Chapter 18

For over a week, Rachel’s journal lay untouched on the bedside table. After so many years, Emma was finally falling in love with Joe, and she couldn’t let Rachel’s sorrow encroach on her newfound happiness.

Instead, she threw all her energy into getting to know Joe again. She made his favorite dinners, watched baseball with him, and took long family walks with the dog.

One evening she even lit taper candles and served dinner in the dining room.

“New York strip and candlelight?” Joe raised his eyebrows. “And on a Wednesday night! What’s the occasion?”

Emma clutched the stem of her wine glass and looked up at him through her lashes. “Well, since Andrew is out, I thought we could make it a date night.”

“Will he be gone long enough?”

“Long enough for what?”

“You said this was date night, right?” Joe lifted her hand to his lips. “So how long do we have?”

Emma giggled. “He’s working on a science project with Cody. They’re building a model of a volcano. Should be gone a couple of hours, I’m sure.”

“Let’s hurry and eat, then. Is it okay to say that on date night?”

“As long as you convey the appropriate level of appreciation for the dinner I slaved over.”

Eyes on Emma, Joe took his first bite. While he chewed, he closed his eyes and rocked his head back and forth. “Mmm, mmm, mmm! This steak is divine.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Don’t overdo it.” Trying to keep a straight face, she plucked a cherry tomato from her salad and brought it to her puckered scarlet lips. Giving Joe what she hoped was a sultry gaze, she bit into it daintily.

Joe gulped audibly. “For some reason, I just can’t concentrate on my dinner,” he said. “Would you mind terribly if we eat a little later? I want to be sure to have some quality time with you before…”

Emma stood and took his hand. “Follow me.” She led him down the hall to the living room, casting glances over her shoulder at him as they walked. She pulled him down onto the couch beside her and leaned closer for a kiss, but he pulled away and stood back up.

“We need candles,” he said. “I’ll get the ones on the table.”

“You’re so romantic,” she called after him. She stretched out on her side, imagining herself draped over the top of a piano in a slinky sequined dress.

When Joe returned just moments later, he wasn’t carrying any candles, only her cell phone, which he held out in front of him like a fouled diaper. “Who is Darren?” His words were low and clipped, and his face was deathly pale.

Emma pushed herself up. “What are you…? Joe?”

“Read this.” He thrust the phone in her face. She pulled her head back, trying to bring the screen into focus.

“What is it? I don’t understand,” she stammered.

“It’s a text message. Let me read it to you. It says, ‘Emma, I can’t stop thinking about you. Darren.’ Again I ask you, who’s Darren?”

Emma’s entire body went cold, and the little food she’d eaten churned in her stomach. She searched her mind for an explanation, but all she could think to say was, “Why were you looking at my phone?”

Color flooded his cheeks, spreading up to his hairline and down to his collar. “I never knew your phone was so private,” he snapped. “But just so you know, I wasn’t snooping. I was on the way to the dining room when I heard your phone in the kitchen. I thought maybe it was Andrew needing to be picked up.”

“Oh,” she said, clenching her sweaty palms in her lap.

“You still haven’t answered my question. Who is Darren, and why is he sending messages like this?”

“Sit down,” she pleaded. “Let me explain.”

“I don’t want to sit down. I want to know why you can’t answer a simple question.”

Although he had not raised his voice, she cowered from him, shrinking to the end of the couch. She licked her dry lips and wished she’d brought her wine with her. “Darren Funkhauser is the Realtor who’s selling Rachel’s house. He… I-”

“Wait a minute. This is the same Realtor you called a… what was it? A skinny band geek?”

Emma nodded, speechless.

“So that’s why you stayed in Indiana. So you could run around with… Darren.” He spat the name out like sour milk.

“No, it wasn’t like that!” Emma’s story spilled out at last. “I was working on the house, and he helped me. We got to talking, and I was feeling emotional about the nursery. I started to cry, and he was holding me, and somehow we ended up kissing.”

He glared down at her, his hands balled into fists. She hurried on, “But then I caught myself. I grabbed my purse and took off. Nothing else happened, I swear. I haven’t even talked to him since then—except I left I voicemail saying I couldn’t see him again.”

Joe stared silently, and she could see the tendons of his jaw twitching. “Joe?” she whispered. “I’m so sorry…. I wish I could…. Please say something.”

When he finally spoke, he sounded tired, resigned. “I’m through. I can’t do this anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked shrilly. “You can’t mean…. It was just a kiss!”

