Chapter Five
Pacey was gone for six days. The longer he was gone, the more Joey drank after the girls were put to bed, and the more Casey relied on imagining L.J. was with her. It was becoming really easy, imagining L.J. there, and sometimes she didn't even have to think about it, he just popped up and helped her with the blocks or plopped down on her bed and watched movies with her and Aliya. Casey really enjoyed his company, and it made her forget about her worry that her daddy was never going to come back.
Joey drowned her anger, worry, and annoyance with different kinds of liquor; she'd learned the hard way not to mix drinks. When she went through everything they had in the liquor cabinet, she went out and bought some more. The recycle can got filled up with empty bottles of rum, vodka, and tequila, her favorites. It was the empty bottles that fueled another argument when Pacey finally showed himself.
Pacey circled the block for the ninth time. He was reluctant to go inside, but he knew he had to face her. Sighing, Pacey pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine.
Sighing, he rubbed his face with both hands. He'd sat in a hotel room for six days, staring at the ceiling, the walls, and out of the window; wandering the streets at night, eating alone in fast food restaurants. He thought a lot. He thought of his son, his beautiful daughters, and Joey. He thought a lot about their arguments and their overall relationship, or lack thereof.
He knew he was being distant to his family, especially Joey, but he couldn't help it. And it also didn't help that although Casey resembled Joey, it was an image of L.J. that Joey's face now evoked. He didn't know why. Perhaps it was because they acted the same way. Pacey knew there was something he had to do. But he couldn't figure out what it was supposed to be, and he couldn't figure out how to get himself out of his depressed, moody, sometimes apathetic state.
Taking a deep breath, Pacey opened the door and stepped out of the car. He noticed that their blue recycling can was sitting at the curb. He shook his head and went over to put it back against the side of the house. Joey always forgot that recycle day was on Sunday, not Saturday, which was one of the garbage days.
Inside was a black plastic bag. Because they couldn't open the bags and go through them, the sanitation workers wouldn't pick it up if the recyclables weren't loose in the blue can, or in a blue bag. He pulled it out and shook it a little, making sure that it was recyclables and not garbage.
It was recyclables. Bottles, in fact. A lot of glass bottles actually, Pacey realized. He furrowed his brow in thought. Why would there be a bunch of bottles in the recycle can? Because there were children in the house, they didn't buy many glass bottles. In fact, the only thing that was glass in the house was the glasses she and Pacey drank out of, and the bottles of liquor they had in the cabinet . . . The bottles of liquor . . .
Pacey untied the knot and looked inside. In disbelief, he picked up two of the bottles. Vodka and . . . tequila? They never bought tequila, and as he inspected the bottle and saw a little worm was sitting at the bottom, he knew it was the real deal.
Abandoning the can, Pacey carried the bottles into the house, his mind working fast, demanding answers. He found Joey in their bedroom, which ranked of alcohol, sprawled across the bed, eyes half-closed, dressed in gray bike shorts, a gray sweatshirt, and thick white socks. Her hair was up in a haphazard ponytail and there was an assortment of bottles on the floor.
"Can you explain this?" Pacey asked loudly. Joey startled and jerked herself into a sitting position, sighing in relief when she saw it was him.
"So you decided t'show up, huh?" She drawled drunkenly when she got over her fright.
"Joey," he said slowly. "Can you tell me why there's about twenty empty bottles of liquor in the garbage, bottles I've never seen in our house before? Like these." He held up the bottles.
"Pay-zee, Pay-zee, Pay-zee," Joey sighed, shaking her head. "You wanna tell me why you . . . why you failed to grace your fam'ly with your pressens for the pass . . . uh . . . for the pass lots of days, huh?" She asked, rolling to her feet.
"Joey," he said firmly, "I know we're going through things right now, but drinking never solves any—"
"Ohhh," Joey said loudly, walking over to him. "You dis'pear for a week an' I'm s'posed to sit here an' let you control me? I'm s'posed to lissen t'this World According to Pay-zee bullshit? I don't think so, uh-uh, you need to leave." She clapped her hands twice and pointed both index fingers at the door. "Bye!"
