In the weeks that followed, things didn’t get any better, but they didn’t get any worse. James was coming home by 6 pm again and he was eating dinner. But that was it; nothing had magically fixed itself by the night of cuddling we’d had. He was sleeping in our bed again, but there’d been no more touching.
We had a lot of public appearances in the days that followed. If it wasn’t a wedding, it was a fundraiser or a book launch, or even game nights with friends. James reminded me ahead of each one and insisted that we attend. On this particular day, it was pouring. Usually, we would skip the event if it wasn’t really important. It was game night and I thought I could get out of it but he insisted that we attend which I found a tad odd. He had never been big on keeping up with appearances but now, he insisted. Whenever we were out, he played the perfect husband, complete with public display of affection.
I got dressed and we left for game night with a few of our friends. Once there, we got into character. Mimi was there with her husband Terfa, my husband’s friend Richard was there with his wife and a few other of their friends. What was good about days like this one was the fact that even without alcohol; we were still able to have a great time and truly enjoyed each other’s company. Everyone could let loose and laugh like they didn’t have a care in the world. I hoped that James and I wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. We were far from bubbly at the time. Surprisingly though, he was a good sport. He talked when he was supposed to, laughed when something was funny, held my hand and even kissed me when he felt like the mood was right. I was truly surprised at how effortlessly he pulled it off. The night went better than I could’ve imagined and I just rolled with it. I was taking my victories anywhere they decided to come from.
Nothing changed at home. We were still living like glorified roommates and silent treatment was still very much on the table. The only change was my body. The swells of my breasts, the morning sickness I was trying my best to hide and the hormones that were raging. It was the first time I was getting pregnant in our five years of matrimony. At first, we’d been trying but it just hadn’t happened. But then I made sure that it didn’t happen. I started my birth control because I didn’t feel like James and I were ready to bring another person into our home, a little soul we were to be responsible for and end up scarring. I hid this from James of course, mostly because I didn’t feel like he would understand my position on the subject. I wasn’t showing yet, but it wasn’t going to stay hidden. The only reason I had been able to hide it up to the point I did just went to prove just how out of it my husband was. I didn’t know how he was going to take the news, I was two months along and I still had not told him. I was more confused about what I was going to do once the baby was born. I already knew that I was going to love it with all my heart, I already did. But at the same time, I also knew that a child needed a stable home to grow up in. I’d been so worried about everything going on that I’d missed an appointment with my gynaecologist. One missed shot was all it had taken for me to get pregnant. It was one of those days that James used my body as relief from whatever demons were chasing him. I remember now, thinking about it; how the child I was carrying was conceived. It was pure biology, without a shred of love. No one dreamed of having their first child that way, and so for five years of marriage, I’d denied us a child. God knew we weren’t ready. I’d just added the health of my unborn child to the things that I had to worry about. I was sure it wasn’t healthy for the mother to be constantly under duress, yet I couldn’t help myself.
To top up my ever-increasing reasons to worry, Sunday came around again and James froze midway through his sermon. For a good five minutes, he kept starring at the teleprompter without actually saying anything. The crowd started to become restless, murmuring could be heard all around. I’ll be forever grateful to the choir director who had quickly reacted by breaking into a heartfelt worship session. After about seven minutes of singing, James returned to his place on the pulpit and struggled to wrap up the message. I refused to bow my head in shame, it was the least I could do. I sat very still and stared ahead as James obviously fumbled. Inside, I was cringing with both hands on my head. I felt the pitiful glances I was getting from both sides of the aisle; I refused to acknowledge any of them. At that moment, I fully understood what people meant when they said they wished the ground would open up and swallow them whole. That was undoubtedly the most embarrassing moment of my life, and it hadn’t even been me up on that pulpit. I could only imagine what James must have been going through.
I didn’t need to be told this time, I waited in the car this particular Sunday. James was in a meeting with the senior Pastor and the board of elders, obviously about what had happened during service. Thankfully, the car was parked far away from the entrance of the church, away from prying eyes.
I was in the car for about an hour, thirty minutes before James joined me. We left immediately for the house. The drive home was quiet, but that wasn’t surprising. Whatever happened in that meeting hadn’t been good, that much was obvious from the look on his face. I decided to wait till I’d at least given him food to start bombarding him with the question.
I changed quickly once home and went back downstairs to fix lunch. I found James staring out the window overlooking the front yard.
“What would you like to eat?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not hungry.” He didn’t sound angry, just sad so I took a few steps closer.
“What did the Pastor say?” I hoped he would at least tell me what it was.
“In simpler terms, I’ve been suspended. He said I needed some time off to seek the Lord and work through my issues. He also said that I’ve been slacking and the time off would do me good.” His back was still turned to me so his expression was unreadable. I didn’t know what he thought about that but I knew that part was true; he had been slacking at a lot of things, not just his pastoral duties.
“Babe, can you help me understand why? Why this has been happening.” I was hopeful that he’d finally open up.
“So you agree?” he finally turned around, his eyes were bloodshot. There were no tears, just very evident pain. I wish I knew what it was about or how I could help him.
“James, a lot of things haven’t been adding up lately. I wish you’d just tell me what’s wrong.” He looked at me like he was contemplating his decision like he was deciding the best way to answer my question.
“I’m going through some things now, but I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine soon enough.” That was the vaguest thing I’d ever heard. I was far from done with the conversation but it sounded like he was. I had so many questions and I also had my own truths to own up to but if he was shutting me out, there was no way we were ever going to talk about the things we really needed to.
“You can tell me what it is, I can handle it. We can’t continue to live like this.”
