Hugo & Rose

by Bridget Foley

  She was quiet, watching her husband pull the bits together on the tabletop. The line on the table grew.

  “So … I know you didn’t go to school together.”

  Rose nodded. She knew he knew. She felt a folding within herself. A desire for a small, dark space.

  “Are you fucking him?”

  The word was like an arrow. Fuck. Pointed and fricative. Thrumming on its target.

  But this, too, Josh said calmly. The surgeon getting all the pertinent details, sizing up the damage that had been done. Figuring out the extent of the trauma.

  Rose shook her head. “No.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Nobody.”

  “You didn’t look at him like he was nobody.” Josh divided a crumb with his fingernail, pressing it into two pieces, stretching the line.

  Rose felt as if her entire self were sinking, pulled down into the stony gravity in her center. Josh was still not looking at her.

  “You won’t believe me.”

  She heard someone say it … herself say it … but she was still sinking and the sound of her voice, so small and distant, was far, far above her.

  Josh had collected all of the crumbs. A line dotted across the table.

  His finger paused in the center … then pushed the crumb there forward an inch. He started speaking, still quiet, but as he spoke he pushed the line forward, punctuating his words with each crumb.

  “I won’t believe [push] that this person [push] who came into my house [push] and knew intimate [push] details [push] about my wife’s [push] fantasy [push] world is nobody [push]. I won’t believe [push] that you lied [push] to me about how you knew him [push] and sat [push] him across from my children [push], to eat food [push] I paid for [push], out of the goodness of your heart.”

  His hand swept over the line, scattering the bits of cake across the table.

  Finally he looked at her.

  “Who the hell is he, Rose?”

  * * *

  Josh watched as she dug through her nightstand. As she pulled a pile of the children’s drawings from the drawer, placing on top of it a fistful of hair ties and ChapSticks. Change. Some errant Lego pieces. The lube.

  Finally she pulled out the sleeve of a manila envelope. Its edges were worn, and there were darker patches where it had been handled, the trace oils from his wife’s hands. Her name was written on it in neat block letters. Their address.

  Rose swallowed as she handed it to him.

  She looked as though she were going to say something, her jaw loosening its hinge, but then she shook her head.

  Josh pulled the contents from the sleeve and sat on the bed to read.

  Rose waited, leaning against the door frame, her breath shallow until he reached the final page and closed the comic.

  Josh closed his eyes, hand resting on the cover illustration. Beneath it the Spider’s legs splayed out in hairy ink.

  “I don’t ever want you to see him again.”

  Rose blinked, not understanding.

  How could Josh not see the evidence of a miracle in his hands? Her dreams on paper? The impossibility proved of its existence?

  “But … It’s the truth. He’s—”

  “Rose”—Josh cut her off—“What you’re suggesting … it’s not possible.”

  “But, it’s all there.” Rose took a step into the room. “You read it. The pictures.”

  Josh shook his head. The pages in his hands were not a marvel; they were simply a more advanced version of the drawings his sons sometimes did. A retelling of his wife’s dreams, but not by any stretch of the imagination proof that the man who had been at dinner had somehow been sharing dreams with Rose for almost three decades.

  “Maybe he found a diary you wrote. Or heard a story you told. Maybe he’s a scam artist, and he does this sort of thing all the time.”

  How could he not understand? This wasn’t something that could be faked.…

  “But my dreams—”

  Suddenly Josh was standing. Angry. “He is not Hugo! The man in your dreams does not exist!”

  “Then who ate your beans tonight?”

  Josh’s head rocked violently. Words pelted out of his mouth. “A huckster. A con man. Somebody who wants something from you and went to these ridiculous lengths to get it.” He seized the comic book and tossed it onto the ground.

  Rose went to scoop it up. “He is not a con man.”

  Josh’s chest was heaving. His neck flushed, teeth bared. “I have to believe he’s a con man, Rose.” He paused, swallowed rage, and continued, “Because the alternative is me putting you in an institution because you’ve lost your mind.”

