My husband was in an accident. Nothing has been the same since. Part IV
I hadn't seen Terry since before the new year and all of my efforts to reach out had been fruitless. I also hadn't seen Jeff since the night that card had been delivered. I had been trying to focus on my work, but just last week, made another mistake and finally got fired. That devastated me, and I realized that there was a real possibility of either moving back in with my parents at nearly forty one years old or being completely homeless. I did consider sleeping in my car as I began to pack my belongings, informing my landlord that I would be vacating at the end of the month.
The day after I got fired I was still busy packing and then transporting things over to my parents' house for storage, lugging the heavier cartons down into the basement with my father's help, and the lighter ones into my childhood bedroom.
“You know you can come back here, right?” he asked as we grabbed the last boxes full of books.
“I'm going to try to avoid it. I am going to start looking for a new job on Monday. I am okay financially for now.” I lied.
The fact was, since my husband left I had fallen further and further behind on bills. I don't know if it was pride, or pure embarrassment, but I couldn't admit that to the man who had raised me. I had a feeling he knew that I was being dishonest, but I quickly escaped the situation, returning to my home to begin packing up the majority of my clothing. My footsteps and other small sounds I made echoed off of the bare walls, which compounded the sadness and despair that I had been feeling since the beginning of winter.
My heart broke every time I glanced at a spot on the wall where a photo or piece of artwork once hung. I ended up crying for the first time since Terry's hospitalization that night. It felt good to release some of the pain and regret I had been feeling, and for some reason, when I began to calm down, I thought of Jeff. I moved to one of the remaining pieces of furniture, an old desk that had belonged to an uncle who had passed away. I opened the drawer and extracted the card. There was no handwritten message inside, or anything of that sort, just the words 'get well soon' in plain typeface.
I picked up my phone and dialed the number that the man had given me but just as with my former lover, I got no response. I returned to the house that I grew up in just in time for dinner. The conversation was light, in spite of the earlier tension.
“Do you want to stay here tonight?” my mother offered.
“I guess I could.” I accepted.
As I cleared the dishes and rinsed them, then loaded the dishwasher, my mother pulled the futon from the couch and put clean sheets and a blanket onto it. I went to the cupboard and grabbed my own pillow, though I wasn't quite ready to go to bed yet.
“I'm going to go for a walk to the store, do you want anything?” I asked loudly enough for both of my parental units to hear.
They both declined and so I pulled on my coat and shoes, heading outside. I shoved my hands in my pockets as I began to walk, my breath escaping my lips in small puffs of vapor. Being outside felt good for the first time in a while, and as I approached the store, I considered extending my journey, though I decided against it, settling for lingering in random aisles. I was standing there, skimming an article in one of the magazines that occupied part of a book rack in one of the supermarket's aisles when I got the sense that I was being watched for the first time that day.
I glanced around, and thought I saw someone hurrying around the endcap at the far end of the narrow aisle. I walked that way but when I turned I saw only other shoppers. I tossed the magazine into my cart as I finished collecting the items I wanted. All of my purchases fit into one bag, which was a good thing, considering I still had to walk back.
'At least it's not raining.' I thought to myself and continued strolling back toward my childhood home, when again I thought I saw movement about a block ahead of me. This time I would call out to the figure that I thought I saw.
“Hey! Stop!” I yelled, my legs pumping a little bit faster, but whoever it was must have started running as well.
The side street was deserted. I began to question my own sanity in that moment. It wasn't the first time that I'd had the thought, but it was the first time I started to believe it. I hurried back to the house, putting away the things I had bought. My parents didn't linger in the living room, my father spending some time down in the basement, tinkering with something while my mother busied herself in their bedroom, diving into one of the books on her bedside table. I wandered up the stairs, and into the room I had slept in as a child.
The rooms were still a soft robin's egg blue, though the paint had faded considerably over time. There were boxes and totes of various items littering the floor. I stood there for a long time, and in my mind I could see the place the way it had been when I was young. Posters and certificates on the walls, my toys and clothing strewn about. When I came back to reality, I felt a heaviness in my chest. For the first time in weeks, the dam burst and I sunk to the floor in tears. I wanted my life back. Everything was going wrong.
I left the room and went back to the kitchen, retrieving one of the cans of beer that I had picked up from the store, cracking that and sitting at the table where we had eaten dinner. I drank quickly and when the first can was empty, opened another. I drank the whole six pack, sitting alone at the dining room table, alternating between lamenting my losses and being determined to rise above them. My parents kept their distance, and eventually I heard them retreat to their room. I didn't sleep, even after I laid down.
I ended up getting up and raiding the liquor cabinet. I was extremely drunk by the time the sun came up but didn't collapse into the bed that had been made for me until long after they left the house to run errands. The alcohol washed my dreams away as soon as I woke up, and I was grateful for that. I sat up, dazed and still foggy headed, uncertain of what to do. I turned my phone on and set it on the table while it went through the boot process. I started a pot of coffee and was surprised by the tone that alerted me to a new voicemail.
I waited until I was able to pour a cup of the dark, caffeinated water before I checked it, and when I did, I felt my spirit lift for the first time in days. Terry had finally returned my calls, and from the sound of the message, he was drunk. He said that he wanted to see me, that he was realizing that he had made a mistake. I saved the message and quickly pulled up his contact information, pressing the call button. He answered.
