December 31, 2013
In vino veritas.
In wine there is truth.
The phrase swirled through her head like water circling a drain, dizzying but never disappearing. All the years of Latin in boarding school, the painful hours spent conjugating verbs, convincing herself it would all be worth it one day, and this….this cliché used to explain the ramblings of drunks was all she could remember at the moment. It would be funny, except nothing was funny anymore.
In vino veritas.
It wasn't even true. Not tonight anyway. It hadn't been wine that had sent truth spewing from her hours earlier. It had been anger, frustration. No, it had been grief.
The shot glass in front of her loomed empty, persistent in its call to her. With two taps on the bar, she signaled for another. The bartender, tall, lanky, vaguely familiar from many trips here, hesitated in giving her what she wanted, but when she shot him the Newman warning glare, he complied, filling the vessel full of amber liquid. She was keenly aware that it was more than he would have poured for anyone else. Whether out of fear or the slight look of pity she recognized in his eyes, she wasn't sure.
The sweet, intoxicating smell embraced her, taking her back to an island and a night where alcohol had indeed made her more honest than usual. She tried to think of the Latin word for grief. It would be more true. In grief there is truth. But the word wouldn't come to her. It was probably for the best.
In vino veritas.
The phrase circled her brain again as she brought the cool glass to her lips. It wasn't wine she was drinking tonight. And it wasn't truth she was seeking. Forgetting. That was all she wanted. To forget him, the truth he had told her, what her heart wanted to believe, what she had just done, that awful night in October, that life-changing night in Jamaica. All the nights there had ever been. She just wanted to forget it all.
"In grief there is truth," Victoria whispered to no one in the crowded bar, and just before downing her third shot of the night,"In rum there is forgetting."
Earlier in the day…
Victoria paced. It was all there was left to do. She had called everyone she knew looking for him, choosing her words carefully to save them the worry she felt, forcing her voice into an unnaturally high, happy pitch. She had called hospitals and police stations too. There was no sign of him anywhere, no sign of him since last night when he had left for his meeting.
His meeting.
There was only one possibility now. The name that made her cringe no matter how understanding and mature she tried to be flashed in her head, causing a sharp pain between her eyes. The fears she had suppressed for weeks crept into her throat, locking there for a moment before settling uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't naïve; that was the benefit of experience.
Yet, when finally the front door clicked open and Billy walked through, upright, in one piece, with that boyish, apologetic look on his face, all she felt was relief.
"Hi," he said and turned his eyes down briefly, his hands nervously playing with his keys.
Relief abandoned her then, and something else, something simultaneously strange and familiar took its place. "Must've been some meeting." It came out angrier than she had intended, but she wasn't sorry. Not when his demeanor and his disheveled appearance all but confirmed her fears. Her only objective now was to protect herself from what he said next.
Billy cleared his throat, a tiny, tense smile on his face. "I didn't, uh…I didn't actually make it to the meeting. See, I ran into Kelly—"
"DON'T!" She startled them both with her outburst. Billy's keys fell from his hands in surprise and clanged loudly against the floor, but the silence that followed was much more deafening. "Don't you dare say her name. I am so sick of hearing her name, and right now, I just don't think I can take it."
Billy narrowed his eyes at her, confused and concerned until the dots connected in a pattern that shocked him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa whoa." He approached her quickly, but she backed away, keeping a sofa's length of distance between them. "You don't think K—" he stopped, lowered his voice and searched for her eyes with his. "You think I was with her, like with her with her?"
"What the hell am I supposed to think, Billy? You were gone all night. You come home looking like this. I couldn't reach you."
He made his move quicker this time grabbing her by her upper arms despite her best efforts to avoid him. "Listen to me. Listen to me. I didn't. I wouldn't. I found her in the park. She was upset about her son. She was cold. So I took her home."
"And stayed all night?"
"We talked. That's it. We talked and had a couple of drinks. It was late, and before I knew it…I must've fallen asleep. On the couch. I promise you, Vick. That's all."
He was convincing, and God knows she wanted to believe him, but the truth, the real truth that had been strangling her for weeks now, since that awful night in October, stood protectively in her way. "That's all?" she spat and broke free of him. "Isn't that enough? Huh?"
"Victoria, look, I know I screwed up. I should have called. I should have let you know where I was."
