Daisy Refined Ch. 02

"Listen, you can't just call here and..." He didn't get to finish.

Turning on my heel, I headed back toward the kitchen, where I'd left my bag.

"Daisy, wait." John called.

I turned to look at him.

"I can't deal with this right now, Donna. Listen. Just shut up for a minute and LISTEN!" he shouted. "I'll call you later." After a short pause, he said, "If you want anything from me, then you'll have to wait. I'm hanging up now."

He thumbed the button on the phone and tossed it onto the couch.

"I'm sorry, babe. I'm so, so sorry you had to listen to that." John sank down onto the couch and ran his fingers through his wet hair.

The damned tears wouldn't stop, and on top of that, my nose was running. I wiped it against the back of my hand.

"Daisy." John held a hand out to me. He looked as if he might burst into tears himself.

I stood my ground. "You lied to me."

He shook his head and leaned his elbows on his knees. "No, I didn't."

"You did." I was openly sobbing now. "You said you were divorced."

"I didn't say divorced. Just let me explain."

"No." I scrubbed the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my wet face. "You told me you weren't married. How can you possibly explain that?"

"Please, Daisy."

"No!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I held his explanation, the letter, in my hands. What had I done? All my life I'd seen things as black and white. My ex-husband used to say that I carried a gas can and a box of matches with me, just so I'd be ready to burn bridges. Burn them, I did, with abandon, and I refused to look back. Refused to listen to excuses or explanations in all but the most rare circumstances.

I remembered my grandmother saying to me, "Daisy, you've got to learn to forgive."

"No, I don't." My response was curt, the sting of some childhood slight fresh and cruel.

"You do, honey, as much for yourself as for the one who did you wrong."

"Never."

Nana just shook her head and left me to stew in my self-made misery.

Had I been like this with my children? I wondered. I'd certainly been that way with their father, taking much too long to get over each triviality, and longer and longer each time until we'd go weeks without speaking, without touching, without sex. Considering this, I wondered if I'd forced him into lying and secrecy, just in order to get along with me. I wondered if, in the end, he'd simply turned to someone else less judgmental and more forbearing. Isn't that what it means to love someone, to be able to forgive transgressions, no matter how great? Didn't it also mean respecting them enough to listen to what they had to say?

Maybe I hadn't loved my husband enough, but did I love John that much? Could I let it go? Nana's words came to me again. As much for myself as for him. I made the decision to let go of the resentment, the bitterness right there. I pictured it as a balloon filled with hot accusations, anger, bile, and, yes, my gas can and matches. In my mind I let the balloon go, and it floated slowly upward toward my Nana in heaven, where she smiled down at me. Nana's girl had learned her lesson at last, and it felt good. I just hoped it wasn't too late.

I picked up the phone and dialed John's number. Again, it went directly to voicemail.

"Hi, it's me again. Please, please call me. I really need to talk to you. It doesn't matter how late. I love you. Bye."

There. I'd said it. Maybe he didn't feel the same way about me anymore, but that didn't matter. Maybe he'd already found someone else. I pushed that thought out of my mind and called Sandy's cell phone to see if she'd heard anything else. She hadn't. Next, I called the local hospital. The rather harried sounding receptionist told me they had no patient named John Hollingsworth. Yes, all the injuries from the refinery had been taken there. No other information was available.

Where was he? I knew he'd call me back if he could. At least, I thought he would. Hoped he would. All I could do was wait. I tried reading to occupy my mind for a while but was too restless to concentrate on the paperback novel. I tried to watch TV, but nothing there could hold my attention for more than a few minutes either. It was after midnight by then. I paced back and forth in the kitchen, then in the living room. I tried John's number again. Still no answer.

Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer. I pulled on my coat, grabbed my car keys and the letter, and drove to his house. For a long time I simply sat in the driveway staring at the apparently deserted house. No lights were on inside. Only the porch light shone in the darkness.

John's face still eluded me, no matter how hard I tried to see it. The awful truth, the terrible thought that he must be dead brought the ever-present tears to my eyes again. I got out of the car, still clutching the letter in my hand, and knocked on the front door. He could simply be sleeping, I thought. Of course, he didn't come to the door. I knew. I knew.

There could be hundreds of explanations, my tired inner voice said. Maybe he went away. He could be visiting Christy. Maybe he'd taken a vacation. Maybe they'd made a mistake at the hospital. It could be anything. Right? Anything at all. But I knew. The horrible truth was there all along.

Sinking down onto the cold concrete of the top step, I opened the letter again and read John's words by the dim light of the porch fixture.

Dear Daisy,

I always knew this day would come. I tried to protect you from it for as long as I could. How could I tell you the truth? I knew the kind of person you are. I knew you'd never stand for lying. The thing is, I didn't really lie to you, babe. I knew you believed I was divorced, and I probably should've told you otherwise, but I never actually lied. Maybe what I did is just as bad, but I wanted to tell you why.

