Читать книгу Alone: A Love Story - Michelle Parise - Страница 27

Several times a year, The Husband would go out drinking with other teachers, sometimes after a school play or a colleague’s retirement and always after a long evening of parent-teacher interviews. On these nights, I knew not to expect him home until 1:00 or 2:00 a.m., and I was fine with that. But in the past few months, these nights have become more frequent, and he has started arriving home much, much later, at 4:00 or 5:00 a.m. Sometimes I wake up to the sound of him crashing around in the kitchen downstairs. He’s such a big, clumsy man at the best of times, but drunk and stoned, he’s an elephant, and all household items beware.

Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night in a sudden panic. Is he dead somewhere? Did he drink so much that he got in a fight with someone and is now lying in an alleyway somewhere, hurt? My heart races and I call him and text him, but often there’s no answer. Those nights are the worst. I lie there and worry, tossing and turning till I hear the lumbering giant come up the stairs.

I honestly only ever imagine that something horrible has happened to him. I never once think he’s with a woman. Can you believe it? But that doesn’t mean I’m not angry. By the time he stumbles in, I’m near-hysterical.

“You are a married man! A father!” I shout at him. “You could have answered me — I thought you were dead!”

And he mumbles, “Sorry, sorry …” Always so sorry after the fact.

The best times are when I sleep soundly and don’t wake up in a panic or hear him when he comes crashing into bed. Instead, I wake up in the morning light to find him lying beside me, his breathing heavy, his adorable but drunk face so sweet looking, so calm.

And this is how it is one morning in early November 2011, when, at 5:00 a.m., he returns from the grade 12 commencement. He crawls into bed and doesn’t realize I’m awake. Turning onto his side, away from me, he lets out a huge sigh. Reflexively we wind our legs together as always. I watch his freckled back as it rises and falls with his breathing and I wonder, What are they doing, these teachers, till 5:00 a.m.? Where do you go?

He senses I’m awake and sleepily turns and looks at me, eyes half-open.

“Hi, Love,” I say.

“Do you think your psychologist could recommend me a psychologist?” is what he says back.