IMPOUNDED LOVE by Ginger Simpson
Gwen Spencer
scanned her cheery living room and sighed.
It had lost its appeal. All the
time she’d spent decorating in her favorite southwestern motif now seemed a
waste. Snuggled in her sandstone-colored
easy chair, with knees bent and feet tucked
beneath her, she stared at the telephone.
If wishes came true, it would ring at any second and she’d hear Brad’s
voice.
She raised her
gaze and peered through the window. An overcast sky hid the sun, and gray
shrouded the fall-colored trees in the front yard. A few leaves drifted to the
ground, carried by a light breeze. Within weeks, the branches would be bare—as
empty as her heart felt at the moment. The
visual hint of the late October chill made her shiver. Where was Brad? Was he warm and safe? The fire she’d started earlier flickered
bright beyond the hearth and kept the room toasty. She hoped her husband had a coat. Tennessee nights were cold this time of the
year.
The silence
overwhelmed her and, with a sigh, she stretched out her legs, stood, slipped
her feet into her fuzzy slippers, and shuffled to the stereo. She flipped through the plastic CD covers
housing her music collection, the ones she and Brad had selected together. She paused and let them fall back into a neat
row. The songs held recollections of
happier times. Today marked ten years
since she and Brad had married, and she never expected to spend such a special occasion
alone. Favorite tunes would only enhance her pain. She forced a smile, remembering what someone
once told her. “If you play country
music backwards, you get your dog back, your house back, your man back, your
life back.”
If only it was
that simple. Her heart clenched with
fear and the momentary glee faded. This
time Brad wasn’t coming home. He’d been
gone for over a month. The personal time
she’d requested from work had almost expired, and it was time to get on with
life. Time to get back to the job that
would sustain her financially.
With a shrug, she wandered into the kitchen
and opened the bottle of wine she’d purchased a few months ago for their
special day. She filled a glass and went
back to her favorite spot in the living room.
She plopped down and took a long, slow draw from her goblet. She favored a light, fruity taste over the
more bitter offerings.
“Happy friggin’
anniversary,” she muttered and raised her glass into the air. Her gaze drifted back to the phone. Did he even know what day it was?
She decided to
watch television and reached for the remote.
The TV screen flashed to life with the evening report and more bad news: Floods, murders, rapes. Was there no end to life’s
disappointments? Her mind wandered, and
the anchor’s voice became only a murmur in the background.
Visions of her
wedding flashed before her. She’d been the happiest bride in the world. Brad stepped into her life to fill a void
left by another man. She never dreamed
of finding love a second time, let alone discovering someone who treated her
like a queen. Although divorced for two years between weddings, saying vows to
Brad felt like the first time.
What had gone
wrong? Somehow during the years, drugs became
the “other woman”
and held more appeal than Gwen did. When
had he started taking them? And why
didn’t she see it? The first five years
were blissful, but afterwards, telltale signs were there. She guessed she chose to
ignore them. Because
he always came home, she accepted his pitiful excuses for his short
disappearances. Relieved to see him, she
never doubted his sincerity. Until the truth
became crystal clear when a packet of pills fell from his pants pocket on
laundry day.
When questioned,
Brad at first denied they were his, but then relented. He promised he only used methamphetamines to
get through a stressful time at work and swore his problem had nothing to do
with her. Funny. Then why did it his drug addiction spill over and make her
life miserable? He eventually couldn’t hold a job, or didn’t
want to. His excuses always made him the
victim.
Gwen lowered her
head and grasped the back of her neck to ease the growing tension. All this time and no word, when would she get
a clue and move on? His dependency had a
bigger hold on him than she ever could.
If he gave a damn about her, he would have at least called before today
to say he was okay.
She reached for
her wine glass and took another gulp.
The smooth sweetness passed through her lips with ease, but struck a
sour cord. She clenched the slender stem
and gazed into what remained of the rosy liquid. A grimace tightened her mouth. Was drinking pink Chablis to ease her pain
that much different than Brad taking pills?
She stood, marched back into the kitchen in bare feet, and emptied the
wineglass and bottle contents down the drain. Faith in God would be her
strength, not alcohol or drugs.
She started
upstairs for a hot shower. The phone
rang. Her heart seized, but she patted
her chest and took a deep breath. If she
answered, she’d probably find it was her mom.
She called every day, but not usually
this early. Still, she knew Gwen wasn’t
working right now.
“Hello.”
“Mrs. Spencer?”
The man’s voice on the other end wasn’t familiar.
“Yes.” She held her breath.
“This is Officer Gilliam from the Dickson police
department. I believe we have a vehicle
in our impound lot that is registered to you.”
Gwen exhaled. “Is…is it a white pickup?”
