Part 12 (1/2)

She takes another labored breath before responding. ”No one gave me any breaks when Elton came home smelling like another woman. No one cut me any slack when I was giving birth and my child's father came to the hospital with fresh hickeys on his neck that I didn't put there.”

”And you married him anyway.”

”Screw you. Oh wait, that's what you're doing to your marriage.”

”Hold on, hold on, hold on. That was so uncalled for.”

”And so was your comment.” She shuffles around on the other end of the phone. ”Look, we marry who we love, whether that love is right or wrong, it is what it is. If I had to do it all over again, I'd find a good man, strap him to the bed, and never let him loose. You have a good man at home. I suggest you forget about what's-his-name and do the same before it goes any further.”

I sigh loud enough for the dead to hear.

21.

BRANDON.

After a long day crunching numbers at the job, all I want to do is kick my feet up at home with a beer in hand. But tonight, something more pressing leads me in another direction.

Sydney left a lot on my mind when she left my place the other night.

Life is funny.

Since the beginning of time, we are born to die. Everything that happens in between is up to chance and opportunity.

I often wonder what happened to my son's chance and opportunity. He was taken at a time when the only decisions he could make was between what cartoon he wanted to watch and which new toys he would add to his Christmas wish list. A parent should never have to mourn their child, no matter their age.

In a few weeks, Reggie would've been turning nine. Nine. Halfway to being a legal man. It hurts knowing I won't be able to show him how to shave, to tell him about women. Will never know if he'd be into sports or more into academics like my brother and me. The unknown kills a piece of me every day. His death tore Rene up. She wouldn't have any talk about having more children. Said it wouldn't be fair to his memory. I didn't push it. Sometimes, I wonder if we'd be separated if he were still living or would we have still grown apart. Questions that will never be answered.

Thinking about my son not only makes me miss him, it makes me miss the love that filled my heart. Love for my son and my wife, my love for life. In a way, Sydney's starting to bring a little of that feeling back. She's starting to help me feel good about life again, even if it's just to listen to me harp about my marriage coming to an end. Still feels good to be heard and given the opportunity to listen to her problems. Though she left me feeling a little unsettled with her reasons for wanting to leave her unhappy marriage, I still felt her pain. Still feel connected to her in some way.

I look over at the pa.s.senger seat, see the business envelope staring back at me. Never thought this moment would come, never wanted it to come. Being put in a vulnerable place will make you do some of the most unforeseen things.

The security guard signals for me to stop before going through the gate when I pull into the subdivision of darker times. I roll my window down. ”Everything all right?”

”Congrats on the offer on your house! This economy has everybody making changes, but I see it ain't stopping somebody from buying your house.”

I shake my head. ”You must be talking about another house. Mine isn't for sale.”

The severely gray-haired man looks me straight in the eyes. ”I guess the Missus is making changes without you. Figures, since I ain't seen you 'round here in a while.”

”Good night, sir,” I say through a halfway rolled-up window. That old man is always meddling in other folks' business.

I drive toward the back of the subdivision, make a right onto a street that's become unfamiliar to me. My foot's barely on the gas. Speed limit's thirty-five, I'm driving five miles per hour. I slam on my brakes, create friction between rubber and concrete loud enough to scare the man on the moon.

As blinding as a fluorescent yellow jumpsuit in the middle of July, I see a ”for sale” sign in the front yard of the house Rene and I shared for five years. Under contract. What the h.e.l.l is going on here? Rene can't sell our house without my permission. My attention's so caught up in the words above the ”for sale” sign, I almost shatter my teeth when I notice a familiar face plastered on the sign staring back at me with a huge grin on her face.

The whole town's laughing at me.

Been in the car fuming for the past two hours with nothing to do but sit and wait, wait and sit. I get out the car, pace the street back and forth to let off some steam without trying to look like a crazed man in this quiet neighborhood. Pacing makes me all the more heated in this too-hot-to-be-spring weather. I hop back in the car and put the air on blast.

I grab my cell, dial the number on the sign. No answer. End the call and dial it again. Every time Sydney's overly happy voice thanks me for inquiring about my own house I end the call. Not sure what I'd say if she answered anyway.

A blue hatchback pulls up to the curb. Figure they're interested in the house even if it is under contract. I get out the car to walk over and yell out, ”This house is off the market,” just to make sure they know it's not for sale no matter what the sign says. I take the under contract from off the top of the ”for sale” sign, put it in my trunk. Would've taken the whole sign out the yard if it wasn't hammered six feet below.

”What are you doing here?” a voice I hadn't heard in a while demands.

I turn around, don't see her. A man with blond hair and a bag on his shoulder stands next to a dehydrated-looking woman with barely any hair. I stare into her face, blink three times as if my vision has suddenly disappeared. ”Rene?”

”You shouldn't be here.”

The guy comes over to my wife and touches her elbow softly. ”Let's go inside.”

”And who are you?” I try hard to keep my composure because nothing feels right about this moment, and everything seems to be wrong with my wife.

She looks up at him and gestures toward the house. ”Can you give us a minute?”

I don't wait for him to be out of earshot before I say, ”You're taking things too far, Rene.”

She leans on the car, braces for a conversation she wasn't prepared to have tonight.

”What's going on here? How can you sell our house?”

”You don't live here anymore. Why shouldn't I?”

”You can't sell the house without my signature.”

”It's in my name. And I can do whatever I want with it.”

Now it's my turn to use the car to hold me up. She's right. She had the house transferred into her maiden name a few months before we got married after her parents died in a train crash. They were scared to fly because they didn't want to crash. Stayed on the ground and died the same way.

Rene is so strong. Endured losing both parents, then our son. Now the house. She only kept it because her parents put their hard-earned money into it and we had plans of filling it up with tons of kids. Maybe letting the house go is her way of finally letting her parents and our son go. All of our dreams. Now I'm wondering if it's her way of letting me go as well.

She's staring at me. I can feel it, so I turn to look at her. For a moment, we just stare into each other's eyes, eyes flooding in memories. She rubs her hand over her thinning hair. I want to ask what happened to all her curls, but now's not the time. With the same hand she used to rub over her hair, she reaches for my hand. Curves her pinkie finger around mine; something she started after the first time we made love. ”I never stopped loving you,” she reveals, words I've been dying inside to hear from her lips again.

I squeeze her pinkie tight. ”Then what are we doing here? What's this all about?” I point to the sign posted in our front yard. ”You know I love you, Rene. Whatever it is, we can work this out.”

She shakes her head. ”This is how it has to be. Let's just live with the memories of how it used to be, Brandon. The love we've shared, let that be enough. This is the best thing for us. I promise you.”