6. CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 6
Gray
I t felt like someone had died.
The kids and I hadn't heard from Rose for a whole week. Christmas was three weeks away, and there was absolutely no cheer in my heart. The house was without a soul, just me, half alive, puttering around.
I returned every day from work, hoping this would be the day she came back.
"Dad, let her figure out her mid-life crisis slash nervous breakdown, and then she'll come home," Jude told me callously over the phone.
"Cut it out, Jude. I'm serious. You're fuckin' disrespectful of your mother."
"What?"
"He's right, Jude," Willow said on the group call. "Mama doesn't deserve this. We haven't treated her well. Mike mentioned that he wasn't surprised Mama left."
"Your boyfriend met Mama once ," Jude countered.
"Yeah, and that was enough for him to see that we didn't treat her well. He said he talked to her and found her fun and interesting and was surprised that we didn't engage with her…except…."
"Except when, Will?" Jude asked.
"I'm so ashamed, Daddy. Mike remembered that you were talking about Frank Lloyd Wright, and Mama said that she'd been to one of his houses, and it was too stark for her liking. Jude said she didn't understand his style because she didn't attend college."
"I didn't say that," Jude said defensively.
"Mike remembers it word-for-word, Jude. You said, I don't think you can appreciate his genius, Mama, because you didn't study it like I did at school. I mean, did you even finish high school? And then the topic changed. Mike said Mama had been shell-shocked and then got up to bring something from the kitchen. When she came back, she was her smiling self, but she didn't talk for the rest of the evening. He thinks you're a dick, Jude, and that Dad and I are bigger ones for letting you get away with treating Mama like that."
"Mike was stoned, Will. I wouldn't put much stock into what he says," Jude muttered.
I did remember this, but we talked openly about how Rose didn't get an education beyond high school because she got pregnant. It wasn't a secret. But it was also not a reason to invalidate how she felt about a random architect.
"Jude, you and I are in the wrong when it comes to your mother," I said softly. "I set a bad example for you."
Jude groaned. "I hate this self-flagellation. She left. This is on her. Look, I have to go."
He hung up, but Willow stayed on the line. "I ignored her," she said softly. "I just ignored her all the time ."
"Why?"
"Because she's not as cool as you. She's, you know, at home and stuff. She doesn't talk to the Governor or the Mayor. She's just cooking and…." Willow was sobbing now, "I've been a crappy daughter, Daddy."
"No, honey. Oh, sweetheart." I didn't know how to console her.
"Mike said that you, Jude, and I had created an in-group, and she was in the out-group."
"What?"
"He's studying psychology," Willow explained. "And he's right. I've been racking my brain; the three of us would talk, and she'd be quiet. If she tried to say something like she did about Wright, we'd ignore or shut her out like Jude did. It's not just him. It's you and me too."
"I know."
"We don't deserve her. She told me how sad she was about Malou dying, and I told her I had class and didn't have time to talk to her."
It broke my heart that my kid was crying, but it broke my heart more that I left my wife alone to deal with her life: a dying friend, a mean mother-in-law, a difficult sister-in-law, the world thinking her husband was screwing around, and kids who didn't respect her, everything .
I did my best to console Willow, but we both knew that we'd fucked up. That much was evident.
It was driving me up the wall not to have heard from Rose. I assumed she probably went to see her friend Malou, but I had no idea where Malou lived. Somewhere on an island or something. The kids didn't know either. That was another mark against me. Her closest friend was dying, and Rose visited her often in past years, yet, I had no fucking idea where she lived.
I was giving Rose some time to cool down. Once she realized how dramatic she was being, she would call, and we would settle this. I was certain of that. She loved her family. She was devoted to us. There had never been any doubt in my mind about that.
But she'd up and left.
I was angry as hell with Rose. I was angry with myself. I was sad. I was hurting. I was going through all the fucking stages of grief at the same time.
I looked through my messages to see if maybe she sent something. The latest was one from the day of our anniversary.
I hope you'll be home early. I'm opening a bottle of bubbly and making your favorites for dinner. I love you .
I hadn't even seen the message until now. I scrolled through the old ones. She hadn't sent me a message for six months until the one on the day of our anniversary.
The last message had been in May, When will you be home, Gray?
The messages before that, most of them unanswered had been in the same vein.
Will you be home by six? Sage and Andrew are coming for dinner. This one I responded to with a simple, Yes .
Can you be home by eight? I was hoping we could have dinner together —no response to that one.
I made a peach cobbler. I'll leave you a slice. No response. I probably had eaten the cobbler after I came home late.
It's the twins' birthday. Can we call them together? My response had been, Already talked to them . Did she get a chance to wish them? Did they answer her call?
Bonnie wanted to ask about the children's hospital charity ball. Am I going to be joining you? I responded: Yes .
Bonnie is upset about my booking the Tybee Island house for next weekend. She wants me to cancel. I remembered I called her about the Rutherford family house and not as a response to her message but because Bonnie had called to bitch about Rose.
"You know you need to check with Bonnie and Holden, Rose. They had plans," I told her over the phone.
"I did check with Bonnie, Gray."
"Anyway, just cancel it. I don't think I can make it, and the kids said they can't either."
"But, Gray—"
"I have a meeting, Rose. Just handle this, yeah?"
I looked at the date and sighed. Fuck! I was an asshole. This was last September. She'd booked the house for her birthday—so the family could celebrate it together, so we'd fucking acknowledge her.
Had I remembered? Did I give her a present?
What the fuck had I been doing to my marriage?
Aimee knocked on my open office door, and I waved her in. She was my executive assistant and the best I'd ever had. She was in her late twenties and absolutely perfect at her job.
