by Cameron Lowe
Malcolm hesitated and slowed. By that point, their whole life was payments. What was one more on top of a growing dumpster fire? He turned. “Keep talking.”
“You give me fifty to start, then twenty-five every month after.”
Malcolm frowned and rubbed his chin with his thumb. “What kind of interest?”
Taylor shrugged. “It’s Christmas and Hunter vouched for you. You keep the money coming, no extra. You don’t, I crap on Hunter’s front seat and point a finger in your direction.”
“You’re serious?”
“About the crap? I mean… maybe, depending on how much coffee I’ve had.”
“No, the interest.”
“You aren’t going to make me draw up some paperwork or something on this, are you? It’s a hundred and fifty. Take it or leave it.”
Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck. Gwen was going to kill him for this, but it was for the kids. They needed a boost like this. “Let me grab the checkbook.”
Chapter 40
Gwen tried not to shout. She really did. They were in a hospital, after all, and she hated big emotional scenes in public. Even PDA sometimes made her uncomfortable in a crowd. But as she listened to Malcolm’s story about the bikes, she clenched her fists and felt the words boiling up through her throat.
“Are you nuts?” she shouted. Damn it.
It was late in the afternoon and Malcolm was just passing through on his way to his second job. Christmas Eve would be coming soon, and all she could think about even as she was yelling at her husband was the hair falling off the doll she’d gotten Roslyn from a dollar store. It had come out not all at once, but like a dog shedding its fur. By the time she wrapped it, Gwen realized the doll was completely bald. Glue hadn’t helped. Now it just looked patchy and sickly. A perfect representation of Gwendolyn herself.
“Look, I know it’s a bad time, but-”
“Bad time? Malcolm, even with you working extra hours, I don’t know if we can pay our rent. That’s not hyperbole. That’s a fact. We. Cannot. Afford. This.”
“It’s… we can maybe…”
And for Marley, a truck with wheels that didn’t aim quite true. She was also horrifyingly sure it was the same dollar store truck she’d bought for him last year. She could hear him screaming at her now. At least he’d have something good to eat at her parents’ house Christmas Eve and morning. That, he’d love.
“No. There are no more corners to cut. This is it. We are completely tapped out. Holy fucking shit, Malcolm. Did you not get the entire gist of what we were arguing about last night?”
Malcolm stumbled towards a chair. “But we had a thousand in the bank. We should be okay.”
It wasn’t the presents that mattered, but the continual, crushing disappointment in her children’s eyes about their meals, their hand-me-downs, their lives. They deserved so much better than this pitiable existence, stuck in their mother’s orbit of misery and shame and helplessness.
“With a rent check still out and a credit card payment that’ll be posted tomorrow!”
“Oh,” he whispered.
“Oh? That’s it? Oh?”
“I didn’t know. I thought… you know, we were both being dramatic, and…”
“You didn’t know? You didn’t know that times were tough and our kids are furious because we can’t afford anything better than endless fast food, spaghetti, and pizza your boss lets you scrape into a box? You’re not really this stupid, are you?” Gwen laughed into her hands, her fingernails digging deep into her cheeks. “Oh my God. I don’t know what to do.”
And Malcolm. Her sweet, silly husband who still tried to smile for her, who still tried to make her smile. Whose biggest crime was loving their children. And she was constantly, consistently dragging him down, cutting away at him with the bitterness she really felt towards herself. How much better would his life be without her? How would all their lives be better without her?
“I’ll talk to Dinah and Thea. Maybe… I can get paid an advance, or…”
“We ask my parents,” Gwen said, her voice thick.
“What? No. We agreed. We do this ourselves.”
“Baby, we don’t have the luxury to be proud anymore. We have to ask them.”
“What about my parents? We could talk to them first.”
“Your parents are stretched as thin as we are.”
“We’re not asking your parents,” Malcolm said, his voice near a shout. “We’ve gone this long without it. We’ll figure something out.”