“I said I’m fine. I need to clear my head right now, can we please drop this?”
Well, there it was. That was basically how all conversations went. I wasn’t done though, even if he was angry I still needed him to talk. We needed to talk.
“But James…” he banged the front door so hard I was sure it rattled on its hinges. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I had not seen him walk to the door. Next I heard was the loud screech of tires against the gavel. And this was before I added my problems to whatever demons were chasing him; I wondered how he would react then.
James did not come home that night. I waited up until it was pretty late before deciding that he wasn’t going to be coming back. I picked up my phone to call him but instead, I left him a text, asking him to please be safe. I found that taking the coward’s way out was coming to me more easily as time passed. Having a conversation about where things stood with James was almost always a confrontation. I laid in bed, trying not to think about my numerous problems; instead, I picked up my phone and caught up on social media. I hadn’t been online in so long, my friends were actually wondering where I went. A few minutes of hitting the like button and adding cheerful comments and I’d had enough. Cheerful was the last thing I was. Nothing seemed to hold my attention for too long, reading was another exercise in futility. I was miserable if I’m being honest. Helplessness became me.
James came home the next morning. Richard drove him home and even then, he still seemed inebriated. He has been drinking apparently and into the wee hours of the morning. I opened the front door for them as Richard helped him inside. He smelled like he had puked himself more than once.
“Hey wife,” he greeted with a wide, sloppy smile.
“Can you please help him upstairs?” I addressed Richard, completely avoiding him. I couldn’t stand the stench emanating from him. I already felt like I was going to spill my guts all over the living room as it was.
Richard was kind enough to undress him and get him to lie down before heading back downstairs. I thanked him for his help and offered him breakfast but he declined. I thought that meant he was on his way but he hesitated, something clearly on his mind. I urged him with my eyes to get on with it but when he did, I didn’t have the answers to the questions I really needed to be able to answer.
“Honestly Richard, I’m not sure what the problem is. I’ve tried to ask...” I paused, careful not to divulge too much. I didn’t need everyone knowing our business. “I’ll talk to him again when he comes through,” I concluded. Richard was concerned because James was his good friend, I could tell. Yet I didn’t feel like it was my place to tell him that James was struggling. He said he was worried because he hadn’t seen James in such a low place for the longest time. In fact, more specifically, since his mother’s death; that was the only time he had broken down completely. Even I remembered it so well, we’d been courting then and there wasn’t a thing I could do to get to him. Richard and James had known each other since secondary school and they’d remained friends since. James would tell him what the problem was when he was ready to; I was going to leave it at that. What I did know was that this was different from his mother’s death. I felt like it had something to do with me, even though I couldn’t remember doing anything wrong. While his mother’s death had wrecked him, he didn’t ever take it out on me. If anything, he seemed to like it better when I was around. Richard made me promise to update him if anything changed and then he was on his way.
James was snoring by the time I made it back up the stairs. The soft whirs of the washing machine were also coming from the bathroom. Richard, bless his soul, had thrown the puke-covered apparel into the washer. Chaos or not, I still needed to work so I washed up and got ready to leave. I made sure to leave a bottle of water and some aspirin on the nightstand before walking out the door. He was going to need it, that hangover was going to hurt. I thought about calling his work to tell them that he was under the weather but I didn’t know if he’d want me to do that. He was in no condition to go to work, but knowing him, he probably was still going to try.
The good thing about work was that I loved it and it took my mind away from everything else. It was the one distraction that was foolproof, it always worked. I buried myself in it and by the time I came up for air, it was well after 4 pm. My stomach growled its protest right on cue. I’d completely forgotten about lunch and I was twice as hungry, I blamed that on the pregnancy hormones. I made to call my assistant and order some food when my desk phone rang. The receptionist was calling to give me a heads up; my husband was on his way to my office. There was a time that I would’ve thought it was the ultimate romantic gesture, clearly, this wasn’t one of those times.
“Hey, babe.” I rounded the desk to hug him but he was so tense it ended up being an awkward shoulder bump.
“What’s up?” I tried again.
“Explain to me why Terfa called me to ask if I was under stress and if I needed anything.” His jaw ticked, he was obviously angry. Now I rarely ever cursed, I mean I was a preacher’s wife and all but all I could think was “shit!” Terfa was Mimi’s husband; I’d been talking to Mimi which meant she’d been talking to her husband. Now James was standing in my office, looking at me like I’d betrayed him.
The first time I met James, I’d swooned. I didn’t embarrass myself or anything but I’d blushed and giggled like a teenage girl. James Adah, the most talked-about engineering student. There he was, leaning against the hood of his old Peugeot 504 and flashing me the most bedazzling smile. I was a “fresher” in the university; a Public Relations major and he was in his third year. How did a PR major end up scripting movies right? Well, your passion doesn’t always make sense. I eventually opened an advertising and PR firm so I guess my education wasn’t wasted after all. I was with my best friend Mimi when I saw him. She saw him looking at me and nudged me with her elbow as if to ask if I could see what she was seeing. He was with a clique of friends but he stood out, a force to be reckoned with. He had his hands in his pockets, face cap backwards and very self-assured. He was tall, dark, tough-looking and nice at the same time. He smiled at me again, toying with his cap. Looking back now, I never would’ve thought the James Adah would look at me. Even then, I didn’t think he was going to push off the hood of his car and walk towards me, but he did just that. He reached out his hand and I gave him mine. He had me from there. I lived with my older sister June and she never minded when we went out because that meant I was out of her hair for the time being. Our parents lived an hour plus away and we’d left them there when it was time to attend university. James and I went out a lot, not just to restaurants and bars but movies, hikes, everything. Some of those memories we’d tried to recreate after we got married. We’d been inseparable. How times have changed right?
