Saturday, February 11 #3
Learning the truth—no, the half-truth—she didn’t run to him. She started running again, just as she had that day in the dealership parking lot.
Nicholas hadn’t heard from his wife at all. That’s not entirely true. Angelica sent him a chilly two-word text.
Going overseas.
He was furious when he received it. He had intended to drive up the next day to sort this out. But furious isn’t a strong enough word—outraged—because soon afterward, he backed his half-a-million-dollar sports car into the concrete base of a light post.
Being a judicious wife, Angelica followed up with more texts.
Deposit $$$ checking acct.
Need $2K. Same place.
3K more.
She, undoubtedly, wanted to use her damn debit card at ATMs. He went along with it at first, hoping Angelica would get this out of her system. But when it didn’t run its course, he texted her.
No more $. Come home, darling. I love you.
Her messaging went silent; she didn’t reply to any of his.
How could he work when his wife was missing?
Sure as hell, he didn’t open the new dealership while Angelica was missing.
He didn’t care about anything except that his wife was missing.
As his life ground to a halt, he did a lot of drinking.
Went through cases of wine. Then he switched to scotch.
It didn’t help at all. Playing music followed the same path as the vino.
And he had lots of angry sex. Celine threatened to quit on him.
She was tired of going home with bruises.
Nicholas peered out into the night. Where are you, sweetheart? He wanted her back so badly. Needed her back. He had so much to make up to her. And hell, he would give up all the other women.
As he agonized over his beautiful wife’s whereabouts and their mangled lives, his cell phone rang. Nicholas’s eyes flicked to the screen. Angelica! His glass dropped with a loud thud onto the side table.
“Darling, I’ve been waiting for you to call. I’ve been so worried about you. When did you get home?”
“Three days ago, Nicholas.”
Three days ago? From her tone, Angelica not only sounded like she had stopped running, but she sounded like a different woman—a changed person. Not the same one he had held in the limousine on New Year’s Day. She also used the formal, impersonal, and distant “Nicholas.”
His heels clicked on the tile as he paced aimlessly once more. “Do you want me to come pick you up, Angel?”
He heard nothing. The hush conveyed far more than words ever could.
“Sweetheart—”
“I’m never coming back, Nicholas.”
Nicholas froze. His wife was blowing him off. “You know why I did it … I did it for you.”
“I’m not a child. You can’t protect me from life or shield me from it. We could have grieved together ... together as parents. You deprived me of that. Maybe it would have helped me find my way back. Remember who I was and what I lost,” Angelica sighed.
“You think you know me, but you don’t know me at all. You want to control everything, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t control my emotions.”
“You’re just angry at me. You don’t mean what you’re saying.” He combed his hand through his flawless hair.
“You’re unbelievable, Nicholas. You’re treating this like a lovers’ spat that will blow over, or the flu that will disappear in ten days,” she scorned.
“I’m more than angry at you … I can’t put into words the pain I’m feeling.
The last five years of my life have been a lie, and you fabricated that lie.
I don’t know how you did it … and I don’t want to know.
Everyone was in on it, too. Even my mother! It was just a game to you, wasn’t it?”
Nicholas shot back, rubbing his forehead. “Loving you was never a game, sweetheart. I’ve always loved you.”
“You have a flawed way of showing love. In fact, you’re a narcissist and not capable of love. I don’t know how I ever forgave you the first time you betrayed me.
“To think I was stupid enough to trust you again. And true to form, your colors showed through, and you betrayed me again,” Angelica enunciated each word clearly, crisply, and cuttingly. “Never again will you do this to me. It’s over!”
A thick cloud drifted in front of the crescent moon, casting a shadow across the room as Nicholas resumed his endless window-side travels.
“We can start over … We’ll go away … I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. I’m your husband!”
She playfully scoffed, “Oh, so poignant. Now you remember you’re my husband?”
“You can’t do this to me, Angelica!”
“It’s always about you, isn’t it? Nicholas Ponte, the king of luxury motors, always gets what he wants. Not this time. I’m filing for divorce, and unless I must see you in court, I never want to see you again!”
“Darling, let’s talk.” He pressed his forehead against the cold glass as the lampposts below cast the only light to be found into the gloomy dark. “We can talk this out.”
“We have nothing to discuss. I’ll be doing all my talking with my divorce lawyer. By the way, I’m moving out so I can wipe out my seventy-five-thousand-dollar debt to you. I don’t want it hanging over me.”
Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose. “You don’t owe me a cent, Angelica. You’re my wife. You own half of everything I have.”
“Hah! One more thing you forgot to tell me.” She laughed raucously. “Now I’m a millionaire and don’t have to shop at Walmart anymore.”
“I don’t care about the money … You can have it all … You are all I want, Angelica!” Nicholas bellowed. “All I’ve ever wanted!”
“One of your problems is that you think everyone is like you and can be bought. Let me make myself clear. I’m the one thing you will never have again. Ever!” she railed in contempt.
“Sweetheart, please—”
Angelica slammed the receiver down, leaving him listening to nothing but silence. His wife had hung up on him!
Nicholas’s cell phone skidded across the room when he threw it to the floor. Their final parting and goodbyes occurred on a damn long-distance phone call. He’d known Angelica for thirty years—forever. Walked her home from school. Taught her how to ride a bike. She filled his life; she was his life.
Once more, Nicholas ran his fingers through his hair as he fell into a deliberate walk that led nowhere. He roamed back and forth, oblivious to the sleet pounding against his sky-view windows.
His handcrafted shoes came to an abrupt halt. He stared down at the ripples in the water, which ripped at his heart, and cursed. He hated the view. Hated this place. He bought the condo for her. He hated it all without Angelica. He gulped, draining the crystal tumbler.
Nicholas desperately sought to release his bottled-up anguish, tearing at his insides. Wrench it from his soul. Rip something apart.
He eyed the club chair—Angelica’s chair. Nicholas erupted in rage. He seized the empty chair with both hands and hurled it at the glass. With a loud crash, the window to his world shattered, sending shards flying as the chair plummeted fifteen stories and smashed onto the icy pool deck below.
Falling wearily into his chair, he stared blindly into the night, as frozen as the sleet cast down from the heavens and blowing through the broken glass.
Life was full of ramifications and consequences …