Excerpt from

DEPARTURES

by Paulita Kincer:

“Oh damn, Oh…”

I realized now why all those years I should have saved some swear words, the words I used so casually if I dropped my purse or took a wrong turn. I couldn’t use those same words at my husband’s departure.

Not his “dearly” departure. Simply his departure.

This called for a different level of swearing. And, for once, no words came.

Perhaps if this speechlessness had happened more often over the years, he wouldn’t now be hoisting his bags into the trunk of his car. Not that this was my fault. I was in no way taking blame for this sudden decision to abandon his family. Maybe I had made a few comments about things that needed to be fixed around the house. The bathroom doorknob that falls off, leaving the kids or me trapped, pounding on the door from the inside until someone comes to the rescue. The leak in the kitchen ceiling, which usually is no more trouble than an unsightly brown stain on white ceiling tiles, but sometimes requires a bucket. And perhaps I had suggested that those things were more urgent than watching orange-jerseyed men tackle each other on a football field. But I didn’t expect him to take off.

Tears pooled in my eyes.

“Just go,” I said to his broad back.

He didn’t hear me.

“The kids can reach me on my cell phone,” Scott called as he folded his long body into the black Toyota Camry, a lone car seat strapped into the middle of the backseat. When all three kids were in car seats the fit had been a little tight, but now that two of them had graduated from their boosters they could sit together neatly in the back.

Five-year-old Henry’s seat in the middle kept Maggie, 7, and Jack, 9, from pummeling each other regularly.

The kids were at a play date instead of here witnessing their father’s desertion on this Sunday afternoon.

Actually, I’m not certain what tipped the scales. The argument didn’t seem that different from other quarrels. Usually he ignored me, just snapping off the ends of pretzel twists while he watched football. Today, he snapped.

“Jesus Christ, Annie. Can’t a guy get any peace? You’re always at me to spend more time at home. Is that just because you want to harp at me?” he had yelled. Then he was off the couch and up the stairs.

“I’ve had enough,” he tossed the words down the stairs like an empty laundry basket.

Obviously, that was a subtle signal that he needed some time alone. It’s not like I followed him right up the stairs to continue the fight. I was folding laundry on the dining room table and then, it was time to put the laundry away, so I carried it upstairs. That’s when I saw him standing in front of his suitcase, painstakingly folding jeans and polo shirts. He calmly placed the work shirts and pants in a tweed garment bag. His tie rack, full of muted silk ties, fit in front of the shirts. His loafers and belts carefully tucked along the side of the suitcase. He wedged in his shaving kit and was finished. This was all he needed.

I watched the car back out of the sloped driveway and pull down the road. He was gone.