Lighting Candles in the Snow (18 page)

“Alcoholics Anonymous?” I asked.

That and Gamblers Anonymous were the only twelve-step programs I’d heard about. I grew up in a family of abstainers. I knew nothing of alcoholism, of addictions, of inner torment and self-hatred—until I met Jeremy.

He paused a long moment. “SAA—Sex Addicts Anonymous. AlAnon, and AA, too. I’m a fucked up mess. I need all three of them.”

“As long as they help, that’s the main thing,” I said with a weak smile.

Jeremy going to three different twelve-step programs was quite the revelation. This had to be a different man from the one I’d married, who wouldn’t ask for help, who wouldn’t admit he needed it, and who found unhealthy ways to deal with his addictions.

“I’m impressed,” I continued, somewhat in awe of this new Jeremy. “You’re doing a courageous thing. It can’t be easy for you. It’s not easy for anyone to admit to any problems or weaknesses. It’s our human nature to figure we have it handled.”

“I was being destroyed by my past. I had to change my approach, to change my old habits of dealing with stuff. And yeah, I had to admit I needed help, that I couldn’t do it alone.”

I took in the open expression on his face, his humble tone of voice, the sadness around his eyes. He appeared to be the same on the outside but something inside had changed, transforming Jeremy into a man I could not only love but respect.

Plans number one and two had fallen through. I cheerfully anticipated plan number three.

Hot Spinach Pasta

1 to 2 cups rotini, uncooked, or pasta of your choice

6 to 8 cups raw spinach leaves, carefully washed

¼ cup olive oil

¼ cup butter

2 tablespoons chopped garlic

½ cup Parmesan cheese, grated

Place washed spinach leaves in large serving bowl.

Heat olive oil in small pan. Add chopped garlic and sauté, stirring constantly until browned. Keep warm while cooking the pasta.

Cook rotini in boiling water with 2 teaspoons salt until tender. Do not overcook. Drain and rinse with hot water.

Pour pasta over spinach in bowl. Add olive oil and garlic. Stir and serve immediately, topped with grated Parmesan cheese.

Serves two—happily, thankfully, joyfully serves two.

Chapter Twenty-three:
Mrs. London’s Story

I
 never knew why Hank came back. Maybe he forgot something. Maybe he had a suspicion of what I was up to. It didn’t matter. Knowing the reason behind it wouldn’t have changed anything.

He pulled into the drive right behind my car as I was putting those big suitcases in the trunk.

The second I saw his truck, I knew I was finished. I expected him to run over, drag me into the house and beat me ’til I was dead. In my mind’s eye, I saw him doing it.

I stood there with the trunk open, one suitcase inside, the other one setting at my feet. I waited, thinking maybe I’d be safer out here in public view. I would stall for time, keep my voice calm, agree with everything, not get him anymore riled up, and maybe it would be all right.

It happened too fast. He was out of his truck and into the house before I could put three words together.

I ran to the front door. Locked. And there were the house keys, in my purse, setting next to Stuart’s car seat.

I banged on the door and rang the bell over and over. I tried looking through the front window. The blinds were shut as I had left them. No sounds came from within the house. I stopped hitting the front door to catch my breath and figure this out.

If only he opens the door, I thought, then I’ll tell him I was going away for the weekend, that was why the suitcases. Maybe he’ll believe me. I’ll say I was going to visit my aunt in Logan.

I was crafting the story in my head when I remembered that Jeremy was in the backyard. I ran around to the fence gate and pushed against it. The drifted snow blocked it from the other side, but I managed to push it open enough to squeeze through.

“Jeremy, Jeremy!” I shouted for him.

The beginning of his snowman sat in the middle of the yard, but I didn’t see him. I rushed to the back door. It was locked.

Hank had locked me out of the house. He was inside with my babies, and I was powerless to protect them. I banged on the back door. Nothing. I ran back around to pound on the front door again. I screamed at him to let me in. It was a waste of breath.

I couldn’t risk any more time. I ran to the neighbor’s house, an older lady who didn’t like going out in the snow. I knew she would be home. And because she always enjoyed getting company, I knew she would answer the door.

She let me in on the second knock.

