Homefires (70 page)

Sometimes, I wondered if there’d been a hospital nursery mix-up. Kirk hated to hear me go on about her escapades. Got to the point that he dismissed my commiserations with, “you two just clash, is all. Too much alike.”

An easy dismissal. But by now, I knew Kirk could only handle so much chaos before he folded.

It had not been a miraculous, instantaneous turnaround in our marriage. But my prayer getaway had been a pivot point. Months later, Kirk still was not warm to me. But I fulfilled my position as his wife and partner. That’s all I had to answer for.

It was still a bit heady, knowing I did not answer to Kirk. Nor he to me. I stood alone under my Maker. My worth was not, nor would it ever be, tied to Kirk’s assessment of me. Nor to anyone else’s. My new spiritual psyche told me when to speak and when not to speak. Mostly, with Kirk, it told me to keep silent.

One day, I forged ahead, not listening to it.

“I miss the old Kirk. The one who teased and flirted and adored me,” I said in one unguarded moment of lightness, thinking I could meander back into those lost times. I watched Kirk’s face grow somber, then dark.

His eyes left the road to light on me. The old dreaded churlish gleam was back. “Would you rather have half a loaf or none at all, Neecy?” he asked in that almost silent way.

Shocked at the still present reality, I averted my gaze to the road ahead, saying nothing else. The soft side of me felt crushed. The other, newer, stronger side said,
So what? You’ve had nothing for so long anyway, it doesn’t matter. If he wants to hold back, he’s cheating himself out of lots of fun and joy.

Callie and I got together for lunch one day at the Magnolia Drive-in while Kirk golfed.

“I do a lot of self-talk these days, Cal.” I poured two Sweet’N Lows into my iced tea. “Kirk still holds himself aloof, refusing to contribute anything emotional to our marriage.”

“Oh, come on, Neecy,” Callie cut her chili cheeseburger in two. “Nothing?”

“Zero, Cal. I’m not exaggerating.” I stirred the straw to dissolve the white powder. “Wish I were. Oh, Kirk, as you know, is the best financial supporter in the world. Though I feel more and more like a kept woman th – ”

“Neecy!” Callie cut me a wry look.

“What I mean is – I try not to feel that way, but I know Kirk doesn’t love me and doesn’t really want to do anything for me.” I held up a hand as she inhaled to protest. “And that’s okay. I’m learning to live with it.” I took a bite out of my chili cheeseburger as proof of my resilience.

Callie washed down her bite with a swill of tea. “I know you think that, but Kirk…”

“Cal,” I took her hand and calmly relayed Kirk’s half a loaf comment.

She stared at me, disbelieving. “Half a loaf? Or
none?
Doesn’t sound like Kirk.” She shook her head and looked away, mumbling under her breath.

“I know. And I don’t want to make Kirk look like a bogeyman. He’s just – Kirk, with limitations just as you and I have.” I half-heartedly munched a french fry.

“Well, I must say, you’re handling all this better than I could.”

“I don’t want to turn you against Kirk. I take my share of blame in all our problems.”

Her dark eyes clouded as she watched me closely. “Don’t let too much of yourself go, Neecy.”

I laughed, surprising her. “You know, Cal, at one time, Kirk played me like a banjo. Now, I don’t react as I once did.” I’d told Callie about my three-day spiritual awakening. “Since my retreat, I’ve learned something invaluable.”

“Oh?” Dark eyebrows lifted over the rim of the Coke glass. “Pride is an illusion. Nobody can make you less than who you are, no matter what they think or say. I’d always, as far back as I can remember, acted as a mirror for what others saw or felt about me. I didn’t go off the deep end with it, though, until Kirk – well, I gave him entirely too much power over me.”

“So, it’s a power struggle?”

“Not for me. It never was, except in the pure survival sense. But with Kirk, it’s different. Why? I don’t know.” I propped my elbows on the table and cupped my face in my hands. “I get so starved for affection sometimes, Cal, I think I’ll die. Had I not experienced that glorious romantic period with Kirk, I wouldn’t
know
.” I sighed deeply. “I still grieve for the man who loved me so desperately when we moved back here. But I’ve faced up that he’ll never come back. I just pretend he’s dead. Buried. Makes it easier. Helps me keep my sanity.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Callie murmured, her dark eyes moist.

