Posted on by jparadisirn

Sins of Omission (Niki keeps a secret & learns another)

Chapter 28

In the parking lot, Corey is standing by my car.

“You and Corey are seeing a lot of each other this week,” observes Liz, whose car is parked near mine.

I smile without comment.

Immediately, Father Michael’s catechism lecture when I was eight years old pops into my head: “Children, there are two kinds of lies.”  The priest, dressed in black with a stiff white collar clinging tightly to his pink neck, rocked back and forth on his heels with his hands resting on a round belly the way a pregnant woman might. “Children, there are two kinds of lies, aye, those of commission, and those of omission. Either are the work of the devil, and bring tears to your Father in heaven.”

Oh Lord. I shake this memory from my mind.

“Hi Corey. See you later Niki. Thanks for sharing your food tonight.” Liz gets into her car, and drives off.

“How was your shift?”

“Crazy busy. And then Dr. Kearney ate Liz’s potato chips. Kathy and I shared our food with her. Thanks for the cupcake, it was a nice treat. We split it three ways. How was ER?”

“You’re welcome. The usual, ‘I’ve had this terrible pain for two weeks, and randomly decided to come to the ER tonight to find out what it is’ patient, the perennial, ‘I stuck something where I shouldn’t have, and now I can’t get it out’ patient, your garden variety chest pains, and a kid needing a breathing treatment for asthma. It wasn’t too bad.”

We stood next to my car for a few moments in silence.

Giving Corey a hopeful look, I venture, “I still owe you breakfast.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Follow me home?”

“Naw, I’ll meet you there. I know my way.”

***

After making love, I scramble eggs while Corey fixes toast. I found a forgotten bottle of sparkling wine in the fridge, and combine generous pours with orange juice in a couple champagne flutes.

“Corey, I’m taking Maddie to visit my sister Raquel for the weekend. We’re leaving in the morning. We’ll be back Sunday afternoon.”

“That sounds like fun. Are you going to tell her about us?”

My heart catches in my throat at the thought of this. “You mean Maddie?”

“No, I mean your sister.”

I relax. “If I do, what should I tell her?”

“That there’s an ER nurse who’s crazy about you, and that’s who’s texting you all weekend.”

“Are you crazy about me?”

“Oh yeah, babe.”

I lean over and kiss him, nearly knocking one of the mimosas off the table.

***

That the afternoon I pick up Maddie from school. In the car I ask her,

“Are you excited about going to see Aunt Raquel and Uncle Grant? Your cousins are looking forward to our visit. Get your things packed tonight so we can leave first thing in the morning, okay? Do you need laundry done?”

“Yeah, I need my skinny jeans washed. I guess I’m excited. Dad and Amber are taking Wade to the Natural History Museum this weekend. I’ve been there a million times, so it’s okay if I miss it.”

Amber? Who’s Amber? This is the first time I hear her mentioned.

“Who’s Amber and Wade?” I hope I sound nonchalant, not nosy.

“Oh. Miss Greeley. She’s our principal. She used to be Mrs. Greeley, but she’s divorced like you and Dad are. Her name is Amber.”

“And she’s friends with your dad?”

“Yeah. They’re dating.”

“Your Dad’s dating your principal? His boss? Uh, that’s nice. Is Wade her son? How old is Wade?”

“Yeah. He’s four. He’s really cute. I always wanted a little brother.”

This is starting to feel weird. I say, “Well, that’s very special, Maddie.”

We drive the rest of the way home in silence.

 

Posted on by jparadisirn

Buy Yourself Another One (Foraging for food on night shift)

Chapter 27

While getting ready for work I struggle over wearing my hair loose around my shoulders, foregoing the usual scrunchy-bound topknot I wear when I haven’t bothered to wash it.

“Pull it together, jeez,” I reprimand myself. “He’s still married. Don’t set yourself up like this.”