“Can we not do this here?” I really didn’t feel like creating a scene, especially one where all my employees could easily see. Whoever thought glass walls were a great idea?
“I asked you a question, Kate. I’m not doing anything. Have you been talking to these people about me behind my back?” he clearly wasn’t buying what I was selling.
“I was worried, okay?” I decided to own up to the truth. “I needed to talk so I called Mimi. I guess she filled her husband in.”
“So you decided to put our business out in the open?” Apparently, nothing was going to help the situation.
“It wasn’t like that, you weren’t talking to me and I didn’t know what else to do.”
“So this is my fault? You making me your latest topic of gossip is my fault?” I didn’t know what to say. It seemed like I was only making it worse by offering him an explanation.
“I’m sorry; it was never my intention to offend you.”
“Wherever this need to be popular among your friends came from, I’m not sure. But what I know is that I don’t want to be a part of it. Do you understand?” He was definitely taking it the wrong way, but I agreed anyway. The sooner he left the better for everyone involved. Except that he wasn’t leaving just yet.
“Get your things, we’re leaving.”
“What?” I was truly surprised. It was 4:20 pm but it was far from my closing time. On a good day, I got home around 6:00 pm or shortly before. But I was more surprised because James never told me what to do when it came to my job, let alone walk into my office and demand that I leave.
“You heard me, pack up. We’re going home.”
“But I’m not done here.” He didn’t look like he was joking around so I let my assistant know we were leaving and soon we were in the parking lot of the office complex. Only, his car was not there. I’d assumed he drove and we were going to leave in separate cars, even hoped that the drive home would calm him down and maybe even clear his head a bit.
“You didn’t drive?”
“I took a cab.”
“Where’s your car?”
“Are you going to question me all evening or are we going home?” Whatever problems he was having had definitely done a number on him. I tried not to be another burden he had to carry by moving wordlessly to my own car. James beat me to the driver’s side and held out his hand for the car keys. I handed them over and proceeded to ride shotgun. Everything about that day was off. I tried not to question him any further; he didn’t look like he was going to entertain that at all.
Back home, James demanded that I make dinner immediately. He also insisted that he wanted everything fresh, nothing from the fridge. He didn’t want “stale food”. I usually made stew and soup at the end of every week against the new since I was always so busy. We’d eaten like this for a while and calling it stale now was a bit of an exaggeration on his part. He didn’t seem to mind it before. I worked a lot, but I also wanted to feed my husband so that seemed like a safe option. When I got home around 6 pm every day, all I had to do was boil rice, fry some plantain, cut some vegetables, make semovita, etc. There was always something to eat it with. I didn’t have to blend ingredients and start frying from scratch.
“Why is it taking so long?” I heard him ask from the dining table where he was perched; watching me through the kitchen door like a hawk would its prey.
“Because you don’t want anything from the fridge, that’s what makes it as fast as you’re used to.” I was exasperated and didn’t bother trying to hide it from my voice. The day had been trying enough; I didn’t need him breathing down my neck.
“Is cooking for me now too much for you to handle?” At this point, I was sure he was just fishing for a fight but I was tired of walking on eggshells.
“What’s wrong with you today? Why are you acting like this? Did something happen at work?”
“I demand that you be a good wife for once and something is wrong with me?”
“Well then…” I set down the spatula I’d been holding. “…tell me what I’ve been, James.” My nerves had been frayed.
“Well let’s see, you work too much. You love the job far more than you love anything else, and that includes me. Lately, you’ve taken to gossip. Let’s not forget that in all the five years that we’ve been married, you’ve never gotten pregnant. Not even once. So tell me, what kind of a wife is that?”
I couldn’t help myself, I laughed; the irony of it. So that was what it was about, I kept thinking.
“The kind of wife that puts up with you even when you’re being less than a husband; like right now.” I saw the surprise cross his face. I was by no means a coward, but I didn’t believe in talking back at my husband, especially when he was upset. I would wait until I was sure he had calmed down, and then I would try to talk to him in the gentlest of tones. This was what my mother swore I needed to be when I was getting married. She told me that it was the key to keeping a marriage right after she’d admonished my very opinionated self. Even before it was time to get married, she’d warned me many times that my mouth was going to get me into trouble. A woman was supposed to be seen and not heard, she’d often say. So consciously and perhaps unconsciously, I tamed the warfare that was constantly waging inside of me and tried my hardest to be a “good wife”. It was why I always felt like there was a war inside of me but didn’t do anything about it. My mother had found out about James earlier in the relationship than I’d intended. James had come over to finally meet June; she’d been dying to meet him. What I didn’t know was that my mother had planned on visiting June and I that same Sunday afternoon. June had gone out to get soft drinks so there was no way she could’ve warned me, in fact, they walked in together. She liked to come on these surprise visits to make sure we were on our best behaviour. There was no need to lie about it, we loved each other so when she’d asked, and we owned it. I was still very young, eighteen to be precise. So while she didn’t tell me to give the relationship up, it meant constant follow up calls, hours of counselling and the most awkward conversations. Back then, we weren’t having sex so at least I didn’t have to lie when she asked, which was often.
And after I said no every time, she would look me straight in the eye for a moment and then nod, like the truth was written all over my face. Then we would dive into the “good woman, good wife” lecture. It was exhausting, to say the least. By now, you probably can already tell that my mother was an example of the typical African woman. So I was by default, the typical African wife, millionaire or not.
