Seventy-Two Hours (2 page)

I ended the call and held my phone in my
lap. The rows of vines gave way to dense woods as the road went from
blacktopped to dirt and continued a winding and twisting decent towards the
lake.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Chris finally
stated in his defense.

“You lied to me.”

“I misrepresented the reason for our trip to
the lake because I wanted to surprise you.”

“You’ve overshot ‘surprised’ and are getting
pissed off,” I snapped. “You shouldn’t have lied to me.”

“Would you have agreed to it if I’d told you
the truth?” he posed. “Would you have been open to a weekend away with me?”

I didn’t answer him. I didn’t have to. He
knew what my answer would have been.

The road turned right and closely followed
the shore of the lake. He turned into a private driveway shaded heavily by
trees before bringing his SVU to a stop in front of a rustic, two-story log
cabin. Shifting into park and then turning off the engine, he removed his keys
and played with them nervously in his hands.

“I want to go home,” I finally told him.

He took a deep breath, expelled it loudly,
and said, “No.”

I clutched my cell phone angrily. “Fine.
I’ll call Carson to come and get me,” I announced smugly.

“Go ahead,” he replied as he opened his door,
got out, and left me behind to stew over his nonchalant departure.

After a bit of swearing on my behalf, I
called Carson’s cell phone only to be told to leave a voice mail. My current
predicament wasn’t something to leave in the form of a detailed message so I
decided to end the call. Out of our three children, Carson was the most
intuitive to the current state of his parent’s marriage. He would even understand
why.

After unlocking the cottage, Chris returned
to unload the hatch. I decided to get out and approach him about ending his
silly weekend getaway.

As he hefted a box of groceries, I surveyed
the rest of the items that had been concealed by the closed cover; two
overnight bags, our large Coleman cooler, and another box of supplies.

I decided to stop him from carrying
everything inside since I was determined to get my way. “Chris, stop. Stop
taking things inside. I want to go home.”

He came to an abrupt stop, glared at me, and said
rather succinctly, “No.”

I gave off a tired laugh. “You’re going to
keep me here against my will? Is that the plan?”

“I take it you couldn’t get a hold of
Carson?”

“No.”

“I wonder who else you could call because I’m
not leaving.”

“My mom. I’ll call her next,” I said with
confidence.

He laughed at my response. “I don’t think
she will. She felt a weekend away was a great idea. You’re mother’s a smart
woman. She sees what’s happening around her.”

My parents had a soft spot for Chris. From
the very beginning. He was courteous, endearing, and turned out to be a great
provider. What they didn’t understand was, by being a “great provider,” he was
never around for his family. And when he was, the time was always interrupted
by conference calls and video chats.

He broke into my thoughts when he said, “You
could always call
him
. See if
he’ll
come and get you.”

While I was still reeling from his comment,
he carried the box off to the cottage. I watched him walk away. Stunned and
feeling trapped.

After considering my limited options, I gave
in and carried our bags inside. Under normal circumstances, the cottage would
have provided a most welcomed weekend away, but not this time. Regardless, I
took in and appreciated the simple, but homey touches inside. The open floor
plan of the first floor with its kitchen, dining area, and living room. Tall
wooden-beamed ceilings. Hardwood floors with braided area rugs. It was cozy.

“The bedrooms are upstairs, if you want to take
our bags up,” he suggested before turning on his heel and heading out for
another load.

I made my way up the open staircase with
steps made out of half logs in search of our sleeping accommodation choices.
There were two small rooms each furnished with a simple double bed and a vanity
dresser that took up most of the floor space. I checked to see which bag was
mine and tossed it on one of the beds. He could have the master bedroom all to
himself. I left his bag sitting on an old Windsor chair that sat right inside
the door. That room was larger, (not by much,) and held a king size, lodge-style
bed with logs used to make the frame, headboard, and footboard. An old quilt
was folded up at the foot of the bed. Crisp white sheets and one of those
waffle-weave blankets were tucked in around the mattress. Four plump, white
pillows gave it a very inviting look. It said, “Climb in, close your eyes, and
relax in my cotton cocoon. I’ll make all your troubles disappear.”

I shook it off. Staying in that room would
only make Chris feel as if his plan was working. It wasn’t. While the two of
us were sharing the same bed at home, this foreign environment made me want my
distance from him. His actions had only forced my hand. Instead of discussing
things at home over the weekend, I was being forced to tell him during the
romantic weekend he planned. Talk about a twist of fate.

Chris was downstairs putting groceries away.
He had an apple that he was taking bites out of in between stocking shelves and
an open bottle of beer setting beside him.

I crossed my arms as a chill went through
me. It was 82 degrees outside and the cottage had been closed up. Even with
the few windows that Chris had opened on the first floor, it was still stuffy.
Why I was cold, I didn’t know. It had to be my nerves.

“Did you decide to stay?” he asked while
closing a cabinet.

“I don’t have a choice right now, do I?” I
answered.

“You’re other ride didn’t pan out?” he asked
before taking a long pull from his Amstel Light.

I decided to play dumb. “I already told you
I couldn’t reach Carson. I didn’t leave a message.”

“I wasn’t referencing our son. I thought maybe
your boyfriend would be willing to make the trip for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

He scoffed and looked off. “You know
perfectly well what I’m talking about. Steve Graves,” he dropped on me.

I swallowed the lump down that had formed in
my throat. “For God’s sake, Chris. We work together.”

