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Davis
Ilet myself inside the house and take a moment to assess the place.
The refrigerator is still making the same whiney, clunking sound. There are still dishes piled high in the sink, the scent of overflowing garbage in the air. My absence certainly has not kick-started Chantal into being a better housekeeper. If anything, I realize just how much I used to serve as her maid.
Shoving the keys into my pocket, I make my way through the living room and down the hall. The master bedroom door is closed, but the door to Charlotte’s room is open, the light indicating that’s where I’ll find my wife. My stomach twists uncomfortably with the knowledge that I’m being somewhat forced to step into the room, rather than deciding on my own if I can handle the pain of the past.
Chantal is seated in the rocking chair holding the plush hippopotamus in her hands. Her chin lifts when I enter the room, the familiar mask of disinterest on her face. She eyes me up and down, then sighs loudly as if I’m intruding on a private moment.
I’m already annoyed that we have to have yet another conversation about the divorce, so her behavior only causes it to escalate. “Let’s get this over with. What do you want to talk about?”
She waves her hand dismissively. “The divorce that you want, of course.”
She’s not mincing words, which pisses me off. Her implication that I’m the only one who wants my own life amuses me. She has come and gone daily for the past six years, doing as she chooses, beholden to no one. She’s done nothing during this time to warrant my devotion, and yet here I stand in a room that brings me nothing but pain, duty-bound to hear her out. “Spit out it. I have somewhere to be.”
One perfectly arched brow is lifted. “Is that so? And where exactly have you been running off to the past few months?”
“None of your goddamn business.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “You’re so crass.”
“Get to it, or I’m leaving.” Just being in this room makes my skin crawl. I’m certain that was her intention, to knock me off my game by having this conversation in the one room that brings me nothing but pain.
“My lawyer has everything drawn up.”
“About fucking time.”
Chantal shakes her head. “You’re such a pig, Davis.” I glare at her, hoping that the heat from it will burn her skin. “I left them on the kitchen table. Have your lawyer look them over.”
“I can’t afford a lawyer. You know that.”
“Not my problem.” Rising, she takes great care with setting the stuffed animal back into the crib, her knuckles turning white as she grasps the railing. “You know, if the cost is too much, we can wait a while.” Her slim shoulders rise up in a shrug. “Or not do it at all.”
Rage bubbles up from my gut, burning the back of my throat. All these months she’s done nothing but dick me around, letting me believe there’d be an eventual resolution to this matter, andnowshe wants to just….forget about it?
Fuck no.
Careful to keep my distance, I seethe, “We’re getting a fucking divorce, do you hear me Chantal? I’m sick and tired of this sham.” My hands curl into tight fists while I rage. “For six goddamn years you’ve done nothing but string me along. You practically threw me out of my own house. You never have word one to say to me unless you absolutely have to.” Anger like I’ve never felt before crawls over my skin like a thousand pesky fire ants. “For six years I’ve felt like a stranger in this house. I’ve lost fucking everything! Do you understand that?” I take another step forward, my voice rising with hostility as I spit out each word. “It’s bad enough that I lost my child, but then I had to lose my wife too? Do you have any idea how much pain I’ve been in? I needed you and you turned your back on me.” I refuse to allow emotion to interject itself into my rant. I can cry later. “I had no one to talk to. I couldn’t share my pain with anyone except you, and you refused to talk to me.” I watch as her shoulders begin to shake and I half-expect to find her laughing at me when she turns around. “I needed my wife. I needed a shoulder to cry on, someone who understood how completely devastated I was. I needed you, and you just… walked away.”
Slowly, she turns to face me and what I see causes my mouth to fall open in shock. Tears are free-flowing down pale her face. The raw pain I’m witness to stuns me. I haven’t seen her this broken since the day Charlotte took her last breath. I almost believe she’s been keeping her torment bottled up inside this entire time.
“I’m….I’m…..so sorry.” Sobbing, she starts to fall to the ground, as if her legs can no longer bear the weight of her grief. Somehow I’m quick enough to catch her, holding her in my arms and easing her back down to the chair. Her weeping grows more intense, the sound of her pain-filled sobs causing agony to rip open my chest.
Falling to my knees in front of her, I take her cold hands in mine, tears pooling in my eyes. For all my harsh words and for all the hate I’ve felt toward her, I’ve never once wanted to cause her undo heartache. She’s been so good at putting on a brave, disinterested front all these years. Too good, apparently. I had no idea she could feel this deeply anymore.
“I c-can’t d-do this…..”
“Do what?”
She continues to sob, tears dripping steadily off her chin. “Pretend like nothing affects me. I’ve tried everything, and I can’t seem to…..you know….move on.”
Whether she’s talking about me or Charlotte doesn’t really matter. Not when I remember her excitement at being pregnant. Not when I recall how she’d sing to her belly each night and encourage me to do the same, even though I can’t hold a tune to save my life. She wanted nothing more than to be a good mother to our child. She had dreams and plans and ideas that she once shared with me; dreams that were ripped away when our child was taken from us.
Guilt descends over me in a painful wave. Have I not tried to be a good husband to her all these years? Have I not tried hard enough to make us work? And why didn’t I try harder to reach her, try to share my pain, ask her to share hers with me? Maybe there’s no coming back from the loss of a child. Maybe she and I really are destined to be miserable for the rest of our lives.
“So what are you saying?”
She swipes at her tears. “I’m saying that I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I can’t fathom the idea of boxing up all her things and walking out of this house for good.” Drawing a deep breath, she sniffs and shakes her head. “I’ve been terrible to you, Davis. I know that. And whether you choose to believe it, I am sorry for how I’ve treated you. It’s no excuse, but do you have any idea how difficult it’s been for me to just get out of bed every day? Work is the only thing that brings me comfort anymore.”
