by Orly Konig
“Once when I was in middle school, I was hanging out on the boardwalk with a bunch of friends and I saw her. She was sitting on the bench watching all the kids ride around on the carousel. She looked far away, lost almost, lonely, and sad. I didn’t go to her and never mentioned it. I don’t know if she saw me or not. She never said anything.”
Her words fade into the past, and for a few minutes, we both look at the wooden horse in my studio, lost in our own thoughts. My heart twists for my grandma. I wonder if Mom is thinking about the cause of Grandma’s sadness or remembering her own teenage unhappiness.
“And then you arrived.” Mom’s voice softens even more. “From the first time you saw that carousel, you were in love. Mom finally had a kindred soul. The two of you used to make up stories about the animals and talked about them like they were actual friends. Every drawing or art project you came home with had a carousel in it. And any time we drove somewhere and you spotted a merry-go-round, you made our life miserable until we stopped and you got to ride it. Over and over and over. Thankfully Thomas was old enough to ride with you.”
“Why didn’t you ever ride with me?”
This time when she turns back to me she’s not surprised or taken aback. Her mouth pulls up at the corner, but her eyes don’t follow. “The easy answer is motion sickness. We didn’t have that many long car vacations did we?” I shake my head. “But I think it was also a fear of the magic that Mom used to weave into stories. Magic wasn’t real, and if it wasn’t real I couldn’t analyze it and understand it, and that scared me.”
I turn to the horse, thinking about what she just said. Magic. Believing. Getting carried away. That was the world I couldn’t wait to get lost in. Still can’t, for that matter. It was where I didn’t have to pretend. And now? It’s my escape from expectations and disappointments.
“And you, Maya—why do you love carousels so much?”
“Their magic.” The words pop out before I can censor them. “The stories they keep. And this one because of the stories he was willing to share.”
Mom looks from me to the horse.
Air swirls in my lungs and I feel light-headed. The carousel horse wants her to know. He wants her to see his secret. He wants to share his magic with her.
“Come see.” I hear the words, but the voice doesn’t sound like my own. It has a raspy edge with a twinge of mischief skimming below the surface, waiting to bubble out. Grandma’s voice.
Mom hears it too.
“His secret is on his girth. Take a look.” I point as if she doesn’t know what I’m referring to.
Mom walks over, one eye narrowing in on me, as though she’s expecting me to pull a prank on her. I hold up my hands in a “see, nothing here” declaration of innocence. She squats down and peers at the horse’s belly. “What am I looking for?”
“Close your eyes and feel along the girth.”
The other eye narrows. On the exhale, Mom lifts her hand and runs it down the raised wood of the girth. Suspicion turns into a question as her fingers, no doubt, find the ridges of the inscription.
“Why didn’t you finish this part?”
“It is finished. It’s how Hank wanted him.”
“Hank.” She exhales his name.
“Look at it.” I nod at the horse, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he nodded back.
Mom bends down, twisting to get a better view.
I’m holding my breath.
She straightens, tugs her shirt back into position, not that it was anything but perfectly behaved already, and walks slowly back to the table.
I can’t release the breath.
“It’s getting late. I need to go and you need to sleep.” She collects her bag from the floor and throws her uneaten sandwich into the trash.
I watch, unable to call her back. The words etched into the horse float in the air of the studio, a secret released into the world.
Now that it’s out, I wish it were still mine. Still theirs.
Thirty-five
Fred whimpers and paws at my shin, his nails leaving scratch marks. “Okay, okay.” So much for a quiet cup of coffee first thing in the morning. He spins in circles, spiraling his way from me to the door, sitting—or more precisely collapsing—then popping back up on his short legs and running into my shins.
I put the mug on the counter and grab the leash and my credit card. I’ll get a latte at the Sugary Spoon. Maybe Sam will be at the store already. I could use her take on the conversation with my mom.
