{"id":988,"date":"2019-09-04T22:30:26","date_gmt":"2019-09-05T02:30:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=988"},"modified":"2022-08-10T13:55:04","modified_gmt":"2022-08-10T17:55:04","slug":"the-familiar-stranger","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/the-familiar-stranger\/","title":{"rendered":"The Familiar Stranger"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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The Familiar Stranger<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nby Christina Tarabochia\n\n\n\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A fresh start or a double-cross? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why is he so cold and distant?<\/em> Denise wonders as Craig demeans her yet again. Is it his job? The family<\/a>? Or is it me?<\/em> Though she’s poured her heart into her marriage, years of enduring his long hours, frequent trips, and short temper have left her with a deep sadness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later that morning \u2014 in the middle of church \u2014 her cell phone rings. Embarrassed, she heads to the lobby, takes the call . . . and is shocked by the news she hears. Craig’s been in an accident.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So begins their fresh start. While keeping vigil by his bedside she wills herself to make their marriage work, whatever the cost. And when Craig finally regains consciousness, he appears to want the same thing \u2014 except for one detail. He doesn’t know who she is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nor does he remember anything about their life, their children, or why he was parked on the side of the freeway when the accident occurred. As he struggles to recall the past, he also shows a new love for Denise characterized by tender strength and consideration. So what is she to do when ugly betrayals emerge? Is it possible to forgive a man who thoroughly violated her trust? How many more lies and secrets are yet to be discovered?<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

HIS<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wrapped a towel\naround my waist as Denise stalked into the bathroom. Avoiding her eyes, I wiped\na clear spot on the steamy mirror and studied my reflection. A caged man, a\nHoudini, stared back at me. Bound inside a straitjacket, locked in chains,\nsubmerged in a tank, I could taste the metallic tang of the key hidden in my\nmouth. If I held my breath a little longer and waited for the right time to rip\nmy shoulder from its socket, I would escape my stifling life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you wipe down the\nshower, Craig?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What harm would happen\nif once, just once, I left droplets on the glass doors? I bit back my retort.\n\u201cOf course, honey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood.\u201d She peered\ninto the brushed-silver mirror hanging above the white marble countertop\u2014a\nbathroom that had cost me a month\u2019s wages\u2014and added another layer to her\nlipstick. \u201cNeed to hurry if we\u2019re going to be on time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not going.\u201d I\nsaid it as if I didn\u2019t care one way or the other what she thought of my\nbombshell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat are you talking\nabout?\u201d Her shoulders tighten into unnatural stillness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I rubbed the scruff of\nmy neck and scrutinized my image. A few wrinkles around the eyes. Two slight\nrecessions on either side of the hairline. Not bad for a guy of forty-six.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCraig, the deacons\u2019\nmeeting is right after the service, and you\u2019ve missed the last two. Are you\ntrying to sabotage your position?\u201d Her reflected hazel eyes drilled into me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a second I thought\nof giving it all up, going to church with her and the kids, acting as though\nthat was all I had planned for the day. Then the image faded and a pair of deep\nbrown eyes replaced hers. No, I wouldn\u2019t be setting foot in a house of worship\nthis Sunday, or ever again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But she wouldn\u2019t turn\naway without some kind of explanation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDenise, every day of\nthe week I\u2019m looking into people\u2019s mouths. Different teeth, different breath,\nsame office, same chair. Same mindless, indecipherable banter. This is my one\nday off and I\u2019m not going to waste it sitting in a pew with a bunch of\npretenders.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPretenders?\u201d Her\nlipstick tube tumbled to the counter, leaving a blood-red slash against its\nstarkness. \u201cSometimes I don\u2019t understand you at all.\u201d As she rubbed a tissue\nover the spot, the red smeared across the dead veins in the rock, veins that\nmerged and parted, crossed and died, without purpose or pattern.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Had I pushed too hard?