Wake up. Shower. Eat a breakfast bar. Take the subway to the office. Work. Eat lunch by myself. Work some more. And here’s where the decision tree starts.
I’m a programmer. A decent one; I’d be a senior developer by now, if… well, if I could give a fuck. But I was good enough to not get fired, which was what mattered now.
Anyways, programmer. That’s why “decision tree.” “If Day In [‘Tuesday’,’Wednesday’] Then Subway(Home).” Except life is never exactly that easy. Never that simple. The decision tree started before that, branched out in the morning, because if it was a Saturday or Sunday, I’d have slept in as late as my body would have let me, then vegged out playing videogames all day. And then there are handlers for special days: birthdays, anniversaries, holidays.
Valentine’s Day.
Two years ago, everything was different, all my decision branches were different. A year ago, everything changed. I’d give anything to go back and make different decisions, to have flipped a few bits and sent my life on a different path. I’d say I regret what I did, but regrets are for people who can hope for forgiveness. For the rest of us, we just push on and through, putting the damage we’ve caused behind us as best we can.
My decision tree this Valentine’s Day required special handling. Normally on a Tuesday, I’d go home and either drink, toke, or game my way to sleep. But tonight, there was a meeting of my support group, the one that normally only occurred on the Thursday branch of the tree. Valentine’s Day was special, though. The folks that ran it knew that some of us would need the extra support today.
There weren’t many people in the auditorium, just a handful of us in folding chairs in a circle. I was glad of some of the absences; Darius wasn’t there, and hadn’t been to any of the meetings in weeks. I smiled a little; I hoped he’d escaped the orbit of his pain, at least enough to start navigating to a new life. Margaret wasn’t either, but I think she was just sick. She’d sounded terrible when she spoke last week. Hopefully she’d feel better soon. She was a real sweetheart.
And, of course, the bulk of the other usual attendees weren’t here, either. They were using the group for the reason intended, to get better. Our group wasn’t like AA; you were expected to leave someday. If you didn’t, either the group wasn’t working for you or you weren’t working with the group. I was the latter; I had never spoken, other than to give my name, in the three months I’d been coming.
But the other four? Well, three were what I thought of as old timers. They each had their reasons to be here, beyond what brought us all to the group initially. Beyond the loss of our spouses at a young age. We were all, in theory, here to talk with other folks that could understand, that could empathize. My therapist suggested I come, and I did. But I knew I wasn’t working with the group the way I should if I was going to leave. I was here to wallow.
Mary was here for that, too. But her wallowing wasn’t the quiet kind; instead, she shared every few weeks, talked about what she’d done. Her husband was a clinically depressed man, and she couldn’t manage it anymore. He had stopped managing himself, had lost his therapist and wouldn’t go to a new one, wouldn’t go to the ones she found for him. Started to lash out in his depression.
She couldn’t get through to him, couldn’t get him to get help, and she eventually fell in love with a coworker she had confided in. She left her husband, Sam, alone. She hadn’t intended to; she had called his sister, but something happened and the sister didn’t get there in the ten minutes she had promised. Didn’t get there at all. He threw himself off of their apartment balcony.
I hated Mary. Not for what she had done, not specifically. For what I had done. For reminding me too much of myself. There was an uncanny valley between us, and her grief and pain looked like mine just enough that I recognized it and just different enough that it made me angry to look across it at her.
Ray had been here longest, and he was the oldest; technically past the age limit, but who was going to kick him out? He wallowed, too, but he tried to think of it as leadership, of giving back to the group what he’d gotten from it. His wife had died in a drunk driving incident. She had gotten just a little too lit and left a party that way, taking her car keys with her. The group, I’m pretty sure, had become his life, even as it prevented him from making a new one. He was like one of those guys that went to every home game shirtless and painted in the team colors; his only friends were here, and we weren’t really his friends.
Gina was a lot like Darius, and they had been pretty close; she clearly missed her buddy. Their spouses both died from cancer. I think she was still here because, unlike Darius’ wife, Gina’s husband had lasted a long time, three years. He had gone into remission and then relapse, followed by a slow decline that chemo and radiation couldn’t stop. There’s a special pain in losing a loved one quickly, but there’s also a special pain in losing them slowly, especially when you think they’ve made it past the danger.
