Post by Dreamfire on Dec 29, 2008 3:57:10 GMT -5
Merry Xmas, got this one at the Boxing day sales...
The next thing, after dance class, was weekends away.
She decided it would be fun to traipse around the country “seeing” new places together. She said it would bring them closer; sharing new experiences with each other. Jim didn’t quite know how to explain to her that new experiences were not all that much fun anymore, that he preferred order now, predictability. Well, he didn’t know how to explain it without looking week and pathetic. The word sightseeing brought a lump to his throat that nothing else did. People saying It’s good to see you, You should see this, Look what I found, all those he could handle but sight seeing? No, it was a double whammy he hadn’t been able to stomach. And of course, Christie found she loved sightseeing.
Anyhow, he felt he should at least try, he loved her, or he thought he did, and if she wanted it that bad?
The first one had been a “gift “for his birthday. So he couldn’t refuse to go. It wasn’t a good trip for him, but she seemed to enjoy it, and it was a gift, so what could he say but that he enjoyed it too? “No, I’m having fun, really.” And she was happy with that. She always took his word that he was happy, even if he felt miserable. He must be a good actor or something - maybe it was his “blank” expression that she always complained about?
But the last trip – it was going to remain the last trip. They went to LA. She had booked them into a show at some famous theatre. Renowned for its décor which she said it was truly wonderful, all gilt and painted ceilings. He sat through the show, running his current cases through his head while she sighed and laughed and occasionally gave him a rundown of a costume or some action. He smiled, if she had known he was running cases - phew, it didn’t even bear thinking about. In fact she had even insisted he leave his laptop at home. He tried to work around that saying he needed it to read the newspaper at least, but she insisted and implied she didn’t trust him not to work on cases. He had given in - maybe she had a point when she said that she needed him to put attention on their marriage and not on his cases.
He checked his watch, wondering when the interval would be. If he’d had Hank here he would have excused himself and found the restroom. But she had asked him to leave Hank at the hotel, saying she’d guide him and asking why he wouldn’t let her do even that for him now? So he had acquiesced, reluctantly allowing control to slip out of his hands.
Finally there was an intermission. She dropped him off at the men’s room and went off to get drinks. Finding his way around a strange public bathroom was one of his least favourite pastimes so he was already annoyed by the time he finished, washed his hands and was standing outside the door waiting for her. At first people asked him if he could use a hand to get back to his seat. He plastered a smile over his resentment and pleasantly explained to the first three that his wife was on her way and she’d be here in a minute. But after several offers of help he folded his cane and put it in his back pocket, hoping he would “pass” and just look like he was waiting. Minutes dragged by, like an opera singer drawing out their final note interminably, then he heard the bell for the play to start again. Still she didn’t come back. He spent his time scoping the theatre as best he could, doors, down the stairs and to the left, beyond that a kitchen by the sound of it, and he was pretty sure the doors back to the theatre were up another flight and to the right. He toyed with the idea that maybe he could head back to his seat. No, he didn’t even know the seat number. He kept scoping; candy bar somewhere in front, but either it was a very long bar or the cues had been huge. He couldn’t tell.
He found himself comparing Christie’s behaviour to Karen’s. His partner would have described the place well when they first arrived and now, if he wanted to, he could have returned to his eat or gone out and found a cab and gone back to the hotel. But Christie just didn’t seem to get descriptions right. She’d talk about wallpaper or art, and her estimations were always off. She’d say something was 30 feet and it’d be ten, or she’d say it was a couple of steps away and it would be a dozen or more. It seemed like she just didn’t understand how important it was to him to be accurate. He knew she was good at her job, she’d been promoted twice in the last 2 years, but how could she be so idiotic about this? Maybe it was a detective’s skill. Jim shook his head.
When she finally showed up she was breathless, apologised repeatedly and said something about waiting outside the wrong door but he found he didn’t care about her excuses, he just felt let down and weak. Somehow he often felt more ...handicapped… when she was around, frail, almost helpless. They got back to the theatre and she kept up her intermittent descriptions and he nodded and smiled, working cases in his head.
After the show they went back to the hotel; a huge suite. When he questioned how much it cost she said her boss had given her upgrade credits or something, several rooms with a big balcony.
In the elevator, she had asked him if he liked the show. Stupidly he had been honest, he laughed and said he lost the plot after the first ten minutes and ran case folders in his head thereafter. He waited for her to join in his laugh before he realised with a sinking feeling that it was the wrong thing to do - being honest. Stepping out of the elevator she pulled her arm out of his grip and marched forward angrily. He had to concentrate to follow her stomping down the carpeted hall as the plush carpet sucked the sound out of her heels. He didn’t stop to pull out his cane. On the way he hit a decorative table. The vase of tall flowers swayed dangerously, he saved them before they spilled out but it fed his anger and he ceased trying to contain his curses. Her footsteps didn’t even slow. Maybe she turned her head to see he was ok, but then again, maybe not.
Moments late a door slammed. Jim assumed it was theirs but it didn’t sound like the next one. He forced himself to feel the raised number on the first door he came to, not the one. Their room was two down. He had heard no one in the hall, probably no one saw him fumbling.