I explained briefly what had happened. “It’s my husband, Mrs. Evans. There’s trouble. I need to use your phone.”

“Of course, dear. It’s right there on the table.”

I dialed zero for the operator, my hands shaking. I was sobbing, barely able to get the words out.

Mrs. Evans said, “Let me,” and she took the receiver. She gave the operator my home address and added, “Please call the police and tell them to hurry. My neighbor’s husband is a brutal man, a beast, and he has locked himself in the house with the two children, a baby and a little boy.”

That did it. Within minutes we heard sirens. I was in despair, afraid they wouldn’t find my children alive.

A policeman came to Mrs. Evans’ home and stayed with us, forbidding me to leave.

“Ma’am, let the officers handle this,” he told me. “You will be in danger if you go out there, and you may jeopardize the safety of your children.”

I was in a black, horrible place. The demons of hell had schemed against me to attack everything I held dear. The screaming devils kept throwing names at me: Gerald. Hank. Jeremy. Stuart. The same names repeated over and over, echoing from some bleak, unknown region that was outside and inside of me at the same time.

I thought I was going insane.

Mrs. Evans kept putting cups of herbal tea in my hands, and then taking them away to warm them again, as I sat there cold and silent as a stone.

She put some music on, Mozart, she said it was, to calm my nerves and to block out the sounds from outside. Sirens. Shouting. Gunshots. And from inside my head came the screaming names: Gerald. Hank. Jeremy. Stuart.

Later, the police told me that Hank had wanted to die, and he wanted the cops to kill him. They run across that now and then in hostage situations. Hank stepped out on the front porch with a shot gun. As soon as they verified he was alone, they killed him, one bullet straight to the heart, another one to the forehead. He was dead within seconds.

It turned out Hank’s shot gun wasn’t loaded. That’s how they knew it was his way of committing suicide.

Another policeman came to get me. “We can’t find the children. Is there a favorite hiding place your son liked, where he might be hiding and maybe protecting the baby?”

I thought of under the bed. “Yes, but I want to go. I want to find them.”

Two officers accompanied me. I went straight to Jeremy’s room. He wasn’t under the bed. We opened the closets throughout the house, the cupboard doors in the kitchen and bathroom, any small secret place where a little boy might be hiding with his baby brother.

I could see that the police had searched the house. Doors were standing open, furniture moved. It didn’t matter. I had to try. Maybe I’d see something they missed.

What no one said, but I know we were thinking is this:
After so much commotion, why isn’t the baby crying?

Jeremy was adept at hiding away from Hank, staying perfectly still and quiet, trying to make himself disappear until the man’s rage was spent. But Stuart should be crying. He would be hungry by now at the least, not to mention that babies can sense tension in their environments. Stuart should be upset and howling.

Then I visualized Jeremy in the yard earlier, happily playing in the deep snow.

“Out back,” I shouted. “They’re in the back yard.”

I rushed outside, the two officers following.

I expected to see Jeremy standing in the snow, his brother bundled up close to him in a quilt, or maybe inside his jacket. Jeremy loved that baby. He would be protecting him from Hank, and from the cold.

They weren’t there, but I saw Jeremy’s jacket over by the fence, nearly buried in a snowdrift.

I ran to it. There he was, holding the baby close to his chest, as I had held Jeremy under the bed that time. That had been the first instance in his young life when Jeremy had learned how evil a person can be.

I reached down to take Stuart. The quilt wrapped tightly around him, not even his head exposed to the weather. Jeremy had taken good care of his little brother. But he would be cold, I thought. It was too cold for a three-month-old baby to be outside like this.

The officer interrupted me. “No, ma’am. Let me,” he said in a soft voice.

I stepped aside and nodded to Jeremy, who let the officer take Stuart from his arms.

There wasn’t that much blood on the quilt. Surprising when one saw the battered little head, caved in on the side.

Stuart’s body temperature and blood spatters told the tale of death, and the autopsy confirmed it. Hank had held him by the feet and smashed his head against the back door frame before tossing his body into the snowdrift like a piece of trash. His own son.

Jeremy saw it happen, and ran out with Stuart’s quilt to save him and keep him warm. Hank locked and bolted the back door before walking out on the front porch to his death.