  “I’m not crazy.”

  “Then what does Naomi have to say about all this?”

  Rose pictured the empty couch in her therapist’s office, but she said nothing. Josh could tell by the look on her face. Beneath the rage, he felt the beginnings of more frightening emotions, pain, fear, loss. His wife was threatened or she was a threat … either way, anger was the more comfortable option. He leaned into it.

  “You didn’t tell her … because you knew if you did, she would know you’d fractured your reality. You didn’t tell her because you know this is insanity.”

  * * *

  It was decided that Rose was never to see David again.

  Which is to say that Josh decided Rose would never see David again.

  Josh was very careful when he said this, never once referring to the man as Hugo.

  Of course, this decision came naturally to Dr. Josh, whose mind was filled with the case studies he’d read in medical school about twin psychosis and hallucinations caused by brain lesions. This belief of Rose’s must be the symptom of some malady. He was angry with Naomi for missing it, but what could you expect from a psychiatrist? He would call some more people. Schedule some tests. Get a view to the inside of his wife’s head.

  But in the meantime, this thing between his wife and this man needed to stop.

  He had made her cry. His beautiful Rose. He hated to do it.

  But he could tell that she needed it. That she still believed, despite the fact that she also knew it was impossible that this man had been dreaming with her.

  So he used the children against her. He used her love for them to get her to give up the delusion. Told her what happens to mothers who lose their minds, where they end up, how much their children miss them, how badly they suffer.

  And Rose cried.

  But she agreed. She nodded her head through her tears, and Josh held her. Rocked her. Rubbed her arms. She was a little girl in his embrace, asking for forgiveness. He gave it to her with a kiss on her forehead. They would get through this.

  So when she said she needed to call him to tell him it was over, Josh nodded. That would be best.

  * * *

  Rose took her cell phone into the children’s bathroom to call him. She wanted someplace dark and private. She had thought about going out to the garage, calling him from behind the wheel of her minivan—but she knew that would make Josh wonder. Wonder what she was saying. Wonder if she was leaving.

  So she left the lights off in the bathroom. Sat against the vanity cabinet with her feet braced against the cool porcelain of the tub. In the dim she could make out the faint lines of the children’s tub toys: Isaac’s submarine, Adam’s water whistle, Penny’s mermaid.

  Rose felt the rising hiccup of a sob. The half catch of her breath. She didn’t want to do this.

  But Josh …

  The phone rang twice before Hugo picked up. Her throat ached and suddenly the tears were there again. At the fore. She couldn’t say anything.

  “Rose?”

  A small sound. A tiny squeak of a sound.

  “Rosie, are you crying?”

  “Hugo…,” she managed, and then sniffled. A hot, wet sound in his ear. “I … I told him. I showed him…”

  On the other end of the phone, Rose could hear his silence. The sound of his lips parting. Her throat felt like
it was going to break.

  “He didn’t believe you,” he said finally.

  “He told me I could call you one more time and tell you that I can’t see you anymore.”

  “What? Why?” His voice sounded like Isaac’s. Like a hurt child.

  She was hurting him. This was all her fault. It was she who saw him, who followed him, who pursued him. She who confronted him at work, who let him know she was a real person.

  “I don’t think we were ever supposed to meet.” This she said quietly, brushing a tear away with the heel of her palm.

  “Rose—”

  She cut him off. “I think … I think we were just supposed to be in each other’s dreams. I don’t think this was ever supposed to happen.”

  “But it did happen.”

  “He said … he said mothers need to be in touch with reality for their children … and … I think the same thing.”

  “What we have is real.”

  Rose shook her head. It was, but it couldn’t be. She couldn’t let it. There was too much to lose. That’s what Josh had done. He’d just reminded her of what she’d forgotten.

  “It’ll just go back to how it used to be.”

  “Rose, no…”

  “We’ll see each other every night. And maybe … maybe we can forget this ever happened.”