The fourth, Ed, was one of the new guys. A really new guy, only here for a couple of weeks. He was still early in the process, just trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces and move on. His wife’s death was simplest, and for that reason, somehow saddest to me: an aneurysm, a simple weakness in a blood vessel cutting short both a life and a love.
And that left me, Todd. My wife had died, too. The hows and whys? Well, that’s a–
“Todd, do you want to share tonight?” Ray’s earnest voice set my teeth on edge. It was the same voice a high school guidance counselor uses when they tell you that maybe if you’d just try to fit in, things would be better.
I’d zoned out when Mary had been sharing. I do remember that she said she’d met someone new. Even in my disdain, I could find a little happiness for her; hopefully she wouldn’t fuck it up. But then it turned into another recounting of her husband’s death and her role in it, only this time the spin was about how and when to talk about it with the new guy. That was like the blind leading the blind, and I had no interest in listening to a bunch of birds with broken wings give tips on how to fly.
I shook my head, and Ray, with his usual thin smile when I did that, started to turn to the next possible participant. But then, surprising myself, I said, “Yes. Yes, I want to share.”
The old timers shared a glance among themselves; these meetings had a flow to them, and that flow didn’t include me speaking. Even Ed seemed to catch that something strange was happening. But it had been a year, exactly a year, since Sandra’s death, and three months I’d been coming here. There were only four people in the room; if I wasn’t going to do it on this night of all nights, with this few people judging me, when was I going to do it?
“Um, I’m Todd. You know me. It’s been… it’s been a year since Sandra died. Exactly a year, since… ” I looked at the floor, trying to escape the eyes on me. “Since I killed her.” There was a gasp; Gina, I thought. The sound of cloth rustling as people shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.
Ray spoke. “Todd, perhaps– ”
Ignoring him, I continued. I was committed; I’d always been committed when it came to Sandy. “We married too young. I loved her, and she loved me, from sophomore year in high school on. We weren’t like a lot of high school couples, the ones that broke up and got back together over and over. It was us, just us, all the way through high school. We got engaged the week we graduated high school, got married the week we graduated college.
“My folks, her folks, our friends, they all tried to tell us we got married too young. But that… well, you know how kids are. People telling them they’re making a mistake just convinces them that they’re star crossed lovers being torn apart by… whatever.”
The floor was that kind of ugly speckled, mostly green linoleum that you only get in old auditoriums. The kind meant to hide vomit, or blood, or urine, until some guy with a mop and bucket can get there. “We were in love, though. Really in love. It wasn’t just youthful arrogance or lust. I would have spent the rest of my life with her, happily with her. We made it five years that way, just happy as could be. Or I was, at least. I thought she was, too.
“We were starting to talk about kids. Really talk about it, I mean. She was hesitant; we were so young, me twenty six and her twenty five. I pushed on it a little bit, but she pushed back hard, and I let it lie. She was right. We were young. It could wait a few more years, and I wanted her to be happy.”
Sitting back in my chair, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I put one in my mouth and brought the lighter up when Ray, voice pitched up just a bit and indignant, said “You can’t smoke in–” Mary hissed at him. I looked around and realized I was kind of being a dick. But then Gina, whose husband passed from lung cancer, nodded to me, and I decided I’d been given a majority vote.
I took a puff and blew it away from the group, specifically away from Ray. He still coughed pointedly. “Things changed after that. Slowly at first; there was still love there, a lot of it. But she decided to focus on her career. ‘So we could get ready for having kids,’ she said. Longer hours. Weekends sometimes. Travel. I was young, dumb, and in love. I didn’t think anything of it, because she was still just as affectionate when she was home. Even moreso.”
A smoke ring went towards the ceiling, breaking apart as it tried to fly too high. “I had a doctor’s appointment one morning and decided I’d go by her work to surprise her. Take her out to lunch. Even if she couldn’t go, she’d be happy to see me, right? Especially if I brought flowers.”
Mary shifted in her chair. She knew from hard won experience where this was going. “I got there just before lunch, but she was already heading out the door with another guy, someone I didn’t recognize. Our age, maybe a little older. They were getting into his car as I drove up. He was helping her into it, and his hands were not where they should have been.
“I probably would have gotten out and confronted them, but I’d just have been chasing a car on foot and shouting at it like a crazy person, so I followed them in my car instead. They drove to an hourly motel. I took pictures of them going in, and his hand placement didn’t get any better. I took pictures of them coming out; her hair was a bit messed up, but her makeup was perfect.”
