Almost Mine Page 3

  The wrongness in him pulsed like a living thing, preventing ardor, but he nestled snugly against my chest, as he’d done for many years.

  I had to ask, “Why—”

  “Sh… No questions. Just hold me, please.” Weariness slurred his tones; he’d danced off any alcohol long ago. “Tired, so tired.”

  “I promised to stay the night, remember? If you don’t want to answer questions, I won’t ask.” I might explode from not knowing, but my wounded pride wouldn’t let me beg for explanations.

  He curled tighter into me, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Thank you.” The words emerged scarcely above a whisper. The deep in and out of his breathing a short time later told me he slept.

  What now? Perhaps the time had come for me to say the goodbye I’d come to.

  I gazed down at the man I’d given my heart to once upon a time. Travis appeared younger in slumber, the beginnings of crow’s feet relaxed in sleep. Now I understood. I’d agreed to this night to retrieve the heart he’d taken from me. But hey, I wasn’t really using it anyway.

  Would he begrudge me a last kiss? Travis snuffled in his sleep, the same gentle noise I’d heard many times before from the pillow beside me. A fist seized my heart. When I walked out of the door in the morning, I’d sever our last connection except for Bob, and I’d managed well enough to co-parent these last two years without speaking to the other parent.

  My full bladder forced me into the bathroom. Afterward, I washed my hands. A partially opened medicine cabinet beckoned.

  My heart pounded a reggae beat. The man outside the door, lying in bed, was my Travis, and yet he wasn’t. I’d never known Travis to do drugs, and he denied being sick, but something simply wasn’t right. Gone were the joy, the joking, and the ever-present laughter. I rifled through his cabinets, searching for the kinds on illicit substances often bandied about in courtrooms as evidence. What I found was… Oh dear God. Still in rumpled drug store bags, receipts attached: five months’ worth of clomipramine, all five bottles unopened, all with Travis’s name on the label.

  Not being familiar with the product, I accessed the Internet from my phone. An antidepressant. Also prescribed for obsessive-compulsive behavior. Our lovely home. Always so neat. My perfectionist husband. Obsessive compulsive? Maybe. But depressed? Five bottles filled over five months. All unopened. He wasn’t taking his medication; he’d been saving every dose.

  One didn’t need a pharmacy degree to decipher the message. Travis intended this one night as a goodbye—a more permanent one than I’d ever imagined. The image formed clearly in my head, Travis, showing me out the door and, a handful at a time, gulping down these pills. My heart skipped a beat, then slammed against my ribs. I grabbed the sink to keep from falling. Travis, my Travis, the other father to my son, planned to kill himself.

  Oh. Hell. No.

  He’d brought me here to say goodbye, did he? Well, I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

  What the hell could I do? Confront him and watch him try to lie his way out of a confession? As an actor, he’d likely put on an Academy Award worthy performance, but I couldn’t deny the evidence. Travis meant too much to me.

  He might soon hate me, but I was still his husband, and when morning came, I’d do what I had to do—as his husband.

  Travis slept on, clad in boxer shorts and socks, nothing else. I curled up next to him on the bed. He trembled when I slipped an arm around him, then sighed and placed his head on my shoulder.

  I held him tightly, determined to be the anchor I’d failed to be for all those years. Depression. He suffered from depression. Of course he’s depressed, he threw away a great life, didn’t he? The lawyer in me searched for both sides of the story. Maybe depression wasn’t the result of him leaving me. What if he’d left because he’d been depressed? And illness hadn’t been ruled out entirely either. He needed help. He needed my help.

  I turned off the lamp and lay in the dark, racking my brain for clues. When Bob had left for college, Travis had moped around for days, totally lost. Me? I’d missed him, too, but work kept me busy enough, and I’d eagerly increased my case load, leaving early in the morning and coming back late, sometimes after Travis fell asleep.

  Questions needed answers, answers I might not get from my former love. But whatever went on in his life, someone else knew. Elise. I needed to talk to Travis’s sister, for the first time since she’d called me an unmitigated ass and hung up on me two years ago, cutting “Uncle Ian” out of her children’s lives.