  She hung up the phone and folded in on herself, letting the waves of tears wash over her.

  * * *

  Rose’s hand was on the wall of Castle City.

  It took her a moment to realize this. Her field of vision was filled with dark green stones, smooth and cool under her palm. She turned and saw behind her the golden field of wildflowers that she had seen a thousand times from a different vantage.

  It was then that she knew for certain.

  Rose stepped back, angling her neck up. A few steps from the wall and the first tower appeared, nosing its way up from behind the stone.

  Rose laughed.

  All these years. All those attempts. Searching the invisible fence for the weak spot. Looking for a way in.

  And here she was … by no effort of her own, the island had simply brought her here.

  “Hugo!” she shouted, looking for him. There was no way she could have come here alone. He must be around here somewhere.

  She bounded farther out into the field, the grasses tickling at her ankles. “Hugo!”

  She turned to look up again at the city. To make certain of the fixedness of it. The towers grew from behind the wall, tall, rounded spires ascribing the full gamut of a single hue: forest green, leaf green, spring green, grass green, emerald, jade, olive, lime, chartreuse.

  Rose cocked her head. For the first time she noticed something familiar about the city.

  “It looks like Oz.”

  Why had she never noticed that before?

  Movement by the wall pulled her attention.

  Hugo. His back to her, running. Retreating around a corner.

  Rose gave chase, her feet chewing up the distance between them. She rounded the bend and caught sight of him. He stood under the arch of an enormous portico, his hands loose at his sides, staring at the bases of the towers. Pausing on the cusp of the city.

  The way in.

  “Hugo!”

  He turned from the city to look at her. But his face was slack, his eyes absent their usual glow.

  Rose took a step back. It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.

  “Mom! Mommy! Momma!” She heard a cry from the other world.

  * * *

  Rose opened her eyes to the scaling light of the monitor.

  “Mom!” It was Adam. A nightmare.

  She pulled herself from the bed. Hand against the wall to steady herself.

  What had that been about? They had gotten to the city. About to go in. There should have been joy, but instead there was that look on Hugo’s face, so empty.

  She was in the hallway by the time she remembered the evening, her conversation with Josh, her phone call with Hugo—the dream had swept it away, but now it was back, the grief from earlier, like a hangover, her waking body remembered.

  But life must go on. Children must be tended to. No matter how much pain their mothers are in.

  Rose entered the blue glow of the boys’ room. Adam’s little body was turned from the door, still crying, curled under the covers. She gave a quick glance to Isaac, still asleep in his bed, and knelt by Adam’s side.

  “It’s okay, honey. Just a bad dream.”

  Adam twisted and clung to her, her shoulder cradled to his chin. He was calming, the cries slowing down. Rose closed her eyes and just let herself feel the wonderful weight of her little boy, the rise and fall of his chest under her arms. The soft down of his hair against her neck.

  This was what Josh had meant. She could not lose this.

  He shifted against her. Rose stroked his back.

  “Do you want me to give you some new dreams?”

  There was a muted shooshing sound. Like sugar poured into a bowl. Rose felt a soft slither trickle its way down her back.

  “Adam?”

  Rose pulled her son away from her body. A trail of pink sand landed on her shoulder and the floor.

  It was pouring from Adam’s open mouth. Torrents of coral sand flooding from his little body, pooling on the sheets of his bed, his mouth a rictus of horrible surprise. His eyes huge with panic.

  “Adam!” Rose tried to catch the sand with her hands. To stop it from coming up, but his body was spasming, calling up more silt.

  An animal snort sounded behind her.

  Rose turned.

  A Buck stood in the bedroom. Its antlers were lowered, its eyes glowing red …

  Ready to charge.

  * * *

  Rose awoke with a shout on the floor of the bathroom. She had fallen asleep, face pressed to the tile.

  Her hand ached, sweaty and stiff. Curled around the flat rectangle of her cell.

