The Last Exhale (31 page)

“Why on earth would she do that?”

“Because of you.”

“Wait, now. I may be to blame for a few things, but that, I will not take credit for.”

“Well, it's the truth. She said he may have trouble being faithful, but he's a good father. Her son needs him on a consistent basis. She knows him, is used to him. Bringing another man into the home to help raise her son wouldn't be right. She said your cheating showed her that there really isn't much better out there, so why not take him back.”

“That's stupid. I'm not going to accept that.”

“Of course you wouldn't, Sydney. You know, all these years I never realized how selfish you are. You have a good man, but that isn't good enough. You have a good job, two healthy kids. A mother and father who love you. You've got a lot that a lot of us don't have,
but the moment you feel unfulfilled in your marriage, you go out and ruin the lives of everybody else.”

“Don't. Don't do that.” I move back across to my car, and hop inside. Shut the door so hard it sounds like it caves in. I feel myself shaking as I try to put the key in the ignition. How. Dare. She.

Rachel knocks on my window as I put the car in drive. In her hands is my portfolio and purse. I roll down the window just enough for my things to fit through. Before pushing them in, she says, “You don't have to take responsibility now, but at some point you will have to face the consequences of your actions.”

If only she knew, I already am.

•  •  •

Kennedy greets me with a tear-stained face the moment I walk through the door. I swear someone has a hit out on my sanity.

“Mommy, Mr. Carter's not coming back to school.” The pout on her face tells me this has changed her world, even though there's less than three weeks of school left. “I have to have a new teacher.”

I run my hand down her disheveled ponytail. “Aw, honey. I'm sorry.”

“It's all Daddy's fault. I hate him and Uncle Mike.”

“You don't mean that.” I squat to her level, turn her to face me. “Sometimes things happen that we don't have any control over. Don't blame your father or your uncle.” I want to tell her to blame me. That would only make matters worse, though. I pull her into me, give her a tight hug, rub her back, comfort her any way I can.

Through sniffles, she asks, “Can I have some ice cream?”

“Sure, honey.” Lord, it's too early for this child to be an emotional eater. “Where's your brother?”

“Daddy's giving him a bath.”

“Put one small scoop in a cup for him.”

On my way out of the kitchen, I trip over Forrester's water dish. Water tips out, spills into his food dish. Now I'm jacking up the cat's life. I bend over, pick both dishes up. Pour the food in the trash, the water in the sink. Rinse them both out. Dry the food dish. Instead of more hearty nuggets, I grab a can of tuna from the cabinet. Before I can get half the can open, he comes running in the kitchen. As fluffy as he is, his belly beats him in here. His deep meow sounds like he's gargling hairballs.

Once I finish giving our fur-child his dinner and fresh water, EJ nearly tramples over the dish as he slides into the kitchen in socks and Spiderman pajamas. “Mommyyyyy.”

If I hear “Mommy” one more time tonight… “Watch out, EJ.”

Kennedy sets his cup of ice cream on the island and scoots the barstool out. “You have to sit here and eat it.”

His eyes light up. “Ooooh, we should put some chocolate chips in it.”

Kennedy goes to the pantry. Before she can add the extra sugar to her brother's dessert, I intercept the bag.

He hops down from the barstool, slides over to me. “Noooo, Mommyyyy.”

Why me, Lord? Why me?

“What's all this ruckus down here?” Eric Sr. shows up just in time.

Our daughter grabs her bowl of ice cream and huffs out of the kitchen.

“You really need to talk to her,” I tell him.

“And say what?”

“Something.” I shut the pantry door. Glance at EJ sitting at the island digging in his ice cream, apparently no longer concerned about chocolate chips. “You've got five minutes, then upstairs you go.”

I don't bother saying anything else to my husband before walking out of the kitchen.

His steps follow close behind mine. “You go somewhere after work?”

I take my heels off before I hit the stairs. My feet thank me as the coolness of the hardwood brings them back to life. “No, why?”

“Thought you would've been home earlier.”

