Olivia

 

Mr. Drakos’s decision stunned me. He called to tell me that he would close the office for the last two weeks of the year, from five days before Christmas until January 2. “Are you sure, sir?” I asked. Matthew was standing in my office doorway looking puzzled.

“I am, Olivia.” he said. “I’ve had some family problems myself recently, and I realized how important it is to be able to be with your loved ones when you can. Maybe some of the employees will be able to travel home with the time they have off.”

“That is so generous of you—” My voice rose with excitement at the news, and Matthew whispered, “What?” I waved my hand for him to stay there.

“The thing is, Mr. Drakos said, “I’ve just spent too much time running without arriving, and I’m beginning to see that. Besides, many companies do this. We can, as well.”

I wrote a note and turned it for Matthew to see, and he went singing, “Deck the Halls” out into the room where all the employees sat. I could hear him saying, “Guess what?”

Mr. Drakos asked me to provide him with an accurate list of all the employees and said he would be personally distributing the usual holiday bonuses for everyone. Accounting would handle it he said. Do not concern yourself he said. I was speechless. This was wonderful news.

~~~

By the final day of work, the mood was festive. All week delicious homemade goodies were shared in the kitchen and music filled the air. On the last day, Mr. Drakos appeared at three o’clock wearing a Santa hat, calling out, “Ho, ho, ho,” as he handed out bonus checks to all the employees. Simone was with him dressed as an elf, helping with the envelopes. This was more than he had ever done before. So, naturally, I worried about this behavior on his part. Was it good news for our company, or did it portend something bad for Mr. Drakos himself?

“Stop viewing the glass half-empty, boss lady,” Matthew said as we locked up the office and parted with hugs beside our cars. He would be travelling south to his family, and I admonished him to drive safely. For myself, I was looking forward to sleeping later in the mornings, not dressing up every day, and spending time with my niece and nephew who would be on winter vacation from school.

My concern that the children would be sad or worried for their mother was unfounded. All I had seen was two excited young people, shopping together, wrapping the gifts they bought, chiding me, ‘don’t peek’. Matias had even volunteered to cook Christmas dinner, and he had several sticky notes on kitchen cabinet doors. They were lists for grocery items needed for the dinner menu in an effort to accommodate all of the nationalities of those who would be attending.

My nephew had taken a job selling Christmas trees, and that evening after work he brought home a tall Fraser fir for us, the biggest tree the house had ever seen. It nearly touched the ceiling. He set the enormous tree in front of the windows, and  it filled our home with its delicious scent.

“Can we start on it now?” Mariella asked.

“No, mi amor, it is late, I have no energy left, and you both need your sleep. Tomorrow morning, first thing, I promise. We will finish before Matias leaves for work.”

~~~

There was barely light in the sky when I heard bumping in the attic. I walked out into the hall in my flannel nightie. “Matias, is that you?”

His head appeared at the top of the attic ladder. “I’m sorry I woke you, Aunt Olivia. I couldn’t sleep,” he said, with a guilty grin.

“Me neither,” said a disembodied voice from the interior of the attic, one I recognized as his sister.

Without waking me, they had lit the fireplace. And I could smell coffee, so there was no going back to bed.

“I am defeated,” I said. “Let us do this thing.”

He handed containers down to me until we filled the hall with boxes, many of them with Abuela’s writing on them. She would have loved this, except she would be worried for Isabella. Out of guilt, I had called to talk to my sister, but she would not accept my call. This was something I did not wish to share with the children, and thinking about it made me sad for them. After the last box, I excused myself to freshen up and get dressed in comfortable jeans and my new turquoise sweatshirt with Kiawah Island printed on the front.

For breakfast, oatmeal with butter and honey was perfect on this cold day. We finished, and Mariella began to examine the decorations as Matias unwound the lights, lit them, and then tucked them in the branches of the tree. He did this as if he had been doing so for much of his sixteen years. “If he hadn’t done it,” Mariella said, as she saw me watching her brother, “we would never have had a tree with lights—or a tree at all, I guess.” She was pleased to find a box with wreaths and hangers, so she placed them on the front and back doors, plus smaller ones on all of our bedroom doors.

