Two Days Later
A decision had been made. Life. But not just life.
Living. Breathing. Existing. Over seven billion people did it every day. Existing, the hum-drum, day in, day out kind, didn’t make a life. Not one worth living.
The last time Quinn had seen Evie, Evie said, “Are you happy?”
She responded, “Yes.”
Evie then said, “But, are you really?”
While Quinn squirmed, unsure of what to say, Evie changed the subject. She’d said what she set out to say. There was no need to press any further.
Thinking back on it now, all Evie had ever wanted was for Quinn to live a life worth living. And at present, the opportunity for such a life was being overshadowed by an oversized impediment, hollering his opinion about what she needed to do.
“I’m not asking for your permission,” Quinn stated, when Marcus had finished speaking.
Marcus’s bent pointer finger swooped through the air in full lecture mode. It was just one in a plethora of unattractive habits Quinn had grown used to over the years. In terms of how much his lecturing bugged her, she ranked it at about a five, knowing the offense was still light years away from the most grating pet peeve of all.
“You almost died, Quinn. You can’t leave. The doctor hasn’t released you yet.”
Dressed in single-cuff, black trousers and a pair of striped socks squeezed into new, pristinely polished loafers, Quinn wondered what had happened to the board-shorts-wearing surfer dude she dated, the one all the girls vied for. When they first met he was charming. Flirty. Curious. Five years her senior. The man standing before her today was stuffy, his sense of humor slipping until it was almost nonexistent.
Unable to connect anymore, Quinn had withdrawn inside herself. Marcus resorted to work. Loads of it. If she had to distribute blame somewhere, she placed it squarely on the shoulders of his job. The higher he climbed the corporate ladder at the law firm of Stanley, Moss, Roanoke, & Associates, the more pretentious and distant he became, until he exhibited a “holier than thou” attitude and she no longer recognized him at all.
Marcus’s conservative slacks were just one indication of what a difference several years made. Not that she judged him on his choice of apparel alone. She didn’t judge him at all. She never had. It was Marcus who excelled in the scrutiny department.
Looking at him now, there wasn’t much left to say, so she decided to keep it short. “It’s already done.”
Quinn attempted to slide off the hospital bed onto a standing position. Her wobbly legs disapproved. She coiled a hand around the railing, doing what she could to steady herself while Marcus looked on, his arms folded, disapproving.
Always disapproving.
“What’s done?” he scowled.
“I’ve asked to be released. I have a few forms to sign and then I’m free to go.”
“Against Doctor Falcon’s orders?”
“This isn’t the military, Marcus. If I want to leave, I can leave.”
He was pointing again. “That attitude won’t get you nowhere.”
There it was. The ten out of ten on a scale of one to irritating. The double negative. The cherry atop Quinn’s pet peeve list.
“I’m flying home with my mom and dad tomorrow morning.”
“Cody, Wyoming isn’t home anymore, Quinn. Your home is here, in Utah, the same place it’s been for the last six years.”
But was it her home?
Or was it his?
The modest town in Utah, population just under five thousand, an hour away from Marcus’s job in Salt Lake City, was where she’d resided since they married. Here a handful of prominent families, including Marcus’s, actually thought their surnames meant something special, gave them prestige, the green light to gloat if for nothing more than the sake of hearing themselves speak. An hour away, those same families weren’t regarded at all. No one cared if they owned the only Ford dealership in their town, or the only gas station. Their incessant chatter was nothing more than narcissistic puffery, something Quinn found amusing. She had also been raised in a small town, but the feeling there was different, a far cry from this place.
Marcus stomped a foot onto the polished shine of the hospital floor. “Quinn! Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”
His anger fueled, she saw no point in starting a debate. It was what he wanted. It was what he always wanted. “I’m going, Marcus. I want to be there for Evie’s funeral.”
The look on his face said: she’s dead. She won’t even know if you’re there or not. He stepped forward, his face so close to hers the snort he expelled from his nose fogged up his glasses. “You’re not going anywhere.”
How could he be so insensitive, so cruel, at a time like this?
Two days ago, his insistent “you’re not going anywhere” comment would have signaled the end of a discussion in which the old, timid Quinn would have relented. A new, more determined Quinn had emerged since Evie’s death. And new Quinn’s eyes were wide open.