I push the door open and Fred tumbles down the back steps in a crazed ball of gotta-pee. For as small as he is, I’m impressed he hasn’t had any accidents in the house. That had always been one of Vale’s arguments against puppies. Apparently, this one really wants to make the right impression.
The walk to the Sugary Spoon takes longer than usual. Fred runs forward, runs back, stops to smell something, runs forward, runs back, pees on the spot he was just smelling. And everyone we pass wants to pet him. Not that he minds, but after the seventh person who’s stopped us, I’m less enamored with celebrity status.
The door to Socks-A-Lot is propped open, even though the sign still says “closed.” The sun aims a ray at the window, and I have to squint to see inside. Sam and Taylor are in the middle of the store. I take a step forward then hesitate. Taylor says something, Sam laughs and looks at him. He turns to her, and I melt at the softness in his expression, the openness of hers.
Even through the window I can see the happiness radiating from her. They say pregnant women have a certain glow about them. I don’t think I did. But Sam could teach the sun a lesson.
A couple walks by, the woman eyeballing me suspiciously while the man coos at Fred. Before they decide to call the police or out me for spying, I squat and say, loud enough for them to hear but hopefully quiet enough not to be heard in the store, “Hang tight, bud, I need to tie my shoe.” Fred is happy to play along, grabbing my shoelace in his mouth. He growls and shakes his head, subduing his catch. His whole body shimmies, ears flopping. Less-than-menacing growls cause a small cluster of admirers to stop and comment.
Once he’s convinced the shoelace is good and dead, Fred flops over, ears spread on the sidewalk, belly positioned for a rub.
“God, you’re a goofball.” I scratch the pink mound then do a double knot on my shoelaces.
I straighten and look through the window again. A cloud plays peek-a-boo with the sun, and this time I don’t have to squint. Taylor steps toward Sam and envelops her in his arms. I smile, thinking of Sam’s praise for his pecs. He takes a half step back and places his hand on her belly. An innocent, instinctual gesture that breaks my heart and crushes the pieces.
I’m struck by the contentment on their faces, their eager anticipation for the future. No past to shadow their joy. We had those moments. Vale made sure we would. He never doubted, and though I never voiced my fears, he knew and he soothed.
My throat tightens. He would have been a great father.
Sam sees me and waves, motioning for me to come in, and I hear Taylor’s booming voice call, “Get in here, will you?”
I smile and wave, but I’m not going in. That’s their happy cocoon.
I tug Fred forward the couple of blocks to the coffee shop. I loop the leash to the bronze ring by the door, under the sign for “Puppy Valet Spot,” and instruct him to wait. He dissolves into a brown-and-white puddle, left front paw pinning his left ear to the ground.
“You really are a goof.” I rub his head then allow the aroma of fresh-ground coffee beans to lure me away.
By the time I return, Fred is curled up in the lap of a little girl who’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of the sidewalk. Next to her is a stroller with a sleeping toddler and a tired-looking woman giving the handle an occasional push-pull.
“Well, I see Fred has made a new friend.” I smile at the girl, then at her mom.
“She loves puppies.” The mom stretches the word loves a bit longer than necessary and punctu
ates it with an eye roll. This kid won’t be getting a puppy any time soon.
“How old is he?” asks the girl, who I’m guessing is about Alex’s age. She doesn’t take her eyes or hands off the puppy. There may not be a puppy in the kid’s near future, but there’s a tantrum coming for her mom to deal with.
“You know, I’m not sure. I’ve only had him two days. Someone abandoned him. Can you believe that? A friend found him, and now he’s mine.” Fred wiggles happily in the girl’s lap. I have the sudden urge to grab him and cradle him in my own arms. This baby, I can protect. This baby, I have to protect. He’s my opportunity to prove that I can do this, that I’m worthy of being given a second chance.
The baby stirs in the stroller and the mom jiggles the handle. She reties her ponytail and inhales a lung-full of coffee-scented air.
“That smells amazing. I’ve been fielding ‘Mommy-can-we’ since before five A.M.”
