One For the Road Ch. 01

"Yeah, I have to finish my boys' bedroom door." I took a pull of my beer and it felt cold and welcoming as I could feel it running down my throat. "I'll bring it back when I'm finished."

She grinned. "Don't worry. We haven't needed it for months now. I am sooo happy we finished working around here. It took over a year but the end result was worth it."

"I agree," I said looking around faintly envious. Jerry was an engineer, a desk guy now, and he was able to finish his house but here I was busting my hump every day in the industry and I couldn't get my head above water for years. I stifled my feelings, chastising myself for being a dick of a friend and took another sip. "And how are you, darling. Still working at the secretary thing?"

"You know it," she replied. "Hello, Mr. Connor's office, he's on the other line right now, can I put into his voice mail?" She tilted her head back and laughed, her giggle musical as she mimed pressing a switchboard. "It's fine. I don't have to worry more than a tenth what some of those people there have to worry about. I come in, do my job, act pleasant, look pretty, and go home at the end of the day; case closed."

We chatted another few minutes before I realized the time and had to excuse myself, pushing both empties in front of me across to her. Huh, I must have accepted a second beer at some point. Whatever. She let me into his garage where I found the Black and Decker canvas bag with his router in it, along with a tin filled with various bits. I gave Grace a departing hug and jogged back to my baby, starting her up and driving home.

By the time I pulled into the driveway it was quarter to six and Myra was standing at the front door dressed for work and impatient. I popped two more Mentos and chewed them hurriedly while I picked up the router bag and ran to the door. "Sorry, babes! It took longer than I expected."

"Never mind," she said, taking an umbrella from the closet and her windbreaker. "I'm just going to make it. John and Joel ate, there's tuna casserole left over for you on the stove." She tiptoed up to give me a kiss on the lips and then made to run out, stopping to glance at me. "Jesus, James, did you have a drink?"

"What? No! Not really. Grace offered me a beer is all."

Her brows darkened. "Seriously?"

"Hey, it's no big deal, ok? What was I supposed to be rude? She just gave it to me, unasked for. Christ, Myra. Let it the fuck go."

I could tell she wanted to say something but shook her head instead and yelled out, "Bye John, bye Joel!" before running into the misting rain and getting into her Sedona and driving to work.

"Great, be pissed at me. Just another thing to fuck up my fucking day." I shut the front door and looked for my boys, finding them in the TV room watching Spongebob on Nick. "Hey!" I fake roared. "What little boys is the Daddymonster supposed to eat next!?"

They both burst from the couch screaming and running around the house while I lumbered after them, always just missing the big grab as they dove, ducked, and twisted out of the way. We kept up the horsing around for a while until they grew worn out and let me catch them. Then it was wrestling on the floor, the loveseat, the bed, the bathtub; any place I could get one son down and let the other one "save" his brother.

Finally the two of them grew quiet and I microwaved a bowl of popcorn and we sat in the TV room and watched the Lion King. Joel was always terrified during the stampede and both boys clung to me when Simba's dad was trampled to death. I got them each a juice box and pulled out two Bud Lights for me, not wanting to get up later and bother them during the film's climax.

It was over and then I told the boys that I needed some time to finish up their bedroom door and to play quietly inside until I was done. They agreed and John took out his handful of matchbox cars, sharing them with his brother as they drove them all over the chairs and couches.

I measured up the hinge against the door, tracing an outline in pencil. I then went through Jerry's bits until I found one that would do. I set the depth carefully and turned the machine on, trying to keep the spinning blade on the proper side of the mark. It made an oscillating whining noise as it spit out curls of chewed up wood, cutting the excess bits away as I widened the mortis. When I was finished I slid the hinge in place and rocked it to make sure it was seated fully. Success.

The other side was more difficult and I had to actually pop the rest of the door off the hinge as well as take off the center jamb moulding. The piece I was pulling free made a cracking noise and split in my hand, leaving a 3' length still attached to door. "Ah, fucking shit!" I bitched, tossing the sharpened stake to the floor and rubbing my head. "More broken shit I have to fix."

I was getting jittery and realized that I didn't see my beer anywhere nearby. So I went and grabbed another one, drinking it slowly as I looked at the door I was working on. "Ok, Jimmy. Let's do this again." I picked up the router and flipped it on, bringing it to the mortis mark on the frame and began carving out a path.

The router suddenly whined really loud and skittered off to the right and straight up, tracing a 2' gouge in the door frame before it was stopped by the casing. I turned it off and just looked at it. "Fuck you. Fuck you, you fucking fuck." There was a finishing nail buried in the frame where I was trying to work and I didn't see it. But the router did, caught on it, and then flew off track and made the mess I was now left with. "You know what? Close e-fucking-nuff."

