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Back when my life was on solid ground.
Back when my family was supposed to spend the summer here while Ronni worked on her movie.
I guess it’s all relative. The past eighteen months haven’t been easy. Not by a mile. Twin babies. Lawsuits. My band’s implosion. Hell, I figured things were as low as they could go.
Oh, I hadnoidea.
None. Zip. Nada.
Methodically, I get to work. Rip open a box. Pull out the parts. Assemble. Consolidate the rubbage and repeat. The work is easy. My construction background comes in handy, thank Christ. I’m able to settle my mind for a bit with the meditative work. In fact, I’m so lost in my task, I don’t hear someone come through the door.
“Connor.” Her lyrical voice permeates the air.
I clutch the screwdriver for grim death, but don’t turn around. My shoulders slump forward. My bearded chin hits my chest. Instantaneously, the permanent ginormous lump in my throat threatens to rupture.
“What is all this?” I hear her footsteps behind me as she navigates through the furniture I’ve put together.
I don’t move. I say nothing. I don’t look back at her. I can’t. Not now. Maybe never.
The last time I saw her, Mae’s face was contorted in agony and betrayal. I’ll never forget her tortured screams for me to get out of the house. Not as long as I breathe.
So, no. I don’t look because I’m a coward.
“Connor.” Her voice is annoyed. Terse.
My neck prickles. My stomach roils. The crisps I ate earlier threaten to come back up. I curl my hand into a fist. Punch the floor. “What are you doin’ here, Mae?”
Thetat tat tatof her heels across the room toward me makes me tense up like a taut rope. Still, I keep my head bowed and my eyes riveted to the dusty hardwood floor. The tips of her black-leather, red-soled boots appear in my line of vision. My teeth clench. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut to block any visual of her.
I simply cannot face my wife. The mother of my kids.
Aye. I’m so feckin’ low, I can’t even look at her feckin’ shoes.
Ronni’s fingers thread through my curls. The tips of her fingers massage my head. Just the way I love. Little circular rubs. Light scrapes. I’m almost lulled into a sense of peacefulness. A sense that—maybe, just maybe—everything could return to normal. At least until she clutches my hair tight at the scalp and drags my noggin up, so I have no choice but to meet her gaze.
“Connor,” Ronni growls through pursed lips. “Youwilllook at me.” Her startling green eyes narrow. Her milky skin is flushed with anger. She puffs away a lock of chestnut hair from her forehead with one forceful breath. “Youoweme that much.”
I hold her gaze for a second. I can’t help but close my eyes again, even though I nod and whisper, “Aye.”
Ronni unclenches her hands, snagging one of my curls in her wedding ring when she pulls away. The pain of a few hairs ripping out barely registers. How could it when my heart aches so bad?
I can tell by the clomping sound she’s stormed across the room toward the windows facing our house. “Are you really going to just sulk there like a beaten dog, Connor?”
“Ifeellike a beaten dog,” I mumble.
I hear her sigh heavily, then all goes eerily quiet. Unable to resist any longer, I open my eyes to find her where I expected. She’s always a vision. The light streams through the big windows. Ronni’s in perfect silhouette. One jean-clad hip is cocked though her head slumps forward. Her hands rest on the sill, but her stiff arms keep her upright. “Can you please pull yourself together? You don’t have time for this woebegone bullshit,” she snarls without turning around.
Rage spreads through my body like an Eastern Washington forest fire. After all I’ve put up with over the years, could she give me a feckin’break? Woebegone? Is she mad? It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to lose my shite.
Except, I do not raise my voice to my wife.
Ever.
“You know, every single thing about this is bullshit.” Ronni turns toward me and waves her arms around the room. “Hiding out in Ireland isn’t going to make this problem go away like magic. Trust me.”
Myproblem,shemeans.
I hoist my six-foot-six frame up to standing and calmly cross the room to stand next to her. Fold my arms and stare out the window to hopefully hide how badly I’m shaking. I repeat my earlier question, “Why are you here, Mae?”
