Jack sat at the dining table in deep, disturbed contemplation. The dark rings encircled around his eyes were puffed from weariness, deprivation of sleep and worriment. In the past he was not a man given much to anxiety, for he felt it interfered with his ability to make sound decisions and stern commands. His once granite fortification had been cracked and eventually broken by the onslaught of an unhealthy body wracked with persistent pain, which in time worked also on his mind or could it have actually been the other way around, slowly eating away at what had once been a formidable will. In front of him sat his plate of a late breakfast consisting of a single poached egg, a slab of oven broiled Canadian bacon, lightly buttered wheat toast and a small glass of medium pulp orange juice – his favorite breakfast prepared by Dorothea – had barely been touched.
Having finally reached home an hour after Jack, Dorothea sat at the table opposite him. As exhausted as she felt her need for some kind of penitence was stronger, so she made breakfast mainly to appease Jack. She forced herself to consume a lighter breakfast of oatmeal and toast washed down with a short glass of cranberry juice followed by an equally short glass of water. She could not seem to consume enough fluids and sensed that the persistent dryness in her throat and overall feeling of dehydration was a physical symptom related to the psycho/emotional state of her overwhelming guilt. She ate slowly more out of need than want. Dorothea had not come home until almost dawn and neither of them since that time had slept. Instead, they spent the time talking.
Reluctantly but out of respect Dorothea had called Jack from a hotel phone about an hours before she arrived home to let him know she was alright. She had her cell phone with her, but at the time Jack was attempting to contact her on it she was not ready to speak with him, having not yet formulated a story of her whereabouts, nor summoned the courage yet to speak with him. The excuse she gave to Jack when they finally did speak was that she had left the house unaware that her cell phone had not been charged. Although Dorothea had no conscious memory of the act she committed, it was quite obvious she had sex with the handsome, sleeping, tattooed stranger at the motel. She felt defiled, unclean. In the warmth of the car every now and then she would be made aware of her sinful act from the warm scent intermittently rising from the area between her legs. On the surface level of her conscience it was a repugnant reminder of what she had done, but on a much baser level, a level ignored and consciously denied by her sense of morality it pulsated with eroticism and an arousal which only served to intensify her feelings of guilt. She decided that before coming home she had to first stop at a twenty four hour Duane Reade store on 14th street in Manhattan. There she purchased two feminine hygiene products, after which she found a hotel in midtown to rent a room for the express purpose of taking a hot bath and shower, cleansing herself extensively inside and out to the point of near soreness. During the process, in the shower, more of her tears mingled with running hot water, and though her body felt clean her mind was as far removed from any sense of cleanliness as earth from the nearest inhabited planet. After the shower and another session of tearful impurity, Dorothea called Jack from the hotel and informed him that feeling distraught and overwhelmed with emotion she had to get out of the house and feeling frustrated and exhausted dozed off.
When she had finally left the hotel and drove onto on The New Jersey Turnpike from the Holland Tunnel she decided to make one other detour to a twenty-four hour Wal-Mart in Princeton, New Jersey. She could not go home in the current outfit which she wore. She bought a simple white T-shirt, black sweatpants, hooded top to match and a pair of sneakers. She went into the ladies room to change into her new outfit, placing the clothes she had on inside a bag and discarding it into a receptacle on her way out before heading home.
There was a time when silence between Dorothea and Jack felt pleasant even comfortable. But now, this particular was somehow unnerving, unwelcome. Dorothea felt unbearable guilt having lied to Jack about her whereabouts. During the thirty five years of their marriage she had never lied to her husband, but she strongly felt the truth would be worse, far worse. She had been raised by parents who taught her the biblical tenet that only the truth can set one free. No person, stressed her mother, was worth lying to for or about. All of her life Dorothea strove to live by that holy creed, being careful not to do anything that if the light of truth were to be shined upon it would reveal an embarrassment or shame to herself or those she loved and respected be they family or friends. It was a challenge living that way. For human beings were believed and through many eons of time, had proven to be flawed creatures and were thereby destined to make errors in judgment and actions. Perfect, Dorothea was not and had never deluded herself that she was or could be, but always she labored to live as honestly and righteously as humanly possible. She believed that though the truth freed one from the invisible shackles of emotional, mental and spiritual bondage, there was always a price to pay for that freedom, any freedom for that matter. In this particular case however it was a fee she was unwilling to render.
