Curtis took a long, overly hot shower. He leaned against the beige tile, eyes closed, letting the spray hammer off his flushed back. It was quite a difference from the lousy, pressure-deprived hotel shower, now remembering how nice it was to be home. It felt so… relaxing, almost massaging; he really could have stayed in all night. After toweling off, he put on another white V-neck tee-shirt with beige Carhartt cargo pants, finishing with scuffed, black steel-toe boots as if he were heading in for a shift. His wardrobe was, if nothing else, fundamental.

A partial pot of coffee in the kitchen brewed from the afternoon filled a tall thermal mug to the brim. Curtis’s coffee, much like his wardrobe, was just as uninteresting; it was a dark roast, and he preferred it black. Amy emerged from the basement, where she was finishing a load of laundry, trying to take her mind off the events of the afternoon, when she saw Curtis put on his matching Carhartt jacket. He quietly grabbed his keys from the kitchen table, figuring she’d call him on the road if she needed something—at the very least, avoiding an argument until he returned.

“You going somewhere?” Amy inquired from the kitchen counter, holding a letter. She glanced over to Wes, sitting at the kitchen table coloring a Finding Nemo book, then back to Curtis.

Curtis was surprised to see her standing there. Fuck. “I gotta run back up to work real quick—I forgot my tool bag. I can’t leave’em there.”

“Seriously!? Right now? Amy, taken aback.

“YES,” Curtis, sharply.

“The police just left here an hour ago with a—,” She paused, then mouthed, “mutilated body,” Then audibly, “an hour ago! Our neighbor—your friend, Frank is gone, his wife is on life-support, and you need to go run errands!?”

“I understand that—it’s why I ran all the way back here and forgot my shit.” Try-to-stay-calm, try-to-stay-calm…

“You know what time it is?” Amy felt a sudden rush of blood to her face.

“No, Amy, I don’t know what time it is. I don’t even know what fucking day it is. I seriously don’t! Do you know why—it’s because I work seven days a week, and lately, I feel like I’ve been living in the goddamn Twilight Zone!” Curtis said reproachfully as he searched his pockets for his smokes.

“You know a monsoon is coming, right!? I can’t believe you’re headed back to New Hampshire!” Amy yelled, her hands shaking.

“It’s RAIN, Amy. Christ. It’s not the end of the world. There’s over three grand worth of tools and shit there. I just can’t leave them there to be stolen.” Curtis tried to keep an even tone. He needed to clear his head—get in his truck and drive. Just a couple of hours. He didn’t want to explain the importance of the tool bag.

“What about your co-worker?” Amy implored.

“He’s gone.” Curtis turned and charged out the front door. “I will be back in four hours, max. Everything’s gonna be fine.” Curtis said flintily.

Amy chased behind.

“Curtis... Curt! CURT!” She barked.

“Jesus Christ. What, what, WHAT!” Curtis, smirking awkwardly, stopped and turned around.

“What-is-the-matter with you!?” Amy astounded.

“Nothing. I NEED to go get my tools. That’s all. What is the big deal here?”

“I haven’t SEEN you in over a month. I haven’t spoken to you in weeks—WEEKS, Curtis! I call your work phone, and it always just goes straight to voicemail. No one can get a hold of you!” Amy stopped to take a breath before she continued. Her tone changed from anger to one of desperation. “I know things haven’t been going well lately. And I can’t pretend anymore that nothing is happening.”

“Whaddya want me to do—This is the job—I need to work!”

“You can get another job here!”

“HA-HA!” Curtis belted out, trying to stifle the rage. “What—go back to fucking construction? Break my balls for half of what I make now? I’ll fucking DIE before I even think of considering that.”

“What is WRONG here, Curtis!? TALK-TO-ME!” her shrill voice carried almost all the way to the Cavanaugh’s.

“I don’t know what you want me to say?” He said, now concerned.

“ANYTHING! Just—say—anything. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” Amy pleaded. “Look, I know you get really anxious around this time coming up on the anniversary—”

Curtis paused a moment. Chills washed over. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Then tell me what it is!?”

