A Desert Oasis

          Shawn pulled into the driveway of his rented townhouse and killed the engine. Pulling the keys from the ignition, he fell back in his seat and closed his eyes. He prayed silently to a god he wasn’t sure was there anymore. I’ve had a long enough day, he thought. Please don’t let the house be a mess. He traced the sign of the cross over his chest and pushed open the car door.

          Every day this week I’ve asked Lori to clean the house, he thought as he walked up the cement path leading to his front door. But he had no illusions that the work would be done, not unless he did it himself, and he was currently working sixty hours a week so his wife could stay home and care for their daughter.

          He reached the front door but before he could bring himself to open it he paused; his head hung like his neck were a strand of cooked spaghetti. He took two deep breaths, steeling himself for the disappointment awaiting him beyond the door. Here goes, he thought, and twisted the knob.

          The house looked exactly as he expected it would: Courtney’s toys were spread across the entire living room floor and an overfilled basket of laundry sat on the end of the couch. The coffee table was covered in a minefield of dirty dishes and the television blared. Shawn could see the pudgy legs of his wife jutting out from behind the basket of clothes and resting in a small clearing she had made in the dishes.

          Well, I can’t say she didn’t do anything today, now can I? he thought as he closed the door behind him with more force than was necessary.

          Lori sat up when she heard the sound of the slamming door. Using her left arm to push down the stack of clothes, she said, “Hey, hun. How was your day?” Her arm retracted and she disappeared behind the pile of clothes without waiting for him to respond.

          Recently Shawn had started thinking that it didn’t matter what he said to her because she wasn’t listening. He considered telling her he was having an affair, just to see if she’d notice. He didn’t think she would.

          “Lori?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Lori?”

          “Huh?” she replied from behind her linen fortress, never looking away from the television.

          Shawn walked over to the couch. “I need you to turn off the T.V. for a minute.”

          “Not right now, hun. This is my favorite show.”

          Shawn grabbed the remote from the coffee table and shut it off.

          “What the hell are you doing?” she shouted and stood--probably for the first time today, he thought.

          “We’re talking. Now sit down.” He dropped the remote on the table where it landed on the handle of a spoon resting in a used bowl of cereal. Milk splashed out of the bowl and puddled on the table. Lori’s eyes showed confusion peppered with fear as she looked at him.

          “Sit,” he ordered.

          “Okay.” Fear was beginning to overtake the confusion.

          “What did you do all day?” He asked as he pushed aside a bowl of crusted ravioli sauce, and sat on the table in front of her.

          “I took care of Courtney.” Lori’s chest puffed and a thinly veiled defiance crept back into her voice.

          “I want a divorce,” slipped from Shawn’s mouth like an unexpected fart in public.

          Lori’s defiance quickly melted away and she began sobbing hysterically. She buried her face in her hands and giant sobs racked her frame. “Why?” she screamed through her wails.

          The truth was he didn’t know, or at least he found himself unable to articulate his reasons on such short notice. The finality of his statement had surprised even him, but, now that it was done, he felt his confession to be incredibly liberating. It was as if he suddenly regained a long dormant control over his life.

          “Why?” she cried out again at the top of her voice.

          Shawn wasn’t surprised, or even concerned by her outburst. It was normal for Lori to behave this way when she was faced with confrontation. He often wondered if she could be diagnosed with a psychological disease like bipolar disorder, but he knew that to suggest treatment for mental illness would only result in another one of her half-assed suicide attempts. His heart stopped breaking for her a long time ago.

          “Why’s Mommy crying?” Courtney asked from across the room.

          The sound of his three-year old’s delicate voice seized Shawn’s heart with a cold iron fist and squeezed with all its might. He looked past the theatrical hysterics of his wife and saw his daughter, the oasis in his desert home, standing in the doorway to her bedroom. His breathing became labored and his heart broke as he looked into the silver-blue eyes of the only thing he ever loved.

          “Mommy’s okay, baby. We’re just talking. Aren’t we, honey?” He looked at Lori and forced a smile. Please, I’m begging you, don’t do this in front of the child.

          The flesh around Lori’s eyes was bright red, and her contrived tears had left clean streaks down her unwashed face, but there was no concession within those eyes. He looked back to Courtney, her Little Mermaid pajamas were wrinkled from a full days wear and he knew that he had no choice.

         “All right,” Shawn said in a muted voice. “I take it back. I’ll stay, just please stop making a scene in front of her.”

          “I’m fine sweetie,” Lori called over her shoulder as she dried her eyes with the sleeve of her over-sized nightshirt. “Your Daddy’s not going anywhere.”

          Shawn looked back to his daughter. Not yet anyway, he thought.