I suppose I can be thankful that Hank didn’t hurt Jeremy, or that he didn’t let the hostage situation continue for hours as it could have. The police would have kept on negotiating, trying to get Hank to give himself up and let the children go.

For whatever reason, Hank didn’t extend the time. He could have carried on with it throughout the day and night, without anyone realizing that Jeremy was out there hiding in the snow drift, slowing freezing to death.

And Jeremy would have, too. He would have stayed outside in the snow, hiding with Stuart all day and through the night, if he felt it would keep his brother safe.

Chapter Twenty-four

W
e cleaned up dinner late, around midnight, before heading to bed. It was like we were married again, during those early wonderful years before the shadows spread and darkness took over.

In the morning, Jeremy woke me with a kiss. “I don’t deserve to be this happy,” he murmured.

“Jeremy, why do you keep saying that? That you don’t deserve to be happy?”

“I don’t deserve
you,
” he replied.

“You have as much right to happiness as anyone,” I said. “We both do. Only it doesn’t always happen right away. Sometimes people have to wait for joy—to work for it.”

I thought about my sister, who seemed to have the bluebirds of happiness flocking around her, spreading their musical wings of cheer over everything she touched.

“Except for Suzie,” I muttered. “She has it all.”

“Ah, not really. That’s an illusion from your perspective. Nobody has it all. Even your sister has her struggles, you can count on that.”

“I know. You’re right.” I sighed and hugged my pillow. “But from the outside looking in, her life seems perfect.”

“Karoline, never mind about her. You think too much about Suzie. Let’s talk about us.”

I did have a tendency to worry about Suzie, what she would do, what she would think. I had always looked up to her and wanted to be like her. Only deep down knowing I never could be anything like Suzie.

He pulled me close, face to face, those beloved brown eyes searching mine. “I don’t know if I can be the man for you. I’m trying to change, but it isn’t easy, and it doesn’t happen overnight.”

“Who cares about who deserves what,” I said. “You’re what I
want.
You’re different, stronger, better. I can see the change, and I trust you, I believe in you.”

“That’s the thing, Karoline. You always did. Even when I kept sneaking around your back like a lying snake, you believed in me.”

I nodded, waiting, really liking this new, open Jeremy.

“I’ve had only two women in my life who loved me no matter what. You and my mom.”

“Oh, that is sweet, Jeremy. You should tell your mom that.”

“She knows,” he said softly. He stroked my hair. “She knows everything. She’s wise, and good. Like you. And you are beautiful. Pure and honest.”

“I’m not sure about that. We’re unmarried and in bed together after a night of unrestrained passion. How pure is that?”

I wondered how I would explain this to Suzie. At some point, I’d have to tell her. She wouldn’t be pleased, especially after the past five months when my every other sentence was how much I hated Jeremy London.

“Hey, do you want to move to California?” I blurted. “You can write anywhere in the world, and California is gorgeous. The beaches, the weather, the diversity. Utah can be too white bread. It gets tiresome.”

“Where did this come from? California, why?”

“I got a job offer. An associate of my brother-in-law is opening a clinic there and, well, I’ve been offered a job. I still have to interview, but it sounds like a sure thing.”

Jeremy laid back and put his arms behind his head. He stared at the ceiling.

“What is it, Jeremy? It’s not like I’m going. Not now. Not without you at least.”

“But you were considering it.”

“Well, yes, of course. I’ve been unemployed for two months, which is one hell of a long time for a workaholic to be out of a job. A new start in California seemed like a good option.”

“I guess it would sound good to you, to get away from this place. Especially after the shit I put you through.” He got up and went to the bathroom. I heard the shower running.

Great. Just great. Somehow we’d have to get past Jeremy’s guilt and self-loathing, not only because of his behavior during our marriage but because of his brother, his mom, everything. The entirety came bundled together in this wonderful, fabulous package of pleasure and pain that was Jeremy London.

No way would I lose him again to his troubled past. I was here to stay. We would get through this, whatever it took.

When he came out of the shower, he gave me a quizzical expression. I had made the bed, picked up our clothes, folding his neatly at the end of the bed.

“What?” I said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He embraced me. “Oh God, Karoline, do you have any clue how incredibly beautiful you are? I am more in love with you than ever. If you will have me, if you will forgive me.”

