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The marriage was over. There was no use pretending anymore. Margo Michaels wearily dumped the stack of dirty plates into the sink full of soapy water. Not that they hadn't tried. God knew they'd struggled for nearly twenty years. It wasn't right somehow that after all this time they only thing she was certain of was the end.
It shouldn't have been like that, she decided as she distractedly wiped at a plate and set it in the rinse water. People always said you had to work at a marriage. Well, she'd been willing to work, but this constant battle every day was more than work. It had become maddening frustration.
They probably should never have tried it in the first place. She chuckled bitterly to herself. How many times over the years had she berated herself with that thought? And how many times had she convinced herself to give it one more try? She wasn't a quitter. No one could ever accuse her of giving up without a fight. She'd have to credit Robbie for that too. This life had been just as hard on him...and the boys.
She set the casserole dish down to get it out of her unsteady hands. She didn't want to think about what was going to happen with the boys. She loved them. She would never let anyone say she didn't love them. She just wasn't very good at being a mother...at least the kind of mother Robbie expected her to be.
PTA meetings, Cub Scouts, Little League; it was all so overwhelming somehow. Maybe there was something wrong with her, like Robbie said. For some reason she was never comfortable doing those things. She always felt like there was something else; something more important she should be doing. Or something else she wanted to be doing.
That was probably closer to the truth. She'd come to realize motherhood was a suit that just didn't fit her. She'd tried to explain it to Robbie on more than one occasion but he didn't understand; anymore than he could understand why she hadn't wanted any more children.
She'd broken her husband's heart, she knew. He came from a large family and had wanted a big family himself. It had taken them five years to have Steven and another four to have Murphy. The joy on Robbie's face at each of their son's births only intensified her anguish that she couldn't find it in herself to do the things that would make her husband's life complete.
With a heavy sigh, she turned and leaned up against the sink. The fight over dinner tonight hadn't been any different than any other. It started over something very small...she burned the meatloaf. Not exactly a crime to her way of thinking, but it was enough to set Robbie off on a tangent about her faults as a homemaker. The sad part was, he was right. She didn't care whether dinner was made or the laundry was done or his shirts were ironed just right. He probably was justified in getting angry with her. She only just realized tonight she was angry with herself.
She wasn't upset for the same reasons as Robbie. She was angry that she'd let herself...let all of them live this lie for all this time. Understanding had dawned on her as Robbie spouted off, almost automatically, while he passed the potatoes. Watching him she realized enough was enough and it was time to put a stop to it. For all their sakes, it was time to call it quits.
"They're both in bed," a voice announced from the doorway and Margo glanced up to see her husband walk into the kitchen.
Robert Michaels was a handsome man. He stood well over six feet tall. At thirty seven, his dark blond hair was still as thick as the day she had first laid eyes on him. He'd come into the USO in San Diego where she worked nights serving coffee and doughnuts. He'd looked a little lost; quiet and shy amid all his boisterous buddies. They'd struck up a conversation and it had continued every night for the next six weeks until he shipped out.
She really hadn't thought she would ever see him again. She supposed it was fate that brought him home on leave just when she was broken up over that terrible relationship with Richard. Whatever it was, she'd reached out for the understanding he offered and they were married three weeks later.
Looking back on the whole thing now, it was hard to come to terms with her own impulsiveness. She couldn't even remember what she was feeling at the time or why she had latched onto Robbie so desperately. She hadn't even given him time to let his family in on the wedding plans; something he regretted to this day, she knew. Her own family didn't matter. Her mother was dead and her father spent most of his time at the dockside pubs. But Robbie's family had been important to him. They still were.
She heaved another heavy sigh. It had been wrong from the start; from that tacky Las Vegas wedding chapel to the cheap hotel room where they'd spent their wedding night. She supposed she'd known it then deep down in her heart but she never let herself admit it. She kept telling herself all couples fought. It was expected. But the loneliness, the emptiness, the lack of something deeper was all there churning inside of her. She didn't know what was wrong, only that there should be something more to a relationship than just living out each day without killing each other.
She wasn't blaming Robbie. If things had turned out differently, they could have been very good friends. She would have enjoyed being Robbie's friend. It was having to be his wife, the mother of his children; having to force herself into a mold she was never meant to fit. That was what had been slowly eating at them both for all these years.
And so tonight; between the burnt meatloaf, Murphy's spilled milk and Robbie's harangue about the meal, she had made up her mind. She was going to leave.
"Murphy kept asking for you to come tuck him in," Robbie stated quietly.
His voice brought her back to the present and she met his cool, blue eyes with her own calm, green ones.
"Thanks for taking care of it," she said gratefully. "I don't think I could have handled it tonight."
"You can't handle it any night," Robbie parried. His voice never raised an octave. "How much could it have hurt to kiss him good night?"
