by Jo Leigh
“I wasn’t mad.”
He looked up at her then, turning his head so she could see his annoyance. “You were so.”
“I wasn’t mad because you didn’t want to play baseball. I was upset because you didn’t tell me. What if something had happened to you when you were at the library? I wouldn’t have known where to find you.”
He didn’t say anything. He just kept looking at her with accusing eyes. His lower lip quivered just a bit, but he didn’t cry. He turned suddenly, so she couldn’t see his face. “You promised you wouldn’t tell.”
He’d heard her talking to Mike. So that’s what this was about. She tried to remember what she’d said this morning, but the conversation was a blur. She touched Sam’s hand, but he pulled away from her.
“Daddy isn’t mad at you.”
“Yes, he is.”
“No, sweetheart. He cares about you. He worries sometimes, but all parents do that.”
“Why doesn’t he want to live with us anymore?”
She hadn’t expected that question, although she should have. Sam had never really talked to her about the divorce. She’d tried to explain many times, but he’d only listened in silence. She’d accepted that as understanding. “Do you think Daddy doesn’t live with us because of something you did?”
He nodded as he brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them close to his body.
“Sam, look at me,” she said. “Come on. Turn around.”
He moved slowly. She could tell he didn’t want to look at her, that he didn’t want to hear the answer to his question. The wrong answer, at least. Finally, he let go of his grip on his knees, and he turned enough so that she could see him. But he didn’t look at her.
“Daddy and I got divorced because we couldn’t live together anymore. It had nothing to do with you. We both love you very much. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“If I had died instead of Amy, he wouldn’t have left.”
Becky’s heart skipped a beat. Had he been living with that idea for two years? My God, how could she have missed it? She looked at him again, but it wasn’t enough. She got to her knees and grabbed him, pulling him tight against her in a fierce hug. “Oh, Sam. No. That’s not true at all. We didn’t want to lose Amy, but we never stopped loving you. Not even for a minute.”
She laid her cheek against his soft hair, and closed her eyes as she tried to transmit her love to him through her fingers and her hug, and to stop the guilt that had her stomach in knots. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Mike standing in the doorway. She hadn’t heard him come up the stairs, had no idea how long he’d been there. Had he heard Sam’s confession? She met his gaze.
He had. Her own anguish was mirrored in his face.
Sam held her tightly, and she felt his little body shake with his tears. She rocked him gently back and forth.
“You're so wonderful,” she said. “I wouldn’t trade you for anyone in the whole world. Not anyone. You hear me?”
Mike came into the room hesitantly. She watched him, still holding on to Sam for all she was worth. He needed to be here, too. Sam needed them both so much.
“Hey, kid.”
Sam grew still. Becky loosened her grip on him, and he turned to look at his dad.
“It was never your fault,” Mike said. “Mommy left because I couldn’t be the kind of husband she needed. It had nothing to do with you. I was always sorry I couldn’t be with you more. But that’s going to change. I promise. You wait and see—” His voice broke and he looked away quickly.
Sam scrambled out of the bed and ran to his father, who bent low and scooped him into his arms.
Becky watched the two of them and wished with all her heart that things could be different. That they could go back to the way they were before Amy had gotten sick. It was a foolish wish, she knew that, but she couldn’t help it. Life had been so very sweet then.
At least Mike was trying. She truly believed that he would be there for Sam. He’d changed in the last few days. This experience had been a nightmare, but at least Mike had had the chance to spend time with his son, to see how important it was for him to be a real father.
She should be happy. Her son was the most important thing in her life, wasn’t he? Seeing him connect with Mike should be enough. But it wasn’t. She wanted it all. She wanted Mike to love her again, too.
Mike eased his bear hug and leaned back. He looked into his son’s brown eyes and saw all the innocence in the world. Sam needed him to be strong, to be wise, to keep him safe. He wanted to be all those things, but wanting wasn’t enough.
He would disappoint his son. Maybe not today, but he would. Sam would look at him the way Becky had in those last months. The way Amy had.
The image of his daughter’s face came to him clearly. She was in the hospital. It was her last day. Her last moment. And she’d looked at him with such anger, such distrust in her eyes that he could barely stand from the weight of it. She hadn’t let him touch her. She’d died not wanting him near.
He put Sam down on the floor. “Go on,” he said. “Go to your mom.” He physically turned Sam around so he was facing Becky. It took no more prodding than that. Sam went back to the bed and climbed up. Becky’s arms went around him as he fell into her lap.
Mike couldn’t look any more. “I'll be downstairs,” he said.
“Wait,” Becky said. “Don’t you want to—”
He didn’t stick around to hear the rest. He needed to think. To sort out some things by himself.
The cabin felt cold and strange. He hated this place, the damn flowers on the couch and the ugly curtains. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the kitchen. When he got to his room, he kicked the door open. It sounded as if he’d broken the lock. Good.
