The Guest Room

Grace sighed as she picked up Emmett’s candy wrappers and popcorn crumbs littering the sofa.  Wisps of hair escaped her tidy bun as she aggressively fluffed the cushions, unsuccessfully attempting to reshape the indentations that had accumulated from hours - maybe years in aggregate - of cradling his body. She wondered whether they had always had such different standards of living.  

The couple now had little left in common but their love for their children, Gwen and Margaret. But even in that, the fissures were evident. Grace felt hers was a selfless love focused entirely on the children’s wellbeing. Meanwhile, she saw Emmett’s as a selfish love, centered on the joy and distraction the children brought to him. Nevertheless, when almost every topic bored or angered them, the two could always bring their energies and attention back to the children. 

This bandaid on their marriage was sufficient for years. Their chronic, dull disdain for each other did not typically erupt to levels that outweighed the financial or logistical benefits of staying together for the children. They were adequately satisfied working separately during the day, having family dinner discussions centered on the children, putting the children to bed, and finally retreating to their respective bedrooms to pursue their respective interests. Grace typically read or worked in what was supposed to be their shared bedroom. Emmett hid away in the guest room and watched hours of television. There was a time when both enjoyed these activities together. But after the cataclysmic transformation of motherhood, Grace realized her mind and body were capable of too much to idle with television for hours. She had a responsibility to do more. Parenthood endowed Grace with awareness of her own potential. It only endowed Emmett with awareness of lost freedom. 

Their insidious limbo continued until the June after their twelfth wedding anniversary, when Grace’s niece, Isabel, arrived for an internship during graduate school. The new guest meant that Emmett and Grace would need to share a room for a painfully long stretch. Emmett reluctantly moved his belongings back into the master bedroom and tried to conceal years of habitation in the guest room. Grace ordered a new pull-out couch for the bedroom to avoid any unnecessary confusion or discussion about their sleeping arrangement.

Isabel arrived quiet and polite, careful to make herself a useful and unobtrusive guest. When the meal was over, she was the first to clear the dishes. When the girls resisted bedtime, she softly sang to them. And when on that first night Isabel emerged bare out of her shower to find Emmett retrieving items from her guest room closet, it was Isabel that apologized profusely and jumped back behind the door.

Emmett shuffled quickly down the hall, perspiring lightly and breathing heavily. When he entered the bedroom, Grace had already tucked herself into bed. The night was no different for her. Same bed, same silence. But Emmett tucked himself into a new, strange bed and wrestled with new images in his mind of a young woman just down the hall. 

Grace was none the wiser for weeks. Her complete indifference to Emmett meant she did not notice when he began exercising daily after work. And she did not ever get close enough to smell the cedar musk of his new cologne. His increasingly delayed arrival to their bedroom every evening was noticed - but welcome and otherwise not given an additional thought. 

But one evening, Grace uncharacteristically left the room to retrieve a glass of water. As she passed by the guest room, muffled, hushed, and rhythmic sounds brought her to a stop. Grace frowned, disappointed she had not thought to talk to Isabel about overnight guests. She continued downstairs to ask Emmett if he had noticed Isabel sneak in a visitor. She expected Emmett to be in the living room, honoring their tacit agreement of avoidance until bedtime. When Emmett was not in the living room, she checked the office. When he was not in the office, she checked the kitchen. When he was not in the kitchen, she checked the garage and disappointedly saw both cars still there. 

With a heavy, curdling feeling emerging in her stomach, Grace ambled back upstairs and paused once more outside the guest room. She lifted her hand to the doorknob, certain that no matter what was going on behind the door, she was entitled to know, as this was her house and her niece - willing herself not to add “her husband” to the list. But of course, as soon as she opened the door, she saw Isabel and Emmett intertwined. They immediately froze, and the three stared at each other motionless. Moments passed slowly. The sweat-filled air thickened. The space between them expanded, as the silence and tension grew and pushed them all to the edges of the room. None could breathe. Finally Grace sighed, with acceptance and resignation written on her face. She looked at her niece and husband and plainly said, “It has long been over.” She turned, closed the door behind her, and did not look back.

Grace and Emmett spent subsequent years apart. Seeing each other frequently when the children were small and custody was shared, then infrequently, only for graduations and other major life events. Neither re-married. Grace decided she had little to gain from a man and everything to lose. Emmett dabbled with brief relationships, but fell back into his baseline state of inertia, never committing further.

One evening, in their eighth decade of life, their older daughter, Gwen, called Grace in tears. Emmett had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and would soon need care around the clock. Gwen had small children and no space, time, or money. Margaret was still in school and even less capable of caring for him. Emmett was refusing to go to a care facility. Gwen didn't know what to do. Did her mother have any advice? A long, palpable silence followed on the phone. In those moments, Grace felt sorrow for her daughters' burden, anger at Emmett for placing them in this situation, guilt for her part in it, and once again, landed on acceptance and resignation. 

“He can stay with me.”