"Jack," Dorothea said softly, "dear… you've hardly eaten. You know you have to eat before you can take your medication." She spoke with the deepest sincerity and sympathy for Jack, careful not to allow her later emotion to turn into pity.
Jack was not a man to be pitied. He would not stand for it and would sense immediately that she was feeling it. Instead her concerns were inspired for what he did not and could not know of her secret.
"Not very hungry," Jack said. The overwhelming sadness in his tone deepened Dorothea's remorse.
She briefly closed her eyes, fighting against the intensifying regret that filled her tortured soul. "I am so very sorry, Jack." But she could not prevent the swell of tears that scalded her face.
Jack looked at her as though she had just confessed to a mortal crime. He reached across the table cupping her hands within his own. "You've nothing… Dorothea… nothing at all to be sorry about," he promised.
"Oh, Jack…" His words stabbed her heart like the sharp, pointed blade of a cold steel knife. More tears flowed.
"It's going to be okay," Jack assured her. "I'm the one that… can't apologize enough to you."
Dorothea took a napkin from a napkin-holder on the table, wiped her face, dabbed her eyes.
"Maybe we should sell this house after all," Dorothea said. "Sell it and move out of state. Maybe go to Florida or Arizona."
"But… you said… you didn't want to leave. The memories…"
"Oh, Jack… I'm not so sure of anything anymore." She looked at him with pleading eyes. "Jack… have… have you… noticed anything strange… different about me lately?"
"Dorothea," Jack said kindly, "you're under as much stress as I am. We lost a child. Grown, yes, but our heart of hearts still our child. That's not going to be an easy thing to grow through if we ever do. Things… life… just isn't going to be the same anymore. Everything in light of that is going to be different including us. The world's never going to be the same, Dorothea, and we just have to find the strength to deal with it and move forward best as possible. The pain will always be but the sting of it will lessen with time."
Dorothea managed a smile though briefly. She admired Jack for his strength in the face of adversity. He was not a man without his weaknesses, but one quality of Jack's she knew she could rely on was that he would always be a source of courage and encouragement even if it were only for her benefit. Jack sat back in the chair, gently sliding his hands from hers, folding them on the table. Briefly his face grimaced from pain. He fought it back and erased the expression from his face, but Dorothea knew it still lingered in his body.
"Jack, eat." Dorothea said.
"Maybe later." Jack inhaled deeply. The stubborn pain momentarily subsided but kept its vigil nonetheless.
Maybe now," Dorothea shot back, taking his fork in her hand, gathering a morsel of food on it and offering to his mouth.
Instead of accepting it, Jack confessed, "Yesterday… I went to visit the coroner that performed the autopsy on Lawrence's body."
It took a moment for Dorothea to comprehend what he had said, as her hand that held the fork slowly sank away from him back the plate. Then finally she replied, "The coroner… for God's sake, Jack, why?"
Jack looked into her eyes saw the frolic of bewilderment and hurt that had taken residence there since Lawrence's passing. "Maybe," he said, "I… shouldn't talk about this right now."
"No, Jack, I insist." Dorothea demanded with soft firmness and deep consternation wedded to the confusion in her expression. "Obviously… there must be a reason why you went to see him. What is it, Jack? Tell me, please."
Jack hesitated then said, "When we were alone in the living room yesterday you said something. You said… Lawrence was never ill even as a child. What… did you mean when you said that? What made you say it?"
In a strained effort to remember Dorothea sifted through the myriad layers of emotions and thoughts that had plagued her mind since yesterday and now in order to find and rest upon that one little kernel of memory until finally she said, "Yes… but… I… don't think I meant much of anything by it. It… it… was an observation. Something any mother would notice. Is that why you went to see the coroner because of what I said?"
"Not just you," Jack said.
"I don't understand."