Christmas Angels

Chapter 3:

Chapter 3:

DECEMBER 18, 2016

"Josh"

He entered the room quietly, noting that Marianne was either sleeping or comatose. Her hair was splayed across the pillow and he noticed how much it had grown out since she had last visited a salon. It had darkened over the years, almost to a light chestnut and now the roots showed a substantial amount of grey mixed in. She hated that and always tried to keep it covered, almost as if she were trying to keep the passing years at bay.

The only chair in the room, was sitting in the corner, near the window, and he picked it up and placed it at her bedside. Settling into it, he concentrated on her face as he gently placed his hand over hers, where it lay by her side. She did not stir. She was beautiful he thought, and so humble, too. She had faithfully devoted her life to him. How could he be so blessed as to have such a woman as his wife for all these years?

He had always feared Marianne's heart would give out, but he had hoped that they would be old before then. There was a time when he would have considered his fifty-five years to be old and her fifty-two to be a contender too, for that matter. Back then, their fifties seemed like a long way off. Still, even if they were in their eighties or nineties he would want more time, he supposed.

She looked so innocent lying there. He wondered for the thousandth time how he could have been so selfish and treated her so badly when they were young. It had almost cost him his marriage and he still felt ashamed. They had both wanted a child desperately and when Marianne was diagnosed as barren, he had thought only of himself and he blamed her for his misery. What a fool he had been! Against his will, the memories came flooding back.

NOVEMBER 21, 1990

As the months rolled by, Josh found himself becoming more and more distant from Marianne. He had started coming home late most nights, never even bothering to call and let her know where he was. When he finally did arrive, he would tell her he had already eaten, and the food that she had prepared for dinner, then kept warm for hours, would go in the garbage. Rejected, just like she was. Marianne made it obvious that she could smell the alcohol on his breath and that she disapproved. Sometimes they would fight about his drinking, but this only seemed to make it worse. They were never intimate anymore and he knew that on many nights Marianne lay alone in their bed and cried herself to sleep.

A year passed and nothing changed, except that his drinking became steadily worse. It was well after twelve a.m., one fateful night when he staggered clumsily into the dark apartment.

There was no sound, so he assumed that Marianne was asleep in their bed. He staggered to the refrigerator in the kitchen, and found what he was looking for. A long neck bottle of beer. He would have one more before he called it a day. Carrying it to the kitchen table, he sat down heavily, almost loosing his balance in the process. His head was spinning and he couldn't really remember coming home at all, but here he was, safe and sound. One more drink before bed. That was what he needed. Just this one. He took a long swallow, like a man who is dying of thirst. He drained the bottle, then stuck out his tongue to catch the last drips. He rose from the chair and staggered down the hallway. He burped and almost threw up. Pressing his hand firmly to his lips, he managed to keep everything back. At a closed door in the apartment, he stopped, listened for a moment, and then he turned the knob, hoping to enter the bedroom quietly. With thick, unsteady fingers he awkwardly got himself undressed in the dark. His breath reeked of alcohol as he slipped under the covers beside her.