When The Door Finally Closes

When The Door Finally Closes

The first time he came back, Grace opened the door before he could knock twice. She’d been waiting, sitting on the front porch night after night for a week anticipating the crunch of his tires coming up the dirt driveway. 

Cain stood before the door, slightly hunched, hair dripping from the rain. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

She moved to the side to let him in. 

Once he was standing in her living room she could clearly see the bags beneath his eyes and the way his hands shook as he removed his jacket. He looked wild, like he’d been wandering in the wilderness. She wanted to ask where he’d been, what he’d been chasing, but she already knew. 

That was how the song always played out. He would leave and she would wait. He’d return and she’d open the door. The pattern went on enough times throughout the years that it made her wonder if because she always let him come home that he never understood what it meant to leave. 

The first few weeks when he returned, he always started out determined. He woke up early to spend time with her at the breakfast table. He talked to her about his day. He listened to her talk about hers. They’d laugh when it was time to sit on the couch before bed, even sharing some of their deepest thoughts. 

It would start with one missed breakfast and then a few days later, another. Soon it’d seem that he was more interested in doing things around the house than talking to her. She never felt like enough for long. Then one day, he’d be gone again. Sometimes he’d disappear for a few days. Other times, a month. Then he’d come back expecting her to open the door. 

“One day you’re going to knock and I’m not going to open it,” she warned. But even as she said it she could tell he didn’t recognize the gravity of her words. And why would he? He’d never lost her before. She knew that he loved her. That was what made it especially difficult. She realized he was not changing because he thought he had unlimited time. 

One night during a period when she felt him drifting from her, she interrupted his favorite TV show and asked him to dinner with her. 

He hesitated, eyes still on the screen. “Can you just bring me the plate?” 

The words squeeze her heart like a fist. “I’d like to eat together,” she said, steadying her voice. 

He was slow to rise– each second a spec of spitefulness– but eventually, he followed. He didn’t compliment the way she’d curled her hair or the dress she’d put on. Didn’t acknowledge the candles prepped along the table, the freshly poured wine in crystal glasses, or the golden tablecloth she only took out for celebrations.

Trying not to take his disinterest personally, she set before him bread she’d baked that morning and meat she spent hours cleaning and preparing. She took her seat across from him. But instead of picking up her fork right away, she folded her hands beneath her chin, sat on the edge of her seat, and watched him.

With each bite he took, he seemed to nod pleasantly to himself. 

She remembered the days after they got married, how he used to chase her around the yard to tickle her. Her laughs had meant so much to him then. She remembered their slow dances in the living room, the way he took the lead and how she’d laid so peacefully on his chest. She knew he could still be that man. The man capable of loving her so sincerely.

She found herself smiling. She didn’t mind the silence between them at the table. She only cared to watch him enjoy himself. To soak up the joy of his presence here with her. She hoped each bite was enough to remind him how good she was to him. She thought that maybe– just maybe– if she filled him up this time, he’d stop developing an appetite for anything else. Then he’d finally believe that she was worth more than anything else.

His phone buzzed. The hard vibration against the table startled her. She watched him finish chewing. Set down his fork. His pupils dilated. A smile changed his face as he observed the screen. His eyes twinkled with a different kind of excitement. A kind he never had with her. He picked up his shoulders. His smile almost turned into a laugh. She didn’t need to ask. She knew what was on that screen– the whole glittery world, offering him the kind of pleasure she couldn’t. 

He broke the bread absently, picked up his phone to type.

“Cain,” she called. 

He didn’t respond. 

She called him again. This time a giggle erupted from his lips though eyes remained glued to the screen. When his plate was empty, she wiped his lips with the napkin she set out. 

She called him a third time and slammed her glass on the table, causing their plates to tremble. 

He looked up but kept his phone in hand. 

“I’m not asking you to be perfect,” she said. She wished she could keep her lips from quivering, her tears from gathering. But the disappointment— the fear— was too much to keep to herself. “I’m asking you to decide. To choose me, truly.” 

Another buzz sounded from his cell. His eyes averted. 

“Cain,” she begged. 

“I have to take this.” He scooted his chair back and stood. His phone went with him as he walked out of the dining room.

A few years ago, she might have put up more of a fight. This time, she remained at the table to finish eating alone while he took his call where she couldn’t hear. 

By midnight, Cain was gone. He must have thought she was asleep when he got out of bed with her. She heard when the door closed in the other room. At first she got up, looked outside hoping that maybe he’d just gone to gather something from the truck. But she soon realized that she’d hurt her own self by expecting him to still be there. The back of her knees caved as she saw the red taillights of his truck at the end of the driveway beam through the night before disappearing completely. 

She knelt on the ground where the grooves remained in the sand from where his truck had been. She remained outside like that for a long time, her tears landing on her thighs. 

When she did pick herself up to go back inside, she closed the door with a new heaviness. She crawled back into bed and laid with eyes wide open, fully aware of the space where he had been just an hour earlier. 

When she woke the next morning, instead of opening the blinds so she could see him coming, she opened them to fill her home with light. She made one cup of coffee. Eggs and sausage only for herself. She picked a nice gown in the closet and twirled to her favorite music in the living room. Later she went outside to gather flowers from her garden. She had a vase for each kind and only picked the ones that were ready. Back inside, she put a vase on each of the chairs around the table, like guests at a tea party. This somehow helped her cope, reminding her that she’d given Lucas enough time to grow and become ready to be with her forever. 

After a week passed, he showed up while she was in the room reading a book. She heard the first knock and didn’t move. The silence went on. She turned the page. Then came a second knock. Still she remained in the chair. By the third, he released a grunt and she set the book down. She walked over but didn’t touch the doorknob. She stood on the opposite side to hear him more clearly. 

“Grace,” he called. “Open the door.”

She sighed but still didn’t say a word. 

He groaned. “I understand you’re upset but I choose you now. Truly. I’m ready.”

She shook her head though he couldn’t see her. 

He twisted the doorknob. Knocked again. “Why are you still not unlocking the door?” 

I gave you time, she thought. 

  Though she liked to think she was strong enough to resist, deep down she knew that if he could prove his seriousness, she’d open the door again. She got the idea to see how long he was willing to wait. To test him. If he’d stay there outside for just three hours without driving away, and if he continued to ask, she’d open the door for him. Then she’d see if he was serious. 

But after twenty minutes, he was gone. Twenty minutes. That was all the time he’d decided she was worth. After everything. She really thought he’d try harder to seek her. Now she knew. Cain did not want her on her terms. He only desired her on his. But she’d let him have his way long enough. Now she had no choice but to honor the words she’d always spoken. 

After months, Cain still did not show up to her house again and Grace accepted that he probably never would. In her heart, she learned to fully give him over to the things he wanted so badly over her. 

But one afternoon during a storm advisory, Grace remembered Cain and opened the door. Maybe he’d come back to her one more time for safety. Clouds darkened and swelled in the distance over the city. 

Clouds darkened and swelled in the distance over the city like a bruise. The wind quickened, carrying the smell of smoke and salt. Sirens wailed like mourners somewhere in the distance. The radio called it a storm, but Grace knew better. This was the end. Certainly, the city would be destroyed. Lives would be lost. But she wasn’t concerned about her house. It was built for this. Assembled by her hands, stone after stone, it had withstood every storm. But Cain had chosen to build his life on sand and now the rain was falling. 

When the wind became too great outside, she took one last gaze up the driveway, listening and looking for any sign of Cain’s truck. Finally, with a heavy heart, she closed the door for good. Inside, the house was warm and safe, filled with the flowers she’d gathered. Grace knew she was alone but at least she was home.