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Memoir of An Ordinary woman

Autumn

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There were no omens in the birds’ song at sunrise, or in the direction the wind blew, or the shapes of the clouds as they floated across the deep blue sky that October day. The leaves fell nonchalantly to the ground as I raked, and never gave a hint that this day my life would change.

My children, Mia and Joey, are adults. It was just my husband Joe and me, and a chasm deep and wide lay between us. No matter what I did, I couldn’t bridge that gap. I bought magazines with articles and quizzes on how to make a relationship more exciting, clues on how to bring the life back into a marriage. Nothing helped. We were at that stage in life where we should take vacations; enjoy life before we were old, but work was all that concerned Joe. I asked if we could take a trip to Italy for my birthday, “Go if you want to go,” he said.

I turned on the radio to dispel the loneliness that lurked in the dark corners of every room. I placed the mail on the table next to Joe’s favorite chair in the office, and turned the light on in the lamp. He liked to sip a glass of wine while he opened the mail and read the editorials in the newspaper. I looked around to make sure that nothing was out of place, nothing that would disturb his peace.

“Fabia,” a friendly voice called from the kitchen. Nicole Rosen had been Mia’s best friend since we’d moved into this house all those years ago. I loved Nicole like a daughter. She gave something to me that Mia had withdrawn long ago: warmth, caring, love. We’d become closer since Nicole’s parents retired and moved to Florida. I was with her when she gave birth to her son, Jordan, and took care of him whenever she asked. Jordan filled the empty moments in my life.

She stood in the doorway, a diaper bag and her purse slung over one shoulder, Jordan in her arms. “There’s something going around the day care center, does he feel feverish to you?”

I took Jordan from her arms and kissed his cheek. I lingered a moment to take in his baby smell, a sweetness that delighted my senses, and then took off his hat and sweater. He didn’t seem his usual cheerful self, but there were no rashes, and he didn’t feel feverish. I put a finger on his chin, gently opened his mouth, and looked in. “He’s getting more teeth, Nicole.” I showed her the bumps where two teeth would soon break through. I sat Jordan in the high chair that had been Mia and Joey’s, and put ice chips in a cloth for him to gnaw on to soothe his gums.

“It smells good in here,” Nicole said, “Can I invite myself for dinner?”

I hugged her. “Of course. I made meatballs today.”

“I just happen to have a nice cabernet from Napa in the diaper bag. I hope Joe approves.” We laughed. Joe considered himself a wine connoisseur. He had a wine cellar in the basement with fine vintages from France and Italy.

While I put a pot of water up to boil for the spaghetti, Nicole opened the wine and poured two glasses. We chatted as I fed Jordan a mashed banana, and he laughed when we laughed, which made us laugh more.

Joe’s car pulled up behind the kitchen, an unusual place for him to park. I hoped he wasn’t upset that Nicole was here. He liked his quiet time after work.

I opened the door and saw Mia walk toward me. She’s a striking beauty with shiny black hair tousled around her face. Active in sports as a child, she works out religiously, and her toned body shows through the fitted suits she wears. She’s smart, hardworking and ambitious. She works on Wall Street. When I asked her what she does, she said I wouldn’t understand. She’s smarter than I am, and reminds me of it, but she doesn’t inform me to try to help me understand.

“Don’t block the doorway, Mother.” She pushed past me. I turned away so that she wouldn’t see the hurt I felt. Joe slipped in behind me, and went upstairs without a hello. “What are you doing here?” she said to Nicole. She got a goblet and poured some wine for herself.

“I’m happy to see you, too.” Nicole cleaned Jordan’s hands and face, and Mia sipped wine. There was a silent conversation in the exchanged looks and shrugs they’d used to communicate since childhood.

The pot of water boiled and rumbled on the stove. I dumped the spaghetti in and salted the water. Their silence was overwhelming. Tension was in the air. Something was wrong. My heart began to beat fast, and I felt as if I couldn’t breathe.

Joe came into the kitchen with his suitcase. “Fabia, I’m leaving, I want a divorce.”

His words shocked me. I felt part of me float above the room, watching the scene unfold as in a movie. My voice came to me from a distance, distorted, echoing. “What? You say you want a divorce and walk out? No excuses, no thanks for the memories?”

Jordan wailed. Nicole picked him up and left the room.

Joe’s voice echoed back. “Fabia, it’s been over for a long time, you know it. No use prolonging the agony. Tony will handle the divorce, and we both can get on with our lives.”