She was exasperated. And tired. "You don't get it, do you? You just don't get it."
"That you're upset? Honey, I get that. I do. And you have every right to be. I didn't come home last night. And I know…I know what it looks like. But I'm telling you that nothing happened. Nothing. I swear."
"But it did, Billy. Something did happen, and it's been happening for weeks now." She crossed the living room to the stairs, needing the distance to keep the tears at bay. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't break down. Not in front of him. She had promised that for both of them.
"She was upset about her son. What was I supposed to do?"
"I don't know. Take her to the meeting instead, let a professional help her?"
"She was all alone. She doesn't have anybody to help her through this. Not like I do."
She laughed then, a painful, telling laugh and turned to pierce his eyes with hers. "Then I guess she and I have more in common than I thought."
He was stunned into silence as the meaning of her statement unraveled in his brain. Before it had finished processing, Victoria had her coat on, car keys in hand, headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Billy demanded, close on her heels.
"Out. Johnny's taking a nap. Hannah has the night off, so if your friend feels alone, take him to my mother's."
"You can't just leave," he pleaded. "We need to talk. We should talk about this."
"We should have been talking all along."
"At least tell me where you're going?"
She was already out the door, but turned to him one last time. "I don't know," she shrugged. "To find a little grief counseling of my own maybe?"
"What does that mean?" he called after her. "Victoria!"
But she was gone, practically sprinting to her car, barreling down the driveway, leaving him alone in the cold.
Victoria had guessed right that there would be a meeting tonight despite the fact that it was a holiday. It hadn't started yet, but a few people were already milling about outside the room that had seemed so scary that first time she and Billy had come together. This place hadn't been her intended destination when she left the house. At first she had just driven around for hours looking for clarity and answers in highways and snowdrifts, neither of which came to her, but when all her aimless driving led her here, she took it as a sign. These meetings, they had been her idea in the first place. The irony was not lost on her that the thing that was supposed to help them heal was now creating new wounds.
Some of the faces she encountered were familiar. Others were clearly new to the group, and the regulars offered them welcoming smiles that came with underlying understanding a knowing that their reason for being here was just as sad as their own. They understood each other though they were strangers, and there in the back of her mind was that whisper, "And you don't."
Peering inside the little room, she saw the face she had subconsciously been looking for. The blonde woman she had only spoken to a couple of times was immersed in conversation with the group leader. They were smiling and laughing, and she couldn't help but wonder if Billy was the reason she could smile today. Coming here was a mistake, she realized. What had she planned to do? Confront her? She had to go, but her escape was thwarted by a familiar body blocking her path.
"Thank God," Billy sighed. "I've been worried sick about you."
His concern and presence had the opposite affect on her than they would have in ordinary circumstances. Instead of feeling touched, they refueled her anger, masking her hurt as the events of the last twenty-four hours took center stage in head once again.
"I should have known you'd be here. Last night not enough talking for you?" She tried to walk past him, but he sidestepped in front of her. "Where's Johnny?"
"He's with your mom. I didn't tell her anything, just that we wanted some time to ourselves. I've been looking for you everywhere. I'm glad you're okay."
She folded her arms in front of her and laughed. "And you just thought I would show up here of all places?"
"No. Kevin helped me track you down and then, yeah, it kind of made sense that you might show up here."
"For what? To make a scene? Don't worry, I'm not going to make a scene. I'm leaving, so you can have your meeting all to yourself. Just the way you want it."
She was hurting him, hurting a man she loved and one who was already hurting in ways no one should ever hurt. But in her mind, the things she was saying to him, pushing him away, were kinder than what was bubbling at the surface. Leaving was in both of their best interests.
"Victoria," a female voice called from just inside the meeting room. Fearing the face she would see, Victoria turned slowly but was greeted by the welcoming face of Nancy, the group leader. "I'm so glad you decided to join us again. Come grab a seat. We're just about to get started."
"Actually, I was just—" But it was too late to go. The older woman ushered both her and Billy inside the room that seemed too small for all the grief inside. The door closed behind them, and unless she wanted to make a scene now, the only thing they could do was fill the last two empty seats.
