When Heartache Strikes...

Chapter Eighteen


Serena stands beside another man, presumably somebody else’s lover, in the greeting card aisle of a convenience store. Middle-aged and wearing a long, single breasted wool coat, his silver hair makes him appear distinguished in the same way a woman’s is thought to be haggish. His gold-banded finger reaches for a lace embalmed card entitled, To My Beautiful Wife.

She watches him out of the corner of her eye. He lip-reads, his expression pensive. Not sold on the message, he returns it for another. This man is generous and faithful, Serena decides. He deserves to find the right card for the love of his life.

She peruses the Son section, and finds herself holding a card from Mom and Dad. Son… From the day we brought you home, you have made us so proud and we hope you know that our love for you is infinite, spanning across each day like the endless tide of the ocean. A family of three is pictured at the shoreline of a beach at dusk, below an exquisite sunset.

“It’s not what you think. I’m not in love with her.”


A lump of coal smolders in her stomach. She reads on. On this Valentine’s Day, we’re hoping that you know how very grateful we are to have such a wonderful child.

We’re. We. The words are overwhelming. She and Doug are no longer a ‘we’ and they no longer walk along the shore to admire a sunset. Instead, they are parents who…

“How are you, Serena?”

who split.

It is Renee Sampson, head of the PTA, and mutual parent of her son’s classroom.

“I’m well, thanks, and you?” She chooses another card, flips it open.

“Busy, busy as usual. Are you signed up for goodies?”

“Actually…” she looks up, “I brought in Christmas cookies, so I’m good.”

“Ahh… you signed up for only one party. Smart lady. What was I thinking?”

Perhaps of brownie points?


“Signing up for two in a row is going to put me in the funny farm,” Renee goes on, combing her fingers through a trendy shag haircut.

“Well, the kids love school parties,” Serena says. “It will be worth it for them, right?”

“Totally. It’s all about the kids, Serena.” Her lips are chapped, disturbingly so. “How is Doug by the way? Is he still working with that detective? I, for one…” she palms her chest, “want to see that loser nailed for what he did to Josh.”

Serena’s eyes settle and unsettle. She manages a faded smile. “Yes. He’s still working with Detective Hearns and I’m confident that things will work out as they should.”

Renee studies the response, not quite satisfied. “You have such a great attitude, Serena.” She playfully pokes her shoulder and somebody-else’s-lover shoots Serena a quick glance, one easily discerned. Better you than me.

“Thanks, Renee… and good luck with the goodies!”

Renee disappears and the lover has made his choice. He secures a shiny, rose covered card beneath its envelope and offers Serena a curt nod, a silent tribute to the time shared in the card aisle. She smiles and begins to picture his wife opening the card, teary-eyed, her manicured fingers overlapping his larger hand.

Serena finally settles on a stack of cards for relatives, in addition to the perfect Son from Mother Valentine for Josh. On her way to the check-out counter, she grabs a few packages of red hearts and a bag of peanut M&Ms for Doug.

“You all set?” the cashier asks.

“Oh, yes.” She shakes off the breach in memory and hands back the M&M’s. “I’m going to pass on these.”

“Must be nice to have willpower. Good for you.”

“Some days are easier than others, I suppose,” she says, wishing the choice was driven by something as simple as calories.

“Here’s your receipt. Have a great day, now.”

“You too.”

The tree branches, freshly coated in snow, appear delicate and paper white, like laced doilies. She shifts the Highlander into four-wheel drive and pushes on the radio. George Harrison sings Something on the radio. Something in the way she moves… attracts me like no other lover. She turns the song up and tired tears slide down her cheek.

Something in the way… she woo-oos me…

It is the last song she should be listening to yet she loses herself in the lyrics, as though swimming in her own pain is the only choice available. Somewhere in her smile, she knows… that I don’t need no other lover. She slams the steering wheel with her wrist, inadvertently sending off an unwanted honk—one reciprocated by the middle finger of a female driver beside her. She cries some more and ignores the woman’s rage. Something in her smile that shows me…

Why hadn’t she spoken up sooner? Taken a stronger stance when he said he wanted to work with Lori alone?

I don’t want to leave her now, you know I believe and how…

There were no clues. The attraction—a twang in her husband's heart—must have snuck up on him like a crawling spider. At what moment, she wonders, did he decide that he wanted this woman--the detective hired in the best interest of their son. Was he driving? In her kitchen? How many times had he pictured her naked before actually seeing her fit body? Was he pleasantly surprised or disappointed?