Ed started to speak, with that sympathetic look I’d seen hundreds of times on dozens of faces in this room, but I waved him off. I doubted he’d be so sympathetic when I was done. “I called in sick the rest of the day. I felt like I’d died. Like I wanted to murder her.” Lots of discomfort from the assembly then. You tell a group of grieving spouses that you wish you’d murdered yours and see what happens. “I tried to decide if I could somehow forgive her. Like, if I confronted her and she threw herself at my feet and begged, if I could overlook it. But I couldn’t. I was absolutely sure of that.” I laughed mirthlessly as I shook my head. “So sure.”
The room was tense and quiet. No one wanted to move or speak; not even me. But I was committed. “I simmered with rage that afternoon. I went through every stage of grief in a couple of hours and came out the other side ready to do as much harm to her as I could.” I saw their faces, thought about how they were squaring what I’d just said with what I’d said about murdering her. My hand went out, palm upward, the ash from my cigarette falling to the floor. “No, not like that. I wanted to… she’d destroyed our marriage. I was going to do that to her in spades.”
They looked like a tribunal. Ray was irritated, Gina sad, Mary understanding, Ed horrified. Their judgments didn’t matter; I knew I was guilty anyways. “It was coming up on Valentine’s Day. Sandy’s favorite. ‘I know it’s commercial, but I still love it. It’s about love, and that’s something I’ll always have with you!'” I wasn’t trying to make a mockery of her voice, but that’s how it came out. “I decided to hold off on the confrontation until then. She’d ruined something I loved, and I was going to ruin our marriage and her favorite holiday in one fell swoop. If that sounds cruel…” I shrugged. “It was. Intentionally so.”
My cigarette was almost finished, so I took one last drag, stubbed it out on my heel, and put the butt in my pocket. There was already ash on the floor, and I didn’t need Ray bitching about me littering even more. But I lit another one up anyways. Fuck his sanctimonious ass.
“When she got home, I pretended to be sick; I wasn’t that good of an actor, to just pretend everything was normal. But I made sure that she saw the roses that I’d gotten her, put them in a nice big vase so she’d see them when she came in. Told her I’d tried to surprise her at lunch, but must have just missed her. Sandy went pale, but I’ll give her this: she recovered real quick.
“I spent the next week and a half preparing. Getting the reservations squared away, leaving little love notes for her to ramp up the surprise, small gifts intended to hint at a larger one. She was so happy; I always tried to make Valentine’s Day special for her, but this was me going the extra mile.” I chuckled. “Yeah, the extra mile. Way further than I should have taken things.”
Ray jumped in, “Todd, this feels like something you should be talking out with your therapist.”
I laughed. “Why do you think I’m here, Ray? I was supposed to share all of this with my ‘peers.'” I swept my hand across the circle of faces. “See that I’m not alone in my pain, that no matter what I’ve done…” I shook my head. “Bullshit. Whatever.” My voice growled, “Don’t interrupt again,” and he sat back in his chair, arms crossed, sulking at the loss of his imagined power.
“The night before, I told her to wear her best: favorite dress, jewelry, go get her hair done, manicure, everything. Told her we were going to make a whole weekend of it, with a big surprise in store to show how much she meant to me. She was over the moon.
“And that night, when we were ready to go out, she looked… beautiful. Like…” I laughed, melancholic. “Not like an angel, not dressed like that. But the woman of my dreams. A fantasy made flesh. There was a part of me that wanted to forget everything. To give her what I’d promised. But then I remembered her coming out of the hotel room, how comfortable she was with his attentions. So I smiled a devilish little smile, and we were on our way.
“I had done some horse trading and got reservations to an exclusive new restaurant. A window table, ostensibly because she loved to people watch. In reality, it was because I wanted people to watch her. She was beautiful, and young, and sexy, and not a few of the male patrons got glares from their dates as we went to our table and sat.
“We ordered our drinks and held hands. Sandy was beaming. Just so full of joy.” I stopped and took another drag, wishing I had a drink instead. “I had brought a satchel with me. I’d told her it was part of her surprise. She was almost vibrating with anticipation as I reached in and pulled out a manila envelope. On any other night, at any other time, she would have realized immediately what it was; I heard a gasp to my left as someone else did.
“As she feverishly opened her present, I pulled out my phone and queued up the picture of her coming out of the motel. The look on her face… it should have crushed me. Should have told me that I needed to stop, that this was too much. But the pain, the confusion: that was what I was there for. My pound of flesh.
