by Kate Hewitt
I reached out one hand to touch her shoulder, her hands up by her face. I wasn’t quite brave enough to do it, and that’s when I saw. Three scored lines on her inner arm, not deep enough to mean it. Oh, Alexa.
Without even realizing what I was doing, I reached out to touch one, the pad of my thumb skimming along the raised, reddened flesh, before Alexa jerked her arm away, her face twisting in a mask of rage.
“What are you…” Her voice died away as she saw what I’d seen. She bit her lip, her eyes wide, her face blotchy. “It was an accident at school.”
Three neat lines, like tic-tac-toe?
I shook my head, everything in me soft and sad. “No, it wasn’t, Alexa.”
Her anger turned to fear, which made me sadder. “Don’t tell Dad, Maria. Please.”
I took her wrist again, and she let me. I ran my finger over the lines, each in turn, my touch gentle. Silently, Alexa watched me, waiting to see what I would do.
I wondered how long she had been cutting herself, doing anything to end or at least blunt the pain.
“Maria…” Her voice was hesitant. Another minute passed; I was still holding her wrist. Then, wordlessly, I dropped her wrist and held out my own, rolling up my sleeve. Alexa stared at me in confusion and then she looked down.
Mine was deeper, because I’d meant it.
Alexa looked up, silent questions in her eyes like stars. She glanced at my other arm, and so I held it out too, pushing up the sleeve so she could see both scars. Twenty-three years old now, made a year after the war had ended, when I had felt as if I could endure no more.
The lines were no more than pink seams in my skin, slightly raised, on each wrist. That was what happened to scars—at least the ones on the outside. They faded. They healed as best as they could, while other parts of you did not.
“Why…” The word was a whisper. Alexa reached out to touch one of my scars, but then she drew her hand back.
“Because at the time, it felt like the only way. But it wasn’t. I promise you, it wasn’t.”
She looked up at me fearfully. “Were you trying to…?”
I hesitated, and then I nodded. “Yes.”
“Why…?”
“Because it hurt so much.” I would not burden her with any of the details. I did not want to think of them myself.
“But you didn’t…”
“No, it turns out it is quite difficult to do that.” Neither of us wanted to name it. “For which I am grateful.” Although I wasn’t at the time—I wasn’t for a long time, not even until now, when I had these girls in my life. I brushed my fingers against her lines. “I understand this, Alexa,” I said softly. “Sometimes you feel as if you will burst with the pain. Your body cannot hold it. But this…” Another brush, feather-light. “It is not the right way.”
She made a choked sound. “Then what is?”
What answers did I have to give? What ones had I found? “To let yourself keep loving,” I finally said. It had taken me so long to realize this, to risk it. “As best as you can.”
A tear trickled down her cheek as she looked down at our bare arms, marked by scars. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Why, koka?” I spoke gently, as if she were my little chicken, as if she were as small as Ruby.
Alexa shook her head. I could feel her withdrawal, like a cooling in the air. She pulled her arms away, yanking the sleeves down to cover the scars. After a moment I did the same. I would not push.
“I won’t tell your father yet,” I said quietly. “But you must, Alexa. This is not a secret to keep.”
“I can’t…”
“And you must stop.” I gestured to those three lines again. “For your own sake. It is not good.”
“You won’t tell him, though?” she asked, sniffing.
“No.” I was reluctant to make any sort of promise. “But will you?”
Alexa sniffed again and nodded. “I’ll try,” she said, and I let that be enough, at least for now. She turned away from me, wiping her sleeve across her eyes. “Thanks, Maria,” she mumbled, and my heart lightened, then filled. This was hope—this darkened room, this slight girl, these scars.
I touched her shoulder once, and then I rose from the bed. I let her be, going to the kitchen, moving around the apartment as I tidied up aimlessly, my heart both full and sad.
I had never thought my own pain could help someone else’s. I had never thought my scars were anything but that—signs of my own woundedness, marks to bear, a life to endure.
