by Sylvia True
“I’m not trying to trick you,” she assures him.
He pulls up his knees and drops his head. His breathing becomes labored again. She will stay with him and give him all the time he needs. She guesses he’s in his fifties, although he looks much older. And in another way, much younger. As she watches him begin to rock, she sees herself, stubborn, fighting battles she can’t win, never wanting to put down the sword because the surrender, the pain that comes with it, is distilled, pure loneliness. For thirteen years, since her mother died, she’s been trying to run from it, and now here it is, pressing fiercely on her chest.
“Saint Bartholomew,” she whispers. Her voice falters.
He glances at her. His eyes are sad. For a second she feels as if the two thin threads of their universes entwine.
“I am without guile,” he tells her.
“I admire that,” she says. And she does. As sick and psychotic as Bartholomew is, she knows that he is never dishonest, would never purposefully hurt or deceive.
“You’re a whore. Your mother is a whore.”
He lies down, faces the wall, and curls away from her. She leans toward him and strokes his snarled hair. “You are not alone,” she whispers.
After he is asleep, she stands to leave. On her way out, the cop stops her. His eyes are compassionate. “Tomorrow will be a better day.”
Her lips quiver. She forces a smile. “It fucking better be,” she says, trying to get some of the old Bridget back.
Outside, it’s still as muggy as it was at two in the afternoon. But she doesn’t care anymore. She can handle it. Not once when she sat with Bartholomew did she think about calling Michael or wonder why he hadn’t called her.
SESSION EIGHT
Alicia stayed home from school with Hannah today. They slept late, watched Beauty and the Beast, and looked at old photo albums.
Although Hannah is wrung out from yesterday’s ordeal, she isn’t about to miss group. It’s time to talk about herself. She arrives at Kathryn’s office at exactly seven. Gail, who is already settled, smiles perfunctorily.
“It’s good to see you,” Kathryn tells Hannah.
She sits on the wooden Windsor chair. “I’m sorry I missed last week. I needed to—” She stops when Bridget traipses in, wearing jean shorts and a tight green scoop-neck T-shirt that shows off her baby bump.
Bridget settles in her usual seat, the armchair to Kathryn’s right, and crosses her arms in front of her chest. She smiles at Kathryn and Gail, avoiding Hannah.
Lizzy is next to arrive. She is buoyant, her face glowing. Life has found its way in, Hannah thinks.
“Would anyone like to begin?” Kathryn asks.
Lizzy pulls a tube of toothpaste from her bag. “I will,” she says. “Last week when I got home from here, Greg was grabbing some things. He went to put the toothpaste in his bag, and I snatched it.” She sits taller and smiles. “I know it’s silly. But I took something for myself.”
“That’s not silly,” Bridget says.
“Did Greg leave?” Hannah asks.
“I’m sorry,” Lizzy tells her. “I guess I jumped in a little too fast.”
“No, it’s my fault. I missed last week. I’m sorry.”
“Enough with the apologies,” Bridget quips. “Tell us what happened. I could use some good news.”
Lizzy looks at Hannah. “Brief recap. Greg got fired from work for watching porn. People in the town where I work, same town he works in, found out. Some parents got nervous and thought … who knows what … Anyway, the result was that I was asked to take the rest of the year off.”
“That’s horrible,” Hannah tells her.
“It wasn’t one of my better days. Greg and I fought. He left. And then he shows up last Wednesday trying to sneak out some of his stuff. He thought I wouldn’t be home until later.” She waves the toothpaste. “Anyway, during the past week, I feel like I got my act together. I went to the bank, set up my own account, and decided to leave him.” Years have melted off her face.
“Where are you staying?” Kathryn asks.
“For one more night, at the airport Hilton. I’m flying out tomorrow. I’m going to help build a school for children in the Peruvian jungle.”
“You’re not serious?” Gail fans herself.