“Are you talking to me?” Now he was pissed.
“I am.” I didn’t know what had come over me but if it was going to take a confrontation to finally talk about things, I was all for it. “You’re pointing fingers when you’ve been anything but a husband for nearly two years now. You’ve been walking around with your shoulders hanging like you’re carrying the weight of the world on them. Anytime I ask what’s wrong, you say everything is fine. And it seems you’ve forgotten how babies are made, you have to actually have sex for that to happen. When last did we do that?” I knew it was time to stop, but I couldn’t be myself. “And how are you so sure it’s my fault anyway? Have you ever gotten a girl pregnant?” I was so pumped by the adrenaline coursing through my veins that I had lost consciousness of my environment. I still remember it clearly; I could still hear the sound if I closed my eyes, could almost feel it. The first time James slapped me right across my face. I was so surprised that I didn’t even feel the sting of it when it first happened. I held my face and stared at him, mind blank. He looked a little surprised himself. We looked at each other for a bit, neither of us saying a word. The smoke coming from the kitchen finally interrupted our stare down. I’d completely forgotten about the food I was cooking, it was completely burnt by the time I turned off the cooker. He was gone when I came out of the kitchen. I still didn’t feel anything; no sadness, no pain, no tears, nothing. Had I pushed him too far? But never in a million years would I have ever thought that James would hit me. I would’ve gone as far as to bet on it. I’d seen him angry before, even furious. I’d also seen him lose his temper but for the life of me, I never thought I would get to the place where I was the object of his fury. Where did this leave us? Did we carry on like nothing changed? What did this mean for our marriage? Let’s not forget I was pregnant. If I thought we weren’t ready before, imagine what I was thinking now. Was it my fault? I guess I could’ve handled things a little differently but could you blame me? I’d been upset for a while without really getting into it; all that pent up tension finally came out. I needed him to talk, tell me what was troubling him. Maybe I should’ve just waited for when he was ready to come clean with it instead of pushing him. It’s what my mother would’ve done. I could hear her now, how she went on and on about not pushing a man. I felt the first tear finally roll down my cheek. How had things regressed so much? When did we get to this kind of place? I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d done something wrong, that somehow I deserved what I got. I was almost sure my mother was going to say those exact words to me so I didn’t bother calling her; instead, I sat down at the dining room table and cried. I cried for all the things were wrong with my marriage, cried until the tears would no longer fall. I couldn’t stop once I started. Maybe it was the hormones, or maybe it was just that I was sad. And sad I was, incredibly so. I’d had such high hopes for James and I, he was the first man I’d ever loved. This was supposed to be my fairy tale, my happily ever after.
It wasn't supposed to be going this badly; I guess fairy tales didn't happen in real life.
I remember the first time I saw James lose his temper, it was a pretty sight. He tossed his whole room, breaking a lot of valuables. I remember catching the tail end of it, just in time to stop him from smashing the TV. He had been failing in school because his mother was ill and he was distracted. His family wasn't exactly wealthy and her treatment required a lot of money. His father couldn't afford it and wasn't exactly willing to try. He wasn't exactly winning husband or father of the year either. James was the first child, he has two sisters; Martha and Abigail, but they were significantly younger and couldn't be of any real help. He had to shuffle between school and a lot of odd jobs on top of his housekeeping night shifts at a hotel near his house to make enough to settle a reasonable portion of the hospital bills. All that pressure, it was starting to tell on him. He was in his final year and failing meant an extra year which almost meant more tuition money that he didn't have. A test he'd taken had just come through and it wasn't good, along with a few others that had come before. I tried to reason with him, encourage him that he could still pass when exams came but it wasn't doing much. The best I could do was talk him out of thrashing his room any further, the anger was still there. He didn't operate well under pressure, he completely folded. It made me wonder now if something was going on, something he was hiding from me. It would explain the erratic behaviour. But I wasn't even going to lie to myself and say that I was going to ask him or try to talk to him. My fault or not, we needed time to process our feelings. I thought about leaving, getting away for a few days but then again, where would I go? My mother would call my husband as soon as I got home, she did that even when there was nothing wrong and I didn't want her to find out that we had problems. I couldn't go to Mimi's place, mostly because I was too ashamed to admit the disaster that my marriage had become to anyone else, they would judge me and hate him. I didn't want anyone to know because he was still a Pastor, they would lose all respect for him and he wouldn't be able to effectively minister to them when he eventually returned to the pulpit. I hoped that wasn't soon anyway, he was far from ready. I wondered if he still felt connected to God. We didn't pray together anymore so I didn't know when or if he prayed. He hadn't touched the daily devotional on the nightstand in a long time.
The way I saw it, I had two options. I could hideout in a hotel for a few days or I could stay and handle things like a grown woman. My mother didn't raise a coward, so the latter seemed a more suitable option. I would be home, waiting for when my husband came back from his own hideaway. This time though, I was going to wait for him to talk. And as much as it was because I didn't want to push him, part of the reason was also that I wanted to see where he would take things after crossing that line.
I soon discovered I was going to be waiting a while. It was after midnight and he still wasn't home. His car hasn't returned from where it went so it was the car I usually drove to work that was still missing. I listened for the sounds of a car pulling in for hours but nothing came, the dead silence of the night greeted my tired ears. Maybe he wasn't coming home after all. I resigned myself to that fact and tried to get some sleep but that wasn't happening either. To say my mind was crowded was putting it mildly. It was nearly dawn when I caught a few hours of sleep, he still hadn't come home. Chapter Three
In the weeks that followed, things didn’t get any better, but they didn’t get any worse. James was coming home by 6 pm again and he was eating dinner. But that was it; nothing had magically fixed itself by the night of cuddling we’d had. He was sleeping in our bed again, but there’d been no more touching.
