Weeds in The Garden of Love



  Weeds in The Garden of Love

  by

  Steven J. Daniels

  * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Weeds in The Garden of Love

  Copyright © 2010 Steven J. Daniels

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  WEEDS IN THE GARDEN OF LOVE

  PROLOGUE

  No one would hear the gunshot. An early winter storm was pounding the deserted beach with huge white-capped waves.

  I parked my car behind the public restrooms near the beach volleyball courts. This beach was a familiar place to me. When I started dating her, we spent a lot of time down here. I remembered all those warm summer evenings we walked along the boardwalk, talking, laughing and—

  The image of the carnage I’d just left burst into my mind. I took another swig from the now half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. I reveled in reliving every grisly detail. I felt no guilt, no remorse, only the satisfaction of revenge. Revenge, that’s what this was all about. I had it all and they took it away.

  I went to the trunk of my car and took out my small red toolbox. I looked around. I was still alone. I tucked the box under my arm and climbed back into the driver’s seat. I locked the doors, opened the toolbox and grabbed the snub-nosed three fifty-seven.

  To be honest, I actually considered changing my mind. Then, I remembered what I had done. No one would understand. How my life had been ruined. How they had persecuted me. This whole thing was their fault, not mine. But no one would care. No one would miss me.

  Now I had to end the pain. I tasted the gunpowder residue on the front sight and barrel as I pulled back the hammer.

  You know—I swear I felt that bullet exit the back of my head.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sunset Motel

  Craig was becoming frantic. He had been to every hotel in the city and could not find a room anywhere. He didn’t understand why. Yes, they lived in a small city with a limited number of hotels, but why no vacancies on an ordinary October weekend? This doesn’t make sense. You can always get a room somewhere.

  An attractive young front desk clerk, at yet another fully booked downtown hotel, informed him The Jehovah’s Witnesses were having a big convention. They have conventions? Craig thought. Just my luck, getting turfed out of my house on a weekend when every decent hotel room is booked.

  On his way out to the motels on the interstate, he passed through a seedy part of town. At the entrance to a service road, he noticed a rental sign trailer parked near the intersection. It advertised that the Sunset Motel was a half-mile up the road. The Sunset Motel! I forgot about that place. Actually, I didn’t know it was still around. Hope they have a room. Craig spotted the motel across the street from a 7-11. The sign outside said: “Sunset Motel - Daily Rates ___ VACANC .” For whatever reason, the “Y” was missing.

  That seemed totally appropriate. Craig had so many unanswered whys. He wondered why his marriage to Chrissie had turned into a war … why she had become so distant, unreasonable and argumentative … why his two kids had to grow up in a broken home … why his comfortable, full life had disintegrated into a search for shelter.

  Craig had done his best to explain to his kids why he had to leave. Heather had just turned five, and Craig wondered if she understood. She hugged him and said: “I love you, Dad.” Then, she went to her room to play.

  Robbie clearly didn’t know how to react. He wouldn’t look at Craig. He looked like he’d rather be somewhere else. Robbie was seven and loved his dad more than anything. Craig felt the same way about his son. Craig watched his birth. He saw him take his first breath and held him during those first precious moments of life. Their bond was strong and forever. Craig gave him a bear hug and ruffled his hair. Robbie managed a weak smile. Then, Craig thought about the horrible scene this morning in the garage. It would be etched in his memory forever.

  * * *

  Craig had finished loading most of his belongings into his Toyota. He opened the garage door. As he was about to get into his car, Robbie ran to him. He had followed him out to the garage. Robbie grabbed hold of Craig’s leg to prevent him from getting into the car.

  “Don’t go, Dad! I don’t want you to go!”

  “I have to go, Robbie. I love you, and I told you—I’ll see you soon. Now, be a good boy, and go back into the house.”

  “I won’t let go, Dad! I won’t! I won’t! I can’t!”

  “Listen to me. You have to let go.” Craig gently pried Robbie’s arms off his leg. “I’ll be back to see you soon.”

  Craig slowly closed the car door ensuring Robbie’s little hands were not in the way. As he started the car, Craig could hear him crying and screaming. He put his car into reverse. He looked into the garage. His little boy was convulsed with tears, and unsure of what was happening. Robbie’s world was crumbling. For the first time in his young life, he knew how it felt to have a broken heart and an uncertain future.

  Craig turned away. He didn’t want Robbie to see his tears. He backed out and drove away. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t bear Robbie’s pain. He knew exactly how he felt. Craig’s heart was broken too—his future uncertain.

  * * *

  The Sunset Motel was an old ‘60s style standard issue motor hotel. They seem to be everywhere and look relatively the same. It’s like a weird motel design law forced them to have white stucco walls, a flat roof complete with the fake cedar shake overhang and rusted wrought iron railings around the second floor. The gravel parking lot and red plastic geraniums in chipped white plaster planters were options most chose. Judging by the number of cars parked outside the motel rooms, Craig assumed the sign was right and they would have a vacancy.

