Stranger is the Sail Ch. 03

Tuesday, June 8th

LAURA BURKE

"Good morning, Adrian," I set down my coffee. "How'd you sleep?"

He barely glances at me, yawning as he shuffles into the kitchen and starts making his breakfast. His shoulder pops audibly as he reaches up to grab a cereal bowl, almost like someone is snapping their fingers, and I wince. He doesn't react to it. He's been working out so hard these last few weeks, I'm sure that it's a stress injuriy. I don't really know that he does anything, anymore, besides lift weights, do his mental exercise sheets, and go to work. And I don't need to hear his joints pop to know how hard the effort's been on him. I only need to look at him, and I see it.

His face has somehow taken to presenting constant strain without actually revealing any definable physical change, like a house surviving a hurricane or a body dying from internal injury. His brow is permenantly creased, like someone who lost their glasses and can't see without them. Bags are digging deep pits under his eyes.

The pressures that he's putting on himself are going to cause damage, if he doesn't learn to let his body and mind do at least a little healing from time to time. But then, he's fixated on his goals. He wants out, to dump the lying, cheating bitch and get on with his life. Leave mine to me. And who can blame him?

"Do you need me to wash the sheets?" I ask. "That bed hasn't been cleaned in ages."

"I can do it." He eats his cereal on his feet, pacing across the lanoleum as he chews. "But thanks."

"It's not really any trouble. I have the day off, and I'll be doing laundry anyway. Let me do it for you."

"It's fine, rea-" he suddenly turns to look at me. "Did you and Victor ever..."

I look away. "No. I...we never...did that."

"That's good." He goes back to pacing. "I should have asked before I started sleeping there."

I try to think of something to say, but all I can come up with is: he took me in OUR bed, Adrian. Not the guest room. The one you shared with me for all those years. Not the one you sleep in now.

"Please," I manage at last, "just let me wash them for you."

He stops pacing and finishes chewing the bite in his mouth. "Yeah. Alright. They could probably use it. Thank you, Laura." Then he goes back to walking and eating.

That's about as good an interaction as we've had, lately. I can't imagine what goes through his mind. He hates that I had the affair, and that I'm going to have Victor's child. He's nearly died twice, now, and I suppose he sees both of them as being because of me, too. But that's about all I know. He hasn't made any effort to discuss our situation since coming back after the overdose, and if I even try to bring it up he leaves the room.

His actions do make one thing plain: he's itching to get out of here. Even when he eats his breakfast, he can't sit down. He has to walk, to keep moving. Adrian desperately seeks the experience of forward motion.

And eventually, he'll either reach the point where escape is possible or he'll kill himself trying.

As soon as his breakfast is done, he puts his bowl in the dishwasher and heads upstairs to shower. I may have the day off, but Adrian works an eight today. He's been grabbing shifts every chance he gets, working in excess of forty hours a week. I don't know where the money goes, but it isn't going into our account. I suppose it's his escape fund. As difficult as numbers and money are for him, now, I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't just stuff it in his sock drawer.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't mind. With just my income to live on, our resources are starting to dwindle. Maybe he's on the way out, but in the meantime he's eating our food and living in our house and not contributing to our finances. At this rate by the time my baby is born I'll be broke. If he's going to abandon me, does he really have to ruin me first?

He gets about halfway up the stairs and then pauses. "Oh, hey," he says, "I forgot to tell you. Melinda called last night. She wanted to know if we were available to come over later in the week."

I blink surprise...not at the offer, but at his relaying it. "What did you tell her?"

"That we'd talk and that you'd call her back. She's off today, too." He turns to go, then hesitates and turns back to me. "Do you want to go?"

I swallow. This is almost miraculous, compared to the treatment I've gotten the last two weeks. Not just conversation, but he's asking my opinion on something. "Do you?" I ask back.

He shrugs. "Might be nice to be around friends."

"Okay." I smile at him. "I'd like that, too."

He nods, then turns and heads upstairs. "We'll call a truce," he says.

I finish my coffee...decaffeinated because of the baby...and wonder. What was that all about? Is he starting to come to terms with everything? Is his anger fading as time passes? Does the initial impact of learning that the person you love let you down get buried under the endless mundane, until suddenly you're ready to heal again?