  Hugo had called fifty-nine times.

  fifteen

  Penny was going to try to poop by the couch, Rose was sure of it.

  “Pen! Potty!”

  “No need poop, Mama!” She put her chubby fists on her hips.

  “Yes, poop.”

  “No. Poop.”

  Rose’s head hurt. Her eyes hurt. Her stomach was sore from coughing out sobs. She felt hung over … though that sensation at least was the result of something that had been fun. Instead there was a flat, cold feeling inside of her.

  Hugo.

  Not now, she thought. No time to think of it now. Put it away, Rose.

  The boys were making a racket. They had devoured the toaster waffles she had caved to, and with extra time to burn, they were careening around the kitchen, waving swords at each other. Zackie was playing aggressively, his foam saber too near his brother’s eyes for Rose’s comfort. But Addy was loving it, grinning in the warm shower of his brother’s full attention.

  His face was so different from the way it had been last night, a yaw of panic. A stream of sand pouring from his throat. But he was fine this morning. As though nothing had happened.

  Because nothing had. Rose forced the word on herself. Nightmare.

  Was that what they were like for the children? All these years she had been comforting them, trivializing their dreams … she had never known how horrible they could be.

  Penny started crying. Someone had knocked her over.

  “That’s it! Backyard!” Rose pointed to the door. The boys’ faces were suddenly pictures of innocence. “You have twenty minutes before the bus gets here.”

  They stood stock-still on the carpet, staring at their mother. Penny rolled to her feet, rubbing her head.

  “Out.”

  The boys walked slowly to the door, giving Rose ample time to change her mind. She didn’t.

  Zackie turned to look at her once he passed the threshold. “But it’s cold outside.”

  “It’s not cold.”

  “It’s colder than in the h
ouse.”

  Rose needed them out of her hair. Just a few minutes of peace. They would be fine. “Move around. It’ll keep you warm.”

  Zackie crossed his arms. Her little adult. “Mom.”

  He sounded like Josh. That flat, reasoned tone. It pissed her off.

  “Adam. Chase your brother.”

  Addy grinned. He roared and charged Isaac. Isaac took off, jumping from the steps to the patio and landing in the grass.

  Rose closed the door, muffling the sound of the boys’ yells. She put her forehead against the cool glass. In twenty minutes they would be out of here and she could … what? Sleep? Think? Cry?

  “Momma?”

  Penny was tugging on her sweatpants.

  “Yes, honey?”

  “Need to go poop.”

  Rose looked at her little girl. This was a milestone. “Then let’s get you on the potty.”

  Rose helped Pen pull down her panties. She watched her lower her little bottom onto the potty seat situated in the middle of their kitchen floor. The two of them sat across from each other a moment, Penny’s eyes searching her mother’s for approval. Rose managed a thin smile. “Good girl, honey.”

  Outside the boys were yelling, their play more raucous in the outdoors.

  Rose’s head hurt.

  “You want Momma to get you a book, honey?”

  Penny nodded.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Rose made her way up the stairs. Maybe she’d call Mrs. D to take Penny for a few hours.… She could figure out some way to distract herself. To make herself feel better.

  They had gotten to Castle City last night.

  The thought sent a thrill through her body. The thing they had been waiting for for years. The place they had been trying to reach, they had gotten there.

  But then there had been the nightmare. And before that, the phone call. Josh’s anger. His threat.

  Rose couldn’t live without her children.

  And though she didn’t believe she was crazy (I’m not; I can’t be), she also knew how it looked to her husband. How it would look to the world. If they knew what she believed.

  Hugo.

  Her chest ached remembering the silence on the other end of the phone. What he’d said.

  What we have is real.

  But not as real as my family, Rose told herself. She reached Penny’s room and knelt to pull books from the bottom of the bookshelf. Good Night, Gorilla. But Not the Hippopotamus. Penny’s favorites. The ones she would pretend to read aloud.