Twenty Four Weeks – Episode 15 – “Twenty Six”
Written by J.D.Denisson.
A sequel to the movie “This is Where I Leave You”.
Characters and back story based on the novel “This is Where I Leave You” by Jonathan Tropper.
Copyright 2016 J.D.Denisson.
Previously…
It started with the smallest of glances, the faintest of touches. It took me a while to even realise that I was flirting with him, and I guess it was the same for him. Maybe I’ve been flirting with him for years, but it was innocent then. I know Wade from what Judd had told me about him, but I suppose that I’d never seen that sort of behaviour from him, not while we were in company. He can be charming, and I think that I kind of forgot that he uses that to talk women into sleeping with him.
…
It was only for a second, maybe two. And I felt so bad about it. I couldn’t look at Judd after. And then we met again to talk about it. I was going to tell him that it was wrong and that I loved my husband and he was Judd’s friend and then... But I kept looking at him and I kept thinking that Wade is the one that cares for me and that I kind of care for him. He was so empty, so... alone.
I couldn’t stop. I was looking for any chance to see him. Wade was making me feel things that I hadn’t felt for a long time. There was no miscarriage. There was no grief with him. He spoke kindly to me. I felt loved and cared for. I didn’t feel like that at home.
…
Wade is on fire. I’m amazed that the man can pull out some fantastic stuff when he has to. All too often I think the worst of him because, let’s face it, he shows his worst most of the time. Sleeping with my wife had to be the lowest point. But not today.
When we’re done, we can hear the applause from the office floor. Stewart comes in and takes us out there. Wade bows and accepts the adulation readily. I take a few hardy back slaps and hand shakes and head back into Wade’s office. It’s later in the day than I’m used to and I’m not sure what Quinn is doing. I send her a message, telling her all went well. But I’m not stupid enough to think that we’re out of danger. You are only as good as your last show and contracts are coming up for renewal. We need to keep up the heat.
...
“You come in here, eat food off my mother’s table,” Paul yells, “and then accuse her of your own damn mistakes! You’ve got a lot of nerve lady. You might have Judd fooled, but I see you for what you are. You’ve stuck your tentacles into my brother as an easy ride with that baby. Is that really his, or have you been lying about that too?”
I push my brother back so he hits the wall behind the table. “What the hell, Paul!” I yell.
“You’re a fool, Judd. She’s making a fool out of you again.”
“Listen, all of you,” I say forcefully. “Quinn is sorry. I’ve forgiven her. She’s changed. I’ve changed. We’re working our problems out. But we don’t need you to accept us. In fact we don’t need anything from you. You’re going to have to deal with the fact that I’ve chosen Quinn and I’m going to stand by her. And I don’t care if you don’t.”
…
Paul sends the ball to the back and I run around him, send the ball to the front. I step into the centre and wait. A second later there is a pain in the side of my head and the court tilts dangerously. My head bounces against the wooden floor, once, twice. Paul is in front of me, bending over. He’s speaking to me but I can’t hear him. All I can hear is a buzzing and a thump, thump of my heart. The world shrinks to the smallest point of light in a dark tunnel. And that was all that I remember.
…
They’re huddled together talking. Her hand is on his arm, affectionate, personal, intimate. Hey, I say, what are you two doing out here? Just getting some air, she says. Great party huh? says the man. I think he’s a friend. Or maybe he’s not. Maybe this is not innocent. Maybe I should see this for what it is. Maybe I should stop it, right here, right now.
…
She sighs. “You were knocked out cold by your brother on a racquetball court. You don’t remember that?”
“I think I remember playing him, but it gets a little hazy after that.”
“Well, he split your head open. You were in hospital for the last five hours.”
“Okay. That makes sense. So you came and got me?”
She muttered something that I couldn’t hear. It’s just occurring to me that she’s being cool towards me, and I don’t know why.
“Everything okay?” I ask her.
