One Last Shot

ONE LAST SHOT

As she walked through the cemetery, jeans artfully ripped at the knee, Elise realized the winds that struck the tombstones were also running through her. This helped her feel at peace and not so alone, as she stood among her dead friends – the only ones who might understand her current state. 

But then the image of her wall calendar flashed through her mind, and her stomach dropped with the realization that she had to chaperone her son’s Valentine’s Day dance. This wouldn’t normally be such a big deal; however, she’d recently kicked her husband, Mitch, out of the house, having found out that he had been sleeping with her close mommy-friend, Judith. It was time for her to go home, get dressed, look pretty, act lovely and be nice. 

She slammed a batch of hangers across the wood in her walk-in closet when she came upon a pink dress that she would have loved to wear, and that was it: Pain engulfed her chest and brought her to her knees. She cried for about an hour. Having prepared for this happening, she knew well enough not to put her makeup on until she was ready to leave; she might even do it after driving there and parking her car in case a crying jag came over her on the way over. Looking at the pink dress in her hands, she noticed light from her bedroom fall into her walk-in closet, and Devin, her 12-year-old son, standing there.

“Mom, what are you doing?” He wore a beautiful shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes. He was young, handsome, and like most 12-year-olds, fumbling through life with new hormones, peer pressure, and homework he didn’t want to do. He shouldn’t have to take on her challenges as well.

“Oh,” she said, stammering. “It’s this dress! It reminds me of when I danced in Swan Lake as a child.” Hopefully he didn’t realize that swans are not pink. 

“The swans in Swan Lake were pink?”

“Of course!” she blurted out, rushing to protect him from the truth. “Well, maybe not the swans, but the other water creatures were. I just happen to know because your mother was one!” She realized she was wrinkling the dress, squeezing its tulle in her hands. 

“Well, you should wear it. Kailin invited me to have pizza before the dance tonight, so you don’t need to drive me – his parents will get us there.” 

“Oh!” Elise said, happy that she might get to cry again and that he would be with his friends – not his messy, pathological mother. 

“And you don’t need to hug me either when you see me at the dance, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay,” she said, reminding herself that she shouldn’t take his request personally. “I won’t. Any reason?”

“Because it looks weird and dumb, and everybody makes fun of me.” 

“Gotcha. Well, that’s really a shame. But I understand,” she said, standing. “I’m going to hug you now then with all my mite!” She captured him in her arms and squeezed him tight; he felt so good and pure, and she prayed he would stay like that for while. “You go and have a good time with your friends,” she said, releasing him and letting him run off. “Can I at least wave?” she called out to him, but he didn’t care or hear.

Kneeling in her walk-in closet, she couldn’t possibly wear the pink dress. Pink was so open, happy, vulnerable. She couldn’t afford to be any more vulnerable than she already was. But if she looked drab, that could be worse! Then, it would get out that she and Mitch were separated (which would then be conflated with “divorced”) and they’d never get back together again. Not that she wanted to. Did she? Could she ever? It seemed impossible, such a gross infraction – she tried not to think of what happened specifically, otherwise her heart would race, and she’d get upset. She had to act like everything were the same until she determined exactly what she wanted to do. She’d be in pink and say that Mitch is away on business if anyone asked. How was she going to go on and live her life? Who was she now with Mitch out of the picture? She stopped herself before asking more questions: It would be fine. Her family had been destroyed, she’d given him all she had, but it would be fine. 

It was a cold, blustery evening with snow lifting off the ground and brushing at the hem of her purple coat, as she stood outside the school building, waiting to be let in. She spotted two other moms, Lana Cunningham and Diane Flynn. Their sons played hockey with Devin the year prior, but since he no longer played, they didn’t see each other as much. A gorgeous little girl opened the building door, and a teacher sat at a child’s desk to the right. Behind her, Elise felt Lana’s hand on her shoulder; it felt heavy, more like a condolence than a greeting. 

“Hello, Lana,” Elise said, turning and noticing Diane Flynn, too. “Nice to see you, Diane.” Diane smiled faintly and looked at Elise with what she interpreted as pity. Might Lana and Diane know? Elise felt her blood rush through her veins. Did Judith tell people about the affair?

The dance was held downstairs from the classrooms in the chapel. A stately pewter crucifix hung at the top of the room. The hardwood floors gleamed, punctuated by fold-out tables covered with red and pink tablecloths. She looked around for Devin and when she saw him, made sure to give only a subtle wave. He waved back, and proceeded to ignore her, engaging with his friends. Hideous plastic, eggshell-white chairs were placed in pairs along the side wall. She grabbed a seat, creating some distance from Lana Cunningham who sat right next to Diane Flynn. Elise aimed to keep her eyes set on the table of refreshments, as she didn’t want to make Devin uncomfortable; she also didn’t want to look at the center of the room where she and Mitch had danced before at another event that they had chaperoned a little over a year ago. As Lana and Diane stopped chatting, Lana leaned and whispered to Elise, “Did Diane tell you? Her Isabel has a crush on your Devin.”

Elise prepared herself to patronize Lana. “Oh, does she?” She nudged her chair toward the women, trying to not appear standoffish or rude. “That’s so cute.” 

Diane joined in, whispering, “I think it’s true, but I don’t know.” She shrugged. These parents, Elise thought, were so very lucky, only having to worry about their children’s affairs. 

The heart-shaped balloons, tied to the chair legs with ribbon, waved whenever anybody walked by. Not even slightly interested in Lana and Diane’s gossip, Elise watched the balloons wave from the chairs whenever other parents, children, or teachers walked by. She couldn’t believe it, but the next person to make her balloon wave was Mitch. For a moment, she had forgotten to breathe. Mitch? At a school function for Devin, without having been harangued and reminded 18 times? Once the shock wore off, she got angry, but knowing the busy-body parents watching, she played it cool. 

