Dani

*Author's Note: The last time I went home to the Seattle area, I visited with the parents of my best friend who was killed in Afghanistan. His dad and I talked privately, and he really opened up to me about how their son's death affected them. Much of what he told me I used as the basis of this story.

Extreme grief can sometimes lead to extremely unusual behavior. Add in an already rocky marriage and something like Dani isn't out of the question. He didn't divorce his wife or find a younger woman, but he said he came very close. In this story the main character's grief made it possible for him to put pragmatism aside and follow his heart.

(My own dad told me something equally surprising and I plan to write a story about his 'near miss', too.)

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"Alan, I did not agree to come here to talk about that. We're here for grief counseling, not marriage counseling," she said, her face distorted with the kind of pain that only comes from losing a child.

"Barbara, I'm hurting, too. I loved Aaron as much as you did. But you and I...we need help. We've barely been holding things together for ten years and this tragedy may well be the thing that tears us apart. I know you don't want to talk about our problems, but it we don't find a way to work through them—the only option will be..." He didn't bother finishing the sentence. Both of them knew how it ended. It ended in separation and divorce.

Their 20-year old son, Aaron, had been killed in a car accident just ten days ago. A senseless, needless death caused by someone who'd gotten hopelessly drunk at a bar and tried to drive home. The only small amount of good news they'd gotten was their son had died instantly in the high-speed, head-on crash.

Aaron was their pride and joy. He was one of those rare kids who'd been fun to raise and a pleasure to be around. He'd always been easy going and even as a child all they'd ever needed to do was say, "Can you not do that, please?" and Aaron would unfailingly say, "Okay," and move on to something else. No argument. No attitude. Just compliance. He was not only an obedient child, he was also very smart. And he just happened to be one of the best-looking kids in school from junior high on. And yet most importantly, he was perhaps the most-liked person either of his parents (or anyone else who'd met him) ever knew.

He was always kind, always polite, and that politeness extended even to the many girls who had crushes on him even when they knew they had no chance with him. He treated them with the utmost of respect and remained friends with them even after letting them know he wasn't interested in anything beyond friendship.

The greatest testament to all of that was when they moved into a cul-de-sac in a new neighborhood his freshman year. Four years later, after he graduated from high school with a 3.87GPA, one of their neighbors came by to congratulate him. After doing so, he talked with both parents, Alan and Barbara Avery, and told them, "When we found out a teenage boy was moving into our court, we were pretty upset. I know it's not fair to stereotype, but honestly, most boys that age are...a lot to handle. Not Aaron. We couldn't have been more wrong. He is without doubt the nicest kid we've ever met." The man smiled then said, "I still remember him shoveling all of our driveways right after that big snowstorm three years ago. No one asked for help. Aaron just went out and did it. He spent the entire day shoveling snow so people could get to work or go to the store or whatever. Anyway, I just thought I'd share that with you. You guys did such a good job raising him."

Alan thanked him but set him straight immediately. "It wasn't really us. Aaron is just a one-in-a-million kid. Did you know he's never so much as rolled his eyes at me let alone disobeyed? That's not an exaggeration. It's the gospel truth."

"Well, whatever it is, he's a fine young man and we were just flat wrong."

Alan Avery thought about that a hundred times since the state police came to their door that Friday night around 10pm. Then again, he'd thought back on pretty much every memory he'd ever had of his son and he knew his wife had been doing the same thing.

Neither of them wanted to go to counseling, but their family practice doctor insisted so forcefully they agreed to try it. While neither thought it would be of much help, the pain they were living with was so horrific that any relief, no matter how little, would be very welcome.

Aaron had nothing to do with any of this. He'd been completely innocent. He was just on his way home from the hardware store where he worked during the summer to help pay his college expenses. He certainly wasn't responsible for the fact his parents slept in separate bedrooms and had only made love twice in the last five years. Ironically, the last time had been just four days before Aaron's death and Alan remembered feeling hopeful for the first time in a very long time. Beverly had even seemed to almost enjoy it even though it had been pretty pitiful by any objective standard.