Too much was happening here. Memories he’d managed to bury for two years were surfacing with alarming frequency. Amy, the funeral, the look on Becky’s face when they’d lowered their baby into the ground. It was more than he could take. He wanted to go back to that place he’d found where he didn’t think and didn’t feel. He’d mastered his emotions once, he could do it again.
The closet door was already open. He gripped the chinning bar with both hands and stiffened his body. He lifted himself slowly, feeling each muscle in his arms and shoulders pull and strain.
He wanted it to hurt. He wanted to be swallowed up in physical pain, to blot out everything but the muscles and the sweat and the effort. Again and again he pulled up and down, forcing his breath to be even and rhythmic, his mind to go numb.
But this time, Amy wouldn’t go away. Becky was still there, too. Both of them accusing him with their eyes, with their thoughts, with their tears. His mind filled with ghosts of the past, and worse, the present.
* * *
“Is there something else you want to tell me?” Becky stood by Sam’s bed. He was sitting up with his computer on his lap. She was reasonably sure their reassurances had calmed him, but something was still bothering him. She could tell by the way his dark eyes seemed shadowed, and the tentative smile he couldn’t manage to keep steady. There was more to his story, she was certain.
“No. I'm okay,” he said, concentrating on his video game.
“Will you do me a favor?”
He nodded.
“Don’t scare me like that again. If something bothers you, you come and talk to me about it. Or you can talk to Daddy. Running away doesn’t solve anything.”
He nodded again, unconvincingly.
She turned to look outside. The winds had picked up sharply, and the snow was coming down hard and fast. If he went out in this weather, he would never make it to the first cabin. “Promise?”
“I promise,” he said.
She wasn’t going to get any more out of him now. Maybe tonight, when he was sleepy. He told her things in the dark that he didn’t have the courage to say in daylight. “All right. I'm going downstairs. If you need me, you holler.”
His thumb moved furiously on the joystic
k and his gaze darted across the monitor. At least he was safe while his nose was buried in the computer.
She left him, and didn’t shut the door on her way downstairs. The events of the day had worn her out and even though she’d just gotten up, she longed to go right back to sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Sam had said. He really believed that if he had died instead of Amy, Mike and she wouldn’t have split up. It was completely untrue, but he hadn’t known that until today.
How had she missed it? Where had she been?
She didn’t see Mike in the living room, and was a little surprised to find herself in the kitchen alone. She put up some water in the kettle, then went to the window above the sink and pushed the curtain aside. The storm had come back, and it seemed angrier this time, as if the lull had stoked its fire. So much for going home. They would never be able to drive in this, and she wasn’t about to put Sam on a snowmobile unless she absolutely had to. But, God, she wanted out of here. She needed time to herself, time to think about what she was feeling.
Sam wasn’t the only one bothering her. Mike confused the hell out of her, too. She didn’t understand him at all. Every time she thought she’d figured him out, he did something totally unexpected.
Why had he left so abruptly? He was this close to making a real connection with Sam and then, boom, he shut down completely. The only thing she knew for sure was that she didn’t dare keep her hope alive. It didn’t matter that she still cared about him; he was as deadly as the storm, as tricky as the wind. She needed a constancy and commitment that he could never give her, and wishing it could be different had accomplished nothing.
He would come through for Sam. That would be enough.
The kettle whistled, and she went to make herself some tea. As she poured the boiling water into the cup, she thought about her life back in Boulder. She’d been so busy filling up her days with work and school and meetings that she hadn’t even noticed that her son was crying for help.
The hot water spilled over the rim of the cup. After putting the kettle down on the stove, she poured a little of the water into the sink, then went to the table and sat down.
She stared at the darkening liquid, too tired to stir in a packet of sugar. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this weary. She didn’t want to think any more, or worry, or care. She wanted someone else to be the grown-up.
“Is he okay?”
She looked up. Mike stood in the doorway. His hair was damp and she could see that he’d been sweating. “You've been on the chinning bar I see.”
He nodded. “I was going to take a shower, but I wanted to make sure Sam was okay first.”
“He’s upstairs. Go see for yourself.”
Mike didn’t turn around. Instead, he came to the table and pulled out the chair facing her. He sat, ran his sleeve across his forehead, and sighed. “Poor kid. I had no idea he blamed himself for the divorce.”
“Takes after his father that way.”
His brows went down. “What do you mean?”
“Blaming himself then running away. It’s something of a pattern with you two.”
Mike stood up so quickly, his chair nearly toppled backwards. “Forget it.”
“No,” she held out her hand. “Wait. I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why not? It’s what you believe. It’s always been easy for you to point the finger, hasn’t it?”
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Why the hell not? Because we're focusing on you for a change?”
She looked up at him, really confused at his anger. “No, that has nothing to do with it.”
“Of course it does. You're damn good at holding the mirror up to everyone else, but you run whenever it turns to you.”
“Mike, it’s been a really bad day. Can we have this fight another time?”
“I'm not fighting. I'm just telling you the truth. You're always accusing me of hiding behind some mask. Well, I've got news for you. The only difference between you and me is the packaging.”
She stood up, too. “Don’t put your demons on me,” she said. “I'm not the one who runs off at the first sign of an emotion.”
