Room noodles. That's what his mother had called them—in one of her few attempts at actually being a comfort to him as a child. He'd wake up alone, in his bed, in the dark—frightened by the noises the old house made in the supposed empty darkness.
Billy took another drink from the bottle as he leaned against the heavy wooden mantle. He guessed those moments happened in the days before he was sent away, before he grew up in a boarding school, before he only got weekly letters and holiday visits.
Growing up that way was one of the reasons he was so determined to make this work. He'd been so certain. It was something about the way she looked at him that night, the way her eyes stared up into his, the way she relaxed into his embrace. She'd said the words he'd been so desperate to hear and he'd believed her. He believed she wanted him as much as he wanted her. This was the logical next step. Impulsive, yes, but that was what she loved about him.
There was something exquisitely charming about the old Victorian house. He'd always loved it. During his marriage to Victoria, he'd pointed out to her, it's charm and beauty appealing to him immediately, but she'd quickly dismissed it as a money pit and droned on about the renovations and the hassles. He'd resigned himself to admiring it from afar until now. From the moment Phyllis said the words, the house had been in his mind. He'd called the real estate agent shortly after and put forth an aggressive bid.
For a house built in 1900, it was in beautiful shape, with high tray ceilings and original wood floors. The built in benches overlooking park views were picturesque and he could almost picture his children playing out on the wraparound porch. Phyllis would love it, he was sure of it.
At least she would have-If she were here—if she had chose him.
"I'm so sorry, Billy. I never wanted to hurt you." She stared at him, tears streaming down her face. "I just…I can't do this. I can't walk away from my marriage…not now….not without knowing I've done everything I can to save what we had."
"What you had. My God, Phyllis. Do you even hear yourself? You're talking about your marriage in the past tense. Somewhere in your heart you know it's over. Why are so hell bent on perpetuating this?" He shook his head as he stared at her. It took everything in him to even choke out the words, his own throat clenched tight with emotions, his eyes shining with tears. "My brother doesn't understand you. Why don't you see that?"
"I don't think I've given him a chance to understand, Billy. We were….we were so caught up in this…in whatever this was…"
He reached out, grabbing her hands in his. "This was love, Phyllis. You said it. I said it. Don't try to rewrite history, here. You're not going to convince me that this was some affair for you. I know it was more than that. I saw it in your eyes when you looked at me. I heard it in your voice when you talked to me. I felt it in when you touched me." The tears escaped his eyes now, but he no longer cared. Saving his dignity was a lost cause.
"Billy, please…" She hated seeing what she'd done to him. The damage she'd caused to her marriage, to her relationship with her daughter, to her relationship with her entire family was difficult enough to comprehend. It was almost impossible to fathom Jack forgiving her, but she'd never considered she'd also need forgiveness from Billy.
"Don't ask me to understand this. I can't understand. You can't just come here and tell me that you've completely changed your mind…like you just woke up today and decided that everything you felt yesterday was wrong, that everything you said to me was a lie….It doesn't work that way, damn it!" Anger welled up inside him and he reached for the first available object and flung it across the room. The sound of the glass shattering against the wall provided no relief. If anything the look on her face as he looked back at her made him feel even worse.
Billy stepped towards her, touching her cheek softly. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm just…I don't understand this. I don't understand why you're saying these things. I know you don't mean them." He stared at her, his eyes begging her to be honest.
"I do mean them, Billy. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry, but I mean them. We can't be together. The truth is, we never could. We were stupid to ever believe this could work. This was a fairy tale…just like we said. We were never meant to be forever."
He took another long drink from the bottle. Somewhere along the way, a glass had become an unnecessary accoutrement. He wasn't drinking to socialize or to experience the quality of the scotch. He was drinking to stop hurting so damn much. The stairs creaked a little as he slowly climbed them. It was the little things, the details that made it worse—how a simple staircase conjured a vivid memory, how a fireplace spun a vision so clear he'd swear he could reach out and touch it. That was what he'd hoped to create in this house with the woman he loved and the family they'd create together. That was what hoping got you.
Two of the bedrooms upstairs were smaller, but he'd decided they would be perfect for Johnny and Katie. One of the larger bedrooms came complete with a fireplace and a bay window. That would make for a perfect master and the other bedroom would be a perfect guest room….or maybe a nursery. He still smiled as he considered it, even with the reality having been shoved in his face. It had been a beautiful dream and he was grateful to have lived it…if only for a while.
The neighbors had been polite when he'd gone next door and introduced himself. The elderly couple had invited him in for coffee and chattered excitedly about how glad they were to see a young family moving into the beautiful old treasure next door. They'd had such a nice conversation that it hadn't seem at all odd when Billy questioned their holiday plans. He was glad they wouldn't be here. No one needed to see this.
His eyes moved to the corner of the room. It was exactly where he'd left it the last time…the last time when his plan had been thwarted by the sweet old man he'd seen raking leaves in the yard next door. But that was all taken care of now. Tonight there were no more distractions. No more interruptions. No more people to worry about. He'd taken Johnny to the dinosaur park this weekend and Katie had enjoyed their Sunday afternoon tea party. Neither of them understood why it was so important, but he did. In truth, they were better off…even if they didn't know it now.
The can felt heavy in his hand, the smell of gasoline immediately permeating the air as he unscrewed the cap. For a moment, he felt a twinge of guilt as he thought about the beautiful home going up in smoke. Surely someone else could make a home out of this house…but he couldn't…and it was supposed to be his home…their home….He couldn't see it every day. He couldn't drive by and imagine what it would have been like. He couldn't stand to create scenes in his mind of Phyllis sitting on the bench seat with the sunlight in her hair, of Johnny and Katie swinging on the porch, of cold winter nights spent wrapped up in each other in front of the fireplace. It would hurt too much. The pain had to stop. He tipped the can and watched as the gas slowly poured on the floor.