“I’m going,” she said.
“I don’t understand what’s happening right now. You’re not yourself.”
“You’re wrong. I am myself. I feel like a completely different person. I feel like me.”
“I’m your husband. I know you, and your actions, your behavior ... this isn’t you. You’re being erratic.” He removed the oval-shaped glasses from his face, the ones through which he frequently looked down at her, making her feel subpar. Always analyzing. Always criticizing. He stroked the pressure points on both sides of his nose, said, “I don’t want you to go.”
“You have no right to expect me to stay,” she said. “Evie was my best friend.”
“I’m not asking.”
They squared off, Quinn eyeballing Marcus, Marcus eyeballing her back.
Marcus had never been unfaithful. He didn’t lie. He was reliable. He had a good job. But he was a bully. He’d sucked the light from her soul until all that remained was a mere flicker, a ray of light dancing in front of her like a carrot dangling from the end of a string. Every time she reached out, every time she tried to grab hold, another piece of herself slipped through her fingers, a constant reminder of the woman she’d lost.
Surely there was more to life than this.
There had to be.
“Let’s get you home,” Marcus said.
He was right. She needed to pack.
“Fine.”
At least he’d relinquished her decision to leave the hospital.
Or had he?
“Once you feel better,” he said. “Once you get past this ... whatever is going on with you right now, everything will be fine. Everything will be normal again.”
Normal. It was the one thing she feared the most.
“I’ve done a lot of thinking over the last two days.”
“About what?” he asked.
“About us. About our life together.”
He raised a brow. “And?”
“I’m not right for you, and you’re not right for me. I don’t think we ever were.”
He responded with a simple shrug of his shoulders, unfazed, acting as if she hadn’t said much of anything at all. “That’s just the meds talking. You don’t mean it.”
“You haven’t complimented me in ... I don’t know how long. You haven’t touched me. Really touched me.” She shifted her eyes away from him. “I can’t even remember the last time we were ... the last time we had sex. I bet you don’t know either. That’s how long it’s been.”
He backed against the tan, pebble-textured wall and rubbed his hands together. “Where is all of this coming from?”
“When the doctor was trying to save my life, a part of me didn’t care whether I lived or died.”
He shook his head. “You couldn’t possibly remember what happened. You weren’t conscious.”
But she did remember. Every sound. Every second.
“I want to find purpose and meaning in my life again. I can’t stay shacked up in our house forever, living in fear, holding on to the past. Our son has been dead for two years now. It’s time I let go. I have to move on, Marcus.”
“Who’s stopping you?”
She wanted to scream: YOU ARE—can’t you see that?!
He’d stopped her at every turn, treating her like she was a shattered bottle, the kind no amount of glue could ever fix. And she was done feeling broken.
He reached out, using a single finger to brush up and down her arm, a look on his face like he was touching a thorny rose and trying to avoid getting pricked.
“You know I love you,” he said. “You know how much I care.”
His words were dull. Lifeless. Monotone.
“Do I?”
“Honestly, Quinn. I’m trying here. But I don’t know how much more of your ignorant behavior I can take.”
Yeah, because for once in your life, you’re not winning.
“I’m leaving.”
His eyes slanted to the point where he looked cross-eyed. “So you’ve said, over and over again. If I wanted a constant repeat, I’d buy a parrot.”
“No, Marcus. I don’t just mean I’m leaving for Evie’s funeral. I mean I’m leaving for good.”
“Leaving what for good?”
“Us. You. Me. This relationship. It’s over. I’m done.”
There it was. The simple, ugly truth. The whole truth. Finally. She’d said it.
He fisted his hands. She waited for him to hit something. Anything. He didn’t. He suppressed it, just like every real emotion he’d ever had in life.
“I’m sorry, Marcus,” she said. “Truly, I am.”
“Don’t be.”
“I’m not saying any of this to hurt you.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he scoffed. “You haven’t.”
He blew past. She closed her eyes, listened to the high-pitched squeak of the rubber on the bottom of his shoes as they accelerated down the hall. Away from her. Away from their life together.
The veil of darkness had finally been lifted.
She reopened her eyes and breathed.