Family Interrupted (22 page)

He gestured over his shoulder. I turned my head and, for the first time, saw the bulging suitcase resting on the floor behind us.

Another nightmare. One that shouldn’t happen, not after all this time. And definitely not tonight.

“I’ve got a room at the Marriott Suites,” he continued calmly, as though he hadn’t just strewn my path with landmines. He pulled into our driveway and hopped outside before I could speak.

My insides trembled. By the time I managed to unlock my door and make my way to the ground, Jack had retrieved the picture and leaned it against the wooden gate that led to the house.

I knew Jack hated to see me cry, but I couldn’t stop tears from rolling down my face. I couldn’t let him leave. He was still my CrackerJack, still my best friend. Beyond the rush of tears, I stood in front of him, my hands grasping his.

“But why, Jack? Why? I thought tonight would be a new beginning, that it was time for one. I was so happy a-and I wanted you to be happy, and you were, Jack, you know you were happy when we were dancing...and...and...” Babble, babble. I was never as articulate as I should be.

“An illusion doesn’t last.” His mouth tightened. He pulled his hands from mine and pointed at the canvas. “That’s what made you happy. That was the purpose of the whole shindig. You had to show everyone. ‘See? My daughter is still here. Don’t forget her.’ So, what’s next, Claire? A watercolor? A statue? A copper relief? It’ll never be enough for you. You’re so wrapped up in Kayla, there’s no room for anyone else.”

His voice had risen with every sentence. He was shouting now, and I wanted to cover my ears.

“Well, I’m tired of waiting for my turn,” he continued. “I’m tired of waiting for you to pay attention, for us to resume a normal life together. A real life. Not make-believe. I’m done here. I’ve had enough. I. Am. Done.” His hard gaze and tone left no room for doubt.

I was in the fight of my life now, fighting for a way to keep going, for my very existence. So how could I give up?

“You say
you’re
done, but
I’m
not done. You’re wrong about me this time, Jack. You think you know everything, but you don’t. We can’t have the old normal life anymore. We have to find a new normal. That’s what people like us do, and I’m ready for it. I’m ready to try, a-and besides, it’s our anniversary.”

My voice cracked, my soul ached. Frightened didn’t come close to how I felt because I wondered if he could be right. Instead of tonight being a turning point, maybe the picture had only been a therapeutic exercise for me, and I’d need more of it.

“I don’t believe you,” said Jack. “A new normal? Does it include keeping secrets from me? Ignoring our son? And as for our so-called anniversary? Well, a celebration is for couples who are truly devoted, who share with each other what’s in their hearts and minds, who think about each other first. We don’t do that anymore. Haven’t in a long, long time. These days, we go through the motions, but we don’t have a marriage.”

He climbed back into the truck and rolled down the window. “I’ll be in touch.”

I could barely comprehend the whole of it. Was Jack actually leaving me, or were we acting out a scene where I hadn’t been given the right lines? I felt myself floating, drifting away to another world. Someplace else. What was real? What was not? I began to tremble, full head-to-toe tremors. Goosebumps covered me, and my stomach began a tarantella. A new world without Jack? My arms, legs...so light. I heard someone moan. From far away, someone howled.

A miasma of haze surrounded me. Maybe I’d float on a cloud. Up. Up. Oh...yes...Just as I’d imagined, floating was lovely, painless. And the moon...only on the far side did the moon shine bright, and the stars were large, as unique as snowflakes. Everything below looked wee small. Was that a tree or a hunk of grass? Talk about perspective. And right over there, that’s...that’s my daughter! I just spotted Kayla—my Kayla—leaning on the fence.

Wait, wait for me. Don’t leave, sweetheart. I’m coming, I’m coming. Blindly, I reached, my arms outstretched and ready to hug. I locked onto her! She felt real-world solid. Feet-on-the-ground solid. Kisses, kisses, kisses—butterfly kisses in the air.

My breathing slowed, and with eyes opened now, I saw myself lying on the ground, my arms wrapped around my waist. The air seemed heavy again and hazy. My lids drifted down, and I just breathed. Maybe I’d been in shock. Or maybe that flight-or-fight reaction had kicked in. I didn’t know, didn’t care. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out. Once. Twice. I opened my eyes again. The house, the garage—everything came into focus. Too real. Much too real.

