5. Chapter 5
Harriet
My fingertips are starting to wrinkle as I scrub at a stubborn spot of dried cheese on the macaroni dish.
Coris hands me another plate over my shoulder before she turns back to help Maren put the leftover salad and fish into the fridge.
Outside, beyond the partially open sliding door, Buck and Gary’s voices drift in. I don’t pay much attention.
“Where’s Aunt Chris?” Maren asks, setting the salt and pepper shakers back on the shelf.
Christine appears in the doorway with some soiled paper towels and cleaner. “Right here,” she says, throwing away the paper towel squares. “I was cleaning the table. Thanks for doing the dishes, everyone.”
“You’re very welcome,” I say, handing Coris the clean plate. “It’s the least we can do after that amazing dinner.”
I don’t get to hear her reply, because Buck’s voice cuts through from the deck outside.
“I’m sorry about my wife.”
“What do you mean?” Gary asks, his voice lower. “She’s been fine.”
The twins move to the cupboard with a stack of clean plates. Christine starts wiping down the counter, humming quietly to herself. No one else seems to have heard. I wish I hadn’t, but unfortunately, now that I’ve heard that little snippet, I can’t stop.
“No, I mean tonight at dinner,” Buck continues, his voice carrying through the cracked door. “Interrogating everyone about their lives, constantly needing to yap. It’s like living with a nosy journalist sometimes.”
“She was creating conversation,” Gary says, his tone mild. “I didn’t mind. Honestly, it seems like she’s desperate for attention.”
My face flushes hot, then cold. Desperate for attention makes me feel like a naughty child rather than a wife and mother trying to connect with her family.
“Yeah, exactly,” Buck says. “She never shuts up. Sometimes I have to slip her a little something to get her to shut up, you know?”
The kitchen goes quiet. Coris pauses with a plate in her hand. Maren’s eyes widen slightly. Christine’s wiping motion slows, then stops altogether. That caught their attention.
“No, I don’t know...” Gary’s voice sounds genuinely confused.
“Like on the way here,” Buck continues, his voice casual, like he’s not ripping my heart out in front of everyone. “I slipped her a Xanax in her water. Even prepared the thing ahead of time since I knew she wasn’t going to shut up. Gives me hours of peace and quiet.”
I can’t move. The soapy water ripples around my wrists, but I feel entirely detached from my body.
Years ago, my doctor prescribed Xanax to help with my flight anxiety.
I never even took the pills, too terrified of being altered if the plane actually went down.
Now, the mystery of why I collapsed in the passenger seat evaporates into a sickening reality.
My own husband intentionally drugged me.
I pull my hands from the sink, water dripping onto the front of my shirt.
I reach for the dish towel hanging from the oven handle and slowly dry my hands.
I’m not even entirely sure what I’m doing or going to say, but I can’t continue to wash the dishes like nothing is wrong.
I go to the sliding door and open it fully.
Buck and Gary stand at the far end of the deck, cigars in hand, beers on the railing beside them.
They turn at the sound, identical expressions of surprise flashing across their faces.
Gary recovers first, straightening his shoulders, raising his cigar to his mouth for a quick puff. Buck continues to stare.
“You,” I say, my voice clipped after stepping outside, “are despicable.”
Buck’s brows draw together. “Harriet, I don’t know what you think you’ve heard, but you need to calm down.”
“No. I am done,” I continue, stepping fully onto the deck. “Twenty-five years. Two children. A home. A life. And you drug me to shut me up?”
Behind me, I hear the twins moving in the kitchen.
“I cook,” I say, counting off on my fingers.
“I clean. I volunteer. I remember every birthday, every anniversary, every preference and allergy and medication. I have been looking forward to this trip for weeks. I packed your special shampoo. I didn’t complain when you ate my dinner and didn’t put up too big of a stink when you ‘forgot’ I’m allergic to fish.
Nor did I pick a fight when you called me ‘too heavy’ to sit in your lap.
And my thanks for being a saint in our marriage is you drugging me. ”
“It wasn’t like that,” Buck says, setting his beer down on the railing. He crosses his arms over his chest, his posture defensive. “You were stressed, so I helped.”
“Shove it,” I shout. “I’ve had enough. I know you’re an asshole, and I’ve managed to tolerate it against my better judgment, but I will never look past a blatant violation of my body.”
Gary holds his hands up. “Harriet, I think—”
“No,” I cut him off. “You don’t get to think. You don’t get to have an opinion. You stood there and listened to my husband admit to drugging me, and you didn’t say a damn word.”