Entering the suite he called for her “Christie, please, don’t do this.” – and walked right into the hall stand. It rocked but didn’t fall, small mercy.
Jim hung his head. He wanted to be home, where he knew where everything was, where maids didn’t rearrange the furniture and where he knew where HE was. Hank came up, tail wagging. He sent him to his bed. Christie didn’t need to notice Hank right now - if she saw him patting Hank she would start on about how much attention the dog got. So Jim sent his furry buddy to his bed, using the no nonsense work voice.
“Do you have to use that in here?” Her voice was tight and angry.
Jim debated folding it away but instead he took a stand. “Yes, Christie, I need my cane. We’ve been here one day, I don’t remember the layout, I’m sure that stand was moved since this morning and I don’t want to walk into a table or something.”
“You didn’t need it in the hall.” She accused.
What was she thinking? He had needed it, he’d knocked over a table, almost dropped a vase, what was she talking about? And what did it matter anyway?
He didn’t know what was safe, in the room, in conversation.
He found his way to the bar fridge, and took out a beer. “How about we have a drink together and you tell me why you’re so mad at me.”
“You don’t know?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
He heard her get up and move off the couch. “Christie?’ No answer.
Oh no, not the silent treatment again. Maybe she had just left the room. He spoke louder “Christie, please, don’t go quiet on me.” Didn’t she realise the impact of this game she played? Her silent treatment pattern changed over the years. He hadn’t seen it for the first two years of their marriage and then suddenly out of the blue, when she didn’t get her way on that holiday she had wanted, because of a serial case he hadn’t solved quickly enough, she did it. After that it was fairly regular, every few months she’d decide he had done something real bad and wouldn’t speak to him. It had started with a few hours, gone to a few days and at one point she had been silent for almost a week. By that time he almost welcomed it.
When he got shot the silent treatments had stopped and he had forgotten about them but then, right after he had gone back on the job they had started. The first time had terrified him - she had chosen the night Hank was doing an overnighter at the vet.
Christie and Jim had had a massive argument, him shouting and Christie smashing things, what he didn’t know. Then suddenly quiet. He didn’t know what happened. Didn’t think she would torture her sightless husband with the silent treatment.
He couldn’t hear her moving around, he couldn’t find her. He imagined her hurt, he imagined her gone. He couldn’t stand it; not knowing was sending him off the edge. Long forgotten crime scenes with women lying in blood on the floor, held at knife point by intruders, raped and unconscious went through his head and morphed in to pictures of Christie. “Christie” his cry almost came out as a whisper, his breath ragged with tears.
She had never seen him cry, not when his first partner had been killed, not when his mother had died. But now he couldn’t help it, adrenaline coursed through his veins, made his breath ragged and he found tears escaping while he fought to get his fear under control.
He stood in their apartment at the metal pole they had once called the kissing pole, the back of his hand in hidden contact with the cold metal to somehow to position himself and tried to calm down. If she was here, he would find her, get her to respond, even shout at him, just so he knew she was ok.
“Come on, this is weak – hiding in the dark like a child. Get some courage Christie, finish your argument at least.” He tried to put real anger in his voice but she didn’t take the bait. The images of her hurt and helpless started to return. He pleaded, not knowing if she was watching, not knowing if she was near or even, in the apartment, “Please Christie, please don’t do this to me. I don’t know what has happened, if you’re just mad or if you’re hurt. Please Christie – I’m blind…” She didn’t answer. As silent as he was, he couldn’t hear her breath, a rustle of clothing or any clue. If she was here she wouldn’t, perhaps couldn’t, answer.
He had made his way methodically around the apartment, checking with outstretched arms, every nook and cranny she could be in. “Don’t be hurt, be alright, just be mad at me,” he pleaded silently while he searched. But she must have moved out of his way each time she saw him coming. Or part of that last crash had been the door slamming and she was out of the apartment.
Finally he sat on the edge of the couch, and cried. And something had broken.
He must have fallen asleep. The next morning he woke to the sound of her in the kitchen but no answer to his words, He went to reach for her but she was never there. At least he knew she was OK. He showered, shaved and dressed for work. That day he was given a new case. It was two days before she spoke to him again and then she acted as if nothing had happened.
She had done it a few times since then, but it had less and less affect. As beautiful and fun, as kind and as funny as she had been most of the time, he never recaptured the image of her as his beautiful wife. He couldn’t search the suite, almost didn’t want to find her and he had no idea where there might be hidden nooks and crannies anyway. Using his cane, he made his way to the bedroom with sagging shoulders. He undressed, laying his clothes on the ottoman at the foot and collapsed into bed. His last thought before falling into a troubled sleep was that it would be a pain getting back to New York alone if she continued. She was unpredictable, maybe she would leave the tickets where he could find them. And maybe she would be nice, sweet, apologetic and they would go home together.
It had been a Saturday evening, the one after their trip to LA. He had asked her to keep it free, telling her it was a surprise so that she wouldn’t schedule any work meetings. She marvelled at how he remembered she loved surprises and would always wait rather than try to wheedle the information out as she secretly yearned to do. She hoped this one was as a combined apology and thankyou for his birthday trip to LA and his behaviour at the end of what was otherwise a wonderful weekend.
