Read The Feathered Bone Online
Authors: Julie Cantrell
The Feathered Bone (38 page)
“Monday?”
I'm shocked.
“Monday.” She can't stop smiling.
“I'm so happy, Viv. I've never seen you this excited. Look at you. You're glowing.”
“I know. It's crazy. I mean, all these years I've sat here listening to horrible, hurtful things people do to one another, and I still want to believe in happy-ever-after. It's kind of ridiculous.”
“Not at all,” I tell her. “I still believe in it too.”
“So I do have this little fantasy.” She grins. “Have I ever told you about it?”
I perk my head, intrigued.
“It goes like this. Someday Jay will come swooping in here, wearing those jeans and cowboy boots that make him look killer. And he's going to put a big diamond ring on top of an Elmer's glue bottle. Just stick it right there around that orange twisty cap. Then he'll bend over your desk and give you a huge kiss and he'll say, âStick with me for life, Gloopy?' ”
I roll my eyes. “
That's
your fantasy?”
“Yep. And then you'll say yes and y'all will live happily ever after.” She gives me a more serious look and adds, “You deserve it, you know. The happy-ever-after part.”
“I can't get engaged without a flash mob and a theme song. What fun would that be?”
She smiles. “I already thought of that. âBrown-Eyed Girl.' Because one day Carl came to pick you up. Your car was in the shop or something, I don't remember, but anyway . . . you probably never knew this.” She waves her arm and says, “Maybe I shouldn't tell you.”
“I'm sure it's nothing I haven't heard from him before. I can handle it.” I smile for extra assurance. She finally tells me the story.
“He was looking at a magazine, waiting for you. He made some kind of comment about Cameron Diaz and her sexy blue eyes. And then he said, âNothing worse than looking at a woman's eyes and thinking about a pile of poop.' Only he didn't say it with that much tact.”
I laugh. “I'll bet.”
“Then he pointed to your office.” She imitates him, mocking his harsh tone. “ âLook at my wife in there. Dirt-floor hair and eyes like poop. And she can't even be ready when I come to pick her up. See what I have to deal with?' ”
I smile, but what I really want to do is close my eyes and bleach my hair.
“So one day,” Viv continues, back in her own voice now, “I want a man to look at your beautiful brown eyes and your long, dark hair and I want him to see your worth, Amanda. Something Carl could never see.” Then she raises her mug and says, “Here's to happy-ever-after.”
I tap my cup to hers and add a second toast. “True love.”
“He's left me.” My client spins her gold wedding ring around her left finger, tugging it up to her knuckle and back down again as she works the words through her brain. “Thirty-seven years, and he up and leaves. Just like that. How can I tell the kids? We've got grandbabies now. Where will they stay when they visit? How will we handle Christmas? And birthdays? This isn't how it's supposed to work.”
I listen, wishing as I always do that I could ease my client's pain. Viv's right. We sit here day after day, witnessing the hurts people cause one another. Serving as a catch basin for all the grief and loss and heartache life can deal. “Thirty-seven years,” I say.
She nods. “Why would he leave me now? When I'm too old to start over? Look at me.”
“You're beautiful,” I tell her.
She doesn't believe me.
“You are. Tell me, how would you describe your marriage? Have you been happy?”
“Yes, yes. Very much so. We were the couple everyone else wanted to be. That's what makes no sense. We rarely argued. We took great vacations as a family. We hardly had any real problems. Not like our friends. He loved his job; I loved being home. We shared the workload, managed our money, got our kids off on solid ground. They're doing greatâall three of themâmarried, successful. I wouldn't change a single thing.”
“What do you think happened?” I sit back, ready for a story.
“I don't know. I can't explain it. He started getting depressed after he retired. Spending more and more time up at the golf course. Or fishing. Just alone. And then last Tuesday we're sitting at the breakfast table, drinking coffee, reading the paper, as we have done every morning for almost forty years, and he doesn't even look up from the sports section. Just says, âI'm going to file for divorce.' It didn't register at first. I said, âWhat did you say?' And he repeated it, this time looking directly at me. I laughed. I thought he was joking. But he wasn't.”
“You haven't told your children?”
“No. I haven't told anyone.” She touches her hair, feeling to make sure it's set in place.
“Would he be willing to come to counseling with you? Or by himself?”
“He doesn't believe in counseling. Says it's a waste of money and time.” Then she tilts her head and says, “Sorry. That's not what I think, of course.”
I wave my hand to assure her I'm not offended. “Are you financially secure if he leaves?”
She nods. “Money's not the problem.”
“And you're healthy?”
“Oh yes, for now anyway.” She knocks a few times on my wooden desk.
“And you have your children as a support network. Friends, I'm betting.”
“Yes, yes. All that. I'm luckier than most. But . . .”
I wait while she gathers her thoughts.
“I love him. I never imagined myself without him. I gave my whole life to him, and now we get to the really good part, and he quits.” She tosses a hand in the air as she says it. “That's it! That's the thing that's really pinching me. I chose him above all the others. And you know why? Because he wasn't a quitter. He's got a stronger work ethic than anyone I know. There's not a half-finished shed on our property, no vehicle in need of repair. He finishes what he starts. Yet here he is, quitting on me.”
