31. Ghost in the Wind

Ghost in the Wind

Z ale

The house phone rang. He answered.

“Hello, Zale? It’s Bea. Is Mara there?”

“No, she is not.” He bit out each word, slowly and succinctly.

“You sound upset. Did Mara tell you we had words? We had a small misunderstanding. You know how emotional she gets, so passionate. Such a big heart. She wanted to drive me, and it triggered her anxiety.”

In the back of his mind, he acknowledged that he did not in fact know what had happened between Mara and her mother, it didn’t matter, she needed space from this woman’s manipulations, and he would ensure she got it.

“Mara’s not here, Bea. Mara’s in the hospital having a nervous breakdown. She will not be calling you back.”

He slammed the house phone down. Lifted the handset up and slammed it down repeatedly until it lay in a useless pile of broken plastic.

There was complete silence for a few moments, broken only by Zale’s heavy breathing.

“Who was that?” Rhys asked casually, drinking his beer at the breakfast bar like he hadn’t just witnessed the annihilation of an innocent telephone.

“My mother-in-law,” Zale muttered drily.

Rhys arrived shortly after Zale returned from the hospital, after his second failed attempt to see Mara. They were having a beer while Olivia was at the shelter with Bex and Willa. They were trying to keep Olivia’s schedule as close to normal as possible, but she needed the distraction from her mother’s sudden absence, which warranted the extra visit to the animal shelter. The animals helped enormously with comfort and distraction.

“Ah, yes… I met her briefly once, which was enough by the way, and I’ve heard about her from Rebecca and Willa. She sounds awful.”

“She is.” He took another pull of his beer .

“How’s Mara?”

“Still on suicide watch. Still won’t see me.” Zale tapped his thumb on the side of his beer bottle in agitation. “I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you want to do?” Rhys asked carefully.

“I love her.”

“What if love isn’t enough?”

“So, what?” Zale’s voice rose and he uncharacteristically voiced his thoughts. “Just fuck her every time she gets wound up? Fuck.” He turned his face away, disgusted with himself for speaking about her that way and revealing too much.

Rhys raised his eyebrows. “Is that a hardship?”

“I don’t like being manipulated.”

“How does she manipulate you?”

“By withdrawing or taking a tantrum if we don’t do it when she wants to.”

“A tantrum,” Rhys repeated, his mouth tightening. “Have you read anything about it yet?”

“Mara gave me some information but honestly? It’s not new. I’ve known how she is for a long time.”

“You got ‘The redacted version’?”

“Yeah.” He took a swig of his beer.

Rhys pulled out his cell .

“I just forwarded a link to you, the stuff you need to know. You should read it.” He paused, looking out over the backyard but seeing back in time. “I can understand why you think it’s manipulation, especially with her mother being her example. But what if it’s not manipulation? What if it’s emotional pain so extreme her psyche can’t handle it, so she seeks out something strong enough to neutralize it, like sex or pulling her own hair out? I would give you the gift of hindsight if you’ll take it. My wife had borderline personality disorder, as I told you yesterday.” Zale looked up at Rhys and nodded for him to continue. “Life with her was exciting, but difficult.”

“Yes, it is both of those.” Zale agreed.

“You know how Mara has you drop Bex off before Willa? Even when it doesn’t make sense?”

“Yes. I hate that. She should trust me by now.” His jaw tensed, the telltale sign of his irritation.

“Amy wouldn’t let me go in a car with any woman, ever. You know how Mara gets tense at a bar or restaurant with you?”

Zale shook his head. “She used to, not anymore.”

“You’re wrong. She watches. It’s all over her face.” Zale looked up in surprise, “Remember the woman, the blond at the bar a few weeks ago that spoke to you on your way to the bathroom?”

“What woman? ”

“A group of women blocked your path to the bathroom. One of them spoke to you, put her hand on your arm.”

“Oh, yeah. I was worried she saw that. But she was dancing when I got back. I thought she was good.”

“She saw that. She looked like she was going to puke. Stopped talking. Looked at the floor… She locks that down. Barrett knew she had BPD based on the few times he’s met her. He’s freakishly intuitive, but still. Amy would have demanded we go straight home and would have screamed at me the whole way; convinced I had somehow invited the attention.”

