it was. A quite unremarkable and ordinary cardboard box. I managed to climb down the ladder without dropping it, sat it on the floor and knelt next to it.
The box was cumbersome to open; the lid had to be lifted on both ends simultaneously. I recognized the castle logo in the lower right-hand corner: Rosenfeld, Manhattan – one of the largest wedding gown stores in New York, maybe even the country.
I parted the tissue paper. Photos with scalloped edges, tinged yellow by time, depicting people unknown to me. A little boy in a blue coat, a woman standing next to him, leaning on him, her arm around his shoulders.
A property deed. Jack had mentioned that he had flipped properties while in Law School but I didn’t know he owned a house. A deed for a brownstone on North Dandry in Brooklyn.
Before I could make sense of the deed, I came across a black pouch, heavy in my hand. I felt the shape of a gun through the velvety fabric. I removed the revolver from the pouch and cradled it in my hand. It seemed old fashioned, but I really knew next to nothing about guns. I pointed it away from me and randomly pushed the cylinder and it swung to the right. It was empty.
Below the black pouch was a concealed handgun license card, laminated, with Jack’s information. I never knew Jack owned a gun, let alone a license to carry, but it seemed logical for a lawyer to have one. Tucked in the corner was a full box with bullets. The gun I could stomach, lawyers owning guns is not unheard of, what was hard to believe was the fact that it had been there all along and I never knew.
I took a few bullets and cradled them in the palm of my hand. They were cold and made a gentle clinking sound when they touched. I stood up and filled up the chamber and engaged the cylinder.
I froze when I heard the ticking of a wristwatch. A crinkly plastic sound of a diaper demanded my attention. A whiff of baby powder and the stench of deceit, a combination that had the power to silently command me.
I looked up. There was Jack, standing in the closet, Mia in his arms, squirming, arching her back. There I was, gun in hand. Just in the nick of time I hid it behind my back, slowly backing into his dress shirts.
He stared at me, his eyes blank. I kicked the box and it slid under his dress shirts, the Berber carpet allowing it to glide like a ghost to a clandestine hiding place. I needn’t have worried, Jack was focused on the usual.
‘Didn’t you hear her cry?’ Icicles around his every word. Again, I wasn’t vigilant enough. Again, I failed to be the mother I should have been.
There were words Jack never said, words Jack never used, yet I had heard him say them over and over again – flawed, unfit. A bad mother, a bad wife. I had no business being there. I had no business being at his office earlier, in his closet, his house, his life. I had no business being the mother of his child.
‘What’s this?’ I said holding up the deed in front of him. ‘All you ever talk about is money. How we can’t afford this, and how we have to save more. You are making us out to be broke. It’s always about money.’ I was surprised by the strength of my voice. Everything was wrong. Jack, Mia, the ticking clock, the gun, the photographs, the property deed. ‘How come we are struggling when you own a brownstone, Jack? Explain that to me? What’s the place worth, a million?’
‘Own? I don’t own anything. The property is heavily mortgaged. I wanted to flip it within a few months but there were problems with the permits. I’ve been carrying two mortgages. Come on now, tell me you understand real estate? The moment I’m one payment short the bank takes everything.’
‘Were you ever going to tell me?’
‘I was in over my head, okay? Is that what you want me to say? I didn’t know what I was doing? There, are you happy now?’
His posture wilted, he looked like a little boy; small, softened, less confident.
‘Jack—’
‘I’m not rich, Estelle. Not by any means. And I never said we were broke. I never used that word. All I said was we should be frugal with money. And that …’ he pointed at the papers in my hand, ‘is nothing more than a property deed to a brownstone in shambles with a huge mortgage on it. I took a risk and it didn’t pay off. Are you happy now?’
I stared at him, suddenly realizing that I knew next to nothing about him. Buying and selling houses was one thing, but taking on such a risky and expensive project, one that by his own admission failed miserably, when he didn’t even own a toolbox?
‘I’m working on it. The permits have come in, they are in the process of completing the renovations. It’s not a big deal. It’s just an investment property. You make it seem like it’s such a betrayal on my part. What did you want me to do? Tell you I’m behind on a mortgage I can’t afford? Worry you even more? You’re doing a great job at that already.’
‘I’m your wife, I think I ought to know about our finances.’
‘There wasn’t any trouble until you started with your obsessions, all those doctor visits while you were pregnant, and all those tests you insisted on, all those specialists you consulted, over nothing. Do you have any idea how much I had to pay for those tests and doctor visits that you went to without any referral? It cost me a fortune.’
‘Everything is always about money for you. I’m trying to get help for our daughter.’
‘She doesn’t need help. She doesn’t need another test, another doctor. She needs you to be her mother. So don’t make this about me. You are the one who—’
‘The one who spent all your money on needless tests.’
‘I didn’t say that. But I’m the one paying those medical bills.’ He raised his voice louder now, I could feel him dropping the façade. ‘We have perfectly adequate health insurance. But you insisted on all those specialists. And I get it, you know I get it. You were worried. But you didn’t stop there either, did you? Even after Mia was born, you continued …’
I could tell he was looking for words, looking to put a name on my madness. Am I even mad? Was there such a thing as a little bit crazy? A lick of mad? I worried about Mia. I still do. Every waking minute.
‘You’ve been feeding that dragon ever since, haven’t you?’
I chuckle. Nice analogy.
Feeding the dragon? But what about our daughter? I knew what he was going to say. But what kind—
‘You started taking a perfectly healthy baby from doctor to doctor. And that’s not normal.’
Normal? What kind of mother would I be, Jack, if I didn’t try to help my child? What kind of mother would I be?
‘There’s something wrong with her. She cries too much. Don’t you get that?’ My accusation seemed to trigger additional resentment on his part, and, as always, Mia’s excessive crying was just a figment of my imagination.
‘There’s nothing wrong with her, nothing. The fact that you can’t handle a baby doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with her. You’ve been taking Mia from doctor to doctor and they all tell you the same thing. A colic, she’ll grow out of it. You can’t continue to insist on all these tests that make no sense. I’ve been allowing you to do this for the longest time but I need you to stop this madness.’
