Chasing Rainbows A Novel

THREE


“IYWSLUK OC NJK LSN YR HKOXU NJK YXBZ YXK TJY PXYTC ZYW’SK CILSKG NY GKLNJ.”

-KLSB TOBCYX

Late the next afternoon, I sat on the floor, watching my brother, Mark, touch Dad’s sport coats where they still hung in the closet. He touched each sleeve, each lapel, as if the fabric might disintegrate beneath his touch.

He’d arrived not long after I had. He’d never been much for the pop-in, but my mother’s smile was evidence of how much his surprise visit meant to her.

She disappeared downstairs to make a snack, leaving Mark and me alone in the master bedroom, no doubt hoping we’d somehow discover the closeness we’d never shared growing up.

I’d lived in awe of my brother--older than me and seemingly wiser in every way. With eight years between us, he’d always seemed just out of reach. I’d had the sense he tolerated me, counting the days until he could leave his annoying little sister behind.

I’d been failing miserably at mastering roller skates when he’d been learning to drive. Once he left for college, he’d never looked back. The years spent apart showed in the awkwardness that invariably stretched between us.

We might have had the same parents and been raised under the same roof, but Mark and I shared no similar experiences until now.

Now, we shared our grief.

I pulled my knees to my chin. “He’d love you to have those, don’t you think?” I forced a bright tone into my voice as I looked away from the jackets, trying hard not to focus on the fact dad would never wear them again.

When I glanced back at my brother, I realized the hint of gray that had once peeked only from Mark’s sideburns now covered his entire head, mixing generously with his short, dark brown waves.

I’d never mastered the air of confidence my brother seemed to effortlessly exude. I’d envied him for that as long as I could remember, but today he looked defeated, broken.

His profile hadn’t changed, but the heartache plastered across his face mirrored my own.

He reached for a navy blue jacket, letting his hand linger against the lapel.

“Did you know that was his favorite?” My overly-cheery tone bordered on used-car salesman slick.

Why was I so determined to foist one of our father’s jackets on my brother? Did I need to prove Mark needed Dad as much as I had? That he felt as awash in loss as I did?

Yes.

Mark pulled the hanger off the rack and held the jacket in front of him, his arms outstretched as if the sleeves might strangle him at any moment.

“Surreal.” He uttered the word flatly and looked at me.

I met his sad gaze and forced a tight smile. “Surreal.” My heart gave a squeeze.

Mark’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “He wasn’t even sick.”

I shook my head. “Not sick.”

He hung the hanger back on the rack and crossed the room in a few, quick strides.

I scrambled to my feet. “Where are you going? Aren’t you going to pick something?”

“Not now.”

Mark didn’t stop to look back. Didn’t stop to say goodbye. He rounded the upstairs railing and took the steps two at a time on his way down.

“I’ll call you later, Mom,” he hollered a split second before the front door slammed.

I sank back onto the worn carpet of my parent’s bedroom, staring at my father’s jackets. Alone. Unwanted. Soon-to-be forgotten.

“Come get something to eat,” mom called out from downstairs.

I crawled across the floor until I could reach the closet door and push it shut. Sometimes it was easier not to see the realities you weren’t quite prepared to face.

After I inhaled cheese, crackers and a fistful of grapes, I contemplated the small piles of paperwork mom had organized on her kitchen table.

The funeral home had dropped off ten copies of my father’s death certificate and all that remained now was the task of wiping Dad’s life out of existence--at least that’s how it felt to me.

There were insurance papers to be filed, retirement accounts to be notified, banks to be called. As I scribbled each item onto a yellow tablet, I began to think the list would never end, but finally it did.

“Why won’t Mark pick a jacket?” I asked.

Mom frowned, apparently displeased with the shift in topic. “Everyone grieves differently, Bernie.”

I shook my head, unwilling to let her dismiss my question that quickly. She countered before I had a chance to deliver my follow up.

