I yelled. “And why can’t the doctors figure this all out?”

  A pang of heat gurgled in my stomach. I moved my hands from the steering wheel and clutched my midsection. This was yet another undiagnosed symptom that had haunted me. The burning wasn’t always there; it seemed to come and go whenever it liked. There was only one thing that made it go away – my dream.

  My dream had been my only source of comfort over the past months. I treasured it, looked forward to it. The garden felt like home to me, so familiar even though I had never physically been there. I didn’t even know where such a paradise would exist. I’d been to many tropical locales, but this jungle, this garden, this paradise far exceeded the beauty of those places. I found myself wishing – hoping – I would dream every night. I looked forward to what the next dream would reveal, how my paradise could become more perfect. Mostly, I anticipated the feeling the dream bestowed on me after I woke. Upon waking I always felt a sense of peace and tranquility and, oddly enough, a sense of belonging. I was a new, content woman with a fresh attitude, my foul outlook gone. I yearned for that serenity for as long as I could hold onto it. Unfortunately, the peacefulness wore off throughout the day, much like a perfume. I had often thought that if I were able to dream of this magical place every night, I would snap out of the unpleasant state of mind I had been in for the past six months. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t force it. The dream visited on its own terms.

  A knock on the driver’s side window startled me. I lifted my head from the steering wheel to find a stranger staring at me. He was a young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, with slicked dirty blond hair, a pointy nose and beady eyes that were as blue as the ocean was deep. He had rudely propped his elbow against the window and was intently peering in at me. His white t-shirt was crisp and he wore a black leather jacket.

  “Allison Carmichael?” the voice hissed. I wasn’t sure if he was asking a question or making an accusation.

  I dabbed my face with a tissue and turned on the car so I could roll down the window just a touch – no need to give this stranger any more room than that. “Who’s asking?” I instinctively ensured all the doors were locked.

  The stranger stuck his nose in the air and took a deep breath. He rolled his head over his shoulders as if enjoying whatever it was he smelled. I glanced around to see where his car was, or if anyone was with him, but I couldn’t spot either. There were several cars in the parking lot and any one of them could have been his. I inhaled, trying to determine what scent he relished so much, but I couldn’t detect anything.

  “The name is Caz,” he said with a southern twang. He settled his eyes on mine. “Caz Devoe.”

  “Well Caz, what do you want?” I asked.

  “I think ya dropped something.” Caz pulled his hand from his side and waved what appeared to be my cell phone. He slid his thumb over the back of the device, as if separating a deck of cards. “Says right here on the medical insurance card, ‘Allison Carmichael.’ Both were layin’ right outside your vehicle. I’m assumin’ they’re yours.”

  I paused before answering and looked over to the passenger seat where I had flung my purse. It was unzipped. I rummaged through it and sure enough, no phone, no insurance card. I thought back to how quickly I had stormed out of the doctor’s office and supposed it was possible both could have fallen out of my bag.

  “Uh,” I stammered. Caz held my belongings out to me on the other side of the window. “Um, thanks,” I choked out as I pressed the button to lower the window a bit more. I grabbed the items and examined them. There it was – my name on the medical card. I flipped open the phone and found the wallpaper picture of Matt and me. I couldn’t believe I could have been so careless. I pressed the button and started to roll up the window.

  “What, no thank you handshake?” Caz asked just before the window closed.

  I lifted my finger from the button and looked at him. I didn’t want to shake his hand. He was a stranger and I didn’t like the vibe he gave me; he seemed to be up to something more than what he was letting on.

  “Sort of rude after I just returned your belongings, don’t ya think?” Caz asked.

  I sighed and peered at him. After a few moments, I reluctantly lowered the window, just wide enough to get my hand and wrist through, hoping this would be the end of our meeting. Caz grabbed my hand and a jolt ran through my body. I felt all tingly, li
ke I had stuck a wet finger in an electric socket. The sensation intensified the longer we touched. I tried to pull my hand back but Caz cupped it with his other hand. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. It wasn’t apparent if he was feeling what I felt. He seemed to enjoy the moment. My attempts to free my hand were futile as his strength held my arm perfectly straight.