In one box of ornaments was the angel. Mariella saw me unwrapping it with tenderness and moved closer to watch. “It looks old,” she said.

“She is old. My parents could bring so little with them when they came from Cuba, but my mama insisted they bring this. She had a dream, Papi told me, and in this dream she heard me, her daughter, telling her she must bring the angel with her.”

“How old were you?” Mariella asked.

“I was still nestled safely in Mama’s belly. The angel was wrapped carefully in her lingerie.”

Tears filled Mariella’s eyes as I told her that story.

“I did not wish for you to cry, dear,” I said, as I touched her arm.

“It’s just that I’m thirteen years old, and I have no stories of my mother like that, is all,” she said. She wiped her face with her sleeve. “Mom never liked Christmastime.” She looked at her brother and he nodded his agreement.

“When she wasn’t drinking, she hated it that everyone else was.” He said. “She said it made her feel lonely.”

“But when she was drinking,” Mariella said, “she talked to us all slurry-like and cried and told us over and over again that she loved us. It never felt real.”

It was then that we heard someone knock firmly on the back door. The three of us locked eyes. I feared that Family Services would choose this time to make a home visit but did not voice my fears. Mariella brushed the tears from her face as Matias went to answer. Then, with happiness, I heard the familiar drawl of the officer who had recently brought me the news that changed our lives.

“Aunt Olivia?” Matias called out. In his voice I could hear fear. Did he think the officer had more bad news? I joined them at the door. Mr. Rivers was bundled up this time, with coat and gloves. “Won’t you come in from the cold and warm yourself? We have a fire blazing, thanks to the young people who live here.”

“I didn’t mean to bother you, ma’am,” he said with a smile as he ducked his head under the doorjamb and stepped into the living room, wiping his boots on the mat. “But I saw both cars and figured that you and your nephew were home. I’m not here on official business, in case you’re worried, young man,” he said to Matias, as if reading his mind.

Officer Rivers nodded to Mariella, and said, “I don’t believe we’ve officially met, young lady.”

“Mariella, this is Officer Rivers—”

“Zeke Rivers, please, Miss Mariella. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Mariella shook his hand and smiled. If he noticed she had been crying, he did not react. Then he looked at me. “Please excuse me for interrupting. I’m just checking to see if everything worked out at the courthouse.”

“It did,” I said. As an officer of the law, I thought he might have access to that information, but I was glad to see him, now under better circumstances. “Please remove your coat and I will tell you about it. I was about to make hot cocoa. It is a Cuban tradition. In my family, anyway. And I have marshmallows. More of an American custom, I believe.”

“I couldn’t—” he started to say, but I interrupted him.

“Of course you can have some hot cocoa on this freezing day, Officer, while I fill you in, as some say. My niece has made enough Christmas cookies to allow you—possibly even your entire precinct—to have some of those as well.” I helped him out of his huge coat and hung it in the closet. He was not in uniform, and his clean-smelling scent was as I remembered it.

“I’m just going to step out of these muddy boots, ma’am,” he said, and he opened the door and deposited his boots outside. Then he entered the kitchen in his stocking feet. “Is this okay?”

“Of course. I am in socks, as you can see.” I held up my stockinged foot. I had the multi-colored socks on that my abuela had knitted for me many years ago.

“Well, now I wish I had some fancy stockings, too, Miss Santana.”

“Tell Santa,” Mariella called out from the living room. I could see that Matias was almost finished with the lights.

“You were telling me about your day in court,” Officer Rivers said. “You comfortable with how things have worked out, so far, are you?” He was standing beside me at the stove as I stirred the cocoa.

“Well, sir,” I whispered, “I took a bold step and filed for custody of the children.”

“How about that?” He, too, lowered his voice. “Good for you.”

I poured and then handed him a steaming mug of cocoa. “I know that this is an enormous move, but one I have been reminded by a friend is long overdue.”

“Does your friend live in Chicago?” He took the mug from my hands and looked down. I heard disappointment, or wariness, in his voice.

