The Mourning After (24 page)

Levon began again, “How have you been?”

“I’m okay.  I’m learning to live the new normal, whatever that means.  Everyone says the first year is the toughest.” Her eyes catch his in hers.  “Every minute hurts.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you after the procedure.”

“There was nothing for anyone to say.  Unless you’re Shelly Kalegeris.” 

“That’s a name we don’t need to talk about.”

“No,” she shakes her head, “We need to talk about her.”

Levon’s head tilts in a question mark.

“She showed up at my house.  You were right.  He wasn’t cheating on me.”

If only that night were so simple and the explanations able to bring David back.

Rebecca plays with the buttons on her shiny, black blouse; she swipes at her jeans as though there are feelings she needs to swat off.  Levon covers her nervous fingers, impeding the motion.  “Becks.”

“She was actually pretty lady-like.  It’s interesting how people react to death.  Truths come flooding out, and the high school bullshit loses its significance.”

The word
truths
sends a rush through Levon’s veins.  “What exactly did she say?”

She grabs the coffee-colored throw from the couch and drapes it around her shoulders.  Her shoes come off and her legs tuck underneath her.  She was always so comfortable in their house.

“She was decent, Levon, really decent.  It was like someone had taken over Shelly’s bitchiness and replaced it with this weird empathy.”

“I bet,” Levon snorts.

“She said David was really torn up about the pregnancy.  They talked, she offered him some advice.  She said she’s never seen him so distraught.  They didn’t hook up.  Though she said she wouldn’t have minded.”

Levon takes this all in and remains silent.

“What else did she say?  Was that all?” 

“She said he was so upset he made himself sick.  Thank God you drove him home.”

The ridiculousness of that statement is punctuated by the evening’s ironic outcome.  They all knew about designated drivers and never getting in the car with someone drunk or high.  Not even Levon’s sober offer could help save David.

“I’m sorry,” she says.  “You know what I meant.”  She covers her face with her hands, resisting the truths.  “I don’t know what I meant.”

“Not much makes sense anymore.  Everything’s changed.  The world will never be the same again.”

Her hands leave her face and they find Levon’s.  Together they squeeze as though all the unsaid words could spread through their fingers.

Rebecca speaks first.  “I’m sorry he felt he couldn’t talk to me.  We could have worked through it.”

Nausea seeps into Levon’s belly.  It happens quickly.  One minute he is deducing how this could have happened, and the next he is sure he is about to get sick.  Rebecca mistakes the look on his face to mean something else.

“I’m sorry.  This must be difficult for you to talk about.”

She had no idea.

“I’m glad she contacted you, Becks.  There’s got to be some consolation in that.” 

“I’m going to get going,” she says, “I just wanted to wish you a good holiday and let you know I have been thinking of you and your family.”

The two stand up and form a hug.  Levon detects again how his heart is beating at a relaxed pace.  This allows him to pull her tighter into his arms.  She rests her head on his shoulder while the waves of nausea pass through Levon’s insides.

There is so much to that night that would never be understood.

Returning to his bedroom, Levon lies down, pulling the covers over his head.  The room begins to spin while his mind soaks in wine and stormy thoughts.  Before he has time to understand what’s happening to him, he is thrust upright, and the alcohol-laced heaving commences. The noise must be loud and foul sounding because his father bolts through his door.

“Dad, I don’t feel well.”

His father takes charge, heading for the bathroom.  He returns with a cup of cold water and a damp washcloth. “How much did you drink?” he asks.

“I’m not sure. Just what was left on the table.”

“Drink the water and go sit at your desk.  I’ll strip the bed.”

Craig Keller returns with the blow-up bed used for sleepovers.  The grimy sheets and blanket are rolled into a ball in the corner of the room. 

“Don’t blow it up,” Levon begs. “The noise will wake everyone up.  I’ll take a blanket from downstairs and sleep on the floor.”

“Levon,” his father says, “you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“You’ve always been an easy child.  I’m not going to lecture you tonight on underage drinking.”

Levon stops him.  “Dad, I didn’t even like the taste of it.”