“Really, you want to get into this right now? Fine. Well, let me see, wh—where do I begin? How—how ‘bout we’re broke. The fucking money is—is gone as fast as it comes in! I get home to a—a—a stack of towering bills that I can’t even keep up with.” Curtis stammered; it was habitual with the onset of high distress. “And these doctors or specialists or whatever the hell—bills—on top of that with this thing with Wes that no one seems to understand. We live in-in—in this expensive, falling apart house we refinanced that we still can’t afford the mortgage on. Christ, half the shit in there is—is your parents’. Ummm, OH, I’m on probation, let’s not forget that, so—so the only job I can work where the pay isn’t complete shit is in another state, and it hires a—a—a bunch of lazy, deplorable, ex-convicts—and I work all fucking night, not to mention, I’m gone for weeks on end! Good times!! Now, if it’s okay with you, dear, I would like to get my tools before they’re stolen, and we can no longer continue to pay for this lavish fucking lifestyle.”

One of his biggest regrets was the house purchase. At the time, it seemed like the best option in a sparse housing market. The area was the safest to raise a family compared to some of the other locations they considered, and at the time, it had also been a work commute of equal distance. Another regret, almost in comparable magnitude, was the furniture—all provided by his in-laws. If it wasn’t an inexpensive, low-quality gift, it was a dated hand-me-down, and if it wasn’t that, it was some high-end piece from their sold estate, now stored in perpetuity in their basement, collecting dust.

The second Curtis finished his rant, Amy shot right back.

“You think I’m having a great fucking time, CURTIS!? I go to a school every day where there’s fights on a daily basis. It’s the worst district in the state, and I’m a glorified babysitter! I’m terrified of these kids! There’s trash littered up and down the hallways that nobody cleans. Half of the teachers aren’t even certified; they show up in sweat pants. They look just like the kids!

“These problems aren’t new, Curtis, and they affect me, too! You’re just not here to see it! But I’m still present. I’m doing what I have to do to keep things going—to work through it. I need you here.” Her eyes watered, her voice trembled. Amy finally broke. She couldn’t believe what just came out of her mouth. But, she knew this: it felt good.

Curtis had no interest in continuing the argument he was actively trying to avoid, now fuming, knowing he needed to step away and cool down. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” He muttered.

Still in shock by what she had said, Amy took a moment to recall why she wanted to speak with Curtis to begin with. “Oh, and that reminds me; you need to call the lawyer back. He’s been trying to get a hold of you for weeks.” She said somberly.

“Are you kidding me? If you think I’m signing papers, you’re out of your damn head.” The cold twinge of anxiety crawled into his stomach as he climbed into the truck.

“No, CURT. That’s not what I’m talking about. Your lawyer. I want you to discuss the letters we’ve been getting.” Amy slapped it against his chest before he had the chance to close the door.

She turned and stormed into the house, slamming the door behind. Curtis watched; after a deep sigh, he shut the door and departed. Holding back as long as she could, Amy sat down at the kitchen table, finally surrendering to her affliction. Uncontrollably, the sobbing commenced. There weren’t many days that went by where she wouldn’t cry, as it grew routinely challenging to plant on the pseudo smile. If she was smiling—always smiling, then there was nothing wrong. Makeup ran down her face; she wiped away with burgundy polished fingertips, smearing mascara across flushed cheeks. I could’ve had anybody…

Saying that Amy was a beautiful woman was a gross understatement. To describe her would be on par with describing a mythical creature or a work of art. Elusive. Striking. At least that’s what Curtis’s first impression was. She was undoubtedly popular from a young age with her long, wavy, strawberry blonde hair and fair skin, lightly flecked with freckles across her cheeks that only seem to emerge in the summer months. Men who’d hit on her would say she had the face of a Botticelli—also a quote from her favorite 80s Molly Ringwald movie—but she didn’t quite think so, especially with her high cheekbones, strong jawline, and adorably cleft chin. Amy had always been a pretty girl, the type that without makeup could still turn any head in a room, the type that was never single—or at least the type that never knew how to be.

One would say Curtis was extremely fortunate. Dumb luck. The two met by chance on a casual weekend night out. She just happened to be at the end of a two-year dead-end relationship with an obstinate restaurant owner and executive chef, who, to make matters worse, was a tyrant and an alcoholic. In her mind, the relationship was long over, even though she was still clinging on. The fact she lived with him didn’t help matters, but only further complicated things. Once she was in her comfort zone, she stayed well cemented, so it was typical for her to drag out relations while considering a suitable replacement.

