wheels. She claimed to want directions to a pharmacy, and was very unhappy when I told her there were no stores of any kind within five miles. She seemed to have trouble grasping my words, making me think the kind of pharmaceuticals she was looking for wouldn’t be available over the counter anyway. And as soon as I had disengaged myself from her and started to move again, I was almost hit by two guys in a Mercedes who had picked my driveway—the only break in the tree line for a couple of hundred yards—to make a three-point turn.
Despite the time I’d spent at the restaurant I hadn’t actually eaten or drunk anything, so my first port of call at home was the kitchen. I was vaguely thinking of ordering Chinese when my eye fell on Carolyn’s mug, still sitting on the countertop. I wasn’t happy with the way she’d behaved that evening, but that didn’t stop me worrying about her. Or wondering if I’d been too harsh, accusing her of only wanting the memory stick to appease LeBrock. Maybe she
had
been looking out for me? So when I pulled out my phone it was Carolyn’s number I summoned from the directory, not a take-out service.
Her phone rang. And rang. But she didn’t answer. Eventually I was dumped into her voicemail, and as I listened to the bland generic greeting—she hadn’t bothered to record one of her own—I couldn’t help wondering if she’d seen the call was from me and ignored it on purpose. That was all it took to send the pendulum swinging back the opposite way, so when I heard the beep I followed the anonymous announcer’s instructions, and I left a message. Not a very pleasant message. But when—if—Carolyn listened to it, even she would have to acknowledge the change. Because I certainly didn’t hold anything back that time.
——
STANDING IN THE KITCHEN
with my absent wife’s discarded mug in one hand and an unanswered phone in the other, I realized I don’t usually spend much time in the house on my own. Not unless I’m doing something specific, like working or watching a game on TV. Then, I’m only really aware of the room I’m in. But for the first time I was conscious of the entire, empty structure massing around me. Six thousand vacant square feet. Each one emphasizing Carolyn’s absence. The fact that I’d done nothing to stop her leaving. And had failed to convince her to come back.
I needed to distract myself. Urgently. But how? Work was out. The computer wouldn’t be ready yet. Food? I dumped the mug, wandered into the dining room, and decided I wasn’t hungry. There was a TV in the living room, and another in the den, but nothing I wanted to watch. There were books in my study, but nothing I wanted to read. I wasn’t tired. I didn’t want to exercise. Of all the possibilities our home had to offer, nothing seemed interesting. And nothing could distract me from wondering where Carolyn had stormed off to.
Her words from the afternoon started to ring in my head.
How does a pitcher of margaritas sound to you?
So I crossed the room, opened the liquor cabinet, and smiled at the irony. There’d been tequila in the house the whole time. One bottle we’d already started, and another still in its box. What if we’d just got drunk, together, instead of arguing? And with that thought in mind, I did another thing I don’t normally do. Fixed a drink for myself. Then another. And another. And I’m not sure how many others after that …
Tuesday. Morning.
N EVER KICK A MAN WHILE HE’S DOWN
MY PARENTS USED TO SAY .
It’s a shame no one ever urged the hangover I had the next morning to show the same restraint. It had already been to work on my head and my stomach before I woke up, replacing my brain with molten lava and filling my gut with swamp water. Then, once I was conscious, it moved on to my heart, waiting till I’d reached out across the pillow in search of Carolyn to smack me with the memory of why she wasn’t there.
I staggered to the bathroom and
Despite the time I’d spent at the restaurant I hadn’t actually eaten or drunk anything, so my first port of call at home was the kitchen. I was vaguely thinking of ordering Chinese when my eye fell on Carolyn’s mug, still sitting on the countertop. I wasn’t happy with the way she’d behaved that evening, but that didn’t stop me worrying about her. Or wondering if I’d been too harsh, accusing her of only wanting the memory stick to appease LeBrock. Maybe she
had
been looking out for me? So when I pulled out my phone it was Carolyn’s number I summoned from the directory, not a take-out service.
Her phone rang. And rang. But she didn’t answer. Eventually I was dumped into her voicemail, and as I listened to the bland generic greeting—she hadn’t bothered to record one of her own—I couldn’t help wondering if she’d seen the call was from me and ignored it on purpose. That was all it took to send the pendulum swinging back the opposite way, so when I heard the beep I followed the anonymous announcer’s instructions, and I left a message. Not a very pleasant message. But when—if—Carolyn listened to it, even she would have to acknowledge the change. Because I certainly didn’t hold anything back that time.
——
STANDING IN THE KITCHEN
with my absent wife’s discarded mug in one hand and an unanswered phone in the other, I realized I don’t usually spend much time in the house on my own. Not unless I’m doing something specific, like working or watching a game on TV. Then, I’m only really aware of the room I’m in. But for the first time I was conscious of the entire, empty structure massing around me. Six thousand vacant square feet. Each one emphasizing Carolyn’s absence. The fact that I’d done nothing to stop her leaving. And had failed to convince her to come back.
I needed to distract myself. Urgently. But how? Work was out. The computer wouldn’t be ready yet. Food? I dumped the mug, wandered into the dining room, and decided I wasn’t hungry. There was a TV in the living room, and another in the den, but nothing I wanted to watch. There were books in my study, but nothing I wanted to read. I wasn’t tired. I didn’t want to exercise. Of all the possibilities our home had to offer, nothing seemed interesting. And nothing could distract me from wondering where Carolyn had stormed off to.
Her words from the afternoon started to ring in my head.
How does a pitcher of margaritas sound to you?
So I crossed the room, opened the liquor cabinet, and smiled at the irony. There’d been tequila in the house the whole time. One bottle we’d already started, and another still in its box. What if we’d just got drunk, together, instead of arguing? And with that thought in mind, I did another thing I don’t normally do. Fixed a drink for myself. Then another. And another. And I’m not sure how many others after that …
Tuesday. Morning.
N EVER KICK A MAN WHILE HE’S DOWN
MY PARENTS USED TO SAY .
It’s a shame no one ever urged the hangover I had the next morning to show the same restraint. It had already been to work on my head and my stomach before I woke up, replacing my brain with molten lava and filling my gut with swamp water. Then, once I was conscious, it moved on to my heart, waiting till I’d reached out across the pillow in search of Carolyn to smack me with the memory of why she wasn’t there.
I staggered to the bathroom and
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