Weeds in the Garden of Love (2 page)

And so it was, on the first night of his new life, Craig Andrews sat in Room twenty-two of the Sunset Motel; sipping a beer, eating Fig Newtons and watching “Kramer vs. Kramer.”

…
on a TV with rabbit ears.

CHAPTER TWO

Reflections

Sunday was a beautiful fall day. The sun was beaming out of a cloudless sky, and a warm breeze gently rustled the fallen leaves. Lewis Park was full of people enjoying the sunshine and each other. Young lovers were lying on blankets or strolling hand in hand. Families were having picnics. Children were playing, laughing as they ate ice cream or crying because they weren’t. Dogs were chasing sticks, Frisbees and squirrels.

Craig’s mind had him elsewhere. He meandered through the park. Yesterday’s departure had left him dazed. He was used to being married. Single and alone was something he thought he would never be again.

Worst of all, he didn’t know why it happened. He wondered if he ever would figure out why he and Chrissie split up.
I tried to talk
to her about it
,
but she wouldn’t tell me. Didn’t she realize she was not only throwing me out of my own home, but also out of my job? She must have known. But why?
Once again, he was back to the “why.” He had absolutely no idea what it was.

Craig stopped by the duck pond near the center of the park. He tried to skip a stone across the water, but it hit once and sank. A boy and his dad were playing catch. At one point, the kid missed and the baseball rolled over to Craig’s feet. He was too preoccupied to notice. All he could think about was Chrissie and what had happened.
She changed. S
he’s not the same person. When we were first married, I could do no wrong. In the end, I couldn’t do anything right. She found fault with everything I did. But boy, if I even hinted something was her fault or, God forbid, she was actually wrong about something, she’d go ballistic. She was never wrong. She was always right. If she had a problem, well, someone else caused it. Nothing was ever her fault. She always blamed someone else for her problems—usually me.

Craig was hurt, more deeply hurt than he had ever been in his life. The woman he loved above all others had rejected him. Once again, he had no clue. He also didn’t know why he wasn’t furious. Why he wasn’t fighting mad.
I’ve been mad at
her before,
especially one particular night. It was a long time ago, but I’ll never forget. I remember the rage.

* * *

The fight resulted from his disagreeing with her point of view. Craig and Chrissie had been married for a short time. They didn’t have a lot of money, and the monthly rent didn’t leave much for anything else. They always shopped for bargains and ate a lot of macaroni and cheese. Chrissie’s parents, Joe and Olivia, permanently loaned them some furniture and utensils. Chrissie even made curtains out of old bed sheets. In spite of not having much, they had fun and laughed a lot. They didn’t fight, or even argue, as long as Craig played the game and agreed with her.

But this particular evening, Craig disagreed with her. She exploded in anger. He didn’t recall the specifics, but it ended with him telling Chrissie she would never admit she was wrong about anything. This proved to be a grave error on his part. Chrissie unleashed a screeching torrent of insults. She slammed the bedroom door so hard a picture fell off the wall in the adjoining bathroom. She pushed the dresser against the door. Chrissie hauled out a suitcase and hurled it across the room where it landed with a loud thump. She threw her clothes out of the closet onto the bed, indicating her intention to leave.

Craig offered a muffled apology through the barricaded bedroom door. He begged her to come out, so they could talk. From the other side of the door, Chrissie’s stream of profanity would have made a sailor blush. Craig pushed against the bedroom door. The dresser shifted, and the door opened a bit. An alarm clock flew through the opening and crashed into the hall. Craig, deciding discretion was the better part of valor, retreated to the living room. Chrissie climbed onto the pile of clothes on the bed and wailed herself to sleep. Craig ignored her. He didn’t know what else to do. He spent that night on the couch.