  A steady ticking led my eyes to the bedside clock. Four AM.

  Last I’d heard, Elise still worked nights. Well, if she was asleep, I’d have to apologize, because I needed information. But if she saw my number on her phone, she might not answer. Maybe I should call the front desk of the hotel where she worked.

  I slipped into the bathroom and took my chances with her cell. An angry woman growled after the second ring, “What the hell do you want?” Yes, I’d dialed the right number, and yes, I’d found Elise.

  “Elise, yesterday I would be in your face, asking what right you had to talk to me like that, but as it is, I need your help. It’s Travis.”

  “Oh my God! Is he okay, he didn’t…” Her words broke off on a sob.

  “No, he’s fine, for the moment. Now, I need information. Knowing how close you two are, don’t lie to me. The last time we talked you called me an ass. Exactly what kind of ass am I?”

  No growling now, but snarling. “You son-of-a-bitch. After all you did to him, you need to ask?”

  “Elise, please believe me, if I knew I wouldn’t be asking.” If anyone else had the facts I sought, I’d have hung up on her. No one else came to mind.

  “Then why wouldn’t you talk to him?”

  What? “What do you mean? We spoke every day, up until he walked out on me while I was at work.”

  A long pause followed. When Elise replied she no longer yelled. “He was having a very hard time adjusting to Bob moving out. Several times you made plans to spend the day with him, or go out, and each time, you’d get a phone call and disappear. You left early, came home late, never even bothered to let him know. Without Bob, he spent most of his days alone.” She laughed, a hollow sound missing any humor. “I suppose I should thank you for all the lovely meals he sent to me and the kids when you didn’t show up in time to eat them.”

  Holy shit. We had stopped going out. I can’t for the life of me recall a time after Bob left for college that Travis and I went out dining and dancing. There’d been a few office parties. I’d chat with clients while Travis spent his time catching up with my coworkers and their spouses.

  During my and Travis’s last year together two of my partners had both left their wives for younger women. Fuck! Working late, not going out, and neglecting my husband. Tiny teeth went to work behind my breastbone. “Travis thought I was cheating.”

  “Weren’t you?” The accusation returned.

  “No!”

  “Even if you weren’t, you lived with the man. How could you not see that something wasn’t right? For Christ’s sake, some days he was so depressed he couldn’t get out of bed. How could you not think something was wrong?”

  Because I wasn’t there to notice. “Why didn’t he talk to me instead of leaving?”

  “He tried! He really did! But you were always too fucking busy, and you know my brother. He didn’t want to cause you any worry. ” She paused for a deep breath before unleashing her wrath once more. “Whatever happened to your rule about Saturdays being family day? Huh? And what about Friday date night? Travis gave up his career to support you in yours and raise a child. Did you not know how much those sacred times with Bob and you meant to him?” She paused to sniffle. “But when you forgot his birthday…”

  While several of her accusations rang true, this one came as a slap to the face. “Wait, I never forgot his birthday.”

  “Yes you did. He sat at a restaurant for two fucking hours. Then he went home, packed a few things, and sle
pt on my couch.”

  I forgot my husband’s birthday? Ah, but Elise got her facts wrong. “He didn’t leave me at night. I came home one day to find him gone.”

  “Really? Really! You don’t even know when he left? Why, you worthless sack of shit. Go back to whoever it was that caught your eye and leave my brother alone. Your thoughtless ass is the last thing he needs.” The line went dead. Rage poured through me. How dare she? How dare she?

  One hand on the door, ready to charge out and confront the man who’d spread falsehoods about me, I caught myself in time. Five bottles of anti-depressants didn’t lie. The truth was irrelevant right now. What Travis believed trumped my defenses.

  I hadn’t missed his birthday. No fucking way. I flipped my phone’s calendar back two years. Sure enough, there on my planner was “Meet Travis at Winston’s 6:00 PM Wednesday” along with “Meet with McAllen at Simon’s 6:00 PM Wednesday”. The next day bore the note: “Travis left”. Holy fuck.