The problem had always been there, but Alan was an eternal optimist. He'd met Beverly when he was a sophomore in college and she was a freshman. He'd had a handful of girlfriends before her and had had sex with three of them. Beverly had lost her virginity to a boy her senior year in high school and after that one time, that had been it.

No warning bells went off when she'd told him that. Like many or maybe most guys, he was sure that as long as he paid a lot of attention to her, took things slow, and made her feel loved and special, that the sex would eventually take care of itself. And initially, at least, it had. Well, sort of.

No, it hadn't ever been spectacular or even really good, but it had been...nice, and it had been reasonably regular. Alan would have liked better and more frequent sex, but Beverly Harbourt was a 'babe' and although he was also a very good-looking guy, he felt fortunate that she'd chosen to give herself to him. He fell hard for her and proposed just two months later and that summer they'd married at his parents' home in Falls Church, Virginia, a little over 21 years ago. Alan was born almost exactly nine months later and that's when things really took a turn for the worse.

They'd been thrilled to have a baby even though they were very young themselves. Both sets of parents helped as much as they could as they lived with Barbara's family in Fairfax and attended George Mason University.

Between their course loads and raising a child, even one as pleasant as Aaron, Beverly found herself less and less interested in lovemaking, and Alan realized getting her to say 'yes' was like pulling teeth. What was most troubling to him was that when she finally did give in, she had an orgasm each and every time. It was only one, but she did have one without fail. Therefore, he knew 'things were working' and that it wasn't him—unless there was something she wasn't telling him, of course. Oh, he'd asked. Many, many times, in fact. She assured him over and over it wasn't him.

Once he'd even asked her if it was possible she might be either attracted to other men or possibly to women. She'd almost blown a gasket when she answered 'NO!' emphatically to both questions. That was the first time she'd said, "I just don't need sex as much as you, okay? There's nothing wrong with me or with that, for that matter. And hounding me about it only makes it worse!"

So he'd tried not to hound her. But dammit, he wanted and needed sex! He'd promised to 'cleave unto her and none else' and he'd meant it, but this was ridiculous. The fact that he was not only very good looking but kept himself in excellent shape and got hit on quite regularly didn't matter. He'd taken a vow and that was that.

But over the years, it had gotten progressively more difficult and more frustrating. Many times he'd thought about leaving, but then he'd go look in on Aaron who was sound asleep. He couldn't bear the thought of his son asking his mother the next morning, "Where's Dad?" It didn't matter that Beverly would never badmouth him in front of their son, it was Aaron he couldn't bear to hurt or disappoint. So he threw himself into his work as a civilian DoD employee who worked at the State Department and into Aaron's life—especially sports.

They played catch or one-on-one basketball or ping pong or something almost every day after work and on the weekends for years. Both he and Beverly attended virtually all of Aaron's games and rabidly cheered him on. Then they went home together and slept by alone. At some level, Alan knew he was wasting his life living with a woman who didn't need or possibly even want his love let alone his body, but for the sake of his son, he'd stayed.

Then when Aaron chose to go to college locally, Alan still couldn't muster up the courage to leave. And then just a few weeks ago, a modestly romantic interlude made him feel hopeful for the first time in years. Then only days later, his beloved son was gone; ripped from his life in an instant. The drunk driver was facing several years in prison, but Alan didn't give a damn. In fact, he didn't give a damn about anything anymore including sex—at least not with Beverly.

And yet he found himself unable to avoid bringing the subject up during their very first session of grief counseling with a very young, very attractive therapist named Dr. Kelli Thiel. Barbara had just expressed her displeasure with her husband's decision to do so, and this young woman could sense the growing tension.

"While I deal primarily with individuals and couples in grief, I also do marriage counseling and would be happy to offer my assistance. If other areas are concerns, it might be wise to try and address them rather than the grief independently. It's your decision, of course, but am willing to work with you on anything that might help the two of you during your recovery."

Alan looked at his wife and hoped and even secretly prayed she might be feeling the same thing he was after hearing those words of encouragement. If she would just agree to try...