* * *

Craig was deep in thought as he sat on a park bench near the duck pond. Chrissie’s insane tantrum that night had taught him a valuable lesson. From then on, he was always careful to keep any truth about her to himself.
She taught me
to
never tell her anything she didn’t want to hear, or to criticize her behavior. Those were buttons I would try to never push again. I learned the one way our relationship would survive was to adopt a peace-at-any-price attitude. It worked for a while. But a person can only bend to another person’s will for so long. I finally reached the breaking point, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to stand up for myself. But it was too late. The die was cast. She rebelled and thought I didn’t love her anymore.

As he walked back to his car, Craig was feeling better. He still had a long way to go. He had yet to acknowledge the profound anger he was harboring deep inside. The anger had built up throughout their marriage; a direct result of not disagreeing with her when he should have, caving in to her will on everything and avoiding arguments for the sake of peace and quiet. He had suppressed his anger for so many years it was now like a living entity locked in a cage in his soul. His survival instinct locked it in and he didn’t dare let it out. He was afraid his anger would consume him. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. Craig had other priorities.

First, he must create a life for himself. He couldn’t live at the Sunset Motel forever. He had to find a job, look for a decent place to live and make arrangements to see his kids.

His kids. Craig considered driving past his house in Botsford Downs. He might catch a glimpse of them. He decided not to.
I’d be doing that for me, not them.
They
’d be upset if they saw me.

Craig needed someone with whom he could share his feelings. Chrissie had always fulfilled that role. She was his best friend and he could count on her to listen.
She instinctively knew what to say and what not to say,
he thought as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to the Sunset Motel.
We were such good friends.
He laughed out loud at that. “Some friend she turned out to be!” His sudden outburst started Craig. His rage had boiled to the surface so quickly; he felt he had no control over it. For the first time since he left yesterday, Craig was thankful to be alone.

He drove along wondering if he could ever get over the way he felt about Chrissie. He held her responsible for ruining his life and scarring Robbie and Heather forever.
She’s the bitch that kicked me out.
Craig realized he was not ready to deal with her. It was too soon. The wound was new and still bleeding heavily.

* * *

Craig lay in bed that night thinking about his kids. The motel was quiet. The weekend was over, and everyone with a home to go to—had gone. Craig had the place to himself.

“
I miss my kids,” he whispered in the dark. “Please, God—take care of them for me, and let me see them soon.” It surprised Craig he was actually praying out loud. Who else do we talk to when we’re alone in the dark and afraid? Who else would listen to us? Who else would want to?

He heard an approaching siren and looked over at the window. The light of the motel’s yellow security floodlights had found a small part in the curtains. The light shone off the imitation wood coffee table casting an eerie glow in the room. Craig was too tired, too emotionally exhausted, to get out of bed and fix the curtain. He fell asleep wondering if he had a safety pin.

* * *

The next morning, Craig was dressed and ready by eight-thirty. He decided to stop in the motel office before going back home to pick up the rest of his stuff. A typewritten notice on the dresser in his room had informed him:

“
The Sunset Motel is pleased to offer our guests a complimentry [
sic
] continental breakfast served from 6:00 AM to 9:00 AM every
morning in the Lobby.”

Craig chuckled at the obvious spelling error and thought,
Hey, if they’re pleased to offer
it, it must be good
.

He was still smiling when he opened the door to the so-called lobby. The motel office was deserted. He could hear the old couple yelling at each other back in the owner’s residence. Craig couldn’t decide if they were angry or simply hard of hearing. He decided to quietly help himself. He didn’t want to speak to anyone.

The complimentary continental breakfast consisted of a store bought package of small powdered sugar donuts, accompanied by horrible metallic tasting coffee from a huge silver percolator. Craig found a stack of small Styrofoam cups beside the percolator and poured coffee from the spigot. He dumped in a packet of powdered creamer and attempted to stir the floating white lumps with a red plastic stir stick.
Some kinda classy joint
I live in,
he thought. Craig blew on his coffee in a vain attempt to cool it. He passed on the donuts.

