Christmas Eve, 2003
Cassie
I can’t move forward, and I can’t move back.
Grady has been gone for 54 days.
On the tiny Christmas tree in the corner the little white lights blink on and off. Blink-black. The kids are in bed, their small pile of gifts artfully stacked in a way that makes it look more abundant than it is. I can’t bring myself to read or watch Christmas movies or do anything else but sit here and stare at those damn lights. Blink-black. Blink-black.
As per our custody agreement, Grady will pick up the kids at noon tomorrow and have them at his house for four hours before he brings them back to me. His mom and brother have flown in from Delaware to spend the holiday with him, and it’s likely that Donna will be the one to knock on my door tomorrow. Dear, sweet Donna, the only real mother I’ve ever had. I’m sure she hates me for ruining our family, but if she knew, if she really knew what I went through, I think she might understand. Even though he’s her son, I think she just might.
I still love him. I will always love him, that’s the thing of it. I didn’t have his babies and pledge my life to him because he’s a man I can forget. And how does that work? Will I always feel a crushing in my chest every time I see him? Will my hands still shake when I hear his voice twenty years from now? Will I cry myself to sleep every night for the rest of my life, missing the warmth of him in my bed, the even sound of his breath, the safety of his presence?
On that last night he came back much earlier than he usually came home from the bar, and he was already three sheets to the wind. I realized he drove like that - shit-faced and with no regard for his life or anyone else’s - and I was filled with unspeakable rage. He didn’t seem the slightest bit sorry for it, either, and that both terrified and infuriated me. How many times had he driven like that before? Had he ever put our children at risk?
He missed Chloe’s piano recital, stayed at the bar, and then drove home wasted. Drunk men aren’t supposed to be able to perform, but obviously no one gave Grady the memo, because when he came up behind me I felt him hard against my backside. He wrapped his arms around me and rained hot kisses on my neck until I wanted to scream. I could not have been less aroused. If I could have physically killed him with my bare hands then and there, I would have.
“I can’t do this,” I said, but he didn’t hear me. His ice-cold hands slid into my shirt and he moaned against me.
“I’m glad you’re still up, babe,” he slurred. “Wanted you all night.”
He wanted me all night? When, exactly? Did he want me when I was waiting for him like a fool at Chloe’s recital, assuring Caden that Daddy was coming soon, when all the while he was knocking back beers and playing the guitar for his adoring fans? Did he want me when I was sitting at the restaurant afterward with two tearful children, trying not to worry that he was dead on the side of the road somewhere, while he was ignoring the time, ignoring everything but his selfish ego?
The rhythm of the blinking lights soothes me as much as the glass of wine I’ve allowed myself tonight. I’m as exhausted as I was that night. Blink-black. Blink-black. I want all the pain to just go away. I don’t have it in me to fight it anymore. I used my last bit of energy that night, when he turned to kiss me and I shoved him and told him to get the fuck away from me.
Shock spread across his face when I said that to him, because somehow it didn’t occur to him that missing the recital and dinner without so much as a phone call and then coming home wasted would put a damper on my mood. Somehow the man who tenderly took my virginity as a boy and held my hand when I delivered our babies and pledged his life to me with tears in his eyes was suddenly living on an entirely different planet from me.
That realization hurt worse than getting the kids ready for bed knowing he wouldn’t be home to tuck them in with me, worse than smelling alcohol on his breath when he climbed between the sheets at two or three or four in the morning and wondering if he’d been unfaithful to me. There was a cavernous divide between us that night, and it just been getting wider every night since. It ached, as if that cavern was gouged from my own flesh.
When I told him to get out, he looked at me like I’d slapped him, and the reality of his oblivion pissed me off all over again. He stared at me while I ordered him on borrowed breath to get out, take his shit with him, and not come back.
“I’ll explain what’s happening to the kids. I want full custody. You can visit them whenever you don’t have something more pressing to do down at Jake’s.” My voice had started to tremble, and I was afraid if I didn’t shut up I would be unhinged, vomiting words I could never take back. I didn’t want him to hate me. I didn’t want a fight, and I didn’t want to make up. I just wanted him gone.
And now he’s gone.
I knew that night that if I didn’t stay strong, we’d have been playing out that same scene for years to come. My anger, his apology, my tears, and then sex that felt good but fixed nothing.
