Not To Us (20 page)
Authors: Katherine Owen
≈≈
My pain for all of this comes unbidden. I have to make my way outside to be alone. I have to hold myself together with my arms wrapped around me to deal with this sudden onslaught of heartbreak, this grief. I am usually alone when this happens to me. Today, there are people
everywhere
. I stumble to our detached three-car garage, to find a place to hide and bear this pain alone. I wrench open the door to Michael’s SUV and slip inside.
The grief takes me where it wants me to go. I cannot stop crying. Something has been released inside of me and I cannot stop. Two of my wishes have died and I cannot count the others anymore. None of this makes any sense. I was fighting for my life because of cancer, but, instead, I have lost two of my children. I cannot reconcile this outcome.
After a long while, the tears diminish, but they still trail slowly down my face and I feel them wend their way down my bare arms. I’m too weak to even lift my head. I know that I’ve been gone too long. The driver’s door opens and I turn my head long enough to see Michael’s profile.
“Ellie,” he says from faraway. “Baby, everyone’s looking for you.”
“Can’t…take…it…anymore.” I force myself to say them.
It’s the most we’ve been able to say in a month to each other. I start to cry, again. I feel his arms around me. He pulls me closer into his arms.
“Ellen Kay.”
“Michael,” I say in this heartbroken voice. “Two of my wishes have died.”
“I know, baby,” he says back to me. I look over at him and see the sadness etched into his face as if it is a permanent scar.
≈≈
Dr. Lisa Chatham is having a fit. She’s beside herself. Michael and I come back into the house arm-in-arm and there she is all, but freaking out. “Time’s up,” she says. Forcefully, she pulls Michael and me along to the office and shuts the door with a finality that surprises us both. “Look, I know that this has been…I know this is hard. I cannot even begin to understand it, but Ellie; we have to start your chemotherapy. We can avoid radiation therapy, but we cannot ignore your chemotherapy treatment any longer.”
“You haven’t been getting
chemo
?” Michael asks in this incredulous voice. My lies have finally been found out. I’ve given Michael the impression I was working with Lisa this entire time on my chemotherapy treatment because I didn’t want to have this argument.
“I haven’t been getting chemo.” This defiance slips over me and it is the most profound feeling that I have had in the past month. My breathing gets erratic. This rage runs through me. “
You
haven’t been here. The kids needed me. I didn’t see the point of getting chemo, right now.”
“God damn it, Ellie! It’s your life; we’re talking about here.”
“No. I don’t want to do anything to endanger this baby. I’m not getting chemo!”
“Ellie, there are drug therapies we can use that will not harm your baby. If you would keep your appointments with me, you would have learned this,” Lisa says in exasperation.
“Lisa, I can’t do it. I don’t have…any more wishes.” Fresh tears well up in my eyes and begin to spill over.
“Let me talk to her,” Michael says now.
“You never…never talk to me, anymore, Michael. You’re never…even here.”
“Five minutes,” Lisa warns us, as she leaves.
I turn to Michael. My accusations evident by the way I look at him. He steps back.
“I’m sorry, Ellie. I’m so sorry. I haven’t been here for you. I’ve let you down.”
I cannot say anything. I just stare at him with this pain traveling through me. I wrap my arms around my chest and step back away from him. “I can’t…take…it…anymore.” I angrily wipe away the tears from my face. “First Nicky; now, Elaina. I can’t take it. It’s too much…it’s too much loss to bear, Michael.”
Michael comes to stand in front of me now. Close enough to reach out and touch me, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, as I warily watch him. Finally, he raises his hand and touches my face. He trails his fingertips across my lips. I see his sad smile. I haven’t seen him smile in so long; I involuntarily tremble as I stare at him.
“Ellen Kay, you’re my soul mate. I love you as if you are the air I breathe. You make me complete. As you stand here in front of me, I can only thank God that now I can touch you any time I want. I’m whole again, because of you, Ellie.”
His words sound hollow.
Where has the magic between us gone?
I reach out my hand and touch his face. He closes his eyes and sways in front of me.
“There are no words to adequately describe what you mean to me,” I say. He opens his eyes. “I put my life in your hands because you complete me. I know that we may be tested and that there will be obstacles put in our way. That cancer will try to take me, but I will stay, here with you…Michael. I want to be
here
with
you
.”