Margo turned away from him and shook her head. "Please don't start on me, Robbie."
He didn't say anything and Margo turned to see him walk out of the kitchen. She wondered if he had any inkling of what she intended. But then, how could he? She'd only just decided herself tonight. What would he do? What would he say? Would he be just as relieved as she was that the whole thing was over?
She dried her hands on the dish towel and took off her apron. She walked out of the kitchen but instead of following Robbie to the living room, she headed upstairs. She had a couple of things to do before she confronted her husband.
There was no light from either boy's bedroom. Quietly she pushed open the door on the left and entered Steven's domain. Nearly fourteen, he guarded his room with the fierce, adolescent pride of ownership. It was a mess as usual. Clothes, both clean and dirty, lay strewn about carelessly. Football gear, baseball mitts and roller skates were scattered hazardously about the floor. There was only one corner of the room with any kind of order. That was his desk with his books. As odd as it seemed, Steven took his schoolwork very seriously. His pride in his straight A average was as great as any of his sports accomplishments.
Margo crept over to the side of his bed, careful not to trip on anything in the dark. She gazed down at her oldest son while he slept. He was Robbie's double; from his honey-colored hair to his clear, blue eyes. It was only in temperament that Steven took after her at all. He was more vocal, more impulsive, more outgoing than Robbie had ever been.
She reached out and tenderly brushed her hand across her son's face. Steven was tough. He would be able to cope. She didn't have to worry about him. No, it was Murphy who concerned her.
Walking into her younger son's room from Steven's was like night and day. Murphy had to be the neatest child on the face of the earth. His toys and games were all carefully stacked and arranged. She never had to look for his dirty clothes and she never had to worry about tripping over anything in the dark. He liked to be able to find things fast. That's what he had told her once. She smiled at the memory of his serious, little face as she walked to his bedside.
Asleep like this, he still seemed such a baby. He was almost ten years old. It was hard to believe how fast the time had flown. As she gazed down at him now she had to fight down a surge of indecision. He was such a sensitive soul. He took everything to heart so and he never let much out. It was only the fact this constant tension in the house had to be worse than the final breakup would be that kept her resolve firm.
Murphy turned restlessly in his sleep. He looked like Robbie too, though not as much as Steven. Murphy had her eyes; that mixed up hazel color that could never decide whether to be green or brown. They also slanted down a bit; giving her son a serious look even when he was happy.
He stirred again and his thumb came up to his mouth. He only did that in his sleep any more. He was getting so grown up. She should have come up and tucked him in. She felt the sting of tears and she bit her lip to keep them in control. She couldn't back out, she just couldn't. Her children would be much better off with Robbie. But as she bent down to kiss his cheek, she felt one of the tears slip out to drop onto his pillow.
She struggled with her tears to keep them in check. She may not have made the world's best mother but there was one thing she could do yet for her boys. She could spare them the torment of having to chose one parent or the other. She could make the break now and make it a final one.
Robert Michaels sat and stared into the fire; his thoughts far away. He had poured himself a drink but it sat untouched beside him. He was troubled. That itself was nothing new. Rarely a day went by that something didn't happen to cause upset and turmoil in this house, but tonight was different somehow. He couldn't put his finger on it and that worried him.
Life certainly hadn't turned out like he'd expected it to. He closed his eyes wearily and leaned his head back against the soft upholstery of the easy chair. His own family life had never been like this. He could hardly remember his parents arguing. The only bad time they'd really had was when Jenny ran off with Matt, and they weren't fighting each other on that; only one headstrong, hopelessly in love, seventeen year old daughter.
He opened his eyes and reached for his drink. Margo had been about that old when he'd met her. Maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe she felt like she'd missed out on something. God knew she kept telling him she wanted to do something important with her life. Like raising her sons wasn't important. He sighed heavily and downed the drink. It seemed they just didn't agree on anything anymore. Hell, maybe they never had.
He heard her come into the room. She never said a word and he watched her silently as she sat down on the sofa. The fire attracted her gaze as well and she sat and stared into it as if mesmerized.
God, she was still beautiful. As she sat there with the light from the fire reflected in her eyes and gleaming from her soft, brown hair, he felt the stirring of desire she still aroused in him; even after all these years; after all the bickering and battles. It would have been easy to go to her; to smooth over the hurt feelings and bitter words like they had done so many times in the past. But tonight there was a different feel in the air. Tonight he held back.
She seemed so far away from him. She'd been distracted all evening and he wondered what was on her mind. She usually had no qualms about telling him, in no uncertain terms, what was bothering her. He wondered what it was this night that made her so reticent.
She must have felt his eyes upon her for she suddenly lifted her gaze from the fire. She seemed to pull herself back from some far away place as she drew in a deep breath and confronted him.
"I have to talk to you about something," she began quietly.
