These Three Words

by Holly Jacobs

  She nodded as if she understood. “Joey’s taking a nap. Leslie’s going to drop him off with me at the store when he wakes up, but she’ll keep Wills.”

  “JoAnn—”

  “Listen, you remember when I used to come into the store with Wills when he was an infant. The sales went through the roof. I am going to blatantly use Joey as my sales ace in the hole, too. I just dropped in to bring you something to eat and give you a hug and share a new, scintillating story of my adventures in potty training. Everything’s fine with the store. The entire staff is picking up hours for you. I’ve got the next week scheduled. We’ll play it by ear after that.”

  “I don’t need a week—” I started to protest.

  JoAnn shook her head. “Honey, I know you. You’re not leaving until Gray leaves here. And if they’re doing surgery, he’ll be here for a while. Is there anything else you need? Your iPad? Your iPod?”

  “I don’t need anything. Really. And I lost my iPod when I moved out and haven’t bothered getting a new one.”

  That was an utterly random piece of information and I had no idea why I said it. I just shrugged.

  She nodded as if that information was of the utmost importance to her. “For the next week, don’t worry about the store or anything else. I’ve got it. You just worry about yourself and Gray. And remember, all of us are here for you. You call and I’ll come running.”

  “Even if I don’t call, you’ll come running,” I said with certainty.

  A tear fell. It landed on my hand, then rolled onto the divorce papers, creating a new little smudge next to the coffee one.

  “I didn’t tell him,” I said in a whisper.

  “I didn’t tell him,” I said again, a little louder this time.

  “Tell who what? Gray?” JoAnn asked.

  “I didn’t give Gray the papers. I didn’t tell him I was divorcing him. He was talking about ice cream and waiting for me, and I thought maybe . . . But I think he knew why I was there, though. What if my going to his office suddenly made it real? What if that’s why he had a heart attack?”

  Maybe his being here was my fault. It felt as if the universe was being perverse. After all, I’d said I was done with Gray. And now, I might be, on a permanent basis.

  For months, I’d been stuck at our worst moment. I couldn’t see what had come before it. Now, thanks to Maude and James, I was remembering the other moments—the better moments—and I wasn’t sure if I’d survive losing him.

  I’d thought I’d missed him in the vast silence before I left, but now—knowing I could lose him permanently—I realized that void was nothing compared to what I’d face if he died.

  “It wasn’t a heart attack, remember?” JoAnn said gently. “I looked up an aortic dissection after you called. It was something he’d had for a while. There can be a genetic component. Mainly they happen with people much older than us, so that would be my guess, not that I’m a doctor.”

  “You don’t know that.” I didn’t know, so she couldn’t know. “What if my being there exacerbated the situation?” I asked, voicing my secret fear.

  I rubbed the spot where my tear had fallen on the envelope. It left a mark.

  “Then you saved his life,” she said with surety. “What if he’d been home alone when it happened? You wouldn’t have been there to call for help. You didn’t do this to him, Addie.”

  Even in the fog I was trying to think through, I realized logically JoAnn was right. Just as quickly I realized that being right didn’t matter.

  Logic and feelings had nothing whatsoever to do with each other. And I felt as if it were my fault.

  I also realized that I hadn’t set the divorce papers down because I felt as if I had to hold on to them.

  I wasn’t sure if they had become my talisman or a scarlet letter.

  “Addie, are you sure you’re okay? I can stay,” JoAnn offered.

  She would. She’d juggle and restructure her plans to be with me. “No. I’ll feel better if I know you’re at the store.”

  “You know that you mean more to me than the store, right?” she asked. “I love you, Addie.”

  “More than pickles?” I asked. That was her phrase for Wills and Joey. I love you more than . . . She always started out with pickles, and then added to her list. Pickles. Pizza. Ice cream.

  “I most definitely love you more than pickles,” she assured me.

  I’d commented once that most of her more thans were food. Afterward she’d made an effort to include nonfood items.

  Which was probably why she added, “And I love you more than sunsets.”

  I reached over and took her hand. “Ditto” was all I said because that was all that needed to be said.

  Hands weren’t enough . . . she hugged me again. “You are my best friend, Adeline. I’ll be here whenever you need me for as long as you need me.”

  “I knew that before you walked in. But right now, I really need to be alone. I have to think and sort things out.” I felt another tear gather in the corner of my eye, but I blinked it back. I knew she’d never leave if she thought I needed her.

  She studied me a moment, then nodded again. “I’m a phone call away. And I’ll be back later.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You can thank me by eating something.” She leaned down and kissed my cheek as if I were one of her boys. “More than pickles,” she whispered.

  “Or sunsets,” I responded.

  I watched as JoAnn left.

  I lost my parents before I graduated from college and had no extended relatives I was close to. But I’d never lacked for family.

  I read a book when I was in grade school about a couple who’d adopted all their children. Their family was made, not born. Their family was bound by love, not by blood.