“She does not.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” His eyes met mine as he blushed. “That was none ‘a my business, was it?”

“It is alright, Officer. Your curiosity and suspicious nature probably serve you well in your line of work. I am not offended.” I could see the relief in his face. It made me smile.

“That’s a beautiful … tree you have,” he said, looking into the living room. “It looks perfect.”

“I got first pick,” Matias called out. “And an employee discount. It helps to work there.” He was examining and adjusting his placement of the lights and Mariella was waiting to hang ornaments on the tree, holding several in her hands.

We moved into the living room. “One detail that has defeated us,” I said, with a wink to Matias, “is the angel. She is historically important. However, none of us is tall enough to manage without a ladder. And that requires a journey to the garage in the cold. Since you are here, would you be so kind as to assist us and place her at the top?” I took the angel from the wrapping and held it out to him.

His pleasure at having been asked was obvious. “I’m honored.” He set his cocoa on a coaster and gently placed my mama’s angel atop the tree. “I haven’t decorated a Christmas tree for years. It surprises me to say so.”

Mariella said, “Well, even though you’re out of practice, we won’t mind at all if you put some of the higher ornaments on.”

“Nothing would please me more, little lady.”

As he began to help decorate the tree, I was surprised to hear Matias asking questions about what it took to be a police officer, something I had not known he had an interest in. Mr. Rivers stayed, seeming to enjoy hanging ornaments with Mariella, as Matias excused himself to get ready for work.  After they finished, my niece helped the officer download an app on his phone–one that would allow him to video chat. “Do you have children, Zeke Rivers,” she asked.

Her question embarrassed me. “Mariella, you should not be asking such a personal question.”

“No, no, ma’am, it’s no problem.” Then, to Mariella he said, “I do. A daughter. But she lives in California. I can hardly believe it, but she’s about to be a mommy herself, and I wanted to be able to meet my grandchild. If not in person, at least this way.” He held up his phone, looking happy. He stood. “I’m afraid I overstayed my welcome and really need to let you good folks get on with the rest of your day.”

I had an idea. “I am curious, Officer Rivers, are you on duty on Christmas—in the afternoon?”

“No, ma’am, I’m off that day. Seniority has some advantages.”

“Well in that case …” I looked to Mariella and she nodded her approval. “We would be very happy for you to join us for dinner if you have no other plans. There will be neighbors here as well, some whose English is marginal.”

Matias had bounded down the stairs and into to the room. “It’s like the United Nations, I can tell you.”

“Matias is cooking,” I said. “He is an excellent cook.”

“Yes, please come,” Mariella said. “We play games sometimes.”

“I’m honored to be asked,” he said, “And I’d love to join you.”

“In addition to delicious food, wine will be served, Officer Rivers. Mrs. B’s husband might bring his Russian vodka, and I make Cuban eggnog with dark rum. I hope you do not object.”

“You’ll hear no objection from me. In fact, I’ll be happy to bring some—wine that is, or whatever you might need. But I was wondering—”

“Yes?”

“How about by then, do you think you could call me Zeke?”

“I will try to do that. But only if you will stop referring to me as ‘ma’am’.”

 

 

 

Ruby

 

“Is Alan really gone?” That was Margo ringing me up, checking to see if I was okay.

“Back to the Bahamas. Lickety split. Said he had some thinking to do. Probably won’t be back.”

“I’m worried about you, Ruby,” she said. “You’ve been with this guy for, um—”

“Five years. I know. I’m not doing cartwheels. Also not as knackered as I thought I’d be–maybe because I know it was for the best. Smack in the face, though, wasn’t it?  Him gettin’ miffed because I asked what his financial plans were for this major undertaking. Right indignant he was.”

“Offended that you wondered how he planned to move here and start up his business?”

“‘Offended’ is a grand way of putting it. Accused me of not trusting him, not believing in him. Hah! Not being willing to foot the bill for his grand plan is more like it. A few sandwiches short of a picnic, I am, aren’t I, for not asking the question ages ago. What was I thinking, Margo?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Alan’s business plan was probably the last thing on your mind, with all the other stuff going on. He may come around. Give him some time.” Margo was ever the hopeful one, wasn’t she?