They had a beautiful suite at the Sheraton, she handled all the bills now that he couldn’t see, and so it was easy to slip treats like that in without worrying him. His background always showed in things like that. Before he got shot she would have to wheedle and cajole to get him to stay anywhere decent. Now, he just let her choose and seemed to enjoy the upgraded choices she made.
Arriving at the hotel had been embarrassing, the receptionist hadn’t realised Hank would be coming. Christie would rather have left the dog back in NY but there was really no one to look after it; Jim wouldn’t hear of leaving the dog locked in the bathroom, or boarding it out.
Jim seemed ever so patient as he explained the laws regarding guide dogs. The woman finally gave in but Christie felt tense. Wouldn’t it be easier to leave the dog and not continually have to explain? It happened in restaurants, in hotels, even at the theatre sometimes.
Anyhow, from a horrible start, it turned out to be a thoroughly enjoyable weekend. They went shopping, she bought him a lovely coat and she got some things herself. LA had such bright things. Full of life, much freer than New York style.
Then they had gone to the theatre. Hank had stayed in the room. She would guide her husband, that was her role when she was around. She didn’t mind him having Hank at work and things, but when she was there why did he need a dog?
During the interval she got talking to some people and was late getting back to Jim, he was calm, didn’t seem upset, just stood there, by the door, waiting. When they got into the play he mostly had that blank face he got these days, she assumed it meant he was listening to the dialogue and her description of what was happening. And he smiled when she told him what was funny so he must have enjoyed it.
But when they got back to the suite, in the elevator where she’d started planning her night of seduction, he’d laughed and said he didn’t really watch the play at all, he’d been running cases in his head. After all she had done for him, after all her work and planning, her effort to get him out of that stuffy apartment and into the world again, and he was working?
She didn’t want to shout, she didn’t want to fight so she said nothing. She walked off to cool down a bit.
When he came in the door, the first thing he did was pull out that cane - in the hotel suite for god’s sake. Then he called her. Cane first; then her. Now it wasn’t just that bloody dog that came first but an inanimate object. Didn’t he realise how that made her feel? Like she wasn’t good enough to show him around the suite even, that he couldn’t trust her? She had to talk about this, she knew if she didn’t, it would hurt her for hours.
“Do you have to use that in here?” She nearly cried.
“Yes, Christie, I need my cane. We’ve been here one day, I don’t remember the layout - I’m sure that stand was moved since this morning - and I don’t want to walk into a table or something.” Now he was blaming the maids.
“You didn’t need it in the hall,” she reasoned.
But he had obviously tired of that conversation already, giving up before he ever bothered to understand her. She watched him hold his hands out, looking so innocent, so hurt. He was good at this; at turning emotion against another person. She guessed that’s how he got all these criminals to confess. She almost pitied them.
And then he had the gall to offer her a beer. He knew she hated the stuff. She couldn’t answer him, for fear of saying something irrevocable; she kept her peace. She sat quiet as a mouse and just watched.
She was near tears; his calling her only made her more upset. Why was it when she got upset or sad he played up this blindness thing? Like he was strong and knew his way around most of the time, but when she felt weak or needed his support and for him to be gentle, he changed.
She remembered that time he had said he’d rather be blind than lose his courage. He had laid his head on her breast and sounded like he meant it. How could he? Didn’t he realise what it meant for her that he was blind? He would rather her put up with this situation too, than just not be a hero? She hadn’t moved, had stroked his head but didn’t understand him and felt as far away from her husband that night, as they made love, as she had ever felt.
On this night in LA she felt the same. She watched him stumble into the bar, he must be playing it up, he had been there this morning to make coffee, and he didn’t bump into it then, so he knew it was there. He’d offered her beer, knew she didn’t like to drink beer, but offered her one, probably hoping she’d say no. And then he’d taken his dog and gone to bed.
In the morning she felt stronger, she resolved not to let him spoil their trip. She had made him coffee in the morning and helped him choose his clothes. They packed and she suggested he put Hank on a leash and she guide him, like she had on the way to LA. He had said yes but then she noticed, when they were leaving he had Hank in harness anyway. At least there was no problem getting Hank on the plane this time.
They got home, both exhausted. Jim took Hank out and must have come back late because she fell asleep before they got home. In the morning when she woke up they had already left.
Things seemed back to normal. Jim was quiet but maybe he had a big case on, she didn’t ask, he preferred to tell her about it after he had solved it all, male ego and all that.
And then, tonight, not even a week later, he asks her if she loves him. What had she ever done to make him question that? Hadn’t she stayed with him even when he had… strayed? Hadn’t she stayed with him even when he had got shot? How could he doubt her? What more did the man want?
She was there, right in front of him, trying to help, trying to get him to talk, to love life again - to use her help now and then – but she knew what was going on really.
She was ready to give him everything he needed - he just refused to see it.
It had been a Saturday evening, the one after their trip to LA. He had asked her to keep it free, telling her it was a surprise so that she wouldn’t schedule any work meetings. She marvelled at how he remembered she loved surprises and would always wait rather than try to wheedle the information out as she secretly yearned to do. She hoped this one was as a combined apology and thankyou for his birthday trip to LA and his behaviour at the end of what was otherwise a wonderful weekend.