“Yep. I am. I unplugged myself. I have no phone, no computer, just a ticket. I paid the mortgage for the next three months so the bank won’t take the house if Greg doesn’t pay.” She extends her arms. “I’m free. I keep waiting for Greg to call, to apologize, to make things better, and then I remember he can’t call, and even if he could, I can’t do anything to help him. So why should I sit around here and grow bitter?”
“I’m so frigging proud of you,” Bridget says.
“Me too,” Hannah agrees.
“It seems a bit sudden. You don’t want to think it over more thoroughly?” Gail asks.
“No. I’ve been wanting to do this for a while, but I always thought it was selfish to just leave for the summer. Not be there for Greg.” She laughs. “As if he wanted me.”
“So you’re coming back?” Kathryn asks.
Lizzy shrugs. “I plan to. But I’m open to whatever happens.”
“It’s wonderful that you are taking a very difficult and hurtful situation and turning it into something positive,” Hannah says.
“I wish I could go with you.” Bridget rubs her belly. “So is that why you didn’t call back? You had no phone?”
Lizzy’s smile fades. “I’m so sorry. I would have. But I didn’t know you called. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Well, no, actually.” She stares at Hannah. “I called you too.”
“I know,” Hannah replies. “Honestly, I was going to get in touch, but yesterday was really crazy.”
“Of course,” Bridget snaps. “What, a busy day taking the kids to play dates?”
Hannah leans forward. “Alicia ran away. We had to call the police. They didn’t find her until last night. I wasn’t trying to avoid you.”
“Oh my God.” Lizzy covers her mouth.
“It was the most harrowing day of my life. I thought all this stuff I’ve been dealing with with Adam was bad, but honestly, in comparison, it was nothing.” She looks at the rug and shakes her head. “The thought that I might have lost a child…”
“Do you know why she did it?” Gail asks.
“Basically she overheard Adam and me fighting. I said something to the effect of maybe I shouldn’t have had kids.”
“I’m sorry,” Bridget murmurs.
“Right now I feel like the luckiest person in the world. That she’s home and safe.”
“I’m glad she’s okay,” Lizzy says.
“Me too,” Bridget seconds.
“I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you,” Hannah says.
“Whatever.” Bridget shrugs. “Gail was there.”
Gail stands, moves her chair closer to Bridget, and resettles herself. “You can tell them,” she says, placing a hand on the arm of Bridget’s chair.
“Michael left me.”
Lizzy gasps.
“Yep,” Bridget says. “For my own fucking good.” She attempts a laugh.
“It’s all right to be upset,” Gail tells her.
Bridget shakes her head. “I know. It’s just so wrong. Him leaving me. He says I need space to heal and I can’t do that with him around. Isn’t he so kind and magnanimous?”
Gail sighs. “I’m in no way defending him. But sometimes space can be a good thing.”
“Yeah, except all I want to do is call him and tell him to go to hell and get the fuck out of my life, and then I remember, Oh yeah.” She throws up her arms. “He is out. How messed up is that?”
“It’s not messed up at all,” Hannah says. “You’re hurt and angry. You have every right to be.”
“I feel like the goddamned addict. You know how hard it’s been not to call him? And why hasn’t he called me? You’d think he’d feel just a little guilty. You’d thi
nk he’d want to check on his pregnant wife.”
“Why do you think he hasn’t called?” Kathryn asks.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think he only gives a shit about himself. But…” She sighs. “I guess we kind of have to stop the cycle we’re in. It’s not like we’re getting anywhere good.” She crosses her arms.
“You have to focus on the fact that you haven’t called him since he left.” Gail leans closer to Bridget. “That’s taken tremendous strength. Keep reminding yourself that some distance can bring clarity.”
“I’ve barely managed. I keep calling up his number.”
“But you haven’t hit send,” Gail says.
Hannah wishes she would have found a moment to call yesterday.
A tear rolls down Bridget’s cheek. “I don’t know if I can make it another day.”
“We’re here for you,” Gail says.
“We are,” Hannah tells Bridget.