  “Mister,” I snarled. “What’s your problem? Let go of my hand.”

  Caz opened his eyes and I gasped. His sapphire eyes were rimmed in red and his breathing thinned. He stared at me as if he were in a trance.

  “What’s wrong with you?” My voice quivered with fear.

  He snapped out of his spell and released my hand. The sensation left as quickly as it had come. He leaned his narrow face into my half open window. “Don’t let anybody tell ya that you aren’t special.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed, taken back by his word choice. I didn’t like how the word “special” slithered off his tongue.

  “What are you talking about?” I opened my eyes, but apparently asked the question to myself. Caz was gone. I checked my side mirror but didn’t see him. There was no trace of him as I glanced out of the windshield. I twisted in my seat and looked out the rear window but there was nothing. Nobody was walking through the parking lot, no cars were moving. He was gone.

  The highway sign announced Buzzard Hill was five miles away, which gave me a few more minutes to think about how I was going to tell Matt about my revelation. It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about it for the other twenty miles since leaving the doctor’s office. I really didn’t know how I was going to say it. The thought alone sounded ridiculous. But a midlife crisis had to be the source of my angst. There was no other reasonable explanation. Part of me wished I could say nothing and that the past six months would just disappear from our memories. But I knew that wouldn’t happen; there had been too many mood swings, too much depression, too much anger and despair to chalk it all up to nothing. I had to tell Matt.

  I rounded the corner onto my street and admired our home as I pulled into the driveway. It was a Tudor style on a five-acre lot. It wasn’t the largest or smallest in the development, but with 3,000 square feet and four bedrooms, it was bigger than we needed. The front of the house was covered in cream stucco outlined in chocolate brown wood, and the lot was decorated with several islands filled with large oak and maple trees.

  My eyes slid to the back of our property as I parked the Jeep. Nature surrounded the entire property, including some deep woods behind the house, which often made me feel uneasy. Tall pines and aged oaks stretched for miles, the foliage so thick you could hide an army in there and no one would notice. I sometimes thought someone was tucked in there watching me, but that was just my silly imagination running wild, the result of a sheltered childhood and an overprotective husband always telling me to look over my shoulder. Even now as I stood next to my car, I couldn’t tear my eyes from the trees. The foliage swayed as if someone had just run into the woods. But that was impossible; no one was here and even if someone were, I would have seen him. Still, it was unsettling, as the air was dead calm, so a breeze couldn’t be blamed.

  I glanced up at the sky and spotted buzzards floating amidst the infamous Cleveland gray. The buzzards were no strangers to this town and neither was the gray. Buzzard Hill was known worldwide as the place these scavengers returned to every year. The gray was almost as infamous; any visitor to Cleveland or 100 miles west, east or south of the Lake Erie shoreline was familiar with this phenomenon, the ever-present haze of gloominess, compliments of the weather that rolled in over the lake. I returned my eyes to the woods, still captivated by whatever my imagination thought was there.

  “Ali?” Matt called from the garage. “Ali, are you okay?”

  I forced my eyes from the trees. Matt leaned out of the door leading from the house into the garage. He wore a white tank, which nicely showcased his biceps, and pajama pants. A wave of apprehension rolled over me, as I knew what I was going to have to tell Matt. I might as well get it over with.

  “I’m fine,” I muttered as I shuffled into the garage and past the row of motorcycles and ATVs, one for each of us. Since we couldn’t have children, Matt and I bought toys. Matt’s passion was all things motor. I only tried these things because he wanted me to join him in something he truly enjoyed. I also hoped the activities would distract my mind and make the burning in my belly disappear. That didn’t happen.

  Matt pecked me on the cheek as he held the door open like a perfect gentleman. I walked through the hallway to the kitchen, placed my hands on the granite countertop and stared out the window at the fall foliage.

  “Does that mean Doctor McNally found out what’s wrong with you?” Matt asked, his voice hopeful. The poor guy had to have been praying for an answer as much as I had been -- if for nothing else than for my mood to improve so we could finally return to normal.

  “No,” I replied flatly. A pang of heat shot from my stomach to the back of my throat. I grabbed my stomach hoping for relief as my eyes winced with pain. The heat quickly subsided. Matt noticed nothing since my back was to him.

