THE WIND IS HOWLING as the rain splashes against the windows of what was once our bedroom. It’s funny how in a matter of hours, the weather had turned from sunny and hot to stormy, with lightning so fierce it causes the house to shake.
Is the weather mimicking my life?
Perhaps.
I inhale deeply as I glance at everything in our bedroom except the bed.
A picture of James and me sits on the dresser and as I pick it up and hold it, I can almost feel her hands, and I can see her standing in the same spot I’m in now, staring at this photo encased in a silver frame, imagining herself in it.
I close my eyes as anger seeps into my veins.
When I open them up again, I know that the anger inside of me, has found a home.
The sky is as dark as my heart as I open our closet door, then walk inside, my eyes resting heavily upon his neatly hung suits, and for a split second, it makes me feel like carrying out a scene I once saw in a movie. It’s a good thing Jasmine isn’t here with me. She would not only encourage me to do something crazy, but she’d also help me.
On the table in the back of the closet sits a hand-carved wooden case holding the many watches I purchased for him over the years. Ah, he so loved his watches!
My hand reaches in, pulling out the one with a blue face, the one he was wearing the night I told him I was pregnant. He stopped wearing it, of course, after I had lost the baby.
We went through so much over the years together, but didn’t each tribulation only strengthen our love for each other? It seemed so at the time, and it never crossed my mind that I was the only one foolishly feeling that way. Placing the blue watch back inside the case, my fingertips linger upon the red-faced one with a stainless-steel band.
This was the first watch I gave James, purchasing it because it was the same type of watch his father used to have.
One Friday, I had just gotten home from work and found him sitting in the kitchen of our apartment, holding the watch in his open palm, staring at it.
At first, I was going to say something sarcastic, but on seeing the depth of sadness resting on his face, all I could do was move quietly to our bedroom.
He needed to be alone at that moment.
As he climbed into bed, he was wearing the watch. And although the stainless steel was cold against my skin when he wrapped his arms around me, I didn’t care.
We did something we hadn’t done in a while, talking all night about his parents.
It was then he told me that the watch his father had worn was one his mom bought, and she’d given it to his father for their first anniversary.
James’s parents were married over thirty years, living what many would say was a simple life, but his parents had been rich in every way that mattered to James.
Now, it’s hard to let how he used to feel about marriage really sink in, now that I know how he treated ours. If someone were to ask me about our marriage today, I’d probably say that James and I had way more than either of our parents did materially, yet we were undoubtedly the poor ones. And that’s why they say that love, trust, and faithfulness are worth more than riches.
My phone rings as I ease down onto the carpet. Detective Thompson’s name appears on the screen. Really, honestly, do I want to answer this? After a couple more rings, I finally hit the answer button.
“Mrs. Reynolds, it’s Tracy.”
“Hi,” I say almost in a whisper, but inside, what I want to say is ‘I know it’s you, Detective Thompson—or Tracy as you prefer to be called—and I dread every time you call.’”
“Sounds like I caught you at a bad time.”
I clear my throat. “Right now, every day is a bad time. What can I do for you, Tracy?”
I know I’m being short with her, and as much as I want to be my old self again, I’m not sure if that woman exists anymore.
My abruptness doesn’t seem to faze her.
“I was calling to let you know that your husband’s personal items have been released. You can pick them up if you’d like,” she says. “Again, it’s part of the procedure.”
Why don’t you just throw them in the trash?
No, I’d probably regret that decision later.
“You still there, Mrs. Reynolds?”
“Yeah, I’m still here. Not that you asked, but I’m here and sitting in our closet, trying to convince myself not to burn the house down or just his things.”
I sigh as I switch the phone to my other ear.
“I probably shouldn’t say such things to you, but since you know how I take my coffee, you’ll understand.”
The sound of her chuckle, even faintly, manages to pull me out of the dark place into which my thoughts are digging.
“I’m wrapping up for the day, so why don’t I bring the things to you?”
“Isn’t it still pouring outside?”
“It is, but it’s okay. It doesn’t make much difference.”
“It’s funny, but not,” I say.
“What is?”
“I was about to give you my address.”
“Habit, I’m sure.”
“I guess.”
“I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
Ending the call, I glance around the closet again and try to push down the anger I feel building up inside of me. My hands dig into the carpet as I think about the moments James and I shared in here. Fighting sometimes, laughing most of the time, and sharing husband and wife moments that I thought would last a lifetime.
Didn’t I deserve that?
Jasmine’s voice sounds inside my head, telling me to stop asking myself that question because asking it a million times, even aloud, isn’t going to give me any answer that I need, and she’d be right. Deep down, it’s apparent, but that question seems to follow me.
It’s there when I open my eyes, there with each breath. There each time his face appears.
It’s impossible to get through a day without it popping into my thoughts.
Walking out of our bedroom, I stop for a second, doing what I told myself I wouldn’t do.
I glance over at our bed.
Maybe I’ll just burn the sheets.