Went back to work today

It was getting so that I couldn't stand being in the house any more so I had to get out of it. I had to go somewhere, and I felt like shit, looked like shit and smelled like shit. Hadn't showered or shaved in a couple of days. Didn't return anybody's phone calls and the couple of times somebody came knocking, I just ignored it. One time, it sounded like Steve, my conference buddy. I even thought I heard his voice: "Mike! I know you're in there. Let me in. I just want to know you're all right and that you haven't done anything crazy. We're all worried about you, Mike." Bang! Bang! Bang! Much more insistent pounding on the door this time. Then it stopped. I saw a figure going around the side of the house, but since it was day light, I could see exactly who it was. How touching, Steve was coming to check up on me, making sure I hadn't killed myself. For some reason, I'm still not sure why, but tears just burst out of my eyes. I sobbed and sobbed, more than I had at Kate and Anna's funeral. Was the horrible reality of their deaths finally hitting me now some two weeks later?

I didn't let Steve in, but I called him on his cell a couple of hours later to tell him how appreciative that I was that he stopped by, and that everyone would see me in the morning. I also asked him to ask everybody not to make a big deal out of me coming back to work. But then I thought, how do you welcome someone back to work from a tragedy like this? I must have thrown away over a hundred sympathy cards that I received (which in retrospect was stupid b/c some of them might have had money in them), and I doubt there are cards with just the right sentiment inside:

"Sorry that you lost your loved ones, but I'm sure they'll catch the bastard
who did it"

or

"In your time of grief, I hope that thoughts of sweet revenge will console you."

or my favorite

"When the catch the murderer, I hope he gets the death penalty and you're
the one to throw the switch."

What do people say to you when they see you at work? "Hey, Mike, how are you doing?" Do they really want to know? Or are they just making small talk because they're too damn uncomfortable to say something else? Or too stupid to say anything original? Plus, how many times can I answer the same questions over and over again without going insane and wanting to strangle someone or lock myself in a maintenance closet on the 4th floor?

Maybe it's just better to stay in my office at work and stay on the convention circuit so that way I have to interact with as few people who know about the murders as possible. Or, maybe I can ask Christine if I can work from home for a while. I practically do everything from the road anyway, why not from home when I'm not at conventions?

As it turned out, work was about as bad as I had feared. There were awkward glances and stares, sympathetic smiles and nods, and a few brave souls who came by my office who came to offer condolences (again) and ask about any updates on the case. Steve had warned them but apparently not strongly enough. After the second person came by, I shut the blinds and locked the door and put my head on my desk for God knows how long. My phone woke me up.

I'm hesitant to write about this here because any of my family or Kate's family could read this, but right now, I don't care. The phone call was from Christine, my boss and also my lover for the past four months. It didn't start out with any bad intentions, it just happened. Christine and I have been friends for a long time. I recruited her to the company, but she worked her way up on her own. When she became my boss last year, I was thrilled for her but also jealous. During the past year, we had grown closer as we worked together more and more often. I saw her more than just a friend, and she did the same. Our first night together was after the company picnic and softball game. We'd both had a few too many at Marinelli's that night and had a cab take us to the Northfield Hilton where we spent the night together. She was gone before I awoke, and for a moment there, I had thought the whole night was just some fantastically erotic dream. But then I found her note and knew that we had jumped over the line of no return.

"Mike, are you o.k.? Do you need the rest of the day off?"
"I wanted to talk to you about that, Christine. I was hoping, for the mean time, that I could work at home until I get out of this funk."
"That's not a problem, Mike. In fact, I was going to suggest it."
"Good. I appreciate you looking out for me."
"You know I do, Mike. Always."
"Thanks, Christine."
"Give me a call when you're ready to talk, Mike."
I paused. Talk? About what? About the murders of my family? About me seeing the ghost of my daughter? Or about our future together? "You can count on it, hon."

So I packed up all the things I might need, put them in a box, and headed out of the office. Steve walked out with me and asked if I was quitting. I told him no, but that I couldn't work here right now with everyone walking on egg shells around me -it made me want to scream. I wanted my old life back, I wanted everything to go back to normal, my old routines, sleeping in the bed with Kate (even if there was just sex once a month on a Saturday night), going to Anna's soccer games or choir recitals. I wanted that all back. But as I thought about all that was gone, anger burned inside me. I had to find out who had killed my family and why. It just wasn't fair. And that person had to pay.