Pulling into the staff parking lot, I look for Corey’s car, but I don’t find it. He may have parked elsewhere, because there are never enough close-in staff parking spaces. I unwrap my stethoscope from around the rear-view mirror, grab my tote from the passenger seat, and breathe deeply to calm my giddiness before entering the hospital.

“Jeez-us, you’re a grown woman. Calm down,” I repeat, but the butterflies in my stomach still flutter.

Corey catches me at the elevator just before I head up to the PICU. He’s holding a little pink bakery box.

“Hey, I brought you a cupcake for your break tonight. I’ll stop by if it’s not too crazy. You’re hair looks nice down.”

I take the box, hoping he sees how happy this makes me before I recover my normal expression and say, “Thank you.”

Corey waits in front of the elevator until the doors close and I am out of sight.

As it turns out, Corey’s gift of a cupcake is prescient.

***

One of the problems of nightshift nurses is foraging for food.

Budget cuts have limited hospital cafeteria hours, leaving nightshift without options besides bringing their food or snacking from vending machines. Occasionally, nurses will send a “runner” to an all night fast food place to pick up dinner for several coworkers, but that only happens if the department can spare the nurse. This was not one of those nights.

In the PICU all Hell broke loose.

The kid in bed two continually seized despite being in a medically induced coma, and no one knew why. This kept Kathy busy with frequent lab draws, adjusting drips, and administering anti-seizure medications, all the while trying to comfort distraught parents, and documenting the frequent changes.

Liz’s hands were full with a post-open heart surgery patient whose blood pressure repeatedly tanked in room five. She also had a second post-open heart patient weaning off of sedation in preparation for extubation from the ventilator in the morning; the short of this being that she had to keep that child from pulling out his breathing tube and IV’s while allowing him to breathe on his own.

And me? I was managing a new onset diabetic admitted on dayshift with a blood sugar of 400. This meant frequent blood draws for lab values, and several changes of IV fluid solutions, lowering the potassium as the insulin drip took effect, and the blood sugar normalized.

This did not prevent me from being up for the next admit, however: a stable neurology patient accompanied from the OR at midnight by his neurosurgeon, Dr. Kearney. The boy had an infected shunt, a surgically implanted device that drains excess cerebral spinal fluid from the ventricles in his brain, caused by a congenital condition. The infected shunt was removed, and a temporary external one now drained CSF through a tube into a buretrol. IV antibiotics were prescribed around the clock. Once the infection healed, the neurosurgeon would replace the implanted shunt with a new one in the OR.

Dr. Kearney sat at the nurses’ desk, calling lab for culture results, and entering orders. I overheard him saying into the phone, “What do you mean I can’t order ‘antibiotics per pharmacy protocol’?” There was a pause. “Well why isn’t there an ‘antibiotics per pharmacy’ protocol?”

Shortly before Dr. Kearney’s arrival, Liz had sat in the same seat at the nurses’ desk in which he now sat. In front of him was a small open bag of potato chips belonging to Liz, which she’d momentarily left unattended to answer an alarm in her patient’s room. She hadn’t had time to pack a dinner, and this bag of potato chips from the vending machine represented the only food she would probably eat tonight.

When she returned to the desk, the bag of chips was empty, and Dr. Kearney brushed the last crumbs from his mouth.

“What happened to my bag of chips?” demanded Liz.

“Oh, were those yours? I thought they were out here for everybody,” Dr. Kearney was unapologetic.

“That was my dinner,” growled Liz. “Now what am I going to eat?”

Dr. Kearny said, “Here,” and tossed a couple of dollar bills into the empty bag on the desk. “Buy yourself another one.” Then he left.

Liz returned to the PICU ranting. “The damn vending machine ate both of Dr. Kearny’s dollar bills without giving me a bag of chips, even after I kicked it!”

Kathy and I shared our food from home with Liz, and I divided Corey’s cupcake three ways.

Posted on by jparadisirn

A Mid-Tone Grey

Chapter 26

With his body wrapped around mine, Corey falls asleep before I do. Outside, the bright morning sun filters through the heavy window drapery, illuminating the bedroom to a mid-tone grey. I watched him sleep, wondering what will happen next.

