Swim, Butterfly Ch. 23

Nothing

I don't remember the rest of the walk home. Open the front door. Dump backpacks wherever. Tear kitchen apart for snacks. June and Rudy make a bee-line for the TV remote, looking at me over their shoulders. Theoretically, we don't watch TV right after school, but I don't care. I sit in the kitchen chair wherein I sat before. The rest of the day passes much like it did the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that.

Eventually, the sky grows dark. I empty cans of Spaghetti-Os into bowls and warm them in the microwave. Rudy gets up out of Pete's easy chair, walks around it, and comes into the kitchen,

"Where's Dad?"

"He's working late."

Rudy looks at me, then back at Pete's chair, "Then why's his work bag still here?"

I follow Rudy's look, open my mouth to lie, then shrug, "I don't know, Rudy." He looks at me longer than a moment, then sits down to eat. I call June to the table and she asks if I'm going to eat, too. "No, I'll wait until Dad comes home." I have no appetite, but sit and chat with the kids while they eat. June declares that Amberlynne is the prettiest girl in class, Rudy scoffs, June tells him to shut up. Just before I chastise June, I catch my breath before I cry, and stifle it with a fake nose-blow into a napkin.

***

Focusing on clean-up and keeping a sharp ear to the driveway, I get the kids ready for bed, staying by their sides longer than usual, letting them chat until they're actually tired of talking to me. I give each a long hug and a kiss on their smooth cheeks as I leave them, one then the other, then head to bed myself.

I stop at the first step to my room; be in the moment--deep breath, sense everything as you go up. The creak of the stairs, the scent of old carpet, the feeling of should I be here or not? The frustration of my answer--I don't know.

Without turning on the lights, I slip under the sheet and sit, staring into the dark. I know I want to be here for June and Rudy. That I know for sure. Hands down, and there's no argument here, nothing in the world beats a hug from your kids. So, what the fuck is my problem?

The haze of darkness looks like a world of amorphous life, wonderful and mysterious and addictive. Life has to have a beautiful, spiritual side, preferably shared with someone, or else it's just dead in the water. I just don't have that magic with Pete, and I don't know how to explain that to him. I know that's not a reason to dissolve a marriage or cheat, but it is what it is. The amorphous non-answer.

My thoughts drift to the cardboard cutout feeling. Maybe that's what I really am, just a shallow character since I took the easy ways in life, thinking that someone else could make me whole and happy. Jimmy makes me feel happy, reawakens the wonder in life, but then, if I lived with Jimmy like I do with Pete, would the same thing happen all over again? Again, frustrating answer--I don't know. I lie down and give up for the night.

Shortly after midnight, nearly drifting to sleep...the jangling of keys and Pete's work boots trudging back and forth across the floor downstairs. I sit up in bed, heart beating fast, and draw my knees to my chest. First thought: would it be of any use to really tell Pete why I cheated? Or just make him more angry?

Pete slowly thumps up the stairs until his murky silhouette stops at the doorway. 


"Why?"

"I didn't mean to," I mumble.

"How did it start? I mean, how did you meet him?" His voice sounds low and tense.

"At the hotel bar. I swear I wasn't looking for anyone. I was sitting alone at the very end of the whole place. I wasn't even sitting at the bar itself."

"So, he approached you?" Pete asks.

"Yes."

"How much were you drinking?"

"Just one glass of wine."

"Really? All night?" Pete asks, a little louder.

"Well, no, we, uh, had a couple more drinks over the course of the evening."

"So, you weren't shit-faced or anything?"

"No."

Pete heaves a sigh, waits, then descends the stairs. I hear him mumbling something to one of the kids; Rudy, I think. I assume Pete will sleep on the daybed in the den. I wish I could lock the bedroom door so I don't get ax-murdered, but then, who would get the kids off to school on time tomorrow and finish washing the sheets?

***

Despite a night like trying to sleep on a roller coaster, I get up early and flick the switch on the usual weekday routine. The door to the den remains closed. Get the kids up, dressed, fed, walk them to the bus stop. Pete's truck is still in the driveway when I return, and he sits in his easy chair, TV off, "Sit down. We need to talk."

I try to swallow, but can't. I sit in the chair by the living room window, a few feet away, so I see Pete's profile. He hunches forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingertips touching. I wait.

"What's he got that I don't?"

I barely hear Pete. I think about the reasons I fell for Jimmy that just seem silly in the morning light. I realize, I really don't want to tarnish that special relationship, though, that I have with Jimmy. I clear my throat, "Nothing. He's just someone else."

"Really? Just someone else? Does he have a name?"

"Of course he does. You really want to know it?" I cross my arms.

Pete hangs his head and shakes it, as if pondering a serious offer, "No."

He's quiet again, and again, I wait.

"Why? Why'd you do it?" he asks.

"I don't know. I mean, I wasn't out looking for anyone. I just met him, and...I just can't tell you why. I told you I didn't mean to."

"What do you mean, I didn't mean to do it?'" Pete barks, jumping up so fast I think he's going to pound me, but he stops. He catches his breath; his shoulders shake, and he cries. Shriveled like a sad old man hit with bad news, he sinks back into his beat-up chair. I've never seen him cry before, and almost feel sorry. Pete's a good man and doesn't deserve this, but I realize I'm more concerned with my well-being than his. That's not good, like watching a theater performance and not invested in the plot. I'd kill for a cup of tea, but don't dare move. Should I try to comfort him? He'd see right through that--saccharine. Finally, he looks at me, eyes red-rimmed. "Did you ever love me?"

"I don't know," My voice sounds a million miles away from me.

"Really? Ten fucking years together, and you don't know? Then what the fuck were those years for? I... who are you?"

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.