Seventy-Two Hours (9 page)

“When the hell did you get a goddamn
tattoo?!?”

Initially, I was startled by the tone of his
voice when he asked the question and then I got angry. “I’ve had it for two
months. Don’t you find it strange that your wife has had a tattoo for that
long and this is the first you’ve noticed it?” I replied without looking up.

My tattoo wasn’t very large. Maybe two
inches in diameter. Black ink. It was a simple Celtic symbol called a Triple
Spiral. It was also strategically hidden from plain sight. I was a teacher
after all. Respectable. In need of keeping up appearances. I had it placed on
the upper left side of my buttocks. Normally, it was well concealed, but not
with the waist of my shorts rolled down.

I would swear to it on a stack of bibles that
I could feel the heat of Chris’ laser eyes as they stared a hole into my
backside. For some reason, his indignation was making me smile although he
couldn’t see it. Pity.

“Why?” he asked exasperatedly.

“Why not?”

“Answers like that got you pushed into the
lake before.”

“If it’ll make you feel better.”

This time, he sat down beside me with one leg
dangling off the dock and the other leg tucked under so he was on an angle and
could see me. “Does
he
like tattoos?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Chris, it has nothing to
do with him. Do you honestly think I’d get a tattoo to impress a man?”

He’d really blow a gasket if he saw the other
one. That one involved exposing, what he would consider, forbidden flesh.

I felt his fingers as he pulled the waistband
down further. “What is it?”

I rolled onto my right hip so he’d remove his
hand and snapped, “It’s a Celtic symbol that means Maiden, Mother, and Crone.
It signifies female power. Carson researched it for me.”

“Carson?”

“Do you even live in the same house that I
do? How is it that everyone else in the house knows that Carson and I went
together to get tattoos?”

“Jesus Christ.
Both
of you have
tattoos?” He didn’t sound pleased.

I sat up putting my tank and shorts back into
place. “Since when do I need your permission to do something to my own body?”

“We’re still talking tattoos, aren’t we?”

I scoffed, “Nice.”

“I just wanted to clarify. You could have
been making another reference.”

“I wasn’t.”

He shook his head, waved off my comment, and
said, “I can’t believe you encouraged this tattoo business with Carson.”

“He came to me and asked. He thought it was
something special we could do together since he’d just turned 18. He got a
Celtic symbol, too.”

“What teenage boy does that? Goes with his
mom to get matching tattoos?”

“They’re not matching tattoos and what’s
wrong with us getting tattoos together?”

Chris tossed his hand out and said, “Aren’t
you concerned about Carson?”

I’d figured out where he was going. We were
about to get into something the two of us had never discussed. “Just come out
and say what’s on your mind, Chris,” I ordered.

He laced his fingers together and said, “He’s
rather…feminine.”

“Chris, if you’re trying to say gay then,
yes, he is.”

“Is he? Did he tell you?” he asked
incredulously.

Chris wasn’t homophobic. Not at all. So I
was surprised by his reaction.

I decided to be gentle, yet direct, “It’s not
like he made a grand announcement. I’ve just always known since about the time
he was 12 or 13. Couldn’t you tell?”

“No,” he answered sharply and then with a
sigh, “Sometimes.”

“You haven’t been home a lot over the past
few years. Not like I am. Carson and I have gotten very close,” I explained.
“We talk. We talk about lots of things.”

“About us?”

“I didn’t have to tell him much. He just
knows. He saw it happening.”

Chris nodded as he took it in. “And this
business with Steve? Does he know about that, too?’

“He knows something happened, but not what or
with whom.”

“Well, I guess I should be glad the two of
you have each other to confide in then. At least now I know why he’s been so
distant lately.”

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare,” I warned. “Don’t
you dare blame your son’s distance on me. You’ve done it yourself. Things are
going to be worse with Clinton if you don’t wake up and get yourself involved
with him as well.”

“Is that right?” he said defensively.

“The truth hurts. I know it’s not easy
facing your mistakes. I’ve made some, too. It’s not too late to make things
right with your sons. To be more available.”

“Thank you for your platitudes.”

“Separate your anger with me from your
relationship with your sons. They’re going to see even less of you after you
move out.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said as
he stared out at the lake. “I’m not ready to move out.”

“But you said—“

“And I’ve changed my mind,” he interrupted.
“My family lives there.”

“We can’t both live there. It defeats the
purpose of a separation and divorce.”

“It’s a big house.”

“That won’t work,” I stated with noticeable
effort.

“What’s the matter? Afraid Stevie Boy won’t
like visiting if I’m living with you?”

“Screw you.”

“And speaking of that,” he said with his face
set in concentration, “Did you have to run off like that earlier?”

“The office was calling and you needed to
take the call.”

“I didn’t take the call.” I looked at him
with doubt. “I didn’t,” he defended.

“Well, in that case, I suppose the phone
stopped us from doing something we shouldn’t have been doing,” I said while
looking past him.

“I disagree. My feeling is we wouldn’t have
started doing it in the first place if it wasn’t right. You kissed me back. I
didn’t force you to do any of that. You’re the one that started the undressing
end of it,” he spat out while using his hands like a mad Italian trying to get
his point across. “Straddling my lap like that. You were an eager and active
participant.”

I looked down at my hands where they sat in
my lap. “We got carried away. It was emotional. Nothing more. It meant
nothing to either of us.”

