Seventy-Two Hours (20 page)

I found an old magazine that I paged through
halfheartedly. I couldn’t remember a single picture or article from it. My
mind kept going back to the hideous argument I’d had with my husband. The one
where I went into detail about what my former lover and I had done the last
time we were together. I wished I could take it back. All of it. That
couldn’t happen. I’d made my bed, as my mother would remind me. What was that
other saying? Words can kill. God, the things that went through one’s head
during moments like that. I was a bundle of nerves and tired clichés.

“Mrs. Gardner?”

I looked up to see the same woman who had
sent me away. She motioned for me to follow her. I got up from my chair and
made a beeline to her.

She smiled and said, “Your husband is stable
and he’s asking for you. Dr. Kingsley said you could go in while she’s still
waiting on some lab work.”

“Was it a heart attack?” I asked tailing
behind her.

“Dr. Kingsley will talk to you both when she
has everything back.”

Chris wasn’t flat out on the stretcher like
he had been when I was sent out. They had him sitting up. He was still
receiving oxygen, but his color had returned. I went over to him and
immediately grabbed up his hand in mine and held it to my chest.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Exhausted, but better.”

“You scared the hell out of me.”

“You think you were scared? I thought for
sure I was a goner.”

I laughed at his candidness. “Should I call
our family?”

He shook his head. “Wait and see.”

I nodded my head. “That’s what I figured.”

Despite my better judgment, I gave in to the
urge to sweep his bangs back. His skin felt warm to the touch as my hand
lingered longer than necessary. I could feel my emotions getting the better of
me again. My eyes migrated from the almost v-shaped wrinkle of a frown line
between his brows to settle on his jade green eyes.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those
things,” I said to him before I lost my nerve. “I wouldn’t blame you if you
really did hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

I simply nodded and looked away. “You
should. I’m a horrible person.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Gardner,” Dr.
Kingsley said grabbing our attention as she came in and pulled up a tall stool
on wheels. “I have your labs back with good news.”

“It wasn’t a heart attack?” Chris asked.

She smiled. “It wasn’t. My initial instinct
upon presentation was a panic attack and that’s what it was. If someone’s
never experienced either, it can sometimes be mistaken for a heart attack. You
did the right thing by coming into the ER. One should never ignore symptoms
like that,” she told him as she pulled his chart up against herself and crossed
her arms in front of her. “When I asked you what activity you were involved in
when the symptoms started, you said you were having an argument. I know I
don’t need to tell you stress isn’t good for your health. Today’s panic attack
could be next month’s cardiac arrest. My advice, take it easy. Get lots of
sleep. You already have a great exercise regimen and you are conscientious
about your diet, but the work schedule you described isn’t healthy. You’re
heading into middle age, Mr. Gardner and attempting to burn the candle at both
ends. I don’t need to tell you how that scenario ends.” She paused and looked
at me before continuing with, “Can I enlist you with the task of keeping him
calm for a few days?”

“Sure.” I felt my face go hot.

I knew what she was getting at; no arguing
with my husband. She was just being tactful about it.

Even with telling her I would, I didn’t know
if I could guarantee it. What was the right thing to do? We’d managed to
argue heatedly all weekend. Going home together would be just as bad. He’d had
his panic attack after my announcement about packing up and leaving as soon as
we went home. We were damned either way.

As I drove to the cottage, I silently thanked
the Lord above when Chris turned on the radio. It was loud enough to get his
point across. Neither of us would be compelled to fill the void with conversation
with the music going. And I knew it was a total act of avoidance. I was more
than okay with it. Another argument could have Chris stroking out or something
equally cardiac-like in nature. I had enough guilt on my plate without doing
the man in.

It wasn’t until we turned onto the side road
the cottage was located on that he said, “I’m sorry for tricking you into this
weekend. It was wrong.”

“I wish things would have worked out
differently, Christopher. I truly do.”

“Not as much as I do.”

“We probably shouldn’t get into this right
now. I promised Dr. Kingsley,” I told him, “Besides, I couldn’t bear it if
something happened to you.”

I parked feeling restless and jittery. I
knew it was a byproduct of my adrenaline rush from earlier. When I thought I
was going to lose him. I swallowed a lump down as the very idea of it got the
better of me. I brushed tears away with the heels of my hands.

“Jenny?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“No. I’m not. Not really.”

“Do you still love me, Jen?”

“I’ll always love you, Chris. I’m just not
sure I’m
in love
with you anymore. I think I have the two confused.”

He released his seat belt. “That’s where we
differ because I know I’m still in love with you.”

“Even after what I did?”

“Yes,” he stated with conviction. “I don’t
know if that makes me a hopeless romantic or a fucking idiot.”

I smiled a little. “I don’t know. Maybe not
an idiot. More like a masochist.”

“I can’t imagine my life without you in it.
You’ve been my partner and by my side for longer than I was independent.”

“The adjustment won’t be easy for either of
us. Nor the kids. I’m worried the most about Clinton. His maturity level is
not in accordance with his peers. It’s nowhere near the level Hudson and
Carson were at that age. He’s so moody. His anger gets set off so easily and
he really lacks impulse control at times,” I stated some of the concerns I’d
had for quite a while and never mentioned to him.

“Do you think we should consult with a
psychologist? Maybe get him into counseling?”

“After the last APR meeting, I spoke to our
school psychologist. I asked if she could sit down with Clinton and just talk
with him.”