The words stuck in her throat, but she
pushed them out. Brad drove the Toyota
she’d purchased before they married.
She’d never bothered to re-register it in both
their names.
“Yes. A 1999 Toyota long bed. You should make arrangements to pick it up as
soon as possible as fees are assessed everyday it’s here.”
It was her truck,
and fees were the least of her worries.
“Why do you have it? Did you
arrest…” Her knees wobbled and she sank
into her chair.
“I don’t know the
particulars, ma’am. I’m just the person
in charge of notifying the owners. When
you come to claim it, be prepared to pay whatever fines are owed. We don’t accept checks, but will take money
orders and credit cards.”
“How could I possibly
bring a money order if I don’t know the amount?” She vented her frustration on the wrong
person and immediately bit her lip. “I’m
sorry, that was rude.”
“No problem. I should have told you each day your truck
remains impounded, we charge one hundred dollars. Since
it’s taken me some time to track you down, we’ve already had your vehicle for
ten days. Are you aware you haven’t
changed your address information with DMV and that your registration has
expired?”
“Yes, and I’m
sorry about that. I guess it slipped my
mind.” Her thoughts raced with what might have
happened to Brad.
“Well, before we
can release your property, you’ll have to pay the renewal and accumulated fees
when you come in.”
“How do I find out
what happened to the person who drove the vehicle?” She balanced the phone on her shoulder and
wrung her hands.
“You can either
call back tomorrow and ask to speak with Sergeant Calhoun, or come in and see
him personally.”
Gwen thanked the
man and hung up. Her mind was a whirlwind of worries. If Brad didn’t have a vehicle, how was he
getting around? Was he in jail? The hospital?
Dead? A cold chill peppered her
with goose bumps. Brad couldn’t be dead,
but she wouldn’t know until tomorrow.
***
Gwen felt as
though she’d barely gone to sleep when her alarm sounded. She slapped at the button atop the clock and struggled
to open her eyes. She hadn’t mentioned
anything about Brad to her mother when she called. Everyone in the family assumed they were
doing well in their new home state, and Gwen didn’t want anyone to know that her
second attempt at marriage was another train wreck. She glanced at the empty pillow next to her,
wishing it was all a bad dream.
Most of her night
had been spent tossing and turning, trying to find answers to all her
questions. She didn’t remember what time
she’d finally fallen asleep, but recalled seeing strands of light creeping
through the blinds.
She stood,
stretched her hands high over her head and rocked from side to side. Her spine crackled and released some of the
pent-up stress. A visit to the police
department didn’t count high on her list of favorite things to do. They might confirm her worst fears, and
although she vowed to get on with her life, she wasn’t ready for bad news about
a man she still loved. Gwen dropped her
arms to her side, and with shoulders slumped, headed for the hot shower that’d
gotten lost in last night’s melee.
Afterwards, she
dressed and stood in front of the mirror and pulled a hairbrush through her
tangled locks. She was barely forty and
already strands of gray frosted her brown hair.
God, she didn’t want to grow old alone.
Her eyes misted with tears, and she decided to forgo makeup for
sunglasses. Her room brightened. Evidently yesterday’s clouds had moved on… at
least those in the sky.
***
Gwen’s hands felt
clammy on the steering wheel. Traffic
was light on the back country road to Dickson.
Now that everything had sunk in, she wondered how her truck ended up in
such a rural community. Her stomach
clenched and rumbled. Nerves and
breakfast weren’t a good mix so she’d passed on her morning meal.
When a city limits
sign proclaimed she’d arrived in Dickson, she scanned both sides of the street,
looking for the police department. She
parked in front of an old brick building that looked more like a library. Her brief conversation with Sergeant Calhoun
didn’t provide any new leads. The pickup had been found on the side of the road with a
flat tire and towed to the impound lot.
She was given directions to where the Toyota was kept and allowed to view it before paying her fines. Pain stabbed at her disappointed heart as she
drove the two blocks to an old gas station where more than a dozen vehicles were
parked. She used the code the sergeant
had given her to open the lock on the gate. In the far corner, she spied her
truck. She walked to it on leaden legs.
Tears filled blurred
her eyes as she opened the driver’s door and gazed inside. The seats and floor were dirty—littered with
trash and remnants of how he’d lived for the past month. His scent lingered in the air. The fence surrounding the impound lot gave
her an eerie feeling. She shivered and
summoned memories of happier times to fill her mind. This wasn't how things were supposed to end. For years he’d been her caretaker when she
was ill, her partner, her lover, her best friend. Why couldn’t she save him? Why couldn’t her love be his salvation?