“Guess I can’t complain about this one then.” I scratch at Fred’s back with my toe. “It was after six, and only a couple of yelps because he had to pee.”
The mom hands a sippy cup to the baby, who promptly tosses it onto the sidewalk; then grabs at a ziplock bag of goldfish crackers from the little girl, who’s about to feed one to Fred. I wonder if she takes turns with her husband doing the sleepless shifts. Would Vale have given me mornings to sleep in?
“But they’re worth it. Most of the time. Maybe a little less at five A.M. and on almost no coffee.” She grins. “Hey, don’t you live at 12 Clairemont? The cute white cottage?”
I’m not sure what I’m more taken aback by—that she recognizes me and I don’t have a clue who she is, or that she thinks my house is cute. “Yes.” I eyeball the kids, trying to connect this family to one of the houses near me.
“We’re a couple of blocks away. Number 37. We walk by your place every time we go to the beach. Can I confess something?” She blushes, or maybe we’ve been standing outside too long. “I always hope for a sale sign in your yard. I just love your cottage.”
“Oh, thanks. It’s cute. Not as cute on the inside, I’m afraid. We haven’t had much time to update it.” Except for the bathroom. And just in time to sell?
She sticks her hand out. “I’m Amy.”
“Maya.” I switch my hold on the coffee cup and shake her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Maya. Although now I’m going to feel a bit guilty wishing you’ll move and sell the house.” She grins sheepishly.
You may get your wish, lady.
“Would you like me to stay with the kids while you go get a drink?” I nod at the stroller.
A flash of longing and uncertainly crosses her face. “You don’t mind?” Longing, or maybe that’s desperation, wins out, and she disappears inside while she has the opportunity.
“I’m six,” the little girl on the sidewalk says. “My daddy said I could have a puppy when I’m old enough to take care of it. I’m old enough.” She announces with the sass of six going on sixteen. “I already help with him.” She points at the stroller.
On cue, the toddler lets out a wail that startles both Fred and me. Fred jumps from his comfortable spot and, using the footrest on the stroller, lifts up to see what the noise is about.
“You just have to move the stroller,” my know-it-all companion instructs. “Like Mommy was doing.” When it becomes clear I’m not living up to her expectations, she huffs, stands, and takes the stroller handle.
While the bossy six-year-old bounces the stroller with her baby brother inside, I readjust the visor to keep the morning sun from his eyes and rescue his stuffed bunny before Fred gets to it.
“Thank you.” Amy returns, slightly out of breath. “I really needed this. He barely sleeps, and when he does finally doze off, she wakes up. And this kid has two speeds, fast-forward and dead asleep. She even moves in her sleep. See this.” She pulls up her shorts and shows off a perfectly sculpted thigh with a huge bruise. “She did that two nights ago, while sleeping in my bed.” Amy ruffles her daughter’s hair, the love in her eyes and voice send a warm vibration up my throat.
But for the first time in over a year, I don’t feel like I’m about to crumble. I don’t have the need to flee, hide, fall apart.
I catch a glimpse of Taylor, up the street, leaving the store. He closes the door behind him, hesitates, then puts his palm on the glass before walking away. I picture Sam on the other side, locking the door behind him, putting her hand to the glass in a good-bye.
I say good-bye to our new friends, promise Amy she’ll be the first to know if we decide to sell, and coax Fred to follow.
We have four hours before Vale is due home.
We turn the corner onto our street just as the black town car pulls away from the house. I jog the half-ish block to the house, Fred keeping pace and barking with excitement.
The screen door to the front porch opens. “There you are.”
For a few heartbeats, I’m rooted to the sidewalk, torn between the man whose arms I want to throw myself into and the man I haven’t allowed myself to need. Fred, however, has no emotional baggage and barrels up the stairs, past Vale, and straight to his food bowl.
“Wow.” Vale chuckles. “He’s made himself right at home, hasn’t he?”