“He calls every night to see how I am.”

Hurray for Mark. Through some deep-seeded logic I’m sure went back to my childhood, I took this statement as criticism of the fact I, on the other hand, had not called my mother every night.

I dropped my focus to the yellow tablet, my eyes seeing none of the words, my brain concentrating on the fact I should have called her every night. She’d just lost her soul mate, for crying out loud. Why hadn’t I called her every night?

“How’s Ryan?”she asked.

Boy, the woman sure knew how to push the buttons, didn’t she?

My feelings of inadequacy morphed into feelings of abandonment.

How was Ryan? Deceitful. Despicable. Worthy of cold-blooded revenge.

I didn’t see the need to fill her in on either Ryan’s departure or the recent change in my employment status. As far as she knew, I was still on bereavement leave.

The woman had enough on her plate.

“He’s fine, Mom. He sends his love.”

“He’s working hard?” Her voice climbed a few octaves, and I realized she wasn’t one hundred percent sold on my response.

I forced a bright smile. “Absolutely.”

“Everything all right?” Her dark brown eyes narrowed.

I’d seen the look a million times. The woman could see right through me. Always had. I had to change the subject...and fast.

I wasn’t about to confess my failure to stay married. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Let’s talk about you. You sleeping? Eating?” Genius. I could match her interrogation skills question for question.

She nodded. “There was an incident at church.”

I hesitated before I asked the obvious question. “Like what?” What sort of incident could happen at church? Seriously?

She answered without meeting my gaze. “I punched an usher.”

I blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Punched an usher.” My mother gave a shrug of her slender shoulders as if her statement should come as no surprise. “Split his lip.” She blinked. “He got a bit too close when he passed the collection basket.” She gave another shrug. “I may have overreacted.”

“You think?”

Apparently the insanity was genetic. And here I thought I’d merely lived in New Jersey for too long.

I bit my lip and tried very hard not to snicker, but come on. The visual was priceless. It seemed we Carrolls threw decorum to the wind under stress.

“Split his lip?” I repeated.

She nodded, then let out a quick sigh.

“Boy, too bad Dad missed that.” I said the words without thinking, without stopping to realize Dad was the reason my mother had slugged the poor usher to begin with.

As much as I missed Dad, I couldn’t begin to imagine how lost my mother felt.

Her eyes filled with tears. I gathered the paperwork into a single pile and set my yellow tablet on top of the various forms and notes. “Why don’t I take this home?”

She nodded, not speaking, probably not wanting me to hear her voice crack or wobble.

“How about a walk?” I asked. “The fresh air might do us both good.”

Mom nodded again and I pushed back my chair, heading toward the closet to grab our jackets. A few minutes later, we walked in silence, eyes squinting against the bright afternoon sun.

“You should ask Ryan to help with the paperwork,” Mom said. “He’s very good with things like that.”

“We’ll see,” I said. Not a chance, I thought.

My mother snapped her tongue. “It’s too much for you to handle alone.”

This was the perfect time to tell her about Ryan, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. She loved Ryan. Loved him.

Why shatter her illusions by telling her he’d not only lined up his rebound relationship, but had moved right ahead to his rebound offspring?

We walked in silence from that point on, soaking in the warm sun and crisp autumn air. I kicked haphazardly at the piles of orange and red leaves gathered along the sidewalk in front of the neat, suburban houses.

It spoke volumes about our relationship that even at a time when I knew we’d both like to scream and cry or rant and rave, we remained calm, quiet, controlled, numb.

A better daughter might have known what to say or how to act, but I didn’t have a clue. I said nothing. I did nothing.

When we stepped back inside my mom’s house, I headed for the kitchen. “I’m going to grab this paperwork and go, Mom. Maybe I can get ahead of rush hour traffic.”

“Oh.” A note of surprise sounded in her voice.