I sat up, disappointed, and reached toward Kayla’s picture. I stroked the frame. “Not your fault, sweetheart, not your fault.
Mea culpa
.”

Slowing rising, I grabbed the top of the fence for balance and watched Jack back out of our long driveway and onto the street.

I guess my long flight took only a few seconds.
Jack! Wait. Tonight was supposed to be our new beginning....
Soon the truck’s headlights illuminated Bluebonnet Drive while the truth illuminated my senses: I’d been too late to save my family again. Once more, I was too late. All my good intentions gone awry, not only here but at the hospital too. Why did I have such poor judgment that I’d failed everywhere?

Kayla was gone. Ian had left, and now Jack. I was alone, the only family member still at home.

What a laugh. How could our house be a home if no one wanted to live there? My husband had just walked out drenched in anger and disappointment; my son didn’t trust me. My family was disintegrating before my eyes. Was it all my fault? Jack said he was done. Done with us. But I knew he loved me, at least I think he did. And I loved him. Why wasn’t that enough?

What to do, what to do...I had no idea how to fix us, and God knows we needed fixing. I didn’t want to believe our life together was over. I wanted to make love to Jack again and help Ian through whatever he was going through, and I wanted to continue painting—maybe a portrait of Anne and Maddy. Tom would love that. And Jack needed me in the business. Unless he hired a replacement now.

I gazed at the empty house. If I was the underlying cause of all our problems, then I’d better figure out how to resolve them. Was there a superglue for families, or would that be too easy? All I knew was that as long as Jack, Ian, and I continued to walk on God’s green earth, I couldn’t give up.

Children are the anchors

That hold a mother to life.

—Sophocles,
Phaedra

CLAIRE

Sunday morning

Too much thinking kept me up last night. The sofa had seemed more cramped than usual, but I’d chosen it over the bedroom. Facing a half-empty closet had been beyond my capabilities. I'd tossed and turned, haunted by a kaleidoscope of scenes from the party and the horrible after-party where my high hopes for a new beginning with Jack had burst in my face like an overfilled balloon. His disappearance from the restaurant was my first clue to his distress. His silence going home was the second. Even without the kudos from our friends about the portrait, I knew he wasn’t ashamed of my work. He’d said something about Kayla being so real he could have hugged her. But then he’d driven home too fast, his mouth clenched, his words coming through lips that barely moved. Angry barely described him.

But why? Analyzing behavior had never been my strong suit, and as the hours crept by, I wondered where I’d gone wrong. Or had it been Jack who’d screwed up? He’d said I didn’t care about him. But hadn’t I just given him the most wonderful present I could imagine giving anyone? I’d put in the work—untold hours—on something I thought he’d cherish. Why was all the blame mine?

Oh, Lord, did assigning blame really matter at this point?

I’d known enough couples who’d separated and divorced to understand there was usually plenty of blame to go around. The he-said-she-said arguments accomplished nothing. A marriage at the breaking point required a lot of untangling between two people. A lot of talking.

Whoa, Claire. Breaking point?
How could that be? Jack and I...we...We were the grounded, steady couple. Everyone said so. We’d said so. We’d always had the epitome of a great marriage. I groaned. How could I ever make sense of this? Jack was the people-person. He could figure out somebody’s
modus operandi
after one conversation. Me? I went to my studio and worked alone. I used to tease him about a picture being worth a thousand words. I guess I really proved it last night.

At noon, I sat at the kitchen table with my second cup of coffee. When the phone rang, I grabbed it, thinking it was Jack...maybe to apologize? Wrong. Cousin Marilyn’s cheerful voice thanking us for a wonderful party, wishing us well one more time on our special anniversary, and praising Kayla’s portrait with heartfelt enthusiasm. I thanked her, of course. And that’s all I said. I wasn’t broadcasting the problems my talent had wrought. Nothing was official. And besides, maybe those problems would be resolved quickly.

Hers was the first call of the day. After chatting with a few other guests and pretending everything was fine, I began checking Caller ID before picking up. I deserved an Academy Award for my performances so far. Man, I was good at pretending, but then again, I had secrets to keep.

“We had a great time too,” I’d say. “Thanks for coming.”

“No, I’m so sorry. Jack just stepped out. I’ll tell him you called.”

“Thank you. The spitting image? Glad you liked it. Yeah. I didn’t know I had it in me either.”

