by Kim Golden
"He doesn't know anything. He doesn't even know we're here. He just knows we're okay."
"Laney, you can't do this to him."
"It's done."
"You need to tell him where you are. You need to give him a chance to come here and make things right. At the very least, you need to let him know where his kids are."
"You're on his side, then..."
"My darling, I am always on your side. But I want you to think about how you'd feel if he simply disappeared with your children and refused to tell you where he was."
Freya knocked the back of her head against my chest. She tipped her head back and sang "Mama" at me. She was such a happy little girl. And sometimes it hurt to look at her. Especially now when her green eyes reminded me too much of her father. Oh God...my aunt was right. No matter how angry I was...I had no right to keep him from knowing where I was or how he could find his kids. And Aunt Cecily was right—Mads would never do this to me. He would never walk out without telling me where he was going. He would never snatch the children away and take off. He might not be perfect but he would never be so selfish. But a part of me still whispered, he pushed you to this. His thoughtlessness, his assuming he could carry on with life without having to take any real responsibility with raising our children...letting his dreams take precedence over our family...and turning a blind eye to how much I was struggling to cope. And yet...there were those evenings when, even if he was late, he would go in to the girls' room and read to them or the Saturday mornings when he'd let me sleep in and take them to Tivoli, even though he hated all the crowds. And when Liv had nightmares, he'd go bring her to our bed and she'd lie between us as he murmured reassurances to her that there were no monsters under her bed, no witches waiting to eat her. That nothing bad would ever happen to her because he would always love and protect her.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead and she patted my cheek with her sticky hand. I was sure I now had sand stuck to my skin, but it was moments like this when I understood how much love I had inside of me for my youngest daughter. I could hold her like this while she giggled happily and bounced on my legs. She sang to me and blew spit bubbles and called out random words she managed to say. Sometimes it was simply "mama" or "dada"...lately she'd taken to saying "peen-gee"—which Liv said was "penguin"—she was probably right. If there was anything in this world that Freya loved, it was penguins. And Mads...he indulged her love of penguins. He carved and painted wooden penguins for her. He took her to Det Blå Planet, the aquarium near the airport, so she could see the penguins swimming around in the tanks. I had to remind myself that he did these things; he didn't simply abandon me. He loved his children...he probably loved them more than he loved me, and I was okay with that. Wasn't that how it was supposed to be? But...I still needed his love, I still needed to know he loved me and wanted me and that we were a team...that we really were in it for the long run.
Later, when we'd walked back to my aunt's house and had dinner on her back porch, I bathed the girls and asked them if they were happy they'd had a chance to speak to their father. Liv nodded and splashed me with water. "Papa sounded sad," Liv said in Danish. "He said he misses me."
"He does." I said as I shook out her bath towel. My aunt had found towels with penguin and fox prints for the girls.
"He said he miss you too, Mommy." She held up her arms and I lifted her out of the tub. I tried to keep my cool as I dried her off and helped her into her pajamas. Freya was still splashing in the tub. "You miss Papa too?"
I nodded. "I do..." Then I patted her bottom. "Now, go and give Gramma a kiss and then Freya and I will come in and we'll have a story."
Next, I took care of drying off a slippery and very wriggly Freya. I managed to get her into her pajamas before she got very far. Who knew a seven-month-old could be so quick—especially when she couldn't walk yet but was doing this scoot-crawl combo. After I cleaned up the bathroom, I found the girls on the floor, playing with the stuffed animals Cecily had given them.
"Which story tonight?"
"The fox..."
"Honey, we don't have that book with us...it's at home."
"I want the fox, though..."
So I made up a story for them. I told them about a fox who wandered far away from the forest and found herself in a big city where she didn't know anyone. "Was she scared?" Liv wondered. Her coppery eyes were wide with curiosity. She snuggled into me and clutched my arm. "I would be scared."
"Me too," I told her. Liv snaked her arm over my belly. "Even mommies get scared sometimes."
"I protect you, Mommy."
