Accidents of Marriage

by Randy Susan Meyers

  After a careful and close shave, he dressed in chinos and the pink Brooks Brothers shirt Maddy had bought him last Father’s Day. Using care to be quiet, he walked to the study to go over plans. Anne had already cooked a major meal for the homecoming dinner, trying, it seemed, to include any and every dish Maddy had favored since birth: apricot-smothered brisket, turkey with stuffing, fresh-baked challah, farfel kugel, and a salad of bitter greens with sweet pecans and shaved parmesan. Even the famous hundred-step chocolate pie demanded by Anne’s catering clients.

  Maddy’s homecoming had taken on the air of Passover crossed with Thanksgiving and Maddy’s birthday all thrown in together. When Ben had tried to tone down the menu, Anne had looked so wounded he’d backed off.

  God knew what Jake might buy to mark the occasion. A diamond tiara?

  Ben touched his pants pocket, assuring himself that he had the key to his home file cabinet. He’d taken to locking things away when he found that his daughters had begun investigating every corner of his and Maddy’s lives. Signs of their snooping were scattered like squirreled nuts. Strands of Gracie’s hair curled on his desk. The last document opened on his computer changed without him clicking a button. Doodles of Emma’s signature floppy puppy faces decorated the backs of envelopes on Ben’s must-do pile.

  Ben flipped open his calendar, where Maddy’s roster of appointments crowded out his court dates. Speech therapy, occupational therapy, and sessions with the physiatrist, Dr. Paulo, lined his calendar. The neurologist to test her. The surgeon to check his work. Maddy would see Zelda, her social worker and rehab case manager, twice a week. Soon there would be a lifestyle trainer. That was actually the real title. Who went to school to become a lifestyle trainer?

  He unlocked the file cabinet and took out the notebook in which he’d three-hole-punched his lists of doctors, drug records, schedules—everything, including the rehab notes Olivia, Kath, Anne, and Vanessa had put together for Maddy’s recovery. Despite reading as much as possible—towers of brain injury books were next to his side of the bed along with dusty unread law journals—he never caught up. Cleaning his glasses one more time, he flipped pages, picking out the relevant passages, words he’d highlighted as he had in law school.

  Most recovery, Olivia wrote, takes place in the first six months. However, though improvement takes place at a slower rate in the second six months, this does not mean that it will eventually slow to zero. Ben, take note of this and be patient!!!!

  Oh, yeah, he just loved Olivia’s little sidebars. He’d told her last week that though he appreciated her information distillations, she could refrain from underlining. Moreover, he’d wanted to say, yes, Olivia, he knew it didn’t all happen in the first six months, but when, and for what, should he be hoping? Despite her promise that it might never slow to zero, when would they know that they’d reached the end? That Maddy’s healing had finished and wherever she was, was as good as it got?

  He skipped ahead to a note Anne had given him last week, written in her perfect slanted script.

  Dear Ben—

  These are the symptoms (from that book I told you about) that I’ve already noticed: Maddy is sensitive to slights and shows a little emotional instability.

  She gets headaches and she’s spacey. Her lack of insight makes me nervous. Jot down everything you notice so you don’t forget when the doctor asks. Watch her.

  The dysarthria symptoms I’ve seen are slurring and speaking softly (almost like whispering), breathiness, speaking very slowly—a changed vocal quality.

  Other possible symptoms I’ve read about are rapid rate of speech w/ mumbling quality (thank G-d, she doesn’t have that!); limited tongue, lip, and jaw movement (also, thank G-d, no); abnormal intonation when speaking (a little, but I know it will go away); hoarseness (maybe she has a little?); and drooling or poor control of saliva (thank G-d, no!).

  Ben rubbed the back of his neck and steeled himself for the next page. He tried not to hate Anne for writing all this—it looked too bold and ugly, these words slashed on the paper.

  Ben, some tips in the book that I think would be helpful are: PATIENCE (Number One most important, Ben). Reduce distractions. Pay attention to Maddy. Watch her for cues and clues as she speaks! Be honest and let her know when you have difficulty understanding her (but only nicely).

  Love,

  Anne

  She expected so little of him.

