Broken Together Read online

  Tracey nodded, let go of Ruthie’s hand and watched the older woman walk away. She glanced at the clock on the car stereo before she pulled into flowing traffic—2:00 p.m. More than an hour until time to pick up Brianna. Extra time in the car gave Tracey a chance to calm down.

  Winter sunshine poured through the windows, warming her skin. She grabbed a CD from the overhead organizer and pushed it into the slot. Tamela Mann. Best Days. Tracey played Take Me to The King seven times. The words calmed her soul, ministering to her as she drove home. On the way to the house, Tracey called Brian. The call went to his voice mail. Fine. She could take time to get her words together. She left a curt message for him to call her back and went in the house. Twenty minutes passed before her phone buzzed. She answered without looking at it.

  “Hello.”

  “You talked to that nurse, didn’t you?” Alice said.

  Tracey rolled her eyes. “Ma…”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, and I still haven’t heard from Brian yet.”

  Alice wouldn’t let up. “What did she tell you?”

  “Who?”

  “Daughter, don’t act like your brain malfunctioned.”

  Tracey sighed. “They’ve been working late in the practice together and there might’ve been a date or something because she has pictures of them with each other. Oh, and he has a nickname for her.”

  “Um-hm.”

  The house phone rang, saving Tracey from continuing talking to her mother, though it was good she called. Hearing from her mother reminded her she needed to take care of the late PECO bill. Brian hated it when she paid her mother’s bills. He said it enabled Alice to be irresponsible with money.

  “Ma, I gotta go.” Tracey clicked off the cell phone, and then pushed the talk button on the cordless. “Yes.”

  “Hey, I’m calling you back.” Brian said.

  “You and me. We’re getting together to talk tonight. It’s important.”

  “I’ll try to be out of here by six, but you know how it is.”

  “Yeah, but right now I don’t care.” She rolled her eyes. “If there’s last minute change or a patient emergency, call me.”

  “Tyler? Brianna? Are they alright?”

  “They’re fine. Why?”

  “You made it sound like someone was in trouble.”

  Boy, was that ever true. “We need to talk. Face to face. As soon as possible.”

  “What’s the deal? I’ve got two patients in exam rooms right now and the rest of the day is full.”

  “Get here after your last patient leaves.”

  “I’ll try.”

  4

  Six forty-five.

  No white Lexus turning into the driveway. No Brian. The time shouldn’t bother her. Late nights and sixty-hour work weeks were the norm for him. But tonight?

  Tracey pulled back the curtain and peeked out the kitchen window. Nothing but darkness and swirling snow.

  “Mom! Hey! You need to come up here!” Tyler yelled from upstairs. “I think Brianna is flooding the bathroom. She’s got water and baby dolls all over the place.”

  “Handle it please!” Tracey abandoned the window and sighed as she pulled a Pyrex dish of veggie lasagna out of the oven and placed it on top of the stove.

  “Mom?” Tyler stood two paces behind her before she realized he’d walked into the kitchen. “Can I get something to eat now?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Stop Brianna for me, please. Tell her I said come to dinner.”

  “All right.”

  Tracey watched Tyler stride back down the hallway. Seems like he’d gone from overactive grade schooler to moody teenager overnight. Two years of braces had closed the gap in his front teeth. He was turning out to be a handsome young man, though Tracey could see she needed to buy him medicine for his acne. He must have been picking his face— several small dark scars pocked his cheeks.

  “Don’t wanna eat!”

  Tracey heard Brianna before she saw her.

  “Too bad.” Tracey wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead, turned around and pointed the girl to her seat in the dining room, and served the kids their plates. She could smell basil and olive oil on her fingers as she massaged her temples. She walked into the kitchen and peeked out the window again. Dark driveway. Snow.

  “Mom … I don’t want it!” Brianna whined.

  “You know the rules. Dinner or bed. Do you want to go to bed?”

  “No.”

  “Then eat your food.”

  “Where’s Daddy? I want Daddy.”

  Tracey ignored the comment. She stood with her back resting against the refrigerator and watched through the doorway as Tyler inhaled his meal and Brianna turned hers into a science experiment. When the phone rang, Tracey snatched it off the kitchen counter in a flash.

  “Yes.” Her voice loud and firm.

  “Why’d you answer like that?” Jamal said.

  “What do you want?”

  “The same thing I called for last week and you didn’t call me back. I need a loan. My transmission, remember.”

  “I was at the house earlier. Why didn’t you ask me then?” She pressed the phone to her ear with her shoulder and scrubbed a stainless steel pan with Brillo. “How much?”

  “Around twenty-five hundred.”

  Tracey stepped back from the sink to peer at the kids. She caught Brianna shoving bits of food into the white paper napkin crushed in her palm. Tracey cleared her throat and glared at her daughter. She stopped. Tracey turned back to the sink. “You can’t save up the money?”

  “That would take too long. I need my car. I promise I’ll pay you back.” Jamal said.

  “We’d have to make a schedule …”

  “And …”

  “Look baby brother, I haven’t talked to Brian or prayed or planned to give anyone money today, so let me get back to you.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes. I’ll call you in the morning, so answer your cell okay?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Yes, you do. You can call someone else.”