“You’re right. We’ll figure something out. Maybe we’ll run into a leprechaun or we’ll find a winning lottery ticket or something. Jesus, Malcolm, stop being so blind!”
“Blind?”
“Yes, blind! You keep getting us into these idiotic jams and I can’t fucking be sick and deal with it. Taking care of you is ten times more work than taking care of the kids. ‘Oh, here’s a wall, I’m going to ram my head against it.’”
“Yeah. Keep calling me stupid. That’s… wow. Thanks, honey.”
“Well, if the shoe fits…”
Malcolm shook his head. “My fault.” He said it as a statement, not a question.
The door to the hospital room popped open, and a nurse poked her head in. “Hey, guys, we can hear you down the hallway. Um, please try to keep it down, okay?”
“Fine,” Gwen snapped at her, and the door closed hurriedly.
They stared at one another for a long, long time, until Malcolm looked away, ashamed. Gwen thought back to a long-ago argument they’d had about him going to work on time and taking it seriously. He’d looked so whipped then, she thought, but now he looked… broken. And with that, her anger vanished and was replaced by a caustic, deep self-loathing. Oh, no, what had she done? Why had she said all this?
“I’m sorry,” Malcolm said. His hands fell in front of his lap and his back had never seemed so stooped. He looked fifteen years older than he actually was in that moment. So much weight on their shoulders. On his. Gwen wanted to throw herself out the window.
“No,” she said finally. “I’m sorry. This is… drama aside, it really is all my fault.”
“No, Gwen…”
“It is, though, isn’t it? I’m the one that’s always sick. Always here. Think about how much gas money we’d save alone if you didn’t have to drag me here, what, every other week?” She laughed bitterly and it turned into a cough as if to prove her point. “And that’s not even touching the hospital bills.”
“We apply for more financial aid.”
“There is no more,” Gwen said. “We’ve accepted everything we can. I did the math today while you were at work. This whole argument, it’s pointless. I don’t think… the bikes matter. There was no way we were going to make rent next month regardless.” She blinked at him. “We can’t climb out of this one, honey.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He came to her, held her. All the energy left to Gwen disappeared. So tired. But the self-loathing disappeared too, replaced by…. warmth. Not a healthy warmth, not the warmth one would feel near a cozy fire, but a false one, the kind a person gave into just before succumbing to the cold.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she whispered back, her scratched and battered heart swelling. “I love you so much.”
“I…”
“Please. Just let me hear the words.”
“I love you.” He wrapped his arms around Gwen and kissed her. They stayed like that for a while, him staring at the window, thinking, her trembling with the effort of staying upright. “I want to stay with you, but I need to go.”
She nodded, smiling again. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away from her. Malcolm deserved peace. They all did. “Hey. Tell the kids… tell the kids I love them, okay?”
“I will. I’ll bring them by in the morning before work.”
“Okay,” she whispered, but she didn’t think she would see them. Because an idea had formed in her mind, an awful idea, and she thought of Hugh in that ba
thtub again.
I fucked up.
It’s all your fault.
This is the way the world works.
* * *
The idea floated around in the back of Malcolm’s mind since the tornados. A last resort, to be sure, but now was the time for last resorts. He brought up Calvin’s cell phone number carefully, trying not to cut himself on the cracked screen. The other man answered in three rings.
“Carmichael Athletics, this is Calvin.”
“Calvin. Hey. It’s Malcolm.”
“Oh hey. Been a while.”
“Yeah,” Malcolm said uncomfortably. “Um. Listen. I…”
“Yes?” Calvin asked.
“I don’t know how else to say this. Gwen and I are in trouble. I’m coming to you hoping that you can help me change that. I don’t want a handout,” he added hastily. “I heard from Tristan you hired him for a warehouse job. I was hoping…” He cleared his throat. “I was hoping I could get my foot in the door for an interview.”
There was silence, then a long sigh. “How bad?”
“Pretty damn bad.”
