Page 4 of Fresh Canvas
The last ember of our marriage flared to life, white-hot and scalding, before it exploded. Ashes of memories floated away on the breeze. I clamped my brimming eyes shut, unwilling to watch anymore.
This isn’t real.
Tears trailed down my face.
Ryan still loves me, I know he does.
My trembling hands started the engine.
It’s a bad dream. A bad joke.
I fixed my tear-filled sight on my rearview mirror and disappeared into the night.
The line of ostentatious suburban homes was dark, our neighborhood quiet. Rows of white picket fences gleamed beneath alternating lamplight and moonlight. A strange, numbing calm settled inside my minivan. The false kind. The denial kind.
I stepped from the vehicle before kicking off the high heels. There, in the dark driveway, I hoisted my red dress to my armpits and peeled off both layers of the shaping shorts beneath. I pulled my dress back down to my knees, now bulging in places it wasn’t before.
There. Now I should be able to breathe.
My lungs only squeezed tighter. I sent both pairs of shapewear sailing into the night, where they landed with a splash.
A splash?
My eyebrows knitted together. I approached the near-black lawn, only stopping when gurgling water gushed over my sore toes.
A cracked sprinkler head.
My gaze hardened into shards of ice. A tremor of disbelief shook my whisper.
“Ryan promised me he’d turned these off.”
The first freeze had come early last week, though the current temperature was well above freezing. Ryan had assured me that he’d already winterized the outdoor irrigation system. The encased water must have frozen before cracking, breaking my entire belief system along with the sprinkler head.
“He lied.” The incredulous whisper hit me like a punch.
“Helied.” Another punch.
“He’s been lying.”
Bruises blossomed in my chest. Panic bubbled in my throat like the water on my lawn. How was I supposed to turn these off? How was I supposed to do life on my own?
Hot tears singed my cheeks in the chilly air. Fumbling for myphone in my ridiculous, bedazzled purse, I began texting Ryan to see where the shutoff was. But, my trembling fingers only sent my phone clattering to the cement.
Of course Ryan wouldn’t answer.
He’s busy.
I gripped the white picket fence, breathing hard through my nose as I tried to rid my mind of his pretty reason why. The garage door swam in my vision as I stormed toward it. After dragging Ryan’s screeching toolset across the pavement, I knelt in the filthy puddle. The mud squelched around my bare knees, staining my red satin dress.
Using my phone as a flashlight, I fitted each obscure tool around the head of the sprinkler, twisting aimlessly to try to turn the stupid thing off. Something snapped inside me the second the black sprinkler head did the same.
Ignoring the fountain I created, I dropped whatever tool I’d been holding. A hollow realization settled in my chest that life as I knew it was irrevocably muffed.
“Squeaks? Is that you?” My dad, Frank, squinted into the blackness from the glowing front door.
“Yes. It’s me, Dad,” I said numbly.
“Hang on, let me shut that off!” Dad bellowed and disappeared into the house.