  Why not? The knowledge that his rashness had caused this sat between him and everyone else in the world. Much more than recklessness. Stupidity. Gross idiocy. Worse, eventually he had to let Maddy know someday. But not yet. Not until the time was right for such truth. Right now he wanted to keep their newfound trust. Maddy needed him, she clung to him; he’d become the center of her universe.

  Ben would change. He’d be a better person. He liked the gentle side he’d found with Maddy.

  He fell back in his chair, his arms crossed over his forehead. Maybe this had all happened for a reason—maybe God was curing him of the rage that had always been his curse.

  Right. God used Maddy to teach him his lessons.

  Why not? The God of his youth was nothing if not a mean bastard—the tote-that-barge, lift-that-bale variety. What would hurt Ben more than hurting Maddy?

  • • •

  Ben led Maddy and Anne up the walkway. He took a few breaths before putting his key in the door. Seeing Maddy leaning on Anne as she stood on their porch, shaking as she waited to walk through their door, just about killed him. Her fragility—in appearance, in voice, in action—Jesus Christ. He had to keep superimposing this new Maddy on top of the woman he’d known for so long. Everything was wrong. Harshly bright sun spotlighted bristly places on her scalp. Angry red scars peeked through the wiry strands. Chopped off short hair, where someone at rehab had tried to even things out, had replaced her massed curls. Where she’d had tight lean muscles, there was now soft, almost flabby, gauntness.

  “Wait,” Maddy whispered as he put the key in the lock.

  This soft halting voice—was it permanent? He worried she’d never regain her vigorous tones. He’d give a million dollars to hear her yell at him.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” Ben asked.

  “Ring. Ring . . . ring.”

  “You want me to ring the bell?” he asked.

  Anne put a light hand on Maddy’s back. “This is your home, darling.”

  Maddy kicked at the dried brown leaves blown on the porch. “No ask.”

  “Don’t ask why?” Ben asked.

  Maddy nodded.

  “Okay.” He took out the key and rang the bell. Maddy slipped her hand into his and gave a squeeze, which he answered with a double squeeze back. Maybe she needed the children to come to her; maybe seeking them seemed too frightening. Maybe she just needed one more minute. Maybe she just wanted to hear the goddamn doorbell.

  Maddy held his hand tighter.

  They listened to the family thudding, running, crashing toward them.

  Caleb pulled the door open with a flourish. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.” He threw his arms around Maddy’s waist. “Mommy. I got you!”

  Ben let go of Maddy’s hand so she could hug Caleb, and then entered the house, though he kept his hand hovering over her body.

  “Mommy!” Gracie squeezed in next to Caleb. Maddy bent and kissed her on top of her head. She sank to her knees, laughing and crying as the three of them folded in to one another.

  Emma, off to the side, wiped her hands on a towel. Jake stood next to her, squeezing her shoulder until Ben feared his father-in-law would break off a piece of his daughter’s arm. Maddy looked up. “Come. Come . . .” She held out her arms, and Emma dropped the cloth and ran over.

  “Did you get our cards?” Caleb asked Maddy.

  “Got . . . all,” Ben heard her whisper into Emma’s hair.

  Anne wept. Ben watched his wife and children, the three shades of deep black-brown hair mingling, Emma’s braid falling over Gracie’s arm.

  Be
n wanted to fall down on his knees.

  Instead, he knelt behind Maddy, supporting her from behind as the children leaned on her. “Let Mommy get up, okay? She’s tired—we need to remember that.”

  “ ’Kay,” Maddy whispered. “ ’S fine.”

  “Do you want to see the sign we made, Mommy?” Caleb asked.

  Maddy smiled. “Yeh.”

  Caleb tugged on her to get her up. “Hold on, buddy,” Ben said, reaching for Maddy. When Ben had her safely on her feet, he relinquished her to Caleb and Gracie.

  “There! Isn’t it good?” Caleb pointed at the raggedly taped papers.

  “Buuuut . . . ee . . . full.” Maddy smiled over their heads at Emma.

  “Why are you whispering?” Caleb asked. “Talk regular.”

  “We talked about this, Caleb,” Jake said.

  “It’s okay, Jake,” Ben said. “We talked about this—Maddy and I. The kids shouldn’t be afraid to say or ask anything. Right, hon?”

  Maddy’s nod looked uncertain. “You okay?” Ben asked.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Caleb asked.