“Had an unexpected appointment.” I peep in Kennedy's room to make sure she's okay. She's sitting on the floor, her ice cream melting away on the floor next to her. A notebook nestled in her lap, pencil moving at a steady pace. Again, I say to Eric, “You need to talk to her.”

“Were you with him?”

My stomach knots up. All of a sudden I have the urge to hurl, let everything come up out of me like it did weeks ago as I ran through my mother's neighborhood. A few hours ago, my best friend blamed me for screwing up everyone's life. Now my husband wants to pin every missing minute on me being with another man. Is this the world I've created?

“I take that as a yes,” he says as he follows me into our bedroom.

I close the door behind him. “No, Eric. It's a no. I was at work.”

“You should've called.”

The expression on my face scares me. Can see myself in the mirror in the corner of the room. One of my eyebrows is raised so high my head throbs. If I get any more tense, it might just attach itself to my hair line. “I was a few minutes late. Don't make something out of nothing.”

I grab a nightgown from my dresser, take it in the bathroom behind me. Cut the shower on, let the water rinse me from head to toe. Rinse today's stress from me.

Eric's standing by the window in our room when I make it out of the bathroom. The moon has his attention. He doesn't hear
my footsteps. Doesn't hear me walk out of the room to check on the kids. He's in the same spot when I come back in.

I pull the sheets back to the bed, proceed with my nightly ritual. Slather petroleum jelly on my feet, slip on a pair of socks. Cut the lamp off next to the bed.

“Mom says I should divorce you.” My husband breaks the silence, his eyes still on the moon.

“Your mom says a lot of things.”

His exhale lets me know I'm right. The last time his mom said something, I found out about a visitor he never wanted me to know about.

I close my eyes, search my thoughts. Don't have to delve too far. Seems like every thought, every feeling is on the surface. “You know, we both had plenty of opportunities to turn away from each other. We never misled each other, we just chose not to acknowledge the truth, like it was going to disappear.” I let my words do their best to saturate the thickness in this room. “Now we're presented with another opportunity. Tell me what you want to do.”

“My mom said we need to call it quits.”

“You've already said that. I want to know what
you
have to say?”

“I don't like the way I feel. When you're gone, I think you're with him. I'm here all day until I pick up the kids. All day, my mind is on where you are.” A hint of aggression mixes with insecurity.

I release an annoyed sigh. “At least your suspension is almost over and you can go back to work.”

He turns in my direction. “That's not the point, Sydney.”

The moon peeps through the blinds and casts its blue glow against his skin. His brows are furrowed, lips balled up like tiny fists on his face. There's nothing I can do to reassure him I'm busy selling houses when I'm not here. If I had a video crew following me
around all day, he'd continue to swear I was up to no good. Infidelity plants a seed that absence makes grow.

“I have one of the most dangerous jobs there is. When I strap that gun to my belt every morning, I need to be focused on what I'm paid to do, what I swore to do. I don't have the luxury to think about what's going wrong in my marriage, who my wife is with, what she's doing when I'm in these streets. If my thoughts wander, that's it. If I make the wrong move, I can lose my life or cause one of my brothers to lose theirs. You put the wrong number down on a contract, that can be fixed. Can't bring a life back once it's gone.” He flexes his gun hand. Opens and closes his palm, spreads his fingers. Does that over and over. “It shouldn't be like this,” he says.

I flip the covers off, swing my legs to the side of the bed. Cut the lamp back on. Sit up straight and look my husband in the face. “You're right, it shouldn't be like this. It never should've been like this. We were scared to do anything about it before. What are we going to do about it now?”

He breaks my stare, lets his eyes roam the room. He walks into the bathroom. Warm water mixes with cool water. The toilet flushes. He comes back out. “My parents have been married nearly forty-two years.”

“You keep reminding me.”

“I only wanted to get married once.”

“So you've said.” I look down at my feet. Think about a question I've asked him before but never got an answer to. “Why'd you marry me, knowing your mother didn't approve?”