“And then, when I said, ‘I know,’ and showed her the picture? I reveled in the pain then, the way her tears ruined her perfect makeup, her hand going over her mouth. I savored every detail, wanting to remember it forever. She could see it on my face then, the anger and the glee at her pain.” Another drag from a shaking cigarette. “Stupid. So stupid.”
Mary was holding her breath. Gina had grabbed her hand and was squeezing it. Ed was on the edge of his seat, while Ray affected disinterest, even as I could see his breathing was shallow with fear. “She panicked. I didn’t expect it, but I welcomed it as it happened. Sandy leapt to her feet. Started to run. ‘Ran in a blind panic.’ I’d heard it, but never seen it. She bolted away from the table as I laughed. Laughed at the pain of this woman that I was supposed to cherish.”
My head hung low, weighted down by my guilt and their horrified, expectant expressions. I couldn’t look at them, didn’t want to know how they’d look at me. “She pushed her way past the crowd in the waiting area, shoved out the door and ran. Ran…” My voice cracked. “Ran into the street. It was…” The tears fell.
“He couldn’t stop, the car couldn’t stop. I was on my feet, shouting as it happened. All thoughts of revenge and anger were gone. She fell. It was such a little hit, not like you see in the movies. The bumper hit her, and she fell. Fell and… and… and her head… it bounced off the asphalt. She didn’t move.”
I’d lost all control of my voice, of its volume and timbre. It was raw with pain and longing, longing for something I could never have back. “I ran out, screaming and crying. In a panic like her, but one that could still see. I saw what I’d done, and I ran to her, through the crowd of onlookers. Fell to my knees beside her. She… she was gone. An empty stare, a little splash of blood on the pavement, and that was it. The love of my life was gone, and she’d never come back to me.”
“Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ.” Ed’s voice, somehow horrified and flat at the same time. Beneath it, I could hear soft weeping, a woman’s cries.
“‘An accident.’ That’s what it was ruled; that’s how the cops wrote it up, and no one even glanced twice at it. No one could have known she’d do it. But I knew. I knew, and my friends knew, and her family knew: I’d murdered their daughter. I never told them why; I couldn’t. Couldn’t do that to her. I’d murdered her once, I couldn’t do it a second time.”
Ray, finally speaking in a voice that didn’t set my teeth on edge, said, “Did… did you ever find out…?” A question without a question. Timid as ever.
I sat back up in the chair, laughing. Mary. It was Mary that was crying. Gina was hugging her, trying to keep her together. “That’s your question, Ray? Not ‘how are you feeling now?’ ‘Thank you for sharing that with the group?’ Did you forget…” I shook my head. Whatever, I’d be curious, too. “Yeah. The bastard actually showed up to the funeral. One of her coworkers. He didn’t know that I knew. I cornered him and…” I swallowed. “That was my fault, too. The reason she cheated, I mean. Sort of. Not really, but…” I shook my head again.
“She had freaked out when I’d pushed her about having kids. Saw her life going by without her in it, with her never being ‘her.’ Just my girlfriend, and then my wife, and then a mother. That’s why she threw herself into her work, so she could carve out a little niche for ‘her.’ And then… and then he seduced her. He was single and handsome, she was in a bad place, they were working closely together for long hours. It was easy.
“They’d had sex a few times. The time I caught them was supposed to be the last time, according to him. He could have been lying to spare my feelings, but… but I think he knew that if he wanted to spare my feelings, he’d have made her out to be unrepentant instead. He didn’t know if she was going to confess or not; he didn’t think she knew, either. He’s the only one that ever heard the whole truth of why she died, of why I was divorcing her.”
Ed asked, “Did… did you do anything to him?”
“No. I… in the original plan, I was going to do… something to him. I hadn’t decided what. But I’d ruined my life and ended hers. Destroyed her family, blew up all my friendships. I thought that was enough senseless destruction. Don’t you?” He averted his eyes.
Mary croaked, “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”
I snorted. “Yes it fucking is, Mary. Just like it was your fault when Sam killed himself.” I wished, as soon as I’d said it, that I hadn’t. My grief’s body count just kept going up, ruining more people who didn’t deserve it.
