Authors: Rachel Ann Nunes
His face brightened. “Okay. Then you’ll pick me up?”
“Yes, but only today. We’re close enough for you to walk with your friends.”
He hugged her. “Can we go?”
She certainly admired his exuberance. Once, she had felt that way about going back to college.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Jeremy’s voice was tense, and Mickelle forced her face to relax.
She smoothed his hair. “Nothing. I was just thinking that I should go to school, too.”
“You should. It’s fun. So can we go now?”
She groaned. “Not for another hour at least. You’re too early.”
Jeremy got another bowl out of the cupboard. “In that case, I’ll eat some more cereal.”
At nine o’clock, Mickelle drove Jeremy to Forbes Elementary. She walked him to his fourth grade class, where he was immediately swept up into his circle of friends. To be sure he was going to be all right, she waited and watched, but he seemed to have forgotten she was there.
In the car, loneliness and despair settled once more on her shoulders. She didn’t return to the house, but drove aimlessly. Somehow, she found herself on the freeway driving twenty miles over the speed limit. Dangerous thoughts popped into her head, insidious whisperings promising immediate relief. How easy it would be to end it all by driving the car off an overpass, or to turn around and drive into oncoming traffic. If she was lucky, she might die before she felt any pain. All her suffering would be over in an instant.
What am I thinking?
Horror seeped into every pore of her body.
Was this how desperate Riley had felt?
Never. I am not a coward. I have not yet lost sight of reality.
Aloud she said, “I’m sorry, Bryan, Jeremy. I’m sorry for even thinking it.” But she admitted to herself that it wasn’t the first time since Riley’s death that she had thought of joining him and leaving her too-painful existence behind.
Mickelle took the next off-ramp and turned the car around. Using the Alpine Highway, she drove methodically back to American Fork.
The sound of a siren abruptly broke her concentration. With surprise, she saw a police car behind her, its lights whirling. Her heart started pounding as she glanced at the speedometer. No, she wasn’t going too fast. Why was he pulling her over?
Her pulse increased again, and she fought against the panic rising in her chest. The world around her began to spin. Her chest constricted and she couldn’t breathe. Her vision dimmed. The terrible thumping of her heart in her ears continued loudly. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t.
A panic attack. She’d been suffering them since the day she had learned she was not pregnant. Sometimes they were severe, but usually she could ease them by avoiding stressful situations. Knowing the cause of her symptoms was comforting, but how could she get rid of them altogether before she became completely agoraphobic? Wasn’t she reluctant enough to leave her home already?
Another thought came, even more disturbing. How could she possibly pay for a traffic ticket and the resulting insurance hike?
The officer still sat in his car behind her. She knew he was calling in her license plate and checking her record. Thank heavens it was clean, and the delay gave her time to recover enough to speak.
Finally the police officer emerged from his car, carrying a pad. He motioned for her to roll down the window.
“Was I speeding?” she asked timidly. “I didn’t think I was.”
“No.” He peered at her carefully. “You were just driving rather slowly, and I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
Mickelle understood what he was not saying: he’d suspected she was drunk. She remembered learning once in a health class that drunk drivers often compensated for their impaired senses by driving more slowly than usual. “Are you going to give me a ticket?” She knew desperation colored her voice.
“No, I . . . hey, I know you.” He thought a moment. “Oh, you’re the lady whose husband . . .” He trailed off, looking apologetic.
Mickelle put aside her fear enough to recognize him as one of the young officers who had come to her house with the news of Riley’s suicide—the one with blue eyes and brown hair. She nodded. “I remember you,” she said, peering at his name tag, “Officer Lowder.” He’d been kind—very kind—and she had never thanked him. “You were nice that day. Thank you.”
He put the pad in his pocket. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I just drove my son to school, and I was being careful because I didn’t want to get into an accident. My boys need . . .” Without warning, her eyes filled and tears spilled onto her cheeks.
“Look, is there something I can do?” His gaze was earnest, his voice rich with compassion.
She wiped her face with both hands. “No, really. Thank you. Just don’t give me a ticket.” She tried to grin.