“Hi, welcome,” she said to Mitch, pulling the chair beside her toward him. She would be nice because she had to. She wished to maintain whatever dignity she had left and not air her home problems in public. Home! she scoffed. What was left at home? If there were anything left to be salvaged, it was her reputation, and that was even questionable. Everything would forever be questionable. Lana and Diane became very animated upon Mitch’s arrival, looking around the room as to surreptitiously keep Mitch in their view. He had a special way with the ladies, obviously. Elise placed her hand on his shoulder and turned to the busybody moms. “Mitch, you know Lana Cunningham and Diane Flynn.”

“Yes, hi,” Mitch said, waving and offering them his smile. This subdued the ladies, Elise surmised, giving them enough fantasy material for the rest of the semester. Elise leaned back to the wall, so her voice could not be heard. Through clenched teeth she asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d see how you were doing.”

“How do you think I’m doing?” She changed her scowl to a smile when a young girl passed her by. Sister Matilda, the tall and slender plain-clothes nun, was floating over to the chaperones exchanging pleasantries. Elise leaned back, whispered to Mitch, “That’s the school principal, Sister Matilda. She may come over to speak to us.”

“Jesus, okay,” Mitch said, crossing his arms and ankles. 

“I suggest you don’t say that.” As Sister Matilda approached, Elise thought it rude if she weren’t to address her first. “Sister Matilda!” she said, rising from her chair. A smile spread across the sister’s face. “Mrs. MacNamara,” she said, grabbing her hands. “Thank you so much for joining us this evening.” She looked at Mitch. “And your husband is here, too,” she said, extending her hand. Mitch grabbed it reluctantly. For such a tough guy, Mitch was petrified of nuns, squirming in his seat as if waiting for a well-deserved rebuke. Sister Matilda stepped back, collecting them in her view. “You two came to last year’s dance, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, we did,” Elise said. “A long time ago.”

“You both danced, and it was lovely. In fact,” Sister Matilda said, “it would be just wonderful if you two could dance again tonight – that may get more of the children to dance, as it did last time.”  

Blood shot up Elise’s cheeks, seeming to numb her teeth and make her eyes burn. “Oh, well,” Elise stammered, not quite knowing how to handle this. 

“I’m sure we can manage that, Sister,” Mitch said.

Elise shot him a look as a wave of heat spread around her neck and above her lips.

“Wonderful,” Sister Matilda said, smiling and stepping toward Mrs. Cunningham and Mrs. Walsh who had been eavesdropping the whole time.  

Elise’s shoulders tensed up and her pulse quickened. She tried to get her bearings as if her back had been pushed against a wall. She spoke in a quiet, controlled tone. “Despite how lovely I am on that dance floor with you, you must know that nothing has changed. I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done, and I haven’t forgiven you.”

“That’s not very Christ-like, Elise.” He nodded to the crucifix at the front of the chapel.

She took a deep breath, held it in. She did not want to show any visible signs of anger, though she could feel her nostrils flare. A song came on that she liked, and she thought to just get dancing with him over with, but her body was not ready, as her arms were closed tight, and her jaw was clenched. She exhaled slowly and released her arms, looked at him. “Well, then, shall we?” she asked, standing. He rose and she grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the center of the dance floor. It would take a few moments to get used to the feel of his touch again on her skin. She distracted herself by smiling her best fake smile back at Mrs. Cunningham and Mrs. Walsh, who looked delighted – a vicarious occasion – as Elise and Mitch moved to the center of the room.  

As she wiped off her clammy hands, she draped them on his shoulders as she had many times before. His body felt fiery as she had remembered, like embers breaking into ash, each step he made. As his blue eyes peered into her, she felt a well of sadness there. His body seemed smaller, punier as if he had lost weight, yet he still stood strong. 

Their son, Devin, standing with his friends down the other end of the chapel, shot them a wide-eyed look of dread, as he noticed them dancing. “What’s his problem?” Mitch asked.

“It’s his age,” she said. “Anything and everything we do is going to embarrass him.”

“Does he know?” he asked, alluding to the incident that shall not be mentioned. 

“I don’t think so.” She felt her heart sink and shifted her focus to his collar as to not look at his eyes. If she did, she might sense his sadness and sorrow, and stupidly feel bad for him. In fact, just looking at him was a liability, as that’s what had gotten her into this whole mess: Falling into him, becoming one with him, and losing herself in the process. She supposed she should have been more protective of herself, as then she wouldn’t be suffering so badly. She never thought it possible to love too much; she never expected love to be so costly.

Just as Sister Matilda expected, the children got the gumption to dance and slowly moved onto the dance floor, following Elise and Mitch’s lead. She could feel others’ admiring eyes on her as she stepped in sync with him. The strobe light cast a softness around the room, and every so often, its glimmer would catch the glare of another light, flashing a silvery spark across the room. She hated how she liked being near him. She hated how she loved the smell of cigarettes on his breath, the feel of his muscles underneath his shirt. If she wasn’t careful, she could be a fool, mistaking his manipulating her for the aching kind of love she’d been experiencing herself. Despite his love for her – if it existed ­– would he hurt her so badly again? Notwithstanding his wretchedness, the thought of letting herself love him again made her muscles relax. Loving him would give someplace for her soul to go. She could sacrifice, die for his sins, without it making any difference. Was that love? An act of martyrdom?

Elise turned herself and Mitch around so she would be in view of the crucifix at the front of them room.

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

She shooshed him, looking at Jesus on the cross. Before she could even pose her question – if she should give him one last shot – she felt in her heart that she knew the answer.