"Listen to me, Jo—"
"No!" Joey snapped, jabbing her finger in his face. "You, Pay-zee, are a lousy, rotten, stinkin' sonuvabitch. You needa get your asshole ass outta my sight. Be gone for another damn week. See if I give a damn. Bastard." She muttered.
Pacey stepped back to avoid the fumes of alcohol emanating from her. "Joey, I won't leave with you like this."
"You've been gone for days, you jerk!" Joey said angrily, her first clear sentence. "Whadduya think I've been doing all this time? Knitting sweaters? No! . . . You know what? You need t'leave, Pay-zee. You really need t'leave . . . Get out! Whadduya waiting for? Get out!" She hollered, pushing him. He stumbled two steps back, and then held his ground. She shoved him again, harder, but he'd planted his feet and didn't budge. This only made her angrier. "Get out, damn it!"
"No! Goddamn it, Joey! What the hell is wrong with you?! What are you doing to yourself?!" He shouted.
"There's nothing wrong with me Pacey. I can't talk to you right now. I need you to get out. Get out of my sight, Pacey, please… You're making me sick. You're litterly makin' me sick, Pacey." She warned. Hurt and angry, Pacey glowered at her and opened his mouth to reply but, on cue, she stopped him by running to the bathroom.
Listening to her retch, Pacey dejectedly looked around the room and began gathering the empty bottles strewn around the bed. Obviously, while he was gone Joey raided the liquor cabinet, and then went out and bought some more. He pressed his lips together and stood there, trying to decide whether or not he was going to leave or stay.
Joey had been drunk before. He'd seen her drunk several times in their life together, but never did she polish off that much alcohol in a little under a week, not even during college. Unaware that Joey's drinking had been going on before his disappearance, Pacey figured that his absence had driven her to drink, so he decided he wouldn't leave the house again. But he also knew that Joey wasn't going to talk to him rationally while she was drunk, and he didn't want to hear any of her ramblings either. So Pacey decided to spend the night on the couch in the den, but not before he checked on the girls and emptied out every single bottle of liquor in the cabinet.
...
Joey woke to the familiar pounding in her head and cobwebs in her mind. But she also woke to the distinct smell of bacon frying downstairs. Hazily propping herself on her elbows, Joey rubbed the sleep from her eyes and ran her fingers through her long dark brown hair, before wearily rolling over on to her back and staring up at the ceiling.
Sighing as parts of the event of the night before began to form into a full memory; Joey tried to figure out what she was going to say to Pacey when she went downstairs. She knew that he would want to say something to her about her drinking, but she didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to hear anything he had to say to her, and she definitely didn't want to know where he'd been.
After taking a shower and brushing her teeth, Joey dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and straightened up the bedroom. Although she still had a headache, Joey headed downstairs feeling refreshed, the sound of her daughters' laughter lifting her spirits.
Mouths full of breakfast, the girls bade her a cheerful good morning. Pacey, who had been sitting on the island counter and entertaining them, stared at her intently, smile frozen on his face.
"Good morning, guys." Joey said, ignoring Pacey, kissing Aliya and Casey on their foreheads.
"Daddy made us baby pamcakes." Aliya told her, waving her fork, which had a piece of silver dollar pancake on it.
"Good morning, Joey." Pacey said cautiously.
"It's pancake, cutie," Joey gently corrected, ignoring him. Pacey watched her, unable to ignore the small pang of hurt when she didn't answer him back. He wanted to talk to her about all of the alcohol she consumed, but he could tell she was going to be difficult about it.
"Pamcake." Aliya said again, proudly, ostensibly thinking she corrected herself. Joey grinned at her and ruffled her hair as she went to the cabinet and grabbed the small bottle of Advil.
"You didn't say good morning back to Daddy." Casey said quietly, a forgotten piece of bacon in her hand. Pacey glanced at his daughter, and then looked at Joey to see what she would do. Without missing a beat, Joey shrugged.