We had a lot of public appearances in the days that followed. If it wasn’t a wedding, it was a fundraiser or a book launch, or even game nights with friends. James reminded me ahead of each one and insisted that we attend. On this particular day, it was pouring. Usually, we would skip the event if it wasn’t really important. It was game night and I thought I could get out of it but he insisted that we attend which I found a tad odd. He had never been big on keeping up with appearances but now, he insisted. Whenever we were out, he played the perfect husband, complete with public display of affection.
I got dressed and we left for game night with a few of our friends. Once there, we got into character. Mimi was there with her husband Terfa, my husband’s friend Richard was there with his wife and a few other of their friends. What was good about days like this one was the fact that even without alcohol; we were still able to have a great time and truly enjoyed each other’s company. Everyone could let loose and laugh like they didn’t have a care in the world. I hoped that James and I wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. We were far from bubbly at the time. Surprisingly though, he was a good sport. He talked when he was supposed to, laughed when something was funny, held my hand and even kissed me when he felt like the mood was right. I was truly surprised at how effortlessly he pulled it off. The night went better than I could’ve imagined and I just rolled with it. I was taking my victories anywhere they decided to come from.
Nothing changed at home. We were still living like glorified roommates and silent treatment was still very much on the table. The only change was my body. The swells of my breasts, the morning sickness I was trying my best to hide and the hormones that were raging. It was the first time I was getting pregnant in our five years of matrimony. At first, we’d been trying but it just hadn’t happened. But then I made sure that it didn’t happen. I started my birth control because I didn’t feel like James and I were ready to bring another person into our home, a little soul we were to be responsible for and end up scarring. I hid this from James of course, mostly because I didn’t feel like he would understand my position on the subject. I wasn’t showing yet, but it wasn’t going to stay hidden. The only reason I had been able to hide it up to the point I did just went to prove just how out of it my husband was. I didn’t know how he was going to take the news, I was two months along and I still had not told him. I was more confused about what I was going to do once the baby was born. I already knew that I was going to love it with all my heart, I already did. But at the same time, I also knew that a child needed a stable home to grow up in. I’d been so worried about everything going on that I’d missed an appointment with my gynaecologist. One missed shot was all it had taken for me to get pregnant. It was one of those days that James used my body as relief from whatever demons were chasing him. I remember now, thinking about it; how the child I was carrying was conceived. It was pure biology, without a shred of love. No one dreamed of having their first child that way, and so for five years of marriage, I’d denied us a child. God knew we weren’t ready. I’d just added the health of my unborn child to the things that I had to worry about. I was sure it wasn’t healthy for the mother to be constantly under duress, yet I couldn’t help myself.
To top up my ever-increasing reasons to worry, Sunday came around again and James froze midway through his sermon. For a good five minutes, he kept starring at the teleprompter without actually saying anything. The crowd started to become restless, murmuring could be heard all around. I’ll be forever grateful to the choir director who had quickly reacted by breaking into a heartfelt worship session. After about seven minutes of singing, James returned to his place on the pulpit and struggled to wrap up the message. I refused to bow my head in shame, it was the least I could do. I sat very still and stared ahead as James obviously fumbled. Inside, I was cringing with both hands on my head. I felt the pitiful glances I was getting from both sides of the aisle; I refused to acknowledge any of them. At that moment, I fully understood what people meant when they said they wished the ground would open up and swallow them whole. That was undoubtedly the most embarrassing moment of my life, and it hadn’t even been me up on that pulpit. I could only imagine what James must have been going through.
I didn’t need to be told this time, I waited in the car this particular Sunday. James was in a meeting with the senior Pastor and the board of elders, obviously about what had happened during service. Thankfully, the car was parked far away from the entrance of the church, away from prying eyes.
I was in the car for about an hour, thirty minutes before James joined me. We left immediately for the house. The drive home was quiet, but that wasn’t surprising. Whatever happened in that meeting hadn’t been good, that much was obvious from the look on his face. I decided to wait till I’d at least given him food to start bombarding him with the question.
I changed quickly once home and went back downstairs to fix lunch. I found James staring out the window overlooking the front yard.
“What would you like to eat?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not hungry.” He didn’t sound angry, just sad so I took a few steps closer.
“What did the Pastor say?” I hoped he would at least tell me what it was.
“In simpler terms, I’ve been suspended. He said I needed some time off to seek the Lord and work through my issues. He also said that I’ve been slacking and the time off would do me good.” His back was still turned to me so his expression was unreadable. I didn’t know what he thought about that but I knew that part was true; he had been slacking at a lot of things, not just his pastoral duties.
“Babe, can you help me understand why? Why this has been happening.” I was hopeful that he’d finally open up.
“So you agree?” he finally turned around, his eyes were bloodshot. There were no tears, just very evident pain. I wish I knew what it was about or how I could help him.
“James, a lot of things haven’t been adding up lately. I wish you’d just tell me what’s wrong.” He looked at me like he was contemplating his decision like he was deciding the best way to answer my question.
“I’m going through some things now, but I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine soon enough.” That was the vaguest thing I’d ever heard. I was far from done with the conversation but it sounded like he was. I had so many questions and I also had my own truths to own up to but if he was shutting me out, there was no way we were ever going to talk about the things we really needed to.
“You can tell me what it is, I can handle it. We can’t continue to live like this.”
“I said I’m fine. I need to clear my head right now, can we please drop this?”