“Only thing keeps me going is I know there’s an escape hatch.”

Callie gave me a long measuring look. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” I sat back and drew with my finger on the frosted glass. “I promised God I’d stay with Kirk until he rids himself of alcohol. I owe him that. I’ll give my marriage all I’ve got. A hundred-and-ten per cent. Then, if things don’t change, I’m outta here.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“I don’t care who he is, no daughter of mine shacks up with anybody who isn’t her husband.” Kirk stopped pacing to address Heather, whose gaze was averted and features appropriately downcast. But we both knew, from past experience, Heather would make up her own mind. She was that much like her Daddy. She’d graduated, by a thin hair, from college with a degree in business management and now worked at a mortgage company, whose divorced owner was her new boyfriend.

The salon was quiet at that moment, with no patrons present. We’d decided to stop renting chairs to other hair stylists and keep our salon business all in the family.

“I love him, Dad,” she said in a whispery, choked,
pleading
voice.

He stared at her as though she was mad and I marveled anew that he wasn’t touched by the things that tore me apart. “Hey! If that man cared anything about you, he’d marry you. If you do this, you’re no daughter of mine.”

I gasped.
Oh my God.
“Kirk – ”

“Stay out of this, Janeece.” His gaze never left Heather’s lovely chestnut head that bowed as she quietly wept and I knew she loved her Daddy so much, this thing was agony for her. “I haven’t approved of your lifestyle for quite some time, you were raised to know better.” His fingers swiped through thick hair, then both hands dropped to rest on his hips as he stood before his daughter. “This – this I cannot accept.”

Heather wiped her eyes, stood, slung her purse strap over her shoulder and turned to leave. She glanced furtively over her shoulder at Kirk, who’d picked up the television remote and began clicking channels until he found golf, then plopped down onto the sofa, seemingly absorbed in the match. I knew better. He was more shaken than he wanted anybody to know.

I followed Heather outside and pulled her into my arms. “He’ll come around, honey,” I whispered in her ear as I hugged her. “He loves you. Give him time.”

Fresh tears choked off Heather’s reply, so she simply squeezed me back and kissed my cheek before she jumped
quickly into her little green VW, a family hand-me-down, and drove away. I stuck my head back in the salon door and called to Kirk, “I’m going on home to start dinner.”

“Okay.” His eyes never left the screen. We always drove separate cars because our schedules zigzagged one another and stopped at different times. Today, Kirk would finish up later.

Toby bustled about in the kitchen when I kicked off my shoes in the den. “What’s that wonderful smell?” I called, forcing joviality far from what I felt.

“A surprise,” he replied, barely banking down the excitement in his voice.

I tiptoed to the doorway and sniffed appreciatively. “Spaghetti!” I rushed to hug him. “Oh, you wonderful guy, you!” He grinned, pleased at my response. He already had thick meaty sauce bubbling and noodles boiling. “You are so
neat.
” I sliced a loaf of Italian bread, spread garlic butter on it and arranged it on a pan. “And in more ways than one.”

“Thanks, Mama,” he replied modestly, wiping off the last of onion peels from the counter. “Look, why don’t you go sit down and rest. I’ll treat you tonight.”

I shot him an adoring gaze. “I’ll just take you up on that, son.” Sighing and thinking again how blessed I was to have Toby, I plopped down on the den’s navy-blue floral sofa, one plush as a baby’s favorite teddy bear. My feet ached.

But not as much as my heart. I fought back tears, replaying Heather’s impassioned appeal for her father’s understanding. Yet – I understood Kirk’s feelings because I shared some of them. I didn’t agree with her cohabiting outside marriage, not only fornicating but also setting herself up for heartache. And Kirk was basically right. If the man loved Heather, he’d marry her. But I didn’t agree with cutting Heather off from us.