“Might’ve made a mistake, Margo. If he’s really gone, I’m gonna miss him–and the sex.”

“Don’t be telling me about the sex, Ruby.”

“No help there, still?”

“Well, not that it’s any of your business, but we’re getting better at it, at least. Seems he’s teachable.”

“Good for you.”

“Yeah, but I’m not delusional. He’s always going to have this—compulsion. I’ve banned pretending everything’s hunky-dory if it’s not. New policy: tell me first, talk it out. No secrets. And, too,  I’m not above stalking and murdering anyone who tries to lead him astray.”

“Got a life-sized picture of that, I do. But if it comes to it, take me along will you?”

“By the way, Ruby, what are you doing for Christmas? Because if you don’t have plans—”

“Spend it with your family? Are you daft? Including Jon’s nice fiancée? Come on, duck, I may be a nutter, but I’m not dim. Soon as I opened my mouth, said something off—and when don’t I? —your future daughter-in-law would be questioning whether Jon’s family friends were sufficiently pious. There’s no need to make it any harder than it has to be for him to win her over, is there? Besides, I have plans.”

“What plans?”

“You’ll never believe it, but I’m going to my ex-husband’s and his family’s house. I’m having Christmas with them and my daughter and the two rug rats. Walter rang me up last week. Said his wife wanted me to come, if I didn’t have other plans. I wasn’t sure right then, was I? Because I hadn’t chatted with Alan yet. Didn’t know how it would go. But now that’s sorted, so I rang Walt back and accepted the invitation. Brilliant, right?” My fingers were crossed.

 

Ruby

 

Trying to make the best of a bad idea—to go Christmas shopping—Margo and I were taking a break in the food court. The place was mobbed. My trolley was filled, and over half of the gifts were for Reggie. She’d given me a list this year, no more money in a card. I assumed her coveted items were things her dad had said no to. The seat next to Margo held her packages for Bobby, Jon, and Jon’s fiancée. She’d brought re-usable bags, of course.

We’d set our trays on the nearest nearly-clean Formica table and sat across from one another. Margo rubbed anti-bacterial gel on her hands, wiped everything down with one napkin, spread another out for a place mat, and set her little boat of chicken nuggets on it. She pulled her own straw in its own little case from her purse, poked it into the drink and took a sip.

I’d already started eating, a dry-as-the-Sahara chicken sandwich made barely edible with three packets of mayo. “Thank the gods you’ve come to your senses, woman, and bless Bobby’s beating heart for helping you see what a mistake it would be to leave that man. Thirty years you’ve invested in that marriage—”

“You think I don’t know that?” She peeled open her container of honey mustard dipping sauce. “Thinking about being lied to for thirty years was what was making me feel like—”

“Tell me. Did he ever ‘lie’ to you about money—tell you he had it when he didn’t? Hide it? Gamble it away? Spend it foolishly?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Did he compliment your cooking and eat up even when it was rubbish? Because, Margo—”

“Shut up. Of course he did, but—”

“Was he there when the kids needed a responsible parent to change a nappy or clean up vomit, while you, with your fucked-up sense of smell, couldn’t get within ten feet—”

“Yes, Ruby. I’m sensing a theme here.”

“And how about when they were into mischief. Was he fair and reasonable with the discipline?”

“Okay, yes. I’ve never denied that he wasn’t a good dad.”

“Technically, that makes him a good partner, too.”

“Yes but—”

“And when you were upset? Confused? Needed a shoulder to cry on? Needed someone to listen to you?”

“You know he’s good at all those things. What does that prove?”

“Okay, I could go on and on about Ron’s virtues, and you would answer me the same way. D’you know how many women have what you have?  The one thing he was dishonest with you about was something he couldn’t help. Because telling you would’ve hurt you. In my mind that makes him a flawed human with good intentions, not a wanker who needs to be tossed to the curb—”

“So, great. Ron is a peach, and everyone knows it.”

“And you. You need to let go. You can always divorce the man next year if you want, or if he cocks up again, can’t you?”