  That’s how it was with JoAnn. She was my family . . . not by blood, but by love.

  I loved her more than sunsets.

  Or pickles.

  And I knew she’d be there for me, whenever I called.

  There was a comfort in that.

  Chapter Six

  JoAnn had been gone for more than an hour.

  I didn’t cry anymore, mainly because I had a feeling that if I started to cry again, there was a chance I wouldn’t be able to stop.

  I’d managed to nibble at the granola JoAnn had brought me, not because I had an appetite, but so I could tell her I’d eaten.

  I kept catching myself staring at the woman sitting across from me, her nose buried in a book. I forced myself to look at the television screen, but I couldn’t follow what was going on. I wished I could read the way she did.

  Anything to take me away from here and now. Television was obviously not going to do it.

  I opened my Kindle app on my phone. Reading on my phone wasn’t my favorite way to read, but it would do in a pinch. I loved that I always had a book with me. Whenever we had to wait for something, I’d open up my current read and be content.

  It amused Gray. He rarely said anything, but he’d roll his eyes and that little ghost of a smile would play across his lips whenever I opened the app.

  I closed my eyes and could almost see that smile.

  And I caught myself wondering if I’d ever see it again.

  I pushed the thought aside, opened my eyes, and tried to read, but I don’t think I’d managed a whole page before I realized that for the first time in my life a book couldn’t take me away from the real world.

  I glanced at the reader across from me again and felt a stab of jealousy that she could.

  The woman who’d taken James’ seat looked up from her book, as if she could either feel my eyes upon her, or sense my book-envy.

  “Have you read it?” she asked kindly as she held the book up.

  I shook my head. “No. I was wishing I could escape into a book. I’ve always been able to ma
nage it, but I can’t today.” I flashed her my phone screen. I wasn’t even sure I could tell her what book I’d opened.

  She nodded. “To be honest, I think I’ve read the same page five or six times. It seemed easier to pretend to read than to sit here staring into space.” She must have realized that staring into space summed up what I’d been doing because she said, “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re right. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing.”

  “Who are you waiting for?” she asked.

  How to describe my relationship with Gray? I went for the most accepted definition, “my husband,” but given the papers in my hand, I wasn’t sure that was true. “You?”

  “My daughter.” There was a catch in her voice as she said the word daughter.

  “I’m so sorry.” Having Gray here was awful, but to be a mother and have to sit by while your child was sick? Once I might not have completely understood how awful that would be, but now I did.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “She’s only fourteen. She woke up in horrible pain. They said it was her appendix. As a mother, I can remind her to eat right and wear her seatbelt. I can make sure she gets enough rest and studies for tests. But I can’t protect her from her own body. And I know it’s stupid, but I feel like I should be able to.”

  I understood her need to protect her daughter. “I think that need to protect your children is embedded in our DNA.”

  “Do you have children?” she asked.

  I shook my head and found myself answering her honestly. More honestly than a stranger deserved. “I’ve always wanted them. My husband wanted us to wait. He wanted to have everything in place financially before we had kids. We hardly ever fought, but we did about this one issue. If he hadn’t wanted kids, I might have been able to understand. But he did . . .”

  I didn’t go any further with my answer because the rest was too hard.

  The book reader didn’t seem to notice. “Ruby was a change-of-life baby. I was in my forties and thought I was just going through an abnormally early menopause.” She chuckled at the memory. “I spent two weeks crying once I figured out I was pregnant. But after that . . .” She shrugged. “The pregnancy was so easy that I forgot about her for long periods of time. Life just sort of went on as it always had. Then she was born and was the easiest baby in the history of babies.”

  My mother had always said I was an easygoing baby. Peggy had said repeatedly that Gray was not. He was high needs and she swore he had some sort of allergy to sleep. He’d never needed more than four or five hours a day. He still didn’t . . . unless things had changed since I left.

  All those months of not talking.

  What if he’d found out he had some heart issue during that time? Would he have told me?

  I didn’t think so.

  Gray wasn’t a man who was prone to sharing his worries and burdens in the best of circumstances. And he and I weren’t anywhere close to being in a best of circumstances. Not for us. Not for our marriage.

  I clenched the envelope in my hand.

  I could shove it in my purse. Out of sight, out of mind. But I knew I wouldn’t. I needed it as a reminder. I’d given up on Gray. Fair or not, I felt he’d failed me and I’d stopped trying.

  Gray had always needed me to try. He was someone prone to isolation.

  In another lifetime I could see him finding a contented life in some remote monastery. Not speaking. I could see him achieving his monkly objectives with the same fierce intensity that he used for Steel, Inc.

  I didn’t ask this woman’s name. I didn’t ask her any more about her daughter. Maybe that made me selfish, but I wasn’t sure I could handle suffering for one more person. Maude, Bertie, James, Anne with an E, and now this woman’s daughter, Ruby, were all the worries I could handle on top of my own. I didn’t want to know her name.