  McAllen had arrived late, we’d worked well into the night, and I’d picked up fast food and crept into the house so as not to wake my husband. I’d watched the 11:00 news as was my habit, and fell asleep on the couch. The next morning I’d snuck into our darkened room for a suit and dressed in the guestroom. My husband had left me and I hadn’t even known.

  Me. All this time the problem had been me. And I’d never gone after him, never called. I’d just accepted that he’d wanted to leave, never seeing his actions through his eyes. If the shoe were on the other foot, I wouldn’t want to see me tonight. Deep down inside, did he still harbor feelings for the man who’d turned into an uncaring monster?

  All these years I’d blamed Travis. But if I’d only listened years ago, given the man as much time to state his case as I’d given rival attorneys, we’d never have reached this point. I was to blame. And in true Travis fashion, he’d kept the gory details from Bob. Or had he? No need asking our son, the fact that he’d insisted on the meeting told me all I needed to know.

  Apparently, I had some making up to do, but first, to exercise my husbandly right to put my foot down—and save my husband’s life.

  ***

  “I’m not going.” Travis gripped the headboard. If looks could kill I’d be a pile of ash on his filthy carpet.

  “Travis, I don’t want to do to this, but if I have to, I will. You need help.” I tossed the five pharmacy bags, and their damning contents, onto the bed.

  He glanced at the bags and back at me. “I can explain that.”

  “And can you explain why you’re living in this dump?”

  “I sublet my condo and moved here in preparation for a role.”

  I watched his face. He wasn’t telling the truth. Or at least not completely. “Out with it.”

  He sighed, running his fingers through his limp hair. “I got a part in a movie as a guy with a meth problem, and I lost weight and moved here to get more into character. The funding failed and production ended. By then I was just too tired to go on. I’ve auditioned for a few things, but…”

  Depression. Crippling depression. “I need to know,” though to hear you say the words might kill me. “Did you intend to take all these pills at once?”

  He tilted his head back, but I couldn’t miss the shimmering in his eyes. Tears slipped free of his control to trail down his cheeks. “I didn’t know what else to do. I used to have my life so organized; now it’s spinning out of control. I just wanted to make it stop. The pain, the uncertainty.”

  Oh dear God. So he had planned to end his life.

  “Let me help you.” I took his hand. He flinched, but didn’t withdraw. “I know a place you can go. Get some rest. Plan out what you want to do with the rest of your life.”

  “I want to sleep. Sometimes I don’t want to wake up.”

  His eyes met mine. With every ounce of my being I willed him to see the truth of my words, that I wanted to help, that I’d never, ever do anything to hurt him. At least not purposefully. My indifference had done enough damage.

  I pulled him to me and rocked him as he cried. “Shhh … it’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay. I’m here now.”

  Desperate sobs gradually dissipated. He didn’t say a word. Silently he dressed, packed a bag, and trudged behind me to the car. He never even asked where we were going. Every mile of silence nicked another notch in my heart. For his own good, for his own good. I’m doing this for his own good.

  I rested my hand on his, and breathed a sigh of relief when he laced our fingers.

  Our destination appeared from the street to be an elegant private residence. From the curving drive I spotted a tennis court and walking trail. “The place came highly recommended,” I prattled to my listless audience of one. “They’ll take good care of you here.”

  Travis said nothing. He simply stared out the window. Every line of his body screamed, “abandoned”, much as I’d felt two years ago. His sister had given me food for thought, but he was in no condition for long, heartfelt conversations. I couldn’t be selfish now. The most important thing was to get Travis well.

  I checked him in while he stood beside me, gaze riveted to his hands. He didn’t even say goodbye when a smiling woman showed him to his room. Of course, he probably remained stoic for me, knowing that if he wrapped his arms around me and cried, begging me to take him home, it would have only added to my misery.

  I left my heart with him so he wouldn’t get lonely.

  ***

  “He doesn’t want to see you.” Bob stared at me over his half-eaten croissant.