We ate in silence for a bit, and I wondered if I’d gone too far. I was often worrying about that, face it.

“Speaking of letting go,” Margo said, “can I approach a delicate subject without getting my head bit off?”

“It’s Christmas. I’m not gonna—” Some nutter was eyeing the packages in my trolley. “Hey! You. Sod off. That’s not yours. What are you, daft?”

Margo was laughing. “I thought it was Christmas.” She’d finished her nuggets and was wiping her hands with a wet wipe she’d brought with her. She handed me one. The woman thought of everything.

“Yeah, well that wanker needs to keep to himself. Those trainers cost a bomb. What were you goin’ on about before?”

“Letting go.”

“Yeah, that. What about it?”

“Ruby, you need to forgive yourself. You know that, don’t you?”

“Oh, so we’re getting serious, are we? Okay, to answer your question, yes. Ever since we got back from Kiawah, I’ve been talkin’ to a therapist. We’re doing ‘grief work’ I’ll have you know. It’s painful as shit.”

“How many times—”

“Four. I see her twice a week. She thinks my little visit to Joe might’ve been one way I was trying to deal with my past—forgive myself, if you will—that it had little to do with Joe. Makes sense.”

“So you like her?” Margo with her hopeful smile.

“No. I hate her guts, but I think it’s helping.”

She touched the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “What’s her take on your decision about Alan?”

“She doesn’t have much to say about that, except that she wants me to keep ‘working on myself’ before I make a move as serious as marriage.”

“Sounds like wise advice.”

“Not sure how Alan’s gonna feel about it.”

“What’s his hurry?”

“Margo, you do know we’ve been ‘dating’ for, umm, five years, now, right?”

“Exactly. That’s why I want to know what his hurry is. So what if you go on dating—for a few more years, as a matter of fact. It’s not like you’re planning a family.”

“And your point?”

“Well, it has occurred to me that he might be rushing things for a less obvious reason. He might need your income to count on before he decides to move and start up his business here. And if you’re married—”

“That’s harsh.” I looked around at all the stressed-out consumers. Frowning and trying to get their ankle-biters to behave. Nobody looked like they were enjoying themselves. This holiday brought out the worst in people. Then I met Margo’s gaze. She was concerned for me.

And now, so was I. “Bloody hell, what if you’re right, Margo? I never asked him if he had his finances in order.”

“And what is it you do for a living? Something about the shoemaker’s kids never having shoes?”

“Piss off, woman.”

She blew me a raspberry then started gathering up the rubbish, shaking her head and muttering her disapproval at the Styrofoam containers, cleaning off and saving the plastic cutlery and straws and tucking them in her bag. Next she’d be hoovering the floor. The food court was thinning out, and we both had a couple more stops to make.

Margo said, “I’m about done. How about you?”

“I am, love. Quite.”

 

 

 

Zan

 

“I’ve decided to tell Trevor I was raped,” I told my therapist when I called for an appointment. “My friend Olivia thinks I need to do it.” She got me in right away.

“I’m glad to see you,” Mindy said, as she gave me a hug. I have to admit, she looked pleased. “It’s been over a year.” She was flipping through her little pad. “I felt like we had more work to do.”

Could any amount of ‘work’ fix me? Fix childhood sex abuse, fix the trauma of my parents being killed leaving me at twenty in charge of a ten-year-old sister with brain damage? Then all those unhealthy years of promiscuity. Cutting myself. Nothing in there to be proud of, for sure. An affair with a married man—a bit of a pervert himself, if I’m honest—who I later married. Can you fix all that?

One thing nobody knew, including Mindy, was that I’d had a baby. A girl. Never saw her. Gave her up in a private adoption. Had to promise never to contact the adoptive parents. No problem there. I got paid handsomely and spent the next twenty-five years thinking but not thinking about her. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to talk about that—to anyone.