She snarled, “You asshole. You fucking asshole. I fucking know that!” She was on her feet and in my face, even as Gina tried to pull her back. “Sam had a mental illness, he was clinically depressed! I killed my husband because…” She swallowed, regaining the tiniest bit of control. “Because I couldn’t handle it anymore. I thought I could fix him, that he’d be another one of my ‘projects,’ like he said. I didn’t… I didn’t get it; I thought he was just sad, thought that’s all that depression was. But it wasn’t… isn’t.”
Her manner became agitated and erratic as tears streamed down her face. This wasn’t her usual self-flagellation, intended to act as both a pep talk for the newbies that things could be worse, while also allowing her a public exhibition to martyr herself for her sins. This was different. This was a breakdown. Or maybe a breakthrough. I guess we’d see which.
“I didn’t get it. I’m sorry, Sam, I didn’t. I do now. I know… I know what it’s like to have to take the pills and have them change who you are and how you think. How afraid you are when you get sad, because they might have stopped working. How hard it is when you can’t get to your therapist, don’t have someone to talk to who understands.”
She stood in the circle, inviting our judgment. Her face was in her hands, muffling her words. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I killed you, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I thought Anne would get there in time, didn’t…”
Her shoulders shook with rueful laughter as her gaze went to the ceiling. “Forgot she was her own kind of fucked up. Didn’t put snow chains on her car, in the middle of fucking December. Forgot to charge her phone as usual. And then she got in the accident– accident, a fucking fender bender– couldn’t call or text to let us know, didn’t even… stupid bitch didn’t even think to look for a pay phone, she was so deep in her own learned fucking helplessness. A five minute drive, a twenty minute fucking walk, and she couldn’t get there in an hour.”
Her voice dropped. “I should have stayed. But I didn’t. Should have… shouldn’t have cheated. Should have fought harder.” Almost a whisper. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
Then she rounded on me. “But you, you fucking asshole! You didn’t kill your wife! You… you don’t get to pretend to be the cause of her death, you don’t get that! You didn’t know she’d react like that. Yeah, you were a fucking dick, and you should be ashamed of yourself for that. But you…” She spat at my feet. “Fuck you. Fucking fuck you. We’re nothing alike. I killed my husband. Your wife was a dumb bitch that threw away her marriage because she had a quarter life crisis.”
Breakdown or no, this was too much. Nobody was going to talk about my Sandy like that. I’d never hit a woman in my life, but that was about to change. I was on my feet in an instant, fists balled and ready to lash out, but then Ray and Ed both grabbed me, and Gina grabbed Mary, and we each got dragged back to our chairs.
Ray’s shaky voice said, “Maybe we should, ah, leave things here tonight.”
“No.” Gina’s voice, clear and distinct. “No, we shouldn’t.” Gina didn’t speak often, and that made her voice carry so much more impact than Mary’s or Ray’s.
“It’s…” The tone was soft and kind. Everything about her said, “caregiver.” “It’s okay to feel conflicted about them. About our spouses. Todd, you’re not a monster for being… for being angry at her, even for hating her. Mary’s right, you didn’t kill her. It was a terrible, tragic accident, but you didn’t kill her.”
She turned to Mary. “And Mary, do you think Sam would want you to do this? To become him? Did he love you?” Mary reluctantly nodded. “Do you think he’d ever want you to suffer from what he suffered from? Of course not.” She sighed. “I know that you have a lot of guilt over what happened to him. That’s… honestly, you’re going to feel some of that for the rest of your life. But, I want to tell you: I am so proud that you’re putting yourself out there, trying to meet someone new. That’s really great, and I think Sam would be proud of you, too.” Mary looked away, face etched with shame.
Gina turned back to me. “Todd, if Sandra had died in an unrelated accident, if she had never known that you found out about her affair, what do you think she would have wanted?”
I sighed. “It doesn’t matter. She didn’t.”
“Please.” Her soft voice gently implored. “Just, if she had, what do you think she’d want? For you to live the rest of your life alone and unhappy?”
“… No.”
She nodded. “And if her… coworker was correct that she felt guilty, even if what you did was cruel, do you think that answer would change?”
The cigarette was almost all ash now, barely smoked. I took a drag and stubbed it out, putting the butt in my pocket next to the other one. “I don’t know.”
The way she spoke was magnetic, almost mesmerizing. I don’t know if it was because she spoke so rarely that every word seemed more important, or if it was just a quality of who she was and what she had to say. “Then let’s go through it one piece at a time.” She smiled. “Did she love you?”