The questions have no shame. They rape her. Where had he touched her first? Had he used his mouth? Had she?

She pulls into a Dunkin Donuts for an unnecessary coffee while the guitar solo is played. There is no one else in the drive-thru line and she pulls straight up to the intercom. You’re asking me will my love grow…

“Hello and welcome to Dunkin’ Donuts!”

I don’t know… I don’t know…

Parked beside the Dunkin’ Donuts intercom; Serena is forty, cheated-on, and unable to speak.

You stick around now it may show…

“Hello and welcome to Dunkin’ Donuts!”

Enough. She turns the song down. “Hi.” She coughs, blows her nose into a rough napkin from the glove compartment. “I’m sorry about that.”

“No problem. Welcome to Dunkin Donuts. What can I get for you?”

“I’d like a medium sized French Vanilla, cream only, please,” she croaks.

“A medium sized French Vanilla with cream only. Would you like to try our new Valentine Danish to go with that?”

“All set, thanks.” She blows her nose one last time, visits the first window, pays, and drives up to the second. The employee, a young man with multiple piercings and a mouthful of braces, prepares her order.

“You alright, Miss?” Holding the coffee in offering, his expression is fraught with concern.

Is it that obvious? Serena thinks.

“I’m sorry,” she cries to him, accepting the coffee.

“Hey, no problem. I can’t figure life out either.” He dashes off for a moment before returning with a dessert. The Valentine Danish. “No charge.”

She accepts the gift. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“Be well.” He offers her the peace sign.

She drives home and the young man with multiple piercings, her valentine, rests in her thoughts for a little while.

“What’s not said is far worse than what is.”

She pulls into the driveway and Doug’s car, parked in its usual spot, hordes her view like a two-faced friend. It is dirty and familiar and it lies. Her heart skips a beat then turns cold. She keys herself in and heads to the kitchen.

She sees his backside first. He is wearing a green cashmere sweater and boxy corduroy’s, two Christmas presents. His forehead is resting on bridged hands, his phone lying suspiciously by his elbows. A quick survey of the downstairs tells her Josh is still at the birthday party. She does not wait for her husband to acknowledge her because the connection no longer matters. She stands at the closet, removes her coat.

“I just received a phone-call on the land-line.” His voice is tremulous enough to frighten her.

“Josh still at Ryan’s party?” Her hand waits on the coat hanger.

“Yeah. He’s there.”

A familiar tension chews at her brow.

“Bethany Roth just called. She wanted to talk to you but agreed to leave a message with me.”

She inches closer to him. “Bethany?”

“Steven Roth’s mother. He escaped from the rehab facility.”

She uses the counter stool to hold herself up. “What?”

“Just listen to me a second.” He closes in on her space. “Please, Serena… just stay with me on this. I know I screwed up but you’ve gotta hear me out.”

“I…” she looks around the room, “I have to call Josh.” She rummages through her pocketbook when Doug rushes to her side and holds her arms down. “I just spoke with Josh, Serena! He’s fine. Bethany wants to talk with us. She’s willing to unload every last piece of information on her son—including his plans—if we promise not to involve the police.”

She sorts through the words. “If we promise not to involve the police?
That’s ridiculous, Doug.”

“If Steven’s alter learns that the police are involved, he’ll become dangerous, and that puts others—including Joshua—in danger. If we agree to meet with her, she’ll be able to convince him that no one’s after him and keep him calm.”

“Keep him calm? Why does his opinion count? The police will know what do! It’s their job!” Her heart lurches. “Surely, you know something about playing both sides of the fence, Doug.”

His expression is a throbbing toothache. “Because after we spoke for awhile,” he sighs painfully, “she put her deranged son on the phone, Serena…”

A gasp escapes her. She covers her mouth.

“Steven’s holding his mother at gunpoint. If we don’t cooperate, he’ll kill her and… we both know where that can lead.”

She feels Doug lifting her body up. “We can do this, Serena. You and me, that’s it. No McKenzie. No Sara. No Detective Hearns. Just you and me—the way it’s always been. The way it should have been all along.” He sweeps a strand of loose hair off of her forehead. “What do you say?”

She presses her fingers against her cheekbones. “I say I don’t trust you.”

They are the only words available.