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Marla stared at the face of the old grandfather clock. Its tick-tock was rhythmic, and she found the sound comforting. Charlie had promised he’d be home this evening by nine-thirty, but it was now eleven forty-five. This promise was just like many of his others to be home on time. In the last year of their four years of marriage, Charlie had been slowly withdrawing. Though she had called his attention to the growing distance between them several times, he only seemed aloof and uninterested. Just this past week, before his last-minute trip out of town, she had beckoned him to sit and talk with her and even to consider marriage counseling. He had balked at the idea of it.
“Counseling is for people who are depressed or delusional,” he sneered. Then, as if to drive his point home, he added, “You of all people know what that’s like.”
Marla could feel the familiar stab in her heart as his words echoed in her mind. He had figured out how to hurt her and put her in her place, and this had become a ritual for him in the last few months. His words could be sharp and cutting, just as her father’s had been. Charlie knew he could affect her the same way her father had, and he was becoming increasingly hurtful.
Marla’s early memories of her father had been good—when her mother was still alive. On Sunday afternoons, he would take her for ice cream and go to the park for several hours. Most nights, he would read her a bedtime story and tuck her in. But when her mother died, something in her father died, too. His heart hardened because of the pain of his loss, and he started drinking alcohol daily to numb the pain. He became controlling and demanding, sometimes to the point that his words would suffocate her.
In her early twenties, when she graduated from medical school, she called her dad excited to tell him that she had been ranked in the top third of her class. Despite this achievement, her father told her, “You could have been in the top ten percent if you had worked harder.” As hard as she tried, she could never measure up to his standards. No matter how much excellence she showed him, it just wasn’t good enough.
After she finished her residency as an emergency medicine physician, she called her father to invite him to her graduation. He declined, saying he was “too busy” to attend. When she was out of his sight, she was out of his mind and unimportant. But when she was present in his life, he was her worst critic.
Marla looked around the living room. It was dimly lit with a few table lamps, and everything was in its proper place. Charlie didn’t like messes. If something was out of place, he would get irritated and call it to her attention until she fixed it. It was just easier to keep things in their proper place as to avoid his irritation. Just like Charlie, Marla’s father hadn’t allowed for things to be out of place or messy. Her father had always told her that cleanliness was next to godliness, though she doubted he even knew what godliness was. Regardless of the definition he used, Marla knew that he would not stand for untidiness in his home. She shuttered as she remembered coming home from school one afternoon when she was only fourteen. Fear, again, gripped her soul as she recalled seeing her father standing at the door of her bedroom, drunk, and with a belt in his hand. His face was red and scowling. He screamed at her, “Didn’t I tell you to make your bed?”
Marla remembered immediately making the bed and saying over and over, “I’m sorry.”
He had raised the belt in the air threatening to beat her with it.
“Don’t you ever forget again, or you’ll get what’s coming to you.”
She never forgot to make her bed again. Thankfully, her father had only threatened her like that a handful of times. Most of the pain he had inflicted on her through the years was through his words, but his words could hurt worse than a beating with the belt.
Marla looked down at her hands. They were trembling. The distant memory of her father elicited fear and pain, even still. She had moved out of the house when she left for college, but even then, she could still hear her father’s condemning words in her thoughts.
Charlie had been a breath of fresh air when she first started dating him. Their first meeting occurred in the ER when he showed up as a patient with a knee injury. He had been playing soccer and tripped during a play. Marla was the doctor to evaluate him that day. She recalled how handsome, well-spoken, and charming he was. When they started dating, he was kind, and he made her laugh. He loved holding her hand, and he cared about what she needed. He was nothing like the man she grew up with.
In the beginning, he swept her off her feet. She exhaled softly, remembering those first moments with Charlie; long walks hand-in-hand in the neighborhood as the sun was setting, tender moments with hugs and kisses, lunch and dinner dates ... then she exhaled and frowned. Somehow, they had ended up where they were now four years later. She couldn’t remember when things had started to change.
She sighed loudly as a heaviness settled into her stomach. Something had definitely changed in Charlie. He had become short-tempered, distant, and critical of her every move. Her eyes watered as she remembered going to a work party with him the previous month. He had made her change her outfit three times. His words still pierced her. “You’ve gotten chunky around the middle, and your thighs just aren’t what they used to be. If you expect to fit into your clothes, you’d better start dieting.”
What had happened to the fun-loving, easy-going man she had married ... the one who had been so in love with her at the beginning ... the one who had adored her and called her “beautiful” at one time? Where was the man who supposedly loved her like he did when he married her?
Marla walked over to look out the window. The room was quiet except for her continued awareness of the rhythmic tick-tock of the clock. The driveway was still dark, no headlights in sight. She turned back to the couch and returned to her spot. Staring at the grandfather clock, she listened as the chimes rang, singing their song that time was at the hour. It was midnight. Her thoughts drifted to something more comforting as her mother’s face came to her mind. She missed her mom and wished she could have just one more moment with her. Her mom had been her best friend, her protector, and her comforter. She had been the one to plays dolls with her, keep her safe at the park or at the pool, and kiss her boo-boo’s when she had skinned her knees. She had been the one who said bedtime prayers with her every night. All of that had been gone for so long.
Her mom’s death happened quickly when Marla was ten. The breast cancer had been advanced, and Marla didn’t get to say good-bye. Her mother only lived three months after her diagnosis, and she had been sick for most of that time. A tear rolled down her face, spilling onto her leg. She wiped her eyes and leg and stood from the couch.
