The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (48 page)

“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done here.”

“Becca, calm down,” Jon said and put his hands on my forearms. “Now, tell me, what’s going on?”

“My mother is freaking out because I have a boyfriend and she totally embarrassed me in front of him,” Jordan moaned. “I should be the one freaking out, not her.” She jabbed a finger in my direction.

“A boyfriend?” Jon asked and raised his eyebrows in my direction. “This is new.”

“I wouldn’t call him a boy,” I said. “And you are not old enough to be doing what I just saw.”

The image of Jordan lip-locked with a cross between a man and a boy flashed through my head again. She was way too young for that type of intimacy. The man-child had the decency to stop kissing her when they spotted me, but I hadn’t missed his hand on her rear end. It wasn’t appropriate.
 

“Oh really.” Jon looked at Jordan. “How old is this guy? And how come we haven’t heard about him before now?” Oh good, Jon was going to be the protective father. There was no way he would want his little girl locking lips with some half-grown, testosterone loaded man-child. I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for the answer.
 

“He’s sixteen, Mother,” Jordan spat the answer at me, even though it was her father who’d asked.

“That’s not so bad,” Jon said.

“Really? Are you serious?”
 

“Becca, it’s not unheard of for girls to date older boys. Sixteen is only two years different.”

“There is no way that kid is sixteen,” I said. “You didn’t see him, Jon. I don’t like it. I think she’s too young.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Jordan said. “That’s so not fair.”

Jon sat on the edge of the couch and took Jordan’s hand. “No one is saying you can’t date him.”

“That’s exactly what she said.”

“I think everyone needs to calm down,” Jon said. “Why don’t you get some sleep and your mother and I will talk about it?”

Jordan glanced between us. She glared at me, but when her eyes fixed on her father, they softened. “Fine,” she said. “Good night, Daddy.” She gave her dad a hug and without another look at me, jumped up and disappeared down the hall into her room.
 

Excellent. Happy birthday to me.
 

“Maybe we can have a little time alone together now?” Jon asked, as he got up and crossed the floor to me. He wrapped his arms around me and whispered in my ear, “I’m sorry for your present.”
 

He’d waved the white flag. Offered me a chance to save the birthday that couldn’t get much worse. I should have accepted. I should have put all thoughts of our argument and the blow up with Jordan out of my head. Instead, I pushed him away. I needed to breathe.

“What was that for?”

“You can’t be serious,” I said. “Our little girl is making out with a much older guy, you blow it off, make me look like the bad parent, and now you want to cuddle? Please tell me you’re not serious. Sex is the last thing I want.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that,” Jon muttered. “I wasn’t looking for sex. I got that message loud and clear earlier. But we do need to talk, Becca.”

Talk? Alarm bells went off in my head. I turned to make my escape to the kitchen.

“Sit down, Becca.”
 

“I’m tired, Jon. Can we do this later?”

“It’s always later with you,” he said. “Whether you want to now or not, we need to deal with this.” His voice was hard.

I spun and faced him. His eyes held the same angry expression I’d seen earlier. “Fine. Say what you need to say.” I knew what was coming. I knew he’d tell me that he needed sex. That he had needs. I’d put him off long enough. I braced myself for what was coming.
 

“We can’t go on like this, Becca. Something has to change.”
 

“What?”
 

“I said—“

“I heard you,” I said. “I just don’t understand.”
 

“I love you, Becca, but sometimes I just don’t know who you are anymore.”
 

I almost laughed. Of course he didn’t know who I was. I didn’t even know.

I swallowed hard but couldn’t say anything.
 

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”
 

“What are you saying? Do you want a divorce?” I grabbed onto the back of the couch as the room tilted.
 

Jon dropped his arms, his shoulders sagged and he looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read. He was supposed to say, “No”. He was supposed to say, “We’ll make it better together, we’ll work on it.”
 

He didn’t.

