Per Diventare Quattro

Follow up to Chapter 2 "Per Diventare Due"  Also check out Chapters 1 "Per Diventare"  and 3 , about Izzie.

Instead of sleeping, like her body pleaded with groans and pains, she lay awake, listening to every car passing before the house. Each brought hope of squealing breaks, the brakes they couldn't afford to fix. Each car ran smooth, purring past her front steps. Her eyes had just closed, heavier than her thoughts, when she heard the abrupt squeak, followed by a tha-bump against the curb. She prayed that there were no more damages they couldn't afford.

She listened to the ch-ch-ch of his keys scratching at the lock until he found it in the darkness of his drunk, when the echo of the night followed him in only to be slammed out. He shuffled around the piles in the living room, his feet dragging on the brown shag carpet before going into the kitchen. His shoes squeaked on the orange linoleum and the faucet turned on, adding a clunking of the pipes in the basement. She closed her eyes at the sound of crashing glass followed by the rumble of his cursing.

The swish of the broom shoved shards of glass into the metal dustpan. He dropped them into the garbage can and the glass fell, reminding her of her childhood game running through just frozen puddles and breaking the thin layer of ice with her Rainbow Brite Moonboots.

But this wasn't a game and she pulled the blanket over her head as he shuf-u-shuff-u-shuffed towards the bedroom door. She could feel him in the room, closing the door behind him with a slam that made her flinch. He walked past the bed to the bathroom, his rotting liquor smell following him. He turned on the light, illuminating their wedding picture above the bed. She listened to the tinkle of his piss and started to pray. Please, Lord, just let him go to sleep. Let him pass out. Let him leave me alone.

His weight shifted the bed, shaking it as he struggled pulling off his shoes, then again for his socks. He stood up to take off his pants, dropping them in a pile on the floor, his belt buckle clanking as it fell. Then, he pulled the covers back and slid in behind her, his hand sliding across her waist. He pressed his nose against her hair and took a deep breath. "You awake?" he asked, stumbling over the syllables. His fingers traced her belly button but didn't linger long, sliding down her hipbones beneath her pajama pants then started playing with her pubic hair, twisting it around his fingers. "I asked if you were awake."

Her fingers ached clutching the blanket and she breathed in and out, in and out as his fingers wandered further and he groaned.

"Stop it."

He pushed against her, shifting his hard on until it found the crevice of her ass, searching for any crevice for the moment, reminding her of the mice in her Grandfather's barn, satisfied with crack in the wall.

"I said stop it, Karl." She pulled his hand away and rolled away from him.

He rolled to his back and covered his eyes. "What? I just want to make love with my wife. What's so wrong with that? Do you know how long it's been?" He slammed a fist into the mattress and sat up. "It's been weeks. We're married. We can have sex."

"I don't want to," she said, surprised by her own words as she sat up and crawled to the end of the bed. "I don't want to make love to you when your words sound like they've been run through a blender. I don't want to make love to you because I'm pissed. I'm fucking pissed, Karl. Where were you tonight?" She looked him straight in the eye demanding answers and something real from the illusion their relationship had become. "Where were you?"

"I went with the guys to the Harbor Bar. We had some drinks, that's all. What's your problem?"

The anger took over her body like an swelling orchestral overture, directing her heart to speed and her mind raced like a flute, bouncing a from thought to thought. "My problem, Karl," she said, spitting his name to get the taste out of her mouth. "Is that I spent the evening in the basement with your six month old son, terrified by the tornado warnings and wondering where the hell my husband was, because he certainly wasn't home. For that matter, you're never home."

"You knew I worked on the road when you married me," he said, leaning over the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. His voice quieted as he spoke and he rubbed his temples.

"What about the weekends? I see you when dinners served and then you're out the door with "the boys"." She didn't hide her contempt.

"You know what," he said, grabbing a pillow from the bed. He stood up and wavered for a minute before pulling a blanket free. "Maybe I should just sleep on the couch if you're so damn unhappy."

It wasn't the way the fight had played out in her head as she lay in bed, waiting for his arrival. He was supposed to feel bad for leaving her alone during the tornado. She was supposed to fall into tears only to have him take her into his arms and hold her close, promising that things would be different.

