Victor Comes Home
Victor Comes Home
by David Michael
The good news died on Victor’s lips, and in his chest. Darkness bloomed in his heart and swirled around the edges of his vision as he turned his back on Helen and Greg. To hide his face. To not see their faces. He pushed the door shut. Normally. Naturally. Not slamming it.
They were just having coffee. Two friends. Victor’s wife. And his best friend. Having coffee. That was all.
“Victor!” Helen said. He heard her chair push back from the small table. “Greg stopped by to see you.”
Or was that all? Victor’s hand clenched the doorknob, refused to let go. The muscles of his arms knotted up, as if they wanted to pull the door of its hinges. He felt the urge to run away. Far away.
“How did the job interview go?” Greg asked.
“Is it bad news, baby?” Helen asked.
Victor heard her step away from the table. He imagined the look of concern. On both their faces. He imagined her faltering, catching herself with her hand on Greg’s shoulder. Saw, in his mind, Greg reach up to take her hand, comfort her with a squeeze.
Victor let go of the doorknob and turned around. Too quickly. Surprising Helen, who stood there, just a pace away. Greg still sat at the table, putting down his coffee mug, turning in his seat to look at Victor.
“I’m sorry, Vic,” Helen said, stepping closer, her arms spread to take him in her embrace.
Victor let her put her arms around his waist. She squeezed him tight, her cheek against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
Victor didn’t hug her back. He tried to shake the images in his head, the thoughts of her holding Greg this way, her hands spreading against the bare skin of Greg’s back and moving down, pulling him closer. Victor shook his head. Too violently.
“What is it, baby?” Helen asked.
“You OK, Vic?” Greg asked.
“Sorry,” Victor said. “I’m sorry. Just … too much. No,” he added. “Not that.” Finally, reluctantly, forcing himself, he put his arms around Helen, hugged her to him. Forced a smile. “I got the job.”
Helen squealed. “Oh! That’s great, Vic!” She went up on tiptoes to kiss him.
He hesitated only an instant, before bringing his mouth down to hers. She and Greg had just been having coffee. That’s all. Victor could smell the coffee on her breath, taste it on her lips. Nothing else. Just coffee. Then Helen had her face against his chest again, squeezing him tighter than before.
“I’m so happy for you,” she said.
“Yeah, that’s great, Vic,” Greg said. He had stood up from the table now, and moved over to them. He stood a pace away, watching them. “Did you get the title and salary you wanted?”
Victor looked at Greg, met his eyes. No signs of guilt. No hesitations. Because Greg and Helen weren’t having an affair. They weren’t screwing around on Victor. They weren’t fucking. They weren’t pulling each other’s clothes off, writhing together in bed, Victor’s bed, moaning, thrusting, pulling–
Victor squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head again.
Just Victor’s wife and Victor’s best friend, waiting for him to come home. Hoping he had good news. Waiting to share either the pain or the joy.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Greg suggested. “You look … done in, maybe.”
“What’s the matter, baby?” Helen asked.
“Nothing,” Victor said. Everything. He didn’t ask, Did you fuck him? He didn’t want to know, Did you suck his dick? ”Nothing,” he said again.
He let Helen and Greg lead him to the table. Greg pulled out a chair and Victor sat down, Helen’s hands on his shoulders.
“Let me get you some coffee,” Helen said. She took her hands from his shoulders, and went into the kitchen.
Greg sat down beside him, and started talking. Victor watched the other man’s mouth move, looked at his eyes, at his hands on his coffee mug. Victor heard the sounds but couldn’t make them into words.
Helen came back with Victor’s mug, set it in front of him. Victor looked at her, trying to remember, trying to think, failed. She said something, her face showing concern. But he couldn’t make it out. Her lips moved. Her voice washed over him. Nothing seemed to connect. Her face started swimming in front of him, getting blurry. He looked down at the steaming coffee, black as night in the black mug.
He put his hands on the mug, feeling the warmth in his fingers, holding it still, against the firm table top. Where he could stare at it. Try to bring himself back to … himself.
He remembered the job offer. A job. Not just any job, but Project Manager. The job he had interviewed for. The job he had been searching for … for …
How long had he been unemployed?
How many months had passed since the layoff? Since the pink slip burned itself into the back of his eyes? Since he had to remember how to build a resumé? Since the repeated rejections had driven him into depression, dragging Helen down with him?
Since he become impotent? The last, greatest humiliation …
Is that why Helen had turned to Greg? Had Victor forced her to–to–look for what he couldn’t give her?
They were just having coffee, the two of them. Helen and Greg. Victor’s best friends. The two who had most supported him during his … crises. The loss of his job. The loss of his manhood.
He wouldn’t blame her.
But they were just having coffee. That’s all.
Helen had never given him any indication–
Victor had never seen any clue–
Not with his eyes. But he had imagined, couldn’t stop himself from imagining. Because he was worthless. Had been worthless.
Now, though … maybe … maybe they could start over.
Victor took in the smell of the coffee in a long, slow breath. The warmth spread from his fingers, up his arms, into the cold blackness of his heart. He tried to calm himself.
Because he had a job again. He could be a man again.
He opened his mouth. “Can we–” he started, but his throat tightened around the words, choked them away.
“What, baby?” Helen asked. Her fingers touched his cheek.
He looked up, met her eyes.
“Can we … can we start over?” he asked.
Helen’s eyes became shiny. Her hand on his cheek moved to take his chin. “Start over, baby?”
“I guess I’ll be going,” Greg said. He pushed himself back from the table, stood up. “Congrats again, Vic,” he added, clapping Victor on the shoulder. Then he let himself out.
Victor ignored Greg, still looked at Helen. He nodded. “I want to … to start over … to win you back …”
Helen laughed, but now tears were in her eyes. “You never lost me, Vic.”
Victor nodded. He knew that. Because Helen and Greg had just been having coffee. Waiting for him to come home.
Copyright © 2006 by David Michael.
A Short Story a Day » Best of ASSAD 2006 said,
December 26, 2006 @ 6:09 pm
[...] Silent Pictures Mother’s Little Helper Tucker Crowfeeder The Hall Closet Door A Beating Heart in Texas Trikes and Aliens The Survivor When Writers Attack Function Follows Form The Call of the Hunter Moon A Scent of Peaches Reruns Working Girl He Came The Worlds Traveler Time: A Love Story The Protector Victor Comes Home [...]