I deserve more. The kids deserve more. I knew that then and I know it now, but knowing it doesn’t make it any easier to stare alone at this Christmas tree and wonder where I could’ve changed it. Did I have that power? If I’d asked him not to play, if I’d demanded he be with us on the weekends, if I’d moved back to Delaware when he asked me - would it have been different? Could it have worked?
Did I give up too easily?
Christmas Eve, Present Day
Cassie
I’ve spent every Christmas Eve since Grady left the same way. Some years have been easier than others, but I’ve had this tradition so long I don’t know how to abandon it. And I don’t know if I should, even if Grady is here with me and I’m not tamping down loneliness once again while the kids are fast asleep.
“I can’t go to sleep yet,” I whisper to Grady after we’ve managed some very quiet sex in the cramped bed of Donna’s guest room.
“Mmm?” His eyes are closed as he nuzzles into my hair, his thigh slung across my hip.
“I have this crazy thing that I do,” I confess. “It’s weird. But it helps me. It’s my Christmas present to myself every year, and I haven’t done it yet.”
His eyes pop open and he fixes his sleepy blue gaze on me. “What is it?”
“I count my blessings.” He doesn’t say anything, so I press on. “I make a list of all my blessings, big and small. All the things that I’m thankful for, right now. Some people do it for New Year’s, but I started mine at Christmas years ago, because—” My voice cracks a bit but I press on. “I needed it. After you left, that Christmas, I didn’t think I could go on.”
“Cass…”
“No, we have to be able to talk about it. If you weren’t the man who broke my heart eleven years ago and I had a boyfriend, some other guy…” At this he tenses and I squeeze his hand. “You know what I mean. I would have to explain this. There are things you don’t know about me now.”
“Did you explain this to Adam?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, because I never spent Christmas Eve with Adam.”
His mouth quirks up in the corners. “Good.”
“But see, an example of something you didn’t know about me.”
“Yeah.” That sobers him back up. “So tell me. What are your blessings?”
“Will you do it with me?” I ask shyly.
He nuzzles my ear. “How, like tell you?”
“I’ll write mine down and you write yours down.”
“And then what, we trade or something?”
Oh, God.
His breath in my ear when he says “trade” is really, really distracting.
“We can. Or not.”
“Mmm. I like the idea of trading.” He trails his finger along my thigh, and I see where this is headed and push his hand away.
“Don’t be a sex distractor,” I scold him. “This is not a sexual matter.”
“It would be a lot easier to make my list if we made it a sexual matter,” he teases.
“Be serious.”
“Cass,” he groans. “I don’t need to write a list. My blessings are pretty easy. I’m alive and healthy. I still have my mom and I have pieces of my brother in every one of his kids. I have Caden and Chloe. And I have you.” He shakes his head as if he’s just realizing something he hadn’t considered before. “I have you. I never gave up hope that somehow we’d find our way back to each other. I thought maybe at Chloe’s wedding or one of our grandchildren’s high school graduations or something.”
“You never gave up hope?” I breathe.
He shakes his head. “No. Never.”
“Even though…” I don’t want to say it and bury my face in his chest.
“Even though you barely spoke to me? Yeah. Crazy, I know. But no. Not even that could stop me.”
When I lift my head to look in his eyes I see that he’s completely serious. “You’re insane.”
“Probably,” he agrees.
“I thought Renée was just playing matchmaker when she said it, but she wasn’t, was she?”
“You’ve lost me, babe.”
“The picture.” I choke on the words. “Renée knew.”
“What picture?”
“You look at it. Our wedding picture. Renée told me and I didn’t believe her until I saw you do it. You look at our picture every time you pass it in your mom’s house.”
“Yeah,” he admits. “Yeah, I guess I do. I love that picture.” He’s quiet for a minute.
“Grady?” I say softly.
“Mmmm?”
“That’s pretty much my list, too.” I snuggle closer, my Christmas Eve ritual no longer important. He’s absolutely right. My greatest blessings are under this roof tonight. All I need to do is enjoy them for every minute that I can.