"Maybe you should," she said as she watched him walk out of the room. She waited until the door was closed before she allowed the tears to fall. She sat on the edge of the bed and cried loud enough for him to hear , instead of holding back noises like a dirty secret. It didn't take long before she heard his snores and she crawled beneath the blankets, pulling them tight around her neck after wiping her cheeks dry.
****

When the alarm screamed across the room, she rolled among the blankets, grabbing for the clock. She found the snooze button and hit it. Pulling the blankets over her head, she tried to return to her dream. Unable to recapture the other world, she stared at the empty pillow beside her until the alarm rang again. She turned it off and crawled out of bed, one leg at a time. Her muscles ached and her eyes burned. She straggled into the bathroom, grabbing her robe off the hook. In the bathroom, she pulled down her pajama pants and sat on the toilet, rubbing her eyes and scratching her head. She grabbed the washcloth off the sink and ran it under hot water, pressing it against her face. The bathroom was so small, one could almost bath and brush their teeth in the sink at the same time. She remembered all the times she and Karl would bump into each other in the morning, laughing. Those days were years ago.

She flushed the toilet and propped herself against the sink, staring into the mirror at the black bags the long night had painted beneath her eyes. Her once smooth skin was grey and spotted with acne. Her hair hung at her shoulders, limp and lifeless; imitating her shoulders beneath the flannel robe she'd bought on clearance three years ago. Throwing the robe lopsided on the hook and she opened the closet door, and stared at the selection of clothes waiting her, hand-me down skirts bought from the second hand stores and pilled sweaters. She pulled out a simple pair of black slacks, ignoring the ripped seam along the bottom of the leg. She'd fix it later, another day. She pulled out the baggy sweater she'd worn through her pregnancy and pulled it on, hiding behind its folds of fabric.

As she dug in the bottom of the closet for a matching pair of shoes, Jacks' morning call began as a whimper and then broke into the kind of scream that makes every mother's heart skip a beat. She ran up the stairs, worried that his cries would wake Karl. She dashed to his crib, tripping over his pile of toys and catching herself against the wall.

"Hey, baby boy. How are you this morning?" She reached into the crib and pulled him into her arms. He stopped crying with a few gasping breaths. "We've got to get ready for church." She bounced him against her chest and grabbed an outfit for him from the closet. "First, we'll eat some breakfast and then you can have a bath." Easing down the stairs, she kept talking, filling the silence of the house. "And then, we'll go to church. Grandma wall be so happy to see her grandbaby. Yes, she will."

She laid him on the floor in the bedroom and slipped out the door, walking on light feet into the kitchen. She mixed a bottle, running the water slow to prevent the pipes from clanging in the basement. Counting the scoops of formula, she glanced into the living room where Karl was sprawled out on the couch, her pink afghan wrapped around his legs. His arm rested above his head and his lips quivered with snores. She could see the light sweat that covered his forehead.

Jack started whimpering and she twisted the cap on, walking into the bedroom while shaking the bottle. "Are you hungry?" she asked, settling onto the floor beside the baby. He crawled into her lap and settled in for a bottle, her favorite part of being a mother, the time when they sat, holding onto each other. She usually sang a song, but there was nothing to sing this morning.

When she and Jack were in their Sunday best-they-could-afford, she propped him on her hip and walked out the bedroom door. Jack saw Karl, still asleep on the couch and leaned forward in her arms, throwing her off balance. "Da," he said in his loudest voice. She tried to hush him but he pushed away from her until she gave up and set him on the floor. He crawled across the floor, wobbling on his knees, until he reached the side of the couch, shouting for his "Da". Karl moaned in his sleep and rolled to his side, his back to the child struggling to his feet. Jack persisted, grabbing at the pink afghan until Karl blinked awake and stared with groggy eyes.

"Hey," he said, reaching for Jack and pulling him onto his lap.

Jack sat, giggling and clapping his hands. "Da, da, da."

"We've got to get going," she said, pulling on her jacket and pulling her hair free from its collar. "It's getting late."