Another pause, then, “Where are you?”
“Memorial. Gwen’s in the hospital. Pneumonia.”
“Hell. Sorry to hear that. All right. Meet me at my office.” Calvin rattled off an address.
“I don’t have my resume printed and I’m wearing my uniform from my shift.”
“Do you care? Because I don’t.”
Malcolm closed his eyes and breathed easier. “Thank you.”
“Haven’t agreed to anything yet. Come meet me.”
* * *
If Calvin Carmichael was at all a vengeful man, now would be the time to twist the knife into Malcolm’s guts. Malcolm lowered himself into the chair across from him, unsure what to do with his hands. As Calvin finished something on his laptop, frowning at whatever correspondence he was conducting, Malcolm took the time to study him. The vice president of his father’s company, Calvin now wore his suit effortlessly, as though it had been tailored for him. His entire office spoke of money, though there was an understatement to it. His desk was gorgeous and well-polished, but also nicked and used. The prints hanging on the walls were pleasing to the eye and not just pretentious bits of nonsense. The chair he sat in was deep and comfortable.
The years had been kinder to Calvin than Malcolm. He’d put on about twenty pounds but it neither seemed like fat or muscle, just a general thickness of a man approaching middle-aged. His hair was now closely-cropped and the gray kept to his temples. It was strange to look at him and see both the boyish young man Malcolm once knew and the man he’d become.
On his desk was a cube-like picture frame with small photos inserted on each side. Malcolm reached across and picked it up. Featured in most of them was a beautiful blonde woman, big-boned, big eyes, big smile. In some they were joined by two laughing children, both sharing their mother’s fair hair and their father’s handsome looks.
“I didn’t realize you had kids,” Malcolm said.
Calvin glanced at him. His face softened but he didn’t quite smile. “Linus and Arthur. My world. And my wife, Nadine.”
“She’s beautiful.”
Now Calvin did smile. “Yes. We met when I lived in Germany. She’s Norwegian, actually. I was on a bit of a sightseeing tour, and ran into her on a ski slope. Very literally. Accidentally broke her ankle.” Calvin chuckled at the memory. “I felt so terrible I caught a ride to the hospital to see her. Once she was done yelling at me in about four different languages, I asked her to have a cup of coffee with me.”
“That’s one of the nicest meet-cutes I’ve ever heard.”
“It really was something out of one of those Hallmark Christmas movies. I was worried, because she was my rebound after Gwen. I didn’t know if I was ready, but with her…” Calvin’s smile turned wistful. “What Gwen and I had together in high school and in college, well… we went from fire to embers. There was no time to get warm there. With Nadine, there’s passion, yes, but we are more like partners than impassioned teenagers, and that works for us.”
Malcolm nodded and let him get back to work. Calvin took another five minutes, sighed, and closed the laptop. The two men contemplated each other for a long moment, Calvin’s fingers flexing against one another in a loose vee. Finally he said, “Tell me everything.”
It took over a half hour. Malcolm talked dully about Gwen’s health issues, her trouble holding down steady work and his increasing need to find something with better pay and steadier hours, and the various needs that had assailed them now for over a decade and change. Through it all, Calvin’s face was impassive, a stone. He could have just as easily been listening to the weather update. Malcolm slowly began to wind down, ending the story with a vague reworking of the events leading to Gwen’s latest hospital stay, keeping their fight out of it.
“I think the stress has finally started to really work its way into her,” Malcolm said. “Me too, if I’m being honest. I need better work, Calvin. I love my boss at Furio’s, but I’ve hit the upper limit on where I can go with it.”
“When I knew you, you weren’t exactly the most reliable person on a job.”
“I know. But I promise you, times have changed. I can give you the owner’s number. Dinah will back this up. I’ve been there every hour I could for well over a decade except when Gwen needed me.”
Malcolm started to dig out his cell phone, but Calvin held up a hand. “It’s all right. I believe you.”