"I don't believe I have a problem," Beverly declared having gotten control of her emotions. Obviously, their therapist's words had a very different effect on her, and that effect was to make her angry.

"I've had everything checked over the years. Blood work, hormone levels—all of that. There's nothing wrong with me, okay? I just don't need..." She glared at Alan before continuing, "Or even want sex anymore and I see no need to dredge up 20 years of history to try and 'fix' something that isn't broken."

No one spoke for a moment then Beverly continued. "Look. I've tried. I've never been unfaithful or strayed in any way. I just don't like sex. Period. And I'm now at an age and a place in my life where I feel entitled to be a little...selfish. Why do I have to be the one to change all the time? Why am I the one who has to do what she doesn't want to do? I work just as hard as my husband and I earn as much money as he does. I'm pulling my weight in this marriage in all other areas but one. And when it comes to that one area, I have no interest in it. None. So I don't see any reason to dig into that mess because the result will be to tell me I'm the one with the problem and that I have to do all the changing. Well, guess what? I don't have a problem and I'm done being told I do."

Alan was stunned and yet not surprised. He looked at their therapist and said, "I don't think we should take up any more of your valuable time."

"You still have 20 minutes left. Perhaps we can find some other area to focus on that could help you cope with your grief. How about we try that and leave this other issue off the table—at least for now?"

Beverly had that icy stare he'd seen more times than he could count. Now that Aaron was gone, she had no reason to even smile let alone be friendly or God forbid, intimate.

"That's very kind of you, but I think you've done everything you could possibly do." Alan stood up and waited for his wife to do the same. As she did, he tried not to stare knowing his stare would focus on the 30-40 pounds Beverly had gained over the last five years. As much as it bothered him, Alan was willing to overlook it as long as she was willing to at least try when it came to the bedroom. She was now 40 years old and he didn't expect her to look like she'd looked in college, even though he still pretty much did with the exception of some fine wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. While he spent an hour in the gym 5-6 days a week, Beverly spent an extra hour eating whatever caught her fancy. He knew it was terrible to say that, so he'd never mentioned it to her even once. But after hearing this latest new 'revelation', he could no longer pretend her thick body and heavy face were attractive. He didn't hate her, he just felt sorry for her. No, that wasn't completely true. He resented her for not even being willing to try, but he most definitely didn't hate her.

The therapist asked if she could schedule a follow-on appointment and both of them answered in unison, "No thank you."

On the drive home neither of them spoke. In fact, neither of them said a word to one another for the next several days. When he found Beverly home in bed three day later after he got back from work, he was mildly concerned but not worried. He forced himself to knock on her door and ask, "You okay?"

She was curled up in a ball and facing away from him. "I'm fine. Please just leave me alone."

He closed the door and left her alone. When she was still in bed the next day, he got even more concerned and went in and sat next to her on the bed. "Bev? You're scaring me. You need to get up and take a shower and get something to eat." Eating had been her preferred form of pleasure for those past five years and yet it didn't appear she'd eaten a thing for at least two days.

"I don't want to eat, and I don't want to take a shower. I just want to go to sleep."

"I'm worried about you," he said sincerely.

"Don't be," she said without emotion. "I'll be fine. Just leave me alone, okay?"

Both of them had been prescribed Ambien to help them sleep. Without it, Alan found it impossible. With it, he could at least get several hours each night. He picked up Beverly's bottle and saw it was still almost full which abated his primary concern. He didn't think she'd do anything rash, but then again, she'd never gone through something like this before, and she wouldn't talk to him or tell him how she was really feeling. So, against his better judgment, he did as she asked.

He couldn't really blame her. He wanted to stay in bed, too. Just stay in bed and make it all go away. But he knew it didn't work like that. At a time like this, a person had to stay busy. They needed to be around other people. They had to force themselves to think about other things even when the only thing they wanted to think about was their loss. Once again, he quietly closed her door and walked out.

The following morning, he went in on to check on her again. "You going to work today?" he asked.