\nThe last thing I needed this morning was an interrogation built on suspicion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019d planned this day\nfor too long to blow it now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I turned and put my\narms around her. \u201cI\u2019m going crazy. Call it a mid-life crisis if you will, but I\ncan\u2019t put on a tie and sing a happy little hymn. I\u2019m going hiking.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Relaxing into my\nembrace, she fingered my jaw line. \u201cHiking, huh? Along the trails in Washington\nPark?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why do you always have\nto make a suggestion so it still seems as if I\u2019m doing what you want? It was her fault I had to\ncarry out my plan. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yet I had to feign\ntenderness, feign caring. I tried to smile. \u201cNo, to Multnomah Falls. The\nweather\u2019s supposed to be great in the gorge.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Denise stiffened again\nand moved away from me, heading into the bedroom. \u201cThe Columbia Gorge is quite\na long drive for a spur-of-the-moment thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Trailing after her, I\nrecalled all the weekends I spent following her from one of the kids\u2019 soccer\ngames to her friends\u2019 barbecues after work on Saturday. Waking the next day to\nthe usual church service, out for lunch with another of her friends\u2014the husband\nand I pretending camaraderie even though we knew nothing more about each other\nthan our favorite football teams. Back to church for the evening meeting.\nFinally dropping into bed, dreading the idea of telling people to floss more,\nbrush with softer bristles, lay off the self-whitening strips for a while, and\nall the other advice I dispensed only to have it ignored.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I slipped on a pair of\nloose jogging shorts and pulled a T-shirt over my head. \u201cGive me today, and\nI\u2019ll do whatever you want next Sunday.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFine.\u201d She sighed.\n\u201cYour mind\u2019s made up anyway. I\u2019ll figure out something to tell everyone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSay a dental\nemergency came up. A root canal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She touched the edge\nof the dresser and balanced on one foot while she slid on a new shoe, a beaded,\nred high heel. I\u2019m sure it set me back a pretty penny. Dyed honey-blonde hair\nhung over her face as she leaned over to put the other shoe on, calf flexing. I\nwas surprised at how young and attractive she looked. Apparently our physical\nconnection still flowed deep, like the veins in the marble, but my heart sat\ncold and dense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What was I doing?\nMaybe I could\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No. I steeled myself,\nkissed her forehead for the last time, and wandered down the hallway in search\nof the boys. I found them in the bonus room, sprawled on the couch, playing a\nshoot-\u2019em-up video game. Nicolas, fifteen, had gelled his hair into a\nconservative style and wore a blue oxford. Twelve-year-old Jamie\u2019s hair stuck\nup in blond-tipped spikes. His orange shirt, black flames blazing across the\nfront, shouted, \u201cLook at me!\u201d But the shirt was a button-up, so technically it\nmet Denise\u2019s church dress code.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGuys?\u201d I cleared my\nthroat. \u201cGuys!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They turned their\nattention from the TV screen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWant to skip church\nand go for a hike?\u201d I held my breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jamie cocked his head back.\n\u201cAre you serious?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My heart stopped for a\nsecond. I\u2019d been so sure they wouldn\u2019t take me up on my invitation. Asking\nthem, and getting turned down\u2014that was what I had counted on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nick paused the game\nand shook his head. \u201cI\u2019m helping with children\u2019s church.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Laughing, Jamie jabbed\nNick\u2019s shoulder. \u201cWhat he means is that he\u2019s helping Heather McCallister with\nchildren\u2019s church.\u201d He turned his attention back to me. \u201cMom\u2019s letting you play\nhooky?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I nodded, ignoring the\ninsinuation that Denise arranged my days.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMan.\u201d He kicked at\nthe coffee table. \u201cI\u2019m skateboarding with some friends at the park after lunch.\nBut I can ditch them and come with you, if you want.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, no. You do what\nyou\u2019ve planned.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nicolas unpaused the\ngame and they went back to shooting each other. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