As if he feels my gaze touching him, Corey wakes with a start, realizes where he is, and then nuzzles my ear and neck with his lips. “Hello, Beautiful. What time is it?”

“Ten, and I haven’t made breakfast yet,” I breathed back. “Is there time?”

“Not now. I work again tonight. You too, right?”

“Yeah,” I sighed.

“I better get going. Do you mind if I take a quick shower first?”

“No that’s fine. Any chance that Sheila’s going to be there when you get home?”

“It’s not likely. She has coffee with her friends after yoga class, but you never know.”

“What will you tell her if she is?”

“I haven’t gotten there yet. I don’t really have anything figured out past this moment, Niki.” He rubs my shoulders, and I want him again.

We make love sweetly. Languorous, I lie in bed listening to the running water while Corey showers. He’s humming.

I watch him put his scrubs back on before getting out of bed and slipping on my old flannel robe. Together we walk to the front door. Corey puts his hands on both sides of my face, and kisses me long and deep.

“You better go.”

“See you tonight Niki.”

Closing the door quickly, I watch him walk up the street to his car from behind the living room curtain.

“Oh lordy, what am I doing?” I’m smiling.

In the kitchen, I throw out the eggs, placing the bowl and whisk in the sink to wash later. I refill my tote bag with its scattered contents collected from the floor and place it back on the table.

Before sliding back into bed, I make sure the alarm is set, and the phone ringer off. There’s a text message from Corey on my cell, “Sweet dreams, Lovely.”

I text him back with an emoticon of a smiley face blowing a kiss.

I sleep better than I have in months. I wake up looking forward to going to work.

Posted on by jparadisirn

He’s Not Here For Omelets (Eggs are broken)

Chapter 25

Corey’s car is in my rear view mirror the entire drive home. For a moment I ask myself, “What are you doing?” but the thought is overcome by that floaty, out-of-body feeling I get sometimes. From here on out, I’m both audience and actor in a disconnected state.

I park in the driveway, but Corey does not pull in next to me. Instead, he parks down the block. It occurs to me that we can no longer be seen alone together outside of the hospital. Sex most certainly does change friendship between men and women.

Instead of entering through the garage as usual, I let Corey and myself in through the front door, conscious that the neighbors may be watching. Then I remember, “I’m divorced.”

Corey breaks the silence. “Nice house.”

“Thank you. It’s rented,” I don’t know why I think it’s important to announce this. “Come on back to the kitchen. I’ll fix breakfast.” I have no idea how to do this.

I put a pan on the stovetop. Then I place a bowl on the counter, and crack a few eggs into it. “What are you doing?” I chide myself. “He’s not here for omelets!”  Despairing, I viciously beat the eggs with a whisk.

Corey rises from the stool and stands behind me. His arms encircle my waist. He places small, warm kisses on the back of my neck. I continue to beat the eggs fiercely, but he presses the length of his body against my back, taking the whisk from my hand, and pushing away the bowl. His hands go up my scrub top, and lightly run across my breasts before unhooking my bra. I turn into Corey, and our mouths connect.

With our bodies locked, we stumble towards the kitchen table. Corey knocks my tote bag off of it. Then I’m lying on my back, with Corey kissing me and our hands are everywhere.

“Where’s your bedroom, Niki?” he murmurs into my ear.

Half naked, I lead him by the hand to the bedroom, where again, I’m struck with doubt. I haven’t been with a man except Simon for years.

Corey slips what’s left of my clothing to the floor, then pauses to take me in. My doubt melts away for the appreciation on his face. He pulls me close. “You’re beautiful Niki,” he whispers in my ear.

I lay on the unmade bed while Corey undresses. He’s perfect: broad shoulders, and a six-pack. I didn’t know they make nurses like him.

Corey slides into bed next to me.

Corey is above me. He kisses the small scar of my c-section. My hands are on his shoulders. Out of nowhere, I think of a dumb thing I read about nurses being the best lovers because we are so knowledgeable of the human body.

