Chapter 3

[sorry it took so long]

Jenny dropped the empty syringe into an empty soda bottle, and screwed the cap tightly.  She sighed as she looked around the small kitchen.  Bright sun shone in the window, highlighting the dirty dishes in the sink.  

“Lord” she sighed.  “If you had to send him to me, couldn’t you have done it when I’m manic?”  She looked in on Charlie, lying in her bed, surrounded by soft pink bedding.  She snickered.  

“Not a sight I ever expected to see, Lord”.  She checked the ice bag, still cold.  The bucket was clean and empty, at least the medication was holding back the nausea.  A black tail hung from the edge of the bed.  Jenny lifted the cover and saw bright green eyes gazing back at her.  Charlie’s hand curled around the cat protectively as she shifted.  

“OK, Princess, you can have him.”  She glanced at Charlie again.  His face, sweaty and pale, the ice bag obscuring his eyes and forehead.  His hair was tangled and damp with sweat.  “Are you awake?”  He snored lightly.    “ I guess not.”  

She left the room, eying the trail of discarded clothes.  Charlie had taken his shirt off the minute he’d gotten inside, so she could give him the shot.  Then he’d vomited on the floor, and fallen down.  She’d had to drag him to the bedroom, peeling off his filthy clothes as helped him down the hall.  

To someone else, though, it probably looked as though something immoral had taken place.  Or was it?  After all, they were still married.  Agh.  Marriage was complicated!  

Jenny mopped up the mess, thanking God for her simple tile floors.  She gathered the clothes, thanking God for the washer and dryer.  Sure, they were old, but they worked.  She sighed as she remembered her first place with Charlie, riding the bus and walking a mile to the laundromat, each way, all kinds of weather, every week.  So glad those days were past!  

Jenny paused as she picked up Charlie’s khakis.  They were filthy... but it felt wrong to empty his pockets.  She flashed back to an advice column: a wife had found condoms in her husband’s pockets, doing laundry.  

She went looking for a plastic bag, and began to empty the pockets.  Wallet.  It looked like the one she’d given him for their fifth wedding anniversary.  Should she open it?  

She paused.  Perhaps, a better question, would she want Charlie going through her purse?  No.  She still had his photos, and some of the love notes he used to put in her lunch after reading that marriage book.  

Jenny held the thick leather in her hand, wondering if he had any of her notes inside.  She set it into the bag and moved on.  Keys.  She examined the key ring.  House key.  Mailbox.  Her house key.  Her mailbox (after all, he was on the deed - so she’d sent him copies of the keys), SUV key, and a few others she didn’t know.  Into the bag.  

She frowned as she encountered loose bills.  A lot of money.  What was Charlie doing?  Into the bag, as wadded as she’d found them.  Receipts.  She didn’t even glance at them.  

She sat down, in shock, as she pulled out his wedding ring.  The real one - the simple gold bands they’d bought when they thought they’d love each other forever.  

What was he doing with that?  

Chapter 2

Five Years Later

Jenny hummed along with the Jesus metal on her headphones as she strode down the street.  Her backpack bounced gently against her back with every step, sweat trickling between her shoulder blades and pooling at the base of her back.  

She pulled at her cotton-t-shirt, trying to get some air.  It’s a good thing Charlie and I split, she thought, I probably smell like an old goat today.  Ah!  She’d reached her turn.  She turned and sighed with relief as she entered the shade of a large oak tree.  She loved to pause here in the summer.  

A mockingbird flew at her head, squawking.  She grinned, “I won’t hurt your babies, Momma!”, and resumed walking.  She paused as she approached her house.  

The simple, frame house, a soft blue, was surrounded by a chainlink fence, covered in a riot of blooming vines and climbing vegetables.  It wasn’t fancy but it was home.  

She didn’t recognize the fancy SUV currently parked at the base of her driveway, but she knew the man vomiting into her marigolds.  “Charlie?”  

He continued retching as she approached him.  Broad back, strong shoulders.  Thick blonde hair.  Freckles.  Yeah, it was Charlie.  He looked awful, pasty white with dark circles under his eyes, the freckles standing in relief.   He spat one last time and tried to stand up, leaning against his car.  

“Migraine” he croaked.  He covered his eyes, blocking the sun, and winced as he looked at her.  “I’m sorry.”  