  The motel clerk asked him to fill out a registration card. The name Craig Andrews looked strange on the card. He didn’t like that name today. Craig Andrews was the guy who received a threatening letter from some lawyer his wife had hired. The letter told him he had one week to vacate the matrimonial home, or his wife would leave with the children. Craig Andrews was the one who couldn’t get her to talk about it. He was the one who drove away and left his son crying in the garage. He was the loser who had to stay at the Sunset Motel. That’s who Craig Andrews was today.

  “You okay, Mr.?” The motel clerk stared at him with a look of disbelief. “Who are you talkin’ about?”

  Craig had been muttering out loud. “Huh? Oh  sorry, no one special.”

  The clerk was in his late teens, a skinny kid with horn-rimmed glasses and a shoulder length mullet. Craig figured he lived with his parents in the living quarters directly behind the motel office. He leaned to his left to catch a glimpse of their living room. Those folks are stuck back in the sixties. They have a starburst clock and shag carpeting, for goodness sake!

  The kid’s parents were in the living room, watching a hockey game on a television set with an antenna sitting on top. Unbelievable, Craig thought. Haven’t seen a TV with rabbit ears since I was a kid. The old folks both turned to check him out. They had that—seen-this-type-a-million-times-before—look on their faces. Craig felt embarrassed and smiled at them sheepishly. Their expressions didn’t change.

  The kid took a key off a hook on the board behind him and held it up. He was preoccupied, trying to catch the instant replay of a goal on the television in the living room. “Room twenty-two. Second floor, ‘round the back.”

&
nbsp; Craig took the key from the clerk’s outstretched hand. He looked at the number on the plastic tag. Twenty-two, he thought. Good old double deuces, my number in hockey. Wore it all the way through Junior A and even in minor pro. Craig would kid the other guys on the team that he was a favorite with the fans. He would tell them: “I may be number twenty-two in the program, but I’m number one in their hearts.” His teammates would groan and throw hockey gloves or wads of tape at him.

  Craig continued to stare blankly at the key. He remembered the long bus rides with the team, the fun, the practical jokes and the camaraderie. He wondered what had happened to all the guys he played with over the years; the other journeyman players, the “grinders” like himself who never made it to the N.H.L. He was fortunate to have been offered a college hockey scholarship. College reminded him of Chrissie. Those were the good times, the fun times before I met—'her.'

  The clerk repeated himself thinking Craig hadn’t heard him. “Room twenty-two. Second floor, ‘round the back.”

  Craig realized the clerk was talking to him. “Oh, thanks. See you later.” The kid had already turned around again to watch the game. Craig had never felt so alone.

  Craig pulled his car behind the motel and found his parking spot marked with a faded white number twenty-two. His car was loaded to the roof. Kinda sad, he thought, when most of what you own in the world fits into a Toyota Tercel. Craig planned to go back later in the week for the rest of his belongings.

  The motel room was exactly what he expected: a sagging double bed, a brown corduroy couch and orange armchair that went perfectly with the “circa-really-old” drapes, lamps and pressboard furniture. A prehistoric television sat on the end of the dresser facing the bed. A picture of sailboats tacking against a stiff breeze adorned the wall above the bed. An ugly swag lamp hung in the corner.

  Craig put his suitcase on the bed. “I think my Aunt Liz and Uncle Al had a lamp like that back in the nineteen fifties. All this room needs is a picture of ‘Dogs Playing Poker’ and it would be perfect.” Craig laughed and for a brief moment forgot where he was and how he got here.

  After unloading his car and unpacking, Craig walked across the street to the 7-11. He bought a TV Guide, a six-pack of beer and a package of Fig Newtons.

  “Nothing like a balanced diet, huh?” Craig said to the teenage cashier as she handed him his change. She rolled her eyes, purposely exhaled and went back to filing her fingernails. Teenagers, he thought and picked up his groceries. He walked back to the motel wondering if anyone on the planet knew he was alive—or cared.

  Craig opened a beer, checked the TV Guide and noticed a movie was starting in a few minutes. As he waited, he thought how this day had changed his life. Yesterday I had a family, a job and a house. Today it’s gone! In one day, I lost it all—no kids, job, house  oh yeah, almost forgot—no wife, too.

  He still didn’t know why Chrissie had asked him to leave. He knew their marriage was in trouble, but he thought they should, at least, try to work it out. It didn’t make sense to him.

  Craig thought about Robbie and Heather. He missed them already. He tried not to think about the scene in the garage. The image of Robbie hanging onto his leg made his heart ache. He wondered if any of their lives would ever be normal again.

  Craig didn’t want to think any more. He wanted to shut his mind off. He wanted to forget about today and simply watch television. Tomorrow, he’d try to figure this out and decide what he was going to do. Right now, the movie was starting.

  And so it was, on the first night of his new life, Craig Andrews sat in Room twenty-two of the Sunset Motel; sipping a beer, eating Fig Newtons and watching “Kramer vs. Kramer.”