When I had started going to Mindy two years ago, it was to talk about the rape. The court recommended it. There was only so much to say about it—at least that I was willing to say, but lots more stuff came up. Maybe that’s how therapy works, but after some time, I’d pretty much exhausted confessions about my family tragedies and sister guilt. One thing good came of that: Mindy had suggested I try to do something fun with Zoe, something I would enjoy, too, when I saw her. To make it feel less like an obligation. And it had helped, I had to admit. Zoe and I both liked craft fairs. Who knew? Admittedly, she liked the homemade baked goods and fudge more than the unique jewelry or art, but it was win-win.

Then I just drifted away from seeing Mindy. Maybe I thought I was cured. Hah. Maybe I was afraid I’d tell her about the baby. Maybe I was just afraid. But, Olivia was right, I needed backup once I gave into the idea of telling Trevor about the attack. Mindy suggested I could use the session to ‘elicit his support in a safe space.’ Then she asked about how we met and what the early days of our marriage were like. “So I’ll have some context.” One of her favorite words.

“I met him at a fitness center,” I told her, “I was working out. I don’t know what he was doing, aside from looking at me. He asked me to go to coffee and told he was married to a woman who’d ‘let herself go,’ his words. He was … charming, I guess. Made me laugh, anyway, and he persevered through all my reservations. He was relentless. Marriage was a deal breaker for me. I’d had enough sleeping around. If he wanted me, he’d have to marry me. How I had enough chutzpah to bring that off I’ll never know, but it worked.”

“And were you glad?”

“At first, sure. I’d known he traveled for his work, and it sounded glamorous. In fact, he actually lived in fancy hotels all over the freaking world. And now, so did I.”

“Sounds exciting. Was it?”

“No. I guess I’m not much of a traveler. Kept feeling out of place. Especially in countries where I didn’t speak the language. I got tired of shopping—can you imagine—and having lunch by myself. Once I saw that most of the hotels had fitness centers, nice ones, I felt at home, even when it was in another language. Fitness equipment is the same everywhere.”

“So you were more content to travel with your husband?”

“Not really. One time when we were in the states, I missed America. So, there we were in D. C., I wanted to stay.”

“How did you settle in Maryland?”

“This is going to sound nuts.” I smiled, and she nodded. Nuts had to be the standard in her office.  “I overheard someone say that the woman’s lacrosse team in College Park had won something like a dozen national championships. Why that cockamamie reason, I’ll never know, but I wanted to live here. Besides, it wasn’t far from my sister’s residence. I’d begun to feel guilty about going so long without seeing her, even though she hadn’t known who I was for years. Called me ‘mommy’.”

“And Trevor wanted to settle down?”

“No. Not at all. Vagabond life suited him—and paid him well.”

“So, how did you—”

“I used my best sales tactics and persuaded him that we needed a nice place to come back to—a home base with a plan toward retirement and near where there were lots of important people—people he might want to know.”

“And that appealed to him?”

“Apparently. Before I knew it, he had found a gray stone and glass mansion he liked. So he bought it.”

“Did you like it?”

“Not so much, but I liked the lake it sat on, and I felt safe living alone there. Ironic, huh?”

“So he left?”

I nodded. “I stayed to get it furnished so we could move in. Funny thing is, he didn’t make a huge fuss about me not travelling with him. Either my moodiness weighed him down, or, more like it, he might’ve enjoyed the freedom—freedom to fuck around, anyway.”

“And do you think he did that, does that?”

“I did, and I do.”

“And how—”

“Are you seriously going to ask me how I feel about that?”

“I was.”

“I’d be surprised if he didn’t. Fuck around, that is. He’s pretty much a sex addict as far as I can tell.” I’d already told her about Trevor’s … desires.

“That doesn’t tell me how it makes you feel.”

“I don’t think I minded as much as I should’ve. Could be I wanted a break. So, relieved?”

“Well, that’s a feeling,” she said.

“I have them sometimes. Anyway, I found a little gym in town, spent enough time there to learn that I was a better trainer than the trainers were. So, I decided Trevor needed to buy it. Post-coital suggestions often worked well with him.  And he was the one who proposed we make it my business. Probably had no faith it would be a good investment, and he didn’t want a loss in his portfolio. Or he wanted to gloat.”

“But he was wrong about that wasn’t he?” She closed her little pad. My signal to wrap it up.