“Oh yeah,” I moan agreement towards the ceiling.

 

Posted on by jparadisirn

Follow Me Home (Niki changes her mind)

Chapter 24

Liz and I stop talking about my patient once we enter the elevator.  We leave the hospital, walking to the staff parking lot together.

“Who’s that standing by your car, Niki?”

“I’m not sure. It looks like Corey.”

It is Corey. He sees us.

“Hey Corey,” Liz says. “How was your shift?”

“The usual madness and mayhem of the ER.” He’s acting nonchalant, but I can tell he’s nervous.

“Well, it’s good to see you. Don’t be a stranger. And Niki, I’ll see you again tonight for another shift.” Liz heads off to her car, leaving Corey and I in awkward silence.

“So what’s that goofy expression on your face about, Corey?”

“Good to see you too, Niki. You’re not going to make this easy for me are you?”

“Sorry, Corey. My filters don’t work so good after a twelve-hour night shift. The truth is I’m really hurt that you’ve avoided me the past couple months, and now here you are! What do you want?”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to you sooner. I miss you. Then Gerald told me you and Simon were divorcing, and then I felt like you’d think I was swooping in, and that’s not what I’m doing. I just miss you. I care about you Niki. I really do. That’s all. I’m sorry.”

The sincerity of his expression reveals the  eight-year-old boy in a man’s body. My God, he’s adorable. My rehearsed reserve melts just a little.

“Why does sex always ruin friendship between men and women?”  Groping for something to say, I resorted to cliché.

“We didn’t have sex, remember?” Corey pokes back. “You didn’t want me. That’s what hurt our friendship.”

I think about this for a minute.

“Corey, do you want to have breakfast?”

“Sure. Meet at the diner?”

“No. Follow me home. I’ll cook you breakfast.”

Posted on by jparadisirn

It Makes Me Shudder (When the line between victim & perpetrator blurs)

 Chapter 23

 The police officer stands silently in the doorway of my patient’s room, watching as I listen to her chest with my stethoscope. Her breath sounds are clear and equal on both sides. Next, I check the tube threaded through her nose into her stomach. It’s draining dark green fluid into a suction canister fastened to the wall. I measure the amount of fluid in the canister and record that number in the electronic chart. I feel her pulses. They’re strong, and easy to find, coinciding with the numeric value for her heart rate on the monitor overhead.

When I’ve finished the assessment, the officer speaks. “I don’t know how you nurses do it. I couldn’t work with hurt kids. It would break my heart everyday.”

“I don’t know, I guess I think of it more as helping,” I offer. “I couldn’t be first on the scene like you police officers. I mean, putting yourself in lethal danger in order to protect the nameless public takes more heroism than I could muster.”

“I guess we just sort of pick the kind of work we’re able to do, then. By the way, my name is Mike.”

“Hi Mike, I’m Niki. I’d shake your hand, but I need to wash it first, after I take off the glove.  I don’t want to be rude, but I’m pretty cautious about spreading germs.”

“Understood. Thanks for the information.” Mike has a cute smile, and gentle eyes. “Well, I gotta go and see if the detective has any new information for me. If she’s cleared for now, is it okay if I send the mother in to see her kid?”

“Sure.”

“Well, Nurse Niki, if you have any questions about the case, or information for that matter, feel free to give me a call. Here’s my business card.”

I watch Officer Mike leave the PICU, holding his card in my hand. He seems like a nice guy. Maybe in a few weeks I will call him. Maybe it’s time I stop wearing my wedding ring on my right hand and take it off altogether. I put his card in the pocket of my jacket.

Half an hour later, my patient’s mother enters the PICU. She’s young, early twenties. She’s wearing grey sweats that hang from her slim hips over a pair of black plastic flip-flops. A blue and black hoodie drapes over her ribbed white tank top, revealing an equally skinny torso.  She looks like she doesn’t get enough to eat, but her acrylic nails sport elaborate nail art. She’s wearing huge gold hoops in her ears too. ‘Go large or go home,’ comes to mind.