I snarled, “She cheated on me.”
“That’s not what I asked. I asked if she loved you. Let’s make it simpler: if I had asked you that a year before her death, what would you have said?”
“I’d have said yes.”
Her pleasant tone was slightly reproachful now, an instructor leading a recalcitrant student along to an obvious point. “And, if her coworker was reliable, which you seem to believe, she felt regret for what she had done. Perhaps enough to confess, perhaps not. But that would indicate that she still loved you, or at least cared about you. And if that’s the case, then…”
“I killed her. You’d think that might change how she felt.” I deserved this pain. I wasn’t going to let her get me out of it this easily.
Gina smiled sadly. “You didn’t kill her. Mary didn’t kill Sam, as much as she might want to insist that; she made bad choices that led to his death. That’s not the same thing. You did, too, but Sandy’s death…” She glanced apologetically at Mary. “Mary’s choices were bad ones that carried an element of risk she should have understood. She did, and even tried to account for them. But…”
She sighed and returned to me. “What about yours? They were cruel, yes, but was there any… had she ever given you any reason to believe she’d act like that? Any previous history of mental illness? Panic attacks, emotional instability, depression?” I shook my head. “Then it was what the police called it, Todd. A tragic accident.”
Her pious act was really starting to piss me off. I didn’t need a confessor to forgive my sins. “It wasn’t!”
“It was. You feel guilty for being cruel. For being angry at her and letting that become something monstrous. But…” She looked at her hands. “That… that doesn’t make you culpable for what happened. Your anger didn’t kill her, and your guilt won’t bring her back. It’s not good for anything but making you a victim to the past.”
“I–”
She continued, ignoring me. “Everyone in this room–” She smiled beatifically at Ed. “– Almost everyone… we’re stuck here because we can’t get past what we’ve done. Or didn’t do. Or meant to do. Mine was less dramatic than yours or Mary’s, but…”
Gina chewed her lip, then cleared her voice. “Rick was ill for… for a long time. At first, I was the supportive wife. I did everything I could for him. We had kids, young ones. So I had to take care of them, and him, and work to keep our insurance, and to pay for our house and food and…”
I watched her closely. We all did. She had talked about Rick’s death before many times, as a way to talk about dealing with grief, to help new people feel welcome. But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t about grief over his death; it was grief about something else.
“It wears on you. Wore on me. The first time, before his remission, I bore it as bravely as I could. He was in so much pain, emotionally and physically. And the kids… thank god that they were too young to understand then, but they were also so young that I had to take care of a pair of toddlers by myself, while also caring for my husband that… that I thought was dying.”
A single tear slid down her cheek. “I was… God, I was so grateful to have him back. To… to know he was going to live, that we’d made it past the worst time in our lives. And then… then we had almost two happy years together. We lived those two years fiercely. Unafraid. We knew this was ours by right, that we’d earned it. That we’d always have it.”
Gina’s lip trembled. “But then the cancer came back. And it was… I’d never had heartbreak like that before. The first time, it was a hammerblow. But the second…”
She wiped her eyes. “I grew up poor. Really poor. We were on food stamps, but sometimes they weren’t enough. One time… one time the power went out on our block, and the food in our fridge spoiled. It was the summer, so no school meals. For half a week, we ate whatever dried goods we had. And then, for the rest of the week, we starved. All of our neighbors were in the same spot, and the local food bank was bare, and… and there just wasn’t enough to go around.
“It was awful. Painful. Watching the shame on my parents’ face hurt almost as much as the gnawing hunger. But then, payday came, and dad was able to stock the fridge again, get more dried goods in. Every time the power went out after that, I remembered that hunger. That terrible, awful, inescapable pain. It was so much worse than the actual starvation, because that was something I had no choice but to endure. The fear, though, that was just something always on the edge of my perception, and when the power went out from then on, I spent the entire time in fear of what could happen.”
Mary put her hand on Gina’s shoulder and held it there. Gina spared her a brief, grateful glance, then continued. “Rick’s relapse was like that. I knew what the diagnosis meant, what the future held for us, even if he went into remission again. The kids were older, which was… trying to explain to a pair of kids that barely had a concept of death what might happen, and as Rick grew sicker, what would happen…” She shook her head.
“I resented him. Hated him. I knew it wasn’t his fault. I knew it was irrational. But I still felt it. I loved him so much, and he was doing this to me, to us. We had won, why couldn’t he have just… just… Why couldn’t that have been enough? Why did we have to fight again?”
