The Last Exhale (14 page)

Eric sits down on the sofa next to me.

I ask, “If you've been unhappy, why are you trying to put all this all on me?”

His voice a whisper, “You knew I was just out of a long relationship. You knew I was in a vulnerable place. You could've stopped this instead of pulling me in.”

“You're a grown man, Eric. You could've just as easily not have even agreed to go out with me until you were truly ready.” I take a deep breath, try to keep myself from getting heated.

Something tickles the side of my leg. I reach down to scratch and feel Forrester rubbing against my leg. All of a sudden, I hear him purring, feel him vibrating the inside of my palm. Don't know
how I missed the sound of his motor; purrs louder than a machine gun in the middle of a war.

War.

Something Eric and I are in right now.

The battle of who's right and who's wrong.

The battle no one ever wins.

Eric breaks my thoughts. “My parents have been married forty-two years. I wanted that. Wanted to be with someone I could grow old with.” It's his turn to cough and struggle with what to say next.

I look down at the diamond on my ring finger. “So I was convenient timing?”

He nods.

Ouch.

“When we first got together, I still had feelings for my ex. We were still communicating, still flirting. Still sleeping together when she came to town. Still wanted to be with each other, but pride stood in the way on both of our parts. You came along and I just transferred those emotions to you.”

Before he can finish, I jump across the sofa with the back of my hand making hard contact with the side of his face.

He doesn't react. Just sits there, blindly staring in the dark.

I look down, see my hands nestled in my lap. I never slapped him, just wish I had. My jaws clench, feel like my teeth will fall out if I open my mouth. I open it anyway. “That's messed up. Really, really messed up.”

“Why?” He turns in my direction. “Just like I knew you weren't happy, you knew I still loved another woman, but you had to invite me over to your place at night, had to cook me dinner and offer me dessert in bed. You knew where my head was.”

“Yeah, well, it would've been nice for you to share those thoughts with me instead of using your other head to tell me a different story.”

“You knew I was seeing other people, too. You made that decision.”

“But I didn't make it alone.”

He breathes hard into darkness. “Why did you marry me, Sydney?”

The candle on the mantle casts a glow on our wedding picture above the fireplace. I gaze at the picture. For the first time, I have to come to terms with what I see. The truth is all in my husband's eyes. He didn't want to be there just as much as I didn't. His eyes held just as much uncertainty as mine. Both of us denying ourselves the last opportunity to be honest about our insecurities before saying those two words that would commit us for life.

A smile tells a thousand lies, but the eyes never deny the truth.

I turn my gaze back to Eric. “I should be asking you the same thing.”

The sky is dark, nearly pitch black. Not because it's night, but because a storm is brewing.

Thunder roars. Sounds like God's clearing His throat, giving me some kind of warning that lightning's about to strike.

It's a quarter to ten in the morning, looks like it's a quarter after midnight.

April 2, 2004 – November 21, 2009.

Days before Thanksgiving, and I was robbed of all reasons to be thankful.

Today, my son would have turned nine. Nine. Halfway to being a legalized man. An age where he could stand and stare me in the eye and tell me he was ready to make his own decisions. An age where no matter how tall he was or how deep his voice got, he was still growing. An age I'll never see him reach.

Today is the first time I've been to Reginald Brandon Carter's gravesite since his death. I never wanted to come back here, never wanted the memory of that week to replay before my eyes. But, no matter how long I try to avoid it, my mind will never be able to fully hit delete. Holding your child's lifeless body is something a father should never have to do. “Why didn't I come check on you that night?”

My heart threatens to stop beating as light raindrops mix with
my heavy tears. I don't understand why God didn't send me a message to let me know my son had stopped breathing. I was the head of the household and didn't know what was going on in my own home. “What kind of man am I?” Now my wife tells me she's been sick and I couldn't tell. Instead of getting to the heart of what was troubling her, I start getting close to another man's wife.