Well, there it was. That was basically how all conversations went. I wasn’t done though, even if he was angry I still needed him to talk. We needed to talk.
“But James…” he banged the front door so hard I was sure it rattled on its hinges. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I had not seen him walk to the door. Next I heard was the loud screech of tires against the gavel. And this was before I added my problems to whatever demons were chasing him; I wondered how he would react then.
James did not come home that night. I waited up until it was pretty late before deciding that he wasn’t going to be coming back. I picked up my phone to call him but instead, I left him a text, asking him to please be safe. I found that taking the coward’s way out was coming to me more easily as time passed. Having a conversation about where things stood with James was almost always a confrontation. I laid in bed, trying not to think about my numerous problems; instead, I picked up my phone and caught up on social media. I hadn’t been online in so long, my friends were actually wondering where I went. A few minutes of hitting the like button and adding cheerful comments and I’d had enough. Cheerful was the last thing I was. Nothing seemed to hold my attention for too long, reading was another exercise in futility. I was miserable if I’m being honest. Helplessness became me.
James came home the next morning. Richard drove him home and even then, he still seemed inebriated. He has been drinking apparently and into the wee hours of the morning. I opened the front door for them as Richard helped him inside. He smelled like he had puked himself more than once.
“Hey wife,” he greeted with a wide, sloppy smile.
“Can you please help him upstairs?” I addressed Richard, completely avoiding him. I couldn’t stand the stench emanating from him. I already felt like I was going to spill my guts all over the living room as it was.
Richard was kind enough to undress him and get him to lie down before heading back downstairs. I thanked him for his help and offered him breakfast but he declined. I thought that meant he was on his way but he hesitated, something clearly on his mind. I urged him with my eyes to get on with it but when he did, I didn’t have the answers to the questions I really needed to be able to answer.
“Honestly Richard, I’m not sure what the problem is. I’ve tried to ask...” I paused, careful not to divulge too much. I didn’t need everyone knowing our business. “I’ll talk to him again when he comes through,” I concluded. Richard was concerned because James was his good friend, I could tell. Yet I didn’t feel like it was my place to tell him that James was struggling. He said he was worried because he hadn’t seen James in such a low place for the longest time. In fact, more specifically, since his mother’s death; that was the only time he had broken down completely. Even I remembered it so well, we’d been courting then and there wasn’t a thing I could do to get to him. Richard and James had known each other since secondary school and they’d remained friends since. James would tell him what the problem was when he was ready to; I was going to leave it at that. What I did know was that this was different from his mother’s death. I felt like it had something to do with me, even though I couldn’t remember doing anything wrong. While his mother’s death had wrecked him, he didn’t ever take it out on me. If anything, he seemed to like it better when I was around. Richard made me promise to update him if anything changed and then he was on his way.
James was snoring by the time I made it back up the stairs. The soft whirs of the washing machine were also coming from the bathroom. Richard, bless his soul, had thrown the puke-covered apparel into the washer. Chaos or not, I still needed to work so I washed up and got ready to leave. I made sure to leave a bottle of water and some aspirin on the nightstand before walking out the door. He was going to need it, that hangover was going to hurt. I thought about calling his work to tell them that he was under the weather but I didn’t know if he’d want me to do that. He was in no condition to go to work, but knowing him, he probably was still going to try.
The good thing about work was that I loved it and it took my mind away from everything else. It was the one distraction that was foolproof, it always worked. I buried myself in it and by the time I came up for air, it was well after 4 pm. My stomach growled its protest right on cue. I’d completely forgotten about lunch and I was twice as hungry, I blamed that on the pregnancy hormones. I made to call my assistant and order some food when my desk phone rang. The receptionist was calling to give me a heads up; my husband was on his way to my office. There was a time that I would’ve thought it was the ultimate romantic gesture, clearly, this wasn’t one of those times.
“Hey, babe.” I rounded the desk to hug him but he was so tense it ended up being an awkward shoulder bump.
“What’s up?” I tried again.
“Explain to me why Terfa called me to ask if I was under stress and if I needed anything.” His jaw ticked, he was obviously angry. Now I rarely ever cursed, I mean I was a preacher’s wife and all but all I could think was “shit!” Terfa was Mimi’s husband; I’d been talking to Mimi which meant she’d been talking to her husband. Now James was standing in my office, looking at me like I’d betrayed him.
The first time I met James, I’d swooned. I didn’t embarrass myself or anything but I’d blushed and giggled like a teenage girl. James Adah, the most talked-about engineering student. There he was, leaning against the hood of his old Peugeot 504 and flashing me the most bedazzling smile. I was a “fresher” in the university; a Public Relations major and he was in his third year. How did a PR major end up scripting movies right? Well, your passion doesn’t always make sense. I eventually opened an advertising and PR firm so I guess my education wasn’t wasted after all. I was with my best friend Mimi when I saw him. She saw him looking at me and nudged me with her elbow as if to ask if I could see what she was seeing. He was with a clique of friends but he stood out, a force to be reckoned with. He had his hands in his pockets, face cap backwards and very self-assured. He was tall, dark, tough-looking and nice at the same time. He smiled at me again, toying with his cap. Looking back now, I never would’ve thought the James Adah would look at me. Even then, I didn’t think he was going to push off the hood of his car and walk towards me, but he did just that. He reached out his hand and I gave him mine. He had me from there. I lived with my older sister June and she never minded when we went out because that meant I was out of her hair for the time being. Our parents lived an hour plus away and we’d left them there when it was time to attend university. James and I went out a lot, not just to restaurants and bars but movies, hikes, everything. Some of those memories we’d tried to recreate after we got married. We’d been inseparable. How times have changed right?
