Can I Get An Amen? Read Free Page A

another failure; I was joining the ranks of adult children living at home. Maybe if I had had more fight in me, I would have stayed. I would have found a new job, carved out a new life, joined a support group or two. But I have always favored flight. Even as a child, when mean-girl politics or shifting allegiances left me in the rotating role of outcast, I would run. I would fake sick or avoid recess or skip the party, because exilethat was at least quasi-self-imposed allowed me the illusion of being in control.
    I had my excuses, too. Thanks to the sluggish real estate market, the house hadn’t sold, and the prospect of continuing to live there through the showings and open houses, with no job to escape to, seemed unbearable. Besides, “Vacated houses tend to move much faster,” said our real estate agent through her cloud of suffocating perfume. I didn’t know whether this was true or she just didn’t want the stench of divorce hanging in the air, with our walls of missing photos and half-empty closets. And with every visit from Gary, always made during the day when I was at work, our house had begun to look more and more like the carcass of a marriage.
    I wasn’t bringing much with me just yet, mostly clothes, toiletries, those kinds of things. I had taken the time to pack some boxes with other personal effects but had stowed those away in the basement for now. So everything fit, though snugly, in my Volvo wagon. Luke, who had arrived by train, took on the role of driver and was kind enough not to delve too deeply into questions regarding my meeting with Gary the night before. In truth, there wasn’t much to tell. An encounter that had taken on momentous importance in my mind had turned out to be a depressingly quiet and uneventful affair, like a funeral with a poor turnout.
    We met at a Starbucks, where he sat reading the
Boston
Globe
and sipping a coffee with Splenda and milk. I paused at the door, smoothed my sleeveless black wrap dress, and tucked my hair behind my ear. He stood when he saw me approach and gave me a long, tight hug. I hoped he could feel my pounding heart, my shaking body. I hoped that he understood what he was doing to me. I never thought I would feel so uncomfortable in the presenceof my husband. I told him that I was going to stay with my parents for a while, that I had been laid off.
    “God,” he said, shaking his head, as if losing my job was what had just sent my life into a tailspin and his leaving me was nothing more than a bit of turbulence. Then he moved on to the business at hand, delicately reaching for the forms that needed my signature. “Formalities, as we discussed,” he mumbled. I signed blindly, reading nothing. When it was finished, he told me again that he loved me and that he would be in touch soon.
    Luke came with me to the group home where Gary’s brother, Daniel, lived. I had wanted to say good-bye and drop off a few gifts, including a new Celtics T-shirt, the Celtics being the only entity that Daniel adored almost as much as he did Gary. While I sat chatting with Daniel, Luke stood on the sidelines, feeling the discomfort and pity felt by all first-time visitors. I could tell what Luke was thinking as he watched the palsied movements and heard the slurred voices. We grew up being told that God created each of us, handpicked our pieces and parts, both physical and otherwise.
What, then,
Luke thought,
had happened here?
    I told Daniel that I probably wouldn’t be by for a while.
Ask your brother why,
I thought.
Ask him
. But from Daniel’s behavior, I could tell that he had already been given the gist of it. As I got back in the car, I obsessed over what Daniel would tell Gary about our visit. When would Gary realize that he was making a mistake? His next wife wouldn’t care this much about Daniel. She wouldn’t bring him home every Sunday; she wouldn’t take him to basketball games and movies. With a brood of children to look after, she would soon become too