I squat at his grave. Run my fingers across his name.

Footsteps draw me out of an emotional beatdown. I wipe tears and rain from my face.

A shaky hand touches my shoulder. I turn around and see Rene standing above me. “What are you doing here?” I question as if she has no right.

“I come every year on his birthday,” she answers in a condemning tone. She knows I don't come here at all.

In the distance, I see the blue hatchback again. Ask her, “Did he have to come with you?”

She doesn't have to turn around to see who I'm talking about. “He's my nurse.”

“Nurse? Are you
that
sick?”

Her eyes tell me yes, but her lips tell me nothing. In her hand is a small bucket with soapy water inside. She sits it in the grass. Takes a few moments to pull overgrown grass from around the tombstone, tosses the excess to the side. Wipes leftover fragments on her jeans, then pulls out a brush from the bucket of water. Begins scrubbing away at dingy marble engraved with our son's date of birth and date of death.

All of a sudden, rage takes over. I snatch the brush from her hand, toss it as far away from her reach as possible. Grab the bucket, turn it over until every drop of suds slide from the plastic container.

“What'd you do that for?”

“Do you think any of that matters to him?”

She's still on her knees, picking away at nothing in particular. “It shouldn't look like this.”

“Like what, Rene? No matter how hard you scrub it with bleach, it's still going to get dingy. It's part of the ground.”

“He shouldn't be part of the ground,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

I make sure my voice is heard. “Told you we should've had him cremated.”

Quickly, she rises to her feet, shoves me in the chest with more strength than I thought she had. “You're so damn insensitive.”

My anger goes up a level. “I'm insensitive? You've been walking around with cancer, and instead of talking to me about it, you lead me to believe I had done something wrong. Made me self-conscious and insecure. Had me pack up and move out of a house I've been making payments on. Left me vulnerable and open like a motherfucker, and I'm insensitive?”

With folded arms and solid posture she stares me down. “Who is she?”

“What? Who is who?”

“You said I left you vulnerable and open. That could only mean one thing.”

I nod my head at the car not too far in the distance. “I could say the same.”

“He's. My. Nurse.”

“That's what you say.”

Just like that she turns and walks away. Goes in search of the brush I tossed.

Thunder roars, sending another warning to take cover.

I look up to the sky, find the darkest clouds looking down on me. Any minute, they're going to unleash a multitude of broken dreams and desperation.

I go after Rene. “We need to get out of here.”

She makes no rush to move. “It's all my fault,” she reveals with her back turned toward me. “I pushed you away. I wanted you to find someone else to love because I knew I would no longer be in the picture.”

All fears of downpour forgotten. “I don't understand. Why would I want to love someone else when you're the only woman I've loved?”

“Because I'm dying, Brandon.” She says that as if I was supposed to know. “There's no hope for me, no hope for us.”

“Who says this has to be your death sentence? We could go to that cancer treatment facility in Oklahoma. I've seen the commercials on TV a million times. People are living years after being diagnosed.”

Her eyes survey the many tombstones surrounding us. Takes it all in with shallow breaths. “I've lost count of how many funerals I've done out here. One day, I see someone in the grocery store, the next I'm draining blood from their body and replacing it with formaldehyde. The last twelve months have been the hardest. More passed away from cancer this year than in the eight years I've been in business.” She starts walking slowly in the direction of where the rain has started falling.

My footsteps are right behind hers.

We stop in front of a gravestone with the words
Served His Community With Pride
etched above his name.

Rene rubs her index finger across the words of remembrance. “I was the first person Wes confided in when he got his diagnosis. It was a Saturday morning. We were getting ready to head out for a service. He pulled me aside, told me in a couple of months I'd be preparing for his service. He found out in his final stage. Had no idea how to tell his wife and four kids.”

“I guess you two
did
have a lot in common.”

She turns to face me. “I'm dealing with this the best I can.”

