The Jewel Box (32 page)

“Do whatever you want, Cherie.”

“Like you?”

“What do you mean?”

“That you secretly support your mother, despite saying her reckless spending irritates you.”

“I’m embarrassed and angry that I can’t say no, and fork over cash every time she comes crying to me.”

“Gabriel I don’t care if you fund her irresponsible behavior. What bothers me is how you’ve stopped sharing information with me.”

“Enough said,” he barked. “This is my personal issue.”

“Then perhaps you should be
sleeping
with your personal issue.”

Dead air filled the space between us. Gabriel had always internalized instead of talking, but nothing infuriated me more than his silence. I rushed into our guest bedroom to spend the night, wishing I had been composed enough to keep inflammatory remarks in tow. I’d said enough already. Or hadn’t said nearly enough. I was tired of being upset and frustrated about our inability to dig out of the quagmire that was zapping our emotional strength as it pulled us under.

The following morning Gabriel politely refused to acknowledge my existence. Sure, I used the words “sleeping” instead of “having sex,” but he interpreted my hateful message.

Daily, we withdrew more and more. I rarely cooked, and if we did dishes together it was in total silence. One evening as Nikki and I sat watching television, he walked in with one of Gloria’s Corningware dishes, placed it in the fridge, and then cut through the living room ignoring both me and Nikki. Instead of responding to her cheery greeting of “Hi, Old Man” he just nodded. I looked at her puzzled and hurt expression and felt upset over our collapse affecting my daughter who dearly loved him. Then thoughts of his daughters having been affected for years as consequence of our actions filled my head. At that very minute, I confronted the only solution to our ultimate insoluble dilemma.

After an evening of ear splitting silence, Gabriel showered then sat in the living room reading the
Houston Post
and smoking. The calm face my eyes always loved to linger on looked as handsome as ever, even with his damp hair combed straight back. I leaned against the wall separating the dining and breakfast rooms, then looked at his profile in a bewildered, soft-focus, sort of way. As he slowly inhaled his Marlboro, I lovingly etched that memory in my mind and wondered how the hell everything got to this awful point. He sensed my presence, looked over, and curtly asked, “You need something?” Without answering, I walked through the living room, into our guest room, closed the door, threw myself across the bed, and cried myself to sleep.

When Gabriel left for work the next morning, I felt fairly certain he knew I wouldn’t be there when he returned. As soon as his van left our driveway, I phoned in sick, called Mother to say Nikki and I needed to stay with her for a few days, and then called movers. Nikki was on school break, so when she woke up, I told her we were leaving. “I don’t understand, Mom. You and Gabriel love each other.” She began crying.

“We always will, but love doesn’t conquer all. Even if it were possible, the O’Quinn familial bond should never be broken or bent like it is now. I won’t make Gabriel choose between me and his blood line.”

Together we cried and packed our belongings along with the moving company I hired who guaranteed to have our house packed and in their truck by four o’clock. We alternated giving information to those rushing about our house, each of us answering questions when the other was crying too hard to speak.

22

We arrived at Mother’s house with me brushing away tears while Nikki comforted. “Are you okay?” Mother asked, standing in her sensible pumps, starched apron over her floral dress, and white dishtowel across her shoulder.

I nodded yes. Instead of prying, Mother hummed and rattled pots and pans in her immaculate kitchen. She was such a contrast to Gloria. Quietly passive yet always forgiving and supportive of her two children and husband without choking us with her apron strings. Dad stayed in the den playing a tune on his harmonica he’d likely heard in some smoky honky tonk. Mother and Nikki were pushing food at me when Gabriel called.

“What the hell are you doing? Please come home.”

I ached for him, but couldn’t go back. “I’m allowing you to be with Gloria and Hope again, and most importantly, Lauren and Skylar.”

“Bullshit, Cherie! Are you out of your fucking mind?”

He was still cursing as I hung up the phone.

The following morning I woke up in a pool of sweat and a state of panic over a horrible nightmare. Then I looked across the room at Mother’s armoire, realized it wasn’t a nightmare and rushed out of bed to throw up. I threw up until I doubled over with dry heaves, fell onto the bathroom floor, and howled into a towel. Getting through the day was agonizing, but I exercised false bravado to calm Nikki. My lovey almost stroked the fur off Mistletoe.

When I phoned Eduardo, he reminded me he was leaving for a two week vacation, and insisted I take as much time off as needed. Others could catch his phone and paperwork would wait. Major relief.

Gabriel called every night for two weeks. The hurt in my heart contrasted anger at him. Maybe our breakup was inevitable, even without Gloria’s interference. Beau once said happiness taken at the expense of others often turns to sadness. Ours had, tenfold. But I believed Gabriel should be with family, and refused to return home. I sobbed nightly and rarely slept. Then Gabriel’s calls stopped.

Not hearing his voice was torture. I prayed for strength, certain I was doing the right thing for him. After a few days, I phoned my former home desperate to learn Gabriel was okay.

“Yeah,” he gruffly answered the phone.

“Gabriel.” I gulped, nervously. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m great, Cherie.” His voice was cold.

“You don’t sound great.” I attempted to soothe. “Emotionally.”

“Emotionally? I’m void of emotions. Something you stirred in me that I never knew existed, then goddamn yanked away.”

“Gabriel you know I had to leave.” My heart pulsated insanely. “And you also know I love you.”

“All I know is that I loved you more than I knew was possible,” he said angrily. “Christ, you were my life. Just because we couldn’t work things out overnight, you rushed away.”

“Gabriel, I left for the well-being of your relationship with your family.”

