3 of 100 - Rachel's Ending

Rachel sat at the bar, swirling the melting ice cubes around in her Crown Royal. It was going to be another long night, she imagined.


Chris had left her three weeks before. They’d been together for 15 years, and she thought they’d be together another 15. That is until he walked in one day after work, tossed his jacket on the bar stool as he always did, settled into another barstool as he always did, pulled his glasses from his face, setting them carefully on the counter, as he always did, and said to her back as she chopped onions and green peppers for her famous spaghetti sauce, “Rach, I’m not happy. I’m moving out.”

She remembered pausing, holding the knife carefully poised just above the onions, the peppers, and her wrist, and then carefully placing the knife on the cutting board, turning slowly to face him, wringing the remnants of water, onion skin, and pepper seeds from her hands.

“You’re what?” She brought the back of her hand to her face, moving her hair off her forehead and catching the tear pushing from the corner of her eye. Determined not to lose control, she repeated carefully, “You’re what?” when he didn’t respond immediately.

He sighed. Rachel suddenly realized that she hated it when he sighed, and he did it a lot. She waited. After sighing again, Chris began, “Rach, now you know we haven’t been happy for a while. I just can’t do it any more. I need to move out and sort things through. You can have the house and everything else. All I want is Dad’s gun cabinet and I thought I’d take the guest room furniture. I’ve found an apartment and Ben said he’d help me move everything this weekend.”

“So Ben knows. Who else have you told?” Rachel’s face burned with the knowledge that others knew more about her marriage and its problems than she did. She’d always thought that was the worst part of a breakup. Having others know your business. And knowing others would know Chris’s business before she would from now on. She looked down quickly at her chest to see if by chance she’d accidentally stuck the knife she’d been using in below the breastbone and up into her heart. The stabbing she felt there was more physical than she imagined it could possibly be – without the knife.

“Just Ann. I called and talked to her last night. She sends her love.” Chris’s sister Ann had always merely tolerated Rachel. Possessive of her brother since their mom died when they were teens, she resented his wife from the start. She tried hard to mask it when they had family functions, but the tension rode always just below the conversation.

“Great. Just fucking great. What do you want me to say, Chris? You’ve made up your mind. I’ll leave early tomorrow so you can move your shit out in peace. Better yet, I’m going over to Jill’s house tonight and you call me when you’re pulling out of the driveway tomorrow.” She left everything as it was in the kitchen, knowing he’d clean it all up, and she walked out the door. That was the last time they’d been in the house together.


Now Rachel sat waiting for Jill to meet her for drinks and a movie. Always there for her, Jill had tried to cushion the fall as she sorted through ending a life she’d thought would not end. Rachel felt guilty for taking so much of Jill’s time away from her husband and children, but appreciated the care her friend gave. This night she had arrived a half hour early and had started numbing the pain with Crown and water. Looking at the baseball game above the bar, not knowing who was playing or caring, she thought about the emptiness engulfing her every move. Interrupting her thoughts, her cell phone vibrated on the bar in front of her.

“Hey Jill, what’s up?” she answered.

Jill, clearly shaken, apologized that her youngest had fallen from her bike in the driveway and they had to take her to get stitches.

“My god, girl. Take her. I’ll be fine. Let me know how she is and give her kisses for me.” Rachel’s emptiness grew in size and form as she pushed the end button on her phone. Settling her head in her hands, she pulled a few deep breaths and said quietly, “Fuck fuck fuck.”

Finally raising her head and looking up, she was startled to be looking into the bartender’s chest. Moving her gaze upward, she found his eyes watching her. When they connected, he smiled and asked if she was okay.

“Yeah, sure. Just found out I got stood up is all.” She shrugged her shoulders as if to toss the pain away.

“Well he must be batshit crazy is all I can say,” he said, reaching for a clean bar rag to wipe the condensation from below her glass. She hadn’t realized she’d shredded the napkin the glass had been sitting on. He replaced the napkin and looked again at her.

“It’s not a him. It’s my friend and it isn’t her fault. Family emergency. He stood me up a few weeks ago – for the rest of my life.” She tried to laugh, but it came out as a rather pathetic croaking sound.

“Well how about another drink and you can tell me about it. I’ve got another hour before I can go and it’s pretty clear I won’t be too busy.” He gestured to the near-empty room and she looked around politely. He reached across the bar and settled his hand on her bare arm. The touch startled her. He added, “It’ll be okay. I’m Matt.”

“Nice to meet you Matt. I’m Rachel.” She smiled at him and realized she meant it.