Shallow Water Zone: Irreconcilable Differences Book One: Shallow Water Zone Series, #1

By R. R. Bookman

Caitlyn, a mom in her late thirties, appears to be suffering from a bout of depression.  When her husband's behavior becomes suspicious, and she is not allowed to ask questions in regards to his whereabouts, she suspects that he may be having an affair.  So she sets out on an obsessive mission to discover the truth.  But what will she find?  Could her friend be the other woman?  Or is her compulsive desire for a stranger causing her to want out of her marriage?  Will her search for the truth lead her down a path of darkness that could destroy her life and the lives of those around her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. R. Bookman
• Release date: Nov 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201044534

Book preview

Shallow Water Zone

Irreconcilable Differences:  Book One

R. R. Bookman

Copyright © 2021, R. R. Bookman

Cover Image by the Toni Frissell Collection.

All rights to the cover image design is reserved by the Library of Congress.

All rights reserved in all other media by the author.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. 

The moral right of R. R. Bookman as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, and Patents Act of 1988.

This book is a work of fiction.  All names, characters, locales, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.  Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events is entirely coincidental and fictionalized.

Legal Notice

This book is not intended to provide religious or spiritual advice. Any statement herein should not be construed as taking the place of your own ability to evaluate religious or spiritual claims on the basis of a rational evaluation of the evidence. The author of this book shall not be held liable or responsible for misunderstanding or misuse of any information contained in this text. Neither is the author responsible for any loss, damage, or injury caused, or alleged to be caused, directly or indirectly by any action or behavior precipitated by this publication.

Dedication

I dedicate this novel to my cousin, Stacy Lampkin, for encouraging me to be an avid reader and lover of poetry in my youth.  Your short stories will live forever in my heart.  Brandon O. Yarbrough, your continuous encouragement to get this novel finished was undying and very much appreciated.  I love you with all my heart.  You will forever be missed.  Finally, I would like to give special thanks to my family for their support and love, and to my son for always inspiring me.

Table Of Contents

Legal Notice

Dedication

Chapter 1 – A House Is Not a Home

Chapter 2 - Neglect

Chapter 3 – Restricted

Chapter 4 – Resuscitation, Or Not!

Chapter 5 – On Life Support

Chapter 6 – Paralyzed

Chapter 7 – Unhealthy Patterns

Chapter 8 Parenting 101

Chapter 9 – A Reflection of Me

Epilogue

About the Author

Chapter 1 – A House Is Not a Home

The most important thing that a father can do for his children is to love their mother.

~Theodore Hesburgh~

I stood there staring out of the window, contemplating the possibility of a life much different than the one I was living.  But that was the thing about life- most times it was unpredictable.  I was sure that I was going through some sort of midlife crisis.  I was barely on the cusp of forty, but what is a woman to do when everything she once thought was so important becomes less significant?  -Trust? Maybe, but it’s never easy. 

I found myself questioning the deeper meaning of it all.  Why was I here?  What was I supposed to be doing?  I had to find my soul’s purpose.  I needed answers, but I didn’t know where to start.  After months of trying to figure it out, it seemed that I had finally found my calling.  Painting.  I contemplated how I would break the news to my husband Reyvon, but in the actual moment of confession it seemed to come out much differently than I had planned for it to.

I quit my job today.

You did what?  But I thought you loved that job?

As I explained to Reyvon that it was never really the job that I loved but the money, he responded by loudly proclaiming the motto, money over passion.  He made it no secret that he thought me leaving my well-paying job in the corporate world and returning to school to study a more creative endeavor was completely ludicrous. But when he saw that I was determined to do this with or without him he complied.  I had expected for him to be more understanding right from the start, being that he was an artist himself, but maybe painting and music were just too different. 

It was an easy transition for me at first, but as time went on the switch seemed more troublesome for everyone else to come to terms with.  I guess it’s always difficult to fathom how an overly independent, career-minded woman suddenly falls to such a degrading status of stay-at-home mom, aka loser wife who has become solely dependent on her spouse for financial support.  I must admit that the many changes taking place around me were so swift and radical that at times it was even overwhelming for me.  I had become so accustomed to my old set of beliefs about success until many times I feared that I had made a huge mistake by quitting my job.

