Choices (yet another revision)

Choices
by Trish Murray


At thirty-three, my younger sister Lauren was a busy pharmacist now on six months of maternity leave. Happily married for seven years, she and Allan, a police officer, were smart, beautiful and funny as hell. He doted on her, she on him. They met ten years prior when Alan walked into Haller’s Pharmacy to refill a prescription for Vicoden. He broke his back thirteen months before that when trying to intervene in a domestic violence incident. The twenty-two year old boyfriend, as it turned out, was strung out on methamphetamine and his pregnant girlfriend was drunk. When Allan’s partner pulled the girlfriend aside, Allan guided the boyfriend into the kitchen to get his version of the story. The girlfriend clutched her large belly and screamed. Allan turned to look and as he did, the boyfriend raised a barstool and swung it into Allan’s back with such force that three vertebrae broke. He was off work for six months while he recuperated and then assigned to desk duty for at least twelve. Although he was taking fewer pain killers at the time he met Lauren, he still needed them at night. One year after they first met, Lauren was modeling a three carat diamond engagement ring from Tiffany’s and a year later they were married in a twilight garden ceremony at Avalon Country Club.
Despite ensuing busy, and at times conflicting work schedules, she dayshift and he swing and some nights, they managed to maintain the I-love-you-and-can’t-stand-to-be-without-you kind of love. When Lauren was in a crowded room expecting his late arrival, he’d enter and search for her, politely dodging other people’s request for conversation, wanting only to see his wife. And, when finally finding her, he’d reach for the middle of her back with one hand and softly cup her cheek with the other, drawing her lips to his for a small peck. Afterward, there’d be some soft whisper into her ear. I asked Lauren once about that. What he said to her when he did that. “Sunshine,” she said, “He says, ‘I love you, Sunshine.’”
It was just last Christmas, at the Zekster’s annual party, that I witnessed this enviable exchange as a matter of fact. My husband, Josh, couldn’t stand Lyle Zekster because he was such a bullshitter, so he refused to come with me despite knowing how much I didn’t like attending parties by myself. So there I was, alone with a glass of eggnog, pretending to be engrossed in Lynn Signer’s latest tale of medical woe, when I saw out of the corner of my eye, Allan approach and greet Lauren. I excused myself, went out on the porch that was bordered in twinkling lights and beckoned the cold night air to numb my heart.
There was another time, too, when I was in their home and Lauren told me to use their master bath since the toilet was stopped up in the other. I noticed the note as soon as I walked in. Printed in red lipstick on the mirror was “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Have a great day. xoxo L.” My smile deflated quickly as I tried to remember the last time I had left a note like that for Josh or him for me. I used to leave little love notes for my husband in his lunch, but no longer. Honestly, I just never thought to do it. The notes we exchanged now were not in lipstick on bathroom mirrors, but pencil on post-its supplying directives for the day.
I liked Allan fine and all, but sometimes found it hard to be around the two of them when they were together. Their loving and playful interactions reminded me, sometimes painfully so, of what I used to have.

****************


Since abruptly leaving a family gathering after receiving a phone call from her husband, Lauren did not contact us for a full day. Apparently, Allan had been in a car accident. Despite our urging her to call us with an update once she got home, she did not. Nor did she return calls made to her cell later that evening. Although this worried us, especially my parents, I knew this wasn’t entirely uncommon for Lauren. She tended to call when she had all the facts about something. She wasn’t one of those people who called to relay the blow-by-blow developments.
Of course, with baby Sarah being just four weeks old, she had a lot going on to begin with. I figured if I didn’t hear from her by the next morning, I’d make the 30 minute drive to Walkersville and find out what was going on for myself.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to. By the next morning she still hadn’t called, but she had sent an email to each of us: my parents, me, and our older sister, Alicia. It read:

Dear Family,
Sorry for not returning calls. I’m okay and so is the baby.
There is something I’ve got to share, however, and would
like to have a family meeting at M and D’s tonight at 7.
Love,
Lauren

“This isn’t about a car accident, so something else is up,” I thought. Noticing that she didn’t mention Allan’s name, I decided to Google it and see if anything would come up. Perhaps impatience got the best of me, but I didn’t think I could make it until 7 PM without knowing, without having some clue as to what Lauren was referring to. After typing in “Allan Jacobs police,” I clicked Go and instead of holding my breath, closed my eyes and counted to ten before opening them again. Nothing came up. “Shit,” I muttered. “Perhaps the adage ‘no news is good news’ will apply here, but let me try again.” This time I searched using the key words Allan Jacobs police officer Beyersville. I refused to close my eyes this time and stared at the screen. A small gasp escaped my lips and I clicked on the first entry:

Sean Adams’ PoliceWatch blog
Today at 2:30 PM Officer Allan Jacobs, a 10 year veteran
of the Beyersville Police Department and lead officer in the
drug enforcement unit, was escorted off the department’s
premises. No reason was given and no one is talking.
You can bet, however, that I’ll be keeping my ear to the
ground on this one. Something’s rotten in the state of
Denmark I do believe.

