Perfect Piece

by Rebeca Seitz

  She leaned her head against his hip. “Hey, yourself.”

  His hand automatically went to her shoulder. In her presence, his heartbeat slowed and peace settled upon his shoulders. He felt the balm of being with her soothe the worry that battered his soul.

  Tandy smiled at him. “I was just telling Meg that Clay and I are having a boring night at home tonight. We’d be happy to take the kids off your hands if you’d like. You two haven’t had much time together lately.”

  He sent up a prayer of thanks for a considerate, sympathetic sister-in-law.

  “And I was telling her she didn’t have to do that.” Meg tapped the table with her fingertips. “I’m totally capable of handling my own children.”

  “I didn’t mean you weren’t, Sis. Just thought you might like a little peace and quiet. And having them over is fun for Clay and me. We get to act all silly and have a good excuse for a messy apartment when they leave. I don’t clean up for weeks.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Jamison thought again of that long Sunday in front of the fire. Maybe simply being together and talking would help ease the strain that had followed her from surgery.

  Meg looked up at him. “You want this?”

  He sensed a land mine in there somewhere, but reading her mind was nearly impossible before the surgery. This new Meg left him completely bewildered. “An evening at home with you is a great way to end a Saturday.”

  “Yeah, but do you think the kids need to be away from me right now? I mean, it’s not as if their world hasn’t been turned upside down enough. Now we’re carting them off to my sister’s.”

  “It’s only for a few hours,” Tandy reasoned. “I don’t think it would unsettle them.”

  “How would you know? They’re my kids.”

  Jamison cast about for something to say. Meg had never questioned the wisdom of allowing the children to visit any of the sisters. One day not so long ago they’d enjoyed a wonderful afternoon together while Joy kept James and Hannah and his mother kept Savannah. So what was her problem?

  Tandy stared at Meg.

  Fear began tapping again on Jamison’s heart. He didn’t know which caused it more—the fact that he didn’t recognize the attitude of this woman he’d called wife for a decade—or the thought that he could feel such fear in her presence.

  Her rigid shoulders suddenly drooped beneath his arm. “I’m sorry.” She rubbed her temples. “I don’t know what that was about. Just ignore me. Take the kids. They’ll probably be thrilled to go somewhere without their crazy mother.”

  “Hey.” Tandy reached across the table. “You’re not crazy.”

  “Don’t be too sure.”

  A small frown teased Tandy’s brow. “You’re not. Jamison, tell her.”

  He squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “Of course you’re not crazy. You’re just recovering. You’ll be fine. This will all be fine.”

  He hoped the words sounded more certain than he felt. His need for her to believe in the ability to heal, to be whole again, to be Meg again, strangled him.

  She patted his hand on her shoulder. “You’re right. I’m tired and emotional.”

  “How about a quick power nap while I pack up the kids’ stuff for Tandy’s?”

  “Sure.”

  He watched her rise, take the walker from where it rested on a nearby chair back, and walk toward the door. Her right leg seemed a little better, but he had enough self-awareness to know that could be his hope talking.

  “She is going to get better.”

  He looked down to find Tandy’s eyes upon him.

  “The thing is, I don’t know that.”

  “It’s only been a couple of weeks since the surgery.”

  “Yeah.” He glanced over at Clayton and saw that Savannah had fallen asleep by his side. “Look at those two.”

  “Adorable, aren’t they?”

  “When she’s asleep like that, it’s easy to forget the tantrums and yelling.”

  “Ah, parenthood. Ain’t it grand?”

  He sighed. “Some of the time.”

  “But not when you’re left to do it on your own with a wife recovering from brain surgery?”

  “Yeah, not so much then.”

  “She will get better, Jamison.”

  He met her eyes. “I really hope so.”

  “I know so.” Tandy pushed her chair back and stood up. “I’ll call Joy and let her know I’m taking the kids so she doesn’t need to come over this afternoon.”

