“And here we all thought he just loved messing with her.”
“Oh, he wanted to mess with her, alright.”
“Alice!”
She chuckles, foot alighting the first step, and pauses to add without humor, “Let's just hope he can maintain his sobriety.”
Chapter 32
Max
Dad throws a log onto kindling in our stone hearth and, satisfied it’s ready to light, searches for matches. I’m standing behind him, aware there's a matchbook behind the photograph of Abby and I.
But I can’t show him and it’s bugging me as he searches everywhere, even lifting wood from the basket to see if matches dropped under them, at some point.
“They're behind the frame, Dad.”
He again searches the pile of wood.
“Dad. The photograph.”
He runs his hand on the fireplace’s ledge, behind the pipe that leads up through our roof. When he drops to his knees I start to lose my patience, not with him but with this whole situation. I’m tired of feeling helpless. Invisible.
“Dad! Get up.” I cross to point at the matches tucked away behind our smiling faces. “They're right here!”
He starts to go back to the wood pile! I lose my temper, “Dad, they're right fucking here!” and smack the yellow matchbox. It hurtles to the floor, balanced in an unbelievably rare way, on it’s skinny side.
I straighten up, stunned.
As if nothing is unusual, Dad picks them up, striking the sulfur, and I’m speechless watching flames jumping from match to kindling.
How did I make those move?
Mom and Abby appear at the top of our stairs, Abby walking down as Dad closes the hearth. “You sure this is okay, kiddo?
“Of course,” she smiles, voice gentle, “I don't mind the couch.”
I blurt, “You always hated that couch,” my mind on the matchbox.
Abby adds, for me, not them, “I used to mind the couch, but now it's growing on me.” And somehow it works. They don’t know she’s talking to me.
She and Dad cross paths in front of me, she for her temporary bed, and he for the borrowed one.
“Well, I really appreciate this,” sighs Mom, waiting for him to join her. “I just want to sleep until my eyes look normal again. I can't go out like this!”
“I like the company.”
“It must get lonely up here,” Mom says with a leading tone, so like the one Lorna used when asking if Abs had made new friends.
“I’m not lonely. I’m fine.”
Atop our stairs Dad pauses beside Mom, “Night, kiddo.” Ma takes the hint to leave Abby alone, and up they go.
Fuck, this hurts so bad!
My parents right there, grieving over me.
Abby’s voice cracks, “Guys?”
We all look at her.
Dad asks, “Something wrong?” while Mom waits, too.
My wife, my dear, loving angel, senses what I need without my having to say it. Sometimes it’s hard for me to articulate my emotions until long after I experience them. I’m so grateful as she says, “I just wanted you to know that Max knows how much you love him, how much you miss him,” and I turn to see their reaction, hoping they believe her!
My parents only frown.
“How do you know that, Abby?” Mom asks, suspicious.
“I just have a feeling. You know we're watched over by the ones we love most after they've moved on. I believe that.”
Mom sighs, “Well, I hope he isn't watching us.”
Dad blurts, “What?”
“I’d hate to think there's something great out there waiting for him and he's stuck here with us.”
I react, scoffing, “Mom!” Can’t she understand there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with the three people who are here right now?
“Alice,” sighs Dad.
“It's true! And to see my outburst tonight. I can't think of a worse torture.”
I call up to her, “I haven't seen any light, Mom.”
Disconsolate, Dad says, “If our boy is still around, I'm sorry but I want him to stay here.”
I mutter, “I don't have anywhere else to go, Dad.”
Mom’s tone sharpens. “Well, that's just selfish.” She grabs his arm, struggling for patience and not wanting to fight again, adding a hasty, “I’m sorry!”
Dad rolls his eyes, “I’m not doing anything!”
“Is it selfish,” I ask my wife, “that I don't want to leave?”
She mouths, no, as they argue.
“Just wanting it, Henry! Just wanting it is enough,” Mom insists, “You can't hold onto something that's been set free. Max was set free from this,” she pulls at her skin, “…and there is more than this. There is!”
The whole something more than this, neither she nor I can attest to. If there’s an afterlife, I’m in it. No grand lights coming to claim my soul, blah blah blah.