They had a beautiful suite at the Sheraton, she handled all the bills now that he couldn’t see, and so it was easy to slip treats like that in without worrying him. His background always showed in things like that. Before he got shot she would have to wheedle and cajole to get him to stay anywhere decent. Now, he just let her choose and seemed to enjoy the upgraded choices she made.
Arriving at the hotel had been embarrassing, the receptionist hadn’t realised Hank would be coming. Christie would rather have left the dog back in NY but there was really no one to look after it; Jim wouldn’t hear of leaving the dog locked in the bathroom, or boarding it out.
Jim seemed ever so patient as he explained the laws regarding guide dogs. The woman finally gave in but Christie felt tense. Wouldn’t it be easier to leave the dog and not continually have to explain? It happened in restaurants, in hotels, even at the theatre sometimes.
Anyhow, from a horrible start, it turned out to be a thoroughly enjoyable weekend. They went shopping, she bought him a lovely coat and she got some things herself. LA had such bright things. Full of life, much freer than New York style.
Then they had gone to the theatre. Hank had stayed in the room. She would guide her husband, that was her role when she was around. She didn’t mind him having Hank at work and things, but when she was there why did he need a dog?
During the interval she got talking to some people and was late getting back to Jim, he was calm, didn’t seem upset, just stood there, by the door, waiting. When they got into the play he mostly had that blank face he got these days, she assumed it meant he was listening to the dialogue and her description of what was happening. And he smiled when she told him what was funny so he must have enjoyed it.
But when they got back to the suite, in the elevator where she’d started planning her night of seduction, he’d laughed and said he didn’t really watch the play at all, he’d been running cases in his head. After all she had done for him, after all her work and planning, her effort to get him out of that stuffy apartment and into the world again, and he was working?
She didn’t want to shout, she didn’t want to fight so she said nothing. She walked off to cool down a bit.
When he came in the door, the first thing he did was pull out that cane - in the hotel suite for god’s sake. Then he called her. Cane first; then her. Now it wasn’t just that bloody dog that came first but an inanimate object. Didn’t he realise how that made her feel? Like she wasn’t good enough to show him around the suite even, that he couldn’t trust her? She had to talk about this, she knew if she didn’t, it would hurt her for hours.
“Do you have to use that in here?” She nearly cried.
“Yes, Christie, I need my cane. We’ve been here one day, I don’t remember the layout - I’m sure that stand was moved since this morning - and I don’t want to walk into a table or something.” Now he was blaming the maids.
“You didn’t need it in the hall,” she reasoned.
But he had obviously tired of that conversation already, giving up before he ever bothered to understand her. She watched him hold his hands out, looking so innocent, so hurt. He was good at this; at turning emotion against another person. She guessed that’s how he got all these criminals to confess. She almost pitied them.
And then he had the gall to offer her a beer. He knew she hated the stuff. She couldn’t answer him, for fear of saying something irrevocable; she kept her peace. She sat quiet as a mouse and just watched.
She was near tears; his calling her only made her more upset. Why was it when she got upset or sad he played up this blindness thing? Like he was strong and knew his way around most of the time, but when she felt weak or needed his support and for him to be gentle, he changed.
She remembered that time he had said he’d rather be blind than lose his courage. He had laid his head on her breast and sounded like he meant it. How could he? Didn’t he realise what it meant for her that he was blind? He would rather her put up with this situation too, than just not be a hero? She hadn’t moved, had stroked his head but didn’t understand him and felt as far away from her husband that night, as they made love, as she had ever felt.
On this night in LA she felt the same. She watched him stumble into the bar, he must be playing it up, he had been there this morning to make coffee, and he didn’t bump into it then, so he knew it was there. He’d offered her beer, knew she didn’t like to drink beer, but offered her one, probably hoping she’d say no. And then he’d taken his dog and gone to bed.
In the morning she felt stronger, she resolved not to let him spoil their trip. She had made him coffee in the morning and helped him choose his clothes. They packed and she suggested he put Hank on a leash and she guide him, like she had on the way to LA. He had said yes but then she noticed, when they were leaving he had Hank in harness anyway. At least there was no problem getting Hank on the plane this time.
They got home, both exhausted. Jim took Hank out and must have come back late because she fell asleep before they got home. In the morning when she woke up they had already left.
Things seemed back to normal. Jim was quiet but maybe he had a big case on, she didn’t ask, he preferred to tell her about it after he had solved it all, male ego and all that.
And then, tonight, not even a week later, he asks her if she loves him. What had she ever done to make him question that? Hadn’t she stayed with him even when he had… strayed? Hadn’t she stayed with him even when he had got shot? How could he doubt her? What more did the man want?
He obviously didn’t have a heart.
How could a man who had lived with you for 6 years suddenly tell you he wanted a divorce? With no warning, no notice or hints?
She was there, right in front of him, trying to help, trying to get him to talk, to love life again - to use her help now and then – but she knew what was going on really.