  “Thanks, Tandy.” He’d never liked taking help from people, but he certainly had appreciated it these past weeks.

  “Anytime.”

  Eight

  You volunteered us for what?” Clay’s voice boomed through Tandy’s cell phone.

  “You didn’t see his face, sweetie.” Tandy checked her rearview mirror. All four kids fought sleep. “He’s so tired he can’t see straight and his worry for Meg is about three times the size of Mount Everest.”

  “So you said we’d take all three kids? For how long?”

  “Just tonight. I’m supposed to bring them back around bedtime. It’s only a few hours. What’s the big deal?”

  Clay sighed. “I thought we were spending a quiet evening at home alone. I’d planned to get Clayton down and have some time with you.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. You’re right. We should help out with the kids, and Jamison needs a break. You and I can spend tomorrow together.”

  “We’ve got church in the morning.”

  “We could have Joy stop and get Clayton, take him to church, and spend the morning together.”

  She braked at a red light and considered playing hooky from church. If she went, everybody and their brother would be asking all the sisters about Meg. She’d be forced to listen to the gossips pretend care and concern when really they were just digging for information to blab all over town through the week. The few who truly cared had come by the hospital or Daddy’s farm.

  “You’re corrupting me, Mr. Kelner.”

  “Every chance I get, Mrs. Kelner.”

  She laughed. “Okay, I’ll call Joy and see if she can get Clayton. You get to explain to Daddy how you persuaded me to backslide and not go to church on Sunday morning.”

  “Not a problem. You’re dad believes in the sanctity of marriage and understands the wisdom of not taking each other for granted.”

  “Hey, I think I’m going to drive around for a while before I come home. The kids are either asleep or near it, and if I stop this van, you know Clayton will wake right up and not go back down for hours.”

  “Yep. Take your time. I’ll be here when you get home.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Tandy flipped her phone closed and looked in the mirror again. Four sets of eyelids rested on four little cheeks. She checked the gas gauge and debated whether wasting pricey gas to keep them asleep was worth it. An image of Clayton— exhausted and red-faced from crying his way down to sleep after an interrupted nap—made up her mind.

  “Time to keep the gas stations in business.”

  * * *

  JAMISON UNFOLDED A quilt and spread it out before the fireplace. Despite the even temperatures they’d been having, he had his heart set on an evening in front of dancing flames. He wanted to see them shine in her eyes hear her voice. He didn’t care if they talked about the past few weeks, if only they talked.

  So he’d done what any sensible husband bent on creating a “moment” with his wife would do: cranked the AC up, created winter in his home, and built a fire. He snatched pillows from the couch and arranged them for maximum comfort. The bubble bath he’d drawn and escorted her into should be cooling off right about now. He needed to get upstairs and help her from the tub. Once her leg started getting all the signals from her brain again, she wouldn’t need so much of his help.

  He both longed for that time and dreaded it. Having Meg dependent on him let him know he was needed.
He felt guilty about feeling good.

  Checking the room once more, he noted the dimmed lights, flickering candles, and steady fire. As perfect a setting as he could make it.

  He left the living room and walked through the kitchen where dishes from dinner still sat in the sink. How Meg had kept the house clean, the kids fed, and all the family balls up in the air still eluded him. The dishes would simply have to wait until morning.

  The Berber carpet on the stairs beneath his feet needed to be vacuumed. Little bits of Otis fur had gathered in the creases between steps. Did Meg notice these things? Had they been here before this nightmare began but escaped his attention? No, he doubted Meg had allowed dog fur to build up to this extent. He hadn’t been that caught up in the day-to-day that a mound of black fur would go unnoticed.

  He turned into their bedroom. Flickering candlelight played off the double wedding ring quilt on their bed and the soft gold paint of the walls. The room looked as if it danced with delight. Sheer curtains swayed in the slight breeze coming from the sliver of opened window. Perhaps he should forego the living room and stay up here with her. The stairs wouldn’t be easy for her to navigate anyway.