“No?” He walked toward her. One of the dining room chairs was in his path, and he tossed it aside so roughly it clattered to the floor. He didn’t stop until he was right in her face. “Let’s look at some hard facts, shall we? When Amy was diagnosed, and I wanted to talk about it, what did you do? You joined three different cancer support groups. Three. When I didn’t want to go to a damn meeting every night of the week, you told me I didn’t love her enough. Or did you forget that?”
She backed up, trying to get away from his eyes and his accusations. The stove stopped her, and she tried to dart to her right, but his hand caught her and held her steady.
“Let me go.”
“No. You're going to listen.”
She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t shut out his words.
“Every time I tried to help with Amy, you told me I was doing it wrong. I didn’t know how to bathe her properly, I wasn’t gentle enough to sit with her during chemo. My stories scared her, my beard hurt her skin. And when I wanted to make love, when I needed you in my bed, you turned your back on me. It wasn’t because you were too tired. It was because you were afraid I would give you another damaged child.”
“No.” She dared another look at him.
His lip curled in a mocking smile. “She was a smart little girl, our Amy. She learned her lessons well. In the end, she only wanted you. Remember? You taught her that. You stole her from me.”
She slapped him. The sound was sharp, like a rifle shot. She could see the imprint of her fingers on his cheek.
He let her go.
She ran then, to the only place she could think to get away. She threw the basement door open and nearly fell as she went down the steps, blinded by her tears, shaking with horror at what he’d said.
The dark room swallowed her up, but she didn’t stop moving until she hit the big dryer. She put her hands down on the cold surface, afraid that if she didn’t, she would fall where she stood. Then she wept.
Mike stood at the door to the basement. He couldn’t see into the darkness, and he thought about turning on the light for her. He heard her cry, a deep wellspring of sadness, of anger. He touched the side of his face, where she’d slapped him. She’d surprised him with that, all right. But she’d also knocked the fight out of him. There was no satisfaction in this. He’d had no intention of saying those things, even though they were true.
There had been too much pain. Enough. The word reverberated in his head. Enough.
He flipped on the light, and headed down the stairs.
She was leaning on the dryer, bent almost double. Her sobs ripped a hole in him, and he felt awash in shame. What could he say now? Sorry didn’t come close.
Chapter 12
He stood for a moment, in the cold sterile room, listening to her weep as the wind wailed in accompaniment. Then he moved slowly forward, until she was very close. Finally, he reached for her arm and turned her around. The tragedy, their tragedy, was etched on her face, seared in her eyes. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. She fell against him, her cheek next to his. He wasn’t sure whose tears fell to his shoulder.
Becky hung on to him as wave after wave of pain and guilt swept through her. All she had left inside her were tears and memories. She didn’t want to believe the horrible things Mike had said, she would give anything for him to take them back, but it was no use.
She remembered watching Mike hold Amy, and how she would try to be patient and calm, but then she couldn’t stand it another minute and she would take her from him. Those nights when she’d found Mike singing softly to his little girl, and instead of being comforted by his gentle love, she’d been filled with an inexplicable rage.
She shut her eyes more tightly, as if she could somehow hide from the pictures in her mind. But they came, tumbling one on top of ano
ther, terrible in their intensity. Amy’s shrieks of pain, the bars on the side of her hospital bed. The smell of medicines and sickness, the sound of rubber soles on linoleum. Over it all, the fear that had turned her inside out, that made her want to scream until she had no voice, to cry until she had no tears. The anger at a heartless God who could hurt an innocent child.
From somewhere far away she heard a voice.
“Shh,” he said. “It’s all right.”
Closer still was a tender hand on her hair, petting her slowly. It was hard to breathe, but the hand and the voice made it easier. She seemed to fall from a great height, and when she opened her eyes, Mike was there, holding her up.
She let go of him long enough to wipe her face with her sleeve, then she grabbed on to him again. She looked up into his face, expecting to see his rage, but it was gone. Somehow that was worse. She broke free and leaned once again on the dryer.
“I want to say it’s all lies,” she said. “I want it to be lies, but it isn’t.”
He moved closer to her, but she stepped away. She didn’t deserve his touch.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She heard her own bitter laugh. “That’s my job, right? To tell you what you've done wrong?” She had to swallow hard and hold back another wave of tears. When she could talk again, she said, “How hard it must have been for you. To keep quiet all this time. Why? Why didn’t you say something before?”
His gaze shifted to something in the dark part of the basement. “Because I believed you.”
She stared at the man she’d loved with every ounce of her being and knew she’d hurt him beyond repair. Funny thing is, she’d never pictured herself as the villain. It was always the cancer or God or Mike. She winced. That was the truth, wasn’t it? She’d painted him the monster, turned him into the object of her hate. All this time, she’d blamed him for the breakup of their marriage, when she was the one at fault.
It was too much. She felt as though she’d fallen through the looking glass into an upside-down world. Black was suddenly white, light was dark, and she was spinning out of control.