Is it possible that I could still save this marriage? Or is he just making the most of a bad situation until he can get away?

I put my hand on my stomach and close my eyes. Little one, if I can find some way to give you a loving father, I swear that I will. No matter how painful the struggle, I will endure it. You deserve to have a daddy, and I want you to have everything you deserve.

But I cannot promise a thing. My hopes are just embers on the end of the devil's cigarette. Watch now, as he flicks them away.

Friday, June 11th

MELINDA BLAKE

Rodney and Adrian are standing outside in the front yard, talking about that truck again. Or I assume that they are. Rodney tilts his head and says something, and Adrian laughs loudly, head back and arms crossed. He's put on weight. I'm glad to see that.

I turn away from the window, to where Laura sits on the sofa. She's put on weight, too, of course. And she does seem to be having a good time. Still, I wonder...

"Those boys and their toys," I shake my head, smiling. "I wonder if they ever really grow up, or if they just get quiet enough in their old age to give the impression that they have."

"I think it's cute," she sips her water. "I'm glad to see them looking so happy."

I raise my eyebrows. "Has Adrian been having...mood issues again?"

Her eyes dart away from mine. "He's been upset."

"With you?"

She blinks. "Why would you think that?" But her cheeks flush a little, and I can see her physically fight the urge to bite her bottom lip.

"Honey, you two have been here for nearly two hours, and he hasn't said a word to you. Even when you were bragging about his new job, he only talked to us...and only to add onto what you'd already said. Maybe that's reading too much into it, but it just seemed like maybe there was a fight going on."

She waves her hand dismissively and drinks more water to buy time. Still, when she puts the glass down the best she can do is to say, "No. Everything's fine." Then she gets quiet for a while.

I fill in the empty space by talking about the baby...well, about shopping, really. For furniture, for clothes, for whatever. I even offer to come with, to help her spend some money. Really, what I'm doing is fishing. I'm looking for any sign that my suspicions are correct...that maybe the baby is part of whatever Adrian's upset about.

And Laura confirms them. She lets me go on about it until the men start walking towards the house for supper. Then, she suddenly sits up and says, "There's plenty of time left to shop for the baby," she says. "I'll worry about all that later."

I smile and say, "Of course," and change the subject.

So the mother doesn't want to talk about the baby when the father is around.

I wonder why that would be?

LAURA BURKE

Melinda takes the hint and acknowledges it without verbalizing a thing. But then, of course she would. I swear, that woman treats every conversation like it's a mission of espionage. I know that she annoys some people with her double-speak and her gentle prying, but I see value in it. She tends to be pretty insightful, for example, about things and people. She's pretty quick at deciphering conversations, grabbing small details that go unspoken and building a clearer picture than another listener might.

I wonder what she's figured out about Adrian and I.

Dinner is going well. Adrian even turns to look at me and smiles, at one point. Miracle of miracles. We're all laughing and talking over each other, telling stories and bitching about people in our families, until Rodney stands up and it all just falls apart.

He taps his fork against his wine glass with that look on his face...the one that says he's got a good joke worked up that he can't wait to share. Melinda turns and gives me a horrified look that I can't make sense of. Then she reaches out to grab him. But it's too late, and he starts talking.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he says with a questionable mock British accent, "let us speak about the making of babies." He glances at Melinda's hand tugging at his sleeve and harrumphs. "I can see that my wife is eager to hear more, but then I should have feared as much. Babies, my good people, are medically defined as being tiny versions of very old people. Usually, they are created by two individuals, or in some cases animals, who love each other very much, mostly for the purpose of forcing their friends to buy them gifts. They are also universally known as a way for a man to make his male friends miserable, by causing their wives to start talking about procreation as though it were a pleasant experience. Now, in spite of all of this, I truly must congratulate my boy Adrian here. It was no small task for him to pass on his unfortunate hairline and too-flat feet, I'm sure. We, the people who know you, didn't think you had it in you to do such a thing. Well done, lad."

Sitting back down, he looks around the table and smiles, expecting the usual laughter and come-backs that would follow his speech. He sees Melinda's irritation, what I suppose is my own horrified expression, and the dark cloud that we've all noticed descending on Adrian's face, and his smile fades. "Did I say something wrong?" he asks.