“I’m so sorry that I’m leaving,” Lizzy whispers.
“Just promise me something.” Bridget brushes away a tear. “Promise you’ll stop apologizing for yourself.”
Lizzy smiles. “I’ll try.”
“Is there anything anyone else wants to say about Lizzy leaving?” Kathryn asks.
Lizzy blushes and holds up the toothpaste. “No, it’s fine. You don’t need to spend any more time on me.”
Hannah glances outside at a tree that stands near the window. The new buds, the first of the year, strike her as brave. “I’m so impressed. Why not go on an adventure? It sure as hell beats stagnating.”
“Do you feel as if you’re stagnating?” Kathryn asks.
“I think I was. I’ve been so focused on Adam changing, I think I missed looking at my part in the equation.”
“It’s not your fault,” Lizzy says.
“I know. I didn’t mean it like that. Just that there are things I can do for myself. To help myself.” She glances at the tree. “I feel so ashamed. I get that I didn’t do anything, but … it’s humiliating. To have this life. I don’t know how else to say it.” It feels as if there’s a hot coal sitting in her stomach. Although she realizes she’s barely shared anything, it’s as much as she can do tonight.
“I used to feel that way so much of the time,” Gail tells Hannah. “But talking truly does diminish the shame. Keep coming, keep sharing.” She looks at Bridget. “It gets easier. I promise.”
Hannah wishes she could believe Gail.
Kathryn talks about the importance of group fellowship and trust.
Gail keeps a watchful eye on Bridget, and Hannah looks at Lizzy. Next week that faded, sagging couch will be empty, and the two remarkable, brave women who shared it will be in other parts of the world.
Hannah
For the second night in a row, Hannah, her children, and Adam share the same bed.
At two in the morning, Alicia is cuddled into Hannah. Sam’s legs move softly. His face twitches, and a small smile appears. He is a happy dreamer. Hannah kisses the top of Alicia’s head. Adam’s arm drapes over Sam and his hand touches Alicia’s arm. The family nest is tranquil. Yet Hannah is anything but tired. Once again she relives yesterday’s events. The relief when she saw Alicia at the hospital, the gratitude, the joy, were the purest emotions she’d ever felt. She still feels those, but now other things are rustling—the remembrance of fear, the terror of loss.
Hannah strokes Alicia’s hair, then carefully slips out of bed and tiptoes to the glass door that opens onto their bedroom patio. The air is still heavy and humid. She sits on one of the Adirondack chairs as the rustling inside of her grows stronger. A few stars manage to fight through the haze. The boundaries of light from one collide into another. On a clear night, there would be thousands of lights, millions of points of intersection. Minutes later, the glass door clatters quietly on its tracks, and Adam joins her. He sits on the matching wooden chair.
“Do you want to talk?” he asks.
She glances at him and smiles. “I’ve been focusing on all the wrong things.”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
“Wouldn’t that be simple, to blame or not to blame? But it’s not one or the other. I have to take responsibility for how my behavior played a role in what happened, just as you do. The funny thing is, I’m not angry. Not at you or myself. Just sad that it had to come to this for me to see how narrow my vision has been.”
“You’re hardly close-minded.”
“Maybe not in some vague theoretical way, but the thing is, I really have been close-minded. I’ve been so fixated on your recovery, waiting for some magical moment that would assure me that I could live again. As if that could erase the past and somehow return everything to what it’s never been in the first place.”
“It hasn’t been all bad.”
“Of course not. But all my rules, trying to order things into neat lines or put them into pretty boxes, isn’t going to make my life something that it never was to begin with. I married you knowing the problems, yet I still closed my eyes and thought if I kept them squeezed shut tightly enough, somehow we’d be the fantasy that was never real to begin with.” A few stars shine boldly through a small break in the haze.
“Reality isn’t always fun to live with,” Adam says.
“Life is so strange,” she replies. “How we end up where we do. How much is just plain chance?”
“Probably more than we’d like to believe.”
