Compass (Siren Songs Book 2) (22 page)

“Do you want to explain any of that?”

“Piper, I could give you a laundry list of excuses, but that’s all they’d be. I promise myself day in and day out I’m going to seize the day, make today the day I conquer therapy, then there’s no motivation. I spend as much time writing down the shit I’m not doing as it would actually take to do the exercises and it’s still preferable to doing the actual work. I don’t have a legitimate reason. I just haven’t done it.”

“I see.”

She doesn’t see, though. She thinks this is about her, but it’s more about me than anything—my inadequacy not hers.

“Piper…” Her name trails off my lips in apology, begging her to understand.

“So, am I the only person who’s been living in your fairytale?” The tone of her voice screams insecurity and embarrassment.

“No. I’ve lied to everyone including my doctors and therapists. You’re the only person I’ve come clean to.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” I don’t understand the question.

“Why did you feel the need to burden me with this revelation? Have the last few months not been enough, you needed to hang this anchor around my neck too?”

Reaching for her hand, she doesn’t offer it to me, leaving mine open on the table. “I owe you the truth. Not because it’s your burden to carry but because I never want there to be anything between us. I came to you first because you’re my wife, but also because if you forgive me, no one else matters.”

“So, if I forgive you then what, you’re off the hook with everyone else?”

“No, not at all. Regardless of the outcome here I have to tell my family and our friends. I’m just hoping I can do it with you by my side, helping to guide me. I’ve lost my direction, Pipes. I’ve just wanted to close my eyes and wish it away. My compass isn’t working, and I need you to steer me the right way.”

Her head bobs in affirmation but she’s lost in thought, she’s not acquiescing to my needs. The fog clouding her eyes says more about what I’ve done to her than words could. Every day, another piece of her dies because of the stress she’s under and my inability to be her partner.

Uncertain of where to go, or what to do or say, I sit in silence waiting for her response, her next move. I should be miserable, and I am. This isn’t a comfortable silence between lovers, this is like watching the art of war being planned knowing you don’t have the resources to retaliate. Not that I deserve to.

The minutes on the clock tick by, the sounds of the house seem to roar as the sun goes down, and we continue sitting at the table. The food has long since gone cold, but Piper hasn’t so much as twitched a finger. I have to really watch to make sure she’s even blinking.

As much as I want to give her the time she needs to process, my bladder is like that of a toddler, and it takes me longer than normal to get to the restroom using the cane.

“I have to go to the bathroom. I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.”

My voice seems to draw her out of the haze. She blinks rapidly turning her head to me. “It’s fine. I’m going to lie down. I’ll get the dishes in the morning. Don’t forget to take Phoenix out before you go to bed.” She walks away after tucking her chair under the table. I watch her back until I can’t see her in the bedroom anymore. The slump in her shoulders, the pace of her steps, the way her feet shuffle on the floor—her defeat nearly breaks what little remains of me.

Returning to the living room from the bathroom, I encounter more of the same, silence. I don’t want to turn on the television, and I don’t want to read. I’d love to see my friends but recognize it’s not a good idea to go hang out with my buddies or my brothers after dropping this bomb on my wife.

I need a plan. Tomorrow when Piper has had a good night sleep and might be ready to talk, I need to have a mental strategy ready for what needs to happen next. Currently, it’s just virtual chaos in my mind.

L
ying
on the down comforter in our room, staring at the ceiling above me, I wonder how we got so far away from where we once were. I’ve always considered myself a realist, not a pessimist or an optimist, but the reality of what remains in my glass is obvious.

We’re at a pivotal point in our marriage, the precipice of change or demise. Overwhelmingly, I want to give up. Our situation is bleak, dismal. The issues compounded by our unintentional isolation, Moby’s due to a sheer lack of transportation, and mine merely the circumstances surrounding my life. Life has stopped being about living and morphed into surviving. The days seem longer and less fulfilling. I get no joy in coming home or seeing my husband. In actuality, I can’t find happiness anywhere anymore. My job is a means to an end I used to love. My husband a burden at times I wish to unload. I miss my friends. I miss the time before any of us were in relationships when it was just the Fish.

As tears fill my eyes, what I’m actually crying over confuses me, hell maybe I’m mourning. Maybe this is what being an adult is all about and I just missed the memo. All I know is, the moment I slow down, an unbearable weight crushes my soul and what remains of my spirit. I want to talk but have nothing to say, I want to feel, but the pain is too great. The only place I find any relief is in the obscurity of the night, trapped in the darkness right before my eyes surrender to sleep, and my brain turns off the incessant racket. Unfortunately, that peace is fleeting, and my sleep is filled with nightmares.