  I was trying to decide how to pull back from the conversation without seeming rude, when someone behind me called, “Harriet Mumford?”

  The book reader was Harriet Mumford.

  Now I knew, even if I didn’t want to. I was right. Knowing her name made her seem even more real, which made her pain and her worry more tangible as well.

  Harriet bounded from her chair as if on a spring, tossing her book on the seat next to her coat and purse. I turned and watched her talking to the nurse or doctor. They all had on scrubs and I couldn’t tell one from another.

  Harriet smiled.

  I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

  Her daughter was okay. I wish I knew if Bertie and Anne were.

  But selfishly, more than that I wished the doctor would come down and tell me about Gray.

  Harriet Mumford came back to her seat, practically radiating happiness. She picked up her coat, purse, and the book. “I’m going to meet with the doctor, but the nurse said Ruby’s going to be fine,” she said.

  I took her hand. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Before I could say anything else, she was already gone, anxious to see her daughter.

  Moments before I’d wanted to withdraw from our conversation, but now that Harriet Mumford was gone, the waiting room felt lonely.

  I stared blankly at the television, ignoring the conversations around me. The memories I’d shared with Maude and James seemed to have opened a floodgate. Moments from my life with Gray kept worming their way into the forefront of my mind.

  A commercial that touted the best dishwashing soap ever made me remember a night when Gray had offered to help me with the dishes.

  “You wash, I’ll dry,” he offered.

  I ran the water and added a generous squirt of dish soap. The sink was soon full of suds and dirty dishes.

  I handed Gray the first cup and he dried it with meticulous thoroughness before setting it down and reaching for the next cup from the rack.

  I kept glancing at him as we worked in companionable silence. He looked so serious as he worked. I wanted to see him smile—not just wanted, needed—so I scooped up a handful of bubbles and blew them in Gray’s face.

  He didn’t react. Instead, he finished drying the cup in his hand and then casually took his towel and wiped the bubbles off his nose. I thought our impromptu bubble-battle was over, but he surprised me.

  He reached into the sink, grabbed a handful of bubbles, and, rather than blowing them at me, he smooshed them into my face.

  “Hey,” I hollered. I grabbed another handful, ready to retaliate, but Gray was ready for me. He grabbed my wrist and pushed it into my hair.

  Still holding on to my wrist, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. The kiss tasted of soap and love . . . so much love.

  He scooped me up and carried me upstairs.

  The dishes didn’t get washed until the next morning.

  How had I forgotten moments like that?

  Everyone I spoke to reminded me of something.

  Everything I saw on the television did as well.

  A kid throwing spitwads in class on television reminded me of an afternoon—I had no idea how long ago it was, though it felt like a lifetime ago. Gray had been working on some figures for the business and I’d been filling out some forms for Harbor House. I’d made a football out of a piece of paper. The same kind we’d made in grade school. I’d flicked it expertly at Gray. It had landed in the center of his paper.

  He didn’t say a word, but he looked up and his serious, business expression melted into a smile. Then he’d picked up the paper football and flicked it back at me, with just as much expert aim.

  We both went back to our respective work, but for the next few hours, the paper football periodically volleyed back and forth.

  When he finished working he’d simply said, “Love you.”

  I still had the football in my jewelry box, next to my plastic drink swan. It was a strange memen
to, but it had been such a lovely afternoon. The two of us working independently, but together.

  I could almost hear him. “Love you.”

  I think those small moments were the ones that kept creeping into my thoughts because they were the ones I missed the most.

  I didn’t look back longingly at major events. Not our wedding. Not the big Steel, Inc. gala parties. Not the big moments for Harbor House.

  I missed paper footballs and washing dishes together . . . or not washing dishes together, as the case may be.

  I missed Gray.

  I missed him so much I almost ached with it.

  How had I not noticed how much I missed him?

  Then I remembered.

  I’d missed him long before I’d walked out of our house on February third. To be honest, I think he left me on December second. The months before that, I’d never felt closer to him, but that day we’d lost everything, I lost him . . .

  “Mrs. Grayson?” Another woman wearing scrubs stood in the doorway to the waiting room. The difference was, this time she was calling my name.

  Part of me wanted to bound out of my seat like Harriet the book reader had. But a bigger part of me was terrified and seemed to be rooted to the spot.

  If I didn’t go see this woman, Gray was still in surgery. His fate was still in limbo.

  And limbo was so much better than bad news.

  “Mrs. Grayson,” she called again, this time with a tinge of frustration in her voice.

  I looked in her direction and knew I had to get up and go get the news, but still I hesitated. Finally she came to me.

  “Mrs. Grayson?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “If you’ll follow me, I’ll get you set up in the consult room. The doctor is on her way down.”

  I nodded and got up to follow her.

  I was relieved Gray’s fate was still in limbo.

  I was terrified that all too soon I’d know.

  The small room the nurse escorted me to had two chairs, a small table, and two doors. I entered through one door and the nurse closed it behind me.