He pulls me into his arms and kisses me then. I kiss him back, but I’m astonished at his tears. His grief is tangible between us.
“It’s going to be okay, Michael,” I say.
He buries his head into my collar bone, but doesn’t answer. This ominous feeling just about pulls me under.
≈ ≈ ≈
The Worst Day
G
rief is like cancer. It ebbs and flows within you. Then, it changes and transforms you. Forever. Grief. Cancer. Both force you to face your worst fear—death.
Grief and cancer. Both undermine your optimism of life. You finally
see
the cup is really just half full, even if you believed otherwise your whole life. Both teach you to believe that bad things can happen to people, whether they’re good or bad or rich or poor or young or old, alike. Grief and cancer
corner the market
for all. Grief and cancer take all comers. Both rule.
Do they always win?
I begin to wonder.
My grief over Nick and Elaina lies dormant for hours, sometimes days at a time. After Michael and I declare ourselves, yet, again; I feel renewed. It’s as if I have the upper hand with grief. I begin to believe that I will get through this, whatever
this
is. I believe I’ve been to the deepest abyss of grief and re-surfaced with Michael at my side. I believe that.
≈≈
It is the end of the third week of March. Nick has been dead for six weeks and Elaina for two. The normalcy in our household has never found its equilibrium though. And, I’m beginning to notice this, even through my own hazy state of barely functioning.
This morning, I covertly watch Michael as he gets up and out of our bed at 5:30 a.m. He puts on his running gear in a methodical ten minutes of repetitive steps and quietly eases out the bedroom door. He thinks I’m still asleep, but I’ve been waiting for him to wake up and perform this new routine of his that he’s embraced since Elaina’s death. As soon as he leaves, I pull on my own clothes
—
jeans, blouse, shoes and coat. I leave behind a note on the kitchen counter for Mathew and Emily that tells them I went for a run and I’ll be back soon.
My mind lectures me now:
I should not being doing this.
His retreating form is already far down our pristine gravel drive. I slip into my SUV and follow him slowly out to the road. I’m not sure why I’m doing this, except that grief and the threat of cancer have warped my mind and there is
something
. Something, I discern. It’s the way Michael looks at me now. There’s this sadness surrounding him, but there’s something else; I can’t explain. I’m trying to figure out what that something is and so I’m following him.
He has chosen to run along the main road, so I hang back. I’m far enough away that I cannot really tell what color his sweatshirt really is from this distance, even though I know it’s navy blue. I watch him as he runs; his golden head hangs down as if he’s afraid to look up ahead.
And, then, I see the something I’m certain that I’m not supposed to see. It’s
Carrie.
She’s parked by the side of the road in her white Mercedes sedan. I know it’s hers.
Michael stops running and gets in the passenger side and closes the door. I press down on the gas pedal and tail Carrie’s car as it weaves its way down the winding road. A few miles down from our beach house, her car pulls off at the state park.
I park my car at the edge of the parking lot in the shadows and just stare into Carrie’s car. The parking lot is deserted and they just sit there in the car
—
two shadows about a foot apart. My heart rate beats fast and I watch them in shock. I can’t reconcile what I’m witnessing with what I believe to be true about my life, about me and Michael. Yet, the evidence of their liaison is right here in front of me only three hundred feet away.
This is so like Carrie. I have known the woman my entire adult life. I
know
Carrie. When she’s scared or frightened, she always turns to a man,
always
. It seems innocent enough to an outsider observing, who didn’t know Carrie, but I do. I know what Carrie needs. I know what Carrie wants. Perhaps, it’s never been about Bobby, perhaps it was about what Bobby and I had together. Carrie
,
the most attractive one, still looking and searching for what I might have: love, devotion, security. I know Carrie well enough to understand that she would see what I had with Michael and would want him back, to make him her own, again.
Michael.
Michael might believe that Carrie’s just interested in sharing their grief and sadness over Elaina, but I know Carrie would
need
more. Carrie would
take
more.
I’m standing outside of my SUV, now. I don’t know how I got here. I wildly look around for a place to hide, but there isn’t one.
And, why should I hide?
I step toward Carrie’s car. My legs just take me there. While my mind lectures:
this is a bad idea
.