"Really? I wasn't aware he said anything, sweetie." Joey said, popping two pills into her mouth and swallowing them dry. Putting the container back, she plastered a huge smile on her face and leaned her palms on the counter behind her. Forcing himself to keep his eyes away from the way her breasts strained against the small t-shirt she was wearing, Pacey licked his lips and tried again.
"Joey, I want to talk to you." He said.
Her eyes didn't even flicker in his direction. "So, what do you girls want to do today? I'm sorry you didn't make it to camp, I was really tired." She explained.
"I want to talk to you, Joey." Pacey said, louder.
"Daddy's gonna take us to camp late after we eat breh-fess." Aliya told her mother, holding a cup of milk with both hands. "Daddy said you was sick."
"Breakfast, baby." Joey corrected, going over and combing Aliya's hair with her fingers.
"Daddy said he wants to talk to you, Mommy." Casey said slowly, carefully, not wanting to get in trouble.
"I'm gonna make a pit-cha for you, Mommy. In camp. I'm gonna make a pit-cha of a house an' a doggie an' a kitty too."
"Thank you, Allie," Joey kissed her. "I can't wait."
Casey frowned. Her father looked upset that she wasn't answering him. "Mommy, Daddy said—"
"Finish your food, Casey." Joey said softly. Casey's golden eyes clouded over and she obediently began to finish her food.
His heart going out to his daughter, Pacey tried again. "Joey—" He began.
"Not now." Joey interrupted, looking at him and even adding a phony smile for Casey's sake. "Hurry up and eat so your father can take you to camp."
The girls ate and Pacey and Joey washed them up and dressed them. When he came back from dropping them off at camp, Joey was waiting for him in the den. She was sitting on the couch, her feet tucked under her thighs, staring at the blank television screen.
"So talk." Joey instructed evenly when he came in.
Dismayed by her cool opening, Pacey slowly began saying what he'd rehearsed over and over in his mind since the night before. "Look . . . I know I've been distant over the past couple of weeks," he began. Joey snorted indelicately at the understatement, but he ploughed ahead. "And I know I was wrong. But while I was gone, I was at a hotel, and I had nothing but time to think. So I thought. And I thought. And I came up with no answers, except the fact that I don't like where my life is, and I don't like where we are. But I especially don't like the fact that you've taken up this drinking habit and are turning into an alcoholic—"
"Alcoholic?" She blurted incredulously, standing up. "First of all, unless you were arguing with me Pacey, you've been very distant the past eleven weeks; and you disappear after every big fight we have. Secondly, now that you've returned from one of your impromptu mini-sabbaticals from our marriage and our home, you have the audacity to take one look at my situation and realize that you want to be my knight-in-shining armor and save me from my supposed downward spiral into alcoholism? What's next? Are you planning to continue to ride your hero complex and actually accompany me to the A.A. meetings you'll no doubt force me to attend in the name of misguided chivalry on Monday nights?"
"I see the alcohol hasn't impaired your wit." He said dryly, struggling to control his temper.
"That's because I'm not an alcoholic. You found me drunk one time. One. And that was last night; after you decided to return home."
"Joey, all of those bottles were not the fruit of one night's overindulgence. You'd be dead right now if it were."
"True," she allowed. "But I'm not an alcoholic, Pacey."
Pacey shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. "No. I don't believe you."
Joey shrugged. "Frankly, I don't give a damn what you believe or don't believe. You haven't been a bit of help to me ever since L.J. died. You're useless. Why are you even speaking to me? Why are you even here? What are you doing here? You're nothing. We're nothing." She gesticulated dismissively at the empty air to emphasize the insignificance of their current relationship.
"You're my wife, Joey." Pacey said firmly.
Shaking her head, Joey sank back down on to the couch, suddenly weary. "Nowadays, I don't think I want that title anymore."
Pacey was shocked into silence for a moment, his heart beating wildly. "What?" He asked roughly.
"You heard me Pacey."
"So we have a couple of fights and you're talking divorce, Joey?" He asked furiously.
Joey laughed humorlessly. "You're having quite the time underrating things today, aren't you, Witter? We've had a lot more than a couple of fights."
"It doesn't matter!" He exploded.