Mariella, our social worker, accompanies her, and introduces me to the mother, who looks me up and down suspiciously before noticing her unconscious daughter on the hospital bed with all the tubes connected to her. She starts to cry. This is the cue I depend upon in order to form some sort of therapeutic bond with parents of abused children until who hurt the child? is established.

I drag a lounger from the other corner of the room to the child’s bedside, and Mariella settles the mom into it, and then fetches a cup of coffee, and a blanket from the PICU’s warmer. She wraps the blanket around the mom’s shoulders, before handing her her card, and leaves the unit.

An awkward silence fills the room.

“So. Do you have any questions?” I begin.

“How long is she going to be in the hospital?”

“We don’t know that yet. Hopefully, she’ll come off the breathing machine sometime tomorrow. She’ll probably stay another night here, then be transferred to the regular pediatric unit, and spend some days there too. She’ll go home when there’s no bleeding and the surgeon lets her up out of bed.” I avoided adding, “Unless social services removes her to their custody.”

“Why would she bleed? I thought the surgeon fixed her?” She eyes me suspiciously again.

“She repaired your daughter’s liver, that’s right, but a lot of the body’s blood travels through the liver. There’s always a chance that the wounds will still bleed. She could lose a lot of blood again if that happens. We’re watching her closely to prevent that. That’s what all of these machines are helping us do.”

“Oh.”

In my experience, parents involved in their child’s abuse take one of two stances with nurses: They are either angry and argumentative, or they campaign to win our sympathy. This mom chose the latter.

“He didn’t kick her, you know. He works hard, and when he comes home he expects things to be in order. Sasha isn’t a good girl. She doesn’t do what she’s told. I have to get on her all the time. She lies too. I don’t know why they think he kicked her. Maybe she’s got cancer and it’s making her bleed.”

“Sasha doesn’t have cancer. The doctors can see that with all the tests, and during the surgery too. He’s not Sasha’s father, right?”

“Naw. He left before Sasha born. He was no good.”

I fall silent taking in this information.

“Has he hurt you or Sasha before?” I know I’m going to have to chart her answer.

“He’s only mad when we deserve it. He don’t hit when we do what we should.”

“Have you ever thought that you and your daughter deserve to be safe in your home? That a man shouldn’t hit a woman or child, ever?”

“You got a man, Nurse? You know how hard to raise a child alone is?”

A sudden realization slapped me in the face: This woman and I are both single mothers, wanting to have relationships with men who are not the father of our children. I could be her. The thought chilled me.

We didn’t talk much the rest of the shift. In the morning, Mariella returned with a female police officer. They escorted the mother out of the PICU. Soon afterwards, Mariella returned.

“They’re taking her down to the station. The boyfriend is saying she kicked the girl. He says he tried to stop her.  We’re hoping she’ll file a report against him with the details of the assault, so he can be charged.”

“You might want to know,” she added, “The mom is known to us. We have an open file on her. Sasha was the result of rape by her mother’s boyfriend. And our boyfriend, we’ve seen him before too, when his father was arrested for breaking his arm.”

I can’t believe Mariella earned a Master’s degree to do this kind of work. I think her job is more difficult than mine.

Later, I talk to Liz about it. “I hate when the lines between victim and abuser are blurred like this. I don’t understand how a mother wouldn’t choose a better life for herself, and especially for her child.”

“You’re new at being a single mother Niki,” she said. “You’d be surprised how lonely it can be out there.”

Something about the way Liz says it makes me shudder.

I know I won’t be giving Officer Mike a call anytime soon, either.

Posted on by jparadisirn

After The Flood (Nothing angers a PICU team like child abuse)

Chapter 22

At Raquel’s house, I sat on the sofa listening to The Cowboy Junkies with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. Raquel brought me another mug of cardamom-spiced tea. Upstairs, Maddie played with her cousins.

