Thursday: eighteen days to the National Championship

She made good dinners. She told him she loved him. She tried to be what he needed. She fought this calmly--lovingly--with a rational heart. She promised herself that, when this moment came, she would be okay. No more blubbering baby-KayKay on the phone with Mommy comforting her with baby-voiced encouragement. No more suffocating pillowcases to pace her breath. She would be confident. She would be strong...

...but it hurt so bad! and the hurt swelled sharp and warm against the back of her eyes, threatening to pop them from their sockets if she held back tears.

“Please, Hyde, don’t do it...” Speaking made it worse. Her lips pursed in a final effort to hold it together. “Hydey, please, please don’t do it.” Seeing his face made it worse so she looked out the passenger window at the foot traffic on Boulevard. She looked above the smiling couples, past the blinking neon distractions and through the flickering trees... one layer before the night sky she saw the stage. In her mind she knew the car was moving, but now--looking at the inky conformation--she felt completely still. It was the theater that seemed to twist, as if its foundation was a lazy-susan or the mechanical base of a spinning music box with stars spiraling like glitter in a snow-globe.

Focusing on the theater quelled the pressure in her eyes. It spoke to her. It told her that she did this before and she could do it again.

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” she said.

“You can stay at the house. I’ll find a hotel.”

Every word grounded her fear deeper in reality. Every word crushed her silent prayers.

When she prayed, she prayed to the stage. It was built from worldly brick and mortar, inspired by her mortal words, but it was no golden calf. God was still God; it was her brain that substituted the bearded cliché for something tangible. She could almost hear its music tonight, weaving through the honking cars and seeping with the summer air through the crack in the window.

Help me! she prayed again, and the theater responded:

(Live the life you imagined!)

But she was! Oh God, this was the life she imagined! Loving Hyde, caring for his aches and illness and bee stings... now that memory stung. She tried to shake it from her head (when her tweezers found the tiny obstruction and pulled it from her husband’s pale leg and he said, “Thank you, Kayla.”) The vividness of that golden moment turned the ventricles around her heart into eels with teeth that chewed their way to her core, noshing holes through beating blue webs and brown tissue. Nothing but divorce and death could desecrate such joyful memories. 

“Why is this happening?” she asked.

Hyde didn’t reply so she braved a look. His hands were griping the wheel at ten and two. Somehow, that detail was the thing that made her cry. “Is there somebody else?” she asked.

“No, Kay...”

“Is it because I’m a dancer?”

He didn’t reply.

“Is it because I’m ugly when I cry?”

“Of course not.”

When life dolled out her share of sadness, Kayla’s heart took control of her body and all her husband saw was a crybaby.

But if he could only feel this! If he could feel just one second of pressure on the back of his eyes--one second of toothed eels biting his heart--then he would understand! He would say, “Let’s go to dinner, Kay. Let’s make it work.”

Hundreds of years ago a man could declare “I divorce you” three times to legally banish his wife from his life. Today was hardly different. Hyde would abandon her. There was nothing she could do stop it.

People divorce after tragedy. Not because of the hardship, but because it’s a freebie. Who could blame him? Between the death of his mother, the temporary insanity of his wife, the stress of two stores and the absolute meltdown of his only friend... if he ever wanted out, now was the time to do it.

“Please don’t cry,” he said.

“Where will you go tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bring me home and stay. I’ll help you pack and you can leave tomorrow.”

Hyde kept his eyes on the road, but nodded his approval and continued home.

*  *  *

The French doors closed and Hyde lost it.

Tonight, the error message wasn’t a square box formed of pixels; through his tears, it was a watercolor painting. The curser was an ink-blotch instead of an arrow and Baylee’s chat box was a blur of scrambled letters and fragments of words, maybe even a poem.

lilapricot’93: ja=oi;ereoa;irhe;aoiher!!!!!!!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!

HWelectronics: :) :) :) i can’t either!

Kayla Reid was a good person. In the car tonight, through her own tears, she was pure. She was a child asking a crush to the dance; holding back the heartbreak when he declined.

With every question Kay asked, Hyde wanted to make it better. He wanted to send her on a cruise. He wanted to find something--anything--to fill the hole he was leaving behind.

lilapricot’93: did she cry :(

HWelectronics: yes. she cried.

lilapricot’93: im sorry...

HWelectronics: it’s okay. she’ll be okay.

But being a good person didn’t make them a good match. Empathizing with her sorrow didn’t mean they could spend the rest of their lives together.

Baylee’s words became indecipherable and Hyde blinked to clear away the salt.

lilapricot’93: things will get better now. come be with me...