“Thank you. I know you don’t have to sit there and listen to me about this. And I couldn’t blame you if you tossed me out of here. I’m sorry we hurt you. You were a good friend. A great one. And I feel like I kicked sand in your face, just… on a much bigger scale.”
Calvin folded his hands again. “No. Don’t apologize for that.”
“What?”
“Gwen said she never cheated on me with you. Not even to kiss you.”
“That’s true.”
Calvin nodded. “We were drifting apart by the time you entered the picture. In retrospect, that’s easy to see. We were fighting to keep together something that just naturally wanted to split. You two, you seemed to always be fighting coming together. All because you were too decent to hurt me, either one of you.” He gestured at the cube, now back on the desk. “In a way, I’m grateful to you both. Nadine taught me something important, the difference between loving the self and truly loving someone else. When I was with Gwen, I loved myself. I wanted a perfect relationship. I tried to fit her into molds I’d already created in my mind. But when you love someone, it’s both your molds that change. You don’t get a choice in the matter. I didn’t have to try and change myself for Nadine, or her for me. We changed each other, whether we wanted to or not. You and Gwen, from what little I saw of you, you did that for each other too.”
Malcolm swallowed. “Yes.”
“So tell me why I hire you.”
“Well, like you saw during the tornado relief, I’m a hard worker. I learn fast. I adapt. I-”
“Not the cookie cutter job interview bullshit. I mean, you.”
Malcolm thought about that for a long while. “All right. I work menial labor for you to start. Whatever shit jobs you’ve got, let me prove myself. Maybe you decide I’m nothing but an entry-level employee, maybe not. Based on my early resume I couldn’t blame you. But if you let me show you what I’m capable of and you give me the time to learn the right way, I’ll be one of the best managers you’ve got. I know people. I know how to play politics a bit, and maybe most importantly, I know when to bend and when to stay firm. If you need someone like that in middle management and you give me a shot when I understand the day-to-day stuff and I’ve earned it, I promise you, you’ll never regret hiring-” His cell phone rang and he grimaced. “I’m sorry, I kept it on in case it’s the hospital or my kids or…”
“Go,” Calvin said. “Take all the time you need.”
Malcolm stood up, irritated and wanting to crus
h the phone in his hand. He headed for the hallway.
“Hello?”
Chapter 41
Now
Malcolm couldn’t believe the church lights were on, or the door was unlocked, and he certainly wasn’t prepared for the sight of his wife seated in a pew, her head bowed so low she nearly was brushing the one in front of her. Her hair had dried some, but it still came down in wet-looking brambles, and she shuddered with every breath she took.
“Gwen,” he said, and though the word was quiet, unbelieving, it carried across the empty church, seeming to echo.
* * *
He settled in beside her, his hand tentatively seeking out hers. She took it with cold, blotched fingers swollen from exposure. He brought her hand to his lips, kissed it, and held it there for minutes, hours, days. He didn’t know. He didn’t care.
Finally, Malcolm said, “Do you remember the time Dewey dunked on us?”
Gwen closed her eyes and coughed. “I was thinking of that earlier.” Her voice was hoarse and brutally ragged. Every inch of her skin was bruised in purples, whites, and angry reds. Most frightening were her blue lips and a matching shade in the tips of her fingers.
“I wonder what he’s up to.”
“Probably singing. Badly.”
Malcolm’s laugh was short, and hung with weight. A long pause. Then, “It was nice. Seeing the old place again.”
“I miss it,” Gwen whispered.
“Me too.”
She coughed again, a high, piercing sound that ended in a shudder and a whimper. When she’d recovered, she finally looked at him, her beautiful dark eyes quavering. “You’ve got blood on your chin.”
“I know. Long story. Doesn’t matter.”
“It all matters when you owe someone this much.”
“Gwen…”
“No. Don’t try to take the guilt away from me.”
“You’re not the only one guilty in this relationship.”
She returned her attention to the altar. “Right.”
“The bikes. That time I bought the ukulele.”