Chapter Three
Visitor
I didn’t get any sleep, and eventually crawled off of the bed at around five while the sun was just beginning to create an amber glow on the carpet. I slipped out from under Paul, not needing to worry about waking him, as he continued to snore loudly.
Leaving the room, I went down the hall to use the main bathroom, not because I was particularly worried about disturbing my husband’s sleep, but I needed some time to compose myself before actually confronting what had gone on the night before. At that moment, I didn’t know what to say to him. I even wondered whether the hours spent stewing over it had made me lose all perspective.
Climbing into the shower, I quickly soaped my body noting a graze on my inner left thigh and freshly pinkish bruises on both hip bones. The bruises were obviously caused by the force of his own pelvis knocking against me, it took me a little longer to realize that the tiny teeth of his open zipper had cut into the delicate flesh of my thigh. None of those injuries was particularly sore though, and with the exception of a slight tenderness between my legs, I had no other physical reminders of the evening. Still, try as I might, I simply couldn’t shake the sense that something had gone very wrong in my relationship with Paul.
It took me no more than ten minutes to wash my body and hair. I spent a further hour standing beneath the hot jets, trying to figure out how to broach the subject.
Wrapped only in a towel and with hair loose and dripping wet, I returned to the bedroom. Still face down on the bed, Paul didn’t stir. As I stepped into a pair of jeans and threw on a T-shirt, I watched him breathing heavily. With his dark hair tussled, dress shirt creased and pants hanging disheveled at his hips, he was a mess. It became clear that he was drunker than I’d realized the night before. Would he even remember what had happened? If he did, I was sure he’d feel guilty.
Taking a glance at the time, I wondered whether I should wake him. After just two days at home, he was about to head out of town again. A car was coming to pick him up at nine, so I tried to calculate how much time we’d have for a heart to heart before he left.
“Paul,”I whispered gently from the foot of the bed.
He didn’t move, even the pattern of his breathing remained the same.
“Paul,” I repeated, a little louder this time. “It’s-”
“Mom!”
Spinning at the sound of the wail that interrupted me, I sighed. I hesitated momentarily, but when it became obvious that even the shouts of our children would not wake him, I decided to leave Paul alone for the time being.
Leaving the bedroom and shutting the door quietly behind me, I was met with the distressed face of my little boy. He wasn’t crying, but I could see he was only seconds away from doing so; his big brown eyes watery and lip wobbly. Seeing me, he ran down the hall.
“Mom,” he whimpered, his arms spread wide.
Crouching so that I was on his eye level, I placed my finger to my lips. “Daddy’s still sleeping,” I hushed.
He flung his chubby little fingers around my neck and I automatically wrapped one arm around his legs. With his butt resting on my forearm, I groaned as I scooped him off the floor. “You’re getting big,” I told him in a whisper. “I’m not going to be able to do this much longer.”
He paid no attention, his legs quickly fastening around my waist and his face disappearing in my shoulder. I only managed to take him the few feet to his own room, before he was slipping down my hip. Carefully, I lowered him to the floor, sinking to his height as I did so.
“Now,” I sighed, still in a hushed voice. “What’s the matter?”
“Lizzie,” he sniveled, pointing into his room.
When it became clear that was all I was going to get from my son, I stood up and stepped inside the room. All seemed normal, until I caught sight of an armless bear at the bottom of his bed. Stepping forwards, I scooped up the injured toy and turned to Dylan. “Did she do this?” I demanded.
With a trembling bottom lip, he nodded.
Glancing to the ceiling for inspiration and patience, I took a couple of quick breaths. “Elizabeth,” I called clearly, realizing too late that I had just told my young son to be quiet.
Almost instantly, her pink door creaked open and she stood staring at me with an innocent smile. “Yes, Mom,” she beamed. Her sandy hair, with roots that were turning the same warm hazel color of my own, was already scooped into a neat ponytail and she was dressed for school.
“Did you do this?” I asked her, holding up the bear that Dylan had named Frank.
She paused for a moment, perhaps resisting a child’s knee-jerk compulsion to lie. “Well...” she mumbled, the smile slipping from her face and her almond eyes no longer able to meet mine.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” I finished for her, moving to her door and placing my hand firmly around her wrist.
“It wasn’t all my fault,” she insisted, trying to snatch her hand back. “He started it!”
Rolling my eyes, my face moved back to Dylan who was suddenly also looking as guilty as sin. “What did you do to her?” I demanded, my patience wearing very thin.
“He pulled the head off Barbie,” Lizzie whined.