“Can we not do this here?” I really didn’t feel like creating a scene, especially one where all my employees could easily see. Whoever thought glass walls were a great idea?
“I asked you a question, Kate. I’m not doing anything. Have you been talking to these people about me behind my back?” he clearly wasn’t buying what I was selling.
“I was worried, okay?” I decided to own up to the truth. “I needed to talk so I called Mimi. I guess she filled her husband in.”
“So you decided to put our business out in the open?” Apparently, nothing was going to help the situation.
“It wasn’t like that, you weren’t talking to me and I didn’t know what else to do.”
“So this is my fault? You making me your latest topic of gossip is my fault?” I didn’t know what to say. It seemed like I was only making it worse by offering him an explanation.
“I’m sorry; it was never my intention to offend you.”
“Wherever this need to be popular among your friends came from, I’m not sure. But what I know is that I don’t want to be a part of it. Do you understand?” He was definitely taking it the wrong way, but I agreed anyway. The sooner he left the better for everyone involved. Except that he wasn’t leaving just yet.
“Get your things, we’re leaving.”
“What?” I was truly surprised. It was 4:20 pm but it was far from my closing time. On a good day, I got home around 6:00 pm or shortly before. But I was more surprised because James never told me what to do when it came to my job, let alone walk into my office and demand that I leave.
“You heard me, pack up. We’re going home.”
“But I’m not done here.” He didn’t look like he was joking around so I let my assistant know we were leaving and soon we were in the parking lot of the office complex. Only, his car was not there. I’d assumed he drove and we were going to leave in separate cars, even hoped that the drive home would calm him down and maybe even clear his head a bit.
“You didn’t drive?”
“I took a cab.”
“Where’s your car?”
“Are you going to question me all evening or are we going home?” Whatever problems he was having had definitely done a number on him. I tried not to be another burden he had to carry by moving wordlessly to my own car. James beat me to the driver’s side and held out his hand for the car keys. I handed them over and proceeded to ride shotgun. Everything about that day was off. I tried not to question him any further; he didn’t look like he was going to entertain that at all.
Back home, James demanded that I make dinner immediately. He also insisted that he wanted everything fresh, nothing from the fridge. He didn’t want “stale food”. I usually made stew and soup at the end of every week against the new since I was always so busy. We’d eaten like this for a while and calling it stale now was a bit of an exaggeration on his part. He didn’t seem to mind it before. I worked a lot, but I also wanted to feed my husband so that seemed like a safe option. When I got home around 6 pm every day, all I had to do was boil rice, fry some plantain, cut some vegetables, make semovita, etc. There was always something to eat it with. I didn’t have to blend ingredients and start frying from scratch.
“Why is it taking so long?” I heard him ask from the dining table where he was perched; watching me through the kitchen door like a hawk would its prey.
“Because you don’t want anything from the fridge, that’s what makes it as fast as you’re used to.” I was exasperated and didn’t bother trying to hide it from my voice. The day had been trying enough; I didn’t need him breathing down my neck.
“Is cooking for me now too much for you to handle?” At this point, I was sure he was just fishing for a fight but I was tired of walking on eggshells.
“What’s wrong with you today? Why are you acting like this? Did something happen at work?”
“I demand that you be a good wife for once and something is wrong with me?”
“Well then…” I set down the spatula I’d been holding. “…tell me what I’ve been, James.” My nerves had been frayed.
“Well let’s see, you work too much. You love the job far more than you love anything else, and that includes me. Lately, you’ve taken to gossip. Let’s not forget that in all the five years that we’ve been married, you’ve never gotten pregnant. Not even once. So tell me, what kind of a wife is that?”
I couldn’t help myself, I laughed; the irony of it. So that was what it was about, I kept thinking.
“The kind of wife that puts up with you even when you’re being less than a husband; like right now.” I saw the surprise cross his face. I was by no means a coward, but I didn’t believe in talking back at my husband, especially when he was upset. I would wait until I was sure he had calmed down, and then I would try to talk to him in the gentlest of tones. This was what my mother swore I needed to be when I was getting married. She told me that it was the key to keeping a marriage right after she’d admonished my very opinionated self. Even before it was time to get married, she’d warned me many times that my mouth was going to get me into trouble. A woman was supposed to be seen and not heard, she’d often say. So consciously and perhaps unconsciously, I tamed the warfare that was constantly waging inside of me and tried my hardest to be a “good wife”. It was why I always felt like there was a war inside of me but didn’t do anything about it. My mother had found out about James earlier in the relationship than I’d intended. James had come over to finally meet June; she’d been dying to meet him. What I didn’t know was that my mother had planned on visiting June and I that same Sunday afternoon. June had gone out to get soft drinks so there was no way she could’ve warned me, in fact, they walked in together. She liked to come on these surprise visits to make sure we were on our best behaviour. There was no need to lie about it, we loved each other so when she’d asked, and we owned it. I was still very young, eighteen to be precise. So while she didn’t tell me to give the relationship up, it meant constant follow up calls, hours of counselling and the most awkward conversations. Back then, we weren’t having sex so at least I didn’t have to lie when she asked, which was often.
And after I said no every time, she would look me straight in the eye for a moment and then nod, like the truth was written all over my face. Then we would dive into the “good woman, good wife” lecture. It was exhausting, to say the least. By now, you probably can already tell that my mother was an example of the typical African woman. So I was by default, the typical African wife, millionaire or not.
“Are you talking to me?” Now he was pissed.