I don’t know what I expected to see. I thought I would see my husband fighting this vixen off, declaring his love for me, but as I draw closer, a part of me registers more shock as I discover the two shadows have merged together. I don’t realize this until it’s too late, when I’m standing at the passenger window and watch Michael kiss Carrie.
A high-pitched scream invades the stillness, as if there’s a wounded animal crying out in pain. It takes a full minute to realize it’s me. I tremble violently and can’t seem to stop.
Michael is in front of me, now, touching my face trying to capture the tears that fall. “Don’t touch me!” I back away from him.
He shakes uncontrollably and I cry out when I see this incredible remorse and panic in his face.“Ellie! I’m sorry. She just wanted to talk about Elaina and then she started crying and…nothing happened.”
I’m looking at him, incredulous, taking in the state of his appearance. He has this pink flush across his neck and on his face that he tends to get in the heat of our lovemaking. His running jacket is askew. His lips are swollen, as if Carrie bit them in her haste. But, I do what I know will prove him wrong before he realizes why I’m doing it. He puts his arms around me and I grab him and feel his erection with my free right hand and then, push him away so violently he stumbles backward towards Carrie’s car.
“You son of a bitch! God damn you, Michael!”
I run back to my car. He’s too stunned by what has just transpired to follow me right away. I’ve already started it, when he appears at my driver’s door and tries to stop me from going. I just press on the gas pedal and drive away from him. Looking back in my rearview mirror, I see him running to catch up to me, but he just gets farther and farther away from me.
Within minutes, I’m back at the house; I leave the car in the drive and race inside. I grab my passport, retrieve cash and credit cards from the office, empty my side of the closet, and push it all inside my suitcase. “God damn it.” I mutter over and over. I find my cell phone cord; grab the laptop and a pile of manuscripts. The tears stream down my face and I wipe at them in frustration. I stand there a few moments, trying to decide what to do. I cannot think.
“Nicky!” I race to his room. “Nick, I need you to watch Mathew and Emily. I have to go someplace. I’ll call, when I can. Nick! Where are you?” I check the bathroom, expecting to find my oldest son there. It’s empty. I stand in his room, looking at his made bed. “Nick.” My minds catches up to me again as I suddenly remember where Nick is. There is a part of me that collapses to the floor; remains there, weeping over my dead son. Another part of me leaves the room and finishes retrieving my belongings. I drag the suitcase down to the living room and add the two urns on the fireplace mantel to my treasured collection of stuff and zip it up. I carry everything out to the SUV and load it up.
I have reached the breaking point. I sit for a minute and acknowledge this.
It is too much and I have lost another one of my wishes, really,
four more
: Michael, me, myself and I. It’s true. I have to leave before something happens to my two remaining children, my last two wishes. I cannot even think about the unborn one I carry.
“Bobby,” I say as he answers his cell phone. “I need you to take care of Mathew and Emily.” I careen down the gravel drive as I try to get the words out.
“Ellie, what’s wrong?” Bobby Bradford asks in sudden alarm.
“
Everything
, Bobby. Just come to the house and get the kids off to school. You’ll have to pack up their stuff. I’ll call later tonight.”
“Ellen Kay, what the hell is going on with you? Tell me.” I hear the pleading in his voice, but I cannot break his heart. I decide to let Michael and Carrie tell him that story.
“I can’t,” I whisper, as I end the call.
≈≈
It’s as if God is helping me out today. God knows; he owes me.
I make the ferry just before it pulls away from the dock. They’re lecturing me about being late, but they take my money anyway and let me on board.
The traffic in downtown Seattle is cooperative, heavy, but moving. I haven’t solidified my plans, but I head to the airport because some part of my mind tells me to go there.
I long for a destination that doesn’t have cancer, grief, or death.
I toy with the idea of Paris. Robert and I had always talked about going there, but we never did. I’m looking down at my suitcase and then back up at the departure board.“Where shall we go?” I ask Nick and Elaina. Their cremated remains are tucked inside my suitcase. “Maybe, Paris. Let’s not decide, right now. Let’s get to New York and decide then.”
My ability to lie has come in handy. I fabricate this entire story about meeting my son Marco and his girlfriend in Italy. I tell the ticket agent how excited I am, surprising them this way.
“It’s all so last minute,” I say. “It’s just wonderful!”