  “Call me tomorrow.”

  “All right.”

  Jamal was a trip. Last October when Jamal called to ask Tracey and Brian for seed money to start a personal training business, and Tracey asked him for his business plan, he mumbled about not having one. She’d told him to take a few entrepreneurial courses first. He never enrolled and never mentioned starting a business again.

  Tracey glanced in the dining room. Brianna squirmed in her seat and stared at her plate, her tiny lips in a pout. She’d eaten half her food. The rest was a red, beige, and green squishy mess spread across the plate.

  “You’re done,” she told Brianna. The girl scrambled from the table and skipped upstairs before Tracey could say another word.

  Tyler finished his lasagna and served himself a second helping which he swallowed as fast as the first. He moved around Tracey, put his dishes in the sink, made himself a waffle bowl full of chocolate ice cream, and lumbered over to the family room. Loud cheering sounds from a football video game kept Tracey company as she loaded the dishwasher and cleaned the countertops. Then she swept and mopped the kitchen floor, settled on pretending she wasn’t waiting on Brian.

  Brianna fought going to bed even after Tracey gave her a bath and read her three bedtime stories.

  “Can’t I stay up to wait for Daddy?” She begged as Tracey pulled the Princess Jasmine comforter up to the girl’s thin shoulders. “Please?”

  “No.” Tracey kissed her on the nose. “Now, let’s pray.”

  They prayed. Tracey snapped on Brianna’s nightlight and left the door cracked. She stepped into the hallway, and the silence surrounded her like a heavy blanket. Tyler was still downstairs playing PlayStation in the family room, which meant
he was a permanent fixture on the couch until Tracey told him to give the games a rest.

  After eight-thirty. Still no Brian. Not even a phone call from him. If Tracey’s house didn’t contain two kids she’d sprint out of the house to find him. No, wait. Dumb idea. What would she do when she found him?

  She trudged back downstairs and stretched out on the living room sofa for a second before grabbing the phone off the side table. She pressed the speed dial number for Brian’s cell. The call went straight to voice mail. Tracey hung up without leaving a message. She dialed the practice. No answer. Not that she’d expected one after eight in the evening. The calls went to the answering service.

  Get. A. Grip.

  She wrapped her arms around herself. The words of Philippians 4:6–7 ran through her mind at warp speed: Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

  She repeated the verses. They brought comfort for the moment.

  Thirty minutes later, her eyes popped open.

  This was bananas. She needed to do something else with her time.

  Let’s see. Information. Hmm. Brian’s phone bill was the obvious choice. Trouble was, his phone bills didn’t come in the mail. He had opted for online statements.

  The office desktop took way too long to boot up. She chewed her bottom lip as she stared at the screen, waiting for the colorful icons to appear. Antivirus reminders displayed. She clicked those away, then opened Outlook. Time for online sleuthing. While the information loaded, the Holy Spirit jerked away at her conscience, telling her to stop snooping behind Brian’s back. She rubbed her forehead as if she could wipe away the nagging thoughts. No time for that. If she was wrong, she’d apologize.

  Brian’s email loaded. Tracey scanned the list so fast her vision blurred.

  Nothing.

  She scrolled through the list again, one email a time. Messages from his buddies. Email newsletter from InTouch. Email newsletter from Crosswalk. Spam offer for windows. Email requesting support for missionaries in South Africa. Message from Compassion International. Spam offer for aluminum siding. A few messages from his fraternity brothers. One from his cousin organizing their annual family reunion in Chicago.

  Tracey slumped in the chair. All this anxiety for what? Some totally boring stuff. She sighed, then scrolled down more. Right there. At the bottom. An email message from his phone provider. She clicked on it. The bill was overdue. But there was a hyperlink offering a convenient way to pay the bill online. She clicked the link. It popped up a browser window for the website.

  The site asked for a phone number and password. Tracey had no password. She saw an 800 number for customer support though. Calling might give her what she needed. She sat still and listened. No movement coming from the downstairs. Tyler would play his games until his eyeballs popped out and fell on the floor. Brianna? Asleep in her room. Tracey dashed to the master bedroom, swiped the cordless off the dresser, then jogged back to the office. She dialed and when the representative came on the line, Tracey turned on the charm.

  “Welcome to BlueSky Mobile. How may I help you today?”

  “Yes, hello. I need help to pay my bill.” Tracey lied.

  “Well, I can certainly help you today, ma’am. Would you like to pay now?”

  “I wanted to review the bill statements first, then pay my bill.” Which was kind of the truth.

  “I can help you with that, ma’am. Were you able to log in to the online portal?”

  “I wasn’t able to get on. I pay by online banking, but I noticed this bill is overdue and I want to pay it right away. I forgot my online password information. Could you help me retrieve it?” Since she’d already lied, the right phrases enabling her to get information slipped off her tongue like melted ice cream.

  “I can provide your password over the phone, but you will have to tell me the security answers.”