Curtis wasn’t the typical guy she’d go for, with the prerequisite of most guys having at least a college degree. Her resume was pretty impressive, which was surprising for one who was as low maintenance as she. In college, Amy had dated a finance guy, followed by a lawyer and then a doctor, before moving in with a chef and co-owner of a local high-end restaurant in Old Saybrook. They worked opposite schedules, and when they did finally spend time together, he was usually tired and miserable from putting in a twelve-plus-hour shift, not to mention annihilated, reeking of tequila.

Amy hated the dating game and didn’t relish the fact that she’d soon be right back out there. Still relatively young but growing impatient, all she wanted at this point was to settle down. After wasting a year of verbal and emotional abuse, now hanging by a threat, she had had enough. Now or never. During the last few months of the relationship, she tried to make a last-ditch effort, spending most weekend nights at the restaurant with a couple of work friends just to squeeze in some quality time. That’s when she met Curtis.

Curtis’s longtime friend, Alan Fogarty, was the Friday and Saturday night bartender. He was one-fourth of the infamous quartet along with Russell Foley and Geoffrey Maher during the glory days of high school. Alan was wide-receiver on the football team and Curtis’s close partner-in-crime.

Alan thoroughly enjoyed having his friends show up at the bar; it helped break the monotony of a long, busy, mostly aggravating shift. The inordinately demanding, pretentious shoreline clientele always managed to strike a throbbing nerve. Of course, that wasn’t difficult to achieve; all they had to do was walk through the front door and sit at his bar. The people that came in having never worked a real job, as he’d always say, coming in and looking down upon him—or at least, so he thought. He also loathed the executive chef—as many people did—“with the fire of a thousand suns,” he also used to say, and in requital, would take it upon himself to hook up his regular guests, his friends as well as himself. Management had a feeble, inconsistent system of keeping inventory, so who’d really miss a half bottle of Absolute on a busy Saturday?

Curtis would arrive toward the end of dinner service, and Alan would pour some heavy-handed cocktails—their poison of choice: vodka—before being cut from work, where after they would proceed to hit up the local dives; their favorite: the Donkey Barn—an old wooden-panel sports bar with no heat, no A/C, no tap beer and no credit cards. And it was always full, day and night, with the liveliest bunch of townies that side of the Connecticut River.

Amy, who was used to visiting on Saturday, by curious twist of fate, decided to come in on a Friday as she had her mother’s milestone birthday party to attend that weekend. There was an instant on her way out the door; she stopped, walked back into her house, deciding to forgo this particular trip. It was late and she was tired. She then proceeded, not wanting to break her streak of effort. And after an exhausting work week, she needed the getaway however brief it may be.

She just so happened to grab the last open seat at the bar, which happen to be next to Curtis. Alan knew Amy well, introducing one to the other. Basically, he’d introduce her to just about any of his male regulars in hopes she’d go home with them just to spite his boss.

Curtis had this cynical and self-deprecating sense of humor with a snarky wit, which Amy melted over; it really kept her on her toes. She loved a guy who could really give it right back as she dished it out. The chemistry was instant. He was just a fun person to be around and very outgoing—her previous suitors being much more rigid. He wasn’t jaded by a demanding, stress-inducing job, nor did he spend half the week at the ‘office,’ and although he didn’t have a board certification in neurology or have to take the Bar for his job, he was successful. And there was ample money in the ‘trades.’

The things they had in common were almost endless, albeit simple; dining out and attending concert venues were amongst some of their favorite. The new wave genre of alternative style music was one they followed regularly. Toad’s Place in New Haven, the Hartford Civic Center, and The Meadowlands were venues frequented. They would spend an entire weekend at the casino, which had a lot to offer—dining, comedy shows, live entertainment. Of all activities, they mostly loved to EAT—which maybe is why Amy fell for a chef—and having an eclectic taste for food, they frequented all styles of ethnic cuisine. The only argument they would face was over which restaurant to go to. In summer, they toured local wineries during the day and then would finish the night up at a craft beer brewery. And once in a while, on special occasions, they liked to lay on the concrete jetty along Saybrook Point, smoke a little pot, and stare into the unbounded galaxy at twilight. The view to Long Island was infinite.

