Chapter 3 - The Expulsion
They stood in the kitchen doorway like two children caught stealing from a tip jar, though the scale of their crime was monumental.
Marcus had pulled on a wrinkled gray t-shirt and his cargo shorts, his hair standing up in wild, sweaty tufts. He looked small. For a man who stood six feet two inches and worked as a structural estimator, he seemed to have shrunk into his own skin. Diane stood slightly behind him, her designer coat clutched tightly around her shoulders, her pink heels back on her feet, though she was carrying her leather purse like a shield across her midsection.
"Sarah," Marcus began, his hands held out in a placating gesture. "Diane is leaving. I'm calling her an Uber right now. We can sit down, just the two of us, and talk through this. We can go to counseling. We can—"
"There is no 'us' to talk through, Marcus," I said, the microwave chiming behind me. I pulled the warm water out, dropped a chamomile tea bag into it, and stirred it with a silver spoon. The clinking of the metal against the ceramic was the loudest sound in the kitchen. "You abandoned your son on a winter night so you could sleep with my sister. If I hadn't come home from my shift early because the unit manager let me off the last hour, Noah could have gone into respiratory distress from the cold. He has mild asthma, Marcus. You know this. You’ve filled his inhaler prescriptions yourself."
Marcus dropped his head, his shoulders shaking as he let out a low, ragged sob. "I forgot. I'm sorry, Sarah. I drank the wine, and my head was spinning, and I just... I didn't think."
"No, you didn't," I said, turning my gaze to Diane.
My sister didn't look remorseful. She looked annoyed that she was being subjected to a speech in a kitchen that smelled of old pizza. "Honestly, Sarah," she said, tossing her blonde hair back. "You're making this into some grand Greek tragedy. Marcus has been lonely for months. Every time I call over here, you're at the hospital. You're working double shifts, you're sleeping during the day, you're never available for him. A man has needs, Sarah. If you aren't going to take care of your husband, you can't be shocked when someone else steps in to help."
The sheer, breathtaking cruelty of her words hung in the air like poison gas.
This was the sister I had loaned three thousand dollars to last spring so she wouldn't lose her apartment. This was the sister who had sat at my wedding table and wept during the toasts, telling everyone how lucky I was to have found a man like Marcus.
"Diane," I said, my voice dropping into a register that made Marcus look up in sudden alarm. "If you don't take your shoes and your purse and get out of this house in the next ten seconds, I am going to walk over to that counter, pick up my phone, and call your boss at the firm. I have the screenshots of the corporate credit card statements you left on our shared tablet last month when you were using my login. I know exactly what you’ve been billing to the 'client entertainment' fund."
Diane’s mouth snapped shut. The smug, patronizing look on her face disintegrated into a sharp, ugly mask of panic. She looked at me, realizing for the first time that the quiet, accommodating younger sister who always cleaned up the family's messes was entirely gone.
"You wouldn't," she whispered.
"Try me," I said, pointing a finger toward the front door. "Ten. Count starts now."
She didn't wait for nine. She turned on her pink heels and bolted down the hallway, the heavy front door slamming open a second later, followed by the distant roar of a car engine as she ran toward the main road, not even waiting for the Uber Marcus had mentioned.
Marcus stood alone in the kitchen, his face wet with tears. "Sarah, please. Don't do this. Where am I supposed to go? This is my house too. My name is on the lease."
"Your name is on the lease, but my income pays seventy percent of the rent," I said, setting the tea mug on a small tray along with the ibuprofen syringe. "You have until noon today to pack your personal items into your truck and leave. I will be changing the locks at twelve-thirty. If your truck is still in that driveway when I wake up from my rest, I will call the landlord and show him the damage your little party did to the oak floors in the living room. He’s been looking for an excuse to evict us and raise the rent anyway; he’ll have you off the lease by Monday morning."
"Sarah..." he begged, reaching out a hand to touch my sleeve.
"Do not touch me," I said, my voice cracking slightly for the first time, a small fissure of raw emotion breaking through the ice. "Go pack your bags, Marcus. Before I find the strength to do something we’ll both regret."
He stared at me for another long moment, realizing that there was no leverage left, no old memory or shared joke that could bridge the chasm he had dug in the dark. He turned around and walked slowly toward the master bedroom, his feet dragging against the floorboards like an old man's.
I picked up the tray with the warm tea and the medicine and walked back down the hall to Noah’s room.
The heat vents were whistling now, filling the small room with a beautiful, thick warmth that made the green dinosaur night-light seem cozy instead of cold. Noah was still awake, his little fingers twisting the velvet ears of Captain the elephant. He looked up as I entered, his small face brightening as the heat began to return to his cheeks.
"Mommy," he said, sitting up against his pillows. "Is the loud lady gone?"
"She's gone, sweetie," I said, sitting on the edge of his mattress and pulling the tray onto my lap. "Everyone's gone. It's just you and me now."
"Daddy too?" he asked, his voice small, tentative.
I paused, reaching out to stroke his thick, stubborn cowlick, smoothing it down against his forehead. "Daddy has to go on a trip for a while, Noah. He has to go help find some things he lost. But Mommy is staying right here. I'm not going anywhere."
"Good," he said, leaning his head against my knee. "The floor was too hard, Mommy. I tried to find you in your bed, but the door was locked, and there was someone screaming inside."
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My heart did a slow, painful roll inside my chest as the full timeline of the night settled into place. He had tried to find shelter. He had knocked on the door of the guest room, and they had ignored him—or worse, they had locked him out so they wouldn't be interrupted.
"I know, baby," I whispered, squeezing his small hand until it was warm. "I know. But the doors are unlocked now. Drink your tea. Mommy’s going to watch you sleep."