Karl gave Jack a kiss, laughing as he wiped the slobber away. "Have fun at church," he said as she pulled Jack from his lap. His tone changed when he said, "I'll probably be at moms when you get home."

"Should I drop Jack off there?"

He looked at her, his forehead creased.

"I work after church. I told you that last night at dinner."

"Oh, yeah," he said, rubbing his face. "I don't know. I might not be there."

She took a deep breath as the anger returned, filling her chest. "Where should I drop him off?"

"I'm not sure," he said, sitting up and rubbing his head. "Can't your mother watch him?"

She didn't answer but just stared. He didn't change his answer. He didn't even look at her.

"She watches him all week. I don't really want to impose."

"Well, I don't know where I'll be."

"Whatever," she said, grabbing her keys out of the cut crystal bowl that they'd been given as a wedding gift. She slammed the door behind her as she stomped out the door while Jack on her hip, still babbling about his Da da da.

***
She sat in the old church, safe between the brick walls and chunky stained glass windows drawing in spectrums of blue, red, yellow, and greens depicting stories she'd heard since her childhood while the congregation sang a song that she wasn't hearing. Her thoughts kept her mind prisoner in the cracked white walls of their run-down rental. Her mother held Jack, singing into his ear with a smile. She'd agreed to take Jack without a second thought, the word yes bouncing off her lips, while her eyes questioned the request.

She hadn't felt like explaining. She didn't want to talk at all.

"You may be seated," the preacher said taking his place in front of the alter in his long white robe.

She eased into the bench and leaned against the hard wood pew, staring up at the large wooden cross on the wall, backlit and glowing. The church filled with laughter, spurned by a joke the pastor told. She didn't hear it, unable to concentrate on the sermon as tears filled her eyes. She held her breath, knowing the rise and fall of her chest could make them fall. Instead, she turned her eyes down to the bulletin in her fingers. Blurred through her tears, she read the Lesson of the Day, a reading from Isaiah 43. The words read like a mantra, easing the pressure in her head. But now thus saith the LORD that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.

She knew about fire and floods, but she wondered about marriages.

She read the words over again, her lips moving until the tears were gone and her breathing steady. Fear not for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine. Fear not, for I am with thee. I have loved thee. Keep not back; my daughters from the ends of the earth. I have created him for my glory. Thou shall not be burned. Fear not.

"Trust in the Lord," the pastor said. He pounded his fist on the pulpit and his voice echoed off the brick walls, hanging over the silent crowd. She looked up from the bulletin and waited until he said, in a softer, kinder voice. "Trust in the Lord."

She closed her hand over her wedding band, rubbing the diamond with her thumb and breathed.

***
In the two years that she worked at the hotel, it became a home away from home, often happier than the two story rental across town. She picked up a styrofoam cup left on the clear glass table by a morning guest as Jeremy said, "Morning," even though it was early afternoon.

She pointed at the large scrollwork clock behind him and laughed. "I'm even a few minutes early. I'll clock in and be right back." After she walked through the smoke and chatter filled break room, full of those just finishing with the dinner buffet. "Get to work," she joked with the head cook.

She made her way back to the quiet of the desk and pulled on her brocade button vest. Jeremy was counting the money in his till, tapping at the calculator. She didn't interrupt, instead checking the filed room cards to see how many people she'd have to face today.

"Everyone was checked out by ten," he said, sliding the till back into its drawer. "You've got only ten rooms coming in tonight."

"That's pretty good for a Sunday," she said, checking the names. Several were Sunday regulars, making their weekly business rounds. None of which were too gabby.

"Everything else is done," he said, pulling a jacket over his long, skinny arms. "Thanks for coming in early."

"No problem. It isn't every day you get to meet your nephew. Have fun."

He disappeared out the door and she took a deep breath, relieved to be alone. The silence of the lobby calmed her nerves and she knew that for the next ten hours, she didn't have to fight, or feel, anything. She tidied the work space, cluttered with stray paperclips and rubber bands from the morning rush. She refilled the ream of computer paper and wiped the fingerprints from the counter.

