“Perhaps it is, Andrew.” I couldn’t hold back a smile at his flirtatious style.
The kids congregated in the play area and moved the child-sized chairs back and forth into rows. When they were finished, the space looked more like a private movie theater than the waiting area, sans the movie of course. Which apparently, the kids didn’t need.
“You’d never guess a few of them are sick, would you?” Andrew asked.
Nodding my head in agreement, I sat. “I’m pretty sure Lexie’s got an ear infection. She never cleared her cold, and she’s been waking up screaming in the middle of the night. They try not to medicate here, but today, I’m here for the antibiotic. I think they’ll give her one. In fact, if Lexie doesn’t have fluid on that eardrum of hers, I’ll owe you a coffee.”
My words surprised me. Practically inviting Andrew out for coffee. When did my conscience make that decision?
“Three kids and you can diagnose, right Doctor Mom?” Andrew’s words didn’t scoff me; they stated the facts. And it was true. After three kids and countless trips to the pediatrician, I’d learned a lot.
“Yeah, what about you? Sydney looks a little worse for wear. Lexie shouldn’t be tiring her out.”
“It’s my kid who shouldn’t be with yours because she might have strep.” Andrew leaned forward, as though he might pop out of his seat any minute to grab his daughter.
A quick shake of my head stopped him. “Oh, sorry to hear it. But it’s okay. For some strange reason, my kids don’t usually pick up strep. That’s one sickness I’m not versed in.”
“You’re lucky. It can be a pain, literally. I’m surprised she’s playing as much as she is. Sydney’s got everything: bright red throat, fever, stomach issues. I even felt the glands in her throat. Textbook case. If you ask me.”
“You’re very thorough.”
“I am when it comes to those I love.”
Andrew kept his gaze on the little ones as they played. But something in his chosen words registered with me, and an ache sliced through my gut. Then, he leaned in, over my armrest, so his lips were inches from my ear. His breath tickled the nape of my neck, which sent shivers down my spine.
“Jackie doesn’t gossip, you know that, but between what she’s said and what I’ve gathered, how’s life?”
As much as I wanted to turn toward him, to breathe him in, infuse myself with his essence, I was careful to move in the opposite direction from Andrew because he was still so close I smelled the soap he’d used that morning. I blinked away a few tears. Each day—keeping the facade intact, moving on with my oddly structured world—was so demanding, and here I was, in the doctor’s office with a man who showed sincerity. Thoughts twirled in my head and confusion mounted: what to reveal or what should I reveal? Keeping my answer simple and superficial seemed best. For my sake.
“We’re doing all right. Most days, we try to pretend everything is normal, but really, it’s not, and it hasn’t been for a while.”
“I can’t imagine it’s easy to be living in a situation like yours.”
He didn’t state specifics, probably because he didn’t have them. Even though we’d chatted and learned so much about one another—Andrew’s favorite color was blue, and he preferred no sugar in his strong coffee; he yearned to see social injustices rectified and hoped to retire by the time he was sixty-seven—I’d never offered too many details about Theo and me. Always referring to my “soon-to-be ex” seemed like a way to preserve the distance, helping me sever my heart from where it once had been.
“It’s an interesting one, and something I thought I’d handle. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. For the most part we’re good: food on the table, cars in the garage, therapy appointments that aren’t always being canceled. But I wonder at times, if the kids shouldn’t also be seeing a therapist. I mean, how fucked-up—sorry for my mouth—is it that they see their parents living together but not?”
Andrew didn’t speak at first, a habit that meant he was thinking. “No family situation is exactly like the next one. Some are pretty, special, to say the least. And kids are resilient. But I’d listen to your gut on this one. We’ll be sending our kids to therapists for one thing or another, but if you don’t want it to be because of this and your—ex...ish?—then do something about it now.”
In the confines of the pediatrician’s office, my sick child’s laughter pulled at my heart. How long would the laughter last? Would my children be pulled into the darkness because of what we were doing? How was Theo’s behavior affecting them, and what would the repercussions be? Would there be any at all?
Andrew patted my knee, escorting me back to the conversation. “I’m sure it’s hard for your—”
“It is. It is. He’s still doing okay, for the most part, and he’s found a job that suits him. It’s just, he’s volatile, and some days, he’s an enigma. We’d decided on divorce for a reason, and I thought I’d experience some closure. There’s none involved when you still live together though. And I wonder about his psyche, his ability to hold it all together. I might not want to be married to him, but I still worry. About him, about the kids.” Swallowing back a lump in my throat, the floor became my focus.
“All of you will live long and happy lives. It might take a while to get there, but you have to have hope. It’s all we have sometimes.” Andrew covered my hand with one of his in a gesture meant to impart comfort, but one which, because of my heightened state, did anything but comfort me.
Thankfully, we didn’t have much more time to sit and chat. The nurse entered the reception area, and my hand fell away, torn from another universe in which Andrew and I sat as a couple, not friends. The nurse called Lexie’s name, and she ran to me as I stood up and grabbed my purse and jacket. Andrew’s eyes sparkled, full of genuine concern mixed with hope for me. Saying he was a good man would be an understatement. My entire being sensed it.