  “No problem.” Adrenaline flowed through her blood vessels, quieting her conscience more each second.

  “Your mobile phone number please?”

  Tracey rattled off the numbers.

  “Ma’am, this phone call may be monitored for quality assurance.” The woman stated crisply. “May I have the last four digits of the social security number of this account?”

  Wonderful! Something standard a wife knows. Tracey gave her the numbers and prepared herself for the next question.

  “Great,” the rep said. “And your mother’s maiden name, please?”

  Tracey almost uttered Alice’s maiden name of Waters. Then she stopped herself. The woman needed Brian’s mother’s maiden name.

  “Hitchcock,” Tracey replied.

  “One more,” the lady said. “Your security question is … what was your first car model?”

  Brian’s first car? His first car. Got it! First car he bought during undergrad at Howard. He’d talked about it often when they started dating, the battered used car that took him back and forth for years before it conked out during his last year at UMDNJ. Tracey jogged her legs beneath the desk, blood pulsating in her ears. A few seconds from getting into Brian’s account. “Volkswagen Jetta.”

  “Thank you.” The lady paused, sounds of fingers clicking a keyboard, then came back. “You’ll want to write this down.”

  Tracey’s hands trembled as she snatched a blank sheet of paper from the printer and scrambled for a pencil. “Yes, go ahead please.”

  “Your password is ‘drjones1234’.”

  Tracey let the pencil drop to the desktop. Drjones1234? That’s it? Tracey could have guessed that. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Can I help you with something else this evening?”

  “No thanks.” She wished she could teleport through the phone line and give the young lady a hug, but she settled for sitting up in the chair and typing Brian‘s phone number and password into the portal. “You’ve been a great help.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Have a great night.”

  Tracey hung up and scanned the phone call entries displayed on the screen. A great night? Maybe not. But it sure would be a night to remember.

  5

  Eyes glazed over and mouth dry, Tracey slumped down in her chair. Her fingers trembled as she clicked off the computer. She’d scanned Brian’s phone call list for over an hour. Now she sat in a daze, silent and unmoving.

  All right. Okay.

  She took a deep breath. Now she’d seen it—two months full of calls and texts. So many entries from Brian to Lisette and vice-versa left Tracey officially in shock. Oh yes, she had remembered the number in the information for the “Troy” she saw listed on his phone the night before. There was no mistaking the calls she’d scanned were definitely back and forth between Brian and Lisette. The communication between them after midnight on some nights really gave Tracey a Floyd Mayweather-strength punch to the gut. Those must have happened while she slept, dead to the world, ignorant of her husband’s actions.

  A knock on the office door made her jump.

  “Hey Mom, you okay?”

  Tyler.

  “Yeah … uh, yes. I’m okay.” A big fat lie. But no way was she ready to start jabbering to her son about the discoveries she’d uncovered.

  “I shut off the games and TV downstairs.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Tyler pulled himself away from the PlayStation? What time was it? She glanced at the wall clock. Five minutes after ten.

  Tracey put her hands on her knees and looked around. Too darn quiet in the house. Her body hummed with nervous energy. She needed something. A distraction.

  Tracey lunged up, left the office, zipped around the upstairs and shuffled through the bathrooms collecting hampers of soiled clothing, towels, and b
edding. She shut off her brain and dragged four heavy baskets down into the basement laundry room. She cruised on auto pilot as she moved into the cold, far corner of the basement. As she pulled the chain above her head, the harsh light of the naked bulb illuminated the gray concrete space. This would work. She had to concentrate on a job containing no emotion. No trust or questions. Dirty laundry didn’t get angry, lie, or make excuses. It only lay in soft lumpy piles waiting to get clean.

  She was pouring detergent into the washer when she heard the back door open.

  Showtime.

  “Tracey!”

  She heard Brian call out from the kitchen. She tracked the sound of his footsteps over her head as he walked to the open basement door.

  “You down there?” He called.

  “I’m here!” she hollered, up to her elbows in hot water. She jerked her wet hands out of the washer and stopped fishing for the blue plastic cap she’d dropped the second the back door opened.

  “Where’ve you been?” Tracey demanded when Brian appeared in the doorway.

  He leaned against the door frame. His muddy, snow-smudged boots left brown wet marks on the concrete floor behind him. “The gym,” he said.

  “Uh-huh.” She kept sorting laundry, forcefully throwing dark clothes into one pile, and bright colors into another.

  “How are you?” Brian asked.

  Tracey sighed. “I’ve been better.”

  He cleared his throat. “Today you said you wanted to talk? Something important?”

  “Yep.” She stepped back to the washer, found the cap, fished it out, and twisted it back on the big bottle of Tide. She shook the bottle. Nothing left in it. Anger urged her to hurl the empty plastic bottle right at Brian’s head. She gripped it tight for a moment then dismissed the thought, tossing the bottle into the battered green recycling bin next to the dryer instead.

  “You want to talk now?” He asked.

  She wiped away smears of water and blue laundry soap from the top of the washer then threw a tattered yellow rag on top. She faced him. “I had asked you to be here as soon as you could.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “Well, I’m here now.”