The Choice Not Taken (2 page)

***

For the remainder of the evening, I was unable to get back on the computer. As with most school nights, time quickly became consumed with Alex’s return, dinner, and then homework. While Mitch computed math story problems with his dad, I vaguely listened as Sylvie read her assigned chapters.

Fortunately, at the ages of eight and ten, the bedtime routine had become one of ease rather than frustration. Both kids headed to their rooms for an allotted half hour of free time before lights out. And within minutes, I heard Sylvie listening to some boy band on her radio. Mitch’s room went quiet, which likely meant he was reading one of his comic books.

This time of day typically left me exhausted and ready for bed. But tonight, I felt uneasy.

The tedious, yet non-challenging, tasks of feeding Rosie, clearing dishes, loading the dishwasher, making school lunches, and double-checking backpack contents for a swift getaway in the morning kept fidgety hands occupied and fretful thoughts diverted.

I finished with my usual efficiency and stood in the middle of a now empty kitchen, staring blankly out the back windows at ghostly shadows dancing across our dark yard.

With fists drawn so tight my nails imprinted mirror images of themselves upon my flesh, I fought any temptation to power-clean. Searching for a quicker–and less noticeable–fix, I opted to straighten the laundry room closet, and after only five minutes, I became calm and relaxed.

“Honey, do you want a glass?” Alex softly called from the kitchen.

I walked in to see a bottle of red wine gripped in his right hand and two glasses dangling by their stems through the lean fingers of his left. His lopsided grin brought me back, and I nodded, perhaps too willingly, in the distorted hope alcohol could remove my frayed thoughts and guarantee a night of peaceful rest.

The pop of a corkscrew echoed up the stairs just as I opened the door to Mitch’s room. As instructed, he’d turned out lights on time and was already snoring in his boyish way. I gathered stray football cards and baseballs strewn across the carpeted floor, predicting a terrible tumble if I should happen to be summoned during the night and traipse blindly in the dark as I was wont to do.

Placing the pile of cards near the dresser’s edge, I proceeded to set the three balls in a bright corner bin provided for such a purpose. I kissed his smooth forehead and tucked the quilted comforter against his chest, spreading it to display the logo of his favorite baseball team in its full glory.

A serene grin passed his perfect features, and I smiled in wonder over its cause. Maybe tonight he was pitching a no-hitter.

Sylvie also had fallen asleep, but her lights were ablaze and the purple radio continued to play softly atop the pale pink end table. I turned it off, careful not to change the tuning of her favorite station. Glancing around her room, I found a lone pair of shoes on the floor. As I returned them to their rightful spot in the closet, I grinned at the stylish ensemble hanging neatly on the door-handle.

She loved going to bed knowing what she’d wear in the morning, and I took great joy allowing freedom with her choices as long as they were age appropriate. By the look of it, tomorrow she’d be in a gypsy mood complete with flowing brown ruffled skirt, baby blue leggings, ivory cotton t-shirt, and leather mary-janes. I could already picture her shoulder length blonde hair sticking out in slept-on curls, and my heart swelled.

She was radiant and free and though I sometimes envied her, I loved her originality even more.

I quietly closed both doors and tiptoed downstairs. Alex waited in the great room, humming a rock ballad, and my libido kicked into overdrive. At the very same moment, however, my mind flashed to the grim revelation on the computer earlier today, and the twist in my stomach switched from lust to nausea.

Philip.

Not now
! I screamed in suppressed agony.

In all the years with my husband, this never happened, and I felt a bitter shame that another man crowded my thoughts tonight. I physically shook my head to force the image and idea away, and though they disappeared...a heaviness lingered.

Joining Alex on the leather sofa, he chivalrously moved to the side so I could rest in the spot already warmed by his body. I burrowed into the supple taupe folds and leaned against his sturdy shoulder. And he handed me a glass.

“Cheers, my dear one. To another good day,” he whispered and lightly tapped his glass against the one I steadied upon bent knees.

“Cheers,” I replied, taking one long drink, allowing the balmy velvet of the deep burgundy Merlot to remain on my tongue before gliding smoothly along my throat. Any agitation was instantly curbed by the wine, and we chatted in ease over the remains of the bottle.

Giddy relief washed through my weary body, and I made a wobbly path to the bedroom while Alex cleared up any evidence. We didn’t hide the realities of alcohol and responsible adult use from the kids, but we also didn’t make it a regular image in their eyes. And having a bottle on a school and work night was a rare occurrence indeed.

Alex entered the bedroom just as I turned off the bathroom light. I’d already changed into a white sleeveless nightdress and was performing my nightly routine of slathering lotion on elbows and forearms.

“Hey you,” he said, sitting on the bed with arms outstretched. “Come here my little chick-a-dee,” he coaxed in an awful imitation.

His eyelids reflected the toll from these past months of mediation and recent hours of wine. The corners of his mouth turned in a slow, engaging smile, and I couldn’t help but go to him.

He pressed me into the heat of his body, and I suddenly felt too warm. Looking up to check if the ceiling fan was on, I waited impatiently for cool air to be pushed down on top of us.

Alex lay back on the bed, still cradling me in his arms.

Staring over him in the dim light of a side lamp, my tired eyes traced along the path of faint, yet emerging, lines etched around his equally tired eyes. They’d become a permanent reminder of his ever-smiling face, and I wished–even after all of these years together-that I could absorb some of his contentment.

The peace flowing through his muscular body became more than desirable to me. I craved it much like a junkie craves the next hit of a drug.

As I leaned against him with my palm resting on his steadily beating heart, he lifted his hand to brush dirty blonde locks from my eyes.