“Don’t say that! Don’t you dare speak on my
behalf!” he yelled hotly and then looked around at the neighboring docks before
bringing his voice down in check. “What happened in there was the natural
progression of two people that have a history and still care about each other.”

“I knew this was going to happen,” I groaned.

“What’s going to happen?”

“You. You’re suffering from that same
delusion again that things can be worked out between us.”

A smile played over his face. “I’m fairly
certain that if that damn phone hadn’t rung, we’d still be otherwise engaged.
Especially with you and the way you can be.”

“Me?!?” my voice rose to glass shattering
octaves. “Just what do you mean by that?!?”

“C’mon, Jen, you know.”

I felt my face go red and couldn’t understand
why I was embarrassed. Discussing sex with the one person that knew me the
best shouldn’t bring on schoolgirl blushing.

“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You like your multiple orgasms, don’t you,
Jen?”

I narrowed my eyes at him ready to argue and
then changed my mind. He laughed at my noticeable hesitation and discomfort.
It had to be funny to witness. I tried to stay angry. I’d even compressed my
lips into thin lines of anger until my face muscles began cramping. Despite all
that, my mouth formed a smile and I found myself laughing along with him.

“You’re laughing because you know I’m right.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“I didn’t think you’d admit it.”

“I’ll admit it.”

Thankfully, he changed the subject. “How
about an early dinner?”

“Are you making it?”

He shrugged. “I will if you want, but I thought
we could go out somewhere nice. My treat.”

It was better than sitting around waiting for
the next argument to happen. But I had another idea yet. “Dinner at home
sounds like a better plan. How about that?”

“We’ll go home on Monday as planned.”

“One of us could murder the other by then,” I
murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He gracefully got to his feet before offering
me a hand up. We walked to the cottage together talking about innocuous
things. The type of light banter you’d expect between polite strangers. Or
two individuals that were attempting to avoid topics that would trigger a
humdinger of an argument, which was our situation. We went our separate ways
once inside so I could take my second shower of the day and into a change of
clothes.

Our plan was to drive up to Geneva, located along
the northern tip of Seneca Lake, and find a place for dinner. I’d access the
internet from my Droid as we drove to get some ideas. We’d eaten at Belhurst’s
and Geneva on the Lake with the Palmers before, but we didn’t have the proper
attire packed for those fine dining establishments.

I met Chris downstairs a half hour later. He
greeted me with a smile and held the front door for me. I was already happy
about accepting his offer. If we timed our dinner just right, we could easily
waste three hours. Only 48 hours to go.

July 26, 1991 – Elmira, New York

I sat in the waiting room of my OB/GYN’s
office paging through an older issue of
Newsweek
with the headline,
“AMERICA AT WAR.” Other moms-to-be sat around doing a similar action with
other magazines. It would be my 36 week check up with the normal weigh,
measure, and listen routine. It had been 36 long weeks. Our baby’s due date
was soon approaching. As far as I was concerned, August 20th wouldn’t arrive
soon enough. The hot July weather only compounded the physical discomfort I
was having. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat wondering if the skin on my
stomach could possibly stretch any further than it already had.

Every time the door opened, I looked to see
if it was Chris. While checking in, the kindly, older receptionist informed me
he had called and was running late, but would be there momentarily. Instead of
the Absentminded Professor, I was married to the “Harried, Mad Scientist” as he
worked a summer internship with a company in Corning, New York. Chris was
busting his butt trying to impress them so his internship would lead to a permanent
job when he graduated in December.

My name was called and as I set my magazine
down, Chris came bursting in the door looking around until his eyes landed on mine.
I smiled and waved for him to join me. I watched as the other women in the
room admired him. He was definitely a sight to behold; tall, broad shouldered,
and handsome. He was wearing a simple pair of khaki Dockers and a long sleeved
dress shirt with a tie.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

I took his hand and pulled him along.
“You’re not late. You’re right on time.”

I fanned myself while I stood on the scale
waiting to hear about how huge I was getting. The nurse seemed pleased when
she told me I was doing well. She took us to an exam room, took my blood
pressure, and told me the doctor would be along shortly.

While sitting at the end of the exam table, I
unbuttoned my shirt an additional hole. “It’s hot in here,” I complained.

Chris had remained standing and replied, “I
think it’s a little cool, myself, but I did just come in from outside where
it’s sweltering.”

Not long after our brief exchange, Dr. Calder
came bouncing in after a loud knock at the door. She greeted us and began
paging through my chart and the nurse’s latest set of notes. There were three
OB/GYNs at the practice and, to make sure each mom-to-be met all of the
physicians before their due date, they rotated the doctors for well visits. You
never knew which doctor was going to be on-call when delivery time came. Out
of the three doctors, I liked Dr. Calder the most. Chris and I gauged her to
be in her early thirties. She was always upbeat, welcoming, and truly took her
time answering my questions and giving detailed explanations meant to inform and
put me at ease.

“Everything looks really great, Jen, and
you’re in the home stretch.”

“The heat is killing me,” I told her as she
had me lay back and she felt my taunt belly.

“This baby of yours moving around a lot?”

“Not like last night. It always seems to be
active when I’m trying to go to sleep.”

“I think it was doing somersaults,” Chris
retorted. “At least that’s what it felt like from the outside.”