A shudder passed through me, forceful enough to make me stumble against the chair, as if long arms had pushed me, over the precipice and into an abyss. The battle within me ended as I toppled into that metaphorical void, a place it would be hard to come back from. I clutched Lexie to my chest, hoping to hold onto something concrete, positive, and innocent. My gaze held steady with Andrew’s.
Chapter 16: Theo
Doc had been right: having an acquaintance was useful. I told her as much at my next therapy appointment, recounting most of the details of my dinner with Andrew. She didn’t verbally say a word, but her smug smile was all the answer I needed. Looking back on that night, I hadn’t given any details to Andrew, but I felt a bit uplifted by our camaraderie. That wasn’t a phrase from my vocabulary, but Doc seemed to use it often. And it made sense now. I’d been doing a lot of thinking about my situation, and something needed to change, but what? Some days, I still looked at Sadie and wondered what the hell had prompted me to agree to divorce. Actually, make that most days. She was and always would be the one who got away. Had I any balls, I’d have done something about it. But I didn’t. I barely took care of myself, much less anyone else.
So, how the fuck would I take on a project the size of what Andrew proposed? Though I’d turned him down, I still carried it around with me in a folder everywhere I went, maybe as a desensitization technique. That afternoon, while I was at the kitchen table perusing the details for the hundredth time, my phone rang: Sadie’s name popped up on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Hey. I need to talk to you about something.”
“Okay, what is it?” It had to be close to time for her to be home. Why not wait until she got here?
“Can you come out here? I’m outside in the driveway. I’ll meet you on the porch.”<
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Inside my head, I laughed at her, but to do so outwardly might cause trouble. She wanted to chat about something and didn’t want the kids to interrupt. “Sure. I’ll be right there.”
I pushed my papers to the side, put the pen on top, and walked to the front porch. We’d put the porch on after we bought the house, a little space for Sadie to have her quiet time in the mornings. Those mornings were more important now that we were no longer together. She’d never said as much, but I sensed it. And now, she sat, staring forward at the neighbor’s house.
“What do you need, Sadie?” I reached for the wooden swing and tumbled into it. The paint on the arms of the swing curled up in spots, and beneath the seat sat the remains of Charlie’s bowl—still waiting to be fixed or repurposed. Hadn’t Sadie said she was going to do something with it? Would she ever get around to it?
“I don’t need anything, Theo. I want to talk about something.”
“Okay. This sounds serious.” What thoughts crossed through her mind? We’d already discussed divorce and were on track for that. Sort of. Was she going to pressure me to sign the papers? I needed to—
“I guess it could be Theo. I’ve been thinking about getting the kids into therapy.”
Visions of the kids lined up on a couch, their faces long, swam in my head. “Therapy? Really?”
“Well, we’re a bit stressed here these days, and I wonder if, I wonder if they’re handling everything the way they should. Like maybe this is all too much for them.”
Trying to hold back a smirk, I pursed my lips. How could she tell if they were handling things or not? She worked. A lot. Now, Brooke? Asking her if the kids were okay made sense. That malignant thought worked its way through my head, and a benign one came on its tail: she worked to keep life going the way it had in the past. But knowing it and believing it, with addled emotions, were two different things. The ups and downs of this condition continued to shock me, at least when I recognized them.
“I don’t know,” my voice sounded tired, a bit annoyed.
Delia wandered onto the porch, moving her head as if she were searching for something.
“What are you looking for, honey?” Sadie said.
“My snail. I can’t find her anywhere.” Delia sniffed.
“Did you ask your brother and sister?” My tactic always involved Charlie and Delia. Those two would find the proverbial needle in a haystack if given enough time.
“Yes. They can’t find it. Brooke can’t either.” Delia crossed her arms over her chest, and a tiny scowl marred her features.
“Listen, we’ll be right in to help you look. Give me a couple of minutes to speak with your dad, okay?” Sadie’s sweet voice cut to my gut.
Much like I would have done, Delia narrowed her eyes and cocked her head before speaking. “Okay. Just a couple minutes?”
“I promise.” Sadie patted Delia’s back.
She made her way back into the house, poking into each crevice she encountered along the way. That snail—her favorite—ended up everywhere. I was tempted to call her back to us: a little interruption like that diffused the tension, at least a bit. It still hung in the air though.
“Well,” Sadie said. “What should we do? I’m at a loss, Theo. A true loss.”
“That’s a first. I swear you always know what to do, Sadie.”
Sadie’s face blanched, and she blinked her eyes. I scanned her face for a reason behind those actions but saw nothing. She’d always been the voice of reason, the beacon of common sense, the person to find the solution to many of our problems. Why not this time? I still trusted her, or I wouldn’t be living in the same house.
She shook her head. “This time, I don’t. I can keep an eye on them all, talk with them, see how they’re doing but—” A quick lift of her eyebrows and then nothing.
What did “but” mean? Did she want me to do more? Could I do more? Doc had been pleased with my involvement with the kids. Even with my episodes, I always had time for them. I had my own “but” though. That “but” roared to life.
