Call Me Nuts

That night, I came down with a high fever.

I was barely conscious—my mind drifting between dreams and delirium. For a moment, I thought it was still three years ago. Instinctively, I called Howard for help.

But instead of his voice, I heard Phoebe's syrupy tone on the other end. "Who's calling you at this hour, Howie?"

It was late, yet the two of them were still together. The fog in my head cleared just enough for me to hang up the phone immediately.

Howard didn't come home until the middle of the night. By then, the ibuprofen I'd taken had already kicked in.

He burst through the door, looking like he'd rushed over straight from somewhere else. His hair was a mess, his lips were swollen, and love bites littered his neck.

It had been four whole hours since I had called him for help. He looked exhausted, but for the first time, he softened his tone and tried to explain himself. He said, "I was busy at work."

I gently patted his hand and told him it was fine.

He froze, clearly caught off guard. In the past, I would've gone off on him, asked him why he was so late, and whined about how sick I felt and how much it hurt to burn up like this.

He probably had a whole speech prepared and was ready to chastise me, but I'd thrown him off with my calm response. After a long pause, he let out a cold chuckle.

"It would've been nice if you'd behaved like this sooner. Looks like the treatment at the psychiatric facility worked.

"Pheebs is still waiting in the car. She rushed over the second she heard you were sick. Even a director like her can find time to care about you; you should take a page from her book."

I stayed quiet and just followed him to the garage.

On the way there, he kept rambling about the past few years—how the deal with Equinox Trading Co. fell through and how it was somehow my fault for not handing things off to Phoebe properly.

He also complained that the company's performance had declined because my stay at the psychiatric facility had distracted him. Somehow, everything circled back to Phoebe.

"Good thing she stayed by my side. If you hadn't been so immature, Yvette, I wouldn't have had to go through all these hardships. And now I still have to take you to the hospital."

I listened to him complain, and despite myself, a wave of resentment began to rise. I looked up at him and asked, "So, she gets the master bedroom? She's the lady of the house now, isn't she?"

He abruptly snapped. He grabbed my wrist and yelled at me, "You went into my room? So what if Pheebs is staying here?

"She had nowhere else to go when she came back. What? Can't you even share a room? Why are you so petty?

"I'm warning you: When we see Pheebs, don't you dare say anything stupid, or I'll send you right back to the psychiatric facility!"

I had already given her my job and my room, and now it seemed like I was about to lose my husband to her, too. He hadn't changed at all. This wasn't the first time he'd threatened to send me back.

Phoebe must've heard us arguing because she got out of the car and hurried over. She slipped her arm around Howard's and began soothing him in a low, gentle voice.

As I watched her fuss over him while I stood like a ghost, I couldn't help but think she looked more like his wife than I ever did. I felt as if my heart was being pierced by a thousand needles watching them.

Phoebe turned to me and said sweetly, "Yvette, I don't mean to criticize you, but you're just a housewife now. You don't have a job.

"You rely on Howie for everything. You shouldn't make things harder for him just because you don't like me."

Howard shook off my hand violently, and I lost my footing, stumbling a few steps. Years of medication and abuse had left my muscles weak, and with a fever ravaging my body, I couldn't stay upright anymore. I proceeded to collapse on the ground.

Howard barked something else at me, but my ears were ringing, and I couldn't even make out what he said.