Even though I enjoyed what I was doing, I sometimes felt like a failure, and I often leaned on my son, Trey, during those moments of doubt.  Even at his young age, he was more encouraging than his father.  He seemed to serve as a direct connection to something much greater than myself.  He was that little bit of hope, and light that kept me out of complete darkness.  And to think, I never even wanted children.  He was the irony in it all though, even from the very beginning.  He was conceived eight years ago on one of the few nights of my sobriety.  It was the one night that Reyvon decided to wear a condom.  Fortunately, it broke. 

Reyvon and I had been on and off for many years and only in recent years decided to ‘really make things work’.  He was always popular with the ladies, but at the slightest possibility of success, he easily became a money target for groupies.  Like many women, I clung faithfully to the idea that my relationship with this man had the ability to make me whole; but now that we were finally together as husband and wife, I was shocked to find that there was still something missing in our marriage, and in my own life.  Whatever that thing was it loomed and lingered over me most days, as a dark cloud of impending death, just waiting to strike at any moment. 

Even now, the current storm washes up memories of our troubled past together.  I contemplate it, as my son and I sit underneath the skylight gazing at the raindrops splattering against the glass.  It pours down like the blood from a deadly wound, threatening to pronounce one lifeless. 

Mommy I’m scared.  Trey sings, as the sound of thunder rolls underneath our feet, and a loud crack of lightning stretches across the night’s sky.  Is god angry about something?

No. Of course not.  I whisper, pulling him closer to me. God never gets angry with anyone about anything. 

It feels strange to say those words. My face instantly lines with doubt while speaking them.  The words are so different than the fire and brimstone bible stories from my childhood.  And the sudden release of that old way of viewing things seems to dig up a fit of fear within, and a bout of guilt settles upon me.  Is that what you really believe?  I question myself.

As I imagine some red creature with a rather large pitchfork coming for me, I assure myself that God knows my heart, and that I’ve always been a good person.  I’ve always been humble at least, but now there is a part of me that feels as if I’m lying to Trey, and to myself.  Of course, God gets angry.  And aren’t we as his children supposed to fear him?  I can’t fathom where, when, or why I might have changed my mind about it.

There seems to be some sort of rift, or separation between the way I used to view things, and the way that I view them now.  I’ve always been aware of the physical imperfections in myself- the crooked teeth, the grotesque blemishes, the disproportionate bridge of my nose. But nowadays the realization that there are interior flaws threaten to destroy me.  I am no longer the person I’ve always known myself to be.  The young businesswoman, the devout Christian, and even the overzealous mother is vanishing right before my eyes.  I can’t make any sense of it.  I was once so sure of myself and of who I was, but now all I’ve ever known as me is ceasing to exist.  Could it be that my failed connection to God is responsible for this bout of sadness within me?  ...Of course, I can see it all so clearly now.  I’ve officially fallen from grace. 

I stare out of the window until the storm gives way.  Then I watch my son carry on with his usual routine- dinner, cartoons, and video games.  My mind is plagued with a constant stream of chatter, but every now and then Trey beckons for my attention.  In those moments, I notice our interaction with one another.  It’s as if I’m outside of myself observing the two of us.  I see myself caught up in my thoughts, agitated, completely overwhelmed by them.  I perform my motherly duties.  I’m physically there for Trey, but emotionally I’m a million miles away.  It seems as if I’m comatose. Every single night he asks the same questions, and every single night I give the same answers- almost robotically.  We carry on like this until most of the night escapes us.  But then for a moment, I revel in my surroundings. 

With the break of dawn soon approaching, it seems awry that the moon, and a few stars are still lingering in the sky.  Being somewhat of a recluse so to speak, one would think that the skylight on the roof, and a bay window which covers an entire wall might leave someone like me feeling totally exposed.  However, this view has become my favorite outing.  I find myself fully immersed in the beauty of the moment.  It’s in this space that inspiration strikes while simply watching my son do something as mundane as lie on the sofa.  Suddenly, I feel an overwhelming urge to put paintbrush to canvas.  Completely unaware that this painting just might capture a pivotal moment in my life, I manage to put the finishing touches on this piece in a very short time. 

When I’m done, I sit on the sofa admiring my muse.  Then I realize that in ten more years, I would have played an intricate part in molding him into a man.  Every decision made, and every effort taken would be critical in guiding him in the right direction.  There’s only one problem with that.  How am I to guide him down the right path, when most of the time he is the little bit of light illuminating my darkness?