Raquel sat on the sofa next to me, and put her head on my shoulder like she used to do when we were kids and something bad had happened.

“It feels like the flu, doesn’t it? The grief, I mean,” she said. “It’s weird how grief actually has physical symptoms: nausea, muscle aches, and shortness of breath.”

“How can you tell the difference between grief and an anxiety attack?” I asked.

“When it’s anxiety you can’t breathe at all,” was her answer.

“At least then I’d be unconscious. I might actually feel better,” I grumbled.

“I think it’s time we switched you to something stronger than tea. I’ll go open a bottle of wine. We’ll order pizza delivery for the kids’ dinner tonight. Grant can fend for himself.”

Maddie and I stayed the weekend with Raquel and Grant while Simon moved his things from our rented house into a near-by two-bedroom apartment. Because parenting Maddie was the only thing of value we shared, we were able to come to a divorce agreement through mediation. Our meager assets were split down the middle.

As for Maddie, we didn’t need King Solomon to decide what was best for her. Since she was at school during weekdays, Simon and I agreed that she would stay with him the nights I worked, and with me on my days off. We alternated weekends, and would take each holiday as they came.

“But Niki, that means you’re either at work, or have Maddie at home on your time off,” Raquel pointed out. “How are you going to have any sort of social life?”

“I’ll figure it out if it happens,” the words sounded doubtful, even to me.

 ***

I told Liz and Gerald about the divorce during a quiet moment at the nurses’ desk.

“Wow, Niki, I’m sorry to hear about you and Simon. I knew you were having troubles, but I always thought you’d work things out. I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks, Liz. The hardest part was making the actual decision. Once I knew that Simon was miserable too, the emotion sort of went out of it. I just hope Maddie will eventually understand.”

“How’s she doing?” asked Gerald.

“She seems okay. She uses it a little for sympathy. Like she complains about how hard it is to pack for her father’s during the week, so she wants new clothes to keep at Simon’s apartment. She also fibbed, ‘I forgot my homework at my Mom’s house,’ as an excuse to her teacher last week instead of owning up to not doing it. I guess it’s to be expected. Fortunately, the only thing Simon and I tend to agree on is how to raise her, so the rules are the same in both homes. Maddie’s the only thing we have in common anymore.”

“Have you told Corey yet?”

“No, I haven’t seen him lately.”

Liz said, “Oh,” but Gerald gave me this funny look before his pager went off, calling him to another unit.

***

 Around midnight, we admitted a seven-year old girl from the OR where a surgeon repaired her ruptured liver. A police officer trailed alongside her bed as it was pushed into the PICU room. He waited outside the door while Gerald connected her breathing tube to the ventilator, and I transferred the leads from a portable unit to the overhead monitor. A unit of red blood cells infused into her central line. Her vitals were stable.

The recovery room nurse read off report: a ruptured liver caused by blunt force trauma to her abdomen. This kind of injury often occurs during a bad car accident, but this little girl had been kicked in her stomach. Hard. By her mother’s boyfriend.

Horrified, I asked, “Why would a grown man kick a child?” then realized how naive I sounded.

The police officer answered, “The mother reports he kicked her after she brought home a kitten he’d told her earlier she couldn’t keep. He left the premises afterwards. We got the bastard. He made a call on his cell phone from a friend’s house. We picked him up a couple of hours ago.”

“Where’s her mother now? Was she with him?” I thought I might kill the guy if I’d been her.

“She’s the one who called the ambulance. The EMTs called us,” the officer continued. “She told them it was an accident, ‘he didn’t mean to get so angry, the girl doesn’t listen to what she’s told all the time.’ We have a detective interviewing her down the hall. She may be booked too, if there’s enough evidence.”

Nothing angers a pediatric intensive care team more than child abuse. We spend our careers saving the lives of children with defective hearts, lethal infections, or damaged in car accidents. Treating a perfectly healthy child whose parent battered them angers us more than pretty much anything. When the loving parents of our other patients see the police in the unit, they figure out the situation pretty quickly, and then the PICU becomes tense, more so than usual, fed by their anger too.