Every once in a while, I dream of Moby finding me, lost; he’s healed, whole. With him comes the brightest light I’ve ever seen—the type I imagine angels would bring—illuminating the world around me, bringing color to what was previously black and white. He’s my true north, the star I can follow to safety, but no matter how far I travel, he stays just out of reach. My heart cries out to his, hearing only the response, “
Follow me.
” I always wake in a frantic search for my husband, only to find him sleeping next to me, the same Moby I left when I drifted off the night before.

* * *

W
aking in the morning
, I realize he hasn’t slept next to me. Tearing the covers back, I whip open the bedroom door to see him asleep sitting up on the chaise lounge. My heart descends from my throat back to its rightful place in my chest. I realize in this very moment, I’m not ready to give up on him. The thought of something being wrong sent me into a tailspin. There’s still something worth fighting for even if I don’t have an inkling what the hell it is.

I plop down on the couch next to him, startling him, disoriented he glances around, trying to get his bearings. When the sleep clears from his eyes, he sends a rather pitiful grin in my direction.

“I’m calling in to work today.”

Scrambling to sit up, he questions, “Why?”

“Because we need to go see your parents, and I’m going to see if Cam can get everyone together this afternoon at Healing Wings.”

“What for?” I love him, but sometimes he’s not the brightest bulb on the porch. I give him a pass since I woke him unexpectedly and just started firing off information.

“To come clean so we can move forward.”

We’re nowhere near where we need to be, but I figure the best place to start is confronting this demon together. Attacking it as a team, we have to be stronger in numbers.

“You know this is going to suck, right?” He lets out a humph and slumps back on the couch—as if I’m not well aware of exactly how bad this is going to be.

“Yeah. I do. But I also know you have to let go of the guilt you’re holding on to, and you need people who are going to help keep you accountable.”

“I shouldn’t need that, Piper. I’m a grown man. I know what I have to do. I should be doing it without hesitation.”

“Maybe, but if you can have a group of people help you why try to face it alone?”

Staring at nothing in front of him, he nods before turning to me. “You’re not leaving me?” His voice cracks mid-sentence.

“We’ve got to figure this out, Moby. I can’t keep living like this, but I need to put in as much effort as you do.”

“You’ve been putting in all the effort.”

“No, I’ve been doing all the work, I haven’t put effort into our marriage. I’ve been doing chores, paying bills, and going to work. I haven’t been investing in us. Maybe some of the other things aren’t as important and can be set aside for the time being.”

“My dad is going to bury me, Piper.”

“Yep. So, let’s get up and get moving. I’m going to call Cam.” I pat him on the leg, indicating there’s no time like the present.

Finding my phone, I call my boss and best friend, well one of them.

“Hey, Cam.” Thankfully she’s an early riser. The clock reads five fifty-nine.

“Is everything okay?” She’s on her third cup of coffee by now.

“It will be. I need to take the morning off to help Moby deal with some stuff. Do you think you can rally the troops late this afternoon?”

“I’m sure I can. Are you sure everything’s okay? You guys aren’t calling us all together again to tell us you’re pregnant, are you?” She laughs nervously into the phone. That would be the final straw—a baby in all this mess would be disastrous.

“No, Cam. I’d have to be having sex to get pregnant and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be giving the next virgin birth.”

“You wanna tell me what’s up?”

I feel like I owe her more because she’s my boss, but I can’t betray Moby either. He needs to do this, and his parents need to be next on the list.

“Moby just has some things he needs to let everyone know, and before you freak out, he’s fine too. It’s just not my place to speak for him.”

“I get it. No worries. I’ll see what I can do. You want me to order pizza or something to feed the hordes?”

My body shakes with laughter, not because anything she said was terribly funny but the thought of all those men in one room—feeding them always makes things easier. It’s like their brains don’t function properly unless there’s food within reach.

“No. I think they need to be sober for this one.”

“Ooohhh. Sounds juicy!” I miss just hanging out with my Fish. They know when to be silly and when to pull me back from the ledge. “Oh, hey. While I’m doing favors for you, this weekend is bridesmaid weekend. Don’t forget. Dresses, caterers, cakes, wine, you name it, we’re doing it. And flowers. You guys promised weeks ago.”

My heart drops at her reminder, as much as I want to go, as much as I need to go, I wonder if the timing isn’t too much for Moby.

“Go,” he whispers in my ear scaring the shit out of me. When the hell did he become so stealth? I normally hear his cane coming a mile away.

Turning to him, I mouth the word, “Really?” So Cam can’t hear me seeking permission for a weekend I’ve already committed to.

“Piper, don’t you dare back out on me!” Her voice rings through the air with the phone pulled away from my face. “You need this as much as I do. Stop trying to think of excuses to continue being a hermit.”

