Seventy-Two Hours (13 page)

“You can’t take the blame for everything,
Jen,” he replied. “I coped by staying busy and pretending everything was
fine. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“You know I still love you, right? That
hasn’t changed. It may not seem like it and I may not seem like I’m the same
person and I guess I’m not,” I rambled trying to convey my train wreck of
thoughts. “But I couldn’t have made it this long without having you in my life
now.”

He threw his arms around me and hugged me
fiercely against him. “I love you, too,” he returned hoarsely. “I needed to
hear that from you. More than you’ll ever know.”

It was as if that short conversation on the
bed was the antibiotic for the illness that had set into our relationship. A
few heartfelt sentences began the healing process between us.

I kissed him because it had been such a long
time and I had forgotten what it felt like. How great it felt. And he was
holding me. Holding me. Holding me. Something inside of me let go at that
moment. It was as if the ache in my heart was floating away allowing me to
breathe again. The weight of despair had kept it smothered never letting any
light in. Any warmth.

Chris’ mouth moved over mine delivering
possessive, demanding kisses. His hands worked in a frenzy removing my
sweater. He was probably afraid I’d stop being caught up in the moment with
him. It had been a long time since we had been together. Since a few days before
the baby was born. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

I fumbled with his belt, pulling to free it
from the buckle as I opened his pants blindly. Not satisfied until I had his
arousal in my hand; the length of it growing and hardening to an almost
indecent size and I felt myself go wet with longing.

The first time we’d made love as teens I’d
been afraid of it. The discomfort I’d felt worried me that something was wrong
with me or that maybe due to the size of it I’d never feel sexual pleasure.
But I’d been so wrong to worry.

“Jeez, babe, give me a second,” he chuckled
as he worked his jeans off. “Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”

I used that opportunity to slip out of my
pants as well. While I balanced on one foot, standing beside the tall bed, he
worked on my bra, tossing it aside. My breasts were at the perfect height for
his sitting form. Perfect for his hungry mouth as he began to devour them one
at a time; teasing the peaks with his tongue and teeth before his lips sealed
around one nipple and then moving to the other. And I was lost in delirium.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I declared breathlessly.

“I’m right here,” he answered as his hands
simultaneously moved down either side of my back to my buttocks, cupping them
and pulling me closer against him. His heat invaded me. Warmed me from the inside
out. Even chasing away the chill of sadness that had set into the far recesses
of my mind.

I ran my fingers through his hair as my chin
rested on his head. I liked how he wore it now. Brushing the collar of his
shirts instead of the short athletic style he wore through high school and
undergrad school. It wasn’t curly, but had a distinctive wave that spun
through my fingers with ease.

When I couldn’t get my mind off of what I
really wanted, I took his shoulders into my hands and pushed him back onto the
bed. I climbed onto him. Our hands clasped together. Meshing perfectly like
always. I hovered over him, taking him in slowly, as muscle gave way to shape
to him and all the while our eyes stayed on each others. Piercing. Telling.
So much was expressed in his eyes. No wonder they were called windows to the
soul. Longing. Adoration. Hope.

I leaned forward, my hair falling around my
face, and I smiled at him. For the first time in a long time, a genuine,
heartfelt smile and not an obligatory smile. Or worse. A decoy smile. I’d
used those plenty when I didn’t want others to know how I was feeling.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he told me.

“I’m sure I’m a mess from crying,
Christopher.”

“Doesn’t matter. I knew from the day I asked
you out and you said yes, you were the one for me. Always.”

Present Day

I woke up at 2AM with my sheets sticking to
me. The window in my room was closed up and the air was somewhere between
sweltering and hellacious. I was a spoiled crème puff used to better creature
comforts. Our house was always the perfect temperature in the summer due to a
wonderful central air unit. I needed it most at night. Sleeping was hard for
me to accomplish when I was hot. And, at that moment, I needed a drink.
Pretty bad when the activity of sleep left you dehydrated.

My door gave off a high pitched squeak as I
padded down the short, carpeted hallway to the stairs. Chris’ door was
closed. The sight of it made my blood boil. Hoarding all the cool air. Maybe
he’d get hypothermia. It would serve him right. Selfish bastard.

I helped myself to a bottled water and drank
from it greedily while leaning against the counter. Parched didn’t begin to
describe how I felt. My tongue was like sandpaper.

A noise from the porch startled me. It
sounded like glass clanking, but it didn’t make sense. The recyclables were
still in the blue container sitting by the trash. We hadn’t put any garbage
out so the idea of an animal getting in to it didn’t sound right. What else
could it be? A chill went down my spine. I hadn’t turned the lights on when I
got downstairs and only had the glow of the fridge light for a brief moment.
Surely if someone was lurking outside, they couldn’t see me. Could they?

My adrenaline shot through the roof as my
heart pounded in my ears and chills spread outward like an affliction. I never
reacted that way at home. In the familiar, I was inclined to investigate. Not
then. The extra adrenaline fueled my sprint all the way upstairs and into
Chris’ room. I hissed his name over and over trying to stir him in a quiet
manner. Receiving no answer, I charged to the bed, stubbing my toe badly, and
feeling around the bed for him. It was empty. Not even turned down.

While my mind was spinning with theories on
his whereabouts, I permitted some choice words out as my toe began to throb. I
limped out of the room and checked the other second floor rooms for my
husband. He was nowhere to be found. I descended the stairs at a much slower rate
than I had climbed them while straining my ears listening for the slightest of
sounds. At least my eyes were adjusted to the dark.

