The Choice Not Taken (8 page)

Scanning the crowd for Marnie and her friends, I saw him.

He must have been the reason for the raised spirits as more than a half dozen employees flocked around him, vying for attention.

I became compelled to learn his identity.

Battling an inherent urge to stare, I pushed past him and eventually found Marnie, perched on a bar stool and engrossed in a conversation with Carl. She appeared oblivious to any commotion at the other end of the room.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop noticing it.

The man never found a free moment as employees continually approached him to chat or offer a cocktail. Heartily patting each person on the shoulder, he looked them in the eye, said hello, and instead bought them drinks.

After a time, he finally broke through the bar crowd and moved around the outer tables, shaking hands and cracking jokes along the way. Straining, I vaguely overheard him ask someone-in a low, enticing voice-how a customer call went earlier in the day.

I sensed he was more than a random employee.

Coming upon our table, he greeted Marnie and Carl with a kind smile.

“Philip,” Marnie gestured, “I’d like you to meet my friend, Courtney.”

“Courtney! What a pleasure.” As he civilly shook my hand, an indiscernible expression crossed his features.

When I touched his skin, a spark ignited, breaking through the deep layers of numbness within which I’d been imprisoned. My senses became heightened so that not only touch, but everything-sight, smell, sound, and even taste–reached an unexplainable degree.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I stammered.

With intense curiosity, I searched his face for a glimmer of recognition, perhaps from that brief time in the airport or even today in the hall. There appeared to be none. But it wasn’t so much the look he gave, but the things I
saw
in the shadowy light.

secrets

“Mom,” Sylvie loudly whispered from behind the cracked door of our bedroom. With covers wound tightly around my body, I jolted from the restful sleep I’d begun just two hours earlier.

“What?” I whispered back.

“Can I go over to Danielle’s house after breakfast?” she begged, now at the side of my bed.

“Why don’t you ask your dad?” I whined with drowsy frustration.

“I did. He said to ask you.”

“Sure. That sounds fine,” I mumbled before rolling over and curling into a ball.

“Thanks Mom!” she yelled excitedly, skipping from the room and slamming the door closed.

Muffled sounds drifted from the kitchen, and I knew the kids would be eating breakfast while Alex sipped coffee and read the weekend paper. They’d all still be in pajamas as was our guilty pleasure on Sundays.

Resting in bed became the only time my OCD remained at a compassionate stand-still. For despite ideas running rampant through my head, a prone physical position appeared to curb the obsessive compulsions. Once I rose and moved about, however, the need would begin all over again. So I stayed there, for a few blissful minutes, gladly exchanging the inevitable surge of temptation for serenity.

And yet, within the quarter hour, I could no longer stop the thoughts, and I joined my family in the kitchen. Their too-cheerful course of “good mornings” was more than I could handle on a few short hours of sleep, and I murmured my response, stumbling to the beckoning coffee pot.

“What’s on your agenda today, Hon?” Alex asked, flipping newspaper pages in search of a particular section.

“Mm. I don’t know. I didn’t get much rest so it might be a lazy day,” I mumbled after a long draw of coffee.

“Ha! Like you’re ever lazy, Mom,” Mitch observed over his plate of toaster waffles smothered in syrup.

“Hey, I can be lazy just as good as the next guy,” I argued.

“We’ll believe it when we see it,” Alex smiled wryly.

“What’s on
your
agenda?” I sneered. “I know Sylvie wants to go over to Danielle’s.” Clearing dishes from the counter, I sighed and wiped up a pile of sticky goo.

“I’ll work on clearing more leaves and brush in the yard this morning. Mitch, maybe you can help me. And then if the rain holds off, I’d like a bike ride this afternoon. After dinner, I’ll need to catch up on emails and stuff before heading back into work tomorrow. That’s my plan for now anyway.”

“Okay. I guess we need to get moving then,” I again sighed, glancing at the late hour on the clock. “Because after that and homework, it’ll definitely be showers before bed.”

With everyone out of the house, I had time to catch up on laundry and make chili in the slow-cooker for dinner. Once finished, I stared over the backyard.

How could I be restless and bored at the same time
? I questioned.

Checking to be sure Alex and Mitch were out in the yard, I opened a kitchen cupboard. Reaching up on the highest shelf, behind the baking products and sauces, I found my secret stash of miniature candy bars. In a trance, I unwrapped one after another, stuffing each in my mouth without ever really tasting it. I quickly lost count and just as I finished hiding wrappers deep within the garbage bag, Alex came strolling into the room.

“Ready for a ride?” he asked. “I’ll round up the kiddos.”

“I’m gonna pass. I want to get the house picked up before dinner so I can outline those two new projects tonight.” A lack of rest and sugar overdose suddenly collided, manifesting a dizzying-and severe-wave of weariness.

“Okay. We’ll be gone about an hour-that should give you some quiet,” he offered. I nodded gratefully, and he hopped the stairs, calling the kids.

Again alone, I stuffed another handful of candy in my mouth. Fully aggravated now and completely unable to concentrate, I walked upstairs to begin a check of the entire house. Following my pattern of room by room, I struggled to focus and almost made it to the end when I remembered a “project” for my list. Now fearing I might have missed such things in other rooms, I backtracked and started over. This time I made it half-way before losing my train of thought.

For a third time, I went back to the beginning.

Peeking sideways at the clock in the shape of a baseball on Mitch’s bedside table, I became disheartened to realize I’d wasted an hour and effectively accomplished nothing.