“Everything’s just fine,” she says blandly.
“Anything I should know?”
“No.” She says.
I open my mouth to say something.
“Drop it, Judd,” she tells me.
Twenty six
Monday
There is something wrong with Quinn. Very wrong. In the last two years she kept onto things, hurts and slights, added them to her tally. I had my own list of transgressions. I guess mine were as long as hers. The trouble is, all of that point scoring, all of those records of wrong, were bricks in the wall between us. Over the years that wall grew and grew until we couldn’t see each other any more. I couldn’t see her flirting - and then finally screwing - Wade. She couldn’t see that I was lonely and dying inside my bordered up exterior. But now we’re pulling down those walls and we finally see each other.
And I see pain in her, and there’s nothing I can do, because she’s put up that wall again, quicker than I can pull it down.
I try to talk to her gently, but she won’t let me in, so I go to work with that dark cloud over me. I guess whatever it is will bubble to the surface eventually. She’ll tell me when she’s ready. Until then I have to trust her. Until then I’ll go over everything that was said and done on the weekend to find the cause – to find something, anything, that I’ve done to hurt her. The problem that I have is that there is a large chunk, five or six hours, that I can’t remember, that I can’t account for.
The first week of our show has been a success. The first run of figures came in and they were encouraging. But we were in the early days and we could still fall on out asses. One misplaced word could bring it all crashing down. Wade was buoyed by our success and was in top form for the first show of the week, but I was sitting under a cloud and there was nothing that could bring me out of it. I was taking pain killers like candy and they weren’t helping. My mind fought for clarity against the dull throb of my wound.
I’m watching him do his thing. I’m seeing his face. It’s familiar, I’ve seen it a million times before, but there’s something different this morning. I’ve seen it someplace, and I can’t quite gather that memory together in my inflamed neurones. I know this is important because I can’t let it go, but it refuses to come together.
“Great show, buddy,” I tell him at the end, through the microphone.
He meets me in the control room, sits against the panel and folds his arms.
“You okay, man?” he asks me.
I nod. “Just a headache. Racquetball accident.” I point to the back of my head. “Six stitches.”
Wade takes a look. “Nasty,” he says in the same tone he used to describe what he’d done to a guest on the program in the copy room. He’s so used to using the word he’ll put in any context.
“Anyway,” he says, “Chloe and I are hosting a party, kind of a ‘congrats to us’.”
“It’s a bit early for that, don’t you think?”
“Maybe, but Chloe wants a party. So...”
“Alright, when is it?”
“Thursday.”
“Thursday? We’ve got a show Fr
iday.”
“That’s no problem. We start later now, right? Bit of sleep, rock on back here, do the show. No problems.”
“Hung over.”
“Most of the shows I’ve done, I’ve done hung over.”
I laugh a little. “That is true.”
“And you’ve been worse for wear a couple of times too.”
“You’re right. Thursday night then.”
When he walks from the room I know there is something about this that has started to trigger a memory. Maybe it’s the same thing I’ve been trying to piece together all day. Maybe this is another piece of that puzzle that is infuriating me.
I take the rest of the day off. I go back home and lay on the couch until its time to pick Quinn up from her work. She talks, tells me about her day, but she’s distant and resisting my gentle probing.
Over dinner I tell her about the party. Her face hardens a little and I don’t know why.
“So, apparently, we’re doing so well we need to have a party to celebrate. I think it’s just an excuse for Chloe to host one.”
Quinn says nothing. I’m nervously talking.
“I still thinks it’s premature,” I continue, “but you know Wade.”
I stop for a second. She knows him. She knows him intimately.
“And Chloe won’t take no for an answer,” I add.
“Fine,” Quinn says. “We’ll go.” These are the first three words she’s said over dinner, and they were distant, detached.
“I wish you’d tell me what’s going on. It’s driving me crazy.”
“It’s not about you, Judd. Don’t worry about