She was stuck between Nancy and Billy, her chair so close to her husband's that their knees touched slightly. The focus of the meeting was honoring your losses during the holidays, Nancy announced, and as individuals began telling their sad stories, Victoria hugged her purse to her chest and stared at the floor. For weeks, she had wound her feelings tight inside her, but each story, each minute that passed in this grief-filled room was slowly unraveling her. And that couldn't happen.
"Billy," Nancy said halfway through the meeting. "What about you? Would you like to share how you included Delia in Christmas this year?"
Victoria felt him squirm against her leg, and his chair squeaked as he moved, but didn't look at him. She was afraid he wouldn't speak since she was there. Maybe he still had never spoken in group.
"We, um, we didn't do a big tree this year," he finally said, surprising her with the confidence in his voice. "I've been kind of a jerk lately, and Victoria told me we didn't have to celebrate Christmas this year since Johnny's too little to remember anyway." He paused for a minute, and Victoria managed a glance in his direction. He was playing with his wedding ring. "But, um, I realized almost too late that that wasn't okay. DeeDee loved Christmas, and I want Johnny to love it, too. He deserves that. So, I went out and got the only tree I could find. It was bad, really, really bad. I mean, this was the ugliest tree you've ever seen."
Billy laughed, remembering the glorified branch he had brought home to her, and the rest of the group joined in. That's when it hit her. He was comfortable here, and that cut her to the core.
"But, Victoria loved it, and we decorated it with lights and stuff," he continued when the laughter subsided. He placed his hand on her leg, and she stared at it like it was a stranger's. "And then we put an ornament with Delia's picture on it. Turns out, it was the prettiest tree we ever had."
"Having special ornaments that remind us of our loved ones is a good way to keep them a part of our traditions," Nancy said with a smile. "Victoria, anything you would like to add?"
The sound of her name was like an electric shock, forcing her head up to face the woman who had addressed her. "I don't understand," she muttered.
Nancy's response was kind and patient despite the assumption that Victoria hadn't been listening. "We've been talking about how we included the ones we lost in our holidays this year. Billy told us about your tree. How was it for you? This first Christmas without your stepdaughter?"
"I don't understand," she repeated, this time with more purpose in her voice. "He thinks I don't understand."
She felt every pair of eyes in the room on her, save for one. Nancy leaned closer to her, her therapist's instinct sensing something. Danger. Truth. Were they the same thing? In her eyes, Victoria saw a calmness one takes when approaching a wild thing or when talking someone from a ledge.
"Honey," Billy said, but Nancy waved him off with a glance, and Victoria pushed his hand from her leg. It had happened. She had unraveled, and she couldn't stop if she wanted to.
"Many of us feel isolated in our grief," the therapist offered. "What is it Billy doesn't think you understand?"
"What it's like to lose a child. Since Delia isn't…wasn't my biological child. But I do. I know what it's like to bury a child." A hot tear rolled down her cheek, and she knew it was the first of many she wouldn't be able to stop. "But I don't have any ornaments with my daughter's picture in them. I don't have any pictures at all. No videos of school plays either. She died right after she was born. She died without ever knowing her mother's arms. There are no Christmases to remember, or birthdays. I don't know what her favorite color would have been, what she would've looked like, what her…what her laugh would've sounded like. I don't have anything of her. Nothing. Except a birth certificate and a death certificate buried in a box in a closet. And a scar you can barely even see anymore."
She was crying now, her face wet, and at some point Nancy had taken her hand in comfort. "Is there, is th-there an age a child has to be before it's considered a loss?"
"No, Victoria," the soothing voice said. "A loss is a loss, whether your child is fully grown or whether it never makes it from your womb. And stepchildren are real children. You get to grieve Delia just as long and just as strongly as Billy and her biological mother.
"I loved her, too," she sobbed. She heard a similar sound coming from her right, and she turned to see Billy crying, his jaw clenched in a futile effort to control it. "I loved Delia, too," she said directly to him. "So much. And I miss her every day. I miss Sunday mornings when she would climb into our bed, and we'd paint our nails. And then we'd paint yours when you fell back asleep. I miss her laugh and all her questions. I miss the talks we used to have in the bathroom every morning when I fixed her hair and at night during her bath. Those were our times together, and I want them back."