“But that's what I'm here for, Rene. I'm your husband. We should be dealing with this together.” I take a second to wipe rain from my eyes, try to give myself a minute to calm down. Doesn't work. “I stood at the altar and vowed to love you in sickness and in health. And you took away my rights as your husband when you decided I couldn't handle your sickness.” I turn to walk away. Though it would've been hard, I could've handled the cancer. What she did to me makes me feel like less than a man. And because of that I walk away.

“Brandon,” she calls after me.

I stop momentarily, turn to look at her.

She rubs her hand across her forehead, moves tiny curls from her face. The rain makes her hair look matted, looks like a bad toupee. Her lips quiver.

It's a struggle to look at her struggle with whatever it is she has to say.

My wife stands so close to me she's almost standing on my feet. “I'm scared.”

I let her fall into my open arms. With as much assurance as I can muster up, I say, “We'll beat this.”

I
t's been days since Eric and I last spoke. After our talk, I packed some clothes and went to stay at my mom's with the kids. Figured a weekend apart would give us a little time to be able to sort through our thoughts, make a little sense of the marriage we created.

“So what are you going to do?” Katrina asks.

I look across the table, see Rachel's eyes on my mouth waiting for an answer. Her stare is so intense I'm sure she can tell how many times I've been to the dentist in my lifetime. “Honestly, it would make sense to go ahead and cut my losses, but…” I sigh. “I don't know.”

The woman I've been friends with the shortest says, “I'm surprised he didn't have your bags packed when you got home.”

I told them about the letter, but I kept the fact my husband didn't want to marry me either to myself. Some things your friends just don't need to know, and I've told them a lot as is. “Katrina, it's not that easy.” She and I have barely talked to each other since she went off on me during our last call. Her attitude toward me seems to be the same as it was then.

“Well, what do you want? Do you even know anymore? I mean, you're around town gallivanting with another man like you're a single woman. Now, you might have the opportunity to be that and are scared to make a decision. Elton didn't hesitate spreading
his seeds all across town, but the second I told him he was a free man, he wanted to get his act together. I swear, cheaters never know what you want.”

“I'm not a cheater.”

“Michael said you two looked real comfortable together.” Rachel adds her nickel to the conversation. “I told him it was the same way at the club.”

I push my plate away from me, appetite no longer existent.

“You may not have crossed that line with him, but you've been spending private time with him. What were you thinking holding his hand in the wide open?”

“Michael was overanalyzing what he saw.”

“Say he was, Sydney. What were you doing with him one-on-one?”

I defend myself. “Helping him train for a race.”

“Oh, come on,” Katrina starts. “Anybody can see you two are attracted to each other, and put in the wrong environment, that can be dangerous. Running was just a copout for you two to put curiosity to the test.”

My head flings back, mouth wide open. Laughter spilling out in a long stream. “This is ridiculous.” Nothing's funny. I'm frustrated and laughing is the only way to keep me sane.

I excuse myself from the table. Step outside for a dose of fresh air. Minutes later, Rachel joins me.

“Katrina had to get back to work.” She hands me my food in a to-go box.

I set the box on the ledge. “Don't know why I thought she'd be more understanding. Yeah, I get she was cheated on, but she knows what it was like to be in an unfulfilling marriage.”

“Maybe so, but all she sees is betrayal. All she feels is the pain.
Whether she was unhappy or not, she felt devalued for not being able to fulfill her husband enough to keep him at home. You're making her relive that.”

“Did she tell you that?”

Rachel nods.

“How do you feel?”

“Walk me to my car.”

I grab my food, follow her back through the restaurant and out the front door.

“You want to know why Michael and I are so happy? I cheated on him in the beginning of our relationship. He was a workaholic, spending more time on the job than coming home to me. Neglect and loneliness are an awful combination. One afternoon, Michael wanted to surprise me by taking a half day off work, came home, and saw
who
I had for lunch.”