* * * *
We arrive back from Delaware late, and my plan to sleep in and spend the day relaxing is thwarted by the shrill assault of the phone ringing at 8 a.m. Grady’s the one who gets out of bed and plods to the kitchen to answer it, and I’m glad he’s the one who gets up. I would’ve let it go to voicemail. I’m annoyed, not for the first time, with his insistence that we keep a land line. If anyone’s calling the house phone this early it’s sure to be telemarketers. Everyone I know calls my cell.
I haul myself up to pee and brush my teeth, but when I come back to bed, Grady still isn’t there. It’s not until a few minutes later that he comes back into the room, his face grave. He’s clearly shocked and underneath the shock is a powerful undercurrent of anger.
My heart seizes in my chest. “What’s wrong?”
“That was the Sheriff’s department,” he says carefully. “They’ve opened up an investigation on Coach Woodson, and they’re going to be by later this afternoon to ask Caden a few questions.”
“Why, what happened to Coach Woodson?”
Please, God, not another death
. Caden’s coach has a wife and two college-age daughters. He’s been coaching for years and the kids love him. It’s unthinkable.
And so is what Grady says next.
“He’s been arrested, and he’s being held without bail for his own protection.”
“I don’t understand,” I say slowly. “What happened, Grady? He did something? What on earth did he do?”
“He raped and battered Ryan Lewis last night,” Grady says. “And apparently it wasn’t the first time.”
Cassie
In my room, the shades drawn, I feel safe. My kids are watching
Mrs. Doubtfire
together in the living room, and I can hear their giggles as they bond over their childhood favorite. I’m too full of rage to go out there. I’m afraid I’ll poison them with my hatred for Gregory Woodson. It’s leaking out of me, seeping from my pores, surrounding me like a mist.
The day passed in a blur. I kept both kids home because the rumors were already all over town and I didn’t want Caden and Chloe walking into a mob scene. In the afternoon, two officers came with a social worker and took Caden’s statement. The social worker stayed to talk with us after the police had left.
Caden was beside himself. Yes, he had known that Ryan and his coach had a “close relationship.” He and Ryan had talked about it earlier in the season, and Ryan had dismissed it, saying that the coach felt sorry for him because he had no dad. But lately Ryan had been pulling away from Caden, making excuses to break plans. He’d had unexplained bruises on his neck and refused to tell Caden where they’d come from. Caden thought it was some boys who’d bullied Ryan back in middle school, but Ryan had sworn it wasn’t them and begged Caden not to say anything.
Caden had suspected it really was those boys, so he kept a closer eye on them. Initially, he had never imagined that his coach had done anything to injure Ryan. He was hurt that his best friend was shutting him out, but he had attributed it to other things until he saw the two of them together one day, kissing in the coach’s car.
And then he’d gotten confused. He knew Ryan was gay, but he didn’t think the coach was. He absolutely knew what the coach was doing was wrong, because Ryan was underage and Woodson was married and a teacher. But he didn’t want either of them to get in trouble. He hated knowing the secret. He wanted to be wrong about the whole thing.
That was the day he’d come home so upset.
“I just thought it was two different things,” he told the social worker, his eyes full of tears. “I knew Ryan was involved with Coach, and that those kids were bullying him because they knew he was gay. But I just thought maybe Coach would stop it somehow or help him.”
But when Ryan showed signs of physical abuse a second time, Caden confronted him. Ryan denied it had anything to do with Coach Woodson, but Caden put two and two together and sent a text message to Ryan’s mother, who had immediately called the police.
Once Ryan was questioned, it turned out that he had willingly entered into a secret relationship with the coach several months back. He said at first things were good, because the coach paid a lot of attention to him and made him feel special. He admitted that he initially liked, encouraged, and reciprocated some of the physical attention. But then the coach’s desires had been more than Ryan was ready for, and the physical assaults had started. He’d been afraid to tell anyone because he said he loved Coach Woodson and felt he “deserved” the abuse because he’d “led him on.”
We hadn’t known any of it. Not one single bit of it. I hadn’t even noticed a change in Caden, not the way Chloe had. I had only noticed that Ryan hadn’t been around as much after she mentioned it. Caden hadn’t said anything about him and Ryan having troubles or of his suspicions about his coach.
I couldn’t imagine anyone hurting a boy as sweet as Ryan. I couldn’t fathom the grief his mother must be feeling. I imagined her guilt, her anger. Caden had only been a bystander, and I was already filling with a rage so scorching and bitter it choked me.