  “No?”

  “No.” I turned to face Matt, my eyes brimming with tears. “She’s just like all of the others, Matt. She said there was absolutely nothing wrong with me.” I broke down in tears. Matt rushed to me and threw his arms around my shoulders.

  “It’s okay,” he cooed as he rubbed my back. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay,” I sobbed. “She thought I was lying, she even said as much. She said my temperature was normal, my blood count was fine, my scans were clean, my weight was stable, blah, blah, blah. I just don’t understand. You believe me, don’t you? You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”

  “Of course I believe you, Ali. I’m the one lying next to you at night when you’re blazing hot. And I’ve seen your lack of appetite and felt how cold you are during the day. You’re not imagining anything.”

  I felt a little better. Someone believed me and who better than the man who lived with me and who had witnessed all of this firsthand. I gently shifted away from Matt and said, “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.”

  I stared into his hazel eyes. Looking into his eyes, even after seven years of marriage, still gave me butterflies.

  “Did she say anything else, Ali? Like where to go from here?”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “She asked if anything else was bothering me.”

  Matt stared back, waiting for me to continue.

  “She asked if anything major happened that might be the source of my…issues.”

  “And?”

  “So I told her about our fertility struggles.”

  “Oh, Ali.” Matt sighed and grabbed my hands. “My little Ali-gator, I thought you were good with all of that.”

  “I am, Matt. I realized years ago that a baby isn’t in the cards for us and have made peace with it.”

  “Then I’m confused.” Matt stepped back. “Why would you tell her that?”

  “Because I think I figured out what’s bothering me, and I thought you should be the first to know.”

  “Really? You think you know what’s wrong with you?”

  “Yeah, but if I tell you,” I hesitated, “do you promise not to laugh?”

  Matt’s facial expression relaxed a bit. I could only imagine what he thought was coming.

  “Of course,” he responded.

  A long pause passed. Still searching for the words, I turned to look out the kitchen window, not daring to look Matt in the eyes.

  “Ali?”

  “I think I’m going through a midlife crisis,” I blurted out, blushing at the absurdity of such a statement. It sounded worse in the spoken word than it had in my mind. After all this time mulling over what I was going to say and how I was going to say it, I couldn’t believe that this was what came out of my mouth.

  I felt Matt staring at me so I turned my head towards him, tensed for
his reaction. When I finally looked at his face, I saw what utter shock must look like. His mouth hung open, his eyes were blank, and the color had receded from his cheeks. I couldn’t believe I had chosen my words so poorly!

  “No, no, no, not that kind of midlife crisis! I have no need for a younger boyfriend.” I should have seen this reaction coming when I had blurted out the stupid comment in the first place. It hadn’t been my intention to hurt Matt. My mood, what I was feeling, had nothing to do with him or our relationship.

  A smile spread across Matt’s lips when he heard my clarification. “I know what this is all about. You wanna buy that sports car you always wanted and are using this as an excuse, aren’t you?” That was my Matt, always up for buying another toy to add to our collection.

  I chuckled uncomfortably hoping Matt would take this seriously. “Well the Corvette would be very nice, but no, I’m not ready for it yet, and neither is the overstuffed garage. I’m in a midlife crisis over my career.”

  “Oh.” Matt paused. “That’s it?” He crinkled his nose.

  “That’s it? What do you mean that’s it?” I shouted. “Can’t you see I’m trying to tell you something important and you’re just going to stand there and make a joke of it?” This was one of those times when I could have really used my mother. She would sit and listen and when I was done complaining would have some wise advice to give me. She would know how to handle this situation and wouldn’t make light of it.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just when you first said midlife crisis this isn’t exactly what I expected.”

  Silence fell between us. I returned my eyes to the outdoor scenery. I wasn’t going to be the next to speak and Matt must have realized this.

  “So what’s up with your job?”

  I whirled around, ready for an argument, but Matt’s eyes about made my heart melt. He was so handsome – tall with dark brown hair and a complexion that tanned with minimal sun exposure. It was a stark contrast to my blonde hair and pale skin that agitated with the slightest bit of sun.