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It had just inched into noon, and the office space was humming with the sound of an air conditioning system set as high as possible to combat the mid-summer New Mexico heat. There was always a radiance to the desert environment in the early day that Cheryl was nearly awestruck by when she was still a newcomer to the Southwest, and on no other day did that characteristic of her environment seem clearer. She didn’t love the days of financial planning and regulatory compliance that came with a private medical practice, and these days she found herself spending more time with the practice’s new administrator Angela than with patients or even other physicians. Angela noticed the other woman motioning to get up from her seat.
“Want me to get you some coffee, Cheryl?”
“That’s alright,” she said with a polite smile, “I can make it myself. Any excuse to stretch my legs.”
Angela just silently nodded and returned her smile. Cheryl entered the break room, and retrieved a container of coffee grounds, milk and a pitcher of water from the mini-fridge, and prepared a new pot. She gave a small chuckle at the image of Howard’s stainless steel espresso machine gracing the counter in front of her, and the cups with designs of peace signs and flowers placed on the coffee’s surface. Bless that man’s heart. He could be a clueless, condescending jackass, or he could be a thoughtful and kind partner. She knew he was trying. She could see that. But these days, it took moments like this to remind her of what they once shared, only to be forgotten in the span of minutes.
Cheryl let her focus rest entirely on the little machine and the dark coffee that trickled into the wide, glass pot underneath until the sound of a ringing landline softly reminded her where she was. She looked back towards the direction of her office. Her curious mind suggested something, apparently independent of her own will. She walked back to her office, extracting her cell phone from her purse and leaving before Angela could speak. She preemptively flipped open the phone and sat it on the counter as she tested the contents of her cup and added milk. She then grabbed the device and pressed her thumb on a button to scroll down her list of contacts before landing on a contact simply titled “Howard.” She selected the name of her husband and pressed “Call.”
Howard sat behind the desk of his spacious office, the only source of light coming from the late morning sun behind him. After Dr. Mitchell, he was letting no one enter the room. He felt like nothing more than a sentient marionette, and he was furious. With Jimmy McGill, with the faces who surrounded him in the mediation, but most of all with himself. More than anything, however, he was tired. So unbelievably tired, and so pathetically defenseless. Why did he have to talk? Why did he ever have confidence in himself? Why did he think he could ever handle someone like Jimmy? Why did he let everything go to Hell in a span of five minutes?
Howard glanced at the light of his ringing cellphone, a bright blue in the low light. He felt a pang of anxiety at the name inscribed on the screen. His first instinct was to ignore it, but decided anything that could finally make his wife talk to him was not to be disregarded.
“Cheryl?"
“Hi Howard,” he could detect an underlying uncertainty in his spouse’s voice.
“...What’s up?”
“How are you doing?” She seemed to find the direction she wanted to go in.
“Okay- I’m okay,” the man lied.
“Are you sure?” Howard didn’t expect such a follow-up. He sighed.
“The truth is,” he gave a rueful laugh, “Cliff Main and a whole host of other people think I’m a coke head now.”
“What? ”
“Yeah,” Howard said, “I’m having an awful day and feel like absolute shit.” He felt like he had just confirmed something for her. Howard knew she had more to say.
“What are you doing tonight?”
“I-I’m-,” he stopped himself from stammering even more. “I’ll come over to you tonight…if you want.”
“That would be great.” And the woman ended the call. There was almost a novelty to the tone in Cheryl’s voice. It was not angry, or irritated, or even coolly indifferent. He assumed he’d forgotten what it felt like to hear that tone, whatever emotion it might convey, but he realized he hadn’t. Howard felt a flutter in his chest, almost enough to make him forget the coordinated chaos of the day.
Cheryl gently closed up her cellphone and set it down on the counter which emitted a nice cool temperature in defiance of the sun blaring through the windows. She let out a big sigh.
“So I was right…,” was all she could manage to say to herself. She was right to have called. She was happy she did. But, it sure as hell didn’t occur to her that she would hear that . Cheryl knew she would find out soon enough, but nevertheless scoured the corners of her memory for anything. It didn’t take long for defensive outrage to set in. Jimmy McGill. Whatever happened, it was Jimmy McGill. Damn right, she was happy she called.
Cheryl pulled into the circular driveway past the electronic gate. After having spent several hours in mind-numbing bureaucracy, she just wanted to take refuge from the baking Albuquerque sun, and prepare a cup of iced tea to bask in the cool silence of her home. She didn’t know when to expect Howard, and how much whatever the hell happened would interfere with his plans for the day. She had her own life to keep up with, after all.
Twilight was beginning to set in by the time Cheryl heard the dull sounds of the front door unlocking and opening some distance behind her.