My son’s face when he spoke with the social worker nearly shattered me. My innocent boy had been violated - not physically, but emotionally. He respected and trusted his coach. He loved his friend. Six months ago he wouldn’t have even suspected his coach of abusing Ryan, I was sure of it.
Caden’s first experience with the world’s cruelty was so brutal that watching the effects of it made me frenzied with fury. I wanted someone to pay for it. I wanted someone to suffer for that violation. I was bursting at the seams with a desperate thirst for retribution. Finding out he’d been a witness to something so terrible made me angry. But realizing he’d made a conscious decision not to tell me broke my heart.
The dark makes it better. The dark makes it bearable. I tell myself I should do some relaxation poses so my neck doesn’t ache later, but I am so tightly wound that I can’t bring myself to move. I try to name my feelings so I can acknowledge them and tuck them away, just like Dr. Gaul taught me.
Anger. Sadness. Fear.
When Grady comes in from his run with Ares, I’m irritated. He should be in here with me, suffering in the dark, wondering how he missed the signs, just like I did. He should be laid bare as I am. Instead, he’s going on about his day as if we didn’t just have our world shattered. And it’s his nonchalance when he comes in the bedroom, says, “Hey,” and bends to kiss me that sends me over the edge.
* * * *
“What are you doing?” I demand when he starts peeling off his sweaty clothes.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He looks at me, honestly confused. “I just finished my run and I’m sweaty. I’m hopping in the shower.”
“So that’s it?”
“Sorry?” His arm freezes, the shirt he was about to toss into the hamper clutched in his hand, and he turns and stares at me.
“You’re hopping in the shower and that’s it?”
“What’s going on, Cass?” He tosses the shirt and steps out of his shorts, his gaze never leaving me.
“What’s going on? Are you kidding me right now?”
He stalks toward me. “Talk to me.”
I curl into myself on the bed, avoiding his touch. He pauses next to me but doesn’t push it.
“I shouldn’t have to talk to you. You should know what you’re doing. Grady, what the fuck?”
And that’s what makes him reach the end of his patience. “What the fuck is right! I literally have no idea what you’re pissed about right now. I went for a run, and you were fine. I come back, and you’re acting like a bitch. I have zero idea why.”
“Now you’re calling me a bitch? Our son is involved in a
sex abuse case!
He’s going to have to testify
against his coach
about his
best friend!
How is it you’re not grasping the seriousness of what’s going on here, Grady?”
“Cass.” His voice is measured. “I get that you’re upset, and I know this whole day has been a shock for you. It hasn’t been a picnic for any of us. So I’m going to get in the shower now, and when I come back out, we can discuss this like adults.”
He shuts the bathroom door behind him and I hear the hiss of the water, the muffled swoosh of the shower curtain being tugged aside. Yesterday I would’ve climbed in with him, wrapped my arms around his naked, wet flesh, licked the salt from his throat. But right now I could murder him with my bare hands.
When he emerges from the shower fifteen minutes later, I’m in exactly the same spot, but my rage has multiplied exponentially. I can’t even name the parts of my fury anymore. His expectant gaze meets mine, and I can tell he’s trying to gauge my mood.
“What?” I snap.
“Do you think you can tell me what’s wrong without biting my head off?”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you. You should know.”
“Do you remember what Dr. Gaul said about that?”
“Fuck Dr. Gaul right now!” I cry. “Dr. Gaul doesn’t have a son who just went through something horrible alone!”
“But I do. And right now you’re acting as if this is only happening to you. It’s happening to all of us. Its a shock. Caden is going to be fine. It’s just a hurdle for us to jump, and if we hold on to each other, we can make it to the other side. We’ve faced tougher stuff than this.”
He’s too fucking calm, and I can’t take it. “Why isn’t this bothering you as much as it’s bothering me?” I sob. “Why are you so fucking calm about
everything
!” I shriek the last word and he looks at me like I’ve completely gone off the deep end.
He holds up his hands. “I’m going to go out there with the kids. You take as much time as you need, but Caden cannot see you like this. He’s got enough guilt as it is. Don’t let him see what this is doing to you, Cass. In a few hours you’ll have better perspective on all of it.”