I wanted him.

But I wanted his happiness more.

He had given me
so much
...everything he possibly could. And yet I still wanted more.

I lightly brushed my lips across his. And he kissed me back, gently at first. He was kind and patient and thoughtful, and yet I knew what was to come.

Still waters run deep
, I secretly smiled in anticipation.

He lifted my body on top of his, roughly this time, determined to bring me closer. And I eagerly complied. I wanted to be closer, too. Because although my desire for him was nothing new, I became terrified to realize I
needed
him tonight.

More than ever.

I wanted Alex to remind me why I loved him so much. But I
needed
him to erase the sorrow that unfairly opened a part of my heart I believed had been closed and healed forever.

ritual

The alarm offensively filled our bedroom, and Alex stubbornly hit the snooze button. As usual, it was programmed to “radio mode,” and the pop tune that came on for a mere two seconds would become incessantly branded into my subconscious for the next twenty-four hours.

He’d habitually press it three more times. And though Alex would fall asleep for each subsequent 8-minute interval, I would not.

I never did.

Why couldn’t he let me peacefully sleep those extra minutes and hit the snooze
once
like it was intended? It was a rare pet peeve of mine but a daily one, nonetheless.

Typically, my too-awake body would get up before the second round of dance party made its appearance, but today I couldn’t move. Sore muscles hinted at a difficult night of sleep, and I felt anything but rested.

A dull, yet throbbing, ache coursed through the entire right side of my neck and shoulder. And despite numerous attempts, my heavy eyelids refused to stay open. Though I possessed no true memory of it, their inflamed edges gave me the distinct sensation I cried sometime during the night.

Even when I
willed
it to rise, my body didn’t oblige. Fully aggravated now, I pushed up on my elbows, and a piercing twinge in the center of my shoulder blades forced me to land hard upon the bed.

Alex shifted in response to the weight of my body, but within a miraculous millisecond he was snoring again.

How the hell does he do that
? I griped. On a good day, I couldn’t fall back asleep so soundly once I was awake. Whether it be a random noise, one of the kids, or the scheduled alarm, my mind would inevitably take over even if my body begged for rest.

Pushing through the hurt, I sat along the bedside, convincing myself these were natural maladies for a woman my age. What’s more, I knew the pain wasn’t debilitating enough to infringe on my work.

Today held a full agenda-deadline to meet, yard sale items to price, overnight bag to pack, soccer meet to watch, and then dinner with the kids and parents before finally driving to my sister’s home.

Under normal circumstances, this type of day–one filled with a combination of work and family-would bring me joy.

Not today.

Blistering reality tugged at the outer edges of my thoughts, ushering in layers of apprehension and fatigue-two things which had been absent for so long. Their very presence brought me back to many years before...when I believed life would never begin again.

Another round of an 80s tune filled the silence, and this time Alex mercifully hit the OFF button.

“Mornin’ Sweetheart,” he said in a raspy voice before kissing my cheek.

Even after hours in bed, his breath smelled of spearmint and his skin hinted at musk. I wondered if he surreptitiously showered and groomed himself in the middle of the night-while I was asleep-to awake so refreshed. But one glance at his mussed hair and playfully bouncing cowlick, and I knew he’d never left my side.

“Mind if I go first?” he politely asked. I shook my head, and he stumbled to the master bath, partially closing the door behind him.

Once the hiss of a steaming shower began, I grabbed the end post for support and hoisted myself out of bed. Stretching my neck and shoulders to loosen the underlying strain didn’t help, but I had too much to accomplish so I ignored it.

With only a limited half-hour before the kids needed to wake, I hurried into the kitchen and set out bowls, spoons, and cereal. Although they were entirely capable of doing this for themselves, I welcomed the busywork.

After lining four different boxes in a neat row between the place settings, I headed for our bedroom. Alex would be out by now, and I determined a hot shower might soothe my pain.

Passing the small kitchen desk tucked amongst a long wall of pantry cabinets, I purposely steered my gaze away from the laptop. The temptation to further research his eulogy was great, but I overcame it, preferring instead to be completely alone in the house when I finally dug deeper into the details.

I respectfully tapped on the bathroom door before entering.

“Hey,” Alex smiled into the mahogany framed mirror spanning the marble vanity and dual sinks.

I hugged him from behind while he expertly knotted a striped silk tie. Staring over his reflection-up and down, over and across-became one of those strange life moments when it seems we discover something familiar for the very first time.

My sleepy gaze took in his dark features, and they appeared so new...I needed to re-learn them all over again. Standing on tip-toes, I rested my chin upon his shoulder to peer at him, closer this time. And though the back of my neck pinched in protest, I didn’t care.

I studied him.

His sparkling eyes winked at me and the fine lines, once masked in the dark of night, now blossomed in amazing depth and handsome beauty. Raising his right hand to brush my cheek, the gentle touch began to remind me of who he and I were.

Alex faced me, and I lightheartedly straightened his tie while he planted a goodbye kiss into my hair and murmured “I love you.”

Left alone, I peered at my image in the bathroom mirror. Without Alex here, I again questioned who I was.

Washed out curls landed on petite shoulders, and wide-set gray eyes followed a visual path down lean arms, over small-yet still perky-breasts, and along slim hips. Underneath the gauzy white nightgown, I could detect the outline of my frame. And my repulsive reaction was one I hadn’t experienced for quite some time.

This
person looked like someone I once knew. She held a striking resemblance–too much so–of a previous self; one that fortunately disappeared long ago. And I hadn’t missed her...never once-or ever-since those immediate years following the incident.