“Do you mind?” I thread the leash through my fingers.
“No. We talked about it. Kind of.” He grins. “Come in.” He pushes the door wider and steps to the side, leaving a space for me to pass.
I hesitate as my shoulder brushes his chest, that moment when I should stop and kiss my husband, whom I haven’t seen in a week.
He puts a hand on the small of my back and kisses my cheek. I flush. At the awkwardness and the tenderness.
He follows me into the house, straight to the kitchen. I turn on the coffee machine, more as habit and the need to do something than actual interest in caffeine. The double-shot latte from the Sugary Spoon is making my nerve endings bounce like the giant inflatable outside the used car dealership.
“I wasn’t expecting you until later.” I take two mugs from the cabinet, return one, take it back out.
“I caught an earlier flight.”
“Did you get any sleep?” Vale hates night flights. According to him, he can’t sleep in public places. I’ve been on enough planes with him to know he falls asleep almost immediately.
“Nah, you know me.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and gives me a sheepish, just-woke-up grin.
I pour coffee in both mugs and take them to the breakfast table. Vale follows and takes his usual seat. Fred is two steps behind and throws himself on Vale’s feet.
“How did the meetings go?” I’m dying to know but, at the same, time I don’t really want to know.
He drinks from the mug, wincing as the hot liquid goes down.
“Should I have warned you that contents are hot?”
“Ha, ha. I took a larger swig than I’d intended.”
I nod, but he’s not looking at me.
“So?” I prompt.
“So…” He hesitates. “So, it was interesting. It was an amazing ego boost. And it was eye opening.”
I nod. This time he is looking at me.
“Maya, I talked to Thomas yesterday. He told me. I’m sorry. I really am.”
I suck air into my lungs. “Did Thomas tell you everything?”
“I’m not sure what ‘everything’ is. He told me you were headed to your parents for dinner when you got the news, and that you made it to the hospital in time to say good-bye.”
“Did he tell you that Hank is—was—our biological grandfather?”
Vale’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Guess I’m not surprised he didn’t. That’s a messy secret that doesn’t float well in high-society circles.”
“You know that’s not it,” Vale reprimands gently.
I let it go; there’s no sense in getting into an argument over this. In the past few months, Vale has been much faster to stand behind Thomas during family bickers.
“Hank knew who I was. Maybe not every time I was there, but he knew. And he didn’t say anything.”
“Neither did you.”
“Neither did I.”
We’re silent; the only sounds are the drops from the coffee machine and the snores from the puppy.
“So, listen…”
“So, I’ve been thinking…”
We revert to the semiquiet.
“You first,” I finally concede. Anything is better than the loaded quiet.
“So, I had a long time to think. A week away and a miserable flight. I love you, Maya, and I want us back. I really think a fresh start may be just what we need.”
A tear slithers down my cheek and plops into my coffee. I set the mug down and wipe my face with my palms. How can we be having this discussion again?
“Vale, I don’t want to leave.”
He holds a hand up. “Just listen. You’ll be done with the carousel in a month. One month, Maya. Then we can take a sabbatical of sorts. We can rent a house and maybe even rent this place. It’s gorgeous there. You’ll love it. It’s the perfect place for an artist.”
You’ll love it, he’d said. Not you would but you will. I bite back the urge to point that out.
“For how long would we be on this sabbatical of sorts?”
“One year? Two years? Who knows, maybe we’ll fall in love with the place and want to stay. Maybe we’ll fall in love with each other again.” His voice drops, becoming suddenly shy, hesitant, hopeful.
“I don’t know. This … I don’t know.” I stumble over my thoughts. Deep down, I want to say yes. I want to fall in love with him again. I want to start breathing again. But I’m petrified of saying yes. Who will watch over them if I leave?
He stands, walks to the sink, and dumps what’s left in his mug. “I get insecurity about making such a big step, but if we don’t do something, we’ll be taking a big step in the opposite direction. Is that what you want?”