Zale looked at Rhys with dismay on his face, feeling the signs he missed, and feeling it deeply.

“Mara feels the same way. She’s sick with it, yet she locks it down. It’s not gone, she fuckin eats it so you don’t.” He wasn’t done. “The man who made a pass at her? She didn’t even consider he could be talking to her, she thought he was interested in Willa. Her self-esteem is in the toilet. She couldn’t get away fast enough. Amy would have flirted to show me she was desirable. She wouldn’t have taken it anywhere, but she’d flirt to get back at me for the women who paid attention to me. If I got a little jealous and claimed her, it appeased and reassured her. If I played it cool, she’d be devastated.”

Zale nodded, turning Rhys’ words over in his cool, analytical mind .

“I learned what my wife needed from me to help her keep the demons at bay, lots of PDA, lots of sex, and I needed to be unfriendly and unapproachable with other women. She didn’t do it to manipulate me. She did it to avoid the pain. She did it to gain reassurance that I loved her and that I would not abandon her.” He finished, “It’s survival man, not manipulation.”

Zale thought about the constant vigilance that he himself found to be so exhausting. “How did you live like that?”

“The same way you do. She did get better, calmer, when her triggers weren’t constantly activated. Once she got diagnosed, she did the work. But before she did the work, she left me because the anticipation of me leaving her, which she believed would happen, was killing her. And second, she left so she wouldn’t burden me with her issues. She was horrified by the way she had treated me. Up until her diagnosis, she thought the problem was me, that she was picking up on some vibes and needed to protect herself. When she found out it was her, she wanted me to be free of her.”

Zale blew out a breath. That’s fuckin nuts, Zale thought, even as he acknowledged that Mara’s thoughts had also gone there.

Rhys rubbed his palms on the thighs of his worn jeans. “She told me the distress of waiting for me to leave her was excruciating. Those were the worst three months of my life until I lost her for good.” Rhys swallowed, hard. “Both times, life without her was intolerable. I often think she lived with that level of distress on a daily basis. ”

Zale rubbed a hand over his face. “I read about the emotional pain. I don’t want Mara to hurt, ever, I love her.” He paused, wincing, unused to talking about his feelings but needing advice from someone he could trust. “The thing is, sometimes I’m not sure if what she feels for me is love for me specifically, or if she just needs someone, anyone. It’s hard to give her what she says she needs when she needs sex, not necessarily me, it’s a constant demand that could be fulfilled by anybody,” Zale confided bitterly.

“You’re right but you’re wrong, too,” Rhys stated. “She probably needs someone more intensely than you or me,” he paused, “but she probably loves more intensely than you or I love, and she’s chosen to give that to you, day after day after day, even in the face of zero understanding.”

Rhys did not mince his words. Zale thoughtfully turned over this perspective that unfortunately rang true for him. He nodded, his frown deepening the lines around his mouth.

Rhys continued, “Even if you continued to withhold from her what she needs, I believe that woman will continue to choose you because she loves you and wants to give you all the love in her heart.” Rhys took another long pull from his beer. Zale was quiet so he continued.

“I’ve seen the way she loves her people; she does not hold back. You have had that from her, and you still have it.” At this point, Rhys took a breath and softened his voice. “And I hesitate to say this next because it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker, but if you decide to walk away from her, she will get what she needs from someone else.” Zale’s brows snapped together, and he clenched his jaw so tight it clicked. Rhys ignored the warning and continued on. “And one of those men that she will turn to will hopefully be a good man who sees a good woman and then she’ll choose him day after day after day and give to him the love that is now yours.”

Zale tasted the bile that rose in his throat, swallowed down the taste of what could be.

Rhys continued. “Rebecca has shared, in her distress over Mara, more than she would normally share, looking for perspective from a man who has been where you are, so she can take her girl’s back. You gotta know because of that, I probably know more than I should that you’ve got an extraordinary woman, in so many ways.”

Zale bit out through his teeth. “You’re not giving me news here, Rhys, and you’re dangerously overstepping.”