“He was. With some remodeling, a good marketing plan, and competent staff, I turned it into a success. It made me proud—what I was able to do with that place. That’s a feeling, too, right?”

“It is.”

One thing about therapy, at least for me, is that I’m always left with shit to think about. And, when I opened Fit&Fab Forever, I had wanted—still wanted, who was I kidding—to avoid showing my age. Extreme fitness was one way. Plastic surgery was another. I didn’t admit it to Mindy because she’d want to explore that, but lately I was less motivated to work so hard. Ironically, I looked younger than I was, but I didn’t care much anymore. Trevor did though.

I didn’t need groceries, except pet food, so I stopped at the feed and grain store and accomplished that. A heavily muscled man offered to put the bags in my trunk. He got  a little too close. I could smell his aftershave.  “Can’t have a pretty lady like you hauling heavy bags around, can we?” He said it with a smile. I had a flashback to the last time something like that had happened to me and felt a moment of panic.

The cashier seemed to intuit my discomfort, and sent him on an errand. “Bill, we got this. Carl needs some help at the loading dock.” I didn’t know her name, but she knew me because I was a regular customer. “Let me help you,” she said, and we took the bags to the car. “He means well,” she said, “but he came on a little too strong, I think. Do you want me to tell the manager?” I just shook my head dumbly, got in the car and left.