“But what? It’s hard on you? It is, I get it. Because it’s all hard on me too. Fun fact: sometimes I wonder about all this, my life, you, the kids. Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t signed up for the service.” Bits of paint on the swing crumbled away as I gripped the arm with tight fingers. “I wonder about my dad and his propensity for depression and whether I should have gone to Afghanistan. Sometimes, I’d like to go back in time and redo everything. And I mean everything. As much as I love—,” I almost said “you” but pulled the word back, “the kids, I’m not sure I’d help you with that flat tire.”
A fire exploded in my chest. Those words had been unplanned. Did I mean them? The shock, the hurt that crossed Sadie’s face, pained me.
“Mom! I need you!” Delia’s screechy whine filtered through the cracked window. Any more conversation regarding this topic had to wait. Tentatively, I stretched out my hand to Sadie’s and squeezed her fingers before she jerked them away. If I’d learned one thing from Doc, it was I had to try and be present for my family. “This partnership,” Doc had said, “regardless of what it looks like at the present, needs everything you can give to it.” Even if it kills me? I’d thought. On some days, it felt like it might.
Chapter 17: Sadie
When I was young, I wouldn’t have won any awards for Most Observant Child. In fact, my mother used to yell at me, “Get your head out from under the pillow, Sadie! What are you, an ostrich? Look what’s right in front of you!” She said it loudly, and often, and even though she had messed up the idiom so completely, her meaning was clear. By the time my college years rolled around, Mom had spoken those same words to me so regularly, I always looked twice at everything, and oftentimes second-guessed myself.
Had I placed my head underneath the pillow once again? How had I not even considered how Theo might feel?
After a long day of work and far too much thinking, I considered texting Andrew and asking him to meet for coffee. The idea of a gentle friend to sit and listen to me, someone nonjudgmental, brought warmth to my soul. But I didn’t have the courage to do so; plus, if I did contact Andrew, my motives would be more spurred on by selfishness than anything else. Instead, I needed to do one of two things: be honest about Andrew or walk away and move forward with my life.
But Theo’s words had shaken me. In his heart, Theo would never trade in Charlie, Lexie, or Delia, or even our love that was; he’d been speaking from a bruised body and soul. No matter how much what he said had hurt me, I understood his stance. His words haunted me, though, as October gave way to November. We filled our lives with maintaining the necessities, both of us avoiding the topic of that conversation or possible therapy for the kids. We’d bring the subject up eventually, but Theo and I each went back to “putting our heads under the pillow,” as Mom would say. What Andrew would do if he were in the same situation niggled the back of my brain, but we hadn’t seen one another for a few weeks, and our texts to each other had dropped, mercifully, to simple hellos from time to time.
But one day in mid-November, I arranged to meet them—Andrew and his two kids—at the small creek that wound through the local arboretum. When they saw us, the three of them raised their arms in unison, hands undulating back and forth, almost as if meeting up occurred every week.
Andrew was a refreshing sight: tall and lean, a broad smile pasted to his face, a look that welcomed me forward to say “good afternoon.” He exuded calm and unfettered joy at the same time, putting me at ease in a way I wasn’t used to. Perhaps Andrew was right, and fate’s hand had brought us together.
Brooke volunteered to take the kids, my three and his two, to the butterfly house. Because it was fall, the house would be closed, but the kids had
always enjoyed walking around outside the enclosed space, peering in through the windows and looking at the leftover foliage that had survived the caterpillars’ wrath. And the butterfly house was adjacent to the colossal Steepled Tree, an observation tower rising forty-six feet above a large cluster of conifer trees and one of the kids’ favorite places to visit while at the arboretum.
The children ran off in the direction of the butterfly house, feet scampering, dust and gravel flying, the side of Charlie’s face visible enough to witness an enormous smile break out when Brooke challenged him to a race. Basking in the moment, I reveled in the sound of my children’s laughter and then suggested to Andrew we head in a different direction, to the newly installed Midwest Maze: a simplified form of the classic configuration of hedges one might find at an English estate. It resembled the kids’ bush maze that dated further back than I remembered. However, the adult version was far more challenging. If you made it through the maze, you’d, of course, get to the other side. But finding your way took time.
Andrew and I walked for several minutes without speaking. I tilted my face toward the sun, looking for strength, hoping the rays’ weakened warmth would give me courage, but right then, a cloud passed over, darkening the landscape. Was the shadow an omen?
A few steps farther, and the maze came into view. Crinkles formed at the corner of Andrew’s eyes as he bet he’d get through to the center first.
“See you soon, maybe.” Andrew took off without looking back.
Something about this meeting made me want to speak my honest mind to Andrew, but I wasn’t quite sure what I wished to say to my Grocery Store Man. Hanging back, I let my mind wander as the arboretum’s surroundings enveloped me. The desiccated sycamore leaves tossed by the November wind distracted me, and I bent and grabbed one, allowing the air currents to twirl the leaf between my fingers. If I gave Andrew enough time, he’d make it to the center of the maze well before I would. Because I wanted to speak with him before the children returned, I took the shortcut a park ranger had shown me on our last visit.
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