“I know,” Rhys shot right back at him, his tone even. “I just have a few questions in answer to yours. How hard was it to see Mara in my arms yesterday? Because that can either be a wake-up call or a preview. Mara being who and what she is, there will be another to take your place, they’ll be lining up at the fucking door, and most of them will be utter pricks. The real question in this situation with that particular woman is not, does she love you, because I know she does, but do you love her?”

Zale sat back hard against the back of the couch. “I really want to beat the shit out of you right now. ”

“I bet.” Rhys gave him a rueful grin.

They sat quietly for a few moments. Zale saw that Rhys wasn’t done and he needed him to be.

“Spit it out, you look like you’re still chewing on something.”

Rhys met his eyes. “I don’t regret the care she required. She gave back so much. She loved so hard. With abandon.”

“So does Mara.”

“I know. Zale, I’m saying, for me, to have Amy, and have her happy and somewhat secure, all the accommodations I had to make for her, I’m not saying it wasn’t hard, man, I’m saying it was worth it.”

Considering what Rhys had just spilled, he also had to consider that he had been unknowingly punishing her, all these years, for something that she had not been doing. Resentment and misunderstanding had colored much of his response to her when she spiraled. He had the excuse of ignorance up until this point, but no longer.

“Thank you.”

Rhys tipped his beer toward him, and they drank, comfortable with each other’s silence. Then Rhys patched the hole in Mara’s kitchen wall.

Zale left him to it. He had to call his brother back and update them, he had Olivia to check on, and most importantly, he had a package to put together and drop off for Mara. Whether she loved him for him or not, he had no intention of letting her go.

Mara

I couldn’t remember how I got here, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to be here, but I knew with one hundred percent certainty I did not want to be at home.

Not even for Olivia.

I had nothing left to offer, maybe I never did. Barely present, an empty shell, my spirit fragmented and ripped apart, only ever defined by those around me, and altogether replaceable. I existed like a ghost in the wind, blown here and there by the demon inside me. I breathed, I endured, yearning for a reprieve that never prevailed.

Here, I was protected from narcissistic mothers and overly affectionate co-workers. I shuddered at the memory of the younger, thinner, perkier, redhead, seeing her lean in close to him, press her cheek against his, her lips... My stomach churned and tears of rage burned my throat. I curled my hands into fists, breathed deep. This was no way to live.

I was done with him. For many reasons. First and foremost, I reasoned to myself, I brought nothing to the table, and I didn’t want to be in an unequal relationship, one where I was unloved and unwanted. I did not blame him; I was a mess. He deserved better. He deserved someone that didn't make him feel nervous and on edge. He deserved someone safe.

Secondly, I could no longer stand the power he held over me. Sex with him was the only thing that made me feel better, and he doled it out on a restricted budget that barely took the edge off my hunger and left me with cravings too much of the time. The constant rejection had crushed my already meager self-esteem, and my battered heart was shattered. I deserved someone safe, too.

Third, although seeing someone touch him enraged me, worse than that was seeing his disappointment in me. It elicited such deep feelings of self-hatred that I marked myself worse than I ever had before.

I was sick of not being good enough. It was not healthy, I needed to get away from him. I wanted peace in my life. I wanted away from my mother, and I didn’t want to be in love with Zale anymore. I couldn’t think about leaving Olivia, but I believed she would be better off without me.

I shared a room with another woman, thankfully, a quiet woman. She lay curled on her cot most of the day. We were like mirrored images, lying curled on our cots, our backs to each other, on opposite sides of a nightstand in a tiny room with the furniture bolted to the floor, the lamp, which didn’t have a fucking lightbulb, bolted to the table. I thought idly that I should have done this with Olivia’s room when she went through those two years of aggression .

We were forced to participate in group sessions once a day for an hour, we had to take our meal with the others, and we had our private therapeutic sessions twice a day that were likewise mandatory. I liked my nurse well enough, but I would have much preferred Erin. I wonder if anybody notified her. I’d be out of here before my next appointment, so I’d catch her up then. I think we needed to move up my boundary work, I snorted to myself.

A knock sounded on the open door. “Mara, you have a visitor.”

