Claddagh and Chaos (8 page)

“Christi, this house is not dirty.,” Theresa corrected her with a laugh. “You’re just nesting,.” Theresa moved closer, intending to hug her friend.

“No, Theresa!” Christi stepped around her friends advances. “I can’t bring Declan into this house with all of this dust and dirt. I mean if Child Protective Services were to take one look at my floors, they’d lock me away in jail.” Her voice became high-pitched as she pointed to dirt that was invisible to the naked eye.

Theresa could only laugh at her as Christi continued to scrub the baseboards, wondering if the paint would survive the scrubbing it was subjected to.

“Well, I’m going to clean every inch of this house before my son comes home.”

All week, Christi had been cleaning and re-cleaning the kitchen and family room. She had a company come out and clean out the air-conditioning ducts. Nora had refused to allow her to paint the nursery. She’d hired a professional painter, but he left a mess, so that was what she had cleaned yesterday.

Today, it was the master bedroom. Theresa had been an angel, helping Christi as much as she could. Christi felt so bad for taking up any of her time, since she was only days away from launching her line of women’s clothing. Theresa had shown her several samples of some very risqué lace panties. Honestly, Christi thought some of her items were too ... provocative for even a stripper to wear. She did, however, like her label ...
Simply Theresa.
All of her undergarments had a dainty “ST” embroidered on them.

Christi walked into the closet and stood with her hands on her hips. All of Patrick’s suits hung in color order and they would all need to go to the dry cleaners. No baby of hers would be held by a man wearing a dirty suit. She crossed the room and began removing the suits from their hangers. When she got to the dress shirts, she decided that they needed to be laundered as well.

“Christi, what on earth?”

Theresa stood in the doorway of the closet, hands on her hips, staring at the piles of suits and shirts that had been tossed out behind her in Christi’s haste to clear them out of the closet. She rolled her eyes as Christi waddled back into the bedroom and began to pick up the jackets and go through the pockets.

Christi remembered how many times Patrick had left money or keys in his jacket pockets, so with a smile on her face she dug through the pocketed fabric with gusto. On top of the pile was the new Armani jacket she had recently purchased for Patrick. Memories of the last time she saw him wear it was to dinner at Sherman and Smiles’s.

Christi looked up to Theresa’s face as she reached into the inside pocket of the jacket. Theresa was looking at the jacket, her face reflecting memories that were playing inside of her own head, although the images were as different as day and night. Christi pushed her hand into the pocket and felt something soft and silky. She grabbed the item and slowly pulled it out.

She gasped as she looked at the item in her hand. Crumpled in the palm of her hand was a very slinky pair of Theresa’s panties, the “ST” sitting right on top. Christi dropped the jacket and opened the panties. To her horror, she found a used condom rolled up inside of a Kleenex.

Patrick and Christi hadn’t used condoms since the first couple of times they were together. Her body began to shake as it all hit her. Her eyes found Theresa’s as the reality of her discovery began to set in.

“I’m so sorry, Christi,” Theresa whispered, guilt coating her words.

Christi couldn’t respond as the shock of it all crept into her bones.

“I told him we needed to tell you. I feel awful for deceiving you.” Theresa’s words seemed garbled to Christi’s ears. She looked back to the condom and panties; noticing they had clearly been torn off of the wearer.

“Patrick said this was expected, that you’d have no problem turning a blind eye.” Theresa’s voice was pleading, whether it was for forgiveness or to justify her actions, it didn’t matter, neither would be granted any time soon.

“Get out!” Christi ordered as she continued to look at the material in her hands. Her voice was even and monotone, calm if only for the moment.

“Christi, you had to suspect something. He was with me every night for months ...”

“I said, get out!” The emotion and anger causing her volume to increase. Christi’s eyes closed, she was trying desperately to keep her emotions in check.

“Patrick is a powerful man who has needs and, you know, you’ve been really large for quite a while now,” Theresa continued. “So I’m sure it was difficult for him to be intimate with you. Did you really think he was working all those nights?”