The Adventures of Nurse Niki is on holiday hiatus, resuming with the next chapter on January 2, 2014. Happy Holidays to all her readers!

Posted on by jparadisirn

Simon’s Turn (Simon talks back)

Chapter 21

“Yes you are, Niki.  You’re wrecking our home.”

Simon, seated across from me in the family room hadn’t moved a muscle, but the power of his words hit me like a punch to the stomach: breathless, and unable to speak. My bravado was gone. Defeated, I crumpled into the chair, fighting back tears.

“I don’t have the strength to do this,” it occurred to me.

Before I recovered, Simon’s shoulders dropped. His energy changed. He looked down at his hands in his lap before looking into my eyes, and said,

“I’m not angry at you for wanting a divorce Niki.  I’m angry that you gave up on us before I did.”

Puzzled, I stared at him.

“Our marriage hasn’t worked for me for a long time. I don’t know when the magic stopped, but you’re different now Nik.

You used to be fun. We used to go to games together. You were as big a fan as me. Now you don’t want to be in the crowd in the bleachers anymore. You’re not interested in watching on TV either.

You take everything so literally. You used to have a sense of humor and laugh. Now I have to explain, ‘I’m just kidding,’ so you know it’s a joke.

When we go to movies or concerts, the first thing you do is locate all the emergency exits. Everything is always worst-case scenario with you. You’re too intense. When was the last time we laughed?”

I couldn’t think of an answer to this. Simon used my pause to continue.

“When you talk about work, and the drugs you give to those kids, all I can think about is, “Jesus, she knows how to kill someone!”

“I like to think I know how to save lives, Simon.”

“The point is Niki, I don’t know you anymore. You’re not the fun girl I met in college. It’s like saving the world is your only concern. I married a wife, not a super hero.”

Simon bit his lip then clenched his jaw. His eyes were red-rimmed, and moist. Then he pulled his finger out of the dike, and it burst open, changing the landscape of our lives forever.

“Niki, I want a divorce too. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. You’re a good person, and I’m glad we share Maddie, but I don’t love you anymore.”

Posted on by jparadisirn

Small and Scattered (Niki makes another decision)

Chapter 20

The next day was Saturday. Simon and a buddy drove the rig with the jet skis back to the dealer.

I hadn’t slept well.

I kept telling myself:

  • It’s no big deal; anyone can have a lapse in judgment.
  • People spend more money than they make all the time. I shouldn’t get so upset.
  • Simon had good intentions. The gift was meant to bring us closer together. Isn’t that what celebrating an anniversary is all about?

Then why am I so angry?

***

I made coffee. In the family room, Maddie sat on the floor watching TV with her chin resting on  the coffee table, intermittently scooping spoonfuls of cereal and milk up and over the edge of a bowl into her mouth.  Her backpack leaned against the sofa beside her. She’s spending the day with her friend Kaylee, and staying overnight. Kaylee’s mom will pick her up soon.

After Maddie left, I went for a bike ride, took a shower, and thought about lunch.

Simon returned without the rig. He smiled sheepishly.

“The dealer agreed to resell the rig for us. It was already a great deal, but now that it’s priced as used, he says it will go fast. We’ll probably only make one, maybe two payments before it sells.”

“How much of a loss will we take?”

“Less than $10,000, I figure.”

I had nothing to say.

“Okay, Niki, I get it. I was wrong to buy the jet skis, and cancel the Coronado trip without talking to you first. I get it. I won’t do it again. Can you just get over it, and let’s move on?”

I felt anger rising like a pot boiling over. I steeled myself to say the words I’d rehearsed,

“Simon, I want a divorce.”

“WHAT! Over jet skis? What’s wrong with you, Niki?

That’s right Simon, it’s me not you,” sarcasm escaped my mouth.

“Damn right it’s you! How can you break apart a family? Our family? Over jet skis!”

