20. Early 2007
Chapter twenty
Early 2007
Sam
M y God, if I wake up one more time tonight, I’m going to lose it.
In a huff, I roll over and check the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s flashing twelve o’clock. Good grief. A nasty cold front blew through, and the power must have gone out briefly at some point during the night. The wind has been relentless waking me up a dozen times, so it would be nice to know how much sleep I have left.
I haven’t been able to get my and Maria’s last two emails out of my mind.
I printed off her last one, as I always do, and placed it away with the others. Along with her handwritten letters and her ring. It’s all tucked away in a Nike shoebox under the bed in the spare bedroom. Do I get them out from time to time and read them? Maybe.
Okay, yes, I do.
As I read them, I question everything about my life. I know I shouldn’t. I know that I need to let her go because this isn’t healthy. My schooling tells me this. But each time I get into my email and see one from her, I can’t walk away.
I need to stop thinking about this because I have a seminar tomorrow morning. Plus, I need to know the time, which means I need to get out of bed.
Ugh. This is so annoying .
I throw off the blankets and pull on my pajama pants. As I walk toward the hallway, the house is eerily quiet as it always is this late at night. My bladder warns me to make a pit stop at the bathroom first. As soon as I step out onto the carpet and turn right to head toward the bathroom, I look left and notice that the light is on in the spare bedroom. Erica must be here for her time with Mikey. Tomorrow is her day, per our parenting agreement. She still has a key to the house and occasionally, when she is up for it, she will let herself in and sleep in the spare bedroom. That way, she is here when Mikey wakes up. It’s worked out pretty well.
When she actually shows. Plus, she has to spend her time with Mikey here, and she can’t drive him anywhere. Why? It’s simple. I don’t trust her.
It’s odd, though, that she would have the light on. I’m assuming it’s late, so she should be sleeping. Or perhaps she just arrived, in which case, I should be polite and say hello. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I head toward the bedroom. The soft carpet under my feet masks my approach. With each step, I try to be as silent as possible, not wanting to disturb either Mikey or a potentially sleeping Erica.
I walk until I’m inches away from the door but stop because I hear sniffling and the russeting of papers. Is she crying? What in the heck is she doing in there? I round the corner of the threshold and …
CRAP!
There sits Erica in the middle of the floor. Her legs are criss-crossed, hair sticking up on end, bloodshot eyes, mascara streaks down her face, and Maria’s letters and emails scattered around her. The Nike box is open, and the ring box is resting on the bed, standing out like a sore thumb.
The ring.
The ring box keeps pulling my focus, as if it holds some kind of magnetic power.
In an instant, memories of the day I bought it start rolling in my head like a movie .
It was right after the day she got the job at the warehouse. We were so excited and thought that this job was exactly what we needed to start our life together. Little did I know that it would lead to our demise.
We went to the mall to buy her some professional work clothes. While strolling past store after store, we passed the jewelry store that I had frequented dozens of times without Maria’s knowledge. I was eyeing a ring that I knew she would love. A simple one and a half carat round diamond. Understated yet dazzling. Just like Maria. But I needed to know if she would love it like I suspected she would. So, I played dumb and pulled the let’s-just-go-in-and-look act. She bought it. And while browsing, she picked out the ring. I never told her what I was planning. But that night, I went back and maxed out the one and only credit card I had to buy it for her.
When everything imploded, I could have returned it. But I didn’t.
It was her ring.
Erica immediately senses my presence, and her head shoots up. Her eyes meet mine, snapping me out of the past. They are glassy and somewhat crazy looking.
The temperature rises in my head, and the room starts to spin. Because if she is reading those emails, then she knows that Maria and I were communicating while we were still married. Erica always felt threatened by Maria during our whole marriage. Her curiosity about our relationship sometimes was relentless. And that’s because, deep down, she knew.
This isn’t going to be good.