Stay By Heidi Heiby
I can't kill anything. I can't even use a fly swatter. So I stood there holding the kitchen door open, begging a fat black fly to go where it wanted to go anyway, back out into the open. It bumped the glass panel of the door next to me several times with a loud zap, but could never seem to find that slice of air that meant freedom.
"Come on," I swore, waving one arm in an attempt to direct it out. Then it flew into the dining room and I gave up and sat back down. I stared up into the sky light in the kitchen ceiling that showed a neat square of blue sky and two oak branches that bent over the house where it had grown too close and too big. There were no leaves yet, only tiny, tight buds.
I was waiting for my husband, well, soon-to-be-ex-husband, Dave, to arrive at our soon-to-be-ex-home to "talk." We had separated amicably, according to the paperwork, but we were still trying to figure out what to do about Sparks, our lab. We both wanted him. Dave wanted joint custody, a joke that no one seemed to find funny, even though I had stayed in the house and he was living in an apartment. I knew that Sparks would hate apartment living. I had begged Dave to leave him with me, insisting that he could, of course, come by any time to spend time with him. But Dave wanted to have Sparks every other week. So this is what my life had come to, a custody battle over a dog.
I realized that I was sitting at the kitchen table, knock-kneed, slumped down, elbow on table, and chin in hand. Dejected was the look. I hated seeing Dave. It was just hard. But this was still his home. He was late, as usual. One of his less endearing qualities was his lack of punctuality. I looked toward the front door, timing his arrival. I had always felt him before I saw him.
Now, I thought, with a sharp flutter in my stomach, and the doorknob turned. I straightened up, crossed my legs, and folded my hands carefully into my lap.
"Hey there!" It was Dave all right, crooked smile and all. Sparks barked at the sound of his voice and came bounding up the steps from downstairs where he had been napping.
"Hey," I said, for once sounding as miserable as I felt. Dave bent and rubbed Sparks' face and muzzle, clapping him on the sides and talking that wubby-wubby-goodboy language that one only uses with a dog. He was so absorbed in this most enthusiastic of greetings that I just leaned back against the back of the chair and watched. It was a familiar sight grown unfamiliar.
"Ahh, I missed you, boy," he cooed and then looked up to catch the unintended smile that I then tried to hide with a fake yawn. He stopped and walked toward me soberly, Sparks trotting dutifully behind.
"Gracie," he started. I hated how his voice was an apology every time I talked to him.
"Hi, Dave," I said, indicating the chair across from me at the kitchen table. He sat down as slowly as he could, easing himself into the chair with his hands on his thighs in a world-weary way, grunting quietly, and then he looked at me. His looks were apologetic, too. Sparks sat right next to him, tail still wagging, tongue lulling out of the side of his mouth as he panted his excitement. Dave roughly patted his head.
"How you been?"
"Not great. You?" He shook his head and laughed just a little, probably to break the wall my look built between us.
"Great would not be the word I would use either, no." He squinted slightly when he looked back. I was getting used to his shame as he got used to my rage. It was a strangely intimate give and take that we had established since I caught him cheating on me. Despite trips to church during lunch breaks and numerous counselor sessions, I could not seem to give up the anger that I clung to like a drowning woman to a life preserver. He got right to the point.
"Do you think we could work out a 'Sparks exchange' each week?"
"I suppose," I answered dully, looking at a broken fingernail. "But you know that he won't be able to stand being in that small apartment."
"It's hardly small, Grace," he said carefully, "He'll have plenty of room and I can still come home at lunch every day." He was squinting at me again, as if I gave off a blinding glare of some sort.
"Fine." I was not good at yelling or screaming, but I was good at cold. I prided myself on it. I just stared at him.
"Ah great. I need my Sparksie," he continued, talking to the dog instead of me. I watched him pet Sparks again and then rub his face against his cheek in the awkwardness of my glare. I expected him to get up, like the other times when I insisted on the bastion of my silence, and walk out with a wish for me to take care of myself and promise that he would call the next day. He called every day. I think he worried about my state of mind. Despite how horrible it had to be to try to have a conversation with the ice queen, he called and tried to talk about the mundane and the normal into a vacuum of pretended indifference and mute hostility. I kept telling him not to bother, that I had nothing to say, but he insisted. I knew that I didn't have to answer the phone. But I did. I was the pathetic, spurned woman who waited for her cheating husband's call each evening with more longing than when they were first in love. Then I would unleash my punishment on him anew in a vain attempt to shame him further. As in every case, though, bringing him down did not, in fact, bring me up. There is simply no deeper hate than one born of love.
"So, can I go ahead and take him now?" Dave asked next, practically cowering.
"Oh, Dave, let's do the exchange on Fridays," I whined. It was Sunday and I had arbitrarily decided that we should have him Friday to Friday. Dave sighed. He never argued.
"Alright. Do you mind if I go out back and play with him for a bit then?" It was a beautiful, sunny early spring day. I looked toward the back door and nodded.