  It startled him, this longing to simply be in her presence and hear her voice. Oh, he’d love to put his arms around her, hold her, remember the physical ways in which they’d always fit together so well. But it was too soon for that. Tonight, all he wanted to hear were her words. He yearned for Meg’s wit to float effortlessly across those lips and assure him that her brain hadn’t changed so much that his heart wouldn’t recognize her.

  Images of the fire downstairs and all of his preparations flitted through his mind. He could clean it up before morning. She would never know about it, thus having no reason to regret her difficulty in getting to the bottom floor of the house.

  He crossed the bedroom floor, the hardwood under his steps giving off a chill. If they were staying up here, he’d need to adjust the air conditioner. He stopped in the bathroom doorway.

  Meg lay beneath a mound of bubbles, her head resting on the lip of the tub, one hand draped over its edge. Water droplets had fallen from her fingertips and pooled on the tile just beside a bath mat. Her eyes were closed and the tiniest of smiles played at her mouth.

  His heart eased at the sight of that smile. Even the beginnings of a smile meant his Meg was still in there somewhere. He leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms with as little noise as possible. Drinking in the relaxed image of Meg, he could believe all would be right in their world one day soon. Even if she changed a little, deep down inside he knew that his Megan would never leave.

  He shifted and the sound caused her to stir. “Hey.” Exhaustion and contentment laced her voice.

  Not moving from his position, unwilling to mar the peace that lay upon her face like dew on morning grass, he smiled. “Hey yourself. Good bath?”

  Her lids came down over the blue eyes in which he’d gotten lost more times than he could count. “Excellent bath.” The small smile blossomed into an almost full-scale version. “This is exactly what I needed.”

  “Happy to be of service.”

  “Did you tie the kids up and duct tape them to chairs?”

  He kept the laugh as low as the candlelight. “Even better. They’ve gone ahead and left with Tandy.” At her opened eyes, he hurried to clarify, “But she’ll bring them back later tonight. It’s only for a few hours.”

  Again, the lids relaxed and her shoulders eased back into the bubbles. “Thank you for that. I don’t know why I can’t stand to be away from them.”

  He did, but a thousand horses stampeding toward him with fire in their eyes wouldn’t make him say it aloud. Of course a mother faced with the distinct possibility of not seeing her kids safely to adulthood wouldn’t want to be away from them overnight. He’d watched her anxious eyes follow them around the room and seen the numerous instances in which she reached out to run her hand down one’s hair or pat one’s shoulder, as if to reassure herself they all still lived. Hatred for life’s unexpected turns coursed through his veins, but he ignored it. Nothing to be done but keep living.

  “I thought you might have become a raisin by now.”

  She held up the hand that had been draped over the bathtub edge. Candlelight infused the warmth of life into her long, slender fingers. “I’d say I’m about at prune stage.”

  A decorative towel hung on the towel bar to his right. They never used the pretty towels, the ones that were monogrammed with their initials and given to them as wedding presents. Tonight, though, it felt as natural as the breeze at his back to pull the towel from its rack, take two steps to her side, and offer it.

  Her eyebrows raised.

  He shrugged. “I think the folks who gave them to us meant for us to use them.” He held her gaze and watched uncertainty play in the pools of blue.

  Finally she stood and took the towel without a word.

  Tension seeped into the room and he cast about for its cause. Desperation quickened his heartbeat. Had he said something to remind her of her condition? Of her frailty? He inwardly cursed, then rebuked himself for even thinking the word. Losing his morals wouldn’t help him deal with the situation.

  She held out a hand and he moved quickly to help her from the tub. Her weight was slight as she leaned on him before stepping onto the bath mat. Her second leg didn’t come as easily as the first, but he noted that she got it over the lip without having to assist with a hand. Progress.

  As she removed her weight from his side, she unfolded the towel and skimmed it over her skin.