I put the door back on its hinges and then screwed the bottom hinge in place. It fit on the door itself but was not seated properly on the frame. That and the trailing 2" deep gouge running off looked like crap. I tapped the broken piece of the door jamb back into place, lining up the two busted parts so they looked sort of normal. I shut the door to test it, getting only a little resistance at the last six inches as the frame itself flexed under the hinge's pressure. "Good enough," I said, stuffing the router back into the bag and then tossing it on the kitchen table.

"Dad?"

I turned, seeing John standing there holding his Lightning McQueen stuffed pillow. My expression softened. "Yeah, champ? What can I do for you?"

"Can Joel and I go to bed? We didn't want to bother you since you were working on the door, but we're both real tired."

I looked at the clock and was dismayed it was already after 10. "Ah, crap. Of course, John!" I bent down and picked him up, my son wrapping his small arms around my neck and hugging me tight.

"You're the best Daddy in the world." He hugged me tighter as I brought him to his bed, kissing me on the cheek before I tucked him under the blankets. "I love you, Dad!"

"I love you too, Johnny." I wiped my eyes dry and went out to find Joel was asleep on the loveseat. I picked my youngest up and brought him sleeping soundly to bed where I covered him too. After ruffling his hair and wishing him sweet dreams I left their room and made my way to the kitchen where I proceeded to clean up the mess in there.

It was while I drying the last of the dishes that I heard Myra come home and the door open. "Hey, honey!" she called out softly, striding over to me. "How was your night?"

"It was fine, babes. Did you make it to work on time?"

"Barely," she said, slipping her sneakers off and coming over to give me a hug. "Brenda had me on the 12 and under line which meant I didn't..." Her lips met mine and she stopped talking, staring up at me with a hurt expression. "Jimmy. James. I thought you were going to watch what you were drinking?"

"I did. I was. It wasn't a problem."

"You...you stink. And your eyes look all bloodshot." She walked over to the pail. "How many did you drink?"

Before she could look inside I reached around her and pulled it away, holding it behind my back. "Don't worry. I had some beer, but not a lot. Ok? I didn't go anywhere. I stayed here all night with the boys and worked on the door."

"How many?"

"I don't know? Three, maybe?"

She sidled across the kitchen, still watching me. "Does that include the beer you had with Grace?"

"Well, ok. Four then. Not a lot."

"Jimmy, four beers is a lot to some people."

"Not to me. Never was."

She opened the fridge and it was then I realized my tactical error when she took out the empty Bud Light box. "Jesus, Jimmy, there were eight beers in here when I went to work! You drank all eight of them while I was gone?" She groaned in pain and disappointment. "James..."

I put the pail down and took the cardboard from her hands, folding it up and tossing it into the trash. "I am sorry, babes. I didn't think it was that much."

"James, you promised." She wrung her hands inside the hem of her shirt, eyes beseeching up at me. "James, you can't. You can't."

"I can, Myra. I can. You'll see, this isn't a problem. I can cut back."

"You couldn't even keep your word for a single day." She looked at the big open space on the middle shelf and sighed. "I'm just so disappointed, James. We can't keep doing this. Please, stop buying beer. I don't want this much in the house." She walked out the door in the TV room to the garage and I followed, head bowed as I contemplated how much I let her down.

She went to the stack of Bud Light cases and looked incredulously at the top of the stack. "What the fuck?" She pointed to the top one, already torn open and half of them missing from where I took them out yesterday. "What the fuck is this, Jimmy? Where the hell is half the case!?" She tossed her hands in the air and whirled around, marching back into the house shoving past me. "That's it. You won't do it for me or the kids or yourself, you're never going to do it. I can't stay here."

"What are you doing, Myra." I followed her, feeling the anger in my gut start to uncoil. "Where the hell are you going?"

She had marched into our bedroom and took out her small case from under the bed. She flipped it open and started tossing handfuls of undergarments and clothes inside. She was crying as she did so, her voice shaking as she pulled some pants from her drawer and added them to the pile. "I'm going to mom's with the boys for the weekend. I won't stay here any longer with you, James. I can't. You're killing me, killing my love for you. I don't know what to do to get you to understand."

"Oh, fuck me; are you going to play this happy horseshit on me?" The anger was growing, waking up as it slithered through my veins. "You want to go, go! The boys are fine and they'll stay with me!"

"Lower your voice!" She hissed at me. "They're sleeping and they do NOT need to hear us fighting." She zipped her bag closed and stood it next to the bed. "I'm not going to leave my sons here while their dad drinks his life away. You have this weekend to get your head out of your ass. I've asked you to stop, you haven't. I've asked you to cut back, you haven't. I've asked you to go for help, you ignore me. I've asked you to try; just god damned try. It feels like you think this is a damned joke." She stomped her foot. "It's not a joke. No one is laughing. All I'm doing is crying and wondering how we're supposed to survive while my husband is becoming an alcoholic and we live in this shit hole that is falling down around us."