After a few minutes of exultation, she hands my one way ticket to New York. She offers to book me through to Rome, but I tell her that I might want to stop in Paris as well and I’m just not sure of my plans. I dazzle her with one of my best, former-UW-cheerleader-yeah-team! smiles. Even I
believe
what I’m saying.
She checks in my single suitcase and I have this sudden fear that I will lose Nick and Elaina’s remains in baggage claim, but I can’t chance taking the bag through security. I’m pretty sure cremated remains are not allowable items for a carry-on. Cremated remains would, somehow, be seen as a worse offense than six ounces of hair gel or a large tube of toothpaste to the TSA. Reluctantly, I watch my suitcase move along the conveyor belt to the hidden abyss of the airport’s baggage system and say a silent prayer that I’ll see it and them in New York on the other side.
≈≈
When the chime for 10,000 feet goes off, I let out a deep breath. It is, then, only then, that I pick up the mobile air phone and swipe my credit card through and call Mathew’s cell phone. It goes straight to voice mail because, of course, he is at school now.
“Mathew,” I say as his greeting ends. “It’s Mom. I just want you to know how much I love you. I’m sorry I’m not there, right now, to tell you this in person.” I wipe at my face.“Just know that I love you. Tell your sister, too. I’ll call you soon. I love you, Mattie. I love you, Em. Play this for her, too.” I finish in a rush, too afraid that I will start crying too hard to make any sense. I hang up the phone with one hand and numbly swipe away at my tear-streaked face with the other.
My seat mate in first class stares at me. He is this handsome, dark-haired stranger with these enigmatic grey-blue eyes. He can’t be more than thirty and wears this grey, crew-neck t-shirt, some kind of nondescript worn brown leather jacket with a pair of Seven Jeans.
I recognize the brand, Seven Jeans, because Nick has a pair just like them.
Had
. Had a pair. No. He still has them. Well, I have them. This thought of Nick and his Seven Jeans sets me back and I have to close my eyes and let the wave of grief pass. I have to wait until it gone before I open my eyes again. And, there is this stranger still staring at me, watching me. I give him my best impersonation of Dr. Lisa Chatham’s please-don’t-fuck-with-me look.
“Very good,” he says. “That should work well for you in New York.” His smile dazzles me now and I cannot look away.
“Right. Okay. Thanks,” I finally say in this glacial voice and force myself to look away.
I reach for my laptop and try to ignore him, but I can feel him watching me and everything I do. After an indeterminable wait for the laptop to power up, I click on Outlook and begin typing e-mail messages to my team with the exception of Michael and Carrie.
I start with Robert. I’m unsure why this is.
Bobby, I’m sorry about this morning. I’m sorry that I’m leaving you with this mess. Just promise me that you will take care of the kids for me. I’m worried about both of them. Mathew is struggling. I don’t want him to think that he has to become Nick for us. You know what I mean. Emily will act like “Miss Independent” but she will still want to be in your arms, if she has a bad dream. Enchanted is still her favorite movie. I think she likes the happiness that Giselle emulates. In any case, just do this for me. Be there for both of them, until I figure things out. Thank you, Bobby. I love you. E
Lisa and Stephen,
I’m sure that you have figured out that I will not be making my appointment today. I know it was our first one and all…well; my circumstances have taken a different course. I want to thank both of you from the bottom of my heart for being there for me as part of my team and as my good friends. These past few months have been so hard, but your support and love is what has made them bearable. I treasure our friendship and your wisdom, just know that. I will be in touch when my journey becomes more certain.
I love you both, E
Harriet, I’m still working away on the manuscripts. I may be in your neighborhood. Where can we meet? E
I pause at this last message. What am I doing? If I involve my boss, I’ll give away my location. I move the message to the drafts folder. I cautiously look over at Mr.-Handsome-Seat-Mate-in-First-Class and discover him still watching me.
“Did you want to send those? They have Internet access on the flight,” he says. “I could…I could show you how to do it.” His voice is so silky and soothing; all I can do is nod.
He takes the jack from the phone and plugs it into my laptop with another flash of his bright smile. I swipe through my credit card and the connection is made in a matter of ninety seconds. My outbox empties and the messages are gone within seconds. New e-mail messages come in. They are all from Michael.