Yeah, Donna and I are still married. It hasn't been any kind of marriage for a long, long time, but on paper we are still man and wife. She hasn't lived with me in four years. Before that, we didn't even sleep in the same bed for almost ten years. That was all her choice. It hurt at first, but after a while, I just didn't care that much anymore.

I guess I loved her at first. We were young, and she got pregnant. So, we got married. It seemed like the thing to do. I love my kids, so I never regretted it.

She's real sick, physically and mentally. You talked to her, so you know what she's like. She can't help it though. It's been hard on her. Not feeling good has affected her mind and made her age way before her time. On top of all that, she started gaining weight with each one of the kids and never stopped. You know I like a woman to have some meat on her, so that wasn't an issue for me. It was for her though. It was just another thing that made her bitter and ugly inside and more unhappy.

She was a really good mom at first, and the kids love her. Later on, though, she stopped doing things with them because of her weight. She had a hard time getting around, and other kids made fun of her. She knew our kids were embarrassed. Her mental illness became worse after that, and she stopped going out of the house unless she absolutely had to.

No, I'm not blaming all our troubles on her. I wasn't always the best husband. There's no reasoning with her, and a lot of the time she's just downright mean. She's resentful and jealous of what other people have and the things they can do. That's the thing I never could stand, and there were a lot of times when I just lost it trying to deal with her, especially when it came to the kids.

Anyway, I've done the best I could for all of them. Her and the kids. I probably should've divorced her years ago, but I feel like I still need to take care of her. It was my fault she got pregnant and we had to get married in the first place. Seems like that's where it all started. Sometimes I think if I'd have been a better husband, maybe she wouldn't be how she is. Like maybe if I'd have loved her more and been more understanding. Just been there for her more. She can't work, so she can't take care of herself. She lives in an apartment in one of those assisted living building, and she takes lots of medication. There's no way she could afford all that on her Social Security. I try to make sure she sees the best doctors, and I keep hoping she'll get better, but I don't think it's going to happen.

I can't just desert her, Daisy. She's the mother of my kids. They love her, and I don't think they'd ever forgive me. What kind of man would I be if I let her fend for herself? I know you'd say I deserve a chance at happiness too. Maybe I do. I thought I'd found that with you. I wish I could make you understand.

I know it hurt you when I didn't take you to Christy's party. I had to take Donna, though, so she could visit with the grandkids. I'm so sorry about that. I wish there'd have been some other way. I never wanted to hurt you, and now look what I've done. My heart is aching for you, and there's nothing I can do to make either of us feel better.

I used to think that love made everything OK. Now I know it's not enough. I do love you, Daisy. So much it scares me sometimes. I loved you the first time I saw you, and that's the truth. I'm so sorry I hurt you, babe. I hope you can believe that and forgive me. Please talk to me. There's got to be some way we can work this out.

John

Tears plopped on the paper, blurring the ink. When I tried to brush them away, my hand smeared it even more, obscuring some of John's last words to me. His last words. I knew he was dead. He had to be. He'd have called me or come home. I'd lost him, and I still couldn't remember his face.

Suddenly, a shadow darted at me from around the side of the house, causing me to cry out in terror. John's crotchety old cat, Fussbudget, who normally paid me no attention at all, wiped herself against my side and meowed. I pulled her into my lap and wrapped my arms around her, one hand still clutching the letter.

"Where is he, Fussy?" I asked.

Fussbudget curled herself into a tight ball on my knees and leaned her head against my stomach. I knew John would never have left her out all night. It was too much.

Holding the crumpled letter to my face with one hand, the other arm wrapped around the cat, I sobbed and rocked my body to and fro. I didn't know what to do or where to look for him next. I'd reached the end of my tolerance and sunk into a hopeless pit of despair. My head ached from crying, and my eyes felt like they were nearly swollen shut. So, I simply sat there, with Fussbudget in my lap, my cheek against her silky warmth.

The darkness in the eastern sky was just beginning to diminish, the first glimmer of light showing on the horizon, when I closed my eyes. I don't think I slept. I was much too cold and upset for that, but my mind just went blank for a while, Fussbudget's purring warmth lulling me into an exhausted trance-like state.

A flash of bright light swept across my closed eyelids startling them wide open, as a vehicle turned into the driveway, its high beams swinging and bouncing across the front of the house and coming to rest. I was blinded for an instant, and then I saw it.

John's truck. The door opened, and he stepped out. He hesitated for a moment, and then walked toward me. My stiff muscles refused to move, my stubborn mind refused to believe, and my stunned heart refused to beat, so I simply sat staring at him with my mouth open. Fussy jumped off my lap, and I finally forced myself to stand on the step just as John reached me. His face. How could I have forgotten that beloved face, even for a moment? Wrapping his arms around me tight, he laid his forehead against my shoulder and breathed my name.

"You're alive," I whispered, holding him close and vowing to never again let him go. "You're alive!"

~* The End *~

***Once again, I would like to thank my BFF for her excellent editing skills and endless patience and support.