Trey glances at me as if he can hear my thoughts.  His eyes get gradually heavier by the minute as he lay on the sofa with his feet resting upon my lap.  He struggles to keep his focus on little Johnny Test, and even Johnny himself looks as if he is about to collapse at any second.  I sit there staring at the television screen with my elbow propped on the back of the sofa, and my head resting on my hand.  It’s all I can do to keep from falling asleep myself. 

Dad, why are we here so early?  The water is not even awake yet.  Johnny complains to his father with eyes almost as heavy as Trey’s.

I glance over at Trey and giggle, but it seems as if he’s missed the joke.  I scratch at the fine hairs that lay on the back of my neck and fight off a heavy yawn.  Then I re-adjust myself and take a quick glimpse at the clock on the wall.  It reads 5:55 am.  He’s late.  I slide my head into one of the small separations on the back of the sofa and rest there.  Eyes wide shut; I speak.

Your father’s still not here Trey.  Maybe we should go back to bed.

I wait for a response from him, but there isn’t one.  I open my eyes only to find that he is completely asleep now.  I grab the remote to turn off the television, but to my utter disbelief my view is obstructed by a tall dark knight standing in front of me. 

I gasp, hold my breath, and become very still.  I gape at the dark knight, and he peers back at me with such concealed intention.  He wears a black helmet with the visor down, and a black armored suit made of fiberglass of some sort.  As he moves towards me, I can feel the weight of Trey’s legs becoming heavier upon my lap. 

I remain locked into a gaze with him, as he towers over me.  I’m afraid to move, and I wonder who’s underneath the mask.  He leans in closer, until the back of my head is pressed firmly against the sofa.  I manage to scrounge up enough courage to slip a few fingers between the gated mouthpiece of his helmet to give him a firm push backward. This creates a few feet of space between us. 

He never utters a word or responds to my action.  Still locked into a gaze with him, I give Trey a pat on the leg, and just as I do, I hear the latch turn on the front door.  Startled, I drop the remote and it crashes onto the floor.  For a mere second, I withdraw my attention away from the dark knight and to my surprise, when I turn back, he’s no longer there.  Trey jumps up from the sofa abruptly. 

Dad!  He yells, appearing fully awake now.

He leaps right into Reyvon’s arms even before giving him the chance to get his suitcases inside.  I walk over to the door and peak around the corner for any signs of the intruder.  There are none.  I scratch nervously at my arm, leaving white streaks of ash on my mocha-colored skin.  There’s only one way into the condo and one way out.  I look over at the television, and it’s off.  I can’t make any sense of what just happened.  Could I have dreamt up the entire thing?  Reyvon gives me a discerning eye. 

Are you expecting someone?

No...  Of course not.

Is that a subtle hint of jealousy that I hear in his voice?  I quickly pull his bags inside. 

Where’s high yellow?  I ask, inquiring about his guitar.

I took her to get tuning.  He replies.  She really needed it. 

Go figure.  It’s always about what she needs.

What’s up little man? Sorry I missed your birthday last week. Reyvon says, planting a kiss on Trey’s forehead.  Did mom give you my gift?

I move about the living room picking up a few things as they chat amongst themselves.  I still feel a bit disoriented and anxious, and I’m sure that Reyvon senses it.  He keeps glancing at me periodically, so that whenever our eyes meet, I’m forced to display a brief smile.

Man.  He’s grown so much in three months. 

Trey hangs in there for as long as he can, then he lies back down on the sofa and goes completely out.  Reyvon stares at him as if he’s trying to mentally update any new physical changes in him.  I get down on the floor, searching for the remote. When I discover it, it’s in pieces. 

So, how was the tour?

Did he even get any sleep last night? Reyvon asks, bypassing my question.

Not much.  He refused to go to sleep until you got here. 

Reyvon makes a ticking sound with his mouth.

Come on.  I say, tapping Trey.  It’s time for bed.

Trey grunts and turns over towards the back of the sofa.

Just leave him there.  We need to talk.

Did he say talk?  I walk over to him slowly, gracefully with radar ears.

So, did you miss me? He asks.

What?  Yeah.

Don’t sound so convincing.

I smile and he smiles back at me.  He knows how much I hate surprises.

So, what is it?  Is everything alright?

Nothing for you to worry about.  He says, reassuringly.

However, I feel no immediate sense of relief at his words, because whenever he says that there is nothing to worry about, there is usually something indeed.  I sigh and my face lines with tension. 

Well... what is it then? 

It’s good news.

Okay... I’m listening.

"Hold up