Written in the Scars(21)
“Jiggs, I’m just . . . I’m really, really tired of this,” I say through the strangle in my throat. “I’m tired of being sad and I’m tired of hoping he’ll come back. Him bringing me home wasn’t him coming back. That was him being jealous and while it’s entertaining and I might even enjoy that a little bit, it’s not us being together,” I sniffle.
Jiggs rises from the couch but doesn’t come towards me. He just stands, shoulders slumped, almost as saddened by this as I am. “When did it get this bad between you two?”
Walking to the mantle, I pick up the picture of us. I trace his jawline with my finger. “I can’t even remember. He was fine after the accident. At first, anyway. Then everything folded on top of itself. I think he got depressed. I know I felt pressure to take care of it all. He received unemployment, but no insurance payout and no overtime. Things got so tight. So I had the infertility money we’d been putting back . . .”
“Ah, Sis.”
“It just started feeling like this black hole, Jiggs. Like everything was shit and we both felt that. There was nothing to look forward to anymore.”
My brother lets out a sigh, his hands clasping in front of him. “I knew he’d withdrawn some. When he put in his resignation from the team, I came over. Asked what was up and he just said he couldn’t do it anymore. I knew that was bullshit because those kids were his everything. But the harder I pushed, the more he refused to talk.”
“Dustin would come by,” I say, my throat tight. “It didn’t help. I didn’t know what to do. I just kept thinking if we could have a baby, that would shine some light on this. Give us something to come together about. Instead, it caused even more stress, and then I had to use the money to live and then I found out he was taking some of it too . . .”
“The perfect storm.”
“Yeah.” Shaking my head, the fatigue of the situation drops hard. I sit the picture on the mantle. “Maybe we grew apart. That happens.”
My voice breaks and as my eyes fill, my entire body begins to shake. Jiggs crosses the room and brings me into a hug just as my heart starts to splinter.
“I feel like I’ve just waited on a day when I would wake up and this would all be some joke, some nightmare. But it’s not, Jiggs. This is real. And it’s time I accept that. It’s time I accept that so much has happened between us that can’t be repaired.”
I shake as I admit out loud, for the first time, what I know is the truth. My marriage is over.
TY
“I haven’t seen you around here in a while,” Melissa, the girl that works at Sullivan’s most afternoons drawls, giving me a flirty smile as she takes my money. “Where’ve you been, handsome?”
“Around.”
“I’ve missed that smile of yours.”
I place a candy bar on the counter.
“No chew today?” she asks, obviously proud of herself for remembering what I usually get every afternoon.
“Nah, I quit.” I don’t go into the explanation that I really don’t chew it anyway, that it’s some kind of habit that I’ve had since I was a teenager—buying the can, sticking it in my pocket, then giving it to some poor bastard that asks if he can borrow some.
“You coaching again?” she asks, not missing a beat. “We need you. The newspapers from Indianapolis say we have a chance at a state title this year.”
I shrug, ignoring the little bud of pride that unfolds in my stomach. “They’re a good group of boys,” I concede. “They can do big things this year. Reynolds will have them ready.”
“I guess. We’ll miss you on the court.” She hands me my receipt. “Don’t be a stranger, Ty.”
I take my change and ignore her invitation that didn’t have to be spoken. Swiping my candy off the counter, I walk out. The sun is bright, despite the ominous clouds rolling in from the west. Squinting, I take a sip of my drink and make my way to my truck. I look up when I hear the distinct roar of Cord’s diesel.
He bursts through the parking lot of Sullivan’s and slides his truck in beside mine, the tires squealing as they lock in place. Flicking off the ignition, he grins. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I stop at the bed to give Yogi a scratch behind his ears. “What are you doin’?”
“Not much. Was taking Yogi out to Busseron Creek before this storm hits, maybe do a little fishing. I thought I’d swing in and see if you wanna go?”
I shrug. “Nah, thanks for the offer though.”
“You got something better to do?”
“Not really.” I look at my friend and laugh. “Wanna tell me what you said to Pettis last night?”
He smirks, trying to stifle a laugh. “I just properly advised him of his rights.”
“His rights?”
“Yeah, his rights.” He pulls off his hat and roughs his hand through his hair. “His rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I explained those were his Constitutional rights. However, those don’t apply to dead men and if he is seen anywhere near Elin Whitt again, I’m afraid his rights would be terminated.”
My laugh triggers glances from the patrons pumping gas a few feet away. “That’s gold.”