22. Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Sam
T he throbbing in my head intensifies as I make my way home from the seminar. I can’t stand them, plus the ongoing situation with Erica is causing me so much stress that my head is ready to explode.
Since this morning, I’ve been making constant calls and sending numerous texts to Erica. Texts like:
Are you ok?
Make sure you’re at the house at 6. We need to talk
Please answer me Erica.
It’s strange that she hasn’t responded to any of them, which is not like her. Even when she is cranky or we are fighting, she will always reply with an OMG! Stop texting. So her silence speaks volumes. She’s completely pissed and has every right to be. But also, we need to sit and talk like adults and make some changes and decisions. No matter how those may hurt the other. Forget about the situation with Maria … I don’t trust her with Mikey .
And he is the most important thing to me right now. After the fight, I knew she wouldn’t come back to take care of Mikey while I was away. So, I planned for him to spend the night at Big C and Jasmine’s, so I don’t need to worry. We aren’t related by blood, but they are family all the same, and Mikey adores them because they spoil him rotten. The thought of Big C turning into a huge softy around my son brings a smile to my face. A nice distraction from the difficult discussion I know lies ahead of me.
I exit the highway and decide to stop and pick up some dinner. As a kind gesture and a measure of good faith, I order Erica’s favorite burger from a little joint called The Fearless Spoon. The smell of greasy French fries and ground beef permeates the interior of my car as I pull into the drive. Instead of the usual growling, my stomach churns with a mix of dread and nerves, drowning out any hunger pains.
The first thing that catches my eye is her car, sitting undisturbed in the driveway. She stormed out on foot after our fight, leaving me wondering where she disappeared to, but since her car hasn’t moved, I know she hasn’t driven anywhere. Which brings me some measure of relief since I’m pretty positive she has been drinking the day away. Especially after our argument. Plus, that means she’s here and ready to talk.
I tightly grip the handles of the brown bag that house the takeout containers and make my way inside.
Steadying my breath, I insert the key into the lock, hearing it click as I turn it. I’m so tired of constantly feeling on edge around Erica. I never know what to expect with her anymore.
The old door creaks on its hinges (I really need to WD40 that thing), echoing through the house as the smell of stale beer mixed with sweet grapey wine hits my nose. Not her drink of choice, which is odd. Whiskey and vodka are the norm.
I let out a moan. God, she has my house smelling like a homeless drunk.
The foul smell is a clear sign she is here. Or was here? Which means she got my texts about meeting to talk .
It’s late, and the room is shrouded in inky black darkness. The curtains are drawn, so I flip on the light switch and take in the scene before me. Empty beer bottles are strewn across the floor. A few half full wine bottles—no glasses, which is odd—are resting on the couch. On the coffee table, an open pizza box sits open, it’s half-eaten slices now cold.
What happened here today? Thank goodness I sent Mikey to C’s.
Erica and I have fought before—both during and after our marriage—and she has gotten drunk after, but this is next level. I sit the food down next to the pizza box while I kick off my shoes. As I peel off my coat, I toss my keys and wallet next to the food. I bend over to collect the empty beer bottles, clinking together and echoing in the quiet room. “Erica!” I call out as I pick up bottle number six, making my way further into the living room. As I wait for her to answer, the clock ticks rhythmically.
Tick … tick … tick
There’s only silence.
I step further into the house. “Eric—what the heck!” My sock instantly becomes saturated as I step onto a wet spot on the floor. A wine bottle sits in front of a red-soaked spot on the carpet. Is that an entire bottle of wine spilled out?
“Erica!”
Tick … tick … tick
I sit the bottles on the end table and peel the soaked dress socks off, thrusting them onto the couch. My head is spinning with a million questions. It’s obvious she went on some kind of bender after our fight. More than likely buying this while I was at the seminar and coming here to drink away her feelings about what happened. But why here? Was she hoping to maybe see Mikey?
None of this makes sense.
The guilt builds in my stomach, coupled with rage due to what I just walked into.
A thought pops into my mind, and I race to the spare bedroom, hoping she didn’t do something to the Nike box. I immediately get on my hands and knees and peer under the bed. The orange box sits undisturbed where I left it. “Erica!” I call out again.
Tick … tick … tick.
No answer.
Engulfing the house is an eerie quietness, as if it’s holding its breath. My nerves are suddenly on edge because if she isn’t here, then where is she? Because she is in no condition to be out and about if she drank this much. We may not be married, but I’m not a monster. I care about her well-being and would hate for something to happen to her.
My emotions are being pulled in two different directions. I’m starting to get irritated. I pick myself up and let out a huff because now I have to search for her since she’s being a brat and not answering me. Judging by the chaos in the living room, it’s safe to assume she’s passed out in my bed. This isn’t my first go-around with her. Before the divorce, more often than not, I’d come home, Mikey in my arms, to Erica passed out on the couch or in the bed. But now that we are divorced, I wonder if she stumbled in there so drunk that she didn’t realize where she was.
As I walk down the hallway, my footsteps echo off the walls. Stepping inside, I look at the bed, undisturbed and still made. Instead, the bathroom light is gleaming, casting a warm glow onto the far wall where Mikey’s picture hangs.
I march toward the light. “Erica, I know you’re in here. Why haven’t you—” The question stops on my tongue. Because there, in the tub, full of water, where Mikey takes his nightly bubble baths, is my dead ex-wife.
Nothing prepares you for this. Nothing.