“What?” I turned to look at her as she studied herself in the hall mirror. “I can stay, if you’d rather--”

“My earring’s gone.” My mother’s voice dropped to barely more than a whisper. She slipped the remaining earring off and cradled it in the palm of one hand. “Your father gave me these. Before we were married.”

Damn.

“I’ll find it.” I slapped the paperwork down on the table and flipped on the overhead hallway light. “I’m good at finding things. Really. Just ask Ry...anyone.”

We searched for several minutes in the hall, next to the closet, under furniture. We searched every inch of her windbreaker before I made her untuck her sweater and shake that out as well.

We found nothing. Not a blessed thing.

“It has to be here somewhere.” I couldn’t deny a tiny bit of panic squeezed at my insides even as I did my best to sound confident.

Mom shot me a weak smile. “It’s okay.”

I’d never seen her look so...lost. I yanked open the front door. “I’ll find it.”

The breeze had picked up and the sun had dipped lower in the late afternoon sky.

“You’ll catch a chill.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Let it go, honey.”

But I couldn’t let it go. Not now. I might not know what to say to ease her heartache, but I could find her earring. “I’ll be right back.”

Forty-five minutes later, I’d picked through every inch of ground we’d covered, flipping leaves and running my now numb-with-cold fingers through the edge of every carefully manicured lawn. The grim realization I’d over-promised on my ability to find the earring began to sink in.

I dropped to my knees and let out a frustrated breath. I was out of sidewalk. I’d failed.

That’s when I saw it. A flicker of gold beneath one crinkled point of a dried-up maple leaf. The back of Mom’s earring.

Excitement whispered through me as I carefully checked the surrounding leaves, flipping over each one until I spotted the object of my search, an amber stone lying next to its dented gold setting.

As I raced back down the sidewalk toward my parents’ house, I remembered being five-years-old, running down the street, carefully cradling the first tooth I’d ever lost in the palm of my hands. I’d been so proud, full of happy anticipation, imagining my mother’s smile and her words of praise.

This time when I handed her the tiny object I cradled in my palm, she pulled me into a long, silent hug. And that meant more to me than words ever could.

o0o

I left for home feeling oddly buoyed by the simple act of finding Mom’s earring, but the closer I got, the more I realized I wasn’t ready to face my empty house. Not yet. The only things waiting for me there were the obedience school drop-out and a dozen rolls of positive affirmation paper towels Diane felt I couldn’t live without.

I experienced a moment of guilt about not rushing back to Poindexter, but based on the snores that had come from the sofa that morning, the drama of the past several days had taken their toll.

I had no particular destination in mind until I spotted the Genuardi’s supermarket coming up on my left.

I’d never been one who enjoyed grocery shopping. Never. Yet, suddenly, the thought of spending an hour tossing food items into a squeaky-wheeled cart felt promising. I’d begin the rebirth of my life right here...in the nutrition-rich, calorie-laden aisles of my neighborhood grocery store.

I shifted my car into Park and stared out the windshield. Other shoppers busied themselves--loading SUVs, pushing carts, herding children across the traffic lanes.

They moved through the steps of their lives effortlessly, flawlessly, while I sat and stared, knowing I could never measure up. Not now. Probably not ever.

I don’t really know how long I sat there, but the pace of life in the parking lot became more than I could handle.

I drove home, opened a bag of peanut butter M&Ms, slipped into my dad’s plaid shirt and plucked the cryptogram book from my underwear drawer.

I hunkered low in my favorite chair, reached for a pencil and concentrated, hoping I could lose myself in the process of solving another puzzle.

But when a knock sounded at the front door and soon-to-be-ex-husband stood on the other side of the peephole, all thoughts of cryptogram solving flew off my radar screen.

I flashed on the last time Ryan had been here--inside the home we’d planned to share forever. I’d been expecting a normal evening at home--Ryan watching television, me reading a book--but instead he’d made the face, the one that meant he had something significant to say.

