The Marriage Intervention (20 page)

At the house, an eerie sense of calm came over her when the officers told her Paul had been in an accident. The world went silent, and her movements became slow and deliberate, like she was walking along the bottom of a swimming pool.
 

Turn off the stove.
 

Put the cork in the wine bottle.
 

Get your phone.
 

Turn off the stereo.
 

Turn on the porch light.
 

Put on some shoes.
 

Grab a jacket.
 

Lock the front door.

As the wife of a police officer, she always half-expected someone to knock on her door, just as the hand-clencher and his button-fondling sidekick had done this evening. She had played the moment out so many times in her head that she felt almost prepared for it.
 

Still, the ride to the hospital felt interminable.
 

Josie texted Summer and Delaney:
Paul’s been in an accident. The guys who came to tell me said he’s alive, but they’re taking me to the hospital to see him. I’ll keep you posted.
 

Of course, both of them responded immediately.
 

Summer:
Oh, honey, are you okay?
 

Delaney:
Have you talked to him?
 

Josie answered that yes, she was fine and no, she hadn’t talked to Paul.
 

Summer:
Keep us posted, okay?
 

Delaney:
Hang in there.
 

Josie wanted nothing more than to be with Paul in person, to see for herself that he was all right. And when she did see him, she knew what she had to do. She had to apologize right away. What if the crash had been fatal, and he’d died not knowing she was sorry for her juvenile secret-keeping, petty behaviors and childish pet peeves? He had to know, right away. Josie had to tell him he was the most important person in her life, and that she’d do anything to sustain their marriage.
 

Finally, after Josie rehearsed and re-rehearsed her new and improved apology, the hand-clencher parked at the Emergency Room entrance. Josie wanted to fling the door open, but had to wait for the button-fondler to let her out.
 

“Seriously,” she muttered to herself. “Don’t you guys have a sense of urgency, like, at all?”
 

The door opened and she jumped out, ready to start running into the hospital, but the button-fondler grabbed her wrist.
 

“Ma’am? He doesn’t look good. Okay? I know you’re anxious to see him, and you’ve got to believe us that his injuries are mostly minor. But I want you to have fair warning that he looks pretty beat up.”
 

Josie nodded and he released her wrist. She gathered herself and walked calmly to the front desk. A tall, skinny nurse who looked not much older than a high schooler led her to Paul’s room. She saw his name scrawled on a whiteboard outside the door. The nurse, whose name tag identified her as Joan, gestured for her to go in.
 

***

Paul looked horrible. Awful. His left eye was swollen completely shut, enveloping the long eyelashes she so loved, and he had a neat row of stitches above his left eyebrow, in the same spot where he’d gotten hooked with a fish hook as a kid. A dark purple bruise covered the entire right side of his face.
 

Even though he was wearing a hospital gown, Josie could see another bruise on his right shoulder and a scrape running along the back of his left arm.
 

Her first reaction was anger. She would find the person who did this, and she would wring his neck. At least. She wanted to yell, “Who did this to you?” but instead, she tiptoed over to the bed and sat on its edge. An IV entered Paul’s arm at the inside of his elbow, and she wasn’t sure if she could hold his hand.
 

“Hey, baby,” he said.
 

Josie jumped.
 

“I didn’t know you were awake,” she said.
 

He took her hand. “I am. Just resting my eyes.”
 

“What happened?”
 

Paul took a deep breath. “We were making a left turn from Coal Mine Road onto Boulder Drive and someone hit us. Ran a red light.”
 

“Was he drunk?”
 

“No, it was a lady. She wasn’t drunk. Just distracted. Probably texting or something, didn’t look up in time. This is why I tell you not to text and drive.”
 

Josie, a bit irritated, nodded. “I only text—”
 

“Summer and Delaney, I know,” he said.
 

“And it’s always voice to text,” they said at the same time.

“But you look pretty banged up for such a small collision,” she said.
 

He laughed. The sound came out strangled, and he winced. “She was going pretty fast.”
 

A beat of silence passed.

“Listen, Paul, there’s something I need to say to you.”
 

“Geez, Josie, give a guy a break. Can this wait until tomorrow? They want to keep me overnight in case I have a concussion or something.”

Or something?
she wanted to say.
Don’t you even know what they’re watching you for?

But instead, she nodded. “Of course. I’m so sorry. You’re probably exhausted.”
 

He nodded, the movement stiff and barely visible.

Even from inside the cubicle, Josie could hear a commotion coming down the hallway toward them. When she distinguished the frantic footsteps from the frantic whispers, she smiled.
 

“Summer and Delaney are here,” she said to Paul.
 

He smiled, too. “Better go out and greet my fan club.”

It was time for a do-over.
 

The day after Paul’s accident, doctors cleared him for discharge. Josie took the day off from work and drove him home around noon. Naturally, a shower was the first thing he wanted, so she put her famous chili back on the stove and waited for him to come out.
 

She braced herself when she heard him turn off the water. He never took long to dress, which meant her big moment was imminent.
 

“Keep it simple,” she whispered to herself.
 

Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.
 

She set bowls of shredded cheddar, chopped green onions and sour cream on the counter. Not the most romantic dish, but it did fit in the comfort food category. Paul’s steps sounded in the hallway, and Josie smoothed her shirt and rearranged the bowls of condiments.
 

He walked in, wearing sweat pants and a tight black t-shirt. He looked like he’d been in some kind of bar brawl. For the first time in their marriage, Josie felt awkward, self-conscious. She wanted to go to him, hug him, repeat, “I’m sorry,” until her voice went hoarse. But she didn’t know how he’d react. He didn’t even know what she was sorry for.