He didn’t say anything. It was the look on his face that told me everything he didn’t have to say.
 

“No,” I said.

The room spun around me.

“Becca, it’s not that I want a divorce,” he said. “I don’t know. Maybe we could talk to someone.”

 
I couldn’t look at him. “You don’t know?”

“Maybe we should try a separation,” he said. My stomach flipped. I thought for a brief horrifying moment that I might throw up.

There was no air. I couldn’t breathe. I fumbled a few steps, grabbing the table. A stack of books toppled to the floor.
 

Air. I needed air.

“Becca.”
 

I couldn’t look at him. But I could feel him standing next to me.

“Are you okay?” he asked.
 

It was such a stupid question that I had to look at him then, tipping my head just enough so I could peer at him from under my hair. He looked like shit, which made me feel slightly better. “You didn’t seriously ask me that, did you?”

“Becca, I’m sorry. It’s just…are you?”

His hands fluttered in front of him as he tried not to touch me. It was an interesting change to see him flustered. Usually so self-assured, it was kind of nice, in a twisted way, to see that our total marriage breakdown was affecting him, too. Even a little.

“I can’t do this right now,” I said.
 

“Becca, please.”

Any energy I had left my body in a rush; I slumped to the couch and put my head in my hands. “Leave me alone, Jon.”

“I think we should talk about this.”

“I think you should leave me alone.”

I didn’t look up, but after a moment I heard him make a noise somewhere between a sigh and a cry, and then I felt the slight breeze as he walked past me. It wasn’t until I heard the click of our bedroom door that I opened my eyes again.
 

My thoughts flashed to the books I’d just bought. Somehow I didn’t think reading a few chapters would be an adequate solution for my latest problem. A hysterical and totally inappropriate giggle burbled out of me. I cut it off as quickly as it started; but it was too late, I hadn’t heard the door open.

***

“Mommy?”

I needed a drink.
 

I pushed myself up off the couch and turned to see Kayla leaning against the wall, Pup-Pup clutched in her arms. “What are you doing up, sweetie?” I tried my best to sound casual.

“You didn’t tuck me in.”

“Daddy said he put you to bed,” I said. I took her hand to lead her back to her room.
 

“But you didn’t tuck me in,” she said again. This time her voice cracked.

I crouched in front of her. “I’m sorry about that. Let’s fix that right now. Okay?”

She nodded and I kissed her nose. I could save one situation at least.
 

After I had Kayla tucked under her quilt just right and I arranged her stuffed animals so they surrounded her just the way she liked, with Pup-Pup by her head, I sat next to her. “Are you ready for kisses?” I asked.
 

She nodded, her eyes barely more than slits.
 

I bent and dropped a kiss first on her right cheek, and then her left, next her forehead, and finally her lips. Just the way I had since she was a baby. “Good night, sweetheart,” I whispered.
 

Her eyes were closed. She had fallen asleep before I’d even finished with the kisses. I tiptoed through the toys strewn on the floor and was almost out the door when I heard her.
 

“Mommy?”
 

“Yes, sweetie.”
 

“Happy birthday, Mommy.”
 

***

When I left Kayla’s room, our door was still closed and there was no light coming from under the door. Jon had obviously taken me seriously when I told him to leave me alone. There was no way I could sleep next to him, not when I knew how he really felt. Besides, I wasn’t ready for sleep. It was still my birthday, despite the complete ruin it had turned out to be. I’d always been superstitious and if I didn’t toast to the new year ahead of me, if might turn out to be even more of a mess than the last one.
 

In the kitchen I found the bottle of red wine Jon had opened earlier.
 

I hoisted my full glass. “Happy birthday, Becca. May the coming year be less of a shit show.”
 

I clinked the air and took a healthy swallow. Then I looked around. The house was a disaster. Dishes from lunch were still stacked in the sink, the girls’ school bags were on the floor, and laundry was piled on the couch in the living room. I refused to clean on my birthday.
 