Suddenly, Adrian starts laughing. His shoulders shake violently, and he contorts with amused pleasure. The laughter grows, like a blossoming flower, until the volume is terrifyingly exaggerated and he almost can't breathe from the force of it. "Not at all!" he says at last, wiping a tear from his eye. "Not at all. It's just that you left a few things out of your little speech, Rod. Let me fill you in."

"Adrian," I beg. "Don't."

"First of all, you congratulated the wrong person. Turns out I didn't get anybody pregnant. Laura's child won't have my hairline, or my feet, because I am not the father. In fact, I have yet to pass anything on to anybody, and may never get the chance to do so."

Rodney frowns confusion and looks at his wife. Melinda doesn't return his glance, though. She's looking directly at me, squinting. I can almost see her putting the pieces together. She bites her bottom lip and tilts her head, and after that I can't stand to look at her. Instead, I lock my eyes onto my near-empty plate.

"I don't get it," Rodney admits, still flabbergasted. "Did you two use a donor or something?"

"Sort of," Adrian chuckles again. "See, while I was in a fucking coma, lying in a hospital in Des Moines, Laura was on a cruise ship off the coast of Florida with her boyfriend, fucking the time away. It's a real romance of a fairy tale...she loved him in high school, but her parents thought he was a bad influence. They kept her away from him as best they could, but apparently true love will find a way. A classic tale, right?" He sneers at me. "In fact, as it turns out, the only reason I was even IN Castlewood the day of the accident was to try and get her parents to help me convince her that she was making a mistake. Well, I learned my lesson. You can't stand in the way of true love."

"Adrian!" I snap.

"It's okay, Laura. I had no business trying to convince you that you were making a mistake. In fact I had it all wrong to begin with. The mistake in question was my own. I should have just walked away and left you to your newfound happiness, while walking away was something I could still do." He sighs. "I should have just let you be together. I mean, who knows?" He looks over at Melinda and Rod. "Maybe they've been seeing each other the whole time. Maybe I was always just a joke, and now it's time that the joke was over."

"Adrian!" I yell, slamming my fist down on the table and causing Melinda to jump. "You're not a joke! You never were! And yes, I did make a terrible mistake. But for a period of months...not years. I love you! Only you! I failed you, I betrayed you, I cheated on you. But I do love you. More than anything." I glance up at the host and hostess, and see the horror on their faces. "I'm so sorry," I say, to no effect. It's become such a useless phrase, lately. Seems like I say it all the time, and nobody even notices or cares. Might as well talk about the weather.

A silent moment mocks my apology, and then Rodney asks, "What will you do, Adrian?"

Another laugh, this one cold and humorless, is his response. "What are my options?" he asks back. "I can't even take care of myself. Oh, most of the time I'm able to do alright, now. But if I become stressed or agitated, all reasoning goes out the window. If I'm angry, forget about it. Let me tell you what happened the night I learned the truth. Laura and her..." he snorts, "...parents, the people I trusted most in the world, the people who were all the family I cared to acknowledge, were sitting around trying to convince me that Laura was pregnant with my child. That's how high their opinion of me was. But unfortunately for them, earlier that day something happened that caused me to remember everything. I remembered the suspicions. I remembered the lies. I remembered the desperation. And I remembered how my wife had shut me out of her heart and out of her body for week upon week upon week.

"Oh, the looks on their faces when they realized that I knew the lies, even before they told them to me! It was pathetic!" He takes a deep breath. "I decided to leave. Right then and there, I was going to be done with them. Why put it off, right? So I went to the bedroom to pack a suitcase, but I couldn't think straight enough to recognize the suitcase. Then, when I finally got that right, I couldn't make sense of what I was putting in it. I was angrier than I've ever been in my life, and it completely closed off my mind from itself. I looked at things and didn't know what I was seeing. I packed that fucking suitcase to the brim with socks, and had no idea what I was doing. But that wasns't enough. Then, I decided to prove to everyone that I could care for myself. I decided to administer my own medication."

Melinda leans forward. "What happened?"

"I took my medication."

She blinks. "Oh." She looks relieved.