It struck me as an odd\npastime to pursue before a sermon. I stood for a moment, gazing at my boys.\nAlmost men. Would they miss me if I weren\u2019t around? Denise did everything for\nthem, though I financed it all. I could still do that, fulfill my financial\nrole, even if\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My heart thumped, sped\nup, grew louder, drowned out the sound effects of the guns. Blackness crept\ninto the sides of the room, and I feared I would pass out right in front of the\nboys. Closing my eyes, I focused on breathing in and out slowly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The episode passed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wanted one last\ncontact with my sons as well. I squeezed the back of Jamie\u2019s neck and pulled on\nNick\u2019s ear before I left the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Denise walked past me,\npositioning her body so we wouldn\u2019t accidentally touch. \u201cBoys, time to turn off\nthe game and get into the car.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boys yelled their\ngoodbyes and clattered down the stairs and out to the garage. Denise followed.\nA mechanical drone signaled the garage door\u2019s opening; another, its closing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was left standing in\nthe hall directly in front of the family portrait we\u2019d ordered after Jamie\u2019s\nbirth. Denise\u2019s face glowed, her arms wrapped around the baby. I stared at my\nimage, a three-year-old Nicolas perched on my lap. No matter how intently I\ninspected the photo, I couldn\u2019t read anything but satisfaction in my\nexpression. Had I really been happy? Or had I been more willing to fake it\nthen?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo longer.\u201d I rubbed\nsweaty palms over the front of my shirt and glanced down at the wet streaks.\nWithout thinking, I\u2019d put on a white shirt. Denise had to know I was wearing\nblack shorts with a blue shirt! It was critical to the plan. Nervous energy\nsurged through my body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Should I call her? Say\nI\u2019ve changed my shirt?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And have her think\nI\u2019d completely lost my mind? I pantomimed holding a phone. \u201cHi, honey. I know\nyou\u2019ve just left the house, but I\u2019m wearing a blue shirt now. It matches my\neyes better.\u201d Yeah, right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A reason. All I needed\nwas a reason. I hustled to the kitchen, smeared some ketchup\u2014she knew I loved\nscrambled eggs with ketchup for breakfast\u2014on the sleeve as if I\u2019d wiped my\nmouth on my arm. Upstairs, I threw it in the hamper and found the blue shirt I\nneeded to wear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe devil\u2019s in the details.\u201d My father\u2019s voice echoed in my mind, vibrating like my childhood house after he slammed the door and walked away from our family for the last time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

HERS<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The shower stopped and\nI heard Craig step out. I waited until I was sure he\u2019d covered himself and\nhurried in to check my makeup. Thinking of the tension between us over the last\nfew months had me biting at my lower lip again. Craig always thought that was\nso cute when we were dating, but now\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I rolled my lips in as\nI passed him. No sense in giving him the opportunity to ridicule me for a silly\nbad habit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When he\u2019d first\nstarted picking at me, I took everything personally. All my efforts at\nself-improvement came to naught. So I started talking. To Craig. To my pastor.\nEventually to a counselor. I showed all my emotional<\/a> cards and begged for some\ninsight in return. Yet the tighter I pulled at him, the harder he fought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My new tactic, besides\nconstant prayer, was to keep it light and easy, distract with the mundane. \u201cDid\nyou wipe down the shower, Craig?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He smirked, as if I\nwere a prison warden set on micromanaging his life. \u201cOf course, honey.\u201d The\nendearment demeaned me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood.\u201d I ignored\nhis inflection and put on a fresh coat of lipstick to cover my tooth prints.\n\u201cNeed to hurry if we\u2019re going to be on time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He posed in front of\nthe mirror. \u201cI\u2019m not going to church.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d I\u2019m sure my eyes asked\nmore questions than just that one. Like, Why don\u2019t\nI feel like I know you anymore? or Why do I hold my\nbreath when you walk into a room and relax when you leave?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He launched into a\ntirade, sharp words filled with calm anger. My lipstick slipped through my\nfingers as I listened, numb. I searched his face, hoping to see some sign of\nthe man who had stood next to me at the altar and pledged to be the spiritual\nleader of our home. All I perceived was a magic show, a sleight of hand, a\ntransformation into a contained, painfully polite man. He gentled his voice and\nexplained it all away with the phrase \u201cmidlife crisis.