He was so calm. Completely opposite of how I
was feeling. “Don’t deny it. I can even tell you the first time it happened
between the two of you.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Am I?” he replied and closed the distance
between us. “I don’t think so. You were away with your fellow social studies
teachers in April. Your curriculum trip to Gettysburg and Colonial
Philadelphia. That was the first time you slept with him.”

I found the closest seat and sank into it. The
worst thing I could do was deny it. However, admitting to it didn’t seem to be
the right thing either.

“The second time was the week school let
out,” he said from nearby.

I recovered enough to say, “Was this the
purpose of your little weekend getaway? So you could make your accusations to a
captive audience?”

He finished his beer and wiped his mouth with
the back of his hand in a frustrated manner. “I want us to talk, Jen. We need
time to sit and talk. Just the two of us and with no interruptions. We have
the cottage until Monday.”

I decided to be blunt. I sat forward, laced
my fingers together, and said, “You do realize 72 hours isn’t going to change
matters? You can’t wave a magic wand and fix what’s broken in our marriage.
It’s too late.”

“Don’t say that.”

Hearing the anguish in his voice made my
breath catch. I didn’t hate him. God, it wasn’t that. And I didn’t want to
make the inevitable some drawn-out event for either of us. Talking about my
recent infidelity wasn’t going to accomplish anything other than to dredge up
painful images for him. He didn’t need to suffer through the reasons why it
happened or how it came about. It just did.

“I’m not happy anymore, Chris. I want a
divorce.”

Those last four words were out and it didn’t
kill me. As a matter of fact, I felt some of the weight I’d been carrying lift
off of me.

Chris wasn’t holding up as well. As he
tossed his empty bottle into the garbage with a resounding crash of breaking
glass he said, “No. It’s not an option.”

“This isn’t something I’m asking your
permission for damn it.”

My cell phone rang before he could respond.
It was Carson. I could tell by the ringtone.

But Chris could as well. He stormed over and
took the phone from me as I went to answer it. He held it up to his ear and
used his free arm to block and hold me at bay. It was better not to carry on
screaming my outrage while my son was on the phone. I didn’t want to scare
him.

“Sorry about that. You’re mother called you
by accident…” he lied without blinking an eye. “
Do
I sound strange...No.
Everything is fine. Did you get my voice mail earlier about our plans for the
weekend...Good…I hope you enjoy it…We’ll take that under advisement and see you
sometime Monday.”

He hit the end button and pocketed my phone
in his jeans before I could grab it. “Our son told us to have a fun weekend
while reminding us not to have too much fun. He doesn’t want to be made a big
brother again,” Chris replied with a smile.

“He doesn’t have anything to worry about
there,” I muttered with an eye roll.

“Anyway, he said he doesn’t have a signal at
Jamie’s house and only saw your missed call when they drove to get pizza. He
didn’t want us to worry if we couldn’t reach him later on.”

Knowing I was stuck at the cottage with him,
I said, “I’m going out to the lake.”

“I’ll join you.”

“That wasn’t an invitation,” I told him as I went
off on my own.

July 4, 1986 - East Smithfield, PA

The parade would be short. It was always
short. It took longer getting our high school’s marching band into formation
than the actual running time of the parade from start to finish. But it was
tradition. Small town living. Truth be told, it was all about the socializing
that went on between our community locals while waiting for it to start. There
were a handful of topics that could be overheard in any given cluster year
after year. They ranged from farmers discussing their first cutting of hay for
the summer, the dreaded dust being kicked up along the dirt roads, or the
current gossip (which was provided by some of the finest church ladies with a
good ear for the morbid, the bizarre, and the scandalous.) That year, a new
topic had pushed all others aside to rank number one. Our high school had
graduated its last official class and would be merging with our cross town
rival school. To hear some folks talk, it was the end of the world. Many had
attempted to stop it, but once the board voted, it was a done deal.

My best friend and I had wandered away from
our families. Lisa was animated while speculating what our senior year would
be like with being the first “experimental” class of the merged school
districts. She was nervous. We’d be going to their school. Their turf. I
didn’t know how I felt about it. I had other things on my mind.

We came to a stop behind White’s General
Store. Away from prying eyes as we each lit up cigarettes that came from a
crushed pack of Marlboros Lisa had kept stuffed in the front pocket of her
cut-off jean shorts. Taking a long pull, I held my breath a moment before
exhaling through rounded, practiced lips. As always, the first drag made my
head swim and I found myself swaying in place momentarily.

“I broke up with Chris last night,” I told my
friend something I hadn’t shared with anyone else. Not even my family. Some
days, I thought they liked him more than they liked me.

“No way! Why?”

I shrugged and looked at the school in the
distance. “He’s leaving for college in a few weeks.”

“So.”

Lisa wouldn’t understand, but I’d attempt an
explanation anyway. “I don’t want to be tied down my senior year. Besides
Chris is way too serious about us.”

“The two of you aren’t doing it, are you?”

I felt my face flush at her direct question.
“No. No. It isn’t that. He just talks about when we’re married and stuff.
It’s too intense. I told him last night that he would thank me for it when he
got to college. He’d have his freedom to see other people and have fun.
That’s what it’s supposed to be like.”

Lisa seemed to take in what I was saying for
a bit before replying, “Dave is definitely less mature than Chris. The only
thing he likes to talk about with me is dirt bikes and that’s when I’m not
fighting him off. He whines like a baby when I stop him.”

Lisa and Dave started going out after
Christmas break. I didn’t like him. Not at all. There was something about
him that gave me the willies. I’d warned Lisa before about him, but she didn’t
see it. And now, of course, she was in love.