Hello Sparrow,
One time, in second grade, we went to see the circus. I wanted to be the lady who rode the elephants. She had long black hair, and her costume was shiny gold. Her boots came up to her knees. They were made of glitter. She sparkled.
The elephants marched in a big circle, holding on to each other's tails, while the lady walked across their backs.
Mom told me someone has to train an elephant to be tame like that. First, they catch her in the jungle, and then they chain her between two trees so she won't run away. They beat her until she stops trying to escape. By that point
she's so thirsty, all she can think about is getting some water. She doesn't want to die.
Just when the elephant is about to give up, the owner brings her some water. And then some food. She knows he's a bad guy, but he's the one who feeds her. And he gives her water. And he talks nice to her sometimes. So she tries to stay on his good side. No matter what it takes. Because he's keeping her alive.
This goes on for a long time, until she is “broken.” That's what they call it.
The other elephants have already been broken. They teach her how to do her new job. Eventually she learns what she's supposed to do, and she finally gets off the chain.
“So then she runs away?” I asked Mom. “Back to her family?”
“Nope,” Mom said. “The chains are gone, and she's not even fenced in, but the elephant stays right there, trying her best to make her trainer happy.”
I asked Mom, “Why wouldn't she stomp the man and try to escape?”
Mom said it's because they have a bond now. A strong one. “Sometimes, Sarah, the chains around the heart are the hardest to break.”
Yesterday Bridgette took me to the grocery store with her. It was the first time they let me leave the house. I could have run, Sparrow. I could have told someone in the store that my name was Sarah Broussard. I could have gotten help and gone home.
It's all I wanted to do. But The Lady said, “Don't be stupid. He'll find you. Cut you into a million pieces. He's done it before.”
So there I was, Sparrow. Off the chain. No fence. But too afraid to do anything.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Father's Day
“I'
M GLAD YOU
'
RE HERE
,” I
TELL
C
ARL
. I'
M ALSO GLAD HE CAME
without Ashleigh, but I don't say that. It might trigger a fight. I navigate the conversation as if I'm walking a minefield, the way I've done throughout our entire marriage. Only this time my stomach isn't in knots and I don't carry the burden of blame. He planted those mines. Not me. I finally accept that his deepest wounds are not my fault, and that his anger has nothing to do with me either. What
is
my fault is that I served as his emotional punching bag for nearly twenty years, allowing him to take all his resentment out on me.
Set the mines. I'll walk them for you. Blow me to bits again and again. I can take it. Because I love you. And you're worth it. No matter how much it hurts.
Well, no more minefields, Carl. Enough is enough.
“I've made copies of the photo albums and DVDs.” I hand him the box of memories. “Ellie always liked this sort of stuff. She was so sentimental.”
Carl says nothing as he puts the box to the side and takes a seat at my kitchen table.
I set a stack of papers in front of him. “I've signed them. We can go forward with the divorce whenever you're ready.”
He looks at me, and for the first time in years I get a glimpse of the man I married. The one he buried deep beneath defensive layers, protecting his heart to the point he could no longer love. Or be loved.
“What changed your mind?”
“It's taken me awhile, Carl, to work through it all. I think you had been preparing yourself for years before I ever knew. I needed time to catch up with you. I couldn't give up.”
He nods. “What about the house?” He looks around the kitchen, examining the simple window valance and the expensive stand mixer, as if he's seeing it all for the first time. “When do you want to list it?”
I'm not prepared for this. “Sell it? Carl, I don't know if I can leave my home.”
He looks down the hall toward Ellie's bedroom, the place where she died, and he says, “I'm surprised you want to be here.”
I move to the window, looking out into the yard at the long-forgotten swing set. “This is my home. It's where Ellie took her first steps. Learned to ride a bike without training wheels. She did her first backbend out there in the grass. And look . . . that swing is where she learned to pump without a push. All those memories, Carl. Her whole life is here.”
“Then you can buy it out from me. Is that what you want?” He stares toward the box of photos but remains matter-of-fact.
“Honestly, I need some time to think about it.”
“More time? It's been almost three years, Amanda. How much time do you need?”
I lean in. “Can you give me a month? The lease is ending soon at Mom's place. I need to weigh my options.”
“Whatever.” He sighs, but he doesn't draw any reaction from
me. Instead, I stand at the window for what feels like a very long time. Outside, the pecan trees are green and thick with leaves, growing their fall crop of nuts. The neighbor's children race their bikes through a homemade obstacle course, and Beanie sits on the swing, watching the commotion. Carl stays seated at the table in silence.
“I wish I could understand, Carl. Why did you leave us?”
“I'm not doing this, Amanda.” His voice gets hard. He stands with fast aggression, and the chair scratches across the floor. “Let it go.”
“Carl, listen.” I stay soft, slow. “We don't have to talk about it. I'm healing. It will be okay. Besides, I've decided to look at it in a different way now.”
He simmers down a bit. “How's that?”