His house looked different as Craig pulled up and parked.
Guess everything looks weird,
he thought,
when your world
turns upside down
. Actually, everything was normal. The garage door was closed, and toys were strewn on the front lawn. Robbie’s bike was lying in the driveway near the sidewalk to the front door.

Craig walked up to the house feeling like a stranger, or a thief casing the joint. He could hear his golden retriever Stella barking through the side fence, as if to say: “Hi, Craig, I know it’s you.”

He peeked through the small windows on the garage door.
No car. Good, I was hoping she’d
be at work.
He was sure Robbie would be at school and Heather at daycare.

He put the key into the front door and turned it. The lock felt like it was frozen. Craig thought he had used the wrong key. He checked the key. It was the right one. He tried again.

“
Damn! She changed the locks! Now what?”

Craig went around to the side door of the garage. The door was warped and needed replacement. Craig knew the kids never closed that door tightly, let alone locked it. Stella was going bananas on the other side of the backyard fence. Her tail was wagging frantically. She whined as she tried to get her snout through the slats.

“
Hey, Stella.” Craig knelt down so Stella could lick his hand. “How’s my girl? Being a good dog?” Stella loved Craig. He was with her when she had her pups. She wouldn’t let anyone else near her—only Craig.

Craig tried the door. He was right. It was unlocked. “Wait here, girl.” Craig always talked to Stella like she could actually understand English. “I’ll be right back.”

On the day he left, Craig’s little Toyota was packed full. He had to leave the rest of his stuff under a tarp in the garage. Chrissie would never notice. The only reason she went into the garage was to get her car. Craig lifted the tarp, and his possessions were right where he left them. They had no real value; a few boxes of pictures, extra clothes, his tools, his golf clubs, tennis and squash rackets and the old steamer trunk his mother had given him. He had no place to store his mountain bike, propane barbecue and chain saw. He would have to leave them behind. Craig picked up the chain saw
. Should of used that
when I had the
chance.
He immediately felt guilty for even thinking such a thing. He smiled all the same.

Craig was loading his car when his nosy neighbor Karl Freedman walked up. “Hey, Craig. Heard you’re going through a tough time.”

“
Yeah, things could be better.” Craig looked at him, but Karl wasn’t making eye contact.

“
Well, Jean and I talked to Chrissie after you left on Saturday and—well, she told us some things about you. Quite frankly, we were appalled.”

Craig continued to pack his car. “What kind of things, Karl? I’d like to know.”

“
Well, she says you were nasty to her—said you abused her mentally and threatened her with physical harm. She also said the kids are afraid of you. Now, we know every story has two sides, and we aren’t taking sides but— ”

“ —
you believed her,” Craig said. “Didn’t you just say there are two sides to every story, Karl?”

“
Yes, but you never know what goes on behind closed doors, do you— ”

“
That’s right, Karl—you don’t!” Craig got into his car and slammed the door. Looking in his rearview mirror as he drove away, he saw Karl walking back across the street. Craig wondered
why people feel the need to choose sides in a divorce. Then, he thought about the lies Chrissie was spreading about him.

His anger rattled the cage door.

CHAPTER THREE

Lorne

Lorne Davis was not happy. Someone had parked in his spot. Many things could propel him into a fit of rage, but this was special. This one, he took personally.
Probably some low life deadbeat.
He dialed his car phone with his thumb.
He’ll wish he’d picked another spot
.

Lorne knew a guy who worked for a cutthroat towing company. They loved to tow vehicles off private property. They charged their prey whatever they wanted. Few complained — they simply wanted their vehicle back. Lorne called the dispatcher. “It’s an old beater. Pontiac or Chev. Hard to tell ‘cause it’s such a piece of crap! Anyway, it’s in my assigned parking spot. I want it gone—now!” Lorne parked in the visitor’s lot, grabbed his briefcase and headed for his office.
What a fun way to start your day,
he thought. He meant it.