"But I'm tired, Billy. I'm so tired. I'm tired of pretending it doesn't hurt. I'm tired of walking on eggshells when sometimes all I want to do is scream. But I–I-I can't. Because it might upset you. So, I wait. I w-wait until you come here or until I'm in the shower so you can't hear me cry. And most days, most days I just wish it had been me on the side of that road. I would trade places with her in a heartbeat, Billy. Because I loved her too. And all I want is for you to have her back."
He was shaking his head violently at her last remarks, but it barely registered with her. She couldn't breathe. She had been right before. This room was too damn small for all this grief. Billy reached his hand out to her, to calm her or comfort her, but she stood swiftly, suddenly aware of where she was again and what she had just done. The room was silent except for a small chorus of sniffles. Every eye was on her, every eye just as red and puffy as she felt her own were. And the woman whose name made her cringe had a tissue in her hand and understanding on her face.
"Oh, God," Victoria exhaled. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here. I'm so sorry."
"It's okay, Victoria," Nancy said and stood when Victoria did. "This is a place for honesty."
But she was already planning her escape, leaping from her ledge, and nothing anyone said could stop her. Billy made a grab for her waist, but it wasn't strong enough against her need to flee. She made her get away easily, leaving her emotional carnage behind.
Billy paced back and forth across the living room floor. It was the only thing he could think to do. All of his other options had been exhausted. He'd called everyone he could think of looking for her, disguising his call to Nikki as a check-up on Johnny. But he could tell she hadn't seen her. No one had. She was on foot; he knew that because she'd left her car parked outside the meeting.
The meeting.
He stopped and took a deep breath as the words she had said at the meeting played on a loop in his head. All this time he had been drowning in his grief, but until tonight, he hadn't even noticed she was drowning right along side him or that his behavior had diminished her grief.
He had forgotten her. In his worst days, he had lost sight of his best days. He'd lost sight of the person he had promised to turn to for the rest of his life. And worse than that, he had hurt her. Maybe not intentionally, but he had. He'd hurt her again. He'd refused her love over and over, not because he didn't want it, but because in accepting it, he would be accepting a future where he could survive and be happy without Delia. It had only seemed a betrayal to his daughter, but it had been an actual betrayal to his wife. He had to find her. Needed to. To make sure she was okay, physically and in every other way.
As if the universe was finally throwing him a bone, his phone rang. It wasn't her number, but before answering, he prayed it would be only good news. He felt he was owed that much at least.
"Hello?" The voice that answered back was a man's. And it was familiar, but no one he needed to talk to now.
"Look, man," Billy rushed, "I can't really talk right now."
But the man on the other end kept talking in hushed tones against loud music.
"She's where?" His heart quickened. "Okay, okay. I'm on my way. Whatever you do, don't let her leave."
In vino veritas.
It was still there. Taunting her, yet somehow comforting her at the same time. It was her point of focus, the thing that kept her balanced amidst all the spinning. She had lost count of the number of pours she had forced from the bartender. The last time he had refused, even after the Newman glare, offering her only water. It was getting warm inside anyway. Her face was flushed, and between the growing crowd and the music, her head was pounding.
"I'm fine," she smiled when her stumble off the barstool caught the lanky bartender's attention. "I just..I need a lil air."
"I can't let you leave. Not like this," he said, and suddenly she remembered his name was Tony and he had worked all of their Halloween parties.
"S'okay." She retrieved her car keys from her purse and placed them on the bar, along with a tip that could buy rounds for all of Jimmy's. "I'm not driving tonight, officer."
The night was cold, but refreshing. Every breath burned her lungs just as each shot of rum had burned going down. She liked it, though, the coldness. It suited her, and it was the first thing all night that felt true. For that she was grateful. The streets were empty except for her and the first snowflakes of the night, all of the night's revelers having already reached their destinations. Victoria imagined them in their sparkly dresses, champagne flutes in hand, hopes and promises for the new year on their minds. Did they even know how lucky they were? Because for the first time in a long time, she couldn't picture the future.
This was good, though, she thought to herself as her body sank to the sidewalk outside Jimmy's bar. This moment was good. It was like she was in a snow globe where all was safe and quiet. But not real. She sat there for a long time and watched the snow fall and time pass. Or maybe it wasn't long at all because time doesn't exist in snow globes.