With a bite, Abby asks, “How do you know?”
And Dad shakes his head, “Well, I don't believe that.”
But my mother answers Abby’s question first, “I just know.” She touches Dad’s chest over his heart, voice tender. “And you know it, too.”
She walks the rest of the stairs, no longer interested in debate, soft mattress calling her, no more strength or fight left.
Dad frowns, hesitating.
Abby smiles, “Goodnight Henry.”
I join in, “Night Dad.”
He smiles back, “Goodnight Abby,” and walks upstairs.
Heartbroken, I disappear.
Chapter 33
Abby
Another morning of scrambled eggs, jam on toast, and farewells with promises to see each other again soon.
Henry is carrying their suitcase since rolling it along the bark-covered path is impossible. He stops and casts a final glance to the cabin, eyes flickering at the balcony just outside our bedroom on the second floor.
I stop walking, too, and look up, see the tree branches bending under a sudden breeze.
Alice, finger-combing her hair, stops walking, too.
“What, Henry?” she asks.
My heart is beating with hope I’m not alone.
I’m hoping he’d caught a glimpse of Max.
He frowns, “Nothing,” stepping away from their suitcase and closer to the cabin while taking a deep breath. “I was just remembering when he was ten and jumped off that thing.”
Alice chuckles, “Remembering scouring the yellow pages to find the nearest hospital for his broken arm? My goodness, do you remember phone books?!”
“Arm?” I smile, forgetting this story. “Not his legs?”
Henry offers, “No, he bruised both of those,” watching the balcony.
Alice explains, “Max did a cartwheel, and tried to catch himself with his hand. Of course he couldn’t at that height. Two stories up, I’m surprised he didn’t hurt himself worse!” Her smile shifts to her husband. “We had a lot of fun, didn’t we, Henry?”
“We sure did.” he whispers, “Max was a fun kid,” turning to offer a quiet smile to his wife of forty-three years. “Ready to go?”
She clasps his arm, tears hovering in her eyes. Dried leaves and crunchy bark give way to footsteps and we don’t speak, all of us in our own worlds until we hug each other outside their car.
I wave as they drive away.
I haven’t seen him all morning. He disappeared after Henry bid me goodnight, and hasn’t shown himself since. But now that I know he was at My Market, eavesdropping, I’m sure I’m not alone now.
The need to reconnect, though, talk to him, is strong in my heart. It was painful those days of absence.
While Alice made eggs, and Henry talked about sports teams I know nothing about, but knew Max was enjoying, I secretly planned suggestions I’d offer him later for what we could do once we were alone again. I’m excited to hear what he thinks.
My first choice, inspired by his parents, is to take a road trip. Maybe go up to Maine. It’s been years
since we last had lobsters on the water. He’ll love the view even if he can’t enjoy the food.
Or, if he preferred to stay here, I would enjoy that, too, because I’ve been hoping to explore the forest more, educate myself on the vegetation. My nagging interest is growing stronger.
I remember telling my team, “If you’re interested, you feel a spark. You’re compelled. That’s what we want. Find your curiosity. Poke around. When something interests you, follow that instinct because it will lead to fulfillment and even happiness.” It helped us target certain team members in specific areas they excelled at, because they cared. Productivity flourished. As is always the case when people are happy.
Am I happy?
Yes, I guess I am. Now that Max isn’t in his man cave anymore, thankfully. It’s good he got irritated by Jack because he showed himself and had to talk to me again. Plus, it gave me a chance to tell him, through telling Alice and Henry, that there is only one man for me.
Inside the cabin, I shut our old dark-wood door, my ponytail swinging as I spin around and smile to Max, wherever he is, “Well, that was awful!” From where I stand I scan the first level of our home.
Sunlight shines through the beautiful A-frame window, beams indicating the glass door is in desperate need of a wash, though. Another time.
Besides the windows, the cabin is quiet and clean. Alice wouldn’t hear of leaving a mess, bless her. Now it’s time for some fun.
My smile hovers, and I wait, but no Max.
I tease him, “I know you’re here