  A small price to pay for the privilege of speaking of my husband in present tense. “How’s he doing?” Shortly after dropping Travis off for treatment I’d found my name on the “no admittance list.” The gesture hurt, but not nearly as bad as losing him completely would. My own newly-acquired counselor had instructed me not to worry, that Travis needed this time to come to terms with his life.

  Bob shrugged. “Okay, I guess. The stuff he’d been taking made him want to hurt himself so he quit.” An unfortunate piece of bread found itself plucked apart in his fingers. “But not taking the pills didn’t stop the thoughts. His new doctor finally got his meds figured out. He’s put on weight. Yesterday he even smiled.”

  And suddenly Bob was five years old again, staring at me with frightened eyes while the steadfast rock who’d nursed us through the stomach virus from hell finally succumbed.

  “Dad? Is Daddy gonna be all right?”

  “God, I hope so.” I stood by helplessly as my lover retched again from behind the closed bathroom door. Only then did I notice the tiny hand clutching mine, and that Bobby finally, with the words, “Dad” and “Daddy” accepted that we wouldn’t take him back to foster care, that he belonged with us forever. That we were his family.

  The tears that filled my eyes couldn’t have been more ill-timed.

  “I knew it! He’s dying!” Bobby’s quivering lower lip gave a scant warning to the full blown howls that followed.

  I fell to my knees, wrapping him in my arms. He stiffened for a moment before burrowing into my embrace, no longer afraid of adults—at least not of me. “Shh… No, Bobby, he’s not dying. He’s going to be okay; we’re all going to be okay.” There and then we ceased to be me, Travis, and an abused youngster, and became a family.

  That night Bobby slept in my arms in the reclining chair by the bed, determined to help me watch over his daddy. His prized possession, a ragged stuffed dog, occupied the pillow next to my love.

  Bobby, watching over him then, watching over him now.

  “Did you know when he left me how depressed he was?” I still had trouble believing that Travis had so skillfully kept his condition from both me and our son.

  Bob shot me an “oh, please” eye roll. “Like he’d ever complain about anything.”

  Good point. After devotedly tending me and Bob, Travis had nearly reached death’s door before admitting that he’d taken ill too. The retching incident had been our first clue.

&nbs
p; “He’s working again.” Bob peered up at me from under his eyelashes, probably wondering how I’d take the news.

  “Good to hear.” I kept my poker face firmly intact, hoping he’d offer more.

  He leaned in and hissed, “Christ, Dad, did you really have to have him committed?”

  Committed? “I didn’t have him committed. I sent him to a place to get the help he needed.” I couldn’t tell my son how close his father had come to suicide. Knowing the thoughts had been there was bad enough.

  Bob sighed, weaving his fingers through his hair and leaving a streak of butter. “I never would have believed that he suffered from major depressive disorder. He hid the symptoms from me so well. But the doctor says with counseling and treatment, he’ll be fine. How could I not see? Not know? I studied this in school.”

  The same way I’d missed all the signs—I’d married one damned good actor. Armed with knowledge from my counselor, I now knew the warning signs. “Don’t blame yourself. You were away at college. I saw him every day. In hindsight, the poor guy’d been sending up flares for months before he left. I didn’t see—didn’t want to see.” How I would love to go back be his support, as I should have been. I only hoped it wasn’t too late now. “Sooner or later, he’ll have to talk to me, and when he does, I’ll make him see reason.”

  “You want him back?”

  No finer person existed on the earth. Of course I wanted Travis back. We belonged together. “I never wanted him to leave in the first place.”

  My son derailed my reconciliation plans. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but he’s having divorce papers drawn up.”

  Oh hell no. Not happening. Not if I had anything to do with it. If I’d only been paying attention, Travis would have gotten his counseling and treatment sooner and we wouldn’t be in this situation.

  To stop this train I’d throw myself on the tracks. “Bob?”

  He swallowed a sip of tea. “Yes, Dad?”

  “Remember a few weeks ago, when you asked me to go see him?”

  “Yes?” What are you up to? he asked with his eyes.