She was ready to give him everything he needed - he just refused to see it.
Silent Treatment
Jimmy Dunbar
The next thing, after dance class, was weekends away.
She decided it would be fun to traipse around the country “seeing” new places together. She said it would bring them closer; sharing new experiences with each other. Jim didn’t quite know how to explain to her that new experiences were not all that much fun anymore, that he preferred order now, predictability. Well, he didn’t know how to explain it without looking week and pathetic. The word sightseeing brought a lump to his throat that nothing else did. People saying It’s good to see you, You should see this, Look what I found, all those he could handle but sight seeing? No, it was a double whammy he hadn’t been able to stomach. And of course, Christie found she loved sightseeing.
Anyhow, he felt he should at least try, he loved her, or he thought he did, and if she wanted it that bad?
The first one had been a “gift “for his birthday. So he couldn’t refuse to go. It wasn’t a good trip for him, but she seemed to enjoy it, and it was a gift, so what could he say but that he enjoyed it too? “No, I’m having fun, really.” And she was happy with that. She always took his word that he was happy, even if he felt miserable. He must be a good actor or something - maybe it was his “blank” expression that she always complained about?
But the last trip – it was going to remain the last trip. They went to LA. She had booked them into a show at some famous theatre. Renowned for its décor which she said it was truly wonderful, all gilt and painted ceilings. He sat through the show, running his current cases through his head while she sighed and laughed and occasionally gave him a rundown of a costume or some action. He smiled, if she had known he was running cases - phew, it didn’t even bear thinking about. In fact she had even insisted he leave his laptop at home. He tried to work around that saying he needed it to read the newspaper at least, but she insisted and implied she didn’t trust him not to work on cases. He had given in - maybe she had a point when she said that she needed him to put attention on their marriage and not on his cases.
He checked his watch, wondering when the interval would be. If he’d had Hank here he would have excused himself and found the restroom. But she had asked him to leave Hank at the hotel, saying she’d guide him and asking why he wouldn’t let her do even that for him now? So he had acquiesced, reluctantly allowing control to slip out of his hands.
Finally there was an intermission. She dropped him off at the men’s room and went off to get drinks. Finding his way around a strange public bathroom was one of his least favourite pastimes so he was already annoyed by the time he finished, washed his hands and was standing outside the door waiting for her. At first people asked him if he could use a hand to get back to his seat. He plastered a smile over his resentment and pleasantly explained to the first three that his wife was on her way and she’d be here in a minute. But after several offers of help he folded his cane and put it in his back pocket, hoping he would “pass” and just look like he was waiting. Minutes dragged by, like an opera singer drawing out their final note interminably, then he heard the bell for the play to start again. Still she didn’t come back. He spent his time scoping the theatre as best he could, doors, down the stairs and to the left, beyond that a kitchen by the sound of it, and he was pretty sure the doors back to the theatre were up another flight and to the right. He toyed with the idea that maybe he could head back to his seat. No, he didn’t even know the seat number. He kept scoping; candy bar somewhere in front, but either it was a very long bar or the cues had been huge. He couldn’t tell.
He found himself comparing Christie’s behaviour to Karen’s. His partner would have described the place well when they first arrived and now, if he wanted to, he could have returned to his eat or gone out and found a cab and gone back to the hotel. But Christie just didn’t seem to get descriptions right. She’d talk about wallpaper or art, and her estimations were always off. She’d say something was 30 feet and it’d be ten, or she’d say it was a couple of steps away and it would be a dozen or more. It seemed like she just didn’t understand how important it was to him to be accurate. He knew she was good at her job, she’d been promoted twice in the last 2 years, but how could she be so idiotic about this? Maybe it was a detective’s skill. Jim shook his head.
When she finally showed up she was breathless, apologised repeatedly and said something about waiting outside the wrong door but he found he didn’t care about her excuses, he just felt let down and weak. Somehow he often felt more ...handicapped… when she was around, frail, almost helpless. They got back to the theatre and she kept up her intermittent descriptions and he nodded and smiled, working cases in his head.
After the show they went back to the hotel; a huge suite. When he questioned how much it cost she said her boss had given her upgrade credits or something, several rooms with a big balcony.
In the elevator, she had asked him if he liked the show. Stupidly he had been honest, he laughed and said he lost the plot after the first ten minutes and ran case folders in his head thereafter. He waited for her to join in his laugh before he realised with a sinking feeling that it was the wrong thing to do - being honest. Stepping out of the elevator she pulled her arm out of his grip and marched forward angrily. He had to concentrate to follow her stomping down the carpeted hall as the plush carpet sucked the sound out of her heels. He didn’t stop to pull out his cane. On the way he hit a decorative table. The vase of tall flowers swayed dangerously, he saved them before they spilled out but it fed his anger and he ceased trying to contain his curses. Her footsteps didn’t even slow. Maybe she turned her head to see he was ok, but then again, maybe not.
Moments late a door slammed. Jim assumed it was theirs but it didn’t sound like the next one. He forced himself to feel the raised number on the first door he came to, not the one. Their room was two down. He had heard no one in the hall, probably no one saw him fumbling.