“Does he know she’s the school psychologist?”

The longer we sat in the enclosed SUV, the
hotter it became. I considered starting the engine again so the A/C could
blast. Instead, I opened the door and got out. Not that the temperature was
drastically different outside. At least the air wasn’t stuffy. I pushed my
door closed about the same time Chris did his.

I began walking towards the lake. Not at all
accustomed to the feel of my walking cast yet. The height difference between
my sock-covered foot and the cast made me list to the right a bit.

Chris ambled along beside me his hands in the
pockets of his shorts and his shirt split down the middle. He was waiting for me
to answer his question, but he didn’t want to push me. Both of us were walking
on egg shells with the other to avoid another argument. Maybe his health scare
was the push we both needed to put everything into perspective.

“Clinton knows who Dr. Wald is and it’s for
that reason she recommended an outside therapist. She felt that Clinton would
put up a wall based on the fact that I worked with her. He may feel everything
was being reported back to me instead of being confidential.”

“I wish you would have told me such plans
were being discussed,” Chris said without a trace of hostility.

“I tried, Chris,” I said in return. “I told
you in April I was concerned. Again last month. Your input was to tell me I
knew what was best.”

“I guess I’ve done that a lot.”

“Yes. You have.”

“It wasn’t fair of me to shrug off my share
of parenting responsibilities onto you.”

We reached a section of rocky shoreline
sheltered by an ancient willow tree. I carefully bent down and collected a few
flat stones. Straightening up, I began to attempt skipping them along the milk
pond surface of the water. My first one hit the water at an angle and quickly
broke the surface sinking instantly. The next was just right; hitting,
skipping, hitting, and skipping before succumbing to physics.

“I remember doing this at your parent’s pond
on a few occasions,” Chris said with a nostalgic chuckle before he took a turn
and managed to get four skips out of his throw.

“I taught the boys how to do this at Mom and
Dad’s, too.” The memory made me smile.

“I also recall a very special Fourth of July
at that pond the summer after you graduated high school.”

I stopped throwing for a moment and ran my
thumb over the smooth flat side of the stone in my hand. “That was nothing
like skipping rocks as I recall. A memorable learning experience nonetheless,”
I admitted.

“Every time I look back at that evening, I
thank God your parents didn’t come home early. Your father would have killed
me.”

“It definitely wasn’t our most cautious
experience.”

“But you weren’t scared. Not even one bit,
were you?”

It was my turn to chuckle. “Nope. I knew
what I wanted and I wasn’t going to allow fear to stand in my way.”

Chris laughed with a deep rumble. “I was so
far gone that night, if your dad had shown up, I think I may have said
something to the effects of, ‘I’m very sorry, Sir, but if you’ll just give me five
more minutes in Heaven, I’ll gladly let you kick my ass around the county and
back when I’m done.’ Somehow, I think that may have only made matters worse.”

“You would have been swimming with the fishes
for sure,” I agreed. “At least I would have known where to visit you.”

“In the pond. Very convenient.”

“Indeed.”

He skipped another stone. Due to his
superior strength over that of my own, he could get more speed into his throw
and make his rock skip faster and farther. He rubbed his hands together to get
the dirt off of them. He was out of stones.

What he said next, took me by surprise, “It
was two years ago on a Friday afternoon in late June.”

“What was?”

“School was out and the boys left for the
weekend with your father. They went to a car show down state. I returned from
a business trip the night before and you came home at lunch time after
finishing up with packing your classroom for the summer.”

“Go on.”

“My sleep cycle was completely out of whack
from being in Asia and I was trying to catch up on it only I didn’t want to
sleep the day away. I heard you come home and when I found you downstairs, you
were making a sandwich. You offered to make one for me. You did as I recall,
but I never got to eat it. While you were putting stuff away in the fridge, I
watched you bend over to put something in the bottom drawer and that was all it
took. I had to have you. You were against the idea at first because it was
the middle of the day and all. You didn’t feel the very public kitchen was a
good place and then I reminded you we had the house to ourselves until Sunday
evening.”

I smiled at the memory that seemed to happen
so long ago, but really wasn’t. Funny how things changed so drastically
between us in two year’s time.

“You were persistent,” I replied.

“It started on the kitchen counter, went to
the floor, and then ended in our bedroom,” he said. “We were left so spent, so
satiated, we fell asleep in each other’s arms for the better part of the
afternoon. In answer to your question, that was the last time we made love.
Not had sex, but made love.”

He was absolutely right. That was the last
time. The last honest, soul-touching time. Any that came after between us was
our way of filling an obligatory need. Going through the motions of what
married people did.

“I remember.” And I did. It was a rather
fond memory. I woke up from the nap later thinking how magnificent it was and
I wondered why we hadn’t done something like it much sooner. Afternoon sex and
then a long, leisurely nap with not a care in the world.

But then reality came back. We were the
parents of three teen boys and we seldom had the house to ourselves. Even if
they were out of the house, Chris wasn’t always home for us to take advantage
of it.

“You’re still smiling,” Chris accused.

“Was I? I’m sorry. I suppose I shouldn’t
be, but it was a really good memory,” I told him. “And I don’t know what was
better; the part about making love or napping together afterwards.”

“That entire afternoon was wonderful.”

“Yes, it was,” I agreed before throwing my
last stone.