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he’d made sure of that. He made random calls to the house
throughout the day and never let her go to the store or to the hair
salon or to the library by herself. She didn’t have a car or even a
license and he swung by their house whenever he was in the area,
just to make sure she was at home. She hadn’t left because she
wanted to commit adultery. She left because she was tired of
getting kicked and punched and thrown down the cellar stairs
and he knew he shouldn’t have done those things and he always
felt guilty and apologized but it still hadn’t mattered.
She shouldn’t have run away. It broke his heart because he loved
her more than life and he’d always taken care of her. He bought
her a house and a refrigerator and a washer and dryer and new
furniture. The house had always been clean, but now the sink was
full of dishes and his hamper was overflowing.
He knew he should clean the house but he didn’t have the energy.
Instead, he went to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of vodka from
the freezer. There were four bottles left; a week ago, there’d been
twelve. He knew he was drinking too much. He knew he should
eat better and stop drinking but all he wanted to do was take the
bottle and sit on the couch and drink. Vodka was good because it
didn’t make your breath smell, and in the mornings, no one
would know he was nursing a hangover.
He poured a glass of vodka, finished it, and poured another before
walking through the empty house. His heart ached because Erin
wasn’t here and if she suddenly showed up at the door, he knew
he’d apologize for hitting her and they’d work things out and then
they’d make love in the bedroom. He wanted to hold her and
whisper how much he adored her, but he knew she wasn’t coming
back, and even though he loved her, she made him so angry
sometimes. A wife didn’t just leave. A wife didn’t just walk away
from a marriage. He wanted to hit and kick and slap her and pull
her hair for being so stupid. For being so damn selfish. He wanted
to show her it was pointless to run away.