  Her shoulders bowed, her face was cast toward the floor. All this from simply giving her one of the good towels? Did that somehow emphasize something negative? All he’d wanted was to give her the best.

  “Megan?”

  She didn’t raise her head. “Hmm?”

  “Did I say something?”

  “No.”

  “Did I do something?”

  Her sigh was so small it could have been only his imagination. “Not really.” She wrapped the towel around a frame grown more slight since the surgery.

  He dared to put an arm around her and lead her toward the bedroom. She allowed herself to be directed, dropping onto the bed beside him when he gently pulled her down. They sat, shoulder touching shoulder, letting the whisper of wind swirl around their legs and across their bare feet.

  He said the only thing that came to mind. “Was it the towel?”

  She laid a hand wrinkled from exposure to the tub water upon his knee. “Not really. It’s what the towel made me realize.”

  “And what was that?”

  She took her hand back, folded her arms across her chest. “We have a lot of things I keep put away for a special day.”

  He thought of their wedding china wrapped in bubble wrap and tucked into boxes, only brought out at Christmas. The Tiffany platters his parents had given them for their anniversary every year lay hidden in the same cabinet as those boxes, only seeing the light of day when it came time to celebrate the birth of the Christ child. Monogrammed towels hung in each of their bathrooms, with towel hooks on the backs of the doors for their “every day” towels to dry unseen.

  “It occurred to me that no one has promised us special days.” A tear slid down her cheek. He watched it travel across her skin, marking a path now achingly familiar to his eye. He knew where tears liked to fall on that lovely face. He’d watched enough of them now to have memorized every centimeter.

  She didn’t turn to meet his gaze.

  Words wouldn’t come. No, they hadn’t been promised a certain number of days. Heck, they hadn’t even been promised their next breath. But did that mean they should live like every single second could be the last? No one could live like that. Living required planning. He taught that to every client that walked in the door. IRAs and retirement plans and 401k options—those were about preparing for the future. A wise man prepared for the future.

  He struggled for a way to explain
the balance of living for today while planning for tomorrow. Every sentence seemed imperfect somehow and so he sat in silence—until she leaned her head upon his shoulder.

  That small act infused him with courage. This was Meg, and she obviously had a lot of fear to deal with. Heaven knew he had enough fear for the entire state population as well, but right now she needed a man who could hold her hand and tell her they’d be together for a thousand tomorrows. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter as much as him simply saying it, letting her know that one of them believed in the future.

  He needed to be man enough to let her lean on him.

  Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close. “Every day I have with you is a special day. I gave you the towel not because I’m worried we won’t have special days, but because I don’t think we’ve been enjoying the days we have. You and I have a lot of days, of years, left together. I know that in my heart. This is a rough time, but we’re going to get through. And we’re going to do that while using our good towels and our good dishes and recognizing that we can plan for the future even while we enjoy the present.”

  He stopped to take a breath. Was that little speech right? He didn’t know, but something had to be said. Frustration welled up inside. The ease of their relationship was lost and he wanted to hit somebody for it. For years he’d watched buddies gripe about their home lives, their nagging wives, and every other detail of being married. He and Meg had fought, of course, but there was an ease about the whole thing that he’d never appreciated until he couldn’t find it.

  In its place were two people scared that life could be so harsh and that they might not be able to face life—or what was left of it—together. He tightened his hold on her shoulders. No need to think that way now that they were through surgery, though. Her tumor was gone. It wouldn’t be back. All he had to do was get through recovery.

  Sitting there on the bed, though, he considered the setting he’d so meticulously prepared downstairs. In days past Meg would have known almost with a sixth sense that his drawing her a bath meant something more, meant that he needed to connect with her again. To let the volley of their wordplay stitch them together. She would join him downstairs, and they would sit in front of the fire talking, laughing, and sharing love as only married people should. She would have known that course of events the second she saw the bathwater.