“I am.” I didn’t know what had come over me but if it was going to take a confrontation to finally talk about things, I was all for it. “You’re pointing fingers when you’ve been anything but a husband for nearly two years now. You’ve been walking around with your shoulders hanging like you’re carrying the weight of the world on them. Anytime I ask what’s wrong, you say everything is fine. And it seems you’ve forgotten how babies are made, you have to actually have sex for that to happen. When last did we do that?” I knew it was time to stop, but I couldn’t be myself. “And how are you so sure it’s my fault anyway? Have you ever gotten a girl pregnant?” I was so pumped by the adrenaline coursing through my veins that I had lost consciousness of my environment. I still remember it clearly; I could still hear the sound if I closed my eyes, could almost feel it. The first time James slapped me right across my face. I was so surprised that I didn’t even feel the sting of it when it first happened. I held my face and stared at him, mind blank. He looked a little surprised himself. We looked at each other for a bit, neither of us saying a word. The smoke coming from the kitchen finally interrupted our stare down. I’d completely forgotten about the food I was cooking, it was completely burnt by the time I turned off the cooker. He was gone when I came out of the kitchen. I still didn’t feel anything; no sadness, no pain, no tears, nothing. Had I pushed him too far? But never in a million years would I have ever thought that James would hit me. I would’ve gone as far as to bet on it. I’d seen him angry before, even furious. I’d also seen him lose his temper but for the life of me, I never thought I would get to the place where I was the object of his fury. Where did this leave us? Did we carry on like nothing changed? What did this mean for our marriage? Let’s not forget I was pregnant. If I thought we weren’t ready before, imagine what I was thinking now. Was it my fault? I guess I could’ve handled things a little differently but could you blame me? I’d been upset for a while without really getting into it; all that pent up tension finally came out. I needed him to talk, tell me what was troubling him. Maybe I should’ve just waited for when he was ready to come clean with it instead of pushing him. It’s what my mother would’ve done. I could hear her now, how she went on and on about not pushing a man. I felt the first tear finally roll down my cheek. How had things regressed so much? When did we get to this kind of place? I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d done something wrong, that somehow I deserved what I got. I was almost sure my mother was going to say those exact words to me so I didn’t bother calling her; instead, I sat down at the dining room table and cried. I cried for all the things were wrong with my marriage, cried until the tears would no longer fall. I couldn’t stop once I started. Maybe it was the hormones, or maybe it was just that I was sad. And sad I was, incredibly so. I’d had such high hopes for James and I, he was the first man I’d ever loved. This was supposed to be my fairy tale, my happily ever after.
It wasn't supposed to be going this badly; I guess fairy tales didn't happen in real life.
I remember the first time I saw James lose his temper, it was a pretty sight. He tossed his whole room, breaking a lot of valuables. I remember catching the tail end of it, just in time to stop him from smashing the TV. He had been failing in school because his mother was ill and he was distracted. His family wasn't exactly wealthy and her treatment required a lot of money. His father couldn't afford it and wasn't exactly willing to try. He wasn't exactly winning husband or father of the year either. James was the first child, he has two sisters; Martha and Abigail, but they were significantly younger and couldn't be of any real help. He had to shuffle between school and a lot of odd jobs on top of his housekeeping night shifts at a hotel near his house to make enough to settle a reasonable portion of the hospital bills. All that pressure, it was starting to tell on him. He was in his final year and failing meant an extra year which almost meant more tuition money that he didn't have. A test he'd taken had just come through and it wasn't good, along with a few others that had come before. I tried to reason with him, encourage him that he could still pass when exams came but it wasn't doing much. The best I could do was talk him out of thrashing his room any further, the anger was still there. He didn't operate well under pressure, he completely folded. It made me wonder now if something was going on, something he was hiding from me. It would explain the erratic behaviour. But I wasn't even going to lie to myself and say that I was going to ask him or try to talk to him. My fault or not, we needed time to process our feelings. I thought about leaving, getting away for a few days but then again, where would I go? My mother would call my husband as soon as I got home, she did that even when there was nothing wrong and I didn't want her to find out that we had problems. I couldn't go to Mimi's place, mostly because I was too ashamed to admit the disaster that my marriage had become to anyone else, they would judge me and hate him. I didn't want anyone to know because he was still a Pastor, they would lose all respect for him and he wouldn't be able to effectively minister to them when he eventually returned to the pulpit. I hoped that wasn't soon anyway, he was far from ready. I wondered if he still felt connected to God. We didn't pray together anymore so I didn't know when or if he prayed. He hadn't touched the daily devotional on the nightstand in a long time.
The way I saw it, I had two options. I could hideout in a hotel for a few days or I could stay and handle things like a grown woman. My mother didn't raise a coward, so the latter seemed a more suitable option. I would be home, waiting for when my husband came back from his own hideaway. This time though, I was going to wait for him to talk. And as much as it was because I didn't want to push him, part of the reason was also that I wanted to see where he would take things after crossing that line.
I soon discovered I was going to be waiting a while. It was after midnight and he still wasn't home. His car hasn't returned from where it went so it was the car I usually drove to work that was still missing. I listened for the sounds of a car pulling in for hours but nothing came, the dead silence of the night greeted my tired ears. Maybe he wasn't coming home after all. I resigned myself to that fact and tried to get some sleep but that wasn't happening either. To say my mind was crowded was putting it mildly. It was nearly dawn when I caught a few hours of sleep, he still hadn't come home.
YOU ARE READING
Desolation
General FictionKatherine has been married to James for five years. Before they got married, James loved Katherine with all his eyes but had always had anger management issues. He seemed to have dealt with his anger when he became an ordained minister but something...