Amy’s parents were not as excited about her decision to “abruptly” leave her boyfriend and immediately move in with Curtis. Amy was not one to be impulsive, which concerned them, especially considering he wasn’t really her “type.” Shortly after Curtis came along, her mother, Cecilia, began to give her a hard time. Every chance Cecilia got, she would make it a point to express how Amy could do better. Her mother would continuously ask what she was doing, “wasting her time,” and that she was “too beautiful and too smart” to settle. Cecilia was especially displeased to hear about their quick engagement and subsequent marriage. Amy’s father, Harold, the reasonable one of the two, trusted his daughter would always do what was best.

Amy was no longer impressed by wealth or status. She had seen it all by the time she reached twenty-five—still naïve by some people’s standards—and it didn’t take her a lifetime to discover the real secret to life and realized at the end of the day, she just wanted to be happy; and with Curtis, she had never been happier. Compared to other men in her life, Curtis was the only one that really embodied man. He was tough, rugged, rarely clean-shaven; he was affectionate, companionate, and had just the right amount of emotion without coming off needy. His physique made her swoon, built like a college athlete; she found it incomprehensibly hard to literally keep her hands from him. Whether prim and proper in a three-piece suit or dirty and sweaty from the day job or gym, it was all an instant turn-on. He had the appearance and attitude of a wilderness man or someone from an extreme living reality series.

Curtis captured the unicorn. She fell fast, and she fell hard.

Then the unfathomable happened. It was something Amy saw happen to other people—could only happen to other people—people on the news, people in the movies, people in a realm outside of her own, and she wondered how she could’ve taken it all for granted. Her husband was involved in a fatal car accident on his way home from his after-work pitstop at the Donkey Barn, exhausted from a twelve-hour day on a Cat 5 installation job at a new time-share development inside a prestigious resort one town over, having fallen asleep at the wheel. She was irrevocably devastated, and the walls around began to crumble. She hated that after his phone call from jail, she was instinctually more concerned about how her parents would react to the news, or worse yet, how it could affect them.

At fifty-thousand dollars bail, asking her parents for a loan was absolutely out of the question. So disgusted by her husband’s gross negligence and selfishness, lacking consideration for those around him, unaware of how long it’d been going on, ignorant of his actions. A busy woman herself, she had been blinded by work, school work, and spending every available minute beyond that with Wes and his increasing developmental needs. Amy avoided visitation, only speaking to Curtis over the phone when essential during his three-month respite at Corrigan Correctional until his plea bargain and subsequent release. Fortunately, he was represented by his friend, Russell Foley’s law firm, and even though his firm was able to reduce the cost of representation, in the end, the expenses drained the majority of their savings.

Curtis was fired from his telecom company and forced into odd jobs, mostly labor jobs, where people weren’t concerned so much with police records and would compensate you any way they pleased. His first was at Crazy Al’s, where he became acquainted with Cindi’s family and Ronald. The work was dull and didn’t pay well, but dealing with a bickering, alcoholic family stressed him to the point where he was out the door in six months. Having quit drinking also made working around alcohol too much of a temptation. He tried his hand at construction in many areas: masonry, roofing, flooring installation, but again, the pay was mediocre—half of what he was earning previously before OT. He was unlicensed, cheap labor, and working in 90-degree heat didn’t suit him well, along with his growing temper on the job, which made him less desirable for subsequent contract work.

At one point, three years into their sentence, Curtis and Amy had both found themselves out of work for a brutal three-month stretch before Curtis found C/Z Corp. Two parents out of work. Stress levels soared, and the resentment began to build. Amy was trapped. Sharing her bed with a perfect stranger—until eventually, she wasn’t. Everything he did annoyed her—his mannerisms, his incessant smoking, his oblivious attitude, his constant bitching about work or lack thereof, racked up credit cards, and towering bills, all with a fuse that grew shorter as the months progressed. Amy finally broke down, reluctantly asking her parents for a hefty loan to pay the mortgage and keep food on the table, which came with their unyielding disapproval, as they urged her towards divorce, pleading for her return home, which only broke her heart.

Protecting Wes, who needed his father in his life, now more than ever, was her only priority, albeit uncertain of where things lie, but she refused to fail at her marriage; it just wasn’t in her. And although she wasn’t wholly infallible, everyone eventually has their breaking point.

Next Chapter: CH. 11 - RUSSELL FOLEY ESQ.