I saw the little boy in the snowdrift, holding his dead baby brother close to keep him warm. I saw him and his mother having to deal with the worst grief imaginable. I loved this man and the little boy he had been. I admired the mother who had raised him and shaped him and helped him get through it, and who now made the avoidance of pain her daily routine. Much like her son.

“I forgive you a million times over, Jeremy. Yes, I will have you, and I want you, a million times over.”

We spent the rest of the day in bed, talking, making love, making plans. Another perfect day.

“Nice that you don’t have a job right now,” Jeremy said at one point. “Or we wouldn’t be able to do this.”

“It’s Saturday, Jeremy. I never worked on Saturday anyway, not since I left the book store.”

Jeremy had the worst sense of time. He barely knew what hour it was at any given moment, let alone what day.

“But now that you mention it,” I continued, “unemployment can be a good thing. If I hadn’t lost my job, I wouldn’t have come home mid-afternoon that day you decided to break into my apartment and get your shirts.”

“I didn’t expect to find the shirts. Funny you still had them hanging there like respectable members of your closet.”

“I can’t believe you came over that long after our divorce to get them.”

“Crazy, isn’t it? And there you are, standing in the doorway with your pants undone.” He grinned at me.

“Don’t laugh! You scared me to death. I thought some crazed psychopath intruder was about to chase me down the stairs.”

He paused a long moment. “My mom used to talk about timing. She always had this fascination with it, about how things can happen at certain times and in one instant completely change the course of a life.”

Jeremy grew solemn and still. I thought about his mom and her timing. The entire course of their lives had changed because of one thirty-minute window when she sat in her living room rather than move to action. And now that’s what she did day in and day out. She sat in her living room, watching TV to fill her hours so she wouldn’t have to think about the timing of things and how it had altered her history forever.

I wanted to talk to him about his mom. I still hadn’t told him I’d gone to see her. “Jeremy, what about your mom? Why did she have a fascination with timing? Do you want to talk about it?”

It was too many questions. Jeremy’s mood changed from somber and thoughtful to playful. He jumped around the bed and grabbed me and pulled me down onto the rumpled covers.

“I guess you don’t want to talk about it then,” I said giggling as he kissed my feet, the most ticklish spot on my body. “Stop it, don’t touch my feet! I hate that.”

I wriggled away from him and he pulled himself on top of me.

“Ah, Karoline,” he said, touching me just so. “Your body is the feast I’ve craved for months.”

It seemed as though no man and woman had ever loved one another as did Jeremy and Karoline that day. It was like sex had been invented just for us. We were the King and Queen of the Universe.

We slept on and off through the afternoon. We got up once or twice for food. Jeremy mixed up his celebrated pancake batter and we cooked the entire batch, eating them slathered in butter and homemade syrup. Since we didn’t want to leave the apartment, our honeymoon nest, I made syrup out of brown sugar, water and maple flavoring like my frugal mom used to do.

We sat on the couch finishing up our stacks of pancakes. Jeremy had on boxers and I wore nothing but the afghan loosely wrapped around my shoulders.

“These hit the spot.” Jeremy leaned back in satisfaction. “My mom and I used to have pancakes for supper. She’d make them in animal shapes.”

“My mom did that, too. I think everyone’s mom did. It goes with the job description. My favorite was always the bunny with its big ears. I’d eat the ears first. Oh man, I am so over diet food.”

I picked up the Netflix from the coffee table. “We’ve been in bed practically the whole day. Shall we watch a movie? I still have this one I haven’t seen.”

He examined it. “
Match Point.
A Woody Allen film. Scarlett Johanssen. Sure, let’s watch it.”

“Let me go to the bathroom first. You get it started. I’ll be right back.” I threw off the afghan and walked naked to the bathroom.

I shut the door, did my business and examined my face while washing my hands. My skin had a rosy flush. I looked healthy and happy. My eyes were clear, my lips swollen from lovemaking. I couldn’t remember when I had looked this good.

I checked out my body in the full length mirror on the inside bathroom door. Soft and curvy perfection. I didn’t appear the least bit fat. Or old, despite coming up on thirty. Jeremy had called me luscious. Yes, I certainly was luscious. It felt nice to like myself and appreciate my body for a change. I’d been doing precious little besides beating myself up about my looks, my eating, my marriage, my everything.

