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Oakville, November 1
6:12 p.m.
I hear a phone ringing somewhere in the haze between waking and sleeping.
Slowly, I crack my eyes open and find the hotel room around me in shadow. I turn my head on the pillow, glancing at the bedside clock. The illuminated dial reads 6:12. The time surprises me. I remember lying down around two in the afternoon. I must’ve been more exhausted than I realized.
I sit up, rubbing at the dry crust that seems to have formed over my eyes. My head still throbs. It feels as if someone is tightening screws into every part of my brain. I swear I’ll never have another drink of vodka for as long as I live.
A voice-mail alert beeps on my cell phone. I drag myself out of bed and cross the floor to a work desk located at the far wall.
It was Heidi who called. I listen to her voice mail.
“Jacob,” she says, “I found the divorce papers in your shredder this morning. Please come home so we can talk about this.”
Grinding my teeth, I delete the message. I feel like throwing the phone against the wall.
Sure, Heidi. Sure. What’s there to talk about? You were pretty damn adamant about divorcing me last night. I gave you a second reason, remember?
Taking a seat at the desk, I scrub a hand over my face. I feel a fire igniting inside me, flushing heat through my body.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to see Heidi. Ever, if that’s possible. And the girls? My heart bleeds when I think about them.
I don’t know what came over me last night. It all seems surreal, a bad dream. My daughters are the most precious things in my life. How could I think of doing something so terrible to them?
Even now, as I write this, my hand shakes. The guilt twists my guts into a big knot, makes me want to inflict pain on myself.
Anger is dangerous and unpredictable. It can blind you. Make you lose self-control. Throw in half a liter of vodka, and you end up in a volatile frame of mind.
I blame Heidi. She just couldn’t let it go. She convinced herself that I really was having an affair, despite no evidence to support it. Then she serves me with divorce papers and threatens to take my daughters away.
The bitch. The belligerent bitch.
As I lay beside Jade with that knife in my hand, I realized how far Heidi could push me, right to the edge of madness. I wanted to hurt her, not my daughters.
I gently stroked Jade’s hair. Her breathing was deep and even. I could feel her heart beating against my ribs. In that moment, I couldn’t imagine loving another person as much as her.
I’m not sure how long I held her or how long I cried—silently, so she couldn’t hear me. When I eased myself off the bed, Jade stirred then quickly drifted off again.
In the semidarkness, I watched her sleeping face. I looked over at Jaleesa. She was asleep on her belly with her arms tucked under the pillow and face turned to the side.
Staggering out to the kitchen, I put the knife back in the wooden block. I took the near-empty bottle of vodka from my office and returned it to the cupboard. Then I went into the garage, closing the door quietly behind me. I had just made it to the side of my car when the sobs began wracking my body. I’d never had emotion hit me like that before, the sheer force of it knocking me to my knees.
I wept until I couldn’t weep anymore. Then I crawled onto the backseat of my car and either passed out or fell asleep.
I woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache. My mouth was so dry, my teeth were stuck to my lips. I checked my watch: 5:20 a.m. Heidi and the girls wouldn’t be up until 6:30.
The house was still dark, quiet. I wandered into the kitchen and switched on the light. We store the aspirin in the cupboard over the refrigerator. Finding the bottle, I popped two pills into my mouth and chased them down with a glass of water.
I keep an overnight bag in my car. It contains a change of clothes, a pair of shoes, and of course my journals. I put on those clothes after I cleaned myself up in the bathroom.
Before anyone got up, I left. I didn’t know where I was going, only that I had to get out of the house.
The time was 5:55 a.m.
I stopped at Russell Williams for breakfast and three cups of coffee. I managed to finish everything, even though I felt nauseous. I wasn’t in any shape for a long-distance drive, so I decided to grab a room until I felt better and had a chance to clear my head.
My cell phone rings again. The bedside clock says 7:01 p.m.
I pick up my phone, checking the display. It’s Heidi again. I let it ring. I’m still in no mood to speak to her.
Moments later, the voice-mail alert beeps.
“The girls are asking about you,” she says. “Where are you?”
I shake my head. I’m with my mistress, Heidi. Remember?
I don’t understand why she wants me to go home so badly. She ignored me for nearly two weeks. The most words she said to me during that time came last night when she gave me that application for divorce. I wonder if she really does want to talk or if she has a new set of papers for me to sign.
I shut my eyes and tilt my head from side to side, thinking this over.
To go home, or not to go home—that is the question.