“When you try so hard to look good,” I said aloud in the car, “what do you expect?” And then I remembered Trevor would be home in two days. Home with his appetite. Funny, Margo being all upset about Ron being gay. I wished Trevor was gay. I wished he didn’t come back from wherever he’d been last wanting to get laid two or three times a day, wanting to check me out naked. Make sure I was properly waxed. Smooth as a baby. “Let me look at you,” he’d say. “Turn around.” Pinching my waist to see if there was an ounce of fat there to pinch. Smacking me on the behind. “That’s my girl,” he’d say. Made me sick, but I smiled. His girl.

~~~

Trevor brought me a beautiful gold bracelet with diamonds set in a yin-yang disc. Couldn’t wait for me to open the blue velvet box. It clearly cost a lot of money. “Helping to keep you balanced,” he had said. Was I unbalanced? It was something to consider. In the two days he’d been home he hadn’t seemed to notice anything different about me. Maybe there wasn’t anything different about me, but I felt like there was.

Much of the Christian-centered world paused at this time of year, which meant for the next few days, my husband’s phone calls to business associates went unanswered. Bored, he went out and bought an artificial, fiber optic, pre-lit Christmas tree and got it set up. He got out the box of ornaments and set it near the tree, but I couldn’t muster up the energy or enthusiasm to decorate. The next day he did it, never saying a word. Honestly, I think he preferred it that way. He was the one with the precise placement theory. I could see how proud he was for the way it looked, and I told him it was the best arrangement I’d ever seen. Seemed to make him happy.

All that made me happy, ever, were those three ridiculous dogs. Didn’t have to do a thing to deserve it, but they were always glad to see me. I believed there was nothing I could do to make them not love me, and it was fairly obvious that humans had tougher standards. “What do you think will happen when you tell Trevor about your attack?” Mindy had asked. I wasn’t sure what Trevor would do, to tell the truth. I did know he didn’t have any Great Pyrenees DNA, therefore loyalty and unconditional love were probably out of the equation. But I had gotten to the point where I was willing to let the chips fall where they fell.

Mindy had suggested, naively, I thought, that I might be ‘depriving Trevor of an opportunity to be supportive of me’ with what she had labeled my trauma—the latest one, anyway. I knew better, I did. The odds were not in my favor that Trevor would want an opportunity to put himself out. But I was tired of the suspense. If it was going to come out, it had to be there. I had scheduled a couple’s counseling appointment for December twenty-fourth, her last day in the office for a week, and all I had to do was get him there with a flimsy explanation. “Try your ‘shifting moods due to menopause’,” Mindy recommended.

“Why will he care?” I asked.

“To prepare him for it, help him to recognize the symptoms. Cope with them. He’s organized. Won’t he want to formulate some effective responses to your hormonal outbursts?” She wasn’t a dummy, Mindy wasn’t.

We kept our appointment. I must have over-sold it because Trevor insisted. I think he was looking forward to impressing her with how reasonable he could be. Maybe he was curious about her. Whatever his reason, he had no clue what was in store for him. When he found out, it wasn’t pretty. My gut won.

We had plans to go to dinner after, but that didn’t happen. Neither of us had an appetite. The only question he had for me as we drove home was, “Why did you let the guy get into the house?” I don’t think we slept much that night and stayed about as far apart as you can get. He had lost all interest in sex, in spite of his usual insatiable appetite. It was as if I’d grown horns.

In the morning, we exchanged gifts with all the joy of a wake. I made breakfast, eggs Benedict, his favorite, and we ate in the sunroom. We endured a tension-filled Christmas afternoon by going to a movie. It was fascinating to me how many people went to movies on that day. And they weren’t all Jews. I smiled at that thought—Trevor didn’t even know I was Jewish. What did he know about me anyway? Besides the thing he couldn’t handle.

Someone else had stuck his dick inside me.

Was it really rape? What if I’d asked for it? What if I liked it? I knew he was asking himself those questions. He was repulsed by me. It was reflected in his expression, which I saw mostly from the side view, his clenched jaw, because he avoided even looking at me. He moved his flight up to an early one the next morning and left in the pre-dawn hours. Car service to the rescue. And he was gone.

December 26^th, I stayed in bed and cried, even though I wasn’t sure why. Sixteen years. I had no idea what marriage was supposed to be about, but I was pretty sure mine never hit the mark. He could be sweet, and certainly generous, especially in public or in front of his business associates, but his largess was based on whether it made him look good. Whenever we were out with people, he made it a point to show them the latest piece of jewelry he bought for me. I would stand like a manikin while he posed me. I knew he wanted wives of his associates to envy me. If only they knew.

What I looked like mattered to him. He had always gotten me onto the scales as soon as he got home to see if I had gained even a pound, and if so, he admonished me to fast for a few days. “You can’t afford carbs, Zan, not as you get older.” My happiness never came up. But, was that fair? I’d never told him what made me happy, since the only thing that pleased me was my goofy dogs. As if on cue, Aramis lifted his head, yawned, thumped his tail and laid his huge head down with a sigh. See? I thought. He made me smile.

So, it was me and the Three Musketeers. If Trevor never came back, what would we do? I was torn between hoping he was gone forever and being terrified of it. Was I sad? I couldn’t tell. Hell of a thing, not to even know what you feel. I thought about Mindy asking me how something made me feel, and then I saw that I had a text message from her: Call me. After all, she had witnessed Trevor’s reaction. It was anything but supportive.

That evening, ignoring her text, I went looking through the medicine cabinet, knowing Trevor had some Ambien. He had forgotten to take his new prescription with him. I took one. With a good night’s sleep I’d be able to make sense of what had happened. The dogs were allowed back in the bedroom and were ecstatic. We all slept, but I woke up crying a few hours later. Another of my famous nightmares. This time, as was often the case, I was a little girl. There was a young woman holding my hand as we leaped into the dark from a ledge. I got up, peed, went back to bed, and slept without dreaming.

I wandered around the next morning fuzzy-headed. The weather was miserable, so no hope of going for a run with the dogs. Even they went out and did their business fast. It occurred to me that I hadn’t checked the mailbox in several days. No doubt Trevor had forgotten about it, so I put on my boots and walked out to the road. There was a bunch of Christmas cards from Trevor’s clients. Black Friday sales flyers.

There was one fat letter. Addressed to me. Beautiful script writing. Oddly, it looked a lot like mine used to. I stood and stared at the intricate handwriting. Return address Arizona. I didn’t know anyone in Arizona. I barely felt the freezing rain penetrating my pajama top. A dog barked, so I looked back at the house. All three of them were watching me through the front door’s side panels. I went in and threw away all the mail except the letter. Then I toasted myself a bagel, sat on the bar stool at the kitchen center island, and read the letter.