I exited the bathroom quickly to get back to Jeremy. As I turned the corner toward the kitchen, I saw him and Zac facing each other in the dining room.

Zac?

Jeremy’s back was to me, but Zac looked right at me. I stood there stark naked in too much shock to move or even grab a towel from the bathroom to cover myself. It was only a split second but definitely enough time for Zac to get an eyeful. His mouth literally hung open.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest in an ineffective attempt to cover myself. I quickly realized it wasn’t only my top half exposed. I hurried to put a hand over my lower region.

“Oh my God. Zac! I totally forgot . . . Is it really Saturday already? What time is it?”

Jeremy turned around, a big grin on his face. “Karoline? I believe this fellow is here to pick you up for a date?”

I ran into the bedroom and grabbed the top sheet to wrap around myself. I contemplated staying there in hiding until Zac left but decided not to. For one, I didn’t want them talking about me. And second, it was my fault that I had forgotten to call Zac and cancel. I should face him, except not naked.

I sauntered out with the sheet wrapped toga-like around me, mustering what little dignity I had left. The two men watched me, apparently waiting for me to speak.

“Uh, this is embarrassing.” I wasn’t sure what to say. “Sorry about that scene a minute ago. I never heard the doorbell ring. I had no idea anyone was here. Well, except for Jeremy, of course.”

Jeremy observed Zac and me with amusement.

Zac seemed in shock. His face looked more sunburned than tan, it was that red.

Finally he managed to say, “We had a date. Didn’t we? At five o’clock? I called you. Remember?” He was stuttering and kind of spitting out the words.

I nodded dumbly. I don’t know who felt worse, him or me. Certainly not Jeremy, who seemed to be enjoying the whole show.

“Karoline?” Jeremy asked me pointedly. “Do you indeed have a date with this fellow?”

I wanted to hit him. He stood there in his boxers in complete confidence, not the slightest bit bothered that another man just saw me naked by mistake.

“Yes, um, I did have a date with Zac.” I pulled the sheet around me closer.

“Okay?” Zac spoke in a questioning tone, as though waiting for further explanation.

I could only imagine how this looked to him. A few days ago I wouldn’t make out with him, and now here I am getting naked with somebody while I’m supposed to be going on a date with Zac.

I realized that they didn’t know each other. “Jeremy, this is Zac Kline. Zac, Jeremy London.”

“Hi, Zac,” Jeremy smirked.

Zac nodded in his direction, still tight-lipped and red-faced.

“Hey. Wait. Did you say Jeremy London? You two have the same name?” He glared back and forth between us as understanding dawned. “This is your ex-husband?”

“Yes. Jeremy London, my ex-husband.”

I stood up straighter. It’s not like I was whoring around with just anybody.

Silence as the three of us stood there gaping at each other like idiots.

Finally I broke the spell. This was my fault after all. I would take responsibility.

“Zac, I am terribly sorry. I completely forgot about our date. Jeremy came over, and one thing led to another, and well, now it looks like we are back together.”

Jeremy kept grinning and nodding like this was high entertainment. I could have slapped him.

“Yeah, well. It looks that way.” Zac let out a long breath. “Whew. Well. Okay. Congratulations, you two.” He headed toward the door. “Stay where you are, Karoline. You wouldn’t want to lose that sheet. I’ll let myself out.”

After the door shut, I fumed at Jeremy. “You rat! Why didn’t you warn me he was here? You let me wander in naked. You knew the state I was in! I can’t believe you let that happen.”

“The look on his face when he saw you! And the look on your face.” He laughed so hard he had to sit down on the dining room chair. “Oh wow, I wish I’d had my camera on me. What a shot that would have made.”

“Well, I don’t think it is one bit funny,” I said with indignation, still holding the sheet around me. “Jeremy, I was naked. Did that fact escape you? Completely and utterly nude and Zac’s staring right at me. That doesn’t bother you?”

“Karoline, a nude woman is a work of art. It is God’s highest creation. You were naked, so what?”

He was still laughing, and I was furious. “It didn’t bother you that another man saw me like that?”