“You just don’t get it. I’ve been waiting for you for 15 years, Emma. Fifteen years. Waiting for you to want me. I told myself it wasn’t me, that you just aren’t a passionate person. But now I hear that you got carried away with this jerk, and I…. I’m tired of being the guy you settled for.”

He turned his back on her and walked away, shoulders slumped and steps heavy. Emma jumped up. “Where are you going?” she asked, panic squeezing her chest as she ran after him down the hall.

“I don’t know. Away from here.” He threw open his suitcase on the closet floor.

She knelt beside him, closing the lid. “Wait, Joe! Can’t we talk about this?”

He jerked the suitcase back open and threw in a couple of dress shirts. Emma paced back and forth between his messy half of the closet and her perfectly organized shelves.

“Listen, about what happened… it was just that I was feeling emotional. I was vulnerable and he was so sympathetic. I never meant–”

“That’s just it. You were emotional with him. I tried so hard to be there for you after Rachel and Evan died, but you were a brick wall. You couldn’t stand for me to touch you, and yet you let him hold you and… kiss you.”

He shook his head, as if trying to erase the mental image. “You know what? I’ll come back for my clothes later. I have to get out of here.” He pushed past her, jerking some underwear from the built-in drawers. And then he stalked into the bathroom for his toothbrush and razor.

Emma ran to the bedroom door and stood with her hips squared and her arms crossed. “Joe, please! What about this past week? Didn’t it mean anything to you?”

He looked over her head, into the hall. “No wonder you’ve been acting so different. It was your guilty conscience.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Get out of my way,” he snapped. “You make me want to vomit.”

Stunned, she backed up to let him pass. As he stormed down the hall, her amazement turned to anger. “At least I didn’t sleep with him,” she hollered, hands clenched at her sides.

Joe spun on his heel. “That’s right. Throw it in my face one more time. I knew you never forgave me. Just like you never forgave Rachel.”

Emma cringed as if he’d slapped her. The slam of the door reverberated through the house. In a daze, she stood staring at the closed door. She heard the garage door open and close, and then the screech of his tires.

He’s not coming back. It was inconceivable. Joe had always been there for her. Always.

Because she could think of nothing else to do, she went to the dining room to clear away their uneaten meal. The gravy had congealed on the mashed potatoes, but the candles still burned brightly. She blew them out forcefully. The molten wax warped under the brunt of her breath, much as her crumbling marriage had buckled under the weight of her wrongs.

***

When Andrew let himself in the front door, he found Emma in the kitchen scrubbing the stove. He opened the refrigerator and held the door wide while he searched every shelf for a snack, but she didn’t scold him. He moved on to the freezer, where he unearthed an ice cream bar. Biting off the top third, he mumbled, “Where’s Dad?”

She didn’t tell him not to talk with his mouth full. Setting down her sponge, she forced herself to look in his eyes. “Your dad is… away for a while.”

“You mean he left on a work trip?”

“No, he’s still in town. He just… wants to be by himself right now.”

“What does that mean?” Andrew’s eyes widened, and he let the ice cream bar drop to his side. “Are you getting a divorce?”

“No, no! It’s just for a little while. He’ll be back.” Her words sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

“What did you do?” His voice cracked. “Why did he leave us?”

Emma crossed the kitchen and put her arm around his shoulder. “He didn’t leave you, Andrew. We had an argument, and he’s mad right now. But he’s not mad at you.”

He jerked out from under her arm and threw his half-eaten ice cream bar into the sink. “How can he be gone? I hardly ever get to see him, and now I won’t see him at all!”

He pushed past her and ran up the stairs, with Emma in close pursuit. He slammed his bedroom door so hard that the family photos outside his door rattled in their frames.

She stood at the door, her hand raised to knock, but then she turned away. She’d suffered enough rejection for one evening.

But the sound of his sobs brought her back. She tried the knob, but it was locked. “Let me in, sweetie. I know you’re hurting, and I’m sorry.”

“Go away!” he answered, his voice muffled. “It’s your fault he went away.”

Yes, all my fault, she thought. She laid her palm on the door. “Well, I’m here if you need me,” she said. “I love you, Andrew.”

There was no answer. As she stared at the locked door, she realized this was the first time Andrew had pushed her away when he was hurting. He was growing up, and it felt like she was losing him, too.

