I’m with Mars, dallying with the proverbial other woman, not home with Chrissie, my wife.
It’s sick, but that’s where I am.
Mars is dark—the grand-daughter of Carmine Russo, a New Jersey crime boss.
I know I’m flirting with destruction and don’t care.
My mind is a pail of wriggling worms. I’m disgusted but forced to look—compelled to dwell on my sins—go back in time to a fateful decision.
It’s my wedding day, just before I walked out to the altar to wait as Chrissie walked down the aisle.
Mars is hissing in my ear, “It’s not too late. “You want me to do it, Mark—you want me to make it go away? Because I can do that for you.”
We had always been there for each other, Mars and I—back when I was a man—but I succumbed and let down my guard, and let Chrissie in, and maybe that was a big mistake.
The first few drops of rain begin to fall and Mars curses, and hurriedly grabs up her manuscript pages—her memoirs of being a mafia goddaughter, and all the while cursing under her breath.
I carry the laptop inside and set it down in the study. She plops the stack of papers on her desk, sinks into her swivel chair and gives me a pitying glance.
“Hate to say it, but I warned you, Guy—and now you’re a haunted man.”
Rain streaks paint the dark glass behind her. I wish they could paint out Mars and erase me and this nightmare.
I want to take a gun to my head and mercy kill my troubles, but I can't do that—I can't get that far and I can't stay here withering under Mar's pitying glances.
I drive home in the storm, feeling more desolate than ever.
I park the Porsche on the drive beneath the portico and come in through the main foyer.
Chrissie’s bags are packed and waiting at the bottom of the spiral staircase.
“Chris—where are you?” I call out.
The echo of my voice reverberates hollowly—the only other sounds are the hissing rain and grumbling thunder.
I feel a prickly sensation at the nape of my neck and my limbs go numb.
In panic, I start up the stairs taking them two at a time. At the top of the landing, I pause outside my old bedroom and feel a wave of nausea sweep over me.
Although it’s still afternoon, the house is dark and seems cavernous and empty. I’m about to start down the hall to our bedroom when I spot a movement through the glass doors leading out to the balcony.
I see Chrissie, frozen like a statue, rain-soaked out on the slick slate roof. The blood in my veins turns to ice water, and for a moment I can’t move—I’m mute and numb and frozen like her, caught in a horrific moment of déjà vu.
Suddenly, lightning flares, and in the flickering blue light, Chrissie shape shifts into my mother’s form on that fateful night.
My first instinct is to run and hide— shut myself away from the terror outside.
Then, I hear Mars’ rasping voice inside me: Your father knew how to do it, Mark—take care of business and be a man.
Suddenly, Mother appears before me, but instead of consoling me, she’s shaking her head and glaring sternly.
Something snaps inside me and I’m out on the roof grabbing Chrissie and pulling her back inside.
Two months later I’m waiting in the wings—staring into darkness, trying to discern my fate.
I’m stepping out onto a stage again—renewing my vows and barely able to wait for my life to begin.
She enters and walks down the nave in the flickering light of candles, ethereal in her white dress.
I take her hand and as we turn to face a portal to another place, and I leave behind the old world of pain.
But this time, there’s no one waiting in the wings—the ghost of Mars has been exorcised.
All that remains is a faint wraith from a life once lived, hushed repetitions of vows once said—and the glimmer of a promise for what lies ahead.
I won't look back and revisit that pain...
I have a chance with Chrissie to reclaim what I lost and I won't blow the opportunity to make things right again.