“Hey.” Terry said, sounding more like his old self than he had in a very long time.
“I got your message. Did you mean what you said?” I asked, my hope chasing away the symptoms of my hangover.
“I did. Do you want to meet for dinner tonight so we can talk?” he requested in response.
“That sounds great.” I replied.
He gave me a time and a place to be and then we hung up. I was walking on air when my mother and father returned home. When I told them about the call, they exchanges a quick but meaningful glance.
“That's great, but I want you to be careful.” the woman who gave birth to me said.
“I will.” I assured, but only half meant it.
I quickly changed the subject and quickly exited the house, driving back home. I tidied up and even vacuumed the carpet, hoping that I wouldn't be coming home alone that night. I shaved and showered, dressing in a pair of jogging pants and a stained t-shirt until it was time to get ready. I put on a pair of nice slacks and one of my favorite shirts, putting on cologne. I even styled my hair. I left the house, every cell in my body singing with excitement. I drove as quickly as I could without breaking the law, and arrived at the restaurant early.
I lingered outside until I saw a bright red car approach the front of the place, my ex-husband stepping out of the passenger side. I only saw the driver for a moment, but I could have sworn it was the woman he had brought to the apartment back when the changes first started. Terry smiled when he saw me and we even shared an embrace.
“You smell good.” he said as he stepped back.
“Thank you. You do too.” I replied. I wasn't lying.
He held the door for me and we entered the building together. It didn't take long for us to be seated. Once at the table, my former significant other ordered us both a glass of wine. The server flitted away after pouring our glasses.
“I hope you're hungry. I'm buying.” Terry enthused.
I browsed the menu and finally settled on the surf and turf combination. I asked my lover to order for me, and excused myself to the rest room. I stared at myself in the mirror for a second, and then washed my hands and splashed some water on my face, wiping it away with a paper towel. I took a few deep breaths, calming the burst of butterflies I felt in my stomach. I made my way back out into the restaurant and took my seat.
“What did you want to talk about?” I asked after a sip of the fruity red wine that Terry had selected.
“I wanted to apologize, first of all. I didn't communicate with you very well.” my former husband said, his eyes falling to the top of the table.
“So, explain it to me now.” I replied.
He looked like he was about to open up but our food arrived, disrupting the flow of our conversation. We both turned our attention to our respective meals and afterward, we took a walk, and as we strolled, Terry began to talk. I won't be repeating what he told me, because it was insane, but also I believe he experienced it. I don't know if it was the wine, or just the fact that we were talking, but when Terry invited me to come home with him, I accepted. He ordered a ride from his phone, and when the car pulled up, my heart stopped.
I recognized the driver. It was Jeff. He acted as if we had never met, so I did the same. He dropped us off at Terry's new apartment and I was surprised at how opulent it was. He offered me a drink as we stepped off of the elevator, and I again accepted.
“Make yourself at home, love.” he told me.
I did just that, flopping down on the black velvet couch in his living room. He entered the room, carrying two glasses of whiskey. He handed me one of them and then perched next to me, the hand not holding his drink falling on my thigh. I felt a little thrill run through my body at the contact and had to suppress a shudder. We sipped our drinks and talked about nothing for a while. I didn't dump all of the things that had gone wrong on him, however, dodging his questions about my job. We had another drink, and I began to lose my inhibitions.
I leaned over and kissed Terry. Hard. To my pure delight, he didn't withdraw, instead falling into my embrace. We barely made it to the bedroom. When we finished, we took turns in the shower, and I laid down in the bed next to my former partner. I couldn't sleep for a while, a familiar feeling creeping into the back of my mind. It was the sensation of being watched, and my eyelids opened in response. I sat up and glanced toward the window, the curtains parted slightly. I saw a flicker of movement outside and stood as quickly and quietly as I could.
I stood still for a moment, and whatever had been watching me moved again. I decided against approaching the window, instead moving toward the door that opened into the living room. I shoved my feet into my shoes and opened the front door, hurrying to the corner of the building. I had caught the spy by surprise, but gave myself away by tripping over a fallen branch while rounding the corner. The individual turned toward me and even in the dim glow of the safety lights on the side of the building, I recognized Jeff's handsome profile.
I picked myself up and started to speak but it was his turn to surprise me. He charged. I didn't have time to brace myself and went down easily when he tackled me. Not that I could have withstood the force he'd generated. He was much stronger than anyone would have thought. I looked up into his eyes and they began to glow a strange orange-yellow. The color spread from the iris outward. And then he bent his head down and bit my shoulder. I screamed and threw hammer-fist blows with the unaffected hand, but he refused to let go.
He only released when a car began to pull into the parking lot, running away far faster than any human should be capable of moving. I managed to get to my feet and though moving was extremely painful made it to the sidewalk where I collapsed from blood loss. I woke in a hospital room, with Terry sitting beside the bed. I was hooked up to a heart monitor but not much else. My former husband smiled.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
I thought about it for a second.
“Cold.” I replied.
It was true. I was freezing. Other than that, I felt nothing at all.