“In the kitchen!” The woman shouted as the man made his way towards her direction. She didn’t know what to expect when Howard appeared at the kitchen entrance. Their eyes met and the man averted his gaze. She hadn’t seen him look this exhausted, or this disheveled, since after Chuck died. Cheryl stopped a few inches in front of Howard and placed her hands on the knot of his blue knitted tie. He felt the piece of clothing loosen its restraint around his neck as his eyes locked onto the perfect skin and slick, black hair of the woman he married. In the blink of an eye, she had backed away with his tie still in her hand.
“...It’s been awhile since you last did that.”
“I’m feeling generous tonight.”
“Want anything from the liquor cabinet?” The man asked. Anything to excuse his staring at the woman. Lord knows he needed a drink.
“I think we still have the Château Margaux in the cellar.” She moved towards the kitchen entrance.
“Stay here,” she said, “I’ll get it.” And so Cheryl went to fetch the bottle of red wine, well over a thousand dollars with its vintage. Howard had half a mind to take out a bottle of gin or scotch and drink himself into a stupor, and so it was best that she be the one to retrieve the alcoholic beverage. He felt he had to be as coherent and rational as possible as he took up her time. Minutes later, she re-entered the room with the bottle of Bordeaux and two glasses. She gently set the glasses on the marble surface of the kitchen island and poured Howard’s glass until it was about half full.
“I was considering getting sloshed tonight,” Howard said before sipping the dark ruby liquid.
“That terrible?”
Howard gave that same grim laugh as earlier.
“This is going to be a long story.”
“That Jimmy McGill was harassing you?”
“...And he fucking won.”
In painful detail, Howard described the events of his day up to that point. About the baggie of white powder conspicuously placed over his locker at the country club. About the private investigator he was using to track Jimmy’s movements being a conman hired by him. About the chemical compound on the photos. About the amount of money HHM had just lost.
“Why didn’t you say anything about this until today?” She cringed at her own question. Of course she knew why.
“I thought…,” he trailed off. “I thought I could handle it.”
“And I thought,” the man continued with a suddenly uneven voice.
“What did you think, Howard?”
“...I thought you wouldn’t want to be bothered.” There was nothing Cheryl could do to dispute that. Her days had been spent paying tribute to Howard’s existence with brief pleasantries, and anything more was like pulling teeth.
“I’m sorry,” Howard uttered in the awkward silence.
“Don’t be,” she replied, “I know I’ve been a ship passing in the night all this time.”
“Cheryl,” the woman lifted her head at the shift in her husband’s tone. “Please, just tell me as you currently see it.”
“Alright.”
“Do you still love me?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation, “I love you very much.” Howard knew to hold his breath in anticipation.
“But… as my husband?” she paused, “I can’t say.”
“I think I need to find out,” the woman continued as her dark brown eyes fixated on the man’s light blue, “I want to find out.” At that moment, Howard recognized an expression of tenderness on Cheryl’s face. “I owe you that.” Suddenly, she felt Howard’s arms wrap around her into a firm hug, his head on her left shoulder.
“Thank you,” he spoke softly, “thank you.” Cheryl rested her hand on the small of his back before breaking the brief silence.
“Are you gonna be alright?”
“This night’s already ending a lot better than I thought it would, Cheryl.”
“That’s a small victory, then.” She smiled out towards the dark night outside.
“Bigger than what you know.”
The pair said their goodnights, and exited each other’s lives yet again as they left to their respective parts of their home.
Cheryl took her place in the master bedroom. She changed into a tank top and a pair of pajama bottoms before placing herself between the neatly made bed sheets. She gave a long sigh as she stared at the dark ceiling held up by stucco walls. For the first time in a year, she was aware of how quiet her surroundings were. It had been a nice comfort to bask in the cool darkness of the welcoming walls guarding her from every direction as she gently fell asleep. But on this night, her mind pointed to a certain phrase like a compass pointing north.
“I love you very much.”
After thinking on it for either an hour or ten minutes, she determined that statement to be sincere. She’d concluded long ago that love was something that needed to be maintained to avoid becoming corroded or dull. Maybe her love was both of those things, but it was never totally absent. Despite the compartmentalization, the distance between them, and the fuck-ups of the man she called her husband, she knew that.
Howard took a much needed shower, dressed into a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers, and plopped onto the soft bed devoid of the warmth of another human being. An overwhelming impotence could have clawed at his mind as he couldn’t help but reimagine the confusion, disappointment, and irritation on his peers’ faces only hours before. Quiet rage could have simmered in his head as he tried to work out why Jimmy McGill and Kim Wexler seemed to find him utterly abhorrent. Those two sentiments would have had their talons sunk firmly into his body, and he would have let them, if not for her. The man shifted a pillow to his side and grappled onto it, pulling it until it lay against his abdomen. He exhaled deeply into the pillow. He knew he shouldn’t let his mind take this direction. He needed to respect Cheryl’s feelings, and he would. But inside his head echoed the phrase like a sound wave bouncing off the walls of an empty room, “That’s the woman I fell in love with.”