Chapter 8
Chris
Sarai, my mother, and I sit around the terrace table finishing our lunch when Mother breaks the quiet.
"Have you told your wife you are done with therapy?"
"I reached out to her through Dana," I reply, keeping my focus on my plate.
Mother offers a slow nod. "What about flying over to see her? I mean, you do know where she is, don't you? If you don't, I can tell you. I had a group of people locate her."
I shake my head immediately. "Not to worry, Mom. I know exactly where she is. But I want to see her on her own terms. I don't want her to think I am just running after her, encroaching on her space."
Mother nods again, accepting the reasoning. She turns her gaze toward the opposite side of the table. "So, Sarai, the therapist says you have not been attending your sessions. Why?"
"I don't see the need to do that," Sarai says, setting her water glass down. She turns her face directly toward me. "I mean, all I need is right here with me."
An uneasy smile tugs at my lips, but I keep my mouth shut.
"I see," Mother says, her voice dropping into a dangerous register. "So you don't need therapy. All you need is someone else's husband?"
I look up at my mother, the harshness of the words hanging in the air. I glance at Sarai, waiting for the tears to start, but her expression merely goes stone-cold.
"I don't think they are coming back together anytime soon," Sarai answers, her jaw tight.
Anger instantly course through my veins, hot and sudden. "Why would you say that, Sarai?"
"I mean, she just left," Sarai says, shrugging a shoulder. "Then you guys have not talked for what, almost a year? And plus, didn't she send you divorce papers to sign?"
Mother’s palm drops flat against the table.
"You will learn to shush your mouth in matters that do not concern you, Sarai.
I might prefer your company at times, but Zoe is still part of this family.
And plus, my son is in the business of trying to pursue his wife, hence the therapy sessions he has been going for. Isn't that true, son?"
I offer a tight nod, forcing my hands to remain steady on the linen napkin as I suppress the irritation.
"After this, we should remember that tomorrow is Julian's memorial," Mother adds, her tone shifting back to business. "So please do well to attend on time."
A sudden beep chirps from my pocket. I pull out my phone, glancing at the new mail notification before waving the screen toward my mother. "Work."
"Okay."
I push my chair back to stand up, but Sarai shifts in her seat. "If you could just drop me off, Chris..."
"Sit," Mother commands.
The weight of her authoritative tone anchors Sarai to the cushion. I let out a quiet breath, glad for the intervention. Even after months of therapy, the old habit of compliance makes it difficult to say no to Sarai on my own.
"I just want him to—"
"I said sit," Mother repeats, turning her sharp gaze onto me. "And you, Chris. Has your therapy not been of help to you?"
Mother and I exchange a long look across the table, a silent understanding passing between us.
"If you need a driver," Mother tells Sarai, her voice level, "we have a fleet of cars, and I have three drivers who are more than willing to do that job for you."
Sarai offers a tight nod, dropping her gaze.
I look between the two of them, a small smile breaking through my tension, and walk out toward the driveway.
Before I can reach the door of my sedan, the sound of her voice stops me.
Mother has developed a bad knee over the past four months, and she now leans on a polished mahogany walking stick with a silver handle to assist her balance.
"I need to have a word with you, son."
I lift my arm, pointing significantly at the face of my wristwatch.
"Just a few minutes of your time, please," she urges, her steps slow as she closes the distance between us. She stops inches away, her grip tightening on the silver handle. "Don't," she says. "Not this time."
I look down at her, the request mapping poorly onto my thoughts. "I don't understand."
She nods, then tilts her chin back toward the mansion. "Don't let her come between your prize and you. Remember what you told me after your therapy sessions ended?"
I nod slowly.
"Forget the sympathy," Mother says, using her weak fingers to tap firmly against the center of my chest. "You need to set boundaries.
You have been her shoulder to lean on for a long time, Chris, at the expense of your marriage.
You have to decide which is better: Sarai's comfort, or getting the love of your life back home. "
A sudden, clear picture flashes through my mind—a vision of Zoe and me sitting in our own living room, laughing together about everything and nothing.
"Of course Zoe," I say aloud.
My mother nods, her expression softening. "Good. Because as much as you may promise Zoe you will be good, she will be watchful to see if you have truly repented of your past behavior. So, remember what Ken said?" She tilts her head, prompting me to repeat my therapist's core instruction.
"In the moment where you are torn, always remember to intentionally walk toward what is more important."
"Good." She nods her head, leaning up to press a light kiss against my cheek.
Her hand shakes slightly as she reaches up, brushing her thumb beneath my eyes.
"I want you to be happy. I want these sleep bags to clear out.
And Zoe makes you better. She is your wife, so don't spoil this.
And... I am sorry for letting Sarai into your life too much.
I should have made sure it didn't get to this stage of her being this dependent on you. "
She pauses, her fingers resting against the silver head of her walking stick.
"I have let this go on because it was easier than losing another piece of your brother," she says quietly, her voice losing its edge.
"That was my failure as much as yours. But you have a wife who is worth fighting for, and a daughter graduating with honors from Oxford soon who deserves to see her parents standing together, not whatever this has become. "
She steps aside, clearing the path to my car. I lean down, wrapping my arms around her shoulders in a quick hug. She lets out a small giggle, patting my back.
"Now I am out of your way. You can go make some money now."
***
On the drive back to the office, I lean my head against the soft leather cushion of the seat, letting out a long sigh.
"David," I call out to the front seat.
"Yes, sir?"
"Drive slowly."
He offers a quiet nod in the rearview mirror.
This slow pace is a habit I have adopted ever since the day she left.
I purposely drive slowly just to delay my return to a house that no longer carries her scent.
I press a palm against my forehead, staring out the tinted side window.
Reaching down, I loosen the knot of my tie, the fabric suddenly feeling too tight against my neck.
"Zoe," I whisper to the empty car.
An image of her conjures up behind my eyelids, her face breaking into a bright smile as she looks at me.
I nod at the phantom picture, a small smile finally breaking through my fatigue.
I cannot wait to see her. God, I have held myself back for so long, and now the self-awareness of the harm I caused to my marriage is total.
"I'll remedy it," I tell the quiet space.
I have already rehearsed a dozen different things to say to her. I just hope the words don't entirely escape my mind the moment I finally look into her eyes.