My first instinct was to smile. Barbie had been a bone of contention. I hadn’t wanted Lizzie to have one. In my opinion, Barbie promoted an unhealthy and unattainable body image, not to mention the distinctly materialistic and shallow nature of her ‘lifestyle’. When Paul’s parents learned of my disapproval, they promptly bought Lizzie a Barbie, complete with dream house, for Christmas. Her beheading didn’t stress me in the slightest, but in the interests of being fair to the kids, I had to treat both crimes equally. So, I quickly quashed the tiny grin that played at the corners of my mouth.
“Dylan,” I said firmly, crooking my finger at him in a ‘come here’ motion. Once I had the pair of them in front of me, I couched before them both. “I don’t want to tell either of you this again,” I began. “Dylan, you leave your sister’s things alone, do you understand?”
I waited patiently for him to reluctantly nod. “Yes, Mommy,” he mumbled, softly.
“And Lizzie,” I added. “If your brother does something to upset you, don’t retaliate, just come and tell me or your dad and we’ll deal with it, okay?”
She was less willing to agree, but eventually did so. “Yes, Mom.”
“I want you to apologize to each other,” I concluded, wrapping my hand around my four-year-old son’s waist and turning him to face his older sister.
“But Mom, I didn’t-” Lizzie began.
I interrupted her with a lift of my index finger. “I don’t want to hear any more about it, Elizabeth,” I warned her. “You both did something wrong and I’m not in the mood to play who did something worse. Just apologize,” I urged.
The pair mumbled a ‘sorry’ to each other and almost instantly turned their backs. With no energy to demand that they repeat it sincerely, I pushed myself back to my feet. “I’ll get you some breakfast,” I told them, making my way down the hall. When I reached the top of the stairs, I snapped my head back. “Oh and Lizzie, find Frank’s arm. I’ll try to reattach it.”
“What about Barbie?” she quickly countered.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I promised with a wink. “But I don’t know whether she’ll pull through,” I warned gravely.
She giggled, before rushing back into her room to find the various body parts.
It was an hour and a half before Paul made his way downstairs, and I was in the middle of clearing away the kids’ plates and bowls. All three of them sat at the breakfast counter, Dylan swinging his legs wildly, with jelly all over his face; Lizzie studying a book; and little Kate strapped into her booster seat.
“Daddy,” Dylan squealed, jumping down from his stool and sprinting across the tiles. He leaped into Paul’s waiting arms and laughed hysterically as he was spun around rapidly.
“Hey champ,” Paul smiled, setting our son back down bef
ore ruffling his hair. “You got a busy day ahead?” he asked. Dressed in a fresh suit, his open necked shirt neatly tucked into his dress pants, hair washed and combed, he looked very different from the way I’d left him on our bed.
“Very,” our little boy confirmed with a nod. “I’ve got a meeting at eleven,” he announced, clinging to his father’s right leg as Paul heaved his way across the floor.
“Is that so?” Paul mumbled, only half listening, as he bent to kiss Kate on the top of the head. “Morning Liz,” he added, looping an arm around her shoulders. “You okay, kiddo?”
She ignored his question in favor of one of her own. “Dad why do you have to go away again?”
“Sorry sweetie,” he stated, with a tough luck tilt of his chin. “It’s just the way it is, Daddy’s a very busy man.”
“But we never get to spend any time with you,” she whined.
With a huff, Paul reached for a slice of bread and slipped it into the toaster. “We’ll spend some time together when I get back, how’s that?” he suggested.
Not even slightly appeased, Lizzie sullenly slipped down from her chair. “I’ve got to get ready for school,” she muttered.
“Daddy,” Kate called, grinning. “Look,” she proudly cried, holding up a crayon sketch that she’d been working on.
“That’s great, honey,” he responded, almost automatically, giving no more than a passing glance at the picture.
Somehow, knowing that the children were slipping from his radar of importance made me even more angry than the fact our relationship had taken a sideline. “Paul,” I whispered, taking a step to his side. “You know, the kids really miss you when you’re gone. It’s tough on them; a few days for you feels like an eternity to them.”
“I’ll make it up to them,” he shrugged, as his toast popped up and he quickly grabbed it. “I better toss some stuff in a bag,” he announced, lifting his wrist to check the time.
Slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow, I held him still for just a few seconds longer. “I was hoping we’d be able to talk before you go,” I suggested quietly and with no small degree of discomfort. It wasn’t going to be an easy conversation to have.
“What about?” he replied testily, as he tugged his arm free of me.