“I should’ve seen it. We both should have. I’m so fucking stupid.” And despite the scalding lava burning its way through my veins, my body feels ice-cold when I say to Grady, “I can’t do this with you anymore. Us being together, trying to be together, whatever, it’s screwing me up. It’s making my head spin. I can’t. I can’t. I’m losing focus. I should be paying attention to my kids, and instead I’ve been hung up on sex.”
“That’s an oversimplification of our relationship,” he says gravely. “Sex? Is that what we’re calling it? We were married once. We’re trying to rebuild our family. We’re not fuck-buddies. Jesus, Cass.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Cassie, come on. Baby.” I squeeze my eyes shut when I realize he’s walking toward me. The bed dips under his weight and when his hand wraps around my calf I pull it away.
“Grady, I. Can’t.”
“Let me see if I understand this correctly,” Grady says, and his voice is eerily calm. “You think us being together has somehow made you a neglectful mother. You somehow believe that having two parents in the house with our kids is screwing them up? Am I missing something here?”
“You obviously are!” I cry. “And so am I! We both missed what was happening with Caden. Even Chloe saw what was going on, but we both missed it! I’m screwing up, and I can’t do that to my kids, Grady. I can’t.”
“We didn’t miss it because we’re bad parents. We missed it because kids hide stuff. Caden
hid
it from us, Cassie. You think he’s still a baby, but he’s almost a man.”
I shake my head vehemently. “No. No, he’s not. He’s a boy. He’s a little boy. He shouldn’t have had to deal with this.”
“Agreed, he shouldn’t have, but he did. And he’s closer to being a man than you want to admit. Boys may not be able to keep things from their mothers, but men can hide a lot of stuff.”
“Don’t I know that,” I snap. “I think I’m more than aware of all the things men can hide from the women in their lives.”
His sigh turns to a groan as he stands and scrubs his face with both hands. “You’re doing it again, Cassie. For fuck’s sake!” Finally, a real reaction. He’s angry now, and something inside me is downright gleeful. I want this fight. “There’s only so much I’m going to let you kick me in the balls for something you already said you forgive me for. You either do or you don’t.”
“All I know is, this isn’t working. We tried. We really tried, and at least we can work together better now, but this isn’t… this can’t—”
“Those are bullshit excuses for pushing me away,” he fumes. “Fuck, Cass! This is all your old insecurities rearing their ugly heads right now, making you think crazy shit. You’re under a lot of stress, I get that, and I know you blame yourself for not realizing what was happening with Caden. But this?” He flings out a hand at me. “This is old bullshit, back in full effect. Jesus Christ.”
“You’re wrong. This is different.”
“The fuck it is.” He stands, hands on his hips, fury all over his face.
“He’s
my son
,” I plead.
“He’s
our son
. And I’m your
husband
.”
“Ex-husband.” The clarification slips off my tongue before I can call it back and reverse the effects of the damage. He recoils as if he’s been slapped.
In the next few seconds that follow, I’m aware of nothing but the hammering sound of my heart, my brain screaming at me to shut the fuck up, and his wounded eyes. My fury has vanished, and all I can register is the shock and sadness on Grady’s face.
He takes a step back and stands. “Goddamn it, Cass.” His voice is quiet, though it’s shaking with anger. “I’ve turned myself inside out trying to prove to you that I’m the man I say I am. If you’re trying to get back at me by hurting me now as much as I hurt you back then, congratulations. Mission accomplished.”
I should take it back, but I can’t. I’m seized by his disappointment, my shame, the icy calm that takes over my limbs, freezing me to the spot when he strides across the room. Shaking his head, he starts pulling on clothes. I watch in silence as he steps into his jeans and tugs a shirt over his head.
“I’m done,” he says. “I’m going to say goodbye to the kids. I’m going to take Ares home, and on Tuesday when you’re back to work, I’ll come and clear out my stuff.”
“Wait, Grady—”
But he doesn’t even turn to look at me. He wrenches open the bedroom door with barely contained rage, and closes it firmly behind him. A few minutes later, I emerge from my room like a shadow, but I don’t follow him into the living room when he goes to say goodbye to the kids. I make myself a cup of decaf with shaking hands and try to get myself under control.
Through the voice in my head telling me that I am the biggest bitch who ever lived I hear the front door close and the deadbolt engage. Even when he can’t stand to look at me, he wants me safe, and that fact more than anything else brings the tears in a torrent.