The Trust

Chapter 2: One Person

It's amazing how easy it is to lie.

I've never been a liar before. I always told the truth, no matter how harsh, or how little good it did me. Maybe it's because I haven't eaten since the night before, or the fact that everything in my life has turned to utter shit, but I stride into my boss's office and tell him I have a cold and I'm going home for the day. It's not a total lie, I did feel a headache coming on earlier, but the thought of hanging out with my best friend and crying on his shoulder has perked me up a bit and I'm starting to feel better.

Brian is a stern boss, but he's not a bad guy. I am soaked to the skin and legit sneeze into the crook of my elbow as we're talking, a nice touch. He tells me to go home and get some rest and I plan to — once I murder my husband.

Ok, I won't actually kill him. But I can't go on like this — with him taking everything from me time and again, and me just taking it. I need to be better than that, stronger for my daughter. She can't grow up thinking it's fine for a man to treat you like shit just to keep a roof over your head and food on the table — and lately, he can't even do that. But maybe she's already internalized that message, I think with dismay. Damage is damage. No matter how hard I tried to keep her happy and safe, she's got to be affected by life with a shitty, unreliable dad.

One crisis at a time, I remind myself. I can't handle any more than that.

The drive home takes 20 minutes, enough time for me to calm down and think. Divorce is impossible. What little money Clive brings in goes to keeping the mortgage paid, and I'll never leave the house. It's my dream home, the house on the corner I used to pass walking back and forth to high school every day. I always loved that house and the day we bought it was a dream come true. We've worked hard on it over the years, and now I have it exactly the way I want it including a little granny suite in the basement for Mom. I won't take a penny of rent from my mother, she had it hard enough when we were kids. My sister pays all of Mom's other bills and gives her spending money each month. After a lifetime of poverty, the least we can do is make sure she can now live comfortably on her small pension.

But I have to admit, Clive is right — having Mom live with us does incur extra expenses— higher hot water bill, larger grocery bill. But it doesn't matter, I'm looking after my 70-year-old mother and that's that. End of discussion.

It's not a one-way street; even at her age, she still looks after us. She has the energy of someone 30 years younger and isn't happy unless she's on the move, cleaning or organizing something. I park in the garage and enter the kitchen. My mom greets me with a smile, stirring a pot of something that smells delicious.

"I made corn chowder. The dishes are done, and the laundry is folded on your bed, you just have to put it away," she says. I want to hug her, but we're not the huggy type. Instead, I pat her shoulder gratefully, grab a bowl of soup and head to the table with a handful of crackers. It's buttery, rich and creamy and I devour the bowl and go back for more.

Instantly, I feel better. I want to have it out with Clive, rip the ugly band aid off. The epic fight to end all fights has been coming for a while, there is no getting around this huge betrayal and how it's going to impact our family. But I can't bear it right now. I need to store up my strength first, figure out if he's finally put the last nail in the coffin of our marriage or not.

"We hardly have any groceries, Mom. I don't know how you can always make something from nothing," I say to her, washing my bowl and putting it away.

"If you have potatoes, corn and milk, you can always make a chowder," she says, starting the dishwasher. "You're home early."

"Yeah, I had to get out of there," I said. "I'm going to see Jake."

"Tell him I said 'hi,'" she says, fluttering her eyelashes. I laugh and shake my head. My friend is movie-star handsome, something everyone and their dog seems to know — everyone except him. I get a kick out of the response he generates from the women in the town, and some of the men.