Jenny sighed.  He was certainly in no condition to drive.  She hadn’t seen him in years, but she needed to know.  “Brother John said you couldn’t take your medication?”  Her voice was sharp, and bitter.  

Charlie barked a laugh.  “No.”  He debated telling her for a moment, and went with the truth.  “I beat him up.  He said,” He paused, “Some bad things after you left and I lost my temper.”  

He reached out to her, putting his hand on her arm.  “You.  Were.  Right.  I am so sorry I exposed you to that awful man.  If you let me in, I’ll even let you inject my medication.”  

Chapter One

Paul smiled as he pulled up in front of his home.  The neatly manicured yard set off the brick nicely, he’d thought.  

His wife hadn’t liked it much, wanted something “more personal”, but he overruled her the way he always did.  After all, he was the husband.  Brother John was clear on his role in the marriage.  

He unlocked the door and entered the living room.  Everything was neat and tidy, the plush oriental carpet setting off the burgundy leather sofa, the photos neatly displayed on the walnut end table...

Wait a minute.  He walked over to the end table and picked up a photo in a cheap plastic frame.  He smiled fondly.  A wedding photo, from Vegas.  

His wife grinned widely, her rented purple wedding gown showcasing her curves, brown hair, and deep green eyes.  Paul grinned at her side, wearing a purple carnation in his rented tux, his thick blonde hair lightly spiked.  

Kids, he thought, as he set it down.  We were kids.  Where was the real wedding photo?    His parents had demanded they take formal wedding photos when they returned home and announced their marriage.  Brother John had liked the “proper” photo.  

He noticed a piece of paper, folded under the photo, along with a set of keys.  He felt alarm rise as he unfolded it.  

Charlie, it began.  She’d called him Charlie ever since they met in daycare.  I miss you.  I’ve loved you my whole life, but you’re not the man I knew.  What?  Of course he’d changed, for the better.  How many times have you thought about Brother John since you came home today?  I bet at least once.  

I wanted to be a good wife for you, I really did.  I went along with the rules.  You made all the decisions.  I didn’t like it, and I felt like you never really listened to me anymore.   You moved me off the bus line so I couldn’t go anywhere on my own.  He’d done that for her safety, Paul thought.  Only criminals and scum rode the bus.  You made me quit my job because I couldn’t get to work anymore.  You kept me at home like a bird in a cage and made me beg for rides.  Had he?  And then you worked so many hours I hated to ask to go anywhere when you did get home.  He refused to feel bad.  He was a good provider.  

I know you don’t really understand that I’m different.  I have brain damage, Charlie, from Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.  I can’t drive, but I can do so many other things.  I may not always know the social rules but I think I’m a loving, good person.  I love God, and God knows I loved you.  

Loved?  Paul sank to the couch, his throat clenching.  I had to give my cat to my parents because you were worried he’d claw the couch.  I never wanted a leather couch.  I wanted something cat-friendly, one that was OK for the cat.  The man I loved wouldn’t have cared about a few claw marks.  Remember that awful plaid couch in our first apartment?  WhenTiger clawed it up, you said it was an improvement.  He grinned.  He had.  Oh, what an awful couch it had been.  

You’d get so frustrated when I couldn’t do “normal” things, and I got tired of explaining.  I am different Charlie.  I thought you knew that.  I do my best, but I can only do so much.   He sighed.  It was an old argument.  

I have bipolar disorder, too.  Your father once told me about a “bad acid trip” he’d had in the hippie days and it sounded an awful lot like my life before medication.  I need that medication to stay alive, Charlie.  Paul’s gut tightened.  He knew what was coming.  

I guess Brother John told you to throw it out.  Did you think I wouldn’t notice?  Did you think I didn’t see this coming?  He kept saying I was addicted.  I have awful side effects, Charlie.  No one would willingly take this stuff, but you don’t care about that.  It’s about you, on a leash, doing whatever John tells you to do.  

He’s not your brother, and he’s not mine.  I’m leaving you because I know you won’t leave him, and I can’t stay with a husband who throws out my medication.  Don’t worry.  I called a cab, and put it on your credit card.  That’s the last you’ll ever spend on me.  

I’ll give you a divorce if you want it.  Otherwise I will proceed as Corinthians directs, and I will pray for you daily.  

The letter drifted, unnoticed, out of Paul’s hands as he put his head in his hands and cried.