I paused before blurting out, “A family? Yeah, a single parent family! You’re impulsive, Simon. It’s like being married to a child. You’re a crisis about to happen. You only think about your needs, your wants. Putting us in debt without talking to me about it is just a part of our problems.

I take care of people all night long at work, then I come home and take care of you. The kitchen sink is always full of dirty dishes from the night before, and the garbage overflows. I get up, clean house, and go back to work, while you watch sports on TV.

If I go on like this, I’m going to shatter, Simon, and the pieces will be so small and scattered, I’ll never gather them up and put myself back together. I need a partner Simon, not another child. For all I do around here, I may as well be a single parent. It can’t be any harder than this already is.”

Well, it’s not like you work five days a week like I do, Niki.”

I hissed at him, “I want a divorce, Simon. I want to be happy.”

“Is this about that ER nurse, what’s his name? Are you sleeping with him?”

“No I’m not sleeping with him. Corey’s married. I’m not a home wrecker!”

“Yes you are, Niki.  You’re wrecking our home.”

Posted on by jparadisirn

Different Sides of The Family Room (Niki talks to Simon)

Chapter 19

I fumed in the car while Simon loaded Maddie into his. He knows me well enough to realize how furious I am, but neither of us wants to have an argument in front of our daughter, or in the driveway where the neighbors will hear. So I smiled with gritted teeth while waving to Maddie as they drove off to school. In the kitchen, I ignored the dirty dishes in the sink and the piled up garbage in the wastebasket. Throwing my tote bag on the table, I grabbed my cell phone from it, texted SOS! and waited for Raquel to call.

***

“Oh no, he did not!” was the first thing out of Raquel’s mouth after telling her about the near collision with the trailer, truck, and jet skis.

“Oh yes he did,” I chimed.

“And Simon cancelled the Coronado trip? We made all kinds of plans anticipating having Maddie for the weekend. Our kids will be so disappointed that she’s not coming.  Niki, what are you going to do?”

“He must have put us nearly $40,000 in debt. I still can’t believe he’d spend that kind of money without talking to me first.  He can’t keep them. I think we have twenty-four hours to change our minds about the purchase contract.”

Silence.

“What, Raquel?”

“Niki, I’m sorry, but there’s no grace period on new automobile contracts once you drive off the lot. I don’t know about the jet skis, but I’m pretty sure the truck is yours.”

I could feel panic coming on.

“Don’t panic Niki. I’ll talk to Grant. He’s a sharp lawyer. Maybe he knows a way out of this.”

***

At dinner, the only words Simon and I speak are in response to Maddie’s chattering. The tension frizzles through the air, dispersing the aroma of meatloaf and potatoes. After clearing the table, I put a brownie and a small scoop of ice cream in a bowl, handing it to Maddie to take to her room along with a DVD movie. I explained to her that Daddy and I have some grown up business to talk about.

***

Simon and I face each other from different sides of the family room. He starts.

“So, I get it. The jet skis were a bad idea. I’ll drive the rig back tomorrow and return it.”

“It’s a bigger problem than that, Simon. There’s no return policy for trucks or the jet skis. They belong to us. And so does the debt.”

“Niki, the dealer said …”

“Simon, I talked with Grant this afternoon. Once they left the lot, they became ours. That’s the law.”

Simon contemplated this news silently. “Well, I’ll drive them back tomorrow, and see what the dealer says.”

“Grant suggests asking the dealer to consider keeping them on the lot, and reselling them for us. We’d take a loss, but not the entire amount,” I instructed.

“You’re sure you don’t want to see if we like them first, Niki?”

“No, Simon. I don’t,” my voice was icy. I couldn’t bring myself to say the rest of the words.

Just then, Maddie came into the room. “Are you guys fighting?”

“No, honey, Mom and Dad are having a discussion. Go back to your room.”

“Can we keep the jet skis?”

“No honey, they’re going back.” You need to go back to your room and get ready for bed.”

“I hate it when you fight,” she grumbled, and rolled her eyes at me before trudging to her room.

Why am I the bad guy?