I turned to look at the attendant. “Who?”

“Your husband is here again. He’s in the waiting room.”

“I don’t want to see him.” I especially didn’t want him to see me. I turned back around.

“In your file he’s listed as your emergency contact. Are you sure you don’t want to see him?”

I faced her again. “I’ll change my emergency contact to my sister, Willa. When can I do that?”

“You can address it during your counseling this afternoon.”

“Thank you.”

I lay my head back down on my borrowed pillow. Nothing in here belonged to me. Nothing in here was my responsibility. There was no one in here to reflect. Here I did not exist.

She returned within five minutes and again knocked to announce her presence .

“Mara, he left something for you,” she paused. “I left it with your counselor, and you can collect it during your session in an hour. Is that all right?”

I sighed. “Okay.” I closed my eyes. That didn’t stop the tears from escaping.

Was I on drugs? I shuffled along the corridor to my appointment like an old lady. I’d have to ask if they drugged me.

“Hello, Mara,” the psych nurse smiled at me. She wore a nametag that had a terrible picture of her that did not do her justice. Her name was Marissa. I couldn’t wait to sit down so I didn’t.

“Am I drugged?”

“No, you’re not drugged anymore. You were given a sedative when you got here yesterday but that would have worn off early this morning. What makes you think you’re drugged?”

“I’m walking like an old lady. I feel like an old lady.”

“Why do you think that’s happening if it's not medication?”

“I feel really, so, very, tired.” I looked down at my lap. My limbs were so heavy. My arms hung uselessly at my sides.

“Got it in one. You’re exhausted.”

I looked up at her. “Yeah? ”

She smiled. “Yes. You’ve been fighting a tough battle, with little support. I spoke to Erin; you signed a form saying we could access information from your other health providers when you started with her. She’s filled me in on some of your struggles.” She leaned toward me. “You’ve been a warrior.”

I snorted. “Then why am I here?”

She waved her hand nonchalantly. “Provisions. Supplies. Refueling.” She looked at her notes. “I see your husband has been here three times trying to see you. You didn’t want to see your husband?”

“No.” I paused. Marissa seemed kind, I loved kind people. I explained, “Well that’s not entirely true. It’s more that I don’t want him to see me. I also need to make a clean break from him. I’ve got nothing to offer him, and all he gives me right now is pain.” A wet drop of something hit my hands that I held folded in my lap. I looked down, confused. “The ceiling is leaking.”

“You’re crying.” She had the nicest smile. “You didn’t notice?”

I laughed. It sounded strange to me, out of place, but I wasn’t sure why. “No, it’s been as commonplace as breathing lately, I don’t notice that either.”

“You’ve got a bit of an emotional disconnect going on. We’ll get you back on track. Tell me about your husband.”

“He’s really sweet, works hard for us, he’s quiet and reserved, he’s a wonderful father, he’s the best person I know.” I paused, there were really no words to describe him properly. “He deserves better than me. And it’s not healthy for me to love him the way I do. I don’t think we’re good for each other.” I told her about the need for sex and his control over it, the co-worker who hugged him and my reactions, at the bar and at home, and more importantly, his reactions. I had no boundaries. No subject was off limits.

“Why do you say his feelings are more important than yours?”

“Because mine are psycho?”

We talked for another forty-five minutes. She listened in a way that I felt heard. At the end of our session, she sat back and smiled at me. I really liked her smiling at me. People should smile more; we should be smiling at everybody. A smile is an actual gift. You never know who needs to receive one.

“I think you’ve got a lot to offer. Your husband had a session today, he consented to me sharing with you. Would you like to hear about his appointment?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I want to, I don’t want to want to.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” she replied. “Well, he loves you, deeply from what I observed. He wants you to come home. He knows that you are not the only one at fault for the issues in your family, he's just as much at fault and he’s committed to going to couples therapy with you to sort things out. ”

I waved her words away. “It won’t last. He’s told me stuff like this before, that he’d be more attentive. He is committed to our family, and loyal, but believe me when I tell you, he’s not interested enough in me to do that. He deserves to be free of me and my craziness. I love him enough to give him that. I love him too much to stay with him. You know what else? I need to start looking after myself as well, it’s long past time for that. My mother can’t be a part of my life and he’s not good for me either. If we didn’t have Olivia, I’d walk away and never see him again.” I felt the tears this time. “I don’t know how I’m going to fall out of love with him if I have to see him all the time.” I sighed. “I just want to disappear completely.”