His father sits down beside him on the floor and laughs. “I’ll remind you of that in a few years.”  Then he puts his arm around Levon’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry about tonight,” he says.

“Me too, Dad.  I’m sorry about everything.”

“Levon, I love you.  I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep our family together.  Your mom is going through the toughest time of her life.  I’ll never excuse her behavior, or mine, but if I’ve learned anything the last few weeks, it’s that no one has the blueprint for dealing with grief.  We’re all innocent bystanders on an unchartered terrain.”

Leave it to his father to cull together one perfect, incisive sentence.

“I can’t believe he’s not here anymore.  It doesn’t seem real.”

“I know,” his father agrees, “I catch myself wanting to tell him something.  He was my son.  I was supposed to protect him.”

“He’d be pissed knowing he’s missing all of this.”

His father’s eyes swell with tears, though he doesn’t cry.  “Something tells me he’s with us.”

“I saw you hugging that Olivia lady.”

“I know.”

“I should have said something.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

“I could have helped you.”

“No one can help.”

“How can you still love me?” Levon asks.

It takes him a full, palpable minute to answer.  He finally says, “You’re my son.”

“How are we doing this week?” Dr. Lerner asks Madeline and Craig in her heavily accented voice.

Craig mumbles something, giving his wife an encouraging glance.

“Madeline?” she asks.

She shrugs, less confident than her spouse.  Today she is exhausted, beaten down.

“The last few sessions have not been easy, I understand, for both of you.  Nothing worth saving ever is.  Lots of couples come in here with problems—some bigger, some smaller than yours—and if there’s one thing that separates those that last from the ones who end up dissolving their unions, it is the
desire
to make it work.”

Neither responds.

“I see you working very hard together.  It’s clear to me you want to preserve the marriage.  I am correct, yes?”

Madeline nods her head in partial agreement.  Normally, she would have scoffed at the doctor’s no-nonsense approach to marriage preservation, but today she finds her booming personality and heavily accented brogue sedating.  Dr. Lerner is their savior, the lifeboat for their sinking ship.

She continues.  “Let’s consider how we got here.”  Madeline looks accusatorially at her husband.

When David first died, the two sat huddled together discussing their crushing pain.  They were on the same team, reliant on one another to heal.  Now, their anguish has been sliced in two.  The added ingredient of adultery, both bitter and addictive, has the two of them seated at opposite ends of the sprawling, brown couch.

“Madeline, I understand your frustration and anger toward Craig. I’m going to ask you, though, to do something that probably won’t be easy.  It’s the only way I believe our work can be productive.”  She pauses for a response from Madeline, which is taking an uncomfortably long time.  The silence is ominous and unpredictable.

“This may be hard for you to understand right now, Madeline, because you’re angry and feeling betrayed.  Instead of looking inward, it’s a lot easier to cast blame on someone else. For us to work through this together, we have to cease talking about this other woman.  She is not the problem.  She is not the issue.  She is insignificant to our success in here.”

Craig is fumbling in his seat.

Before Madeline can argue, Dr. Lerner continues.  “Your marriage has suffered some terrible blows—the loss of a child being the most significant.  Even the healthiest of marriages oftentimes can’t sustain that type of tragedy.  Coupled with Chloe’s illness and Rebecca’s pregnancy, there are additional stressors.”  Dr. Lerner’s dark eyes dart between the two solitary figures.  “The affair is not what I would term a stressor, although, Madeline, I’m sure you’d disagree.  The affair is the result of stress.  It is not the problem, but the symptom of the problem.”

Madeline takes a quick look at Craig.  The relief that has sneaked across his face has her incensed.

Dr. Lerner continues.  “The model for how you handle stress in the marriage is dictated by your personalities—whether learned or inherent.  Craig,” she says, stealing a glimpse in his direction, “your stressors made you desperate and needy.  Madeline, you turned controlling and hardened.  Much like the person who suffers and turns to drugs, Craig, you became addicted to the emotional validation you couldn’t get from your wife.  Madeline, your addiction was control—your children’s diet, your own...”

“Are you saying what happened was my fault?” Madeline stands up, agitated.

