The Choice Not Taken (21 page)

Rising from the ashes, it became the only thing I still possessed that was exclusively my own. Untouched and pure, this dream of a simple–and normal-life I could be proud of was, in effect, my very own Phoenix.

Miraculously over time I, too, was able to rise anew. With ever-lasting hope, I persevered and found redemption in my roles as wife and mother.

Yet once again, here I was...dying in a fire of my own making. And I now feared I might never be resurrected and brought back to the very life I’d always wished could someday be mine.

***

My few hours alone in the house were easy because of that very fact-I was alone. Anxiety grew, however, with every passing minute bringing time closer to when either the kids or Alex walked through the door.

How would we be together
? I fretted.
Would I appear the same
?

I felt entirely different. Yet I didn’t know why.

Methodically roaming room to room, I put things in their proper place, returned items to other areas, and gathered laundry. Once finished, I ran a load of towels and browsed through the stack of mail-all bills and one hefty check for work I did awhile back. I tossed them on the counter with little interest and went through the house once more before heading back into the kitchen to start dinner.

There wasn’t much to pick from, and I sighed at the need to add a mundane task such as grocery shopping to my overwhelming list of things to do. Wasn’t it enough I had to fix
me
? Now, I had to worry about stocking the fridge, too?

The idea of basic chores–housekeeping, laundry, shopping, bills, appointments, running the kids–created a wave of dread to seep into my aching body. Even the prospect of work, which typically brought me joy, held no appeal.

Everything seemed difficult. It was all too much.

Just then the back door slammed, causing Rosie to leap from her restful spot and skitter long claws across the tile floor toward its sound.

“Mom? You here?” Mitch called.

“I’m in the kitchen,” I answered, and the sound of my voice startled me so I dropped the frozen hamburger I held in my hands onto my left foot.

“What was that?” Sylvie asked, gliding into the room in a long jean skirt, pale pink ruffled blouse, and brown cowgirl vest complete with fringe.

“I dropped the hamburger,” I replied pleasantly while cursing under my breath. “Come give Momma a big hug, Sweet Pea.”

She came into my arms, and the feeling of her against my chest was one of absolute bliss. Holding her petite body, I pet her slight curls with my hand until she gradually pulled away.

“Have your days been good with Dad and at school?” I asked, now looking at her outfit with closer inspection. “Isn’t this part of your Halloween costume?”

“Yep! I needed it for my country look today. Dad dug it out for me,” she cheerily replied, and I instantly understood why there were two plastic bins out of place in the basement storage.

“Hey, Mom,” Mitch said as if I’d never been gone.

“Mitchell! Come here.” I opened my arms, and he came to me, too slowly. But when he was finally in my embrace, I noticed his own arms wrapped tightly around my waist and squeezed hard.

“So! Why don’t you kids catch me up while I start dinner?” I offered, hoping their stories of childhood woes would help me forget my own adult ones.

“Dad said we could take a drive to the outlet mall this weekend so I can get some new shoes for baseball,” Mitch informed.

“He did, did he?” I asked with suspicion.

“He did,” Sylvie confirmed, “and he said I could get a new swimsuit. And then we could stop at Rudy’s for burgers!” She was out of breath now, and I released a low chuckle.

“Well, it sounds like Dad has it all figured out. Guess I should make this hamburger into something other than burgers then!” I said happily while inside I boiled.

Not only did I
not
want to go shopping this weekend, I now had to come up with another plan for dinner! Returning the hamburger to the freezer, I grabbed a frozen pizza and chicken nuggets. The kids squealed with delight at the sight of this horrific meal, and I knew at least they’d eat heartily tonight.

An hour later Alex came home, and I quickly ducked into the bedroom to summon enough nerve to see him. After greeting the kids, he walked in to find me sitting on the bed, folding towels.

“Hey there,” he said, leaning his shoulder against the doorway. He looked tired–and scared, as if he didn’t know whether he should enter or not.

A new sorrow came over me. This room-where we connected and confided and planned–now left us separated and unsure and lost.

I wanted to find him again. But I didn’t. Instead, I remained on the bed, and he stayed in the doorway.

“Hey,” I faked enthusiasm. “How have things been here? The kids seem happy.”

“They are,” he agreed. “But they missed their mom.”

“I missed them, too. Terribly.” He moved past me to change out of his suit, and I realized with horror that I didn’t say I missed
him
.

I went to the walk-in closet, and the space, which once seemed massive-with its tiers of hanging clothes, shelves of folded sweaters, and neat pairs of shoes-now appeared claustrophobic. As he hung his suit-coat with his back to me, I became brave.

“I missed you, too, Alex,” I hugged him from behind. Raising both hands, he laid them on mine while staring at the wall.

“Me too, Courtney. Me too.”

He turned to hug me, and in my bizarre state of comprehension it seemed viselike, more desperate than any embrace he’d ever given. I held him just as closely, and we remained-silent and still-until Mitch hollered from the other room that the oven beeper went off.

Reluctantly, we let go.

Dinner went on as if I’d never left and with it being a weekend night, homework was put off for another day. Afterward, the four of us settled in for a card game and over the table, Alex and I stole intermittent glances, but only when we thought the other wasn’t actually looking.

He appeared different to me, and I tried to figure out why.

With the kids bickering, Alex and I ended the tournament after only two games. All three fell asleep while watching a movie and rather than wake them, I placed pillows under crooked heads and covered restful bodies with blankets. The kids considered it a rare treat to “camp-out,” and I took advantage, thus avoiding a stressful battle over bedtimes and need to talk with Alex.

