Seventy-Two Hours (24 page)

While in the hospital recuperating, I’d had
the mother of two former students for my nurse. Small community living. I
asked her not to say anything to anyone about seeing me in the hospital because
my family and I wished to keep it private. She assured me that she’d adhere to
HIPPA laws and then went on to sincerely wish me luck with my further
preventative treatments.

I stopped while my mother waited for me to
remove my shoe and fix my sock where it had balled up uncomfortably under my
toes.

My precautionary request about being
overheard went out the window when she said, “You aren’t having an affair, are
you?”

I almost fell over as I hastily attempted to
wrestle my shoe back on. “You. Cannot. Be. Serious.”

She averted her eyes from mine quickly lest I
kill her with my stare. “Don’t get all uppity with me. I am being serious.
Your husband shared his concern with me weeks ago and I told him at the time he
was being silly. But now, I’m not so sure.”

I didn’t know what was worse. The fact that
my husband thought I was having an affair or that, instead of coming to me
about it, he went to my mother. Adding to it all, my mother was expressing her
concerns as well.

After taking a cleansing breath, I declared,
“I’m not having an affair.”

“I would hope not. You have it made with the
one you have already.”

“Yes, Mother.”

She reached out, grasping my forearm, and
stopped our forward progress. “Don’t take this lightly, Jennifer. A husband
that’s feeling left out can be a dangerous situation.”

I couldn’t wait to hear the point she was
trying to make. “How, pray tell, is it dangerous,” I scoffed.

“Chris said you’ve been distant and barely
talk to him. You go to bed early and he feels you’re doing it to avoid him,”
my mother ticked off while giving me a stern look. “Now, I don’t have to tell
you what happens when a husband feels neglected for too long, do I?”

“Why don’t you enlighten me anyway? Just in
case,” I said challengingly.

“Even a strong and good man, like Chris, will
stray, Jennifer. What you’re willing to take for granted, another woman will gladly
snap up,” she declared before expelling a deep breath.

My mother was annoyed with me beyond belief.
She’d always been Chris’ biggest fan, but this was the first time she so
blatantly voiced her opinion.

“Well,” I said before sniffing loudly, “I
will take your words under advisement. Is that all or would you like to
continue berating me in front of Christopher & Banks?”

My mother simply shook her head before releasing
my arm and walking away. My answer silencing her.

Present Day

Chris suggested we pack up and go home (the
back and forth theme of the weekend,) but I felt a quiet evening would be
better for him. A good night’s sleep after a rather tumultuous day and then a
fresh start in the morning. He didn’t argue with me. In fact, he seemed
relieved when he almost dropped on to the sofa and stretched his long legs out
on the coffee table. While he made himself comfortable, I made us grilled
cheese sandwiches. Something simple and fast. Putting formality aside, I
chose to take our plates into the living room area where we could both relax
versus sitting at the bar or dining room table.

“Thank you,” he said as he sat up and accepted
his plate.

As I took a seat in the nearby armchair I
said, “You’re welcome and be—“

“Shit!”

“--careful. The cheese is hot,” I finished
after the fact. “Sorry.”

Cheddar and Swiss cheese oozed from between
the two pieces of sour dough bread as he returned it to the plate. He sat it
down on the table, wiped his hands on his napkin, and then took a drink from
his can of ginger ale.

When he recovered he said, “Not your fault.
I should know better than to do that. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

“We both skipped lunch and it’s almost
bedtime,” I said with a nod. “Of course, second degree burns are a costly
price to pay for a full belly.”

We chuckled.

“While we’re sitting here, you know,” he said
without meeting my eyes, “together like this, may I ask you a few more
questions about your, um, cancer?”

“Precancer,” I corrected him. “I guess you
may. There isn’t much more to fill in with.”

“Did you have any side effects from the
radiation?”

I met his eyes as he finally looked at me.
“Nothing major. There was, of course, the weight loss. Exhaustion,” I told
him. “And then towards the end of the six weeks, the external beam caused
radiation burns on the surface of my breast.”

“That’s another reason for the tattoo? It
left additional scars from the burn?”

I sat my sandwich down and narrowed my eyes
as I gave his question some thought. “The tattoo wasn’t solely for cosmetic
purposes. That was only part of it. I guess, in a way, it was about
rebelling. Once you successfully complete having a tumor removed and go
through radiation treatments, you need to take a stand. Make a statement about
it. Mine was caught early and I beat it. Even if it isn’t a long term defeat.
I wanted to reclaim my body.”

“I think I understand that.”

“It still bothers me to see it,” I admitted,
“I feel damaged.”

“You stopped changing your clothing in front
of me.”

I nodded. “I was self-conscious and also hiding
my physical changes from you.”

“Hiding it so you could keep your secret.”

I cleared my throat and said, “Partially.”

“And why else, Jen?” he asked softly and when
I didn’t answer, “Please. Tell me.”

I squeezed my eyes shut not able to take his
penetrating gaze. “Because. I figured the indifference came about because you
were having an affair and I felt inadequate,” I confessed. “But you weren’t. It
was worse. You were just
indifferent
.”

Chris got up from the sofa and came around to
me and freed me of my plate. He then made me turn in my seat before taking
both of my hands into his and kneeling in front of me. He searched my face and
declared, “That’s not true. Not true at all. We had each grown so far apart,
I didn’t know how to close the distance between us.”

