Six #2
I arrived home like a raging storm—tearing through the house and furiously cleaning—catching up on all the housekeeping I’d let slide.
Moldy leftovers soured in the refrigerator, soap scum lined the bathtub, and a spill in the oven stunk up the house every time I preheated it.
So I blared music and threw my soul into tasks.
At 10:30 p.m., I was still wearing my scrubs and tennis shoes and hadn’t eaten dinner.
My hands cramped every few minutes. As did my feet.
Nutrition and hydration were next on my list. And a shower.
Then sleep because I had to go to work in the morning.
Tomorrow was Saturday, but I started working seven days a week months ago.
Peter’s boss at Summit Financial, Chip, was the kindest, most patient man in the world.
He had tried to bring Peter back after rehab, and even let him work remotely, but it didn’t work out.
Peter lost his passion for everything. And it showed.
Thankfully, I had a steady flow of repeat clients for my massage therapy and I made enough to keep us from tapping into our savings too hard.
Peter was able to get on disability, and that helped a little, too.
But, even after Peter’s great insurance paid thousands to cover the damages, there were still out of pocket things to pay for that stretched us thin.
Peter’s cautious personality required him to have a plan and a safety net for everything which was why I patiently waited for every life milestone we achieved.
Before we got married, he had to have a house, a good income, and a little nest egg.
Before we had a baby, he had to have a big nest egg.
I’d work three jobs and never sleep again before touching that savings.
Because without it, Peter would have one more excuse to delay starting our family.
“If you can’t be patient with me while I struggle, then leave.”
He had some nerve.
Peeling off my sweaty clothes, I stepped into the shower, trying to emotionally dodge the awful thoughts cropping up in my heart.
The accident destroyed my marriage.
Not just Peter’s eyesight.
Us.
My shaky hands fumbled with the soap bottle, a garbled puff of air hitting my palm with flecks of soap. I forgot I needed to buy more. Unscrewing the cap, I added some water and tried again. Finally working suds into my hair, I tortured my heart.
What if Peter never wanted to come home again?
That one question squelched my anger and drummed to life my deepest fears.
I imagined our tangled hearts trying to pull apart—the awful, bleeding mess I’d be left with.
If only Peter hadn’t been so wonderful before.
If only I had nothing to compare him to.
If only I’d never known the joy of being his.
As hot water beat my skin, hopelessness crested in my chest.
For all the hurt I’d shouldered, I knew I couldn’t carry on without him.
No matter how tired I was, I wouldn’t give up this fight.
Because there was no Sarah without Peter.
Frantically, I searched my brain. There had to be another way—something we could do that would save us.
Or some last act of desperation that would shake him to life.
And I had to wake him up. Because I couldn't live like this. When was the last time either one of us were happy? Or had a conversation that didn’t feel like pulling teeth? Or had fun?
I plunged my hair backward under the water, not liking the answer rolling through my head.
Weeks.
No, months.
When was the last time we had sex? Or he even touched me for that matter?
Again, months.
The last time we attempted intimacy, Peter was angry and emotional. Even though he knew me like the back of his hand, he felt awkward navigating my body. From what I could tell, Peter suffered with a deep-rooted sense of inability. He saw himself as severely incapable—even though no one else did.
Except for Lynn maybe.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
She believed he could do anything, obviously, but wouldn’t give him space to try.
For a moment, I almost wondered if he’d be faring better without her house a few minutes away.
Even though the Thompsons had provided a great support system while we struggled, it was time to cut the ties.
Water dribbled down my face, rivulets following the path of least resistance—down the contours of my face and eyes—then falling to the shower floor.
Wait. That was exactly what we needed.
Time away. Just the two of us.
No, a vacation.
The moment the word vacation hit my heart, my mind and soul wrapped around it like a life preserver in a cold, dark sea. Peter and I needed to refocus on us.
Our current routine was me leaving for work every day while Peter rotted at home.
If we broke that cycle, maybe we could both connect.
I wouldn’t be so drop-dead exhausted and angry at Peter for doing nothing, and Peter wouldn’t be face-to-face with the daily insecurity he battled from being side-lined as the breadwinner.
And then, once that happened, maybe we could drop our weapons long enough to pull each other close.
Plus, adventures had always been our way of escaping the daily grind.
Hope resurfaced in my heart as a plan pieced together. We could go somewhere and force ourselves to spend time with each other. And what about the list? We hadn’t completed a single item from the list since the accident. It was past time to do something new.
A real smile—the first in days—pulled at my cheeks.
At the very least, I needed a getaway.
But where would we go? I filed through options in my head. Aunt Judith had a cabin in Estes Park that Peter and I had visited together many times over the years, but that didn’t seem far enough away. Peter’s cousins lived around the corner from there.
We could get a hotel or go to the beach or something, but that almost seemed too stimulating. Eating out repeatedly and going to so many new places would be overwhelming to Peter. No, we needed a place that wasn’t surrounded by tourism.
Somewhere slow and relaxing. Somewhere he would feel comfortable and safe.
The answer dawned from on high.
Meadowbrook.
We could go to Meadowbrook! A smile curled into my lips again and my heart lifted in my chest. Peter could visit with Bea and Wren, which I just knew would be an encouragement to him.
There wasn’t much to see or do around there, and that would work out beautifully.
Peter and I could just sleep in, go on walks, sit on the porch swing, read a book together, or maybe even ride the horses.
They even set up that giant hammock for the bed and breakfast’s guests—I saw a picture of it on Meadowbrook’s Instagram page.
For a second, I allowed myself to imagine laying in the crook of Peter’s arm, a warm breeze whipping through the roots of my hair and gently pushing us as we dozed.
Peter could definitely ride a horse. Especially with the cowboys helping us stay safe.
Hollie and Bea would feed us, which would be an added bonus.
And in October, the weather would be divine.
Meadowbrook had a way of drawing out the best in people.
In Bea, Hollie, my nieces, and even us. The last time we were there, we had an amazing time.
Flashes of our night together after Hollie’s wedding, played unbidden in my head.
I shouldn’t go in with high expectations.
I knew that. But despite discouraging myself, my heart practically levitated with hope.
It was time to change my tactics.
Quickly, I toweled off and rushed to my phone.
I tapped out a text to Bea.
Me
Bea, I know this is last minute, but if I showed up with Peter on Sunday, would you guys have a place for us to stay? I’m thinking a week. We need to get out of here.
Before the text even said delivered, I flipped to my massage schedule and canceled every one of my massages for the next ten days.