His answering smile sent a ray of sunshine into her heart. “I won’t. But you go home now, okay? And be careful.”
“Thank you.”
Officer Lowder stepped back and watched as she put the old station wagon into gear and drove away. She glanced in the mirror and saw that he was still staring after her.
Nice man.
Back at home, she changed the sheets on Jeremy’s bed before reading the obituaries in the
Daily Herald
that arrived on her porch each morning. It was a free gift subscription someone had given her anonymously. She suspected it was a subtle hint from Brionney to find a job in the “Help Wanted” section, but she never got past the obituaries. Usually most of the dead were older, but today there was a thirty-year-old mother of four who had died of cancer and a toddler who’d been fished out of a canal. Mickelle wondered about the loved ones left behind, and if their lives had changed as much as hers.
Sighing, she tossed the paper on the pile near Riley’s chair and went into the bathroom to pick up Jeremy’s wet pajamas. He’d left the water undrained as usual, and the ring in the tub was dark. She should clean it, but she couldn’t make the effort. Why did everything demand her attention? All she wanted to do was go back to bed and pull the covers over her head. No more demands. No feelings.
Abruptly, the dimming of her vision and the rapid beating of her heart signaled another panic attack. She sank to the floor, dropping her head to her knees until the feelings subsided. At that moment, she wished more than anything that she didn’t have to pick Jeremy up that afternoon, that she could stay in the house forever.
Leaving the bathroom, she went to her room and collapsed on her bed. The curtain was drawn, and only a small amount of light filtered through. Mickelle had never realized how comforting the dark could be. She let herself drift to where she could feel no pain.
A persistent ringing sound jolted her awake. The doorbell. She glanced at the clock. It was already after noon. “Go away,” she muttered, turning over.
The ringing continued. At last it stopped, but she heard someone in the hall. “Mickelle? Are you here? Mickelle, it’s Brionney. I’ve brought you some bulbs to plant for next year. Daffodils, and they had a clearance on roses. I bought red, white, and pink. They were out of yellow—that’s why I got the daffodils. I have no idea if this is an okay time to plant roses or bulbs, but I thought you might know. Mickelle?”
Mickelle groaned and swung her feet out of bed for the second time that day. Why couldn’t people just let her sleep?
“Mickelle!” Brionney had reached the door to her room. “Are you sick?” She eyed Mickelle’s black clothing with a grimace but didn’t comment on it.
“No. I’m just tired.”
Brionney sighed and sat next to her on the bed. “I hear you. The twins both had something last night, and Jesse had to pull an all-nighter at work, so I was alone.” She jumped up. “Oh, that reminds me—Rosalie and the boys are still in the van. I have the alarm on, but I shouldn’t leave them there too long. Come and help me unload the plants, will you? There’s a lot of them!”
Mickelle let herself be urged along by her sister’s enthusiasm. Outside, they let the children into the backyard to play before returning to the van for the plants.
“Don’t you need any?” Mickelle asked.
“I already dropped a whole bunch off at home on my way from the store. Damon has offered me the use of his gardener for a few days, so he’s planting them for me. Apparently Damon pays him a salary, and he didn’t have anything to do at his place this week.” Brionney lowered two rose bushes to the sidewalk next to the flower bed. “He’s a really nice man, Damon is.”
Mickelle vaguely remembered that Damon was Jesse’s partner. “How’s the company doing?” She asked from habit, though some remote part of her knew that once she would have actually cared about the response.
Brionney looked up from her squatting position. “Good. Today they’re meeting with a guy from another company to see about getting their programs into foreign countries. And the money is finally coming in. Jesse’s even taking a week off sometime soon. We can’t go anywhere since the kids are in school, but I’m excited anyway.”
Mickelle sat down on the sidewalk, running her hands through the rich, moist soil, wondering who’d watered it for her. If she could find enough energy, she might even thank them. The smell of the earth filled her nose and she breathed it in, relishing the aroma and the memories of her childhood that the smell brought to her mind. The gritty feel of the dirt was somehow clean and refreshing.
There was a long silence, and Mickelle searched her mind for something to say. “So is the partner taking a week off, too?” Not that she cared in the slightest.