But the thing about snow globes is they are their most beautiful when someone comes along and shakes them, stirring the snow, sending it to the heavens only to fall again. An ebb and a flow. A high and a low. That was life.
The world was spinning faster, and Victoria felt she was going to be sick. She wanted to go home, but she'd have to go inside and have Tony call her a cab. She didn't think she could make it. And then when she got there, she'd have to see Billy. If he was there. If he ever wanted to see her again.
Suddenly, she wasn't alone, and a bright light blinded her. She shielded her eyes with one hand and steadied herself with her other.
"You okay?" a voice emerging from the light asked. As the figure moved closer, his body blocked the headlights of his car, and she saw him now. Billy. Her Billy. Calm and concerned and here.
"I'm drunk," she said and buried her head in her hands.
His shoes scuffled along the snow-covered pavement, moving closer to her, and soon his warmth was beside on the sidewalk. "Yeah, I can see that." There was amusement in his voice, and he leaned into her playfully. "I still love you."
"I'm sorry," she cried and finally looked at him. "I'm so sorry. For everything."
"Shhhh. Shhh." He pulled her to him and rested his chin on top of her head. "You don't have anything to apologize for."
"Yes, I do. All those things I said to you. The meeting. I embarrassed you."
He pulled her off of him so he could cradle her face in his hands. Her blue eyes were surrounded by redness, from crying and the rum he smelled on her breath. "You were brave tonight. And honest. So honest. More honest than I could ever be. Everybody thought so. I'm not embarrassed, Vick. I'm proud." He kissed her on the forehead and let her return to his arms. "Besides, if you start apologizing, then I'll have to and it's too cold out to list everything I should be sorry for."
She smiled and closed her eyes for a minute. "I don't feel cold."
"Yeah, well, that's what all the drunks say. See alcohol lures you into a false sense warmth." They both laughed, real deep laughs that lightened their souls. A reminder that he could still make her laugh, and that he still needed to hear her laugh.
"C'mon," he said and stood, extending a gloved hand as he smiled down to her. "I'll take you home."
And there it was, just as the first notes of Auld Lang Syne floated out from inside Jimmy's. Her past and her present and her future, all three standing before her at once. All she had to do was take his hand. So she did.
Billy stood outside the bathroom door and breathed in the steam that curled itself through the crack in the open doorway. He was on guard, listening for signs that, even after three cups of coffee, she wasn't quite sober enough to do this on her own. He also listened for tears, but all that met his ears was the sound of water hitting the shower floor. And then it, too, stopped.
He walked away from the door so she wouldn't suspect he had been standing guard and sat on the bed he had unmade for her, next to the glass of water and aspirin he had retrieved from downstairs for her. Victoria emerged a few minutes later, swaddled in terry cloth, her skin the shiny pink of newborn babies, her wet hair combed straight.
"Here." Billy handed her the pills and glass of water, and she took them without argument.
"Thank you," she said quietly and sat beside him on the bed.
She still held the glass of water in one hand, but the other was free, and Billy reached for it. She let him take it and hold it between both of his. "No," he said, "I'm the one who should be thanking you."
"Billy—" she started, but he stopped her with the shake of his head.
"Let me say this. Please?" She nodded okay, and he took a deep breath before staring into her eyes, straight to her soul. "I never thanked you…. for loving her."
They weren't the words she had expected to hear. His eyes welled, and so did hers. He abandoned her hand to wipe her tears.
"She made it so easy, Billy. She was so special. I knew I was lucky when I married you, but I was blessed when I got her as part of the deal."
"I used to eavesdrop on the two of you sometimes," he admitted. "One time, she asked you what it was like to marry a boy, and you told her it was like the first lick of ice cream on a hot day."
"It's true," Victoria smiled. "Even in bad times, it's true."
He returned the smile. "I'm going to be okay, Vick. We're going to be okay. I promise you. Doc Nancy offered us counseling, just the two of us. And I want to keep going to group. Together. If you want to."
"I do."
He kissed her. Softly. Slowly. Their first real, meaningful kiss since October. Their first kiss of 2014. And on other nights, it would have been the start of something more. But not tonight. It would happen. Soon. But tonight, one sweet kiss was all she needed. All they needed. He pulled her to the bed and held her, waiting for sleep to capture them both. And in her head, all she could think about was all the nights there had ever been, and all the nights that were to come.