It was in that moment that she lost her battle to remain calm. Anger and absolute mortification had built like a pressure cooker inside of her until it boiled over. She was now powerless to do anything about it except release the valve and let out the pain.

“I said, get the fuck out!” The final word shouted and revealing the power of Christi’s temper.

This time her eyes grew large and she turned rapidly. Christi watched as Theresa ran down the stairs and out the front door, slamming the wooden door causing the glass to vibrate.

How could he? How could he lie to her face for months?

Christi didn’t remember the ride to Patrick’s office, but here she was, sitting in the SUV he had bought her and wearing the maternity clothes he had surprised her with. Still clasped in her hand were the nasty panties of the whore he had fucked behind her back, possibly in their home.

She entered the condo where no one was standing guard; like that mattered to her. In her current state, she dared anyone to try and stop her. She could hear Thomas’s voice as she walked down the hall. She threw open the double doors, anticipating having at least one gun pointed at her, but there were none that she noticed. As she made her way around the large table, Thomas called her name, but she ignored him.

“Out!” Christi shouted into the room, her eyes landing on a shocked Patrick.

“Babe?” Patrick questioned.

“I fucking said everyone get the fuck out!”

“Christi? Honey ... ?”

“If you don’t want everyone hearing this, you’d better order them out ... now!”

She watched as Patrick stood from his chair, slowly reaching out his hand to her.

“Christi, honey, calm ...”

“Fuck you!” She shouted and then slapped his face. She watched as his head snapped to the side and she had the desire to do it again. She wanted to slap him repeatedly over and over until he felt as bad as she did. But she would never be able to hit him hard enough to quiet the rage she had inside her. Turning her attention to the men in the room, she spoke the words that begged to come out.

“I bet all of you knew about this, didn’t you? You sorry, motherfuckers! Were you laughing behind my back? High-fiving him each time he did it?”

“Christi, sweet ...”

“No, Thomas, I wouldn’t believe you, either!” Her hand was raised in the air, her palm facing him, giving no room to continue. “You’re most likely doing the same fucking thing to Nora. Is she expected to turn her back, too? Allow you to have a little side action when things get rough or boring at home?”

“Christi, seriously, can you please calm down?”

“No, Patrick, I won’t calm down!” She slammed the panties and condom on the table for all to see. “I found these in your jacket, the one I bought for you. The one you wore while you fucked your whore.”

“Babe ...”

“No! I told you from the very beginning,” she slapped her hand on the table after every word, stinging her palm, but she didn’t care. “I told you that I refused to turn a blind eye to you having a fucking
mot
on the side!”

Patrick didn’t respond this time; he and Thomas both remained silent. Both dazed and confused, completely lost as to what she was shouting about.

“You swore to me, over and over, that you couldn’t do that. You said you didn’t have it in you.”

“Christi, I can see why you’d be upset,” Thomas started in a calm voice. He was trying to calm her down, knowing stress wasn’t good for her or the baby.

“Oh, no! I passed upset when Theresa told me she and Patrick had been fucking behind my back for months. Months, Patrick! You fucked her for months!” She shouted as she again pounded the table, enunciating every word.

“Christi?” Caleb questioned, attempting to be calming, but to Christi it was futile.

She refused to listen; all of his men would stand behind him. She left the room and as she entered the hallway, she clearly heard Thomas tell Patrick, “Let her go, Son.” These words only confirmed for her heart, what her mind already suspected was completely true.

Christi had never been so grateful for kind people as she was when she entered her OB/GYN’s office. She informed the receptionist that she had an urgent personal matter to discuss with her doctor. The nurse, taking one look at her appearance, motioned for her to come on back. Once she was seated on the exam table, the doctor came in. For the next thirty minutes, she cried as explained what she had recently discovered and shared her current fear that she was walking around with some life threatening STD. Her doctor agreed and ordered some blood work, requesting the results as soon as possible.