****************************

“Josh!” I screamed, rising quickly from my seat. “Josh, come here! It’s about Allan.”
My husband shuffled into the spare room in his favorite boxers, having just showered after painting the hallway, and drinking his third cup of espresso that day.
“Anne, what are you doing?” he asked with reproof, looking at the monitor but for a minute. He tended to be big on MYOB and generally I agreed with him, but not this time. If I knew something about what happened, perhaps I could help Lauren.
Josh and I married ten years ago in a five minute ceremony at the Happily Ever After chapel in Las Vegas. I was twenty-four and he was twenty-seven. We had dated a bit in high school and then off and on in college, parting ways thereafter as we pursued careers in different parts of the country and then reconnecting at the funeral of a mutual friend. Josh and I had a long history and loved each other, but sadly, a number of things had happened to us in the last year to test that. Marriage tremors registering on the Richter scale.
The biggest one was the house we purchased: an 80 year old Craftsman style home with a large yard on a tree lined street. This dream home was proving to be a tremor turned earthquake lasting eleven months and counting. The entire house, interior and exterior, needed to be repainted and the crumbling chimney replaced. Both bathrooms needed remodeling as serious water damage had rotted out the subfloors and neither bathroom had a working shower. The kitchen had no stove or dishwasher when we first moved in and the cabinets were an ugly avocado green. To boot, the linoleum was warped along the edges and smelled of cat urine.
And if that wasn’t enough, the hardwood floor that lay underneath the 1970’s carpet which we had hoped would be in good condition, wasn’t. It, too, had pet stains and water damage in numerous areas. We had to tear it all out—all 1,000 square feet of it. I was so pissed and Josh got the brunt of my anger and blame. He promised me that the floors would be in good condition. Even though he was doing most of the work, our original budget was still $50,000 for repairs and updates. That quickly ballooned to $65,000 and now hovered at $80,000. We were hemorrhaging money.
When I first saw the house I fell in love with it as it reminded me of my childhood home in eastern Washington. Plus, I thought it’d be a “fun challenge” to fix it up. Josh, on the other hand, was pushing for a new three bedroom condo downtown, but was excited nonetheless about buying this one. At least that’s what he told me.
Our financial needs were stressing us both out. Our sex life had dwindled to every few weeks and even then it was more about getting off than real intimacy. It seemed like we were more roommates than husband and wife. Cracks, like those that appear inside a home along the walls, were visible and I feared that caulk alone would not fix them.
“I really think you might be making more of this than you need to,” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
“How can you say that? Didn’t you read the blog entry? Allan did something, I just know it.”
“Look, what I mean is you don’t have the full story Anne. Give the man the benefit of the doubt, will ya? You don’t know his side of things. Anyway, you’ll get the scoop tonight.” Josh stood up and pointing his thumb toward our bedroom, asked, “By the way, did you wash any socks? I’m outta them.”