Entering the suite he called for her “Christie, please, don’t do this.” – and walked right into the hall stand. It rocked but didn’t fall, small mercy.
Jim hung his head. He wanted to be home, where he knew where everything was, where maids didn’t rearrange the furniture and where he knew where HE was. Hank came up, tail wagging. He sent him to his bed. Christie didn’t need to notice Hank right now - if she saw him patting Hank she would start on about how much attention the dog got. So Jim sent his furry buddy to his bed, using the no nonsense work voice.
“Do you have to use that in here?” Her voice was tight and angry.
Jim debated folding it away but instead he took a stand. “Yes, Christie, I need my cane. We’ve been here one day, I don’t remember the layout, I’m sure that stand was moved since this morning and I don’t want to walk into a table or something.”
“You didn’t need it in the hall.” She accused.
What was she thinking? He had needed it, he’d knocked over a table, almost dropped a vase, what was she talking about? And what did it matter anyway?
He didn’t know what was safe, in the room, in conversation.
He found his way to the bar fridge, and took out a beer. “How about we have a drink together and you tell me why you’re so mad at me.”
“You don’t know?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
He heard her get up and move off the couch. “Christie?’ No answer.
Oh no, not the silent treatment again. Maybe she had just left the room. He spoke louder “Christie, please, don’t go quiet on me.” Didn’t she realise the impact of this game she played? Her silent treatment pattern changed over the years. He hadn’t seen it for the first two years of their marriage and then suddenly out of the blue, when she didn’t get her way on that holiday she had wanted, because of a serial case he hadn’t solved quickly enough, she did it. After that it was fairly regular, every few months she’d decide he had done something real bad and wouldn’t speak to him. It had started with a few hours, gone to a few days and at one point she had been silent for almost a week. By that time he almost welcomed it.
When he got shot the silent treatments had stopped and he had forgotten about them but then, right after he had gone back on the job they had started. The first time had terrified him - she had chosen the night Hank was doing an overnighter at the vet.
Christie and Jim had had a massive argument, him shouting and Christie smashing things, what he didn’t know. Then suddenly quiet. He didn’t know what happened. Didn’t think she would torture her sightless husband with the silent treatment.
He couldn’t hear her moving around, he couldn’t find her. He imagined her hurt, he imagined her gone. He couldn’t stand it; not knowing was sending him off the edge. Long forgotten crime scenes with women lying in blood on the floor, held at knife point by intruders, raped and unconscious went through his head and morphed in to pictures of Christie. “Christie” his cry almost came out as a whisper, his breath ragged with tears.
She had never seen him cry, not when his first partner had been killed, not when his mother had died. But now he couldn’t help it, adrenaline coursed through his veins, made his breath ragged and he found tears escaping while he fought to get his fear under control.
He stood in their apartment at the metal pole they had once called the kissing pole, the back of his hand in hidden contact with the cold metal to somehow to position himself and tried to calm down. If she was here, he would find her, get her to respond, even shout at him, just so he knew she was ok.
“Come on, this is weak – hiding in the dark like a child. Get some courage Christie, finish your argument at least.” He tried to put real anger in his voice but she didn’t take the bait. The images of her hurt and helpless started to return. He pleaded, not knowing if she was watching, not knowing if she was near or even, in the apartment, “Please Christie, please don’t do this to me. I don’t know what has happened, if you’re just mad or if you’re hurt. Please Christie – I’m blind…” She didn’t answer. As silent as he was, he couldn’t hear her breath, a rustle of clothing or any clue. If she was here she wouldn’t, perhaps couldn’t, answer.
He had made his way methodically around the apartment, checking with outstretched arms, every nook and cranny she could be in. “Don’t be hurt, be alright, just be mad at me,” he pleaded silently while he searched. But she must have moved out of his way each time she saw him coming. Or part of that last crash had been the door slamming and she was out of the apartment.
Finally he sat on the edge of the couch, and cried. And something had broken.
He must have fallen asleep. The next morning he woke to the sound of her in the kitchen but no answer to his words, He went to reach for her but she was never there. At least he knew she was OK. He showered, shaved and dressed for work. That day he was given a new case. It was two days before she spoke to him again and then she acted as if nothing had happened.
She had done it a few times since then, but it had less and less affect. As beautiful and fun, as kind and as funny as she had been most of the time, he never recaptured the image of her as his beautiful wife. He couldn’t search the suite, almost didn’t want to find her and he had no idea where there might be hidden nooks and crannies anyway. Using his cane, he made his way to the bedroom with sagging shoulders. He undressed, laying his clothes on the ottoman at the foot and collapsed into bed. His last thought before falling into a troubled sleep was that it would be a pain getting back to New York alone if she continued. She was unpredictable, maybe she would leave the tickets where he could find them. And maybe she would be nice, sweet, apologetic and they would go home together.
Christie Dunbar
It had been a Saturday evening, the one after their trip to LA. He had asked her to keep it free, telling her it was a surprise so that she wouldn’t schedule any work meetings. She marvelled at how he remembered she loved surprises and would always wait rather than try to wheedle the information out as she secretly yearned to do. She hoped this one was as a combined apology and thankyou for his birthday trip to LA and his behaviour at the end of what was otherwise a wonderful weekend.