I’m staring straight ahead at a family photo of us smiling and happy when the coroner wheels the gurney past me. Erica zipped up in the black plastic. They stop in front of me. “Would you like a minute alone with her?” the overweight, balding man asks me. I take a second to ponder his question. My answer comes quickly as I shake my head, and out the door she goes into the waiting ambulance with its doors open wide.
After pulling her from the bath water, I whispered my goodbyes as I cradled her, cried from the shock, and pleaded with her for forgiveness. Forgiveness I will never get.
The words “I’m sorry” spread throughout the small bathroom, too numerous to count. How do you apologize to someone who will never hear your remorse?
I called 911 and held her as I waited to hear the sirens. Her skin was cold, wet, and pale.
I know deep down what caused this. Me, I did this to her. I should never have let her go out into the night. I should have called her, or maybe had Big C or Jasmine come and check in. I should never have been emailing Maria.
There’s no going back now.
Erica is gone. Mikey no longer has a mother. Erica’s father lost his daughter.
Nothing will ever be the same.
I watch as they drive away. Once the ambulance turns the corner, I shut the door. The heaviness and guilt in my chest are too much as I crumble to the floor.
“How ya doing, man?” Big C’s huge hand grasps my shoulder as he sits next to me on my couch, his weight causing the cushion to sink. He’s yanking off his tie and chucks it across the room. It sails through the air and lands on the Lazy-Boy. “God, I hate those things,” he says as he hands me a bottled water.
I grab it from him, swiftly unscrew the cap, and gulp down a mouthful. “I’m dealing.” He nods.
Neither of us say anything for a few minutes. My intense stare locks on the framed photograph. C turns and looks over his shoulder. “Where’s Mikey?”
I peek down the hall toward his room, then pivot my focus back to the picture. “Jasmine is putting him down for his nap. ”
Erica’s memorial service was this afternoon. It was small, spiritual, and the worst hour of my life. Ricky flew down for it, as well as my mom and sisters. They are all still at the funeral home, collecting the flowers and donating them as I asked. I don’t want any part of this day to remain with me.
Memorials, funerals, life celebrations, whatever you choose to call them, they’re the same. A final way to say goodbye to a loved one or friend. They are depressing and awful. I hate them.
Before this happened, I agreed with the mantra of “Death is a natural part of life.”
That’s the biggest lie ever told.
Anything that happens in life that is ‘natural’ brings us joy. The birth of a child, marriage, watching your kid take their first steps, having grandchildren … those things bring happiness. Death is nothing but sadness. Right now, what I’m feeling is anything but natural.
“Eventually, you are going to have to stop blaming yourself.” C takes a swig of water.
I scoff. “Eventually, sure. But not right now.”
“Guilt will eat you alive if you let it. Trust me, I know.” He’s right. I know he’s right.
C and I sit in silence, the weight of our emotions palpable, as I can’t tear my eyes away from the picture, for some unknown reason. Memories of our life together play on a loop in my head. Meeting her at the brewery, the proposal and ceremony, then retracing the steps of our marriage, trying to pinpoint what went wrong. And when? What could I have done differently? Would Mikey have his mom if I made better choices?
I’ll never know. And the not knowing is the worst.
“Are you going to stay here?” C asks, ripping me from my thoughts.
As I glance down, my eyes zero in on the unsightly wine stain, a reminder of that night. “Nope.”
“Your room is still free. If you’re interested. Jasmine and I could help with Mikey until you find a place. We will set it up and make it kid-friendly. Whatever you need. ”
Like I said. Family.
I turn to take in my friend who has been there for me ever since I walked into Dexter’s late on a Friday night, spilling my guts about Maria. “Thanks, man. Tonight too soon?”
“Nope.” He smacks my knee as he stands up. “Take your time packing.” He walks back toward Mikey’s room, and a few minutes later, he and Jasmine appear. I stand and hug them both, grateful for their friendship.
“I’m going to let Mikey sleep. Plus, my mom, sisters, and Ricky will be back soon. I’m sure they will help with packing up some things. We will be there in a few hours.”
Jasmine hugs me again. “No rush, okay. We will be there waiting.”
I release my grip, and Jasmine exits the house, making her way towards their car parked outside. Big C stands there staring at me, concern etched on his furrowed brow. “I’m fine,” I reassure him. “We’ll be there soon. I just need to take care of a few things first.” He nods in silence as he brings me in for a hug, slapping me on the back.
“Don’t be long.” He releases his hold on me, then follows his wife.
“Thanks, man.”
As I close the door with a gentle click, the void within the house becomes huge.
I know what needs to happen next.
On heavy feet, I trudge over to the computer, turning it on. With a quick login, I find myself staring at my inbox, hesitating for only a moment before my fingers start typing.
Date: February 8, 2007 4:11pm
From: [email protected]
Subject: This is it
Maria ,
Erica died. I don’t want to get into specifics but, it was due to her drinking. I know what you’re thinking and what’s going through your head. And to answer your question, no, I’m not okay.
Maria, as much as I love our emails, I can’t write to you anymore. Erica found our letters the night before she died. She got drunk because of it and well, the rest is too painful to talk about. She was really hurt.
I was selfish to continue to write to you while I was married to her. And please, don’t blame yourself. I was the one that started this go around.
I am a single father now and that is where my focus needs to be. I am all the family Mikey has here. I can’t be distracted by my feelings for you, or wondering when your next email will come.
Please don’t be upset with me and please don’t respond.
Yours, Sam
I hit send and immediately wonder if it was too harsh. But this is how it has to be.
My days of being selfish are over. My one and only focus needs to be on Mikey. He’s all I have left of Erica. And she left me the best part of herself.
For that reason alone, Maria needs to stay in the past.