“Don’t try to glorify your leaving on philosophical grounds. You ripped my heart out, then kept slashing it with constant rejection.”

“I’m sorry,” I cried. “When I stopped hearing your voice, I knew I was wrong. As long as we talked, I guess I still felt connected.”

“You mean as long as I called and begged you to come back, you felt good. Well, I felt like hell. Goddammit, Cherie, you hurt me and it’ll goddamn never happen again.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. We just need time apart.”

“You’ve got all the time you want.” His hostile tone cut straight through me. “I’ve built a wall that no one can tear down.” Click.

I threw up.

I called Eduardo and told him I could no longer work for him. He sympathized and advised. “You don’t have to work for me, but get back to the city where you can take care of yourself and Nikki.”

After far too little sleep and far too much upchucking, I managed to stumble into survival mode. Back in Houston, I went full-time paralegal with a huge firm, leased a townhouse, and enrolled Nikki at Memorial High to finish her senior year. Despite staying super busy, my active life failed to keep me from feeling like a part of me had died.

Gabriel and Nikki’s relationship continued, with her visiting our former home, talking with him on the phone, and occasionally meeting for lunch. Through Nikki, I knew Gabriel was okay. My heart was broken, but I was determined to let go and let him reunite with his family.

I spent my fortieth birthday at a bar getting swirling drunk and trying to forget. Under the influence of vodka, I swallowed a small tablet called XTC that a girl I hardly knew placed in my palm. “It’s totally vogue and one hell of an aphrodisiac,” she’d said. Within minutes I was feeling astatic instead of ecstatic, and began waxing rhapsodically about my undying love for Gabriel. If it had an aphrodisiac effect, I never felt it. Maybe ECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy) would have been a better alternative. Within weeks, I’d moved from Ecstasy to cocaine. Freud took cocaine, so what could it hurt? Along with cocaine came any sleeping meds I could get my hands on. It’s hard to catch Z’s when Bolivian oblivion ignites ones central nervous system into overdrive. But the white powder couldn’t repress thoughts of Gabriel or keep me from reaching out in fitful sleep for the feel of his flesh.

“You okay, Sis?” Ellen awoke me by phone. She was becoming my alarm clock.

“Fine,” I lied.

“I’m here if you need me. Anytime.”

“Thanks, Ellen.” I headed to my kitchen for coffee. “And please tell Mom I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“She called one day rattling off self-help quotes and I told her to mind her own damn business.”

“Mother will be just fine. But Jim said Nikki moved into her own apartment.”

“Yes, my daughter diplomatically chastised my behavior before leaving. She was sweet about it and even kissed me goodbye, but snooty Mistletoe turned her butt in my face.”

I could’ve sworn my sister whispered, “Smart feline” before she hung up.

Disturbed by Nikki’s departure, I struggled to stop my sudden yet significant cocaine use. I didn’t stop, but
somewhat
slowed my intake.

Patrice checked in occasionally, but her goal to become partner didn’t leave time for personal visits. She felt remorse for having dated a married man, and asked my forgiveness for her ultimate betrayal to women. I asked her to forgive me the same, and understood her regrets. Patrice then regaled me about her exploits with a plethora of unusual
unmarried
men; from astrophysicists to Zen gurus. Talking to her inspired me to lift my lugubrious ass from my sofa view of Iran Contra news and seek the company of live men.

“How’s the dating game going?” Patrice asked.

“Disastrous. First up to bat was a drop dead gorgeous guy ten years younger than me who worked in the same office building. He left notes filled with Springsteen song lyrics on my car.”

“Wasn’t ‘I’m on Fire’ was it?”

“You guessed it. And he underlined the ‘sheets soaking wet’ part. Anyway I met him at Steak and Ale for dinner and drooled over him. Until our food arrived. His table manners were worse than that red-headed dancer whose breakfast with Al was a memory I’d shoved so deep, I figured only hypnosis could retrieve it.”

“Not many things are as appalling as atrocious eating habits.”

“Amen. So, I slipped away and found a phone book, and when he asked for my home number, I gave him the number to the Houston Zoo.”

“That’s a shame, but not enough reason to leave the game.”

“I didn’t quit. Second suitor on the mound was an older, less attractive, wealthy president of a small company. We’d chatted in the building lobby
several times and eventually agreed to meet at Cyclone Anaya’s for drinks and dinner.”

“Arriba, margaritas.”

“Hardly.The Porsche driving, platinum card holder, pulled out a 2 for the price of 1 coupon, calculated the waiter’s tip to the penny, snuggled against me like he was expecting sex for the meal he hadn’t bought, and asked if we should welcome morning at his place or mine.”

“Unpardonable,” Patrice said. “How’d you get away?”

“Told him my ex-husband just got paroled from prison and we’d be lucky to leave the restaurant without gunshot wounds. No more dating men from the office building.”

I didn’t tell Patrice, but snorting coke with my madcap group of friends seemed more sensible. I quickly reverted to hanging with druggies. Not street corner thugs, just your typical run of the mill businessmen who functioned under the influence.

During what I can only refer to as a six month blur, I struggled through work and lied to family and friends, including Gabriel, who called with concerns about my drug use. I swore I wasn’t partaking that often. Just a partial frying of the brains. Okay. I had a problem. Cocaine isn’t cheap. I was taking money from one credit card to make payment on another and Citibank was after my ass like horny hyenas in mating season. With my half-functioning frontal lobe, I began searching for Beau who wasn’t listed with local information. I needed him. But with or without my spiritual guide, the time for voluntary withdrawal had commenced.