Within the comfort of my own bed, I fell asleep in minutes.

Then sometime deep in the night, I heard Alex. “You awake?” he whispered so softly I almost didn’t hear him.

I debated whether to speak or feign sleep. “Yes,” I told the dark.

“Did things go okay?” he asked.

Facing him, I barely detected the shape of his form in the abyss between us. Yet just as suddenly, I remembered every wrinkle and mole and curve of his body.

“I really think they did.”

“So, are you okay now?” he hoped.

“No,” I responded bluntly. “I still have work to do. But I can definitely say I’m better than before.”

“Well that’s something, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is. It takes small steps, and I just need to remember that.” Reaching blindly for his hand, I gripped it in mine. “You’re an amazing man, Alex, and I can’t express how I appreciate the patience and support...,” I began to cry. “You don’t deserve this from me–or anyone-and I know I’m asking for so much, but I hope you understand I-I notice it. I couldn’t get through this without you.”

“I’m here for you, Courtney,” he brought me against him. “Yesterday, today, and always...” he paused. “Just don’t forget I’m here.”

choice

Due to my absentee parenting of late, I gave into the plans made without me. I was in little mood to mingle with the general public, but I did need to be with my family.

Seven hours later, we returned–beat from hours of browsing, trying on, and purchasing, and stuffed from a late afternoon lunch of gourmet burgers, fresh-made onion rings, and extra-thick milkshakes. The day became a surprisingly pleasant distraction, keeping my current thoughts clear and my past ruminations at bay.

Once home, the kids ran to their rooms with the new belongings while Alex and I headed for the back patio, beer in hand. There would be no dinner tonight.

The spring air remained crisp but comfortable enough with our fleece vests and jeans. Strolling side by side around the yard, we inspected the lawn and surrounding landscape, making mental notes of what required attention after a long, dormant winter. Eventually settling into the reclining chairs by our back corner of trees, I surveyed the house from an entirely different angle.

Falling in love with its burnt-red brick and stately arches the very first time I laid eyes upon them, I still marveled to this day that this beautiful home was actually ours. For in the time following my break-up with Philip, I really began to doubt whether marriage, kids, and a house were even in the grand plan for me.

I downed the rest of my beer and listened intently to Alex discuss his ideas for extending the yard.

“I wonder if it makes sense to even seed that area at all. I mean it would just be more to mow,” he sipped his beer. “But it seems so bare without anything there.”

“Maybe we could plant a garden?” I suggested, and he looked to me with knowing eyes.

“Court. You wouldn’t like the hassle of planting, weeding, and then waiting for something to pop up.”

“I know. I was actually thinking a flower garden, with a little sitting bench. Like a peaceful resting spot,” I described, envisioning something much like the inn, only on a smaller scale.

“Wouldn’t it still be work?” he argued, and I instantly knew he was thinking of the extra time he’d have to dedicate as well. Neither of us were patient enough to spend time on major home improvements or tasks other than the most basic of housekeeping and lawn-care.

“I could plant things that grow on their own and are supposed to be bushy. I like rustic, anyway, and think it would blend nicely against the trees.”

“Okay. Let’s get an estimate,” he agreed and swallowed the last of his bottle. Holding it to me in question, I nodded. It was nice out here, and I didn’t want this...whatever...to end quite yet.

Alex soon came back with another round. And the pair of us sitting together in silence-listening to leaves and branches cracking as animals romped in the woods-provided the harmony I’d craved all day. Even with him by my side, I felt alone with my thoughts.

When he went inside to check on the kids and grab another couple beers, I lounged in the hazy dusk. Slowly, the image of our home shifted with the changing light, becoming new to me all over again. And I stared at its shadowy form, frantically trying to regain the connection I experienced earlier.

It didn’t come.

Instead, the current Courtney–who lived in this house with her husband and children-became a complete stranger while the old Courtney was the frightening new reality. I stubbornly pushed her away, but she simply refused to leave.

In the midst of this, I became relieved to realize Philip no longer haunted me. More disturbing, however, was that he’d been replaced with another ghost...me.

Yet even with these relentless memories of a painful past, I failed to recognize my previous self. I’m a different person now, and I couldn’t seem to reconcile that damaged, desperate girl with who I believed I was.

I am a better person
! I screamed in inner doubt. Not only stronger but also more true-to myself and those I loved.

But as I finally realized the impact of my selfish actions back then and attempted to alleviate the unbelievable guilt, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, I was this woman now because of that time in my life.

Could I have become Me without ever being Her?

“
Some people come into our lives at a specific time and only for a little while...and they have a purpose-often unrecognized but powerful all the same
.” During our session, the words of my therapist seemed trite and patronizing. Now I saw them for their undeniable truth.

Still, I became frustrated that Philip’s death pushed me to a place I’d let go of many years before. The intense memory of him–and us–hadn’t ever been so demanding, so real, so needful of attention.

And yet, with absent condolences and lonesome grief, it was almost as if we never happened at all.

Alex ambled across the lawn, and his whistling cued me to the here and now. He cheerfully handed me a third beer and by the time I finished it, I gathered the courage to acknowledge something we were both trying so hard to ignore.

“Alex, I think there’s something we should talk about,” I said softly. And among the refuge of stately pines, I witnessed his relaxed expression disappear. Now there was wonder, hope...and fear.