What's Done In the Dark(4)

Meanwhile, my husband got a reprieve every day at work and with his out-of-town trips. Me, I never got a reprieve and it was taking its toll.

I made my way into the back guest room that had become my mother’s room. Her door was open, and she was on her knees, praying.

“Heavenly Father,” she was saying, “I end this prayer asking that you bestow upon me bountiful blessings tonight at bingo. If I win, I promise I’ll give the church ten percent. Amen.”

I shook my head at my mom’s bootleg prayer and made my way back to my room. Her next step would be more practical. She would ask me for money for bingo.

I wanted out of my life. And as soon as my husband got home, I was going to tell him. I simply couldn’t do this anymore.





3


Felise


I NEVER KNEW JACK DANIEL’S could be so comforting.

I’d been sitting here crying for the past thirty minutes, and since I knew I wasn’t much of a drinker, I’d been taking it slow. But the whiskey had me realizing one thing for sure: I was sick and tired of my husband.

Fifteen years of begging for affection. Fifteen years of living with an obsessive workaholic. After fifteen years you’d think I’d be used to it, but I was exhausted. I’d begged Greg to make more time for me, to give as much to our marriage as he gave to his job. And he’d try, and succeed for a while, but then he would go back to normal.

I needed a new normal.

Don’t get me wrong. I had no plans to divorce my husband. At least I didn’t think I did. He’d been the one who had repaired my broken heart when my one true love chose another. It’s why I’d hung in for so long. But I knew that if something didn’t change, a change of address would be in my future.

“Felise?”

I turned around to the voice behind me. I immediately smiled at the sight of Steven, my dear friend and Paula’s husband.

“Hey, pretty lady,” he said, hugging me. “What are you doing here?”

I raised my drink. “Drinking,” I replied with a giggle. I wasn’t surprised that he was here. The Four Seasons bar had some of the best drink specials in town. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a meeting with one of my frat brothers. He’s trying to get me on board with this business venture. It sounds promising, but it may take me away from the family more, and I’m just not sure that’s something I want to do.”

That made me smile. Greg wouldn’t have even considered his family.

“Good ol’ Steven,” I said, raising my drink to him in a toast. With the stretching I almost slipped off the chair.

“Whoa,” he said, catching me. I could see the wheels turning in his head as he assessed my condition. “Okay, what’s really going on? What are you doing here?”

I released a strained laugh. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re drinking”—he cocked his head and studied my drink—“whiskey.”

I saluted him. “You’re good.”

A light went on in his eyes, and his face changed. “Felise, what’s going on? Isn’t today your anniversary?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Steven remembered it was my anniversary, but my own husband didn’t.

“Where’s Greg?”

I immediately lost my smile. “He’s at home, cleaning up.”

“What?” Steven said, confused.

“He’s vacuuming up the rose petals I had laid out for our romantic evening.”

“What do you mean, vacuuming up?”

I took a deep breath and set my drink down. I needed to leave that bourbon alone. It was starting to make my head spin. “You know my husband,” I said. “He’s cleaning. On our fifteenth anniversary. I know it sounds unbelievable. But that’s my husband, good ol’ Greg.”

“Hey, man, can I get you anything?” the bartender asked, approaching us.

“Bring me something a little lighter,” I said. “Apple martini.”

“Should you be mixing liquor?” Steven asked.

“Should you be all up in my business?”

Steven smiled at that. He knew he couldn’t push me too far. He turned to the bartender and said, “You know what? Bring me a cranberry and vodka.” He slid into the barstool next to me. “You don’t mind me sitting here and having a drink with you, do you?”

I shrugged indifferently. What I was thinking, though, was that right about now I’d rather sit with him than just about anybody.

When the bartender placed the drinks in front of us, Steven said, “Okay, tell me what’s going on. You and Greg have a fight?”

I took a deep breath, sipped my martini, then relayed the whole sad story.