  Emma put an arm around Caleb. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Mommy’s talking slow because she’s still a little sick.”

  “Does it hurt to talk?” Caleb touched his mother’s neck with one finger.

  “Careful, Caleb,” Jake said.

  “ ’S’kay. Nah . . . glass.” Maddy bent, took Caleb’s hand, and held it to her left temple. “Broke. Here. But. Nah hurt.”

  “Mommy means she was injured in her head,” Ben added. “Her brain. That’s where the trouble comes from—the problems—but she’s not in pain now.”

  “How does a brain hurt make her not talk, though?”

  “We don’t have to discuss this right this second.” Anne came over and put her arms around him. “Let’s go into the living room, everyone.”

  Ben wanted to remind everyone again of Maddy’s and his wishes—let the kids ask away! However, his wife had become public property and he didn’t know how to get the control back in his court. Mostly, he worried about Maddy’s frightened confusion, so he let Anne lead her out and followed meekly in their wake.

  CHAPTER 24

  Maddy

  Maddy the carapace.

  Her mother steered her to the couch, where she lay as though on display. Like in a museum maybe? What was a carapace? Did it mean anything? Words popped into her mind without grounding. Her brain seemed like a half-filled trunk. Where once it was packed with rows of facts and thoughts, now things rolled around, came out of nowhere. Was a carapace a shell?

  Maddy the shell displayed for her family.

  Did that make any sense?

  Her sweet Gracie offered pillows, blankets, books, and food. She worried, worried, worried about her. Gracie, she was her heart.

  Caleb, puppy boy, needed calming. Down, Caleb. Sit, Caleb. Everyone became so nervous as he asked question after question.

  Emma, Emma, watching, guarding, the child of her flesh. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone. They were too connected. If they stood within reach of each other, their skin sizzled.

  Without warning, her mother began placing a pillow behind her back.

  “Maa . . . mahm.” She wrenched up a smile. No longer reflex, smiling. She had to think it. Put up mouth. Zelda said she had to smile.

  “I just want you to be comfortable, darling.” Mom blinked away tears that made Maddy want to punch her. She didn’t want to make people unhappy simply by being.

  “No.” Feels like shit. Feels like a stone. She reached behind, plucked out the pillow, and threw it on the rug.

  “Whatever feels good, hon.” Her mother’s tremulous voice threw confusion at her. Be sure, Mom. Act definitive. Stop it.

  Gracie snuggled in close and then stopped, perhaps fearful she’d cause pain. Maddy pulled her in through a tiny motion of her arm.

  “Mommy?” Caleb asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you still think?”

  “That’s such a stupid question, Caleb. Of course Mommy thinks. She’s recovering from an injury, not retarded.” Emma looked at her. “Not that retarded people can’t think.”

  “Nobody needs to talk about anyone being retarded,” her father said. His jaw was too tight. Maddy imagined it snapping off.

  She put out an arm to Caleb, and he flew to fill up her empty side, sticking out his tongue at Emma in the process. “I . . . think.” She took a series of decent rehab-taught breaths. “I will . . . be fine.”

  “You need to expect to have some good long recuperation time, honey,” her mother said.

  “Day by day. That’s how we’ll do it,” Ben said.

  “Not. So. Long.” Fatigue crept over her.

  “See! Maddy knows she’ll be up and around in no time.” Her father gave a thumbs-up signal.

  In answer, she lifted her hands over her head. Rock style? Rock, rock, rock. That’s not right. Word, word, word, damn. What the fuck is that word? She pictured a sweaty beat-up man. Rock. “Fuck.”

  “Shah, shah,” her mother crooned, placing a hand on Maddy’s head. “See, we can’t rush anything. She doesn’t know what’s up or down yet. It’s called impulse control.”

  “Anne, Maddy is right here. Don’t talk about her in the third person.” Ben came over to the couch. “Slide over, buddy,” he told Caleb.

  He reached around their puppy to rest his fingers on her shoulder. All the contact. Awful. Smothering.

  “Get off,” she whispered—wanting, craving, needing to shout.

  Gracie and Caleb jumped off the couch.

  “Too much,” she said. “Can’t . . .” Can’t what? What was the word, what word, what word? “Damn . . . damn it.”