“Well...” I hesitated, sure that he must know what I was referring to. “Last night,” I eventually said in a whisper.
With an impatient sigh, his eyes drifted to the floor. “Do we have to do this now?” he asked.
“If not now, then when?” I countered.
Paul’s gaze moved to Kate, who had gone back to adding more detail to her drawing, then Dylan, who was tearing about the open plan dining area as if he were an airplane. “Look,” he said under his breath. “I was a little selfish,” he admitted, but shrugged it off. “But you were the one complaining about how long it’s been since we had sex. Well, we had sex, so...?” he left his words hanging, challenging me to make a big deal out of it.
If I’d been able to wrap my head around what was happening, I would have made a big deal out of it. But as things were, I stood open-mouthed, stunned into silence by his complete disregard for what had happened.
“So, are we done?” he demanded. “Because I’ve got a plane to catch.” Without waiting for me to respond, he was already heading for the door.
Dylan ran after him yelling, “Can I come too, Dad?”
And sure enough, that was the end of it. We didn’t speak of that night again.
Paul was ready by the time his driver arrived at the door. He handed over his small suitcase, before turning to hug and kiss each of the kids goodbye. Once he was done, I received a wave of his hand as he climbed into the back of the vehicle.
After he’d gone, I still felt shell shocked by the callous way he’d rebuffed my concerns; both over the effect his repeated absences were having on the children, and indeed the trouble within our own strained relationship. And just when I thought the day couldn’t possible have started any worse, his mother arrived. As she was apt to do, she didn’t ring the bell, just let herself in. Paul had insisted she have a key, in case of emergencies, but Carole seemed to believe that gave her carte blanche to enter at will.
She strolled into the kitchen, finding me still in the midst of clearing up from breakfast. Lizzie and Dylan were arguing again, something I was too tried to deal with at that moment and unbeknownst to me, Kate had stripped off all of her clothes with the exception of her underwear.
The sight that met my mother-in-law caused her to tut loudly. “Having trouble, dear?” she asked rhetorically.
“Not exactly,” I responded defensively. “They’ve just got me outnumbered at the moment,” I added, smiling in an effort to lighten the mood.
It didn’t work; it had never worked. I no longer knew why I bothered. Carole Hayes had hated me with a passion almost from the moment she met me. She had it fixed in her head that I only wanted to be with her son because he was wealthy. Even agreeing to sign a rigid prenup that ensured I got nearly nothing if we divorced was not enough to convince her otherwise.
She was the kind of woman who made a sport of finding fault with other people; her favorite target being me. I wasn’t good enough for her son, never had been, never would be. And she was determined to prove it to him.
“Well,” she replied humorlessly. “I thought I might help you out by taking Elizabeth and Dylan to school.”
“Umm, thanks,” I said, busily loading the dishwasher.
“Do you want me to dress Katherine before I go?” she asked, turning to me with a disapprovingly arched eyebrow.
Driven to the point of caring minimally what she thought of me, I shrugged. “It’s no problem,” I said. “It’s warm out. I’m in the middle of potty training her anyway, so it makes things simpler for her if she needs to go.”
Scowling at me, she bit a tongue that no doubt had a stream of things to say on the matter. Rapidly she turned to the two older children, quickly breaking up their squabble. “Hey, grandma’s here,” she announced.
Dylan quickly ran to her, knowing, as I did, that she would have some treat for him. Sure enough, out of her Louis Vuitton purse came a sucker.
“Can I have this now, Mom?” he excitedly screamed, gratefully grabbing the candy.
“I don’t-” I began.
“Of course you can,” she interrupted.
My rule was always no sweets before school. “He’s just brushed his teeth,” I sighed, addressing Carole.
“He’s a young boy,” she smiled, relishing every opportunity she had to undermine me. “You’ve got to bend the rules and have a little fun now and then.” As she spoke, her hand delved back into her purse and she retrieved another piece of candy. This time, she offered it to Lizzie.
“Thanks, grandma,” Lizzie smiled, accepting the sucker and stuffing it into the pocket of her jeans.
“You can have yours now, too,” Carole assured her, nodding.
“I’ll save it for later, thanks,” Lizzie replied.
This seemed to rankle my mother-in-law, who quickly said goodbye and hustled the older kids out of the house.
I followed them to the door, giving Lizzie and Dylan a hug. “Have a good day at school,” I told them, before watching them trot down the steps and climb eagerly into the back of Grandma’s Mercedes.
With just me and Kate in the house, things were much quieter. However, with a mountain of housework to do, they weren’t going to be much easier.