“We don’t point fingers and lay blame in here,” Dr. Lerner says, motioning for her to sit down.  After jotting something on a pad of paper, she places the pencil behind her ear where it peers out from the unruly bush.  She purses big lips and says, “You both must be willing to admit to your mistakes and hold yourselves accountable for the problems in the marriage.”

Madeline is pissed and it shows.  Instead of ripping her husband’s head off, she carefully pulls her hair back behind her ears.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you,” Dr. Lerner says to her, “but this problem in your marriage has been here for a long time, a very long time.  It preceded the affair.  David’s death certainly began a spiral effect, but the groundwork was laid years ago.  Small problems became big problems.  Your husband was calling out for help.  Good thing that he did.”

With that, Craig lets out a heavy sigh that sends Madeline into a frenzy.  She is fuming.  Her arms flail when she speaks; her face turns a dangerous shade of red.  There is no way she is going to let Craig off that easily. 

“How can you absolve him like that? Plenty of people have problems in their marriages, but he betrayed the marriage.  He betrayed the trust!”  She shouts like a petulant child who’s not getting her way.  “You make it sound like I should be thanking him.”

“Is this how you typically handle conflict with your husband, Madeline?”  There is no mistaking the giant mirror Dr. Lerner is holding up in front of her face.

“He disrespects me and my family, and I’m supposed to believe that I caused it, that I’m to blame?”

“You are
both
to blame,” Dr. Lerner says, leaning forward in her chair.  “We’re in this room to explore how you got into your present predicament.”

“It’s unforgivable,” Madeline says.

“There are two types of people who cheat,” Dr. Lerner begins in response.  “One is egocentric and doesn’t believe in the sanctity of marriage and never will.  The other is weak and confused, hungry for affection, for something to fill the void.  The difference in these two types is simple: one feels tremendous regret and remorse, while the other has none.”

Madeline turns to face Craig, and his eyes tell her at once which category he falls into.  They are swollen, red and damp. 

He has begged for her forgiveness for days.  He has cried and appealed for her to allow him to stay.  “We need to work through our grief together.  We’re stronger together than apart.”  He is ashamed: a failure to himself, a failure to his wife, and, most importantly, to his kids. 

The image of nubile Olivia and the attention she paid her husband was eating away at Madeline and eroding her reason to exist.  Madeline was adamant when she asked for the divorce on Thanksgiving night.  And although they fought and cried and argued through the early morning hours, she remained resolute. There was no mincing of words.  Madeline Keller had had enough.  She was unequivocally prepared to leave the man who stomped on their vows and made a mockery of her in public.  Craig was unwavering too. “I never touched her,” he said, yet, equally repentant for the admitted emotional connection.  “The day David died, it was over.” 

To Madeline, his emotional attachment eclipsed the physical transgression.  She deemed it a blunt fracture to years of trust and intimacy.  That night, and the nights that followed, were typified by finger-pointing and Madeline-esque threats.

With the course of their future hanging on a string as delicate as spider’s silk, Madeline was in a hollow state of suffering.  Her knee-jerk reaction was to bolt, start fresh, and although the thought provided momentary relief, its long-term prognosis was deeply unsettling. She knew the grim statistic: Half of marriages end in divorce when a couple loses a child—and she didn’t want to be a statistic.  She didn’t want Levon and Chloe to suffer as a result of their issues.  Two of them needed to manage Chloe’s care.  And although she trusted none of her friends with the details of the cavernous crack in the façade of her marriage, she ached for their support, but she also knew the shared consensus of modern suburban wives: If my husband cheats on me, we’re through. And she didn’t want her friends to judge her if she couldn’t walk away.

She had to wonder if her soiled reality smacked them in the face—stinking of lust and abandoned dreams—would they be able to forage ahead on an unpredictable path without looking back, without regret?  Madeline didn’t know what to do.  Leaving was easy in some ways, yet harder in others.

“Madeline, do you think you’re able to refrain from talking to Craig about the other woman?”

Madeline shrugs.

“When you walked in here today, whether you were aware of it or not, you made a decision to commit yourself to the marriage and to the healing process.  We can’t do that without addressing the problem, not the symptom.”