They had a beautiful suite at the Sheraton, she handled all the bills now that he couldn’t see, and so it was easy to slip treats like that in without worrying him. His background always showed in things like that. Before he got shot she would have to wheedle and cajole to get him to stay anywhere decent. Now, he just let her choose and seemed to enjoy the upgraded choices she made.
Arriving at the hotel had been embarrassing, the receptionist hadn’t realised Hank would be coming. Christie would rather have left the dog back in NY but there was really no one to look after it; Jim wouldn’t hear of leaving the dog locked in the bathroom, or boarding it out.
Jim seemed ever so patient as he explained the laws regarding guide dogs. The woman finally gave in but Christie felt tense. Wouldn’t it be easier to leave the dog and not continually have to explain? It happened in restaurants, in hotels, even at the theatre sometimes.
Anyhow, from a horrible start, it turned out to be a thoroughly enjoyable weekend. They went shopping, she bought him a lovely coat and she got some things herself. LA had such bright things. Full of life, much freer than New York style.
Then they had gone to the theatre. Hank had stayed in the room. She would guide her husband, that was her role when she was around. She didn’t mind him having Hank at work and things, but when she was there why did he need a dog?
During the interval she got talking to some people and was late getting back to Jim, he was calm, didn’t seem upset, just stood there, by the door, waiting. When they got into the play he mostly had that blank face he got these days, she assumed it meant he was listening to the dialogue and her description of what was happening. And he smiled when she told him what was funny so he must have enjoyed it.
But when they got back to the suite, in the elevator where she’d started planning her night of seduction, he’d laughed and said he didn’t really watch the play at all, he’d been running cases in his head. After all she had done for him, after all her work and planning, her effort to get him out of that stuffy apartment and into the world again, and he was working?
She didn’t want to shout, she didn’t want to fight so she said nothing. She walked off to cool down a bit.
When he came in the door, the first thing he did was pull out that cane - in the hotel suite for god’s sake. Then he called her. Cane first; then her. Now it wasn’t just that bloody dog that came first but an inanimate object. Didn’t he realise how that made her feel? Like she wasn’t good enough to show him around the suite even, that he couldn’t trust her? She had to talk about this, she knew if she didn’t, it would hurt her for hours.
“Do you have to use that in here?” She nearly cried.
“Yes, Christie, I need my cane. We’ve been here one day, I don’t remember the layout - I’m sure that stand was moved since this morning - and I don’t want to walk into a table or something.” Now he was blaming the maids.
“You didn’t need it in the hall,” she reasoned.
But he had obviously tired of that conversation already, giving up before he ever bothered to understand her. She watched him hold his hands out, looking so innocent, so hurt. He was good at this; at turning emotion against another person. She guessed that’s how he got all these criminals to confess. She almost pitied them.
And then he had the gall to offer her a beer. He knew she hated the stuff. She couldn’t answer him, for fear of saying something irrevocable; she kept her peace. She sat quiet as a mouse and just watched.
She was near tears; his calling her only made her more upset. Why was it when she got upset or sad he played up this blindness thing? Like he was strong and knew his way around most of the time, but when she felt weak or needed his support and for him to be gentle, he changed.
She remembered that time he had said he’d rather be blind than lose his courage. He had laid his head on her breast and sounded like he meant it. How could he? Didn’t he realise what it meant for her that he was blind? He would rather her put up with this situation too, than just not be a hero? She hadn’t moved, had stroked his head but didn’t understand him and felt as far away from her husband that night, as they made love, as she had ever felt.
On this night in LA she felt the same. She watched him stumble into the bar, he must be playing it up, he had been there this morning to make coffee, and he didn’t bump into it then, so he knew it was there. He’d offered her beer, knew she didn’t like to drink beer, but offered her one, probably hoping she’d say no. And then he’d taken his dog and gone to bed.
In the morning she felt stronger, she resolved not to let him spoil their trip. She had made him coffee in the morning and helped him choose his clothes. They packed and she suggested he put Hank on a leash and she guide him, like she had on the way to LA. He had said yes but then she noticed, when they were leaving he had Hank in harness anyway. At least there was no problem getting Hank on the plane this time.
They got home, both exhausted. Jim took Hank out and must have come back late because she fell asleep before they got home. In the morning when she woke up they had already left.
Things seemed back to normal. Jim was quiet but maybe he had a big case on, she didn’t ask, he preferred to tell her about it after he had solved it all, male ego and all that.
And then, tonight, not even a week later, he asks her if she loves him. What had she ever done to make him question that? Hadn’t she stayed with him even when he had… strayed? Hadn’t she stayed with him even when he had got shot? How could he doubt her? What more did the man want?
She was there, right in front of him, trying to help, trying to get him to talk, to love life again - to use her help now and then – but she knew what was going on really.
She was ready to give him everything he needed - he just refused to see it.
It had been a Saturday evening, the one after their trip to LA. He had asked her to keep it free, telling her it was a surprise so that she wouldn’t schedule any work meetings. She marvelled at how he remembered she loved surprises and would always wait rather than try to wheedle the information out as she secretly yearned to do. She hoped this one was as a combined apology and thankyou for his birthday trip to LA and his behaviour at the end of what was otherwise a wonderful weekend.