I flipped on the television and tuned in a talk show, only half listening. Until the doctor being interviewed said, “these adult children of alcoholics all share a syndrome of anger and mistrust. Because they were not parented as children, their social development jelled there. Forced to parent themselves, they come up with their own special behavioral code.”

Fascinated, I turned up the volume.
My Lord, that’s Kirk Crenshaw up one side and down the other.

By the end of the program, I felt a stirring of hope for Kirk. I scrounged in an end table drawer for my ever present pen and writing pad, flipped to the back and wrote down the doctor’s name, Dr. Wayne Kritsberg, and the book’s title:
The Adult Children of Alcoholics Syndrome
.

The next day, I bought it at Waldenbooks, took it home and read it from cover to cover. I wept, laughed and experienced goosebumps at intervals. By its end, I had the first inkling of what Kirk Crenshaw was about. If it affected me so profoundly, would it not be as revealing to my husband?

My first hurdle was getting him to read it. With his present paranoia, would I be able to lead him to help? I shrugged. I’d do my best, that’s all I could do. Somewhere along the way, I’d learned to switch mindsets when needed. I rarely thought as a wife anymore. Rather, I looked on Kirk as a friend who needed help.

Later that evening, during a relaxed moment at the dinner table, I said, “Kirk, I heard the most interesting theory about adults from dysfunctional alcoholic homes – such as yours was. It was on a talk show. I went out and bought the book and read it.” I sipped my coffee casually while my heart did crazy tapdances. “Interesting.” I said, studying the bottom of my cup while slowly swirling the dark amber liquid. “Very interesting.”

When I looked up, he watched me with empty eyes. The weight of responsibility was heavy – this might be the only chance Kirk would have. I went for the kill.

“You ought to read it. I think you’d discover some things about yourself and your family you’ve never suspected.”

He didn’t blink. I yawned and settled back in my chair, a calculated picture of levity. “If you decide you want to read – ”

“I don’t want to read any self-analyzing book.” He rose and his leave-taking was as indifferent as his words.

My heart thudded to a new low. Hope for any meeting of minds fizzled for me in that moment. I would continue to fulfill my promise to the Almighty by living each day as though it were my last while preparing for many tomorrows. I’d also treat Kirk with unconditional courtesy and love until he’d beaten alcohol completely and could stand alone. That was almost funny...Kirk, the Superman, depending on me, who, in his estimation, couldn’t think my way out of a paper bag. Only thing
was, during my spiritual meditation, Kirk’s emotional frailty had revealed itself. At this point, he’d rather die than admit it, but Kirk needed me.

I stood and began clearing the table.
Perhaps,
a sudden thought struck me,
that’s what he fears most.
I grew still as an atrest heartbeat, mulling it over. I shook my head.
Nah.

“Anything wrong, Mama?” Toby hovered at my elbow, all concern.

“Everything’s fine,” I trilled, reaching to kiss his cheek.

He didn’t look convinced. “Y’sure?”

“Yep. But if you want to cheer me up, grab that casserole dish and scour it quickly for me so I won’t mess up my acrylic nails.”

“Okay.” He happily complied and we worked companionably cleaning up while Dawn did her disappearing act. I wouldn’t scold her tonight. I’d rather busy myself and perhaps keep disappointment at arms’ length.

I reminded myself to let go of Kirk. I reminded myself I was responsible only for what
I
could do. I reminded myself I was no less a person because Kirk rejected me.

I reminded myself that soon, if nothing changed, I would leave. I would free Kirk and somehow, with God’s help, I would make a new life for my children and me.

It came unexpectedly, with no drumrolls, on a rainy Sunday afternoon. I rested in my tiny reading room, an upstairs nook I’d claimed and decorated with pastels, a small navy-blue sectional and floor to ceiling library shelves. Beautiful smoky beveled wall mirrors and bursts of greenery opened and vitalized the area. Toby was visiting a neighbor pal and Dawn was still at Trish and Gene’s so the house was quiet as I began a Pat Conroy novel. The only sound was a golf commentator’s voice drifting up from the downstairs television, where Kirk lounged. He rarely sought me out anymore. Hadn’t for a long, long time.