“I'm her only child. She's always wanted to dictate my life and have control over the things I did, the schools I attended, the women I'd dated. I was tired of that. I knew how bad she wanted me to marry Abigail. I married you to spite her, to let her know I was man enough to make my own decisions.”

This conversation is going deeper than I have the energy for tonight. He dated me because I was a convenience in his life and married me to show his mother he was the boss. I take a deep breath, put my feelings to the side otherwise I might say something I'll regret and I don't have a lot of regrets in my life. Don't regret stepping outside of my marriage for happiness. “Eric, we're just existing in this marriage. Is that what you want?”

“It's been working all these years.”

“We shouldn't be working this hard. It's starting to feel like a second full-time job.”

This time he goes in the bathroom and cuts the shower on. Stays in there longer than a shower takes. I contemplate going in to check on him, but the last time I went in while he was under the water, I ended up under it with him creating our own steam. Tonight's not the night for that.

As sleep begins to pull me in its trance, I feel pressure on the other side of the bed. “What about the kids?”

I rub my eyes, clear my throat. Do my best not to slur. “We'll figure something out. All I know is we can't keep living like this. The kids will adjust. We'll adjust.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

At this point, everything is easier than this marriage.

What happens in the Virgin Islands stays in the Virgin Islands.

Hilda and I agreed not to exchange contact information. Our moment would forever stay on that island, in that room. We were both vulnerable from hurt and abandonment and anger, and in need of the kind of validation only a stranger could provide. Someone who didn't know enough about our situations to stop us from crossing that line.

Everything about St. Thomas was what I needed. Even Hilda.

As we watched the moon trade places with the sun, I told her about Rene. She cried. There she was, grieving over the loss of a marriage that should've been and a fiancé she loved since she was sixteen, while I was in mourning over the end of my wife's life. It was his choice to leave, and in all honesty, it was Rene's choice to leave me. Hilda comforted me through it all, she held me and wiped away my tears. And before she left, I did the same again for her.

For the first time in a long time, I was able to just be, to be in the moment. Didn't think or worry about anything out of my control. Didn't think about the future or how I was going to put the pieces back together once I got home. I breathed in the present. No what ifs, only what was and what is.

Now it's back to reality. Hopefully, I can maintain my newfound mentality.

Traffic is no different than any other Monday. Bumper to bumper, people falling asleep on their brakes, and others blowing their horns like they have Tourette's. Driver after driver pressing buttons on their cell phones, trying to occupy idle moments in time, neglecting to look up in time to see the pileup of cars in front of them. Another accident caused due to spectators of another accident. Looks like a Suburban tried to run a car off the interstate. Makes me think about my brother's accident for a minute. I shake that nightmare out of my head. For every brake light that flashes in front of me, another thirty cents is added to the meter on the cab. Good thing my exit is less than a mile up.

Though it's part of his job, I tip the taxi driver a few bucks extra for the trouble, grab my bag with nothing more than what I left with, head up the stairs to my apartment. I left the extra clothes I bought for the weekend with a local who looked down on his luck. Seemed to be really appreciative, so I gave him a few extra dollars as well. Made the man's day, made mine as well. It's not like I'm hurting for money, so I'll help who I can, when I can.

Money had never been a problem for Rene and me. We had a very good life insurance plan, though I hate using that money for anything. We never touched the money we got when Reggie passed. Rene had no siblings. There was no one to squabble or share the profits from the sale of her parents' house with; because of that, a hefty five-figures went into our bank account at closing.

Feels like I've been gone longer than a few days once I stick the key in my apartment's door. The moment I do so, my vacation runs from my memory like it was just a dream, while the pain and anger of what I left behind floods back in. I have to shake this feeling off.

After a quick shower, I throw on some gym shorts and a tank top. In the kitchen, I fill a cup with water and put it in the microwave
for three minutes. Add some instant coffee mix to it and hazelnut creamer. I plug my drained phone up to the USB connected to my laptop. Once my phone receives enough juice, it powers on. There's a steady green light flashing as incoming messages roll through.