They had a beautiful suite at the Sheraton, she handled all the bills now that he couldn’t see, and so it was easy to slip treats like that in without worrying him. His background always showed in things like that. Before he got shot she would have to wheedle and cajole to get him to stay anywhere decent. Now, he just let her choose and seemed to enjoy the upgraded choices she made.
Arriving at the hotel had been embarrassing, the receptionist hadn’t realised Hank would be coming. Christie would rather have left the dog back in NY but there was really no one to look after it; Jim wouldn’t hear of leaving the dog locked in the bathroom, or boarding it out.
Jim seemed ever so patient as he explained the laws regarding guide dogs. The woman finally gave in but Christie felt tense. Wouldn’t it be easier to leave the dog and not continually have to explain? It happened in restaurants, in hotels, even at the theatre sometimes.
Anyhow, from a horrible start, it turned out to be a thoroughly enjoyable weekend. They went shopping, she bought him a lovely coat and she got some things herself. LA had such bright things. Full of life, much freer than New York style.
Then they had gone to the theatre. Hank had stayed in the room. She would guide her husband, that was her role when she was around. She didn’t mind him having Hank at work and things, but when she was there why did he need a dog?
During the interval she got talking to some people and was late getting back to Jim, he was calm, didn’t seem upset, just stood there, by the door, waiting. When they got into the play he mostly had that blank face he got these days, she assumed it meant he was listening to the dialogue and her description of what was happening. And he smiled when she told him what was funny so he must have enjoyed it.
But when they got back to the suite, in the elevator where she’d started planning her night of seduction, he’d laughed and said he didn’t really watch the play at all, he’d been running cases in his head. After all she had done for him, after all her work and planning, her effort to get him out of that stuffy apartment and into the world again, and he was working?
She didn’t want to shout, she didn’t want to fight so she said nothing. She walked off to cool down a bit.
When he came in the door, the first thing he did was pull out that cane - in the hotel suite for god’s sake. Then he called her. Cane first; then her. Now it wasn’t just that bloody dog that came first but an inanimate object. Didn’t he realise how that made her feel? Like she wasn’t good enough to show him around the suite even, that he couldn’t trust her? She had to talk about this, she knew if she didn’t, it would hurt her for hours.
“Do you have to use that in here?” She nearly cried.
“Yes, Christie, I need my cane. We’ve been here one day, I don’t remember the layout - I’m sure that stand was moved since this morning - and I don’t want to walk into a table or something.” Now he was blaming the maids.
“You didn’t need it in the hall,” she reasoned.
But he had obviously tired of that conversation already, giving up before he ever bothered to understand her. She watched him hold his hands out, looking so innocent, so hurt. He was good at this; at turning emotion against another person. She guessed that’s how he got all these criminals to confess. She almost pitied them.
And then he had the gall to offer her a beer. He knew she hated the stuff. She couldn’t answer him, for fear of saying something irrevocable; she kept her peace. She sat quiet as a mouse and just watched.
She was near tears; his calling her only made her more upset. Why was it when she got upset or sad he played up this blindness thing? Like he was strong and knew his way around most of the time, but when she felt weak or needed his support and for him to be gentle, he changed.
She remembered that time he had said he’d rather be blind than lose his courage. He had laid his head on her breast and sounded like he meant it. How could he? Didn’t he realise what it meant for her that he was blind? He would rather her put up with this situation too, than just not be a hero? She hadn’t moved, had stroked his head but didn’t understand him and felt as far away from her husband that night, as they made love, as she had ever felt.
On this night in LA she felt the same. She watched him stumble into the bar, he must be playing it up, he had been there this morning to make coffee, and he didn’t bump into it then, so he knew it was there. He’d offered her beer, knew she didn’t like to drink beer, but offered her one, probably hoping she’d say no. And then he’d taken his dog and gone to bed.
In the morning she felt stronger, she resolved not to let him spoil their trip. She had made him coffee in the morning and helped him choose his clothes. They packed and she suggested he put Hank on a leash and she guide him, like she had on the way to LA. He had said yes but then she noticed, when they were leaving he had Hank in harness anyway. At least there was no problem getting Hank on the plane this time.
They got home, both exhausted. Jim took Hank out and must have come back late because she fell asleep before they got home. In the morning when she woke up they had already left.
Things seemed back to normal. Jim was quiet but maybe he had a big case on, she didn’t ask, he preferred to tell her about it after he had solved it all, male ego and all that.
And then, tonight, not even a week later, he asks her if she loves him. What had she ever done to make him question that? Hadn’t she stayed with him even when he had… strayed? Hadn’t she stayed with him even when he had got shot? How could he doubt her? What more did the man want?
He obviously didn’t have a heart.
How could a man who had lived with you for 6 years suddenly tell you he wanted a divorce? With no warning, no notice or hints?
She was there, right in front of him, trying to help, trying to get him to talk, to love life again - to use her help now and then – but she knew what was going on really.
She was ready to give him everything he needed - he just refused to see it.