When everything was in perfect order, she grabbed her purse and pulled the office chair to the desk. From inside, she pulled out a stash of peppermints and a paperback book. She flipped open the worn pages, folded in corners from past readings, and found where she left Whitney returning to England ready and primed to win the heart of her childhood sweetheart, Paul. She followed the pages of Whitney's antics and the Judith's descriptions of a glamorous world in another country, unreachable and far away. She could feel Whitney's thick dark hair between her fingers as if she were helping to wind up into fancy twists and twirls for the ball. She could smell the lilac perfume and her heart pounded for the heroin's happiness. Oh, how she wanted her to be happy.

She paid close attention to the characters antics to draw a man into her grasp and would close her eyes, practicing them on Karl in her mind, revised and ready. Tonight, she thought, we are going to recover. After the baby was in bed, she'd slip into the bath and shave her legs until they were smooth, shining beneath the bathroom light. She would tousle her hair to create the wild-come-hither look. She'd step into a slip that she hid in the back of the closet for such nights. When she was ready, she'd walk into the living room where he'd be sprawled on the couch, watching a movie or listening to music with his eyes closed. She'd slide beside him, letting her hand rest on his chest and drawing him from his thoughts. He'd look down at her with smiling eyes. The nice smile with little creases in the corners of his lids, not the wicked smile when they fought and he knew he was winning. They'd kiss a while, exploring each other's bodies with their hands. She'd moan as his rough working hands would feel the length of her legs.

"Excuse me."

Her eyes popped open to the man at the counter waiting patiently. "I'm sorry," she said, jumping out of the chair. Her face was hot. "Checking in?" She reached into the file and flipped through the cards.

The man laughed, setting his bag on the floor with a thud. "Yeah. Cardin. James Cardin."

She found his name on the computer and pulled his registration card. "I'm really sorry. It was a long night last night and I just closed my eyes for a rest."

"No worries. No worries." She handed him a pen and the card as he said, "Those books make most women fantasize."

She glanced at the book, the yellow roses and pink script giving away the contents. "Oh, it wasn't that. No, not that."

He chuckled as he filled out the information on the card.

"I'm serious," she said, tucking the book in a drawer. "I'm just tired."

"Ok," he said, handing her the card. "I just know that they had that effect on my ex-wife."

She looked over the card and handed it back to him, marking the address box with an x. "We need you're address, Mr. Cardin."

"James, please. That's why I'm staying here. I'm moving to town and don't really have an address yet. So, I guess," he said, motioning to the lobby and it's oversized, muted decor. "This is my address."

She coded in his room key and smiled, studying him through her hair hanging in front of her face. He was short, almost shorter than she, with a rounded body from beneath the thinning hair. He had beady little eyes, laughing even when no words were spoken, and a trimmed narrow beard, lining his square chin. "Room 210," she said, handing him the key and a printed map. "Just up these stairs."

"Upstairs?"

"It's the best room in the hotel. King sized bed, fridge, and microwave with lots of room."

"Well," he said, throwing his bag over his shoulder and grabbing the map with his stubby fingers, "If you say it's the best room, I'll take it."

She began typing his information into the computer as he walked towards the stairs. "Have a nice stay," she said, almost forgetting.

"With lovely help like you, I'm sure I will." He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, holding onto the rail with a grin on his face, making his cheeks more round. "You know, a beautiful girl like you shouldn't need romance novels. You should be showered in romance every day of your life."

She forced a smile. "Thank you," she said, turning back to her typing before he could see the red rush to her cheeks.

***
She fell asleep on the couch beneath her pink afghan with her slip wrapped around her waist. Her eyes burned from tears and her hair had dried after the hours of waiting. Just before she slipped off to sleep, she remembered James' words. "He was just being nice," she kept telling herself as she avoided her reflection in the television. She wiped away the tears on the back of her hand and rested her head back, her come-hither hair flattened to her head. But his words echoed in her mind, leaving her with a smile as she escaped into their comfort.

Onto Chapter 5 "Per Diventare Cinque"  More to come. Let me know if you'd like to be updated on this story and I will send you email updates. Thank you for reading.