I could just imagine Liv, dressed in her favorite fox pajamas and a cape, exhibiting her superhero powers as she sought to protect me from any danger. My fearless daughter. Just four years old and she thought she could save the world. I hugged her and finished telling the story about the fox. As the story progressed, with the fox meeting a hippopotamus, a warthog and a weasel as well as a possum and a rhino, my aunt joined us. She'd also changed into her version of pajamas—silk loungewear I would have thought was far too glamorous for story time on the floor. So the story continued—our fox, who just happened to be named Bobbi Fox like Liv's favorite fox. I tried to come up with as many fun adventures as possible for the animal pals. Finally Liv yawned—her sleepiness winning the war of wills—and then she said, "This better than my other fox story."
"I'll tell you more tomorrow night," I promised as I pulled back the covers on her bed.
Liv scrambled into the bed and gave it a good bounce. "Promise?"
"Scout's honor." I bent down and gave her a good night kiss. I'd set my phone on her bedside table before I started the story; now it was blinking, and Mads's ringtone for text messages cut through the drowsy mood in the room.
Liv turned over on her belly and lifted her head, "Papa is calling, Mommy!"
I swiped my screen and read Mads's message: "There is no one else but you, Laney. I want to see you. I want to see our daughters. Please tell them I love them."
I knew Liv would not sleep until she had an idea of what her father said, so I told her that her father loved her very much.
"I love Papa too." She sighed. "Tell him, Mommy."
"I will, sweetie, I'll send him a message now." I typed in her message and then showed her the screen. Though she couldn't read yet, Liv nodded and said, "Good! Now Papa won't be so sad."
I kissed her good night and then turned off the lamp.
My aunt was singing a lullaby to Freya and had managed to get her into her toddler bed. She adjusted the safety rail and then tucked Freya in. Our daily visits to the playground and the beach seemed to tire her out enough that she drifted off pretty quickly every night. As we both left the room, my aunt paused to turn on the night lamp.
"I'm going to sit in the garden and enjoy the breeze," my aunt said. "Will you join me?"
I followed her out to the back porch. A breeze blew in from the ocean, fanning away the mosquitoes and cooling our skin. I showed Cecily Mads's message.
"Are you ready to forgive him?"
"I don't know...I think the problem is that I can't forget."
I didn't answer his message. I felt too raw, too exposed somehow to say anything that would reflect what was going on inside me. I wanted to tell him how being here, having my aunt's help with the girls—even if it had only been a few days—eased my mind. I wanted to tell him how this was what I needed from him. I wanted to tell him how calm I felt, how much I loved our daughters. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him... but I didn't know if I trusted him anymore.
As the house slept around me, I lay in my bed, windows open, and listened to the sound of the sea. I'd turned off the volume on my phone and set it to vibrate. It was after midnight here. In Denmark it would soon be time for Mads to get up. Would he go to the workshop to fill his day? Was he alone? Would Benny take advantage of my absence to try to get more out of him? I had the feeling she would. She didn't care about our marriage or our history. She wanted Ma
ds.
I shouldn't have let any thoughts of her enter my mind. Whenever I thought about that moment—the hungry look on her face as she drank in whatever Mads had been saying to her...how she'd thrown back her shoulders and thrust out her chest so he would shift his focus to her rather prominent breasts...and he'd looked. Any red-blooded straight man would. But...he'd looked and I was sure he'd smiled. Maybe he’d liked what he’d seen.
I turned off the lamp and waited for sleep to come. Instead, my phone vibrated. I pulled it from under my pillow and swiped the screen. Another message from Mads: "Do you still love me?"
I could almost hear him asking me this. I could imagine him sitting here in this room, his head bent, his forearms resting on his knees as he leaned forward. I wished I could hear his voice. If I called him...but no, instead I answered him with honesty and brevity: "Yes."
* * *
I couldn't continue moping. I'd been here for over a week and it wasn't doing me any good, so I got up early and ate breakfast and watched the sun rise. Then I went for a jog along the beach and marveled at the shells sparkling in the sand. By the time I arrived back at the house, my mind felt clear and calm and I was ready to deal with getting a grumpy Liv up for breakfast. Freya was easier in the morning. She was usually already awake when I went into their bedroom, ready for whatever breakfast had in store for her. She was not so interested in breastfeeding now that she had a few teeth coming through. She was much more interested in mashed bananas, oatmeal or scrambled eggs.