As Christi lay on the crinkling paper, humiliation and despair set in. She had gone against her basic instincts when it came to Patrick; ignored the voice that had screamed at her she wasn’t the type of woman he needed. Now she would have to live with the decision she’d made, against her better judgment. With her knees in the air and her pride no longer a character flaw, she vowed she would never again ignore that tiny voice ever.

Once she was back in the car, she remembered Shane McIntyre was Patrick’s lawyer. She knew it would be a conflict of interest to ask him to represent her, but maybe he had the name of someone she could use.

When she called McIntyre’s office, she didn’t disclose to him what she needed an attorney for and he didn’t question her. He informed her that his daughter was trying to build up her clientele up, that she was sharp as a tack, and tough as nails. He gave her the number and Christi called her immediately. Ms. McIntyre agreed to meet with her. Once again, she told the twisted tale of betrayal by her husband and supposed best friend.

“Well, Christi, I have good news and bad news,” Ms. McIntyre said from across her desk.

“Trust me, your bad news will never compare to mine.”

“Well, Illinois law prohibits pregnant women from petitioning the courts for a divorce.”

Gretchen McIntyre was a red-haired beauty. Her shoot from the hip attitude gave Christi the sense that she could trust her, even after informing her who Patrick Malloy was and what his business entailed. Gretchen voiced that she couldn’t wait for the challenge.

“They feel you aren’t in control of your emotions. The good news, however, is that I can get the paperwork together and I can have it filed the moment you give birth.”

Gretchen asked several more questions about Patrick’s infidelity. Then she asked Christi a question Christi hadn’t really thought about.

“What demands do you have for compensation? Child support? Alimony?”

With fire in her eyes and a pat to her swollen belly, she replied with conviction and determination. “The only thing I want is my name back and him out of my life.”

Gretchen extended her hand and a deal was struck. Patrick would receive the divorce petition the second Declan was born. Christi offered to pay extra if Gretchen would serve them while he was shacking up with his new whore.

By the time she arrived back at home, it was well after dark. She was so tired, both emotionally and physically, that she parked the car in the driveway and made her way into the house. Everything was just as it was when she had left; it didn’t appear that Patrick had been by. She suspected where he was, but chose to push those thoughts from her mind. She looked at the couch that sat facing the fireplace. She questioned if he had ever fucked Theresa in this house; on that couch or on the floor where they had made love so many times.

She couldn’t take it anymore. The memories mixed in with the betrayal, she had enough. She pushed it all away, turned to go out the door, and got back into her car. She drove around until morning, trying to put enough space between herself and all the pain that chased her. When she could barely keep her eyes open, she found a hotel that she felt was safe. As she got out of the car, she noticed a maternity shop across the street. She made her way into the shop, where she purchased new clothes with her own personal credit card; the one she had from before they were married. She ducked into the dressing room and stripped out of the clothes that Patrick had purchased and tossed them into the trash before redressing. She wanted nothing from the man who had betrayed her in the worst way.

She checked into the hotel, using her maiden name, and the credit card that she had used across the street. The man behind the counter never questioned why she was checking in so early in the morning. When she finally lay down, exhausted, on the hotel bed, she felt the first tear fall down her face. She placed her hand on her stomach, vowing that she wouldn’t let this break her. She would raise Declan by herself. She didn’t need Patrick or his money. Her father had done just fine raising three girls by himself. A single baby would be a piece of cake.

She allowed the tears to take over, purging her sadness and embarrassment. She would allow herself this just once. Tomorrow, the day after, and every day after that, she would get up, dust herself off, and live for the little miracle that was kicking within her belly. This would be a lesson; a lesson she would learn the first time. Patrick Malloy might have fooled her, but he didn’t break her. At some point, in her self-declaration she managed to drift off, but suddenly woke with a start, a sharp pain in her lower back. She sat up in bed, only to come to the realization that her water had broken.

Only one thought made its way through her lips. “Oh, God, no, not today.”