This wasn’t true. He did make one attempt in
the past six months. One in which I vehemently turned him down cold. It was towards
the end of my treatments. I was worn out and tired of everything. Tired of
being tired. He came up behind me while I was taking a glass down from the
cupboard and wrapped his arms around me before cupping my sore breast in his
left hand. My first reaction was to tense up as my one hand held onto the
cupboard door and the other was midair with the glass. I couldn’t even recall
what Chris said to me as it transpired. It was when he squeezed my breast that
I launched into a defensive. A defensive against his cheap thrill after months
of apathy. A defensive for the jolt of pain that went through my entire body
like a lightning bolt. But most of all, a defensive to keep my secret just
that; a secret. I elbow-jabbed his sternum and screamed at him through
clenched teeth not to touch me. He released me and I spun around on him like a
caged animal; fear and anger fueling me. Chris stepped back struggling with
his own emotions as shock, hurt, and anger crossed his face in that order. I
waited for him to respond only he turned and stormed off. Blessedly.

I could read Chris’ expression and knew he
was recalling the same incident. Realization was setting in.

“God. I wish you would have told me. I wish
you would have hit me upside the head and made me take notice,” he murmured in
an apologetic way.

I closed my eyes tightly. Maybe, if I closed
them, closed them incredibly hard, I could hold the tears back that were
threatening to fall. I was stronger than that. I was a cancer survivor and I
did not want to be comforted.

I bolstered myself up and answered him, “I
did it without you. As I said, it prepared me for where things are heading
with us.”

“I can’t do this, Jen. I can’t lose you.”

“It’ll be hard at first. For both of us.
But we’ll get through it. Couples break up all the time and survive it,” I
reasoned.

“That’s just it. I don’t think I can survive
it. I don’t know how to let you go.”

And then he put his head in my lap. I found
myself stroking his hair and comforting him. The antithesis of what I
expected. He let go with chocking sobs against me. It was heart-wrenching
seeing him like that. Broken and defeated.

In that moment, I hated myself. Hated what I
had become. In all the time I’d been angry at him for his shortcomings as a
father, as a husband and partner, I’d never done anything to change it. Oh,
I’d made my snide remarks and complained from time to time, but I’d also grown
complacent. Not once did I make an ultimatum. Not once did I insist he be
present and offer our family his undivided attention. I just bitterly took up
the slack and moved on. Because of it, I’d only helped to enable his behavior.
Why would Chris feel the need to step in to alleviate my physical and mental
workload? I came across as Wonder Woman; able to do everything. So while my
silent resentment towards him grew, he stepped further and further away from
his family responsibilities and focused on his job.

As clarity returned, I pushed Chris away. I
needed to get up. Having him so close to me at that moment was only going to
make me come undone emotionally. I still wanted to think things through.
Clear-headed. Calmly. Ignoring the look of total abandonment on Chris’ face,
I put some distance between us.

“Where are you going?” he asked on a hopeless
whisper.

I waved his comment off and kept my back to
him. “Nowhere. Just stop. Please. I can’t think.”

“Jen,” he continued.

“Christopher, I need a minute.”

I attempted to rationalize my anger. He’d
taken advantage of me. Took me for granted. I carried everything. Not the
income burden. He’d be the first to point that out. My mother would be the
next in line. That didn’t matter. A marriage was comprised of many different components.
Along with financial support, there was the all important emotional support as
well. Something our marriage was completely lacking in of late. And what
about parenting? It shouldn’t be tossed on to one person. It should be
shared. If anything, Chris had only helped to bring about one outcome; my
independence from him. That was my dawning revelation.

I didn’t realize I was ramrod straight and
staring at him in deep concentration until he interrupted, “What, Jen? What’s
wrong?”

“You made me not need you anymore. That’s
the conclusion I’ve drawn,” I admitted in a murmur that sounded more like an
accusation than a revelation.

“You don’t mean that.”

I nodded slowly. “Yes, I think I do,” I
disagreed. “Our family life became my burden. I had to do everything.”

“Please. Just give me another chance.”

“It took cancer to make me see it. I was
exhausted. Scared. Alone,” I replied. “All of that happened while I was already
feeling guilty about Clinton. His trouble’s been on my watch. I’m an
experienced educator and I don’t know how to give him the support and tools
necessary to help him.” I brushed my hand under my nose in a real ladylike
fashion. “When I got through the cancer end of it, I felt so relieved, so much
exhilaration, and yet I had no one to celebrate it with. That’s when I went
out and found someone else.”

“This only proves you still need someone,
Jen. I’m here now. I can’t change what’s already happened. I’m truly sorry
for not being there. I should have been. I’ll admit it all over again.”

I decided to continue on as if he hadn’t said
anything, “Hopefully, this school year will be a turning point for Clinton.
I’m determined to get to the bottom of it. The fact he didn’t fail any of his
classes this past year blows my mind. I’m still afraid to question it by
asking his teachers how it happened. Too afraid to find out my colleagues
graded him differently based on who he is,” I admitted out loud for the first
time.

“Clinton is Clinton. You have no reason to
feel guilty. We’ll work together to help him. I can take him in to work this
summer. He just needs to be busy,” Chris offered. “Something to spark his
interest so he can funnel his restless energy in to something worthwhile.”

“You say that now, Chris, but I really don’t
believe I can count on you. You and Clinton are like oil and water. You have
zero patience with him. He knows it and plays off of it,” I challenged. “The
first time he messes up and you set into him, he’ll know he’s gotten the better
of you. It’s the pattern he’s come to expect. You’ll give up on him and he
wins.”

“Not this time.”

I could tell he was getting angry. Maybe
that was better than seeing him fall apart. Angry Chris didn’t tug on my
heartstrings and I wanted to remain focused.