"Myra. I am doing what I can. You think I've got it easy? I don't! Not be a long shot. I don't know whether to zig or zag, to fish or cut bait. I'm floundering here and maybe, just maybe while I'm trying to keep my head above water, I take a beer or two to help me stay on an even keel."

"James, you don't need a beer to help you stay sane. A beer turns to three turns to eight and all it does is drives you further and further away from us and wastes money we can use here for our family." She turned away and strode through the house to the kitchen, placing her bag by the front door. She pulled out a couple of plastic shopping bags and started to walk towards the boys' room, presumably to pack up their clothes as well.

She stopped outside the door, eyes riveted on the crappy job I had done, the deep scoring in the frame very obvious where the router had slipped; the busted jamb two-thirds of the way up. Her eyes were agog as she pointed to the mess with her outstretched hand. "What the hell is this supposed to be?!"

The anger in my veins felt like it caught fire and an unreasonable fury started to percolate in my head. "I did my fucking best, Myra. What do you want from my life?"

"You did this while you were fucking drunk! God damn it James, it looks worse than before you tried to fix it!" She stormed into the boy's bedroom and filled the two bags with all manner of clothes, jamming them in with sudden sharp thrusting motions. "You need some help, James. Go to a clinic, go to a doctor, go somewhere - but this can't go on. I am done talking, I have to do what's best for my boys."

"Fuck you, Myra, they're my boys too!"

"Daddy? Why are you and Mommy fighting?"

My wife whirled on me, pointing at Joel who was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes and looking at the two of us with a sadness that only a young child could produce. "You see what you've done?!" She turned back to our youngest and placed her hand gently on his back. "It's ok, baby. Daddy and I were having a discussion and we got a bit loud. Listen, you want to go see Grandma?"

He nodded, looking up at her trustingly. "Terrific," she answered. "Go grab your sweatshirt and put on your slippers. We're going to see grandma for the weekend and have a sleep over."

"Neat!" He bounced out of bed, shaking John awake before grabbing his Spiderman slippers. "Are we all going? Daddy too?"

"No, Honey. Daddy has to stay here and do Daddy things."

"It's ok, Joel," I added, trying not to stare daggers at Myra's heart. "You'll be home Sunday and we can have a cookout outside. How's that?"

"That's neat, Daddy! Hey John, wake up, let's go, Grandma is waiting!" The two of them hastened though their preparations while Myra walked out with the two bags filled, placing them by the front door along with her case.

"Myra, I'm sorry, ok? Is that what you want to hear? I'm sorry. I drank even though I knew you'd be mad and tried to hide it. Ok? Can you forgive me?"

She couldn't stop the tears that were trailing down her cheeks anymore, her lower lip sticking out and her cheeks flushed. "I love you, James. But right now I don't like you much or the person you've been turning into." John and Joel came out, still in their pj's but wearing sweatshirts and slippers to help them brave the fall temperatures. "Go give your Dad a hug."

Both of them came to me and I crouched down to wrap my arm around both of them. I pulled them in tight and bowed my head whispering fiercely that I loved them both and would see them again on Sunday. They replied in kind and then stepped away unsure and lost, gravitating to Myra who held their hands reassuringly. "Let's get you boys in the Kia, ok?"

She led them out to the minivan and I watched with hollow fury as my wife took my kids away and put them in the backseat. I wanted to grab her and shake her and bring my boys back in but I knew I couldn't lay a hand on her, because she had a point. Once they were strapped in place she came back to the house and picked up her suitcase and the boys' two bags.

She turned to me one last time, looking so broken and lost that I felt like the biggest piece of shit going. "James. Don't waste this weekend. You think long and hard what you want out of life. Because this isn't it. It's not what I want, and it's not what I want for the boys. It's sure what I don't want for you or us. When you finally realize what it is, you let me know and I'll help you if you let me."

"Myra, please don't go."

"I have to James. I have no idea what else to do. Maybe, just maybe, you'll understand just how important this is."

It felt like a cinderblock was strapped to my neck, my head felt low and heavy; I was unable to tear my gaze from the ground in front of me. "Babes. I love you."

I could hear her crying and it fed the serpent racing through my guts. "I love you too, James. But our love isn't enough anymore." I heard her at the front door, stepping through it. "I'll see you Sunday."

And then she was gone.

I stood there long after her headlights had disappeared, hands on the countertop my feet feeling like they were encased in tar. I felt lost and overwhelmed. Me, Jimmy Skelly, unbroken and unbeaten, a man's man and looked up to by friends and peers - alone and a loser.

I reached for the Black and Decker canvas bag with the router in it; the tool and its contents had to weigh a good seven pounds or so.

And with a screaming roar I swung it around and hurled it at the kitchen cabinet over the sink. It flew from my hands like a shot, the sound of busted wood and shattering glass filled my ears. And then all I heard was the angry snake swimming through my nerves as it hissed with joyful glee at the wanton sound of destruction.