The happy messages threatened to send me bawling, and by late afternoon, I was exhausted from keeping up pretenses. I thought about escaping to my studio, even walked to the kitchen door, but turned back before I opened it. A visceral reaction with a bitter flavor.

Not once was I tempted to tell the truth to anyone. After all, what could I possibly say? That Jack had hated Kayla’s portrait so much he’d walked out on me? Too intimate. Too personal. Too bizarre. My friends wouldn’t understand.

When I saw my mom’s name on the Caller ID, I almost didn’t answer. Almost. But I knew her well enough to know she’d keep trying until someone picked up the receiver. My hand hovered above the phone as, once more, I braced myself for the role of hostess.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, yourself, and happy anniversary again. I waited to call in case you and Jack wanted a quiet, lazy day alone. Alone, together.” She laughed as she spoke. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

I sure did, and I wished it were so. I wished I could laugh with my mother, whose spontaneous good humor had been lacking in recent years. She didn’t deserve another blow. Neither did my loyal dad.

“Yeah...I...we...ah... Mom?” My voice squeaked, and my Oscar disappeared.

“What’s wrong, Claire? Oh, good heavens. Never mind. We’ll be right over.”

“No, no. I’m fine.”

“Something’s wrong. I know my daughter, and you’re not fine.”

The next sound I heard was the dial tone.

Fifteen minutes later, my folks were at the door. My dad embraced me then peeked over my shoulder.

“Where’s Jack? What’s going on now?”

It was the “now” that got me. My parents had had a brief respite from my troubles last night. They’d gone to bed happy and hopeful, enjoying a lovely celebration, and had awakened to a new disappointment.

“Jack’s not here,” I said, leading the way into the family room where my portrait of Kayla stood against the near wall. My voice quivered, but I got the words out. “Jack is...he’s checked into the Marriott.” The last part ended in a rush.

Confusion. Shock. And then, “He’s done what?”

Daddy turned on his heel. “Then that’s where I’m heading.”

“Oh, no you’re not.” Mom at work. She glommed onto his arm and pulled him back. “Listen to Claire. We don’t even know what happened.”

With an airy gesture, I pointed at the picture. “That’s what happened.”

Both my parents turned and gazed at Kayla. The silence this time had a softer, poignant quality.

“I’m admitting,” said Daddy, “that I got all choked up last night when I saw this here picture. And as for your mother...

“It almost killed me. I had goose bumps everywhere.” My mom cupped my face in her palms. “Not only because I wasn’t expecting to see Kayla but because I actually saw her. You are
that
good.” She turned from me to look at her lost granddaughter again. “I guess I haven’t seen your studio work in a long time. You are beyond being a hobbyist. You are exceptional.”

“I don’t know about that,” I whispered. “It might seem so because it’s...it’s Kayla. And...and Jack couldn’t stand it.”

“He’ll be back, sweetheart,” said my mother. “He loves you, adores you. We saw it last night every time he looked at you, and when he danced with you? It was almost like...Well, let’s just say that nothing’s changed there.”

“Your mother’s right. You two kids have been together for so long, Jack wouldn’t even know how to go a week by himself.”

Kids? I hugged them. Hard. “Have I mentioned recently how much I love you? I’m wondering why a grown woman still needs to hang onto her parents.”

“That’s an easy one,” said Dad. “When times are tough, we all feel like children again, scared and wanting our parents.”

“Amen.” Mom walked to the picture then scanned the walls of the room. “This is quite large, Claire. Where do you want it? Daddy and I can help you hang it right now.”

I hesitated. Not about the placement, but whether I should display the portrait at all. Jack hated it, or what he thought it represented. In either case, he couldn’t look at the work.

“Thanks,” I said. “But let’s just leave it where it is. I might even store it in Kayla’s room for awhile.”

Jack had accused me of wrapping myself up in Kayla to the exclusion of anyone else. I loved that child. I’d always love her and miss her, but I didn’t want to choose between my daughter and my husband.

#

JACK

Sunday

When I woke up this morning, I wondered if I’d slept on a bed of rocks. Every muscle ached, including the ones in my jaw. I couldn’t blame the suite. In fact, it contained everything a guy could want—fridge, sink, a loaded bar. I couldn’t blame the bed, although I could have done with something smaller. Glancing at the partly messed-up covers, I put two and two together. It seemed I’d kept to “my half” of the king-size mattress. Just proved that old habits were hard to break.