So instead, she said, rather stupidly, “I made chili.”
 

“Smells good,” he said.
 

He leaned against the counter. She lined the bowls up compulsively. Spoons. She needed spoons. And a butter knife, and butter, too.

“You look good,” she said.
 

He snorted. “Shut up.”
 

“No, really. Your muscles look really big in that shirt.”
 

He shook his head. “This looks great.”
 

“Look, Paul, there’s something I need to say.”
 

“Oh, no. Is this the thing from last night? Is this another one of your
talks
?”
 

Why do I feel like crying all the time lately?
 

“No, Paul, it’s not a talk.” Josie heard her own voice break and hated herself for it. “I just feel like I need to apologize.”
 

“For what?” he said, although she could practically hear him thinking, For all the times you’ve been a total bitch lately?

She nodded, as if to answer his unspoken thought.
 

“For everything,” she said. “For constantly bitching at you, for complaining about your work schedule, for working just as much as you do but not admitting it.” She let out a laugh. “For ruining our marriage, basically.”
 

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walked gingerly over to the stove and picked up the ladle to taste the chili as he always did. Since he wasn’t speaking, she felt compelled to go on: “Last night, when those guys showed up at my door, I had a moment of clarity. Actually, I had this big speech planned already, but you being in the accident made it even more important that I tell you. I want to fix things. I want to start fresh. Can we do that?”
 

Paul froze, holding the ladle just above the chili pot. Josie could hear the bubbling soup. She could smell the chipotle chili powder she’d put in, and she could see the setting sun shining in through the kitchen window, slanting onto Paul’s still form.

“It brought me some clarity, too,” he finally said, ladling chili into his empty bowl.
 

She waited while he sprinkled cheese and green onions, spooned on sour cream. Finally, he turned to face her, his bowl in one hand.
 

“Did you get any beer?” he asked.
 

She nodded to the fridge, where the Negro Modelo waited. The moments ticked by, painstakingly slow.
 

Why isn’t he answering?
 

While Josie dished up her own chili, she listened to Paul open the drawer, take out the bottle opener, open his beer and take the first sip. A few moments later, they sat at the kitchen counter, side by side.
 

“So, what was your big moment of clarity all about?” Josie asked.
 

“Can we eat first?”
 

Josie nodded. Paul nodded, too, and crumbled his cornbread muffin into his chili. They ate. It took forever.
 

“Good chili,” Paul said, more than once.
 

“Thanks,” Josie said each time.
 

He pushed his empty bowl away from him.
 

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I’m going to move out.”
 

If she were watching the scene from the outside, or if she were a cockroach on the floor, Josie would have marveled at how it all unfolded exactly like a soap opera.
 

Her spoon clattered to the countertop, leaving droplets of chili to harden there for days next to her bowl, which was still more than half full.
Close-up on the spoon.
She seemed momentarily paralyzed.
Cut to Josie, frozen in place due to shock
.

Paul put his elbows on the counter and his head in his hands. Then he flinched, apparently having forgotten about all the bruising and the stitches.
 

Neither of them spoke as the shadows in the house grew longer and then faded into the deep gray that precedes total darkness.
Cue sad, romantic music that conveys regret.
 

“Have you been thinking about this?” Josie said into the silence stretching between them like taffy.
Wide view of counter.

Paul nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it for a few days. But the accident brought everything into focus.”
 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Josie said.
 

She felt Paul sigh beside her.
 

“I didn’t know sooner,” he said.
Zoom in on Paul’s face.
“Lately, working so much, being away from home” (she noticed he didn’t say, “away from you,” but she knew that’s what he meant) “I’ve felt more, I don’t know, comfortable. At peace. You’re not breathing down my neck every second, waiting for me to mess up so you can call me on it. It’s been so peaceful.”
 

Ouch. It took a moment to absorb the sting.
Zoom in on Josie’s face.

“You haven’t been lonely?” she asked, for lack of anything better to say.
 

“Babe,” he said, “I started feeling lonely a long time ago. I’m past that. I feel almost relieved. And then last night, I was so glad to see you. So glad. But I also felt like we need to fix this or move on. You know? And the best way, for us to do that, I think, is to spend some time apart.”
Close up on Josie’s reaction.

When she put her forehead on the counter, he rubbed her back, long strokes up and down her spine. He must have felt her crying, because he scooted his stool closer to her and wrapped an arm around her.
Wide angle.

“I’m not saying it’s over,” he said. “I just think some time apart would be good for both of us. It would give you time to get over that skinny, big-toothed Scott Smith asshole,” here he chuckled, a little too heartily, in Josie’s opinion, “and it would give me time to think about my priorities.”
 

“But I was apologizing,” she said (
close up on Josie
), hating the whine in her voice. “I want to make things better.”

“I think the first step toward making things better is to give each other the space we need. So we can get back to appreciating each other.”
 

All the time, Paul kept rubbing Josie’s back, which only made her more upset.
 

“I’ll stay here tonight,” he said. He kissed her on the temple. C
lose up
. “And pack my things tomorrow. Go on to bed, and I’ll clean up. Great chili, by the way.”

Instead of answering, Josie went straight to bed without undressing, brushing her teeth or washing her face.
Pan out while she exits.

People always said things look better in the morning, but Josie sincerely doubted that would be the case. Unless, of course, she woke up and discovered this was a nightmare and in her real life, her husband wanted to spend every spare moment side by side with her.