Gina bowed her head. “Why did we have to lose? Why did he make me… why did he have to make me… I wanted him to die. Was waiting for it at the end. To be free. To be free of this, this awful pain. I wanted him to be free, too, but I mostly–”
Ed exclaimed, “For Christ’s sake! Did any of you love your spouses, just love them?”
Gina’s head shot up, pain on her tearstained face, mouth opened but unspeaking. Mary’s turned to Ed, pure rage in her eyes.
“Fuck you, Ed.” Ray. Ray spoke. It wasn’t Ray’s voice, not his unctuous counselor voice or his disappointed vice principal one, either. It was sharp and cold, like a knife. “We all loved our spouses. Fuck, we probably loved them more than, what was her name, Irene? Sorry, they all blend together after a while. I’m sure she was special to you, but she’s just another dead wife in the long list.” What the fuck?
He sneered. “Fuck, I’m so sick of you goddamned tourists.” Ed opened his mouth. “Shut up! It’s my turn! My turn to tell you how–” He glared at all of us.
“God, you weak fucks. I listen to folks like Ed, the ones that come in and drop out quickly, and I’m glad to see that, glad to see they got what they needed.” He looked at Ed. “You will never suffer the way these people have suffered, and you should be grateful for that. Be glad that the only thing you ever felt for your wife was love, that you have nothing to feel ashamed about. You’re done here. Congratulations! You graduate! Get the fuck out.”
He turned his face to each of the rest of us in turn. “You’re all… you’re so fucking needy. So sure that what you did and how you feel is so unforgivable.” He pointed at Mary. “Sam was an asshole that wouldn’t keep doing the things he needed to keep him sane. You weren’t equipped to deal with it. But you can’t accept that, because you have this goddamned savior complex that requires you to fix everyone, so it just had to be your fucking fault.”
Gina was next. “You. You… god, Gina, I can’t even really be angry at you. It’s like kicking a puppy. You’re so fucking good.” He almost spat the last word, like saying it made him realize how he couldn’t measure up; bitter in his mouth, just as he was bitter. He sneered at Mary. “Hey, Mare? This. This is what you should be doing if you want that sainthood.” Cruel aside done, he returned his gaze to Gina. “You, of any of these folks, are the only one I feel sorry for, really sorry for. Because you were so ready to be done with his pain, and then you were, and it just made you more miserable.
“You just can’t let go of your fucking guilt at the resentment that literally ANYone would feel. You’re special, Gina, yeah. But you’re not that goddamned special. You keep telling everyone else how their husbands or their wives wouldn’t want them to suffer, would want them to go on with their own lives. Well, physician, heal thy fucking self.”
Ray’s face had grown monstrous, a mask of fury as he fixed me with his gaze. Or maybe the mask he always wore had finally come off. “And you. You sat here the whole time, judging us, with that superior fucking air, like your pain was somehow so much worse. Just had to drop a bombshell in here. Had to be the focus. ‘I murdered my cheating slut of a wife wah wah wah.’ Grow the fuck up. People cheat every day. People are cruel every day. People make mistakes every day. Congratulations! You hit the trifecta, and she’s dead and you’re–”
My rage from Mary’s words hadn’t dissipated; it was just waiting for a new target, and Ray was it. I launched myself from my chair, taking him and me to the ground, and started to just fucking wail on him. His glasses flew off, skittering somewhere into the darkness. His arms were up at first, deflecting the blows, but then he dropped them, a huge, lunatic smile on his face. I paused, and Ray shouted, “Come on! Do it! I fucking deserve it, and you’re so desperate to hit someone, because you can’t man up and throw yourself off a bridge!” He smirked at Mary. “Oh, sorry.”
I pulled back and away, sickened at myself and at him. Stood to get away from this thing that he’d become. Horrified. He laughed. “Fucking pussy. Not surprised.” His nose was bloody, and he licked the top of his lip, then grabbed a tissue as he stood and pinched the nostril shut. “All of you. All of you! You all have reasons to hate your spouses, and you just feel guilty about that. I… I killed my wife, and I did it accidentally, and I did it without hate. I called Ed a tourist, but you’re… god, you’re like the ugly Americans in the group, so obnoxious and loud in your grief. I…”
His eyes closed. “Fuck it. This is my last session. I can’t…” He swallowed. “You want to know why I killed my wife? Because I wasn’t ready to leave a party. We’d both come after work, brought our own cars. She’d been drinking, but I didn’t realize how much. I’d been drinking enough that it didn’t register. She was feeling sick, and I just waved her off, told her I’d meet her at home. And then, an hour later, a state trooper called me on her phone. So, yeah. I killed my wife. Not because she cheated, not because she was crazy, not because of some horrible illness, just because I was lazy and having fun ” He laughed without humor. “Beat that, assholes.”