Hyde laid his face in his folded arms and sobbed. 

A weight had lifted. He was free. There was no regret in his decision, no guilt lacing his subconscious, no doubt in his mind that he did the right thing.

*  *  *

Midnight. Hyde crawled in bed and faced away.

Kayla tried to ignore the two feet of open mattress he left between them. When she relaxed enough for her mind to wander (the moonlit shadow of the Maple was sweeping the rug), the night felt almost normal.

But the tranquility was fleeting, and she remembered that tonight was the last time she would share a bed with her husband.

And it hurt all over again.

Eventually, she did sleep. And when she woke in the early dawn, his arm was around her; his body was pressed against hers. Kayla didn’t trick herself into believing the sentiment was intentional, but she relished the moment anyway. In a few moments he would wake, realize his mistake, turn away, and leave forever.

But for now, some part of Hyde’s being was still holding her, and Kayla wouldn’t sleep until he let her go.

*  *  *

Friday: seventeen days to the National Championship

Hyde always understood the concept behind the phrase “today is the first day of the rest of your life,” but today he knew how it felt.

He awoke at noon to his phone buzzing softly from its hiding place beneath the bed. He retrieved it and read his very first text from Baylee as a free man. “mornin’ baby! seems like a really great day to be loving you :) call when ur up!”

Kayla’s dance bag was gone from it’s spot by the bedroom door and Hyde was proud of her for maintaining her weekend routine in spite of the pain. He half-expected to find her curled up in bed or sitting on the shower mat, but now admired her new ability to control her emotions under stress.

The last few months afforded him few opportunities to smoke Baylee’s gift. Even now it was imperative to keep the skunk outside; if Kayla knew about his wake-’n-bake morning, she’d be crushed. He slid the last joint from the baggie and toked the cannabis in his Dale Earnhardt Jr. boxers and the privacy of his backyard. A quick call into work assured him that his employees could last another day without their leader.

Clothes were easier to pack while stoned. Hyde shoved wrinkled belongings into his suitcase and pulled it through the living room, out the front door, and into the car.

“Only seven more hours!” Baylee squealed when he answered the phone.

“Oh God! You have no idea how much I need to see you!”

“I know, I know, I know! Come see me now!”

“You’re the one who has class! I’ll be in Grand Rapids in an hour.”

“I told you I’d skip!”

“No more skipping.”

“Same hotel?”

“Same room.”

“Eeee!”

He held the phone away from his ear and laughed at Bay’s elation.

“I told my mom we’re coming to visit on Sunday. She can’t wait to meet you, baby. I showed her our pictures and she was crying.”

“Why was she crying?”

“Because she could tell you make me happy.”

“You tell her I can’t wait for Sunday.”

“Will do, sweet-boy, but I’m walking into chem right now so we’ll talk later, okay?”

“Have a good day, sweetie. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I love you.”

Hyde paused, closed his eyes, and savored the moment. “I love you too, Bay.”

The car was packed and ready, stuffed to the windshield with two suitcases, office peripherals (including a printer, shredder, mug, headphones and file bin), his favorite pillow, and ten six-packs of lite beer. He double checked every room in the house, fed Giggles, then plopped into his office chair to prepare the laptop for the move.

“ERROR: 0086428408456”

“Screw you, error,” Hyde said aloud. But today marked a new way of life... no more procrastination! So he opened the internet browser and navigated to Google, then clicked on the search bar and typed, “what is error: 0086428408456?”

The results appeared in an endless column down the screen and--

His phone shook with a restricted number. He twirled away from the computer and answered. “Yo. This is Hyde.”

“Hyde? It’s Will.”

Shit. Not William. Not today! “Howdy, neighbor. Long time no talk!”

“I saw your car in the driveway and thought I’d see if you had a few minutes to give me a hand.”

Kayla must have told him about the divorce. Hyde slammed his laptop shut and zipped it up in the travel case. “I wish you called sooner! I’m just walking out the door. Can it wait ‘till tonight?”

“Aw shit,” Will said. “I told myself this morning, ‘If you need Hyde’s help, you better call him soon!’ but I ignored my own advice. Blah. I suppose it can wait. I’ve just been overwhelmed with all the work that needs to be done before the big show, and with three missing fingers--”

“You know what? I have a few minutes to kill. At your house?”

“The theater. Sure you don’t mind?”

He wanted to run. “I’ve always got time for the Carmels!” he said. “Give me five and I’ll stop by on my way to the shop.”

“Greatly appreciated,” William said. “See you there.”