But this… this possibility that it was because of those scars, I could reach Alexa… I could help Ella… I could love Ruby. I could love all of them; I could give them something I hadn’t even realized I’d had. Me. The thought was intoxicating, overwhelming, wonderful. It gave purpose to my life in a way I had never dared hope for.
* * *
A little while later the front door opened, and I heard Nathan come in with a drooping Ruby—it was an hour past her bedtime—and Ella. I went into the hallway, my heart still so full.
“Maria.” Nathan smiled tiredly. “How is Alexa?”
“She is okay.” I did not know what else to say, how to explain. A new thought had occurred to me, filling me with sudden, fearful alarm. What if Alexa told Nathan about my scars? What if it made a difference to him? He might think I was unstable, untrustworthy, too damaged to be of use. And what if I was?
“Good.” He rested a hand on my shoulder, the feel of his palm warm and solid. “Thank you.”
“It is nothing.” Not true.
“I’m just going to put Ella and Ruby to bed.”
“Okay.” I watched in some surprise as Nathan helped Ruby on with her pyjamas, and then read her a story. I could not remember the last time he had done such a thing. I hovered in the hallway while he tucked them in, kissing them goodnight. When he came back into the living room, I was sitting on the sofa, my book unread in my lap.
Nathan sat down opposite me with a sigh. “I’m sorry for offloading Alexa onto you. She was so angry with me…” He shook his head, his gaze turning distant. “She said some things… true things, probably.” A shuddery breath. “But I knew I couldn’t deal with it. I’d get angry again, and I’m tired of being angry.”
“It was all right. I spoke to her.” Without realizing it, I traced the graven line of my scar through my sleeve.
“You did?”
“Yes. A little bit. I think… perhaps… it helped.”
A smile broke across Nathan’s face like a wave, like sunshine. “Thank you, Maria. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
My chest warmed along with my cheeks. I looked down at my book. I felt full—my heart, my soul, everything.
“Alexa said some things,” Nathan said in a low voice, with a glance at his daughter’s closed door. “About Laura…” He stopped, and I waited. I did not feel I could ask for more. “She said Laura was unhappy with… with me. With our life. And I have to admit, in these last few months, I’ve started to wonder, to think that maybe she was, at least in some way.” He glanced at me, looking like a little boy. “Do you think she was?”
How on earth was I meant to answer that? I thought of Laura’s frustrated sigh, her downturned mouth. I could not burden Nathan with those things now; they were so little anyway. “I did not know her well enough to say,” I offered at last. “But she did not seem very unhappy.” That much I knew.
“Thank you,” Nathan said after a moment. “I always knew she didn’t like me working so much, but I thought it was a price worth paying. I thought we wanted the same things but now I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” He shook his head, despondent. “And I hate second-guessing it all. It makes me feel as if I didn’t know our marriage at all. As if I didn’t know Laura.”
“You cannot let the present rewrite the past,” I said slowly. “You loved each other. That is a truth that time cannot change.”
“Yes, we did, but…” Nathan shrugged helplessly. “I just keep going around
in circles. Tonight was the first time things actually felt normal, for just a little while. I took Ella and Ruby out for ice cream with another family from the support group, and we actually laughed. Just a little. And then I felt so guilty… as if I’d forgotten Alexa, as if I’m betraying Laura. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.” It sounded like grief in one of its many forms, always twisting its shape, turning into something else. Had I felt guilty for laughing, for surviving? No. I’d felt envious, for those who had died. But that was not something I could tell Nathan now, not when he’d laughed and I had held hope in my hands, like a butterfly about to take wing.
“There is a word in my country,” I said instead. “You do not have it here, but it is a word that I think is good for you. Dilbere.” I let myself linger over the syllables.
“What does it mean?”