“Certainly more than I’d like to believe. Then again, maybe it’s all beautifully scripted, every detail, so that in the end we’ll all have played our roles just as we were meant to play them.” The haze in the sky returns.
“I just hope like hell I get to keep playing your leading man.”
There is a pause in time, a stillness that comes with an acute awareness that for every gift there must be a sacrifice. The moment passes. Hannah feels a fleeting chill and rests a hand on top of Adam’s.
Gail
Thursday evening, as Gail listens to Schubert and prepares dinner, she thinks about the group and how lucky she is to have a man who is honest, dedicated, and willing to stay the course. Not that she has ever taken Jonah for granted, but last night as she listened to the others, she became sharply aware of how delicate marriages are, how much care and attention should be given to them. This evening’s meal, with its Irish theme, will show Jonah that their relationship is her priority.
The salmon is fresh, as is the lettuce and asparagus. Two weeks ago she had place mats and coasters made from pictures she found on the Web of the different places they’re visiting in Ireland. Their trip is in eight weeks, and she plans to make it a second honeymoon.
She lays the table, giving Jonah the place mat of Dingle, her favorite, with the sheep grazing in front of the blue sea and mountains. A piece of heaven. The champagne sits, chilled, in the silver ice bucket.
At seven-thirty, he isn’t home. Not to worry. In the bathroom off the dining room, she applies another coat of red lipstick and runs her fingers through her hair, which could use a fresh trim. But she’s been too busy. At least she had time for a manicure. She chose a soft peach polish.
He arrives at eight. She meets him in the foyer and sees immediately that his shoulders are slightly curled, weary.
“Here, let me take that.” She reaches for his briefcase. He doesn’t let it go.
“It’s fine. I can manage.”
“Long day?” she asks.
“Very. I’d really like to just relax in the study for an hour.”
“I made dinner,” she tells him.
He sighs. “The weather has left me with no appetite.”
“It’s light.” Her hands clasp in front of her chest.
“May I get by?” he asks.
She’s suddenly intensely humiliated. She hadn’t meant to be blocking his path. She plasters herself against the wall, holding in her stomach.
“What about a nice cold glass of champagne?” she asks.
He glances at her, his l
ight eyes panicked.
She laughs. “Don’t worry, you didn’t forget our anniversary.”
He places a hand on his shirt, which is coming untucked. He’s such the intellectual, no care in the world about clothes or appearances.
“Why the champagne?” He walks slowly toward the staircase.
“I wanted to do something nice for us. We’ve both been so busy, I thought this would be a treat. Come in the dining room. Have one glass with me.”
He nods, still facing the stairs. “Let me wash up. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
She puts their salads with cranberries and goat cheese on the table, then sits. She looks at her place mat, which has a picture of Donegal Castle, another one of their destinations.
The candied pecan that sits on the top of her salad is irresistible. She picks it off and enjoys the light crunch. Then she glances around, making sure Jonah isn’t in sight, and takes a pecan from his salad. They had both started with six; she wants to keep the numbers even. Ten minutes pass. She nibbles on four more pecans.
After ten more minutes, he joins her in the dining room. He’s changed into a white shirt and jeans. She can’t remember when she saw him last in jeans. Possibly never.
“New clothes?” she asks.
“Actually, most of the professors are wearing this type of thing. I thought I’d give it a try.” He sits at the head of the table.
“I never thought you’d be one to notice fashion trends,” she says.
“I have the occasional enlightened moment.”
“As long as it’s not more than occasional,” she teases.
“No need to worry about that.” He glances at the salad. “Looks good,” he says.
“I know you’re not hungry, but this is light. Would you like to open the champagne?”
“I think I’ll stick with water for tonight.”
He’ll change his mind after the salad. “Take a look at your coaster.” She feels like a child unable to contain her excitement.
“Nice,” he says. “Are they new?”
“I made them. Not actually made. But I found pictures and then had one of those photograph companies do it. That one is of a little bay in Inishbofin.”