Page 54 of The Broken Heart Playlist
He smiles at me for a second too long. “She sounds exactly like someone I know.”
And then he ambles away into the fading evening light, leaving me standing open-mouthed on my porch staring after him.
Worn out by the events and emotion of the day, Lisset is fast asleep before eight. I tidy up the house and iron a pile of work clothes while a cooking show plays mindlessly on the TV.
All the while, my ex-husband dominates my thoughts. Maybe it’s the cruelty of the children that’s prompted my restlessness. I’m in a dangerous place and I know it. This whole thing with Lisset has unsettled me, and I’m always weaker when I’m upset.
Desperate to fill the evening hours, I clean the kitchen. Then I think, why stop there? I go from room to room, dusting, wiping, polishing until my arms and shoulders ache.
But it doesn’t help because I’m still thinking about Oliver and what’s in my bedside table.
On some level, I know I’m only delaying the inevitable.
I check on Lisset, who is still fast asleep, covers thrown off, arms and legs flung out like a starfish. I cover her even as I accept she’ll no doubt kick her blankets off again in the middle of the night.
I climb into bed, only to stare at the shadows on the ceiling. Every time I blink they seem to transform themselves into a different menacing shape.
Just when I believe I’m moving forward, trying to claw my life back, I pass by a storm drain and a clown’s hand snakes out and drags me into its dark depths.
That bedside drawer is my storm drain.
I sit up and switch on my bedside lamp.
I tell myself not to give in and open that drawer, but I’m an addict and my drug of choice is self-flagellation. It always amazes me how we’re drawn to things that have the potential to hurt us. I observe it even with Lisset, when I instruct her not to touch the hot surface on the stove and then I see in her eyes the almost overwhelming desire to defy me and touch it, even though she knows she’ll be hurt.
I open the beside drawer and take out the wrinkled piece of paper. The letter is only one page, but the words are like circling vultures, eager to peck at the bones of my insecurity. My stomach is heavy with dread as I relive my marriage in the scribbled words of hate and disparagement on the page. I read about how my husband became so bored of me after I had Lisset. No longer was I the wild and fun Kate he fell in love with, the one he enjoyed partying with. I was now the boring anddomesticated mother he couldn’t stand to be around, who was always whining about how exhausted she was. I was the mother of a brat who demanded all my time and attention. I was to blame every time he lost his temper because I was such a failure as a wife.
I touch the scar on my chin that has faded to a tiny white line. A souvenir of the first time he lost his temper.
Our marriage was combustible in the best way at the beginning; in the worst way at the end.
I close my eyes. Why haven’t I burned the letter? Why do I keep returning to it, reading it over and over again? I wish I had an answer. The letter possesses a strange dark hold over me and I can’t seem to untether myself from it. Maybe it’s a reminder of how cautious I should be, especially when it comes to Gideon. This letter is part of my history, and isn’t history supposed to be about learning from past mistakes? Perhaps I haven’t yet learned everything I need to learn.
I fold up the letter along its well-worn creases and put it back in the drawer. If only I could put away the memory of my ex-husband falling so spectacularly out of love with me.
Yes, Oliver broke my heart. But I broke myself. And I can’t seem to find a way to put all the pieces back together so I can feel whole again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tonight’s game night falls on a Thursday. Every family member is invited, but we’re all aware that game nights are really only about two people: Tess and me. They take place every three months. I’d prefer it more often, but Mom insists she needs two months to recover. The atmosphere can get...heated. The previous game night, we played Codenames. Tonight, it’s Monopoly.
Tess opens her front door wearing a casual, loose braid. The look in her eyes, however, is anything but casual. She has her game face on. Our competitive streaks are legendary. Once, when we were teenagers, Mom banned board games for six months, claiming she needed a break from all the yelling that seems to accompany every game.
“Mom and Dad here yet?” I ask Tess.
“They’re not coming. They both have migraines.”
My eyes narrow. “How convenient.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“What about GG?” Lisset asks.
Tess snorts. “She’s still on suspension after we caught her using Google to cheat.”
We pause for a moment of silence in memory of that wildly chaotic night.
“It’s a school night for you,” Tess says to Lisset, “so let’s get started.”