“Why don’t we just table that discussion for now? Oftentimes, when we have a break like you experienced, our perceptions are skewed until we regain our equilibrium. Not just you, all us humans react much the same way.”

“I love him,” I whispered.

“I know you do,” she whispered back, with a soft smile. “He left this for you.” She handed me an iPad and an envelope, my name in Zale’s heavy, bold writing across the front. I reached out a shaking hand to take it from her, being sure to place my fingers over his writing, to be closer to him.

“Take it back to your room. See what he has to say. Oh, you’ll need these as well.” She handed me a small bag. I looked inside. There were wireless earbuds and a thicker envelope inside. I closed the bag and went back to my room to wait until I was pulled out again for mealtime.

My roommate was not on her bed. I sat on mine, my back leaning against the wall, powered up the iPad, and pulled out the ear buds, but I didn’t put them in my ears. I held the envelope in my hand, the one with my name on it, turning it over and over in my hands, then I put it down. His words were in there and I wasn’t ready for them yet.

I pulled out the thick envelope, opened it, and the contents half spilled out onto the bed. I gasped, Olivia, my sweet Olivia. I covered my mouth with one hand and rifled through the photos with the other. Olivia as a newborn, her little mouth wide open, wailing at the top of her tiny lungs. Olivia at her first birthday party, a momentary break in her crying, the one good picture we got. Olivia with her magnets, Olivia in the garden, Olivia with Sirius, in the backyard wearing her rubber boots at three years old, with her stuffed animals lined up on her bed, bent over her schoolwork, making cookies with me. So many pictures of Olivia, Olivia with me, Olivia with Zale. In Zale’s arms in the hospital, his eyes soft on me in the bed beside them. Willa, Rebecca and I at Rebecca’s wedding, Zale and Olivia and me at Rebecca’s wedding, Zale and me in Stratford, Zale and me at Rebecca’s wedding, his hand on my hip, his favorite part he always claimed. A wet splotch dropped on the photo, right over Zale’s face.

I gasped, “No! ”

I blotted it carefully, I could still see the mark, but I’d mostly saved the photo. I held it to my chest and retrieved three more, one of Rebecca, Willa, and me at the wedding, one of Olivia with Sirius, and Zale holding Olivia at the hospital, looking at me. I put them under my pillow along with the letter.

After the final meal of the day, mirrored by my roommate, I lay down on my bed and opened Zale’s envelope. Inside, on a folded single sheet of paper, his bold scrawl scratched out a short letter.

Dear Mara,

First, I love you, baby.

And I miss you.

I’m so sorry I was not there for you.

I bought you an iPad. You’ll find an Instagram account already loaded. I’ll be adding to it. Please look. You can message me from there if you want.

There’s music, Mara, open the app and have a listen. I’ll be adding to that as well. For now, listen to the lyrics that express my heart.

I miss you, gorgeous. Please know we need you, Mara, to be us, we need you. I want to see you, hold you. When you get home, I’m never going to let you go.

Please come home.

I love you, Mara.

I have always loved you.

I will always love you.

Ze e

There were three songs on the playlist:

May I - Trading Yesterday

Love You ‘Till the End - The Pogues

Boxes - The Goo Goo Dolls

I popped the earbuds in and lay back on my cot. I played all three of the songs, then I played them again. The sweet lyrics brought more pain than pleasure. I did not know what to believe anymore. Borrowed words telling me he’ll be there while I cry away my complicated memories, promises that he’ll love me until the end, and bittersweet entreaties to hold me until I can breathe again, to love me, to be my shield.

It hurt to listen, wanting to believe he felt what the songs he chose promised, but filled with doubt as always, wondering what, if anything, had changed. Still, I played them over and over again, and by the time I’d fallen asleep, I was starting to change my mind about the wisdom of leaving.