“It is often translated as dear or darling. I have even seen heart-throb, but it means so much more than that.” I paused as I felt my throat thicken and I thought of those who were my dilberes, ghosts alongside me. “It means ‘the one who carries your heart’,” I said softly. “And that is true for you and Laura. She carried your heart, and you carry hers. When you laugh, when you seem to forget, when you grieve. You will always carry it.” My throat grew even tighter as I registered the sheen of tears glossing Nathan’s eyes.
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Dilbere. Yes. I like that. Thank you, Maria.”
I nodded, feeling even fuller than before. I had helped Alexa; I had helped Nathan. I had offered more of myself than I ever had before, and it had been accepted.
That night I was full of hope, buoyant with it, lighter than air. I didn’t realize that, like grief, hope has many shapes, that it can twist and turn into something else.
I thought this was a beginning, when in fact it was an end, which was then a beginning in itself. Right then, I saw the future in a long, shimmering line, when it was forever a circle, twisting around and around on itself, never ending, never going anywhere.
Twenty-One
Nathan
That evening that Alexa stormed off and Sarah helped me and Maria told me I would carry Laura’s heart; that evening felt like a turning point. It shifted something inside me, making me turn from the anger and the tiredness and even the grief, and start to feel something else. Something small and fledgling and good, like a seed planted in surprising soil.
Was my lowest point when Alexa ran out of that diner, after hurling so many hurtful words at me? Her accusations had rung in my ears, clanged in my heart. You don’t even care about us.
I told myself she didn’t mean it, and next to me Sarah had murmured the same, but I didn’t believe either of us. There had been too much truth in Alexa’s words, even amidst the exaggeration and anger. She’d believed it, and that was what mattered.
“Do you want to go after her?” Sarah had asked. “I can get Ella and Ruby…”
“Not really.” The admission was painful, but I was still throbbing from the wounds my daughter had delivered, too hurt to run after her and play the hero. “I don’t think she wants me to, either. I’ll text Maria, to see if she’s gone home. I think we both need a little space.”
It didn’t sit well with me, to let Alexa go off when I’d finally found her, but I didn’t know what else to do. My daughter didn’t want me.
“Who is Maria?” Sarah asked as we walked back to the church, scanning the empty streets for Alexa.
“My nanny. Housekeeper.” Lifesaver. I remembered what I’d said to her, what felt like so long ago. “She’s great.”
A text pinged on my phone. Alexa was at home, thank God.
Thank God. Had I really just thought that?
When we got back to the church, Ella and Ruby were buzzing with energy. Perhaps it was the requisite hot chocolate and cookies they’d scarfed down, or just the excitement of being released from the group, but something seemed a little different tonight. A little lighter.
“Ella spoke,” Eloise told me softly, touching my arm. “About the swim team.”
“The swim team?” I sounded mystified; I’d been expecting something more relevant and personal. Ella had been on the team for less than two months.
“Yes, she spoke about how proud your wife was of her for making the team. It was very sweet.” She smiled and squeezed my arm before moving on.
I turned to Ella, who was nibbling a cookie in the corner of the room. With a jolt, I noticed how thin she looked; standing on the other side of the room, it had taken me a moment to recognize her. I watched as she threw away the rest of her cookie. Maria had mentioned her not eating very much, and I hadn’t taken it seriously. Ella had always been the easy one, and I hadn’t thought I’d had it in me for that to change.
I walked towards her. “Hey, Ella. Eloise said you spoke in the group?” She nodded cautiously, her gaze downcast. “When’s your next race? Shall I take you to it?”
Her startled gaze flew up. “It’s on Saturday.”
“Okay. It’s a date.”
“But you usually have to work.”
“Not on Saturday.” Not that Saturday. I’d make sure of it. “I want to go. I want to see you race.”
Ella nodded, but she didn’t look entirely pleased, and I tried not to feel hurt.
“Do you want me to go, Ella?” I asked.
“I guess so,” she said, and then she turned away, and I told myself not to push. Small, limping steps were still progress.