"Fine," I said again. I didn't move. Dave jumped up and started outside, calling Sparks, who excitedly followed him out the French doors in the dining room. I watched, like a driver slowing to look at the aftermath of an accident, with a mix of compulsion and revulsion. Strangely, one of the things that bothered me the most was the fact that Dave and his mother had become practically estranged. She was so disappointed in him, but I encouraged them to talk. They only had each other, after all. In spite of myself, I found that I defended Dale to his mother, who called me regularly. I reminded her that he never actually slept with 'her', but only flirted and emailed. Dale swore that, ultimately, he could not go through with it. He wasn't seeing or talking to her any more. I did believe that. And I knew him. Always living on the edge, always pushing limits in order to feel: Army, Airborne, Rangers, Green Berets, sky diving, mountain climbing, extreme skiing, and then, the injury. Finally, a desk job and some light sports with the brace on kept him restless. He had met 'her' in his kayaking club. I didn't even know her name, just that her username was bunny925, her nickname and birth date. Bunny, for God's sake.
Without realizing it, I had risen from my post at the kitchen table, wandered to the opened half of the French doors, and stood, watching like a ghost. This had always been one of my favorite sights, Dave throwing a Frisbee in our beautiful fenced yard, Sparks jumping and catching it expertly in his mouth while still in mid-air. Their play. Our life. Our future. Gone. If Dave took Sparks every other week, he would no longer come here to play in the back yard as he had. He would take Sparksie to Beverly Park, which was near his apartment complex. My heart leapt into my throat, and I gasped, grabbing the doorframe for stability. It hit me that this was the last time I would see this. Dave and Sparks, playing. I clapped a hand over my mouth as a sob left me violently. I started to turn, so that Dave would not see me cry, but instead I stopped, turned, and dropped my hand.
"Stay," I croaked, trying to catch a breath. When they heard the noise and both turned to notice me standing there, neither Dave nor Sparks moved. I screamed it a second time, "Stay!" Dave had just been snatching the Frisbee from Sparks' mouth to throw it again, and Sparks was running to get into catching position. They both froze as Sparks understood my command, stopped, and sat, ears pricked. Of course, I had been talking to Dave.
They watched me, confused, as I approached Sparks tenderly, still sitting, waiting. His tail whipped and he stifled a yelp. I cried softly and knelt down to hug him around the neck.
"Good boy," I said, and he nuzzled me happily. He had been a model pupil in obedience school. He really was a great dog. Dave must have noticed that I was crying and walked to us.
"Grace, are you O.K.?" he asked, standing over us.
"Would you just stay?" I asked, looking up into his face. He had never seen me cry over this. I hadn't used this best weapon in the arsenal for revenge, because it was double-edged. He could have my anger but not my hurt. That was mine alone.
"You want me to stay? Here?" Dave's voice was incredulous. Since the day I had found the email I had not budged. I had thrown him out immediately. Once a cheater, always a cheater. There could be no marriage any more, no trust. Our vow had been broken, or at least damaged, and I would not live with a false promise. He had been apologetic and remorseful. He had begged for my forgiveness and for a second chance, but I wasn't that stupid. No living and wondering when it would happen again. The next time he was in some sporting club. The next time he was bored. The next time he felt the innate need to push the limits of something, and if his broken body couldn't allow that to be physical endurance, then it would have to be our marriage. But I still loved him. And it occurred to me right there that if I truly did believe that he was in the process of breaking "things" off with her before I even saw the email, then I also had to believe that our marriage had won, and that it deserved a chance. That his horrible judgment and my pride were no match for what we swore to each other for better or worse. That Dave throwing a Frisbee with Sparks in our back yard was something more than a man playing with a dog. It was everything.
"Yes. Just stay here. Home. You still have a few things in the drawer. You can get more tomorrow," I stammered. He still stood over us, stunned, and Sparks began licking the salty trails of tears from my face.
"But…I…" Dave began slowly, not moving, so I stood up and faced him for the first time without malice. I didn't need a recount of what he had done to me and to us. I needed him back with no further discussion of it. Ever.
"I forgive you," I said simply. "Now just stay home."
Dave wrapped me in a hug without a word. He didn't ask what happened to change my mind, or why, or if I was sure. He didn't debate the logistics or the backlash I would surely face. He just breathed our mutual relief into my hair and held me.
"O.K." he finally said, stepping back to look at me for a second, wide-eyed. No squinting. No cowering. No more apologies. Just a return to us. He turned, taking me by the hand, and Sparks and I followed him into the house.
"We have a couple of strips in the freezer," I said quietly, and he nodded, understanding. We always grilled steak on nice Sundays, and he would have to get them marinating right away if we didn't want to eat too late. As we moved together into the dining room, I noticed the fly as it glided noisily past us and out, just before I shut the French doors.
About the Author: Heidi Durig Heiby
Heidi Durig Heiby lives in Ohio with her husband, Fritz, their four-year-old daughter, Anna, and their fluffy cat, George. She is a teacher by trade but have been writing stories all her life. She loves being a stay-at-home mom, and her passions are writing, reading, cooking, traveling, doing about anything outdoors, and spending time with her family and friends.