  … on a TV with rabbit ears.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Reflections

  Sunday was a beautiful fall day. The sun was beaming out of a cloudless sky, and a warm breeze gently rustled the fallen leaves. Lewis Park was full of people enjoying the sunshine and each other. Young lovers were lying on blankets or strolling hand in hand. Families were having picnics. Children were playing, laughing as they ate ice cream or crying because they weren’t. Dogs were chasing sticks, Frisbees and squirrels.

  Craig’s mind had him elsewhere. He meandered through the park. Yesterday’s departure had left him dazed. He was used to being married. Single and alone was something he thought he would never be again.

  Worst of all, he didn’t know why it happened. He wondered if he ever would figure out why he and Chrissie split up. I tried to talk to her about it, but she wouldn’t tell me. Didn’t she realize she was not only throwing me out of my own home, but also out of my job? She must have known. But why? Once again, he was back to the “why.” He had absolutely no idea what it was.

  Craig stopped by the duck pond near the center of the park. He tried to skip a stone across the water, but it hit once and sank. A boy and his dad were playing catch. At one point, the kid missed and the baseball rolled over to Craig’s feet. He was too preoccupied to notice. All he could think about was Chrissie and what had happened. She changed. She’s not the same person. When we were first married, I could do no wrong. In the end, I couldn’t do anything right. She found fault with everything I did. But boy, if I even hinted something was her fault or, God forbid, she was actually wrong about something, she’d go ballistic. She was never wrong. She was always right. If she had a problem, well, someone else caused it. Nothing was ever her fault. She always blamed someone else for her problems—usually me.

  Craig was hurt, more deeply hurt than he had ever been in his life. The woman he loved above all others had rejected him. Once again, he had no clue. He also didn’t know why he wasn’t furious. Why he wasn’t fighting mad. I’ve been mad at her before, especially one particular night. It was a long time ago, but I’ll never forget. I remember the rage.

  * * *

  The fight resulted from his disagreeing with her point of view. Craig and Chrissie had been married for a short time. They didn’t have a lot of money, and the monthly rent didn’t leave much for anything else. They always shopped for bargains and ate a lot of macaroni and cheese. Chrissie’s parents, Joe and Olivia, permanently loaned them some furniture and utensils. Chrissie even made curtains out of old bed sheets. In spite of not having much, they had fun and laughed a lot. They didn’t fight, or even argue, as long as Craig played the game and agreed with her.

  But this particular evening, Craig disagreed with her. She exploded in anger. He didn’t recall the specifics, but it ended with him telling Chrissie she would never admit she was wrong about anything. This proved to be a grave error on his part. Chrissie unleashed a screeching torrent of insults. She slammed the bedroom door so hard a picture fell off the wall in the adjoining bathroom. She pushed the dresser against the door. Chrissie hauled out a suitcase and hurled it across the room where it landed with a loud thump. She threw her clothes out of the closet onto the bed, indicating her intention to leave.

  Craig offered a muffled apology through the barricaded bedroom door. He begged her to come out, so they could talk. From the other side of the door, Chrissie’s stream of profanity would have made a sailor blush. Craig pushed against the bedroom door. The dresser shifted, and the door opened a bit. An alarm clock flew through the opening and crashed into the hall. Craig, deciding discretion was the better part of valor, retreated to the living room. Chrissie climbed onto the pile of clothes on the bed and wailed herself to sleep. Craig ignored her. He didn’t know what else to do. He spent that night on the couch.

  * * *

  Craig was deep in thought as he sat on a park bench near the duck pond. Chrissie’s insane tantrum that night had taught him a valuable lesson. From then on, he was always careful to keep any truth about her to himself. She taught me to never tell her anything she didn’t want to hear, or to criticize her behavior. Those were buttons I would try to never pu
sh again. I learned the one way our relationship would survive was to adopt a peace-at-any-price attitude. It worked for a while. But a person can only bend to another person’s will for so long. I finally reached the breaking point, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to stand up for myself. But it was too late. The die was cast. She rebelled and thought I didn’t love her anymore.

  As he walked back to his car, Craig was feeling better. He still had a long way to go. He had yet to acknowledge the profound anger he was harboring deep inside. The anger had built up throughout their marriage; a direct result of not disagreeing with her when he should have, caving in to her will on everything and avoiding arguments for the sake of peace and quiet. He had suppressed his anger for so many years it was now like a living entity locked in a cage in his soul. His survival instinct locked it in and he didn’t dare let it out. He was afraid his anger would consume him. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. Craig had other priorities.

  First, he must create a life for himself. He couldn’t live at the Sunset Motel forever. He had to find a job, look for a decent place to live and make arrangements to see his kids.

  His kids. Craig considered driving past his house in Botsford Downs. He might catch a glimpse of them. He decided not to. I’d be doing that for me, not them. They’d be upset if they saw me.

  Craig needed someone with whom he could share his feelings. Chrissie had always fulfilled that role. She was his best friend and he could count on her to listen. She instinctively knew what to say and what not to say, he thought as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to the Sunset Motel. We were such good friends. He laughed out loud at that. “Some friend she turned out to be!” His sudden outburst started Craig. His rage had boiled to the surface so quickly; he felt he had no control over it. For the first time since he left yesterday, Craig was thankful to be alone.