Cry Like A Girl

Chapter 2

Today of all days, she thought he'd make it a point to come home on time. He never forgot the special days: birthdays, holidays, and especially their anniversary. Knowing how special it was to her, he had always gone out of his way to make it special for her.

She peered outside through parted drapes. Fading daylight caused the streetlights to begin their nightly flicker before casting a glow onto the darkened street. Garage doors down, drapes drawn, there was no one walking their dog and no sprinklers spitting water onto sun-fried lawns. Night had fallen and Susan's worry grew.

She let the drapes fall back and sat on the couch to remove the shoes she bought for the occasion. She was willing to tolerate the pinching of the pointy-toed sling-backs while excited about the evening, but with each passing minute and no sign of Henry, her feet were screaming from inside her impulse buy.

Her dress was also new. Each year, she did her best to find an outfit that closely resembled one worn by one of Henry's favorite actresses. Last year, Susan found a dress so similar to the innocent, yet striking dress Audrey Hepburn wore to accept her Oscar for Roman Holiday, Henry thought she had somehow found the original. Henry's penchant for old movies had always made her believe that he and her mother would have hit it off, as her mother was able to recite lines in many of the films from the fifties verbatim.

Every year, she anticipated their anniversary as if it were their first. In the days leading up to it, she found herself filled with a renewed sense of happiness, something her Aunt referred to as honeymoon bliss. She felt giddy. Amorous.

And astonished.

Sometimes, she had trouble believing that with the many admirers Henry had had, she was the one he picked to spend his life with. Henry was handsome, hardworking, gregarious, and gracious to women and children. A charming extrovert liked by everyone, where she was introverted and shy by comparison. Nothing more or less than ordinary. She never tired of hearing others say what a catch he was. Sometimes, she got the feeling the remark was meant more as a question, as in "How did you manage to snare a guy like Henry?" but she never took offense. Their differences complemented the other. His yin to her yang. If not for the fact that after seven years they were still childless, their life was nearly perfect.

Startled by the ring that cut through the quiet house, Susan realized she must have dozed off while waiting. She rubbed the heels of her hands over her eyes to clear them, and then picked her phone up from the end table.

"Thank God," she said, before the call connected.

"Henry—"

The conversation lasted only long enough to learn he was at Grady's tavern with the Glatfelter brothers and he was sorry he hadn't called sooner. There was no mention of their anniversary, but she did catch something about good news before the bar erupted in the background.

A click and then silence.

She deliberately kept from looking at the dining room table as she reached around the doorframe and switched the light off. The pleasant aroma that wafted through the house several hours earlier was now the odor of a meal past its prime. She couldn't remember ever having left dirty dishes until the following morning, but tonight, that was exactly what she was going to do. She wanted Henry to see the meal he missed. The meal he ruined. On first sight, she knew he'd feel guilt. When he remembered what the meal represented, he'd feel shame. That was her glimmer of light on what would go down as a black memory.

Three hours had passed since Henry's call. After sitting in the darkened living room for the better part of an hour, hoping Henry would have rushed home after talking to her and realizing his mistake, she changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed. While listening for the sound of Henry's truck in the driveway, she counted how many times the air conditioning turned on and then off, noting the clunking sound it made as it reached the desired temperature. She traced a finger over the spot where Henry's head lay on his pillow each night. She ran through every reason she could think of, real and imagined, for Henry to have done what he did.

She didn't hear his truck pull in, but tensed when she heard the front door click as it closed. With her back toward the bedroom door, she pulled the quilt a bit tighter under her chin and strained to hear Henry's movements. His steps were irregular, clumsy, as he worked his way down the hall. She heard his keys hit the floor and presumed he missed the hook he often hung them on. She laid as still as stale air during the thirty seconds or so of silence, and held her breath when she heard him mutter the word "shit" from the dining room.

"God, please help me to fake sleep believably," she whispered.

Henry entered the bedroom followed closely by the smell of ashtrays and beer. It took everything in her to breathe evenly, naturally. Her eyes opened wide when his shoes hit the floor just ahead of him falling into bed. He fought with the sheets, his weight keeping him from being able to pull them from underneath himself. Eventually, he reached for the bedding on her side of the bed and stripped the quilt off her. After two pats on her backside, Henry rolled over leaving her uncovered and steeped in frustration. Before she could decide if she was more shocked or angry, he was snoring into his pillow.

Her eyes filled and her throat tightened against the fire that burned its way up and into her cheeks. With her pillow under one arm and a spare blanket under the other, she tiptoed out of the bedroom and settled on the couch, although in his current state, she probably could have driven the car through the house without waking him.

Unable to sleep, she stared into the darkness of the room, her eyes fixed on nothing. She found it impossible to think of anything but Henry, his thoughtlessness, and the hurt and anger she was feeling. Aside from the negative thoughts running rampant through her head, the darkness and the tick of the clock were all she had for company.

When the house began to brighten with the first rays of daylight, Susan stood and stretched, trying to work out the kinks that had settled in her joints. There were no sounds coming from the bedroom. She knew Henry hadn't set the alarm clock and wouldn't get up in time for work on his own considering the time and inebriated state he arrived home in last night. He didn't make a habit of acting irresponsibly, but on those rare occasions when he did, she would take control by waking him and making certain he had breakfast and made it out the door on time. For the briefest moment, she considered doing just that, but then changed her mind. Instead, she walked on her toes and paused between steps as she made her way through the bedroom, gathering her clothing and shoes as she readied for work. She grabbed her toothbrush from the bathroom and left the bedroom as quietly as she had entered. As an afterthought, she returned to the bathroom, removed the pregnancy stick from the trashcan, and left it on the vanity for Henry to find. If she had to live with the disappointment on top of the anger, why shouldn't he have to live with it, too?

She had never considered herself vengeful by nature even in situations when vengeance fit the behavior. But hidden among the well-meaning and selfless traits instilled by the grandparents who raised her, was a blemish, a glint of acrimony that tried to persuade her to call the Glatfelters and tell them why her husband wouldn't be in this morning, if at all, but then thought better of it. It was a well-known fact that the Glatfelter boys were heavy partiers and would probably pat Henry on the back for last night's actions. Instead, she gathered her things and took a last look at her husband on her way out of the room.

She paused on the welcome mat at the foot of the front door. Did she hear Henry call out an apology as she closed the door behind her? In the hours spent awake and alone in the darkness, her anger had elevated from bristling to boiling. The two words that would have meant something last night, had lost all meaning in the light of day.

As she belted herself into the driver's seat, she decided to put his words, her anger, and their missed anniversary behind her. There would be time for all of that later, after she'd had time to sort through it in her mind.

For the first time since Henry failed to come home for dinner, she realized that not only was his behavior out of character. Hers was, too. And she knew she would have to understand her own before she could understand his.

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