************************************

We were all there, around the kitchen table in my parents’ home, waiting for Lauren to arrive. The light above us created a spotlight effect in an otherwise darkened house. My father, ever the calm one, sat with his hands clasped on the table.
Before I could say anything, Alicia blurted, “It’s bad. Just be prepared. It’s bad.” I felt a twinge of jealousy that Lauren had confided in her and not me, but let it pass. Alicia was the sage in our family, often offering helpful insight into other people’s behavior. She was a loyal sister, so Lauren was in good hands. “I don’t want to say anything else, so let’s just wait until she gets here.”
No sooner had Alicia said that that we heard the familiar click of the door handle. She was here. Dressed in sweatpants, an oversized t-shirt and without any make-up, Lauren sank into the chair and began crying. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ve done nothing but cry today. I’m sorry.”
Our mother pushed the tissue box toward her, touched her forearm and said, “Don’t you apologize. We love you. Say what you want to say, however you want to say it.” My mom, who was not known for her tact, handled herself pretty well there. The last thing Lauren needed was for Mom to say something uncouth like “Don’t cry, it can’t be as bad as you think” or “Please don’t cry. You’ll just make me cry.”
With that, my sister wiped her eyes, took one of those shuddering kinds of breath and began. “Thank you all for being here. It’s been a shitty couple of days, I can tell you that. I feel like a tsunami has hit my life and I’ve been thrown into the branches of a palm tree with no rescue in sight.”
Silence.
She continued. “Allan was not in an accident. I just said that, because he called and I needed to get home immediately.” More tears. More tissue. “Allan had—Allan had an affair while I was pregnant with Sarah,” she stammered.
“Allan cheated? On you?” is what I wanted to say. I would have been less shocked if my husband had made such a confession, but Allan? What the hell was he thinking?
Attempting to regain a measure of composure, Lauren sat up and continued, “The other woman was just some one night stand, so he says, but she wouldn’t leave him alone. She started calling him at the station, leaving messages and filling up his voice mail. He told her it was over, that it was never anything more than something physical. She threatened to tell me. Oh, God!” Lauren suddenly stood up and rushed to the lined garbage can by the back door. She pulled her hair aside as she bent over to vomit, but nothing came out. Still hunched over, she said, “There’s more. He tried to scare her into leaving him alone by sending over some buddies to question her about an unrelated matter. He lied to them and said she was a witness or something. When they located her, she told them about her relationship with Allan and—“ Lauren’s arms clutched her stomach as she made her way back to her chair “—they had to report it to their superiors and Internal Affairs began an investigation. The chief called Allan into his office yesterday, when I was here with you guys, and informed him about IA’s recommendation. Supposedly, Allan broke down, but his boss…” Lauren bit down on her lower lip to stifle the cry that was inching its way out, “…his boss told him that he could resign or they’d fire him.” The bite of pain was no match against the force of her tears. Lauren let them fall and with anger slowly rising, pounded the table and exclaimed, “He fucked away a $100,000 a year salary for a blow job!” Like a balloon inflated past its limits, Lauren’s anger popped and her body relaxed. She softly said, “The baby. We just had a baby. What am I gonna do now?” and put her head on the table and whimpered.
***********************************

Little things came to mind as I replayed Lauren’s story over in my head while getting ready for bed. I remembered, for example, one of the other bridesmaids at their wedding reception leaning over to me and saying, “Those two are going to make it. If they don’t, then there’s no hope for the rest of us.” And once, in a flash of anger, I told Josh I wished he were more like Allan, romantic and all that shit.
Josh was finishing up in the bathroom and we were actually going to bed at the same time. Quite unusual these days as he typically stayed up until midnight or so working on the house. But, I assumed he wanted to hear more about Allan and Lauren. “Anne, there’s something I’ve got to tell you,” he said in a serious tone. I looked over from my side of the bed to see that he was standing in the doorway of the bathroom with his hands pressed up against the sides of the doorframe as if he were holding it up.
“Can you believe what Allan did? You’ve been out with him before. Did you ever think he’d betray her like this? I asked incredulously, ignoring his comment. “My sister didn’t deserve this. I –“
“ Anne.”
“I don’t know how she’s going to survive this. And with the new baby, she—“
“Anne! I know you’re hurting for your sister, but I need you to pay attention to me right now. Please. We never talk anymore.” Josh’s voice softened with that last sentence and he walked towards our bed, running his hands through his hair and taking a deep breath.
“What’s going on?” I thought, fear beginning to creep in like a slow moving fog. Serious conversations between Josh and I were about money and usually began with something like “The repair is going to cost more than we thought.” The last time Josh began a I’ve-got-to-tell-you- something conversation was eighteen months ago when he told me he didn’t know if he wanted to have children after all. I think that’s why I really wanted to buy the house. It was a project big enough to distract me from the pain of his revelation. Whether it was the freshness of Allan’s betrayal on my mind or the look in Josh’s eyes, but I knew another revelation was on its way and I wouldn’t like it either.
“OK, I’m listening,” I whispered. Did Allan begin his conversation with Lauren in this way, too? Was she also fearful of what he was about to share or confess? Lauren said the truth about what Allan did hit her with tsunami force, destroying what she knew to be true about her marriage.
Josh sat down beside me and reached for my hands. “I’ve…”
I thought, “Here it comes. The sea is receding from the coast and I’m about to be confronted by my own tsunami.” I took a deep breath and listened as the enormous wave approached.