Redemption

Why’d ya do that?

I think you know.

Humor me.

Where do I begin? That week you gave me the silent treatment because I made a joke you didn’t get in front of our friends. Or our first wedding anniversary. You left me at the restaurant because you thought I was flirting with the waiter. Or what about …

I came back for you. Sheesh. You make it sound a lot worse than it was.

Two hours later! It was so humiliating. I should have left you then.

All right, all right. I get it. I was a crap husband.

No, Will, Kody Brown is a crap husband to his sister wives. You are pure evil.

Evil? That’s a bit strong, wouldn’t you say? What about the time I surprised you with that sweet new Mustang? Black and gold, eight-cylinder engine with the loudest headers around. You looked hot in that ride.

What? You don’t remember it?

I’m constantly amazed at your selective memory. When you found me at Pepe’s with the girls from my office, you slit my tires, keyed the car and bashed in the headlights. You said I didn’t deserve such a beautiful machine if I was only using it to sleaze around. You sold it and replaced it with a fifteen-year-old Chevy Nova. Remember that, Will?

You shoulda told me you’d be at a bar.

It was a restaurant that also sold drinks, you idiot!

Oof! Not my kneecap!

It’s not like you’re going to need it to come crawling to me to apologize. “I’m sorry” was never part of your vocabulary.

I admit it: I made mistakes. But we had ten years together, Bec. Surely you have some good memories.

Don’t flatter yourself. The only good thing that came out of our marriage was Bobby. Somehow, some way, he got the best of you. He is nothing like you. And I’ll fight the rest of my life to make sure he never acts like you.

Ah, Bobby. We did something right to get such a great kid.

That’s the sad part. You could be a good dad when you wanted to.

We had some good times, me and my boy. Hey, remember that time he wanted to take you to dinner for Mother’s Day? He planned it all himself and asked me to be your chauffeur. The way he strutted into the restaurant with you on his arm. And you grinning so big you looked ready to explode.

You know, I’m the one who helped him make that happen. Don’t I get some credit for that? No?

Not after you stood him up for the baseball game you promised to take him to. He sat on the porch with his baseball mitt on his hand for an hour waiting for you to show up. Broke my heart.

I explained what happened. He’s a smart kid. He understood. You’re always trying to turn molehills into mountains.

Ouch! The other knee, too?

What about the times you never showed up, never called. You just left him wondering what he did to make his dad forget him.

I never forgot him! Well, maybe once or twice, when I had a lot going on at work.

Or outside of work.

Don’t drag Debbie into this.

Oh, yeah? How about I drag Carrie into it then? Or Valerie. Or Patti. I’m sure I’m forgetting someone. Let’s see …

I told you: I never went looking for the ladies. They came on to me. Like moths to a flame.

I’m sure you never tried to extinguish that flame either, did you?

Not my fault.

No! Not there!

Don’t worry, you’re not going to need it.

How do you know that? I told you I don’t have any control over my appeal. It’s natural. Haven’t you ever heard of those pher-things? What are they called? Pher-homes? Pher-kines?

Believe me, it’s not pheromones.

That’s it! Pheromones. I’ve got pheromones for days. Once upon a time you were attracted to my pheromones.

No.

Yes, you were. It was Mike’s New Year’s Eve party, where we first met. You came with that dork, what’s-his-name, but when we locked eyes. Man, it was over.

His name was Paul.

Paul the dork. The way I remember it, you didn’t even tell him goodbye before we left the party together.

My mistake, obviously.

Seriously, Bec, are all your memories of me negative? Were those ten years really a mistake? Bec? Come on. Answer me, please. One last time?

They weren’t all bad.

There you go. Tell me one good memory, besides my awesome dad skills.

You, you were a good provider.

That’s nice, but think of something not related to money.

There was that vacation we took to Jamaica, before we had Bobby. You brought me breakfast in bed every morning. That was sweet. And when we had surf and turf for dinner, you always gave me your “surf.”

You know I hate seafood.

I know, but it was the way you did it. Like it was something you loved sharing with me.

I did! Remember that boat ride up the Great River?

How could I forget?

And climbing Dunn’s River Falls?

That water was so cold!

Driving down the coast on that moped with your arms wrapped around me and your hair flying in my face.

I felt … safe. And loved.

You are loved. By me. For all my faults – and I know there are many – I never stopped loving you, Bec. I want you to know that.

I do. I love you too. That’s what made all the betrayals hurt so much worse.

I know. I hope you can forgive me one day.

For Bobby’s sake.

And for your sake. It will make it easier to grieve.

I guess you’re …

Mrs. Fuller? Mrs. Fuller? Are you okay?

What?

I know this is difficult. We just need you to tell us whether or not this is your husband.

Yes, yes, it is.

Very well. We can cover him back up. With a suicide, the process begins with a forensic examination by the coroner. Pending any unexpected findings, the remains will then be transported to the funeral home of your choice. Do you know which one you want to use?

Uh, no.

I understand. We have a list. If you’ll follow me, I can get that for you. Just give us a call within 24 hours to let us know where to send your husband’s body.

Can I have a couple more minutes?

Of course. I’ll come back in five.

Thank you.

I hate you for doing this, Will. How could you? Will? Will? Answer me!

All right. I only have one more thing to say: I forgive you. For everything.