"Gray, we need to RSVP for a few things." She sat down and gave me a broad smile.
She was blonde, stacked, and beautiful, besides being competent. Holden teased me that I was banging her. The thought had crossed my mind; of course, I was a man. It was what you thought when you saw a good-looking woman and wondered how it would be to fuck her.
But I wasn't a cheater, and no way did I even want to. Rose and I had… used to have a great sex life. When had we stopped having sex? When was the last time? Was it after that night when I came too soon and hadn't gotten her off after because I was too tired? Yeah, I was pretty sure it was. Shame coated my insides again. Every time I thought about how I treated Rose, my respect for myself got lower.
"Will Rose be joining the Mayor's Barbecue next weekend?" she asked.
I shook my head. I didn't fucking know.
"No? She's busy?" There was a smirk on her face like Rose had no right to be.
"What does that mean?"
"Just that your wife is…well at home not doin’ much, Gray."
"What?"
Aimee just shrugged. "I…anyway, let's move to—"
"No, explain."
"Well, you told me not to put her calls through unless someone was dying because she had nothing to do and couldn't understand that you were the one who was always swamped with work."
I'd said that? I was a jackass.
"When did I tell you that?"
"A few months after I started working for you. Your wife had called, and I sent the call through; you'd told me not to do that again.
The hell of it was that I couldn't even remember, but it sounded like something I'd say and do.
"So, how often did… does she call?"
Aimee shrugged. "A few times here and there. She called once a week or so ago."
On the day of our anniversary, she'd tried to reach me by calling and texting—my Rose who kept waiting for me to show up and see her.
"What did she say?"
Aimee licked her lips.
I waited.
She rolled her eyes. "Just that it was your anniversary or something. I just told her you were in a meeting."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"Why would I?" Aimee protested. "You never seemed interested in your wife, Gray. Why all these questions?"
"But she said anniversary ? And what the hell do you mean by saying I'm never interested in my wife? She's my wife, Aimee."
Aimee looked hurt. "Just that, you work all the time. You don't have any plans on your calendar to be out with her unless there's a social event. You eat dinner with me at the office or a restaurant about three times a week. I know you go away to see your kids without her because I book your flights."
Shame poured through me… again . I had been neglecting my wife so much that even my assistant thought I didn't care for her.
She swallowed. "What's going on, Gray?"
"Rose left me, Aimee."
She surprised me by smiling. "Well, that's good, right?"
"What?" I rage whispered.
"You wanted her to leave, didn't you?"
"Why would you think that?" I got up, shocked to hear what she said. " Why ?"
"Because you told me that you didn't want to talk to her in the office. You hardly see her. You miss your anniversaries and her birthdays, and you spend a whole lot of time with me even when she's around."
I stared at Aimee. Did she just say what I thought she did?
"I know you're a decent man, and you'd never cheat, but it's been obvious to not just me but everyone that…. Even when we're at a party, you're with me, not Rose. People talk, you know."
Fucking hell!
"And what do people say? That you and I are having an affair?"
"Yes. I mean, we're not, but it's obvious there is something between us. I feel it. I know you do as well."
This was The Twilight Zone . I was certain of it.
"You're my executive assistant. My right hand. You're not my mistress, girlfriend, or anything else, Aimee. I have never given you that impression, at least not knowingly."
What a cluster fuck!
She came to me and put a hand on my shoulder. I flinched and moved away.
I was always careful around women at work. I wasn’t the type of man who’d place a hand on the small of a woman's back or her shoulder—none of that. I made sure to avoid any behavior that could be misinterpreted. My father had been a sexual harassment case waiting to happen until the day he retired. When I took over after him, I promised myself I’d be extremely mindful of how I treated women.
"Are you telling me you feel nothing for me?" Aimee asked, and her confidence pissed me off. She was patronizing.
"I feel for you as I would an employee. I'm not interested in you in any other way. I love my wife. I've always loved my wife."
She scoffed. "That dog won't hunt, Gray. No one thinks you love your wife. Even your kids don't. Not the way you talk to and about her."
It was like I didn't know my own life. My wife leaves me, and my assistant thinks I want her and not my wife. The wife I was madly in love with. The wife I thought I had a great marriage with.
"How do I talk about my wife?" I really wanted to know.
"Like she's not important to you." Aimee stepped back. "If you're telling me that you treated her the way you did because you were in love with her, then thank God we've kept our relationship professional."
"I've never given you the—"
"No, you haven't," she interrupted. "I assumed. That's on me. But what else could I think? You seem to be so callous about Rose. It's obvious your kids don't have any respect for her, especially Jude."
"Where are you getting all this from?"
"I've been working for you for three years, and we work long hours together , Gray. Your kids come by. The other day Jude was waiting for you and his phone rang, and he let it go to voicemail and said, " My mother is such a nag .'"
I’d done this. How had I made it so my kids didn’t respect Rose? And then, it hit me. They didn't respect her because I didn't. They learned from me.
My heart began to pound, and I realized that the Dear John letter was more than I deserved from Rose. My warm, loving wife, who was kindness herself had been treated like dirt by me.
She never yelled or screamed. She never raised her voice. She didn't fight with me. She soothed and calmed. She was our guardian angel, and we all treated her like a doormat.
"The thing is, that's how you talk about her as well. Maybe you don't say the word nag , but your behavior more or less makes that clear, I assumed…" —she looked around flustered— "Look, I'm going to go back to my office before I say something I'm going to regret."
I was too shocked to respond, so I just stood still, feeling my world shatter around me more than it already had.
How the hell had this become my life?