Sarah came up to me with a hesitant smile. “After the group, we sometimes go get milkshakes,” she said. “If you’d like to join us…? Or if you need to get back to Alexa, I understand, of course…”
Right then I really did not want to get back to Alexa. I wasn’t even sure I should.
“Milkshakes, Daddy!” Ruby screeched, jumping up and down. “Milkshakes, please!”
Ella smiled shyly, waiting for my answer, and I thought of her sipping a thousand-calorie milkshake, color coming into her wan cheeks.
“Milkshakes would be great,” I said.
And they were. We chatted, we laughed a little, Ella drank most of hers. It felt normal, and normality was what we all craved. Tomorrow I would tackle Alexa. We could get there. Somehow, we would get there.
* * *
The next morning I woke up, determined to be different. I felt energised in a way I hadn’t been in months, thanks at least in part, a large part, to Maria. The grief was still there, lodged like a stone beneath my breastbone, but it was a stone I could carry, along with Laura’s heart. A weight that was becoming part of me, and that was okay. At least, it could be okay, one day.
With a spring in my step, I got Ruby dressed and I made Ella two pieces of toast for breakfast; she nibbled on one.
“Eat up, Ella,” I said as cheerfully as I could. “You’ll be hungry later.”
“I won’t,” she said, but at least she took a bite.
I told myself I’d make an appointment with the paediatrician next week, talk about healthy eating. Another step.
As we were heading off, I turned to my oldest daughter.
“Alexa…” I tried to keep my voice gentle but firm, my keys in my hand, my gaze on my daughter. “About last night.”
She looked away, feigning boredom, but I could see how twitchy she was, her fingers fluttering and then clenching on the strap on her leather bag. We were in the kitchen while Ella and Ruby brushed their teeth before leaving for school; I’d told Maria I’d take them today, and now she hovered behind us, wiping counters, keeping her head down.
“Look, let’s just forget it, okay?” Alexa’s voice trembled. “I don’t care, Dad.”
“But I do.” I spoke steadily, trying not to cheapen this into some sort of sentimental Hallmark moment. I didn’t, and it wasn’t.
Alexa hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and flicked her hair. “Now you do,” she said, and I tried not to let that hurt. She was grieving too. I couldn’t lose sight of that.
“Alexa,
we can talk about Mom and my work and even God another time, okay? All that stuff. But right now…” I hesitated, weighing the options, wondering what was important. “I just want us to be okay again,” I said quietly.
No response, not even a flicker of her heavily made-up eyelids.
“I love you,” I said at last, and it felt like the last trick in my bag. Manipulative, even though I meant it.
For a second, I thought I had her. I thought she might even say it back. Her lips trembled, then pursed, as if she were about to speak. But then she just shook her head, hair flying, and pushed past me, out the door.
I stood there for a moment, fighting disappointment, and then I lifted my head and caught Maria’s gaze.
“That didn’t go so well,” I said, trying for a wry note.
“It was not too bad.” She smiled sadly. “You told her you loved her. That is important, however she responds.”
I sighed, the familiar weariness already rushing back. I’d managed one morning and it felt like too much. “How did you get so wise, Maria?”
She looked surprised, and then she shook her head. “I am not so wise.”
“Wiser than me, I think.”
“Perhaps,” she answered with a small smile, and when I realized she was actually teasing me, I let out a laugh.
Small steps. I had to keep remembering that.
* * *
That weekend I took Ella to her swim meet, while Maria stayed home with Ruby, and Alexa was out with her friends. When I’d asked what friends, because I’d never met any, she rolled her eyes, looking annoyed.
“Friends from school, Dad,” she’d said. “Duh.”
Right. Duh. Friends I didn’t know, friends that might not even exist, or if they did, I might not want them to be her friends. Once again I was all too aware that I had no idea what Alexa got up to. Still, I could hardly hold her back, force her to stay at home. I let her go, both the easy option and a harder choice.