I managed to get both girls to eat their breakfasts, though Liv complained and said she hated everything on her plate. I ignored her protests and drank my coffee. She cried, she screamed and threw her mashed bananas on the floor. I sipped my coffee and tried to focus on what was important. It did not matter if she had a tantrum about breakfast. I'd clean up the bananas from the floor once I'd finished my sandwich. When she was hungry, she'd eat. And she did. It didn't take long for Liv to realize that I was not going to give her something different.
My aunt breezed in and told me she'd see me at the studio later. She said this every day but so far I'd not gone. Now I felt like I was ready. And, while Liv finally gave in to eating, I called Peyton on the number my aunt had scribbled on a pad of Post-it notes and asked her if she could come over today to babysit.
My aunt's yoga studio was on Dogwood Street, just off Main Street. It occupied a beautiful old Spanish Colonial Revival house that had once been a speakeasy, the summer house of a 1940s starlet (or so rumors went) and then a restaurant. Later it had been rezoned and repurposed to retail space. When my aunt found it a few months after moving to Juno Beach, it was in a sorry state. But she'd renovated it, restored its beauty and created a perfect space to relax and reconnect.
I'd walked there, pushing Freya in the travel stroller I'd brought with me. She'd chattered the whole way. Sometimes I'd picked out a few words—"dada" and "sun"..."kit-kay" when she pointed to a particularly fat tabby cat sloping along the hedges of a house we passed. By the time we arrived at Namaste, my aunt's studio, my legs were tired but the walk had done me good. I could feel the blood pulsing through my limbs and I felt alive. Maybe some of the sluggish fog was finally lifting.
Inside, I parked Freya's stroller in the designated area, folding it so it wouldn't take up so much space, and then let Freya, who was kicking her legs excitedly, down onto the floor and walked slowly to the check-in desk. Freya scooted after me, singing as she followed me.
The woman who greeted us had one of the friendliest smiles I'd seen since I'd arrived in Florida. She stepped from behind the desk and asked me if I was here to take a class or just receive information.
"I was going to take a class," I said and waited for Freya to catch up with me. "My aunt—Cecily—she's the owner, and she thought I needed to take one of the classes."
I rummaged in my tote bag and handed her my Danish ID card. I'd lived outside the US for so long that the only form of American identification I held that was still valid was my passport. She scanned my ID card. "What language is this?"
"It's Danish—"
"Are you Laney? Ah, you must be Cecily's niece—the one from Denmark! My daughter Peyton is babysitting for you, right? I’m Rebecca." She handed my ID card back to me. "Cecily said you might be coming by."
"Hi...and this is Freya, my youngest daughter." Rebecca bent down and greeted Freya with an "Aren't you a cutie?," which Freya met with wide-eyed wonder. She wasn't a shy baby, but she wasn't really used to anyone other than me or Eddy speaking English with her. Mads always spoke Danish with her.
"Are you going to do the Mommy and Baby yoga class?"
I nodded. "My aunt thought it would be good for us." I wasn't sure how much Rebecca knew. Cecily was not one who gossiped but she might have shared with her neighbor and co-worker some of what was going on. "I've had a hard time...adjusting."
"Don't worry, I think most of the people who come to this pass have been in the same situation. And honestly, the Mommy and Baby classes pretty much saved my life when I first moved here."
"Really?"
"It's a long story," she said and laughed. "I'll tell you about it later. Cecily invited me and the girls over for dinner, so I can fill you in then."
Rebecca showed me which room the Mommy and Baby yoga class would be in, then helped me with choosing a yoga mat for me and Freya. Once I was in the room, a smidgen of doubt crept in. What was I doing here? I'd done yoga in Stockholm and never really felt especially calm because of it. Often I'd spent too much time worrying that I could not hold the positions as well as some of the other women there. If Eddy were here, she'd laugh at how reticent I'd become. No, she would goad me until I at least gave it a try. And now, as I picked a spot near the front of the room, I channeled a little of my cousin's bravery. She'd been strangely silent since I'd told her I was leaving Mads. She was not in the easiest of positions—she was my cousin, and she was married to Mads's cousin. Her loyalties were divided. She wanted to support me; she liked Mads and wanted to support him as well. I'd tried not to go to her too often with my problems. It was embarrassing—dealing with the weight of this and not knowing what to think or do. I'd asked her once if she thought Mads would cheat on me but she'd laughed at me and said, "He's too in love with you and his girls to look at another woman." I didn’t tell her about how he didn't show up for our anniversary date or how he'd come home with Benny's lipstick on his cheek and neck.