Sure, I’d seen it before, but it had always been directed at someone else.

That night, he’d directed the face at me.

“I met someone,” he’d said.

For better or worse.

The memory of our vows had raced through my mind, juxtaposed to the words he’d spoken. I’d wrapped my arms tightly around my knees, bracing for impact. “Do I know her?”

He’d shaken his head. “No.”

Ryan had done his best to look remorseful even though I’d known he wasn’t sorry at all.

In sickness and in health.

I remembered thinking I could be a better wife. I could cook more. Clean more. Laugh more.

“She’s pregnant, Bernie,” he’d said.

Pregnant. That one I couldn’t do.

My disbelief had stunned me then, but now...now Ryan’s hey-won’t-you-let-me-in smile threatened to push me past the limits of rational thought.

I shook off the remembered images and muttered a few choice words as I unlocked the door. Poindexter raced upstairs, apparently unwilling to risk whatever confrontation might follow. At least he knew better than to greet the traitor who had deserted us.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, as I opened the door. “Forget where you live?”

Ryan gave a slow shake of his head. “Your mother called me.”

Shit. This was not how I wanted her to find out about the demise of my marriage. I was the worst daughter in the world.

“I didn’t tell her.” He tipped his chin toward the living room. “Can I come in?”

I hesitated, but he squeezed past me before I could decide whether or not to step out of his way.

“She said you might need help with your dad’s paperwork.”

“So you dropped everything and dashed over?” I stiffened. “I can handle it myself.”

“Why don’t you let me run through everything with you?” Ryan squinted and nodded as if I he knew the task would be beyond my ability.

I pulled myself taller and planted my fists on my hips. “First of all, I don’t need your help. Secondly, my family’s business is no longer your business.”

I’d like to say he looked hurt. I’d like to say my words hit him like a slap, but apparently they didn’t faze him in the least. Instead he stood there looking kind. A*shole.

“I want to help you, Bernie. You and your family are important to me. I can understand if you feel--”

I had no intention of letting him finish whatever line of bullshit he was about to deliver. “Maybe you should have thought about my family before you and your pregnant slut bimbo started your little affair.”

Ryan’s entire body tensed. “Don’t you ever--”

I grabbed his arm and steered him toward the door. “No. Don’t you ever come here unannounced again. This is my home, not yours.” I pounded my fist against my chest. Heat flowed in my cheeks. I think I actually saw red. “You chose your bed, go lie in it.”

Ryan paled momentarily, and I realized my little outburst had taken him by surprise.

He frowned. “Maybe I should stay until you calm down. I’ve never seen you like this. Are you sure you’re not having some sort of breakdown?”

He was the second person to ask me that question this week. Maybe they both knew something I didn’t.

I opened the front door and pointed toward the driveway. “If I am, I certainly don’t need you around to watch.”

I slammed the door the second Ryan cleared the threshold. My trembling started even before the rumble of his car’s engine filled the night. At least I’d gotten him out of the house before my newly-found bravado crumbled.

I sank onto the steps, shivering with emotions that had battled inside me for weeks.

Then my gaze fell to the wedding band I still wore.

If I’d had any sense at all, I’d have hurled the gold band at Ryan the night he first left. I suppose denial had become such a large part of my life, I’d grown comfortable with the act of doing nothing.

Three wiggles later I held the ring in my palm.

Once upon a time, the simple gold circle had stood for all of my hopes and dreams--love, a family, Ryan. Now, it stood for nothing.

Till death do us part.

I studied the indentation on my finger. Fourteen years had left one hell of a mark.

Poindexter trotted down the stairs behind me, settled at my side and measured me with huge, worried eyes.

I jerked a thumb toward the door. “That, my friend, is how you handle confrontation.”

Then I wrapped my arms around him, buried my face against his furry neck and cried.

o0o

“Courage is the art of being the only one who knows you’re scared to death.”

–Earl Wilson