"You're not listening," Adrian smiles, his red eye looking droopy and glassy. "I opened that fucking container and I took my medication. I took all of it. Because my reasoning was reduced so completely by the stress that I didn't even know THAT anymore."

Rodney folds his arms, looking scared. "Jesus," he mutters.

"Oh well," Adrian shrugs, "what's a little more hospital time, anyway? But the point is, when I'm at my absolute best...I can almost get by. So long as getting by doesn't involve budgeting, or stress, or complicated problems, or emotional situations, or..." he shakes his head, his shoulders sag, and his voice gets quieter. "What else am I supposed to do, except stay?"

Melinda reaches out and puts her hand over his. "There are assisted living programs-"

"Sure there are. But how much of my life do I give up, before I've given up the best of it? How much independence and freedom do you give up before it's too much? No...no, I will get away from where I am, and I will do it soon. But I have to do it by returning to that place where I can care for myself."

Melinda nods. "If there's anything we can do..."

"I know. Thank you. And I'm sorry I ruined your party." Adrian stands up and yawns. "I...uh...I'll be in the car. No hurry, though. It's a nice night." And then he leaves.

For a long moment there is silence. I can't decide what's worse...the idea of sitting here now that my friends know what I've done, or being in the car with Adrian's equally silent hatred.

Rodney speaks first. "I'm, ah...sorry I...caused that to happen." I shrug my shoulders. I know I should speak, but I barely feel like I'm alive at all. He continues. "Is there...anything more to the story?" he looks over at his wife. "Adrian obviously has his side of things, but..." Melinda gives him a 'stop prying' look, which he doesn't seem to read. "I guess it would just be nice to know."

I shake my head. "Most of what he said is exactly right. I ran into an old flame. I...I felt something for him. Things with Adrian had started to fall into routine, as they tend to do, and I enjoyed being with Victor. I felt excited, and exciting, in a way I didn't feel with my real life, when I was with him. And I was selfish. I enjoyed the rush of juggling two men. I enjoyed being that important to two different people. So I threw my life away for selfishness, immediate gratification and a high school girl's fantasy. I knew I was taking the chance on hurting Adrian...I just never dreamed I might hurt him this much."

They stare at me. Rod looks deflated.

"I think you should go," Melinda says softly. I look at her and nod. The preacher's daughter loves intrigue and gossip, but right now she looks like someone who just spent an entire day carrying bricks up a steep hill for a boss that she hates.

She will probably try, but she will never quite manage to see me in any light other than this again. It will eat away at our friendship, until it vanishes altogether. Add that to the things I've lost.

I go to find my coat.

ADRIAN BURKE

I expected Laura to stay a while, and try to put a gentler spin on the story. I don't know why...I guess I figured she would want to protect herself, and comiserate with her closest friend.

So I'm laying in the backseat, yawning and trying to get comfortable. But she's in the car and backing down the driveway before I can even do that much.

"Sit up, and put on your seatbelt," she says in a lifeless voice. It's emotionless...not hurt, not defiant. Not loving. Just...dead.

"Oh. Yeah. Sure." Now that it's over, I guess I'm a little embarassed at my outburst. There wasn't any reason to do that...not there, not in front of people we both count as friends. It didn't accomplish anything at all.

I wish Rod hadn't given that damn speech. He said that stuff about passing on genes, and it was like a heat lamp went on inside me. I watch Laura driving, but she doesn't move except to turn the corner. She never even looks back at me in the rearviewmirror.

Is it silly, that I feel the urge to say something to her? Not an apology, necessarily, but something to acknowledge that I know that I hurt her? I suppose it's just the fragmented shrapnel of a loving marriage, landing all over the place. I mean, she did this thing to me, yes, but a love that dies easy wasn't love to begin with. It was convenience, or maybe just the determination to be with somebody. I don't know. We had love. Really. So the death throes go on and on and on.

I don't say anything, though, because frankly, what would I say?

Halfway home, she breaks the silence. "You didn't have to do that. You cost me my only remaining friend tonight, you know. My parents are ashamed of me, my husband hates me, and people at work are annoyed with me because I can't focus. Now I don't even have Melinda. I'm all alone." She hits the wheel with the palm of her hand. "I need to have someone, for Christ's sake, Adrian."