Written in the Scars(5)
“I was at f*cking rock bottom,” I toss back, offended that he thinks I just took a vacation from my life. “Don’t you get that? The accident, the pain, the bills adding up because there’s no overtime. Watching E have to kill herself to keep us both going when that’s my f*cking job! Having to get into the savings fund we’d been putting aside for years to get in-vitro. I couldn’t even f*ck my wife without it being on some motherf*cking calendar! Then, month after month, she takes the goddamn test and it’s negative and I have to look at her face and realize it’s me that failed her!” I shout, my face hot to the touch. “Damn it, Jiggs! I didn’t leave her because it sounded easier! There was no other choice!”
“I had no idea,” he whispers, his face paler than I’ve ever seen it.
Turning away from him, I drag lungful after lungful of air into my body and focus on calming down. When I turn back around minutes later, Jiggs is sitting on a cooler watching me.
“I just wanted to make things better,” I say. “I couldn’t stand fighting with her. There’s nothing worse than looking in the face of the person you love and seeing . . . disgust. Indifference. Wondering if she thinks you’re lazy or worthless or feels like you can’t even do your job and give her the baby you’ve both talked about since before you were even married.”
“Ty, man, I really didn’t know.”
“DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT FEELS LIKE? DO YOU KNOW HOW EMASCULATING IT IS TO NOT BE ABLE TO PROPERLY FUCK YOUR WIFE?” I PAUSE, LETTING THAT SINK IN. “THE ONE TIME SHE GOT PREGNANT, SHE MISCARRIED. DO YOU REMEMBER THAT A FEW YEARS AGO? YEAH, WELL, SHE NEVER GOT OVER THAT. MAYBE IT WOULD’VE EASED UP IF I COULD’VE MADE IT HAPPEN AGAIN, BUT I FUCKING CAN’T!” I SCREAM. “I SWEAR TO GOD, IT’S JUST TOO MUCH PRESSURE. THAT’S THE PROBLEM.”
“It all came to a head the day I left,” I say, a hollowness to my voice that even I hear. “We lashed out. I think the hurt we both were feeling just hid behind so much anger. It’s easier to be pissed off than to feel pissed on all the time.”
Shaking my head, I lean against a work table. Saying this aloud to someone else feels good. Feels manageable. Jiggs offers nothing in response, so I keep going. “She told me to leave, and I left. I figured it couldn’t get any worse if I left, and it sure as shit wasn’t going to get any better if I stayed.”
“I miss her,” I sigh. “No matter what I try to think about, it’s related to her. High school. The mine. The lake.” My jaw clenches as I look at him. “Our lives are one and the same, you know? Everything we’ve been through in our lives we’ve done together. I held her hand at your parent’s funeral, remember your mom’s lemon pie every time I go through the produce section. I know she hates storms and love being there for her when she reaches out.”
“So fix it.” Jiggs raises his brows. “Go to her. Talk it out.”
“I can’t.”
“You can,” he laughs. “You’re just a *.”
“Maybe I am,” I chuckle. “But I’m afraid I’ll make it worse.”
Jiggs rustles through a red cooler and pulls out a beer. “Want one?” he asks, extending a bottle.
“No. Thanks anyway.”
The top flies off and hits the dirt floor. He takes a long swallow, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “You coming by the bonfire tomorrow night?”
“I’ll pass.”
“You can’t pass, *. We do it every year.”
Grabbing a wrench, I start to work on the truck’s alternator. “Yeah, we always have. But some things have changed.”
“Maybe in your life, but your issues aren’t f*cking up mine. You better show up or I might have to kick your ass.” He waits for me to respond. “Elin’s not coming, if that helps.”
“Where’s she going?” I ask too quickly.
“Some teaching thing or something,” he says, his voice on the bridge of a laugh. “So be here.”
“We’ll see.”
He leans under the hood with me, holding a wire out of my way. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.
“By the way,” I say, smirking. “You can’t whip my ass. Let’s not get it twisted.”
He laughs, smacking my shoulder. Walking out of the barn, he leaves me with his broken truck and my thoughts of the woman I love too much to even love at all.
ELIN
The back door groans as I push it open into the kitchen. Letting it swing shut behind me, I sit my bag brimming with papers I need to grade on the kitchen counter. The thump resonates through the room, bouncing off the buttery-colored walls that Ty and I took forever choosing.
“I love this color!” I squeal, holding up a color swatch and flashing it in front of his face. “It would be perfect in the kitchen of our new house.”
“It looks like piss.” He grabs my wrist to stop the sample from waiving erratically.
“It does not,” I pout. “It’s beautiful.”
Instead of pulling the sample out of my hand, he tugs me closer to him. Leaning down, his lips hover inches from mine. “The color is piss, Mrs. Whitt. But if you like it, then we’ll take it, because my eyes won’t be on it when I’m in there. They’ll be on you.”