With my wine glass in one hand, I grabbed the bottle with the other, and side stepping the mess, went down the hall to Jon’s office. The mess would still be there when I was ready to deal with it. Besides, without access to a good book, I needed Google. Maybe I could find some insight into why my life was falling apart.
 

I usually tried not to go into Jon’s office much. It was so organized and clean all the time with everything in place, it bothered me. How could there be such a contrast from the rest of the house right behind one door? Probably because his office was the only room Jon ever lifted a finger in. The only thing out of place was the box Connie had sent home. Jon must have brought it in from the car for me to deal with. I put the wine down on his mahogany desk without using a coaster and took the lid off it. It was as good a time as any to look at it; besides, I needed something to distract me. At least for a minute.

I flipped through some photos. Many were duplicates of the ones on Connie’s shelf. I shoved our wedding photo to the bottom and focused on the older pictures. But those weren’t holding my attention either. I grabbed a pile of files that were under the photographs. Connie had saved all sorts of stuff. A newspaper clipping announcing their wedding. And even an article that Dad was featured in when he and some buddies raised a bunch of money for a local family in need.
 

Expecting more of the same, I opened the next file. But it was different. The paper on top looked to be the deed to a house. Maybe Connie had misfiled it. But when I looked closer, I saw it wasn’t their house. The document was for a house in a town called Rainbow Valley. Turning to the next page, there was what looked to be an old rental contract with directions and a small faded photograph stapled to the corner. There was a contract agreement with the Rainbow Valley General Store, as well. I scanned the page. Then again. I didn’t understand.

I didn’t know anything about a vacation property. And in the mountains? Dad hated the mountains. Even though they were only a few hours away, we never went. Even as kids, when we wanted to camp, Dad always said there was no point going into the woods; they were just full of trouble. He told us it was silly to sleep in a tent when we had a perfectly good house and warm beds.

I stared at the picture of the house. It was more like a cabin, really, with a large covered deck surrounded by a field of wildflowers. Even though the photo was old, I could see the flowers were beautiful and in full color, they would be dazzling. The contract agreement stated that the Rainbow Valley General Store would act as the agent to handle any and all rentals for the house.

It didn’t make sense. A rental house? It must be a mistake. Connie probably had put it into the box thinking it was something else. But Connie didn’t make mistakes like that.
 

I picked up my wine glass and drained it in a few gulps.
 

I closed the folder, but didn’t put it back in the box. I’d take it and ask Dad or more likely, Connie, about it when I had a chance. I shoved it across the desk and flicked on the computer. There were more important issues to take care of first.
 

Chapter 7

I couldn’t be sure if it was the article I read the night before about ways to show your husband you care, or maybe it was the forum for disillusioned mothers I’d stumbled across sometime after midnight. Or maybe it was the fact that sleeping on the couch had given me a sore neck. Whatever it was, I was up before six, with a fresh resolve.
 

After stretching out some of the kinks in my back, I slipped into the kitchen, started a fresh pot of coffee, and poured a glass of orange juice.

“It's going to be a good day today.” My voice sounded hollow and tinny in the empty room.

Affirmations were important. It was essential to start out each day with a purpose, an intent. It had been awhile since I’d used the techniques outlined in Daily Destinations: How To Live Every Day With Purpose. But today seemed like the perfect time to start again.
 

I swallowed the last of my orange juice just as the coffee finished percolating and tried to remember what the book had said about how to use affirmations. There was something about designing your day simply by harnessing the power of positive thinking.

If I visualized how my day would go, I could control my destiny.
 

It was worth a try anyway; things couldn’t get too much worse. So I leaned back against the counter, closed my eyes, and tried to picture the perfect day. In my mind I saw Jon walking into the kitchen, falling to his knees and begging me for forgiveness. He’d say, “I can't believe we ever went to bed angry with each other. And on your birthday. I’m so sorry, Becca.” Or something like that. It didn’t have to be exact.