"Yes it does matter. And if you don't see that, if you don't see everything that's going on here, then you're more of a heartless asshole than I thought."
Pacey stood there, trembling with anger and disbelief; his jaw clenched painfully, his hands clamped into fists at his sides. He wanted to scream, or to hit the wall. Instead he just shook his head and shifted from one foot to the other.
Joey smiled with a serenity she didn't feel. "Walk out, Pacey. Go on. You're two seconds away from doing it, aren't you?" She asked him, her voice oozing patronizing amusement.
Growing angrier because she was right, Pacey forced himself to stay put. "Is that what you want, Joey? You want me to leave? Because I'll do whatever you want me to." He asked tightly, trying not to shout.
"I want you to do whatever the hell you want to do, just as long as it doesn't involve me; in any way, shape, or form."
Left with nothing else to do, Pacey shrugged. He wasn't going to twist her arm, and he knew that if he stayed there any longer, he was going to end up tearing the place apart. "Fine."
He left.
...
Joey sat quietly in the grass, staring desolately at the headstone in front of her. She was cross-legged, idly tracing the name engraved in the marble with her finger.
Joseph Pacey Witter.
Her serious, sweet Little Joey. It was Pacey who named him on the day of his birth. It was she who mournfully chose the inscription for his gravestone, a quote she remembered from college: Whom the gods love, dies young.
A lonely tear fell down her cheek and she hastily wiped it away. She knew that if she started crying now, she wouldn't be able to stop. She hadn't had a drink in two days, and felt her feelings constantly trying to invade her emotional barrier of numbness. Gathering her strength, Joey bottled up her feelings and shoved it farther and farther down until the urge to cry passed. She had perfected the art of swallowing her pain when her mother died, and without alcohol to do it for her for the past couple of days, the ability was becoming stronger.
So wrapped up in her thoughts, Joey didn't hear Pacey and her daughters approach until she felt Aliya's small hand touch her hair. Joey looked around and met the little girl's melancholy, concerned gaze.
"What are you guys doing here?" Joey said, stroking her cheek. "Aren't you supposed to be at camp?"
"We saw you and I wanted to see you."
Joey nodded her understanding. The cemetery was en route to their Day Camp, and there was a red light on the street beside the cemetery, close to where L.J. was buried. If Pacey was stopped there, Joey could be easily seen from the street.
"Want L.J., Mommy?" Aliya asked softly.
Joey fought more tears and nodded slowly. "I miss your brother very much." She said, admitting it for the first time aloud.
"You said God wants L.J. wif him in heaben, so we can't have him," Aliya said sadly, her hazel eyes searching her mother's. "But you have me, Casey, an' Daddy." She offered quietly.
Joey looked up at Pacey, who was holding Casey. They hadn't spoken a word to each other for two whole days, and there was a distant look in his eyes, a closed-off look to his face, as if he didn't know her, nor did he care to know her.
Trying not to be bothered by that, Joey returned her attention to Aliya. The little girl was searching her face earnestly.
"I know, sweetie," Joey said finally. "And I thank God for letting you guys stay with me."
"Wanna hug?" Aliya offered, holding her arms out.
Joey enclosed her daughter in a tight embrace. "I love you and Casey, Aliya," Joey whispered. "Never forget that."
Aliya nodded and Joey picked her up as she stood. "Do you want a ride?" Pacey asked emotionlessly. Surprised to hear him speak to her, Joey momentarily forgot if she'd brought her car or if she took a cab.
"No, thanks. I drove." She declined politely, shifting Aliya to her other arm.
"Fine. Do you want to come with me or go with your mother, Aliya, Casey?" He asked both girls.
Casey shook her head, comfortable in her father's arms, and Aliya hugged her mother tighter. Having his answer, Pacey nodded and began walking to his car in silence. Joey watched him and Casey for a moment, and then gave Aliya a bright smile. "Come on, kiddo."
As she walked to her own car, one thing was clear. Her life was falling apart. And if Pacey was going to continue to argue with her and walk away from her, instead of providing her with the comfort she hated to admit she needed, she was going to find someone who would.
Joey knew just where to look.