Buck takes a step forward, one hand reaching. “Honey, you’re overreacting. It was just one pill.”
“Don’t you dare,” I say, talking straight through his attempted downplay. “You are a horrendous husband and now we can add criminal to the list.”
The kitchen door slides open again, and the twins step onto the deck, their faces tight with worry.
“Mom?” Coris says. “What’s going on?”
Buck moves faster than I’ve seen him in years.
One second he’s standing at the railing, arms crossed, face set in that incredibly defensive expression, and the next he’s taking two quick steps toward the twins.
His posture opens, his expression shifting to that carefully concerned look he wears when he turns our girls against me.
“Your mother is escalating a misunderstanding,” he says, his voice smooth, calm, and utterly convincing. “You know how she gets when she’s tired and stressed.”
“No,” I cut him off, staring straight at my daughters. “He secretly drugged my water with Xanax to knock me out. There is no twisting or justifying that.”
The girls freeze, looking at Buck in shock. Maren blinks. “Wait. Dad, is that true?”
Buck rubs the back of his neck, letting out a heavy, patient sigh.
“I gave her one of her old flight-anxiety pills because she was completely worked up before the drive, girls. I only wanted her to rest. It was a clumsy mistake not to tell her, but look how she’s screaming at me now. I was just looking out for her health.”
Maren turns back to me, her brow furrowing. I’ve seen it a hundred times before. She’s accepting his framing.
“He violated my body!” I shout, the horror of it choking me.
The twins exchange a quick look. They aren’t seeing a crime; they are seeing their mother blowing a family dispute entirely out of proportion.
Sure enough, Coris steps closer to Buck’s side. “Mom, please. You’re throwing around horrible accusations in front of Uncle Gary. Can you stop making a scene and settle down?”
I look at my daughters, who have my eyes and their father’s total blindness to my humanity, and the final string snaps.
“I want a divorce,” I say.
“Harriet, be reasonable,” Buck stupidly says.
“I’m done,” I continue, talking straight through his attempted interruption. “There is nothing to save in this marriage. You are awful, and I’d have to truly hate myself to stick with you for a second longer.”
I turn and walk back through the sliding door. The kitchen feels too bright after the darkness of the deck, the fluorescent lights harsh against my eyes. Christine stands at the counter, a dish towel clutched in her hands. She’s been close enough to the door this whole time to hear everything.
The twins follow me through the kitchen, their voices overlapping as they call after me.
“Mom, wait!”
“You can’t just leave!”
“We need to talk about this.”
Brushing the wall for balance, I keep walking.
My chest feels too tight, my throat too narrow.
Each breath comes short and quick. I love the twins, but this is my breaking point.
It’s not only about their father, but about them, too.
They are women building their own futures, and I fail them as a mother if I let them normalize this.
If I don’t stand up for myself now, I am teaching them that it is okay to accept this kind of treatment.
“I need time alone,” I say, not wanting them to follow me. There’s no point, anyway. What’s done is done.
Behind me, Buck’s voice carries through the house, loud and confident despite the distance. “You’ll be back,” he calls. “And when you do, I expect an apology.”
The nerve of that man.
I continue through the dining room, past the living room with its flickering TV, toward the front door and whatever comes after. I’m almost there when Christine steps out from the hallway near the kitchen. Her face is tight with concern. “I’m sorry, Harriet,” she says, her voice low.
A quiet sadness cracks open in my chest. All I’ve wanted is a loving family to spend time and connect with.
I could have found one in Christine, but my husband went and ruined it.
Christine wraps both arms around me, her hug careful at first, then firmer when I don’t pull away.
I hug her back, my face pressed against her shoulder, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“I’m sorry, too,” I say, the apology slipping out by pure reflex. Having to witness this disaster must be stressful for her. “For ruining dinner and making a scene.”
“No,” she cuts me off. “Don’t apologize.”
We stand in the hallway, two women holding each other up, while somewhere in the back of the house, Buck’s loud voice continues. After a moment, I pull back, wiping my eyes with the heel of my hand.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I say, the words coming out steadier than I expected. “I can’t go back to being the woman who apologizes for existing and the type of mother whose needs come last every single time.”
Christine’s eyes are warm with understanding.
“What will you do?” she asks.
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “But I know I can’t stay here.”
She nods and steps back into the kitchen.
Meanwhile, I reach for my purse on the entryway table.
The reality of figuring out where I’m sleeping tonight makes my palms sweat.
What matters most is getting out of this house and giving myself room to consider my options.
So, I leave the house and take the family car—it’s Buck’s car just as much as mine, damnit—to Green Lake Park.