"No, not today," she said. She rolled over and looked at him and even smiled weakly. "I just need one more day to rest, okay? I think I've finally figured out how to deal with this and I'll be fine." Another weak smile. "Go ahead. Go to work. I'll be okay. I promise."

"Can I bring you anything to eat or drink?" he asked. She looked so...sad. A part of him still wanted to do something; anything to console her. No matter what had happened between them she was still his wife and the mother of his son.

"Maybe some hot tea?" she said mustering up another partial smile.

"Okay. Sure. Yeah, maybe some tea will do you good. I'll be right back."

Ten minutes later, he carried a cup and a saucer to her bedroom and when she sat up to take it, he felt heartened. He sat beside her again and told her, "I still love you, Bev. You know that, right?"

"Yes," she said before taking sip. "And I still love you too, Alan." She sat the cup on the saucer then said, "I've never loved anyone else."

"I never thought you had," he told her.

"I just want you to know that, okay?"

He nodded, smiled, then asked if there was anything else he could get her.

"Maybe just a hug before you leave?" She didn't put the tea down so it was an awkward kind of hug. One of his arms on her shoulder and one of her hands on his.

"All right. I guess I'm off to the puzzle palace," he said using their favorite name for the State Department. "I'll guess I'll see you later then."

She forced another weak smile then said in a hollow-sounding voice, "Goodbye, Alan."

Something about the way she said it felt wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Looking back, he knew what it was. But at the time, if just seemed...odd.

"Right. See you later," he said as he got up to leave for work.

After a particularly awful ride home in bumper-to-bumper traffic, the last thing he wanted to do was deal with Beverly or her mood or whatever the hell this thing was she was dealing with.

He put his wallet and keys down, then went to get a beer and relax. He went to turn on the evening news when he realized he couldn't relax until he at least checked on his wife. He sat the beer down on a coaster then went to her room.

He knocked quietly and waited. He could hear the TV and thought she probably just hadn't heard him. He knocked louder and called her name. "Bev? You okay?"

When she didn't answer, he got worried and knocked loudly then pushed open the door. A wave of nausea swept over him as the stench of urine and feces hit him. "Jesus! Did you shit in the bed or something?" he asked covering his nose with his shirtsleeve.

He saw her laying there on her back and in less than a second he knew. Her eyes were wide open and the bed was stained all around the middle of her body.

"No. No! No!!" he said. He forgot about the smell and moved toward her. He saw the bottle of Ambien was open...and empty. There was vomit all around her mouth and he was now sure why he was smelling the things he smelled. Her body had released everything it had been holding when she died.

He stood there trying to not stare but couldn't stop staring. It was nothing like in the movies where someone closes the eyes of the person who died and covers them with a sheet. It was a horrible, sickening sight made worse by the body's involuntary reaction to death.

Alan wanted to vomit himself but couldn't. He wanted to cry but found himself unable. He wanted to call his son and break the news to him, but he didn't have a son he could talk to. Unable to think, he did nothing. He just stood there and stared. He had no idea how long he'd done so before he finally shook his head and realized he had to call someone.

It was almost 7pm when he dialed the number. "911, what is your emergency?" he heard.

"It's my wife. She...she's dead."

EMTs arrived within 15 minutes followed by two police officers and then a detective who apologized but informed Alan he had to ask him several questions. A coroner came in after another half hour and the detective asked her some questions, too. "So time of death was between 10am and 1pm?" She told him that was her preliminary assessment. She said quietly it looked like a clear case of suicide.

He came back to Avery and said, "So you were at work from 8am until 4:30pm. Is that right, sir?"

Avery nodded but didn't speak. "Okay. Well, it appears at this point anyway, your wife died some 5-7 hours ago, while you were at work. We'll need to confirm you were there, of course, but at this point, with your permission, we'd like to remove her body."

"Um...yeah. Sure. I Understand," he said in the same hollow voice Beverly had used that morning.

"Mr. Avery? We'll be in touch, but it looks like a pretty open and shut case as to what happened. Do you have any questions?"