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Davis
Ihave no memory of walking from Merrick’s house to my own.
I have no cognition of anything, really, until I enter the dark house and move through the room, first hitting my shin on the coffee table, then stubbing my toe on the first step up to the apartment.
I’m a mess. Over-emotional. Broken. Devastated.
I may have completely ruined things with Merrick in every single way, but one thing I’m certain of…. my life in this house is over. No more half-baked second chances. No more forced meals, forced conversations, forced smiles. I’ve given this marriage—this life—everything I have and then some. There’s barely anything of myself left to give.
After slipping on socks and sneakers, I drag out the two large duffle bags I own and begin to pack. There’s nothing of real value in this place I’ve called my home. Nothing more than the clothes on my back to take with me, some important papers, and the only tangible proof that I was ever a father.
I wrap Charlotte’s picture in my softest sweatshirt, cushioning it between piles of socks and underwear. It’s pathetic how quickly I can pack up my belongings. I have basically nothing to show for years of marriage, years of devotion to an idea that truly never had a chance of reaching its full potential. Looking back, I now believe Chantal and I were doomed for this sad end right from the start. Had she lived, Charlotte would have been our reason to remain together. Without her here, obligated or not, I see the truth that I’ve denied and avoided for too damn long: my marriage is really, truly over.
Dropping the bags near the door, I grab up the envelope of divorce papers and take a last look around. This prison cell I’ve been living in won’t be missed, that’s for sure. I have no idea where I’ll go, what I’ll do, or what the hell my future will even look like. I do know I have to take this step forward. I’ve sunk so far under the weight of this marriage and pain from loss that it’s a wonder I’m able to stand upright.
I don’t dare think about Merrick.
Hell…I can’t think about him or I might not survive.
With a quick scrawl of my signature, I shove the signed papers into the envelope, then slide it into my back pocket. Without pause I’m dialing Grady’s number, praying I haven’t cut myself off so completely that he’ll ignore my early morning call.
He answers on the second ring, his voice thick with sleep and concern. “Hey brother. Everything okay?”
For all the times I resisted getting too close to him and have deliberately kept a considerable distance between us, Grady is right there doing what any good sibling would and should do: he’s supporting me, without question.
“Sorry to call so late. Can I….” It shouldn’t be so damn hard to ask for help or for a shoulder to lean on, but it’s not something that is second nature to me. So after a few deep, calming breaths, I ask. “Can I stop by? Maybe crash on your couch for a few nights?”
“Yeah, of course. You okay to drive?”
Stubborn, stupid tears rush to the surface once more. I’m so damn tired of crying, of being unhappy, of opening my eyes each morning and preparing for the pain to take hold. I have literally fucked up everything in my life. And I have no one to blame except myself.
“Sure….yeah. I’m fine. See you soon.”
Phone in my pocket once more, I cut the lights and hoist the bags in my hands. I don’t bother with a last look around. It’s a waste of time. I have far bigger concerns than reminiscing about the past.
The refrigerator is still making that sickly, whiney sound as I pass through the kitchen to drop off the envelope. Guilt threads through me for all the things I’ve yet to complete around the house; the lengthy list something I’ll need to tackle soon if we have any hope of selling this place for a decent amount.
“You’re leaving.”
I turn to see her standing in the hall, the light from the bedroom outlining her slim figure. I can’t read her expression in the dark, but I don’t need to. I can hear the sadness in her words, the quiet acceptance in the tone of her voice, the slight catch of breath showing her emotion. Over the years she may have become someone that I no longer recognize, but I can still hear the gentle voice of the girl who once laughed with me while staring at a car engine. I can still see the young mother she couldn’t wait to become, before fate stepped in and robbed her of that beautiful future.
I don’t bother answering her question, since we both know it was rhetorical. “I’ll be back in a few days to get the rest of my stuff.” They’re just empty words and we both know it. Anything worth having I lost a long time ago.
Nodding, she takes a few steps forward until we’re standing in front of one another. I’m grateful she doesn’t say anything else. Not sure I have anything left to give her after all that’s transpired tonight.
Reaching out, she pulls me into an embrace and I go willingly. There will always be a part of me that loves her, loves the good memories we created together for a short time. I will always be grateful to her for allowing me to be a father, even it if was only for a few days. I’ll always feel blessed that she gave me my sweet, precious Charlotte. But now it’s over and I have to find a way to go on. Alone.
“I’ll be at Grady’s if you need me.”
Withdrawing from my embrace, she nods twice, watching me closely as I once more take the bags in hand and step toward the front door. There isn’t anything else either one of us could say. We’ve done our best. We’ve tried. And then we’ve tried some more. We’ve both done things we shouldn’t have; hurt one another in ways that will leave the forever kind of scars. She’s spent years ignoring me and treating me like a second class citizen. And I broke my marriage vows by sleeping with someone else. By loving someone else. By giving myself completely to that someone else in a way I never have to her.
Stashing the bags in the bed of the truck, I walk around to the driver’s side and glance over at Merrick’s dark house. He may have asked me to leave and never come back, but that doesn’t mean I have to stop loving him….or that I can. I have a lot of regrets about things in my life that I could have done differently. Done better. Most of all I regret hurting him, or making him think I wasn’t invested in us. I can only hope he sees my struggle as something I had little control over. I’ve been so caught up in doing what seemed right that I failed to see the truth: that Chantal and I were over long ago…. and that I had my chance with Merrick and I blew it.
Taking my seat behind the wheel, I gun the engine and put it in gear, my mom’s favorite saying in my head.When you’re at the bottom, the only way you can go is up.
Flipping a U-turn, I crawl past his house and take a last look. Sure, I’ll be back to make repairs on the house. But the events of tonight have finalized all the wonderful and awful things that have kept me down for far too long. I’m not sure I’ve hit rock bottom yet, but I do hope that someday—somehow—things in my life will start looking up.
I loathe the idea that I might be stuck in this agonizing void for years to come, grieving Merrick and what could have been and hating myself for fucking it all up. There are no easy answers to any of this, but moving on is a good first step.
At least that’s what I’ll tell myself anyway.