In the kitchen, she pulled out a lavender candle and a match from the drawer. The scent of lavender always had a soothing effect on her. She lit the first match, but it quickly snuffed out. She tried a second time with another match with the same result. Her frustration started to rise as she could hear her father’s voice in her head. Can’t you do anything right? For a moment, she envisioned Charlie angrily snatching the match from her hand and lighting it to show her how inept she is. Marla exhaled loudly as she felt tears collecting in her eyes. She sank down to the floor, holding the burned-out match. Is this who I am? Not good enough for my dad? Not loved enough by my husband? Lord, there has to be more to me. Please remind me that you made me worthy of love.
Her years as a doctor had helped her confidence some. At least in her work, she felt respected most days. But no matter how successful she was as a physician, she was unable to get rid of the gnawing, insignificant, and unlovable feeling deep in her soul.
She regained her composure as she slowly stood up from the floor. With resolve, she struck a third match and lit the candlewick. She carried the candle into the living room and took a seat on the couch, staring again at the grandfather clock. It had belonged to her grandparents. Looking down at the base, she saw the small heart she had etched in the wood as a child. It was asymmetrical and jagged, clearly matching the artistic ability of a child. She had gotten into trouble over that as she remembered her mom reprimanding her. But her grandparents had chuckled about it when Marla told them she had etched the heart because the clock sounded like a heartbeat.
They had always been so kind to her. Memories of her grandparents flooded her mind. She recalled the many movie nights in their living room at their lake house. Grandma would pop the popcorn, and grandpa would let her drink Coke, even though she was never allowed to drink pop at home. Her grandma would let her bake with her. She’d give Marla her own little roll of dough so she could make her own small loaf of bread. At Christmas time one year, they all made ornaments together. Unlike her mom, her grandparents let her use as much glue and glitter as she wanted.
Marla missed her grandparents. They had been the one refuge for her while she was growing up when she was feeling alone and down. Her father had allowed her to visit her mother’s parents in Guntersville, Alabama, only a few times after her mother’s death. Marla smiled at the memories of her visits to her grandparents’ lake house. Those were her happiest times.
Her grandparents had left the clock to her, and its presence in her home made them feel closer to her. Her grandfather had passed away several years earlier, but only a month had passed since her grandmother’s funeral. She felt a twinge of guilt since her last visit to see her grandmother had been over a year ago, but Charlie didn’t like for her to leave town. Though her schedule at work had also been demanding, so she couldn’t blame Charlie entirely.
Her father would allow her to visit with her grandparents for a week at a time, though her number of visits was few. She assumed he would have binge drinking episodes in her absence because when she returned home each time, the house would be a mess, and he would sleep for days. Her father didn’t have to work because the house was paid for, and they lived off her mother’s life insurance. During his short intervals of sobriety, he would seem somewhat decent to her. He would mow the grass and tinker in the garage and be almost cordial. But those days of sobriety never lasted long.
Marla looked up at the front door as she heard the lock click. Charlie was home. He opened the door and set his suitcase down. Without saying anything, he hung up his coat.
“It’s getting cold out there,” he finally said.
“How was your trip?” She asked, trying to sound upbeat.
“It was fine. Why are you still up?” He asked.
“I was worried. You said you’d be home at nine-thirty. I tried to call you several times, but I got your voicemail,” she replied.
“Don’t start with me,” he said, glancing her way.
“I’m not starting anything. I was worried about you,” she said.
He turned away from her to carry his suitcase up the stairs.
“My flight was delayed in Minneapolis. We didn’t arrive home in Cincinnati until almost eleven o’clock.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re home safe. How did your meetings go?” she asked.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs looking down at the floor impatiently. “We’re going to expand out West. There are several new development projects that will need our equipment.”
“That’s great for business, right?” She replied, trying to sound positive.
“Yeah, it’s awesome, actually. The CEO just promoted me to operations manager, so I’ll be very busy getting the work set up. It’s a great promotion for me.”
Marla knew what this meant. “I guess you’ll be traveling more then?”
“Comes with the territory,” he said as he ascended the stairs. Then he muttered, “I’m worn out. I’m going to bed.”
Marla replied, “Okay, I’ll be heading into the hospital at five o’clock. They are short on staffing, and I said I would come in early and help out.”
“Yup,” he muttered back.
She could feel her heart sink. He hadn’t even looked at her. There had been no warm embrace after a week of his absence from her. In the last month, he had hardly acknowledged her. When he scheduled a last-minute trip out of town during her grandmother’s funeral, she couldn’t believe his words.
“I can’t go. I have a meeting,” he said.
“But it’s my grandmother’s funeral. I need you there,” she replied.
“You’ll be fine. I can’t bring her back by going. I have to go to this meeting. My job depends on it,” he said.
Marla’s soul had been crushed by his inability to empathize with her pain. Her heart was broken over losing her grandma, but Charlie didn’t seem to care at all. Marla closed her eyes tightly as she tried to suppress the feeling that he was telling her something she didn’t want to know.
Marla felt alone and tired. She set the alarm clock on her phone, blew out the candle, and lay down on the couch. The sinking feeling of impending doom wouldn’t leave her, and she felt helpless. Tears escaped her eyes for several minutes until she finally fell asleep.