Bringing the phone back to my ear, I respond, “I’m not, you whore. I’ll be there, but you better have lots of booze and a hotel.”

“Yep, the plan is dresses first, vendors second, wine tasting and catering in the hotel, and of course, a girls’ night in the penthouse to try out the room and the staff. And tell Moby Dax will pick him up Saturday. They have guy stuff to do, but I don’t know what it is other than tuxes.”

“I’ll tell him. I’ll see you this afternoon. Send me a text to let me know when everyone will be there.”

“Will do. Love you, fish stick.”

I grin at her play on our nicknames. “Love you, goofball.”

Hanging up the phone, I turn to Moby. “Looks like our weekend is planned for us. I’m sorry, I hadn’t intended to be gone.” I figured Moby and I should try to do something together that didn’t involve work of any kind.

“You need this, Piper. You need a couple days with your friends, some good girl time with wine. It won’t hurt me to hang out with my brothers either.”

“You’re right. Let’s get dressed. You want to stop and get breakfast before we go to your parents’ house?” I’m making an effort to show him I’m willing to try. Even though I’m frustrated with him and not attracted to him, I committed to him and need to find a way back to who we were as a couple.

“Yeah, that’d be nice. It’s always better to throw up with something in your stomach than dry heaving.”

I playfully smack him on the arm. “Your parents are not going to crucify you.”

“I think it might be easier if they do. I hate feeling like I’ve disappointed them and I know before I open my mouth, I already have.”

I don’t have words for him, I can’t tell him differently because I refuse to lie. He chose this bed and now he has to lie in it until we can change the sheets.

We stop at a little mom and pop diner close to our house before proceeding to his parents’. He sent his dad a text while we were at breakfast to make sure they’d be home. I couldn’t tell if his confirmation put Moby at ease or made him more apprehensive. I wouldn’t be surprised if Moby had been hoping they had left the country unexpectedly.

I always wonder when we come to the house Moby grew up in how they all lived there. With four kids, three bedrooms might not be too cramped, but with four teenagers, there’s no way two bathrooms would be enough. It’s a simple house in an older neighborhood; very non-descript. Any normal person would drive by without noticing it, but something drew his parents here, and they’ve stayed forever.

It irritates the crap out of me when Moby rings the doorbell. Every time we come over. He doesn’t have a key to his parents’ house; he doesn’t just walk in, he rings the bell as if he’s a guest instead of their son. His mom answers, ushering us in, escorting us to the living room.

I watch Patty plant herself on the edge of the couch, her knees pressed together, her hands folded neatly in her lap; prim and proper Patty.

“We’ll wait for your father, before we start, Moby.” I wonder who she’s putting on the show for. I’m completely indifferent to her act and Moby’s not aware of anything other than what he’s about to own up to.

Good old Nate shows up with a beer in hand. Glancing at my watch, it’s 10:23 a.m. Classy. I’m not normally quite so judgmental but ever since our stint at MUSC I just can’t get past just how self-centered his parents are. The damage they’ve done to the relationship between the two of them and myself is irreparable.

Moby and I sit next to each other on the love seat diagonally from his mother as Nate accompanies her on the other couch. I slip my hand into Moby’s to remind him he’s not alone as he fidgets, obviously uncomfortable.

“What’s up, guys?” Nate’s voice barrels through the odd shaped room, it’s a narrow rectangle, impossible to successfully decorate. The country chic vibe she has going only adds to the awkward feel of the space.

Trying to keep my eyes off Moby, I search for something to focus on other than my husband’s sudden lack of confidence. It’s not sudden, I’ve seen it, but I don’t think anyone else has; maybe Brooks or Dax, but certainly not his parents.

“Moby, son, what do you need to talk to us about?” His dad’s impatience rubs me the wrong way. For the love of God, give him a moment to collect his thoughts. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” I answer for him. “Just let him get his thoughts together.” I try to execute those words eloquently and in a gentle manner, but I think I missed the mark. Patty gives me the stink eye as Moby clears his throat.

With a heavy sigh, he starts his confession. “I need to tell you both some things and hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me and help me.” He turns to look at me. “No, us. Help us move forward.” Neither Nate nor Patty opens their mouths as he continues. He’s up front, he doesn’t soften the truth as he paints a dark picture of where he is emotionally right now. When he’s finished, they don’t ask him to elaborate, they don’t attempt to challenge him on his lapse in judgment.

Patty lets a few stray tears fall, quickly wiping away the evidence of their existence. His father asks him what his plans are now to which Moby doesn’t have much of an answer but he’s honest about our ideas to meet with his therapists and our counselor to figure out what will work for us together. The first step is the admission of truth to those he lied to.