His eyes were flooded with tears as he fished in his pocket. “Ray…” Gina began, and he glared at her.
Ray pulled out a couple of keys and threw them at her. “Lock up when you’re done.” And then the oldest of the old timers left, slamming the door behind him.
Ed was next, sparing a horrified glance back at us. “I– I hope you can find the peace that you…” He shook his head and left. And then it was just we three, the ugly Americans.
Mary quietly said, “I’m sorry, Todd. I shouldn’t… shouldn’t have said that about Sandra. I wasn’t… I was the one having the quarter life crisis, not her, and I was mad at myself and just–”
“No, Mary. She was, too. It… it’s just easier if I can blame… if it’s my fault. If she died because of me, and only because of me. Then I don’t have to deal with…” I couldn’t say it, wasn’t sure even what exactly I meant.
Gina almost whispered, “Because then you don’t have to think about whether you would have been able to forgive her. You knew that what you did was cruel, and knew you’d feel bad about it later, because you still loved her.” I nodded, a lump in my throat. “And you know, now, if you could go back and do it again, you would. Because you know what it’s like to lose her in a way that you can’t undo.”
I hung my head. “No. No, that’s not it. It’s close but… It’s that I know I wouldn’t have been able to. I… the only way I would have been able to forgive her is… is what happened. I was so sure that what she did was just something I couldn’t get past. That’s what I can’t deal with. Knowing what I know now, I’d forgive her in an instant. But if she hadn’t… if it hadn’t happened, I never would have been able to. I only know how much I love her and how much she meant to me because she died.”
I’d said it now. The thing that had eaten away from me for a year. I only really knew what love meant, what forgiveness meant, when it no longer mattered. When regret was just a word.
Mary surprised me then. She hugged me. I’d been ready to hit her before, like I had Ray, but she just threw her arms around me and held me as I cried. I never knew how much I loved Sandy until she was gone. Mary had never known how much she loved Sam until he was. Knowing what we knew now, we’d have borne any weight to have them back. But we only had that knowledge because we lost them. We’d both give anything to have our loved ones back, and we never could. I hugged her close as we both sobbed.
Gina let us stay like that for a while. When we finished, Mary and I looked at her. My heart went out to the quiet core of our group, the leader Ray had desperately wanted to be but could never quite manage. We wanted to help her out of her pain, but the shape of it was so different from ours. We held out our hands to her, but she shrunk back, smiling. “Thank you, but…” She swallowed. “I’m glad that you’re… you’re not coming back, are you? Either of you?” It was hopeful and sweet.
I looked at Mary and she at me, then both back at Gina. I gave a little shake of my head. “I know why I came here now. I… thank you, Gina And you, too, Mary. But I… it’s time to move on. You were right, Gina, even with what I’d done, Sandy would want me to move on, just like Sam would want Mary to. But… Gina, Rick would want you to move on, too.”
Gina laughed quietly. “Yeah, maybe so. But…” She shook her head. “But I don’t want to. Not yet. Once I do… Once I leave here and put him behind me, he’ll be gone, really gone. I’ll forget him a little bit more each day. I hated his illness and what it put us through. Hated him, too, for doing that to us. But… I love him. If coming here and holding on to my grief, both over his death and how badly I dealt with it, is how I keep that love strong, for just a little while longer? I’ll live with it.” She smiled. “And if I can help people? Then… then it’s like he’s still here with me, sort of. Like we’re not trying to get through his illness anymore, but through other folks’.”
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She did hug us then, not as a way to begin healing, but as a way to say goodbye. We said little as we left, no platitudes about hoping to see each other around. We simply went our separate ways. Gina would remain for at least a little while longer, the last of the old timers, staying to help the tourists as they stopped briefly on their journey to their own new beginnings. Mary and I would each go to our new lives, to new decisions and the branches they’d take us down. We were, all of us, wiser than we’d been before, and I hoped that meant better lives for us all.