I sometimes wondered if this was payback. Payback for cheating on Niklas, for willingly fucking around on him and not caring about the consequences...but then Liv would giggle or I'd watch Freya playing with her Duplo blocks and suddenly I'd be reminded of how Mads had given me my girls. Without him, they would not be in my life.
While I was having my little existential crisis, other women had begun to enter the room and select spots. Some of them had infants strapped to their chests with in baby slings. Others had children around Freya's age with them. Two men joined the group. Both had infants with them. The cynic in me thought they were here to pick up women, even wondered if the babies were truly theirs. But then again...in Scandinavia, many men took parental leave and actively took a role in raising their children. It wasn't like it had been in my parents' marriage where my dad worked, came home and plopped in front of the TV and had no interest in children. Hell, for all I knew, they were a gay couple who were raising twins.
One of the men turned and nodded at me. I returned the nod and then glanced away, focusing instead on Freya, who was already trying to push herself into a yoga-like pose—pressing her hands into the mat and pushing herself upwards in her version of downward dog—though I was sure she was just trying to figure out how to stand up without help.
"She's a natural," the young woman who'd just taken the instructor's place at the front of the room. "A yoga natural!"
I looked down at my little girl, her rump in the air as she tried to balance. She toppled over on the mat and laughed. My heart swelled with joy.
As the class began, my nerves settled and I followed our instructor's directions as she guided us through each position. Throughout the class, she reminded us to make contact with our children—eye contact, a gentle touch...and with each position, I felt as though Freya and I were forging a closer bond. And the instructor encouraged us to look past the tears, the sleepless nights, remember that our children were the epitome of love. And Freya...she truly was conceived in love.
The night I think Freya was conceived, Mads and I were in Florence, Italy, for a romantic weekend away. We'd left Liv with Eddy and Henrik. It was one of our first weekend trips without her. I loved Florence—it was one of my favorite places in the world. The very first time I came to Europe, I started my trip in Florence and then took the train north until eventually I ended up in London to work. But Florence...every street hid some treasure—a leather shop that made the most beautiful journals...a pasticceria with perfect little confections that made you think you'd died and gone to heaven...churches so wondrous that even someone like me, who no longer believed in God, had a religious experience. I'd wanted to share this with Mads and when he suggested we have a weekend away, I took the lead and booked a three-day trip for us and splurged—taking some of my bonus money so we could stay in an upscale bed and breakfast near the Arno. We spent the first day overwhelmed by all the beauty around us—even with all the other annoying tourists who jostled us—but Mads held my hand and sometimes we'd find deserted streets and slowly stroll and then he'd stop and reel me in, taking my face in his hands and kissing me so deeply the only thing I could sense was our heartbeats in unison and longing streaming through me.
At some point I remember we lost our way. We could not remember which street would lead us back to our bed and breakfast. It was late and we'd had far too much chianti classico with our bistecca fiorentina. We ducked down alleys and side streets, looking for the entrance to the house but never finding it and that early spring night...when the air was so warm it felt like summer, though the Florentines were still bundled in down jackets... Mads gathered me in his arms in a deserted side street and kissed me so long and hard my knees buckled. I remember telling him how I wanted him to be the last man I ever made love to... and the smile that spread across his lips—so quick, so intense—made me fall even harder. His hands slid along my hips, gathering the folds of my skirt and spreading my legs with his thigh... I managed to stop him before we went too far... but I was so far gone, every fiber of me was attuned to this longing and wanted nothing more than for him to push me against a wall and lock my legs around him so he could take me... but I stopped him and laughed as I straightened my skirt and led him down one twisting street after another until we finally managed to find our little inn.