Brionney brushed her hands against her jeans. “Not a chance. He doesn’t have much interest in taking a vacation. His children are in school and he’s not married. I mean, he’s a widower. You know what? I think you should go out with him. He’s really nice.”
“So you said.” Mickelle was irritated at the suggestion.
“Well, he is nice,” Brionney insisted. “It wouldn’t hurt you to at least meet him. Someday you may want to get married again.”
“I’ll never marry again,” she said flatly.
“Why?”
She lifted her eyes to Brionney’s. “That’s what I want to know. Why should I cook for another man or wash his clothes, or go see a movie I don’t want to see? I’m through being a slave to someone else.”
Brionney’s eyes opened wide in shock. “What are you saying? That’s not what marriage is about! Sure, there’s the cleaning and the service, but there’s so much more. There’s the lying in bed at night, discussing the day or the future or the kids. There’s the support when something goes wrong. There’s the intimacy—”
“When you’re really too tired or upset for it.” Anger burst to life from the apathy in Mickelle’s heart. “And the insinuation that if you don’t respond, it means you don’t love him.”
“Not all men are like that. Sure they have different hormones, but a good and loving man will come to the realization that sex isn’t love, and that intimacy and feelings of love can also come from simply being together, watching TV, working together, being a family. And all that sparks more desire for physical intimacy on the woman’s part. So much of marriage is compromise. You can’t throw away the whole institution because Riley couldn’t see past his own desires.”
Mickelle looked away, her heart aching at the sincerity in her sister’s voice. She had no doubt that Jesse was a good marriage partner to her sister, but that didn’t mean Mickelle wanted another relationship. “I don’t want to worry about what someone else is thinking at every minute, worrying that I might say or do something wrong.”
Brionney’s hand crept to Mickelle’s, tears glistening in her eyes. “I know what that’s like. Derek was that way. But Jesse’s not. We’ve faced challenges, but if you love the other person and God more than yourself, things can be worked out.”
“Then Riley didn’t love me.” Mickelle knew it was true. He’d wanted her, he’d had feelings toward her, but he hadn’t truly loved her. “He couldn’t and still treat me that way.”
“Riley had a lot of problems.” Brionney’s eyes were sad. “I wish I had been around to help you more.”
“I’m fine now.” Mickelle rubbed her hands together to remove the dirt.
“Are you?”
“I’m lonely sometimes.” Mickelle met her sister’s searching gaze. “For what it’s worth, I love Riley, and I would give anything to have him back. I think if he’d been able to bear the pressure for just a little longer, we could have made our marriage work. It was heading in the right direction. Maybe there will still be a chance for us in the next life.”
Brionney nodded. “None of us knows what the future holds. But there’s still that dream or vision you had about your daughter. What about that?”
Mickelle gave a long sigh. “It was just a dream.”
“What if it wasn’t? What if there’s someone else out there for you? What if you’re supposed to have another child?”
Mickelle smiled weakly through the growing pain in her chest. “Then her father will have to enter my life with a bang, because I’m not going looking for him.”
Brionney shook her head and sighed. She stayed to help plant the roses, keeping up a steady conversation about less volatile subjects. Then she washed her hands and piled her children into the van. “Do you want me to pick up Jeremy at school?” she asked. “I was going to let my kids walk, but I have to pick up Damon’s little girl today and take her home.”
“No. I’ll get him. I promised. Besides, you don’t have enough seat belts in your van if that girl and Jeremy go with you. But thanks for coming. I really appreciate it.”
Mickelle watched her go, feeling grateful that her sister had taken time from her day to lighten her sadness. The rose bushes, as bare of blooms as they were, brought her a feeling of warmth and happiness. Next spring they would flower and life would go on.
As would she.
With a feeling of renewal, she went inside and looked through a stack of mail. There were two bills that were due, and she had enough time to write out checks before leaving to pick up Jeremy at school. “I can mail them first if I hurry,” she said aloud.
Bryan walked up as she was opening the door to the Snail. From his contented expression, Mickelle assumed that his first day at junior high had gone well.