Gwen reflected on all she had left of their relationship—the
collection of teddy bears he’d bought her over
the years: one holding a Valentine Heart, one wearing a St. Patrick’s Day vest,
and the big white panda he'd brought back
after he’d disappeared for three days the last time. That one had been the harbinger of what was
yet to come, with its furry paw raised in a farewell wave. But the clue went
unnoticed in her joy to have Brad home.
Shaking the negative image from her mind, she
returned to picking through the rubbish on the floorboard. She fingered a tiny
ring, cheap and discolored, but engraved with the letter “G”—her initial. Her throat burned with restrained sobs as she
tossed it back, wondering where it came from and why he’d had it. She didn't need one more thing to remind her
of him. What she needed was to forget.
Stoically, she
forced herself to continue the inspection, hoping for, yet knowing there would
be no clues to answer her many questions. She heaved a deep
sigh and pulled the seat forward.
Beneath more refuse, she saw a small bear. Its fur was dirty, its tiny face contorted
from being smashed beneath weight heavier than its own. She picked it up and cuddled it, hoping that
in some way her embrace would transcend the atmosphere and let her husband know
she still cared about what happened to him. A tear trickled down her cheek.
Should she throw the
bear away? What use was it? Each time she looked at it, she would only
remember no matter how close you hold someone and love them, there is always
something stronger that can pull them away. This tiny stuffed creature was like
Brad in many ways. Once it was clean and
bright and brought a smile to a face. But
burdened by a weight heavier than it could manage, it became dirty,
unrecognizable and not quite so loveable.
She could launder it, but that would
only take care of the surface. She had washed his clothes and kept his home
clean, yet his problems were so deeply
imbedded she couldn’t fix them.
There was nothing in
the truck she wanted. Gwen put the bear back where she found it and gently
closed the door. She didn’t need one more piece of memorabilia, one more link
to heartache and bad memories. Instead,
she resolved to hold onto images of a healthier and happier man and know she
had truly tried to make things work.
A momentary feeling of defeat washed over her,
and then a realization dawned. She hadn’t lost. He had loved her as much as
a troubled man could love, and she’d cherished
him in return. The agony was in knowing
the drugs had won the battle, but strength came in realizing she won the
war. She could finally let him go,
praying he found himself and happiness again…somewhere, someday. Surely the pain would linger for a time, but
a weight lifted from her burdened shoulders as she walked through the gate,
leaving behind the truck and all it represented. The City of Dickson could donate the vehicle
to charity for all she cared. She wiped
away the last tear she planned to shed over Brad and, squaring her shoulders,
walked back to her car.
***
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The log in the
fireplace crackled and popped as fiery fingers stretched up the chimney. Gwen lit the pine-scented candles on the
mantle to provide the smell missing from her fake tree. She’d spent all of Saturday preparing food
and getting things ready for tonight.
She stood back and surveyed the room.
The tree shone in radiant beauty and the garland around the doors and
windows added the perfect festive touch.
She glanced at her
wristwatch and realized the guests would be arriving in less than an hour. She’d already showered, so all she needed was
to change clothes and fix her hair and makeup.
As she turned to go upstairs, someone knocked at the door.
“Oh, brother. Who could that be?” She crossed the room and opened the door.
Her heart seized.
“Hi, Gwen.” Brad flashed a sheepish grin.
She stood rooted to
the spot, her breath failing her. She
moved her mouth but no words materialized.
“I’m sure you
weren’t expecting me.” He stepped
forward and pulled her into his arms.
“Darling, I have so much to tell you… so much to explain. Please give me one last chance, and I promise
you won’t regret it.” His clothes were
clean and he smelled of fresh laundry soap.
Her pain from the
past months bubbled to the surface and steeled her resolve. She pushed him away. “I’m happy to see you’re alive, but I don’t
think you have anything I want to hear.”
He took hold of
her hand. “I totally understand how you
feel, and I’d act the same way in your shoes.
But…”
“No buts.” She jerked free. “You’ve put me through hell. All this time, I’ve had no idea if you were
dead or alive. You couldn’t bother to
pick up a phone and call me? Now you have the
nerve to show up on my doorstep and expect me to act like nothing ever
happened?”
He lowered his
head and stared at the ground. “I
couldn’t call. At least not after I hit
rock bottom and accepted help. Before that, everything is a drug-hazed blur.”
The cold air
pouring through the open door sent a shiver through her. His statement piqued her curiosity, and she couldn’t turn him away without
hearing his explanation. “Come in. It’s freezing out there.”
She perched on the
edge of her chair and gazed up at him.
“What do you mean bottomed out?”
“May I?” He motioned to the sofa. When she nodded, he removed his jacket,
draped it over the couch back, and sat.
He took a long breath. “Where
should I start? Let’s see….”
Gwen listened in
earnest as Brad revealed the whole story.
