She takes another swig and cringes.
I perch next to her on the mattress. “What happened?” I ask softly.
She looks up at me, brows pinched. “Huh?”
“With you and Kirk. What happened?” I have to know. It’s been eating me alive.
Chewing on the tip of her finger, she shakes her head and drops her gaze.
I softly pinch her chin between my fingers to lift her face. “Iris, I need to know.” Because I've been struggling to keep my hands off of her in a show of loyalty to Kirk. I need to know if he deserves it.
Her eyes bore into mine for several long moments, maybe trying to figure out if I’m being genuine. She doesn’t trust me. Or, maybe men in general. I’m sure she has a valid reason.
She takes another swig of tequila for strength. “I dropped out of Penn State after I found pictures of him cheating on me.” I feel a stab of guilt through my chest when she says those words. Kirk and his philandering penis. Déjà-fucking-vu. “I came back home and finished my degree at a community college,” she begins. I already know that part. I was around in those days. “Kirk stayed behind. But when he didn’t get drafted, he followed me here, and I took him back. God, he was so convincing…” She laughs. It’s an eerie, remorse-filled sound. “We got married soon after that. I worked and supported him while he finished his master’s degree."
Her gaze bounces around the room and she sips again.
“Did I ever tell you this was my grandmother’s house? When she retired and moved to Florida, she left her house and sandwich shop to me. I thought it made more sense to move in here and renovate than buying a more expensive place. But now I’m paying for all the renovations. On my own.”
She momentarily buries her face in her hands and sucks in a breath.
“Anyway, I’d like to say Kirk and I had a few good years together, but as soon as he got his professor job, things went downhill fast. He was working late nights and growing distant. He’d snap at me for no reason. He was getting late night texts and calls. It took me longer than I’m willing to admit to figure it all out. He was lying all the time, and it wasn’t long before he began losing track of his own lies.”
She takes another deep, shuddering breath, and I find myself rubbing my hand over her back, desperate to soothe her pain. “Iris...”
She stares at a blank spot on the wall. I’ve never seen Iris Merlini look so lost. The sight nearly guts me. “And then, one Friday night, he came home from work and he told me it was over. Just like that. No warning. No grace period. Nothing. Just...done. He couldn’t sign the papers fast enough. And I’m still trying to figure out how he got the divorce processed so fast because as far as I know, these things take months, sometimes even years.” She looks at me, with a few fresh tears spilling from her shining eyes. “So cliché, right? Cheating husband having an affair with a hotter, younger co-worker.”
“That fuckhead,” I spit. I grab the tequila bottle from her and take a swig of my own.
She leans into my side. I don’t think she even realizes it. I hold her tightly while her head falls to my shoulder. “God, it hurt so much. I felt so stupid. My whole life caved in on me that weekend.”
Her breath begins to deepen, and I feel her body relaxing into mine. She’s falling asleep in my arms. “I’m just so fucking tired, Jude. Tired of trying to keep my shit together when really, everything’s falling apart.” Her voice is softer and her words slower. “I bet you're really happy that my marriage crumbled. I'm sure that's what you always wanted…” Her words drift off as she fades into sleep.
I shake my head, but she doesn’t see me. "What I wanted was for you to be happy. Even though you never really liked me, I could tell you were a good woman, a good girlfriend…” I admit, inhaling her flowery scent and tightening my grip around her. “Iris, I just wanted you to be happy."
12
Jude
Walker is all manly grunts and growls as he struggles to untangle himself from a web of pink and yellow yarn. “What kind of sorcery is this?” The string tightens with each of his tugs and his fingertips are turning blue.
Beside me, Cannon yelps like a wounded yorkie when he stabs himself in the palm with a crochet hook. “Jeez, isn’t there somebody I could just write a check to? ‘Cause I really don’t see how me puncturing an artery with a sewing needle is gonna serve the greater good today.”
The nursing home’s sunny-faced activities director bounces from table to table. She wears a beaming smile as she checks in on all the merry-faced groups spread out throughout the room.
She frowns when she gets to our table. “Cannon, you know the rules,” she scolds. “You can’t buy your way out of bonding day. This activity is mandatory for all the residents and their families.” Without waiting for a response, she turns away, her bob haircut snapping like a wobbly gray mushroom cap on her head.
From a recliner nearby, our grandfather swings us a gaze. He motions the director over and whispers too loudly. “Who the heck are all those dimwits?”
The woman blinks back her smile. “Your grandsons, sir.”
Our grandfather nods morosely. “Ugh, figures…” He throws us another disinterested glance before drifting back into his nap. Looking vindicated, the director smirks at us and springs away.
Gramps has lived in this nursing home for the past few years. Alzheimer’s disease has beaten him into nothing but a shell of the grandfather we grew up with. It’s painful to watch but I have to admit that being here for him in this way makes me feel a tiny