"So I gathered," he replied and he cursed the habit that brought the sarcasm to his voice.
"This is important, Robbie," she scowled. "I...I have to...to get away."
He groaned audibly. So this was going to be another session about getting a job. He felt something akin to disappointment. He had thought this was going to be something earth shattering.
"Margo," he began impatiently. "How many times do we have to go into this?"
She stared at him blankly for a moment. "Into what?"
"The boys need you here at home. Not off being some ultra modern business woman."
"The boys get along fine without me," she retorted. Her voice was angry as she fell automatically into this well-practiced argument. "They're not babies anymore and...Damn it, Robbie," she interrupted herself. "Don't do this to me. This isn't about a job."
He raised a questioning eyebrow. "No? What is all this about then?"
She didn't say anything. Instead she moved off the couch and stood by the fireplace; her eyes once more transfixed by the flames.
Robbie sighed and stood up as well. He really didn't feel like rehashing this long-standing battle. He was tired and he had to get up early for work tomorrow.
"Good-night, Margo," he said evenly as he turned to go upstairs.
"Damn you, Robert!" she shouted. "Don't you just walk out on this!"
He stopped and turned. Her eyes were flashing with anger.
"Walk out on what?" he demanded. His own voice rose to match hers.
"On me, on this. On everything!"
She was flustered. He could tell by the way she was babbling.
"You're not making a whole hell of a lot of sense," he informed her sarcastically.
"I would if you would listen and let me tell you."
"Then tell me, by all means. Only don't drag it out. I have to get up in..."
"Would you shut up and let me tell you!" she demanded in a voice loud enough to wake the whole house.
Robert glanced up towards the boys' rooms. Just what they needed; to be awakened again by the sound of their mother's screeching.
"Keep your voice down!" he ordered harshly.
"I'll talk as loud as I damn well please!" she snapped but her voice had lowered somewhat.
"Fine," Robert replied drily. "You sit here and talk all you want. I'm going to bed."
He never got to the stairs before she rushed from the living room to stand before him and block his way.
"This is it, Robbie," she informed him in a ragged voice. "This is it."
"This is what?" Exasperation finally vented itself and he shouted back at her.
"I can't take it anymore, Robert. I'm tired of all this. I just can't take it anymore!"
Something snapped at that moment. Perhaps it was all the years of accumulated frustration. He didn't know why but that confession from her abruptly released some sort of dam inside of himself.
"Then go!" he shouted. "If you're so tired of it all, just leave. Get out! I don't care anymore what you do!"
He couldn't believe he said it and the look on Margo's face told him she didn't quite believe it either. They stood and stared at each other in thundering silence for what seemed like an eternity. Then Margo whirled abruptly and stormed out the front door.
Robert never moved. He stared at the place she had stood; at the emptiness. He felt frozen in time; like he would never move from this spot.
"Mommy?"
The plaintive voice came from the top of the stairs and Robert at last got his body to move. He turned to look up and saw his youngest son standing on the landing. The boy's eyes were wide and frightened and Robert wondered how long he had been there.
"Where's Mommy going?" he asked.
Robert couldn't answer. He had no answer. He glanced back at the door and stared at it blankly, as if it could tell him.
"Go back to bed, Murphy," he finally said quietly. He would have to deal with this in the morning.
"I wanna go with Mom," the boy argued as he started down the stairs.
"I said go back to bed," Robert repeated. He tried to stay calm. He really didn't want to face this right now.
"No. I wanna go with my Mom!" Murphy shouted as he ran the rest of the way down stairs and headed for the door.
Robert was there in one stride and scooped the child up with one arm.
"Damn it, Murphy! I said go back to bed!"
He hadn't meant to shout. After all, his boys had borne the brunt of all the years of fighting. The last thing Murphy needed now was another yelling match but he was fast losing control of his own emotions and the only thing he wanted right now was to be alone.
He carried his son upstairs. Murphy fought the whole way; crying for his mother and kicking to be let down. Robert never said another word. He merely took the boy to his room and put him down on the bed. He cursed Margo for making them go through this as he watched Murphy scramble out of the bed and crouch beside it, crying into his pillow. He would be in no mood for any adult explanations tonight. No, Robert would have to wait and try to deal with him later; after he had calmed down.
As he left Murphy's bedroom he heard the door to Steven's room shut with a soft click. So both boys had witnessed the little scene. Robert sighed heavily and trudged down the stairs. When Margo came back they would have to have a serious discussion about what they did in front of the boys. It wasn't good for them to live with this kind of tension.
He sat down on the bottom step; feeling intensely weary. He would wait for her here. She was bound to come back soon. There was no place for her to go. When she came back they would make a new start. He would try, he really would. He did love her. Maybe he should have told her that more often. He would tell her as soon as she returned. In the meantime, he would sit on the step and wait for her to come home.