I took deep breaths that were meant to
channel bravery before going to the front door doing my crazy heel walk on my
left foot. The front door was unlocked. Throwing caution to the wind, I
switched the porch light on before barging out to meet my fate whatever the
consequence.

Instead of meeting up with a black bear or a skunk
or even a raccoon, I found Chris poured into the lounge chair I had occupied
that morning. He appeared to be sleeping although I couldn’t be certain since
he was facing the other way. Beer bottles littered the porch floor. There
were easily a dozen of them. He’d only brought a twelve pack which meant, at
some point in the night, he had gone for reinforcements. Binge drinking was
not Chris’ style. Not even close. Two were his limit on the occasion he did
drink.

At least the mystery sound was explained. I
started towards him to wake him up and get him inside. If I couldn’t, I really
didn’t know what I’d do with him.

Two steps away, he startled me by saying,
“Turn the light off.”

“You’re awake,” I said relieved.

“Yes, and blinded.”

I hurried to open the door and switched the
offensive light off. I used the porch railing as my guide to return to him
since my eyes needed to readjust all over again.

“What are you doing, Chris?”

“Getting shitfaced.”

His words struck me in my stomach like a blow
because it was so unlike him to say such a thing. “I can see that, but why?
It isn’t going to change things.”

“Sure it does. I was pissed earlier and now
I’ve taken on a more lackadaisical attitude towards it all.” His speech was
slurred beyond belief. “You don’t give a flying fuck so why should I, right?”

“Lovely.”

“What? You don’t agree?” he asked with
amusement as he popped the cap off a new beer.

His behavior was madness. I couldn’t leave
him out there unattended to drink himself into oblivion.

I sighed heavily as I stopped beside him.
“C’mon, Chris. Let’s go inside.”

“Not until I’m done with this beer. Don’t
want me to be wasteful, do you?”

“Actually, I think you’ve had more than
enough.”

“Go back to bed, Jenny.”

I sighed loudly reaching out and taking hold
of his arm, “Please, come inside.”

“All this concern may give off mixed
signals.”

“I do care,” I told him in a firm, parental
voice. “I’ll always care.”

He used my outstretched arm to get up. In
the process, he almost fell over and took me with him, not once, but twice.
Chris had six inches on me and at least seventy pounds. I didn’t want to have
firsthand knowledge of what it felt like to have him land on me. All this
happened while I tried to forget the pain in my toe.

He pulled me up short while he guzzled the
rest of the beer. Apparently, he couldn’t walk and drink at the same time. I
tugged at his arm and he started walking again. It took an eternity to get
inside and another eternity to get him up the stairs. His last beer pushed him
over that final hurdle between drunk and unbelievably drunk.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?”

“I dunno.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Chris,
either you do or you don’t. It isn’t a trick question.”

He moaned a little as he made up his mind.
“I do. I gotta piss like a race horse.”

I guided him to the bathroom and prayed to
God he could handle the task on his own. He took forever. I knocked on the
door and asked if he was okay. It took him a minute to answer before a loud ruckus
made me open the door and rush in to find him on the floor with his jeans down
around his ankles. His shirt was off and it appeared he was trying to wrestle
out of his pants when he lost his balance.

“Are you okay?”

Chris looked like a turtle stuck on his shell
with his legs and arms flailing. He kicked his legs until the jeans gave up
their fight and settled on to the floor beside him. It was amazing how such an
intelligent man could transform himself into a falling-down, blithering idiot
with just the right amount of alcohol. He was almost unrecognizable to me.

I hefted him up and herded him to the
bedroom, my arm around his waist and his arm across my shoulders. Sweat dripping
off of me from the exertion. His skin stuck to mine where it met around the
tank top and shorts I’d worn to bed.

The light from the hallway illuminated his
room without glaring in his eyes. I unloaded his weight beside the bed and
sort of pushed him backwards until he landed on top of it with a definitive bounce.
I helped collect his legs while getting him turned long-ways on the bed. Chris
ran every morning on our treadmill before getting ready for work. His legs
were long and muscular making him an impressive sight in his boxer briefs. Not
bad for a 43 year-old man. Almost 44.

With the A/C on, the room was chilly. He’d
need the covers, but he was lying on top of them. I wasn’t going to go through
the rigmarole of getting him up and putting him down again. Especially since,
by all appearances, he was fast asleep already. I leaned over him, pressing
against the heat of his legs, and grabbed the quilt from the foot of the bed to
cover him.

As I started to straighten up, his hand took
hold of my shoulder. “While you’re down there, Jenny,” he said snickering over
his own idea. “For old time sake at least.”

“No, thank you,” I replied curtly. “Please
let go of me, Christopher.”

It wasn’t hard to notice the erection
pressing relentlessly against the thin stretch fabric. Apparently alcohol
consumption wasn’t going to keep a man like Chris down.

“If you loved me, you’d do it,” he whined
sounding more like an adolescent teen than a grown man. “Please, Jenny, like
you used to. That’s all I want and then I’ll let you go.”

He was almost sitting up in order to keep me
from standing. I was hovered over his lap. His hand now rested on my neck
while I had one hand grasping the blanket and the other propped on the bed to push
myself up.

“We both know it isn’t going to happen so I
think it’s best if you let go of me now.”

“But I want you to do it. Please. I want to
feel your mouth on me again. One last time,” he pleaded.

My anger was rising with his persistence. “No,
dammit! I won’t!” I scolded loudly having had enough.

He released me abruptly and muttered, “Bitch,”
under his breath.

I inhaled deeply attempting to let his
comment roll off of me. No need to get into an argument with him in his
current state. Not having had experience with Chris under the influence, I
didn’t know how volatile his anger could turn.