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I completely agreed\nwith his self-assessment. Midlife crisis was not just some term to cover buying\na convertible\u2014which Craig already had\u2014but a full-on assault to the durability\nof our marriage. According to my therapist, Craig and I were \u201cdealing with\nmajor communication issues.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yet, when he held\nme, my body betrayed me, practically melting onto him. Was I so desperate for\nhis attention, his physical touch, I could ignore his uncaring behavior the\ninstant his arms came around me? The implication rattled my dry soul. I pulled\naway, left the bathroom, and hunted for a pair of shoes that matched my red-and-cream\nsuit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Setting the heels next\nto the dresser, I remembered the first pair of brand-new shoes I\u2019d bought\nbefore Craig\u2019s graduation from dental school. I\u2019d made do with secondhand\nsandals while he studied and fretted over the baby on the way. Then\u2014like the\nfirst beams of sunshine through a wrung-out cloud\u2014he told me to get a new pair\nof shoes for the commencement ceremony. Soon, he told me, all our sacrifices\nwere going to pay off. Literally.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tipping my head so my\nhair would hide the tears welling in my eyes, I slipped the shoes on. I kept\nlooking at the floor as he kissed my forehead and left the room. Sinking onto\nthe duvet, I couldn\u2019t keep the tears from seeping out. When had our joint\neffort at marriage turned into two Clydesdales pulling in opposite directions?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the bonus room, I\nheard Craig ask the boys if they\u2019d like to go hiking with him. A new veil of\ntears came. Yes, it was the first weekend of summer vacation, but had he even\nthought to ask if I would go with him? After all, he\nwas right. He did work hard every day except Sunday. Surely the Lord wouldn\u2019t\nbegrudge him one day of relaxation. A day to soothe the heat of burnout I felt\nflaming from him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Was it his job? I\u2019d\nseen an article once that said dentists had one of the highest rates of suicide\nfor professionals. For Craig, I wasn\u2019t sure if the hours, the work, or the\ndemands of his family stressed him more. Whatever the case, he had ceased\nflirting with me long ago. He used to chase me around the house when the kids\nwere little, catch me by the waist, and tickle me. As soon as the boys laughed,\nhe\u2019d chase after them. When was the last time we had shared a laugh as a\nfamily?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stood, dabbing a\ntissue at each eyelid. One glance at my watch said my mascara fix would have to\nwait for a red light on the way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Craig came out of the\nbonus room just as I entered the hall. His shoulders filled the doorway. Most\npeople tended to think of dentists as little men, very precise, wearing\nglasses, with looming nose hair. My husband was nothing like that. He was built\nlike a runner, a true athlete, one whose muscles bulged as he drove his arms\nforward and yanked his knees up. His fingers were fine and long. Adept at what\nhe did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One touch of his hand,\nand I would melt into an emotional<\/a> mess again. I edged past him, praying he\nwouldn\u2019t reach out. My breath came a little easier once I walked out of range.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nicolas and Jamie\nturned off the game the first time I asked. They had always been good at doing\nwhat they were told. Must have gotten it from me. Sure as rain deluged our part\nof Oregon in November, they didn\u2019t inherit it from their father.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stomach clenching at\nthe idea of leaving Craig with such little discussion about his decision, I\nmustered the determination to let him make his own choices and led the boys to\nthe SUV.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nicolas called shotgun\na millisecond before Jamie, throwing himself into the front seat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I fumbled to get the\nkey into the ignition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jamie leaned forward\nthrough the gap in the front seats and punched the garage door opener clamped\nto the sun visor above my head. \u201cDad\u2019s really not coming?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe needs a break.\u201d\nThe key slid into the slot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou okay with that,\nMom?\u201d Nicolas fastened his seat belt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I patted his knee,\ngrateful for his thoughtfulness. \u201cSure, I\u2019m fine.\u201d My hand shook as I reached\nfor the wheel.<\/p>\n\n\n