***

The alarm jolted Emma from sleep at 3:30. She squinted against the afternoon sun in confusion until she remembered why she was in bed. Having been up most the night, she’d gone back to bed after seeing Andrew off to the school bus that morning.

She flopped back onto the pillow and groaned, her head throbbing. She stared at the ceiling through gritty, puffy eyes and willed herself out of bed; Andrew was due home in just 15 minutes.

She was splashing water on her face when she heard Andrew’s voice. “Mom? Where are you?”

She smiled grimly at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. At least he was speaking to her again. “In my room, honey,” she called.

Andrew bounded through the bedroom and poked his head into the bathroom. “I’m starving,” he announced. “What’s for dinner?”

She knit her brows. “Well, I hadn’t even thought about–”

“Hey, did Dad come home?”

The hope in his eyes made it nearly impossible for her to speak.

“Did he?”

She let out a heavy sigh. “No, sweetie. I haven’t heard from him at all today.”

His features twisted, and his shoulders slumped. He ran into the hall and thundered up the stairs.

“Andrew, wait! What do you want for…” His bedroom door slammed. “…dinner?”

*** 

Emma managed to feed Andrew a grilled cheese, but she couldn’t eat anything herself. For the first time she could remember, she left the dishes in the sink. After her seven-hour nap, she wasn’t at all drowsy, and the night hours stretched unbearably long before her. But then she noticed Rachel’s journal on her night stand. Pulling it into her lap, she whispered, “I’ve missed you, Rachel.” 

The first few pages chronicled Rachel’s growing faith; they were full of scriptures and prayers that Emma wasn’t in the mood to read. She scanned through months of entries, looking for an explanation as to how Rachel’s miserable marriage had been transformed. She wasn’t prepared for what she found.

                Tuesday 1/19/99 PMI’m back in my old room, lying on my old bed, and I can’t believe how lonely it feels. I left Evan tonight. It all happened so fast I can hardly believe this is real.

When I got home from work today, I got on the computer to finish setting up our new online banking. I couldn’t remember the website, so I checked the browser history. Pages of porn sites came up! I broke into a cold sweat, and my chest felt tight, as if I’d been running.

I don’t know why, but I pulled up page after sleazy page, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from these trashy women with their impossibly tiny waists and their giant fake boobs.

I thought about the 15 pounds (20?) I’ve gained since we got married, and I started sobbing. No wonder he wants to look at these women. He probably finds me repulsive. He could have had any girl he wanted, but he ended up with boring, frumpy me.

When Evan got home from the grocery store, he found me hunched over the keyboard, bawling. “What’s the matter?” he asked, but then he froze when he saw the screen.

There was a heavy silence until I found my voice. I wiped the tears away and gave myself over to the anger erupting in me. “How dare you?” I spat out, and I slapped his cheek!

He touched the red spot on his cheek and stared at me wordlessly, his face white and his eyes wide.

“So this is how you spend your time while I’m on my feet at work all day? Instead of looking for a job, you sit here and drool over fake tits?”

Color flooded his face, and when he first opened his mouth, no sound came out. But then the bitter words spewed forth, words that must have been pushed down for years. “Don’t talk to me about looking for a job. Have you tried it lately? Have you ever looked for jobs you didn’t even want? Have you ever been laid off from a job that you gave 10 miserable years of your life to—all for a wife who didn’t even appreciate it?”

I tried to tell him I did appreciate his sacrifice, but he wouldn’t let me speak.

“No, you don’t. I gave up everything for you, so you could have the career you dreamed of, but that wasn’t good enough for you.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, but he went on as if I hadn’t spoken.

“Do you think I don’t know that you don’t love me? You’ve never wanted this marriage. You’ve always felt trapped.”

I couldn’t say anything. He was telling the truth.

“So what if I like to look at sexy women to take my mind off this lousy excuse for a marriage? At least they never push me away.”

“Well maybe they’ll keep you company when I’m gone,” I snarled. And then I packed a suitcase. He didn’t try to stop me, just went and put away the groceries. He didn’t even look up when I told him I was going.

So now I don’t know what to feel. I really have felt trapped all these years, but why don’t I feel free now?
 

Emma shook her head in disbelief. So this was the fantasy marriage she’d envied for so many years. And this was the Prince Charming she’d pined for.

As she stretched out in the big, empty bed, she marveled at the way Rachel had expressed her own feelings so well. For years Emma had wondered what it would be like to escape and start over, but now that she had her chance, it felt like a kick in the stomach.

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