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I’m surprised how bright the sun is today. The windowless ballroom, with its artificial light and heavy, tearful mourners, would make you think it’s dark out.
I slide behind the wheel of John’s beloved silver Audi. It must be 150 degrees in here. I turn the air-conditioning to high as I inhale the smell of his aftershave, still very much present in the leather seats. Hisaura, his scent, is all around me. There’s a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling like dread. I shake it off. It was all his fault, what happened to him. He couldn’t take the altitude, the pressure at work, the pace of a younger wife. But it was everything he wanted. I was everything he wanted. Until he didn’t. And then, well, RIP.
I pull out of the parking lot and turn into traffic. For John, I drive fast, even though I’m on a suburban street, weaving in between cars just like John does. Used to do. I need to stop dwelling on John. I need to move on, move forward. I smile as I scoot through an orange-yellow light and drive into the matching sunset. Poetic, isn’t it?
This day is finished, and it’s a relief to be heading home. I have one more ceremony to suffer through, and then on to my new life. I thought I’d be so happy being Mrs.John Nelson. I imagined myself a younger version of Kate, a hip parent to Ashlyn. But then he turned his back on me, on our life.
It’s time to recreate myself. I’ll become a powerhouse, like Kate. I turn up the radio. It’s John’s favorite station, classic rock, most recorded before I was born. I push the button for “Today’s Hits.” It’s almost time to leave the past behind. Before I know it, I’m pulling into the driveway, and the garage door opens as if by magic. Technology is really something. Our home is what they call “smart,” which makes me laugh.
I teased John about the system when it had been installed, a five-day project that cost tens of thousands of dollars.
As I watched the crew of tech guys climbing around our home, I said to John, “I picture our house with a big cap and gown, its degree tucked proudly under the copper gutter downspout. So educated.”
That wordeducatedrankles me. People think they’re better than you when they have degrees. The more degrees, the more superior. Most of the people around here pay big bucks to get their kids into the best schools, through the back door with their big donations and named buildings, or sometimes through the side door of cheating and bribes.I didn’t try any door, not that I’d had the option or inclination. I do have my GED. I don’t need anything else. I mean, look where I live.
“Honey, the house isn’t educated, it’s sophisticated. Technology to protect you if I’m out of town, that sort of thing.” John had pulled me into a tight hug. I could tell what he wanted. “I’ll always protect you, babe.”
“Actually, the house will, right?” I’d teased, wriggling away.
“Let’s go upstairs, I’ll show you what’s new.”
Back then, when we’d first married, all he wanted was sex.
It wasn’t his fault. I am pretty irresistible. I push the garage button and watch as the heavy door drops before I step into the house. The alarm warns me to disarm it, and I punch in the numbers.
It’s still beeping. More frantically. My fingers fumble over the digital keypad, retrying the code we’ve had since we married: John’s birthday.
Focus, Tish.I take a deep breath and press 0517*.
The beep stops, and the robot voice says, “Disarmed.”
It’s been a long day. Relief washes over me as I step inside my house. But only for a moment. I realize I expected to see John sitting at the counter. The only things that greet me are my breakfast dishes from this morning, tossed hurriedly in the sink, unrinsed.
Unwanted, my mind flashes to another kitchen sink, this one cracked and stained, rust circling the drain. My momma stands at the sink, her back to me, a pile of dishes stacked on the counter on either side of her. I was seven or eight years old, and I remember standing behind her, watching, wanting to help but not knowing how. On good days, my momma was fun and playful, and I knew she loved me. On bad days, she was the opposite. I didn’t know what today would bring, so my body began to tremble when she turned and spotted me.
“Terry Jane, what the hell are you doing? You scared me.” Momma held a dirty wooden spatula in her hand, and before I knew it, she’d swiped at my bare leg, leaving an angry welt on my thigh. “You’re in my way. Get out of here.”
Shocked by the sudden attack, I froze, my back against the kitchen cabinets. Tears filled my eyes, and the dishes and Momma’s face blurred. When the next swipe of the spatula stung my shoulder, I finally ran from the room. It was a bad day.
I shake my head. Enough of the pity, enough of the past that I’ve left far far behind me. I pick up the phone and call the cleaning lady. She’ll get everything in here all sorted. She loved John. She’ll be happy to help me. Well, maybe. A little argument we had a few weeks ago comes to mind, but I push it away. She’ll come over; she needs the money.
“Hello, Sonja?” I am using my friendliest tone.
“Hi, Mrs.Nelson.” She sighs.
“I need you to come clean the house, please. Like ASAP.”
“No, Mrs.Nelson. Remember, I quit.” Big sigh.
“You didn’t really quit. You just left in a huff. I need you. Now with John gone.” I pause and sniff.
“I am very sorry for your loss.” Sad sigh.
She’s cracking. “I don’t have anyone else to turn to. Please. The funeral is tomorrow, and my home is a disaster.” I run a finger along the kitchen counter. It’s spotless. But I hate dishes in the sink.
“I will come one last time. Tomorrow. OK?” Resigned sigh.
“Perfect. Thanks. I’ll likely be at the funeral. So, can you let yourself in? I’ll mail you a check.”