How he’d given in to the drug high until he ran out of money, begged on
street corners for a fix, and finally landed in jail. During his incarceration, he suffered a minor
stroke and found himself hospitalized. A
visiting pastor invited him to accept the Lord
and an offer of help through a local drug treatment center. Brad had agreed and spent all this time getting
clean and sober. One of the caveats of
the program had been the stipulation that there would be no contact with the
outside world. He’d passed on the
opportunity to phone her beforehand because he didn’t want to get her hopes up
until he knew he had defeated his demons.
Here he sat, claiming he had.
“I don’t expect
you to forgive me.” He leaned forward,
resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve put you through the wringer. It makes me feel better to know that I’ve
apologized. It’s part of my program…to
make amends with those I’ve wronged.”
Tears burned the
back of Gwen’s eyes. She’d never stopped loving him, just trusting
him. How could she get her faith back
based on one story and an apology, no matter how convincing? “Like I said, Brad, I’m relieved to see you
alive and well. I cried myself to sleep too many nights wondering where you
were and how you fared. I appreciate
your apology…
“I
understand. I’m not asking for another
chance. I’m
only requesting that you let me prove to you that I’ve changed. Something different happened this time. I realized how much I had to lose: my life,
you…” He paused for a moment, his gaze
locking with hers. “It dawned on me that without you, life wasn’t worth living.”
Brad’s face looked drawn, and he was much thinner, but he
still had that tall, dark and handsome appeal that drew Gwen to him.
His words warmed
her heart, but didn’t heal the wound.
She wanted to believe him but needed time. She nibbled at her bottom lip and flashed
back to all the broken promises, the times she forgave
only to be hurt and disappointed again.
He glanced around
the room. “Everything looks so
nice.” His gaze rested on the dining
room table and the festive plates, glasses and bowls of snacks. “Are you expecting someone?”
“Yes, I’ve invited
a few people over for a holiday celebration.”
Gwen wondered how she’d explain his
presence, and hoped maybe she wouldn’t have to.
“Would you like to stay?” She
held her breath for his response.
“No, thank
you. I don’t believe I’m quite ready to
face the world yet, but I would like to come by on Christmas Day and bring you
a gift.”
A silent whoosh of
air fluttered past her lips. “That would
be nice.”
Brad stood. “Is one o’clock okay?”
As he slid his
muscular arms through his jacket sleeves, Gwen recalled the times he’d held her
and how wonderful it felt. Although she
wanted to fall into his embrace and forget everything that had happened, she
resolved to take baby steps. “One is
fine. Would you like to have Christmas dinner with me?”
“I’d love it. I always look forward to your honey-baked ham
with mashed potatoes and gravy.” He trailed his hand down her arm and
smiled. “Goodnight, Gwen.”
He opened the door
and stepped outside, but turned. “I do
love you.”
She covered her
heart to quell the pounding in her chest.
His eyes shone with unshed tears making her
want to soothe him until his hurt went away.
She stepped forward yet hesitated.
Brad’s gaze lifted
to the mistletoe hanging over her head.
He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, then stepped back,
snuggled into his jacket and zipped it to his chin. “You’ll see. I’m a changed man. From now on, the only drug in my life is
going to be the love I feel for you. If I need a fix, I’ll steal a kiss.” He turned and walked toward
the street.
Gwen closed the
door and slumped against it. She touched her fingertips to her lips and
smiled. She hadn’t asked for a gift for
Christmas, but it seemed Santa had come early.
She had a party to dress for, and now, a real reason to celebrate.
Don't forget to leave a comment then visit the other participants:
Beverley Bateman http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/ Fiona McGier http://www.fionamcgier.com/ Diane Bator http://dbator.blogspot.ca/ Rachael Kosnski http://the-doodling-booktease.tumblr.com/ Margaret Fieland http://www.margaretfieland.com/blog1/ Helena Fairfax http://helenafairfax.com/ Anne Stenhouse http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com/ Marci Baun http://www.marcibaun.com/ A.J. Maguire http://ajmaguire.wordpress.com/ Victoria Chatham http://victoriachatham.webs.com/ Kay Sisk http://kaysisk.blogspot.com Skye Taylor http://www.skye-writer.com/ Lynn Crain http://www.awriterinvienna.blogspot.com Rhobin Courtright http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com/
Oh, Ginger, you touched a memory. Good story. Have a great Christmas and wonderful New Year.
ReplyDeleteGreat story, Ginger. Happy Christmas!
ReplyDeleteLoved the story, Ginger. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteA very poignant story, Ginger. Just goes to show what love can achieve.
ReplyDeleteGinger, terrific story. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteHi Ginger,
ReplyDeleteI know I'm really late in getting around to everyone. The holiday was so busy this year.
Thanks for sharing such a marvelous story. Very uplifting.