  “Relax, baby.” Ben started to put his arm around her and then drew back when she hissed. Everyone stared at her.

  “No . . . problem.” Watch the amazing pop-up mother. Like those flat sponges suddenly filled with water, the mom-on-her-back rose from the flattened form on the couch. She couldn’t even share the joke. Fuck. Can’t talk—can’t be funny? Would she have to learn to mime?

  “What? No . . . food?” She watched her mother jump up. Ah, her mother was the original pop-up mom.

  “You can have anything you want,” her father said. “Look at you, for God’s sake. You’re skinny as a rail.”

  “Coma diet.” She could tell two-word jokes. No one knew if they were stolen from rehab. “Then . . . prison food.”

  Now their laughs were too hearty.

  “Prison food!” Caleb twirled in a circle, his arms straight out as he spun. “Potatoes fried, potatoes boiled, potatoes with tomatoes.”

  Everyone laughed. Maddy became dizzier and dizzier watching him. “Fuck . . . potatoes.”

  What, no laugh?

  • • •

  So tired she could die, she went up for a nap. She heard her sister, Vanessa, Sean, and their kids swim into the house. Not swim. Swan? Swami?

  Sworm?

  “Everyone ready? Ben, want to get the guest of honor?” Her mother’s voice drifted up the stairs, through the door, sounding shaky. Because of her, or had bitchy Vanessa already made their mother craaaaaaaazy? And why was her mother calling her a guest? Become half dead and you’re demoted from family to company? She heard Ben climb the stairs.

  She wanted to stay up in the bedroom. Her eyelids seemed taped shut. Taped shut by fairy sleep angels flying over her head, wearing skirts make of pink crinoline.

  “Maddy?”

  The bed sagged. Ben.

  “Honey? Are you awake? Supper is ready.”

  She didn’t think she could speak. She tried to crack open an eye. He lay next to her, but not touching.

  “Maddy?” He brushed away her curls with feather fingers. “Everyone is ready to eat.”

  So eat. Eat, my fairy subjects.

  She heard more footsteps. Not kid feet. Not man feet. Sister feet.

  “What’s going on?” Vanessa asked. “My mother’s wa
iting. Is she okay?”

  Is she okay? Am I deaf, dumb, and blind?

  Maddy forced a slit of eye open and saw her sister standing there waiting. For what? Did Vanessa want her to jump out of bed? Give Vanessa a big sloppy hug and kiss? Was she jealous that Maddy had been getting all the attention since the accident?

  “Me. Talk . . . to me.”

  “Whoa! Look who’s awake!” Vanessa flopped on the bed. “Don’t worry; it didn’t insult me when you went to your room the moment we came in.” Her sister leaned in and kissed her on the cheek with her shiny red mouth.

  “Ick.” She wiped off the Vanessa lip glop.

  “Ick?” Vanessa lay with her legs straight out; now Vanessa and Ben jailed her. Bound me? Boundaried? Maddy the hot dog in the Vanessa-Ben bun. “I missed you.”

  Vanessa turned so they were almost nose-to-nose.

  Missed you, tootsie.

  “I . . . Me miss.”

  “I know, I know. You missed me also.” She traced Maddy’s hip and thighs. “Look how much weight you lost!”

  “Coma . . . diet.” A signature line? “Not worth . . .”

  Vanessa turned on her back, running her hands over her flat stomach and jutting hip bones. “I don’t know. Lose weight. Get away from the kids. Is it actually that terrible?”

  “There’s a reason Maddy calls you the bad seed,” Ben said.

  Maddy kicked him as well as she could. “Mean.”

  “Vanessa knows I’m teasing, right, Ness?” Ben asked.

  “I’d never predict what you mean and don’t mean, Ben.” Vanessa’s smile seemed odd. Maddy frowned, unable to follow the conversation.

  Caleb charged into the room. “Are we eating? Mom, are you coming?”

  Maddy tried to respond to her son, but nothing happened.

  “Mommy?” He came over and poked a finger at her arm. “Mommy?”

  Stop! He rapped her skin with an iron rod. Poke, poke, poke.

  “Stah,” she shrieked, needing them to stop.

  Caleb shrank, backing into Emma, who’d just come into the room. Would they all leave now? Please leave. “Leave,” Maddy said.