More determined than ever, I sped through the rooms this time, taking precise care to hold my eyes closely locked on what they were seeing so I could leave each room confident I hadn’t missed anything. Just as the garage door rumbled open, I finished.

Sylvie bounded through the back door, her cheeks flushed from both the cool air and the bright pink of her hoodie. Mitch followed with a humorous grin. And just as I was about to ask what struck him as funny, Alex came hobbling in behind.

“What’s the matter?” I snickered.

“Dad’s a little out of shape,” Sylvie hollered from the other room.

Standing with hands pressed deep into his back, Alex stretched from side to side with a pained look on his face.

“I am not out of shape,” he argued, breathless. “You two just ride too darn fast. Shouldn’t they be doing homework or something?” he winced.

“Actually, yes. They should. Before dinner,” I ordered.

Mitch and Sylvie collectively groaned, and it was so in tune and in synch that I wondered if they practiced in private. But the battle ended there as each grabbed a backpack from the cubbie hooks and settled at the island.

Alex and I spent the next hour and a half splitting time between kids. And after an easy dinner of heaping bowls of chili with the fixings and grilled cheese sandwiches, it was free time in their rooms before lights out.

School nights were typically an early night for the kids, but despite my grandiose ideas of work, I was also ready to turn in. Alex sat in the oversized chair working on his laptop, and I leaned over, kissing his forehead goodnight.

“So early?” he asked, surprised.

“I’m beat. Can you check that their lights are out in fifteen minutes?”

“Sure. Then I think I’ll join you. These stay-at-home dad days are exhausting,” he joked.

When Alex came in later, I was wide-awake. Despite heavy eyes, I worried about my appointment with Dr. Benson. It was slated for late morning, but I still needed to get the kids up and off to school, which meant a healthy night of rest was imperative.

Crawling under the covers, he reached and fiddled with the alarm clock. “You have your appointment tomorrow?” his tone was hopeful. I nodded, and he switched off the side lamp, streaming us in shadows of moonlight.

In the dark, we were bolder.

“Are you really alright, Court?” Alex pressed.

“No, Alex. I’m not alright,” I confessed. “But I will be,” I promised, not really knowing if I could keep it.

“It’s like you’re regressing or something,” he admitted. Draping his arm around me, he pulled my body close. I initially stiffened, but as his touch became reacquainted with my skin, I relaxed.

“Just a minor setback. I’ll hash it all over with Dr. Benson tomorrow.”

“But you can tell me, too. No secrets, right?” he reminded, shyly tracing his fingers along the length of my upper arm.

I shivered.

No secrets. That had been our vow from the beginning.

And yet, I failed him. For while he was completely aware of my attack and relationship with Philip, I still kept something from him. He never knew Philip was married while we were involved.

Hiding such a fact from Alex fostered great shame, but the shame of once being the proverbial other woman felt far greater. Because the moment-when I could no longer face myself in the mirror-wasn’t easily explained; nor was the oppressive misery I experienced once I finally became the person I was meant to be but then realized with terrific horror how much I still hated her.

I couldn’t bear to have Alex think of me in such a bad light.

“No secrets,” I repeated, hugging him closer.

“Then why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything,” he accused suddenly, releasing me and sitting straight up on the bed. I could barely see him, but his silhouette revealed the growing anger.

“What are you talking about?” I demanded.

“I don’t know, Court. I’ve witnessed your episodes before, but it just seems different this time. I mean, usually when you get into the OCD stuff, you do it and that’s it. But this time it’s not only the organizing, need to control type of behavior, but there’s an absence, too. It’s like you’re not here.”

I offered no rebuttal to his observation, because it was true. I just didn’t believe he’d notice my disconnect. And now, I worried the kids felt the distance as well.

“I’m working it all out, Alex. I promise. And my appointment tomorrow will help a lot. You’ll see,” I reassured. “I’ll be better in no time.”

“I hope so, Court,” he whispered into the dark before falling asleep with his back to me.

***

A full bladder jarred me awake at two o’clock in the morning. And after squeezing my eyes tight for some time, I could no longer find a relaxing position nor think of anything but the jabbing pain in my abdomen.

Alex’s disappointment now matched my own, and my too-alert mind was again bothered about the therapy appointment. One hour wouldn’t get me very far in terms of progress, so I badly hoped to hit the most important problems first.

How did I pick which was the most important
? I questioned.

Of course the OCD became the primary symptom to be addressed–it always was-and I guessed its raging appearance could likely be narrowed down to two causes: attack memories and Philip’s death.

Philip.

Persistent thoughts and images of him created a frightening inability to curb my behaviors. Even when I wanted to overcome them, I couldn’t discipline myself to succeed.

Following that first night we met, I’d sense myself thinking about Philip at the oddest times. There might be a person walking ahead of me sharing the same build, or maybe someone talking in the store aisle murmuring softly much like he did. Rather than avoid eye contact, I began to secretly glance at random men around town, wary of missing him if he happened to be in my midst.

And when Marnie mentioned–in casual girl talk-of another company night out, I slyly asked if I could join her. My parents watched me leave for the night with encouraging smiles and relieved shock. They didn’t press me for details, and I became grateful for their restraint.

Finding the same bar with little problem, my heart swelled to see Marnie waiting for me outside the canopied doorway. After giving her an appreciative hug hello, we entered the darkness together.

There were fewer people this time, allowing us to settle into low seats near the end of the bar. And while waiting for our drink order, Marnie filled me in on the blossoming love affair between her and Carl. Apparently he invited her to lunch one day, and they’d been dating regularly the last few weeks.