Tony Lombardi was our lifelong friend. He’d been Joe’s best man at our wedding, and now he’d be our divorce attorney.

“Tony knows you want a divorce before I do? Who else knows?” I turned to Mia, “Oh, now I understand. You’re here to gang up on me.” I turned away before she could say anything. “Joe. You can’t pull this out of the blue and just walk away. We’ve had so much in our lives, good and bad…” I wished I could stop the tears that burned my cheeks as they streamed from my eyes.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this, Fabia. Tony will be in touch.” Joe picked up the suitcase and walked out.

Rage filled me. I ran to the kitchen window and opened it. I went to the stove, wrapped a dish towel around the pot holding the boiling spaghetti, carried it to the widow, and heaved it onto the hood of Joe’s prized antique, silver 1962 Jaguar XKE, denting it savagely, and spewing pasta all over the windshield.

Joe jumped back and shook his fist at me. “You crazy bitch, and you wonder why I want a divorce?”

Mia jumped to her feet and knocked over her glass of wine. “Mother!”

“Go help your father clean his car, Mia, and then leave with him.” She ran from the house, not bothering to close the door behind her.

I heard the sounds of the pot being tossed aside, the water from the hose showering the windshield. One car door slammed shut, and then the other. The car started and rolled down the driveway. It was quiet again.

Nicole stood beside the table with Jordan in her arms, both wide eyed. “I’m sorry, Fabia, I had no idea…is there anything I can do for you?” I was sorry that she and Jordan witnessed what had happened.

“No, I’m okay.” It wasn’t the truth and we both knew it. “I think I need to be alone.”

“Of course. Please hold Jordan while I get our things together.”

“Take the meatballs with you to have for dinner when you get home.” When she handed Jordan to me, he put his arms around me and patted me, just as I’d done to comfort him. I was touched by this gesture of compassion from a baby, and nuzzled his downy head. I put on his sweater and hat while Nicole put the meatballs in a bowl, washed the pot and glasses, and wiped up the mess on the table.

We walked to her car, avoiding the hose that was left snakelike across the path, pieces of spaghetti splattered like its spawn on the driveway. “The mess can wait ’til tomorrow morning.” I said. I buckled Jordan into his car seat, and gave him a bunch of kisses. Nicole hugged me and whispered, “I love you.”

The dark night enveloped me, and I felt its chill.

Inside, I sank into a chair. So much of my life had been lived in this kitchen, at this table with Mia, and Joey, and Nicole. I’d been there to help them walk the passages from childhood through the roller coaster ride of adolescence, to adulthood. When they’d fallen or strayed from their course, I was there to dress their wounds, give a kiss, and set them on their way again. Now I was on a journey that I would make alone.

I could no longer hold the tears back. I wailed and screamed. I tried to convince myself that there were people who loved me, and life did go on. I cried until I thought there couldn’t be another tear left, and then climbed the stairs to the room I’d shared with Joe for over twenty years.

We’d bought the house with a small inheritance I’d received when Mia was five and Joey was two. Still, it had been a financial stretch to move from Joe’s parents’ house to the beautiful split level ranch on a wooded acre in Huntington. I loved this house and lived in it with joy. As the children grew up, our home had been the meeting place for neighborhood kids. There’d always be an afternoon snack, and a Band-Aid for the occasional skinned knee. There’d been parties of all sorts, marking life’s happy events. I’d hosted school committee meetings, and recently, when Joe had become active in politics, I organized those meetings as well. I saw to it that everyone had all they needed, from fresh coffee, to sharp pencils, and brightly colored markers. I loved doing it all: the organizing, the cooking, decorating, even the cleaning before and after. I was a homemaker. It was my craft and my art.

I’d created a shrine in a nook in the corner of the bedroom covered with metallic paper, a color I called Evening in Paris Blue after a bottle of perfume from my youth. On it I’d placed a collection of statues and pictures of the Blessed Mother. I’d been devoted to Mary since I was a child; we shared the same birthday. I stopped going to church years ago, but my devotion to the Holy Mother had never faltered. I stood before the picture of Mary in a blue robe, surrounded by celestial rays, placed a fresh candle in the votive, and lit it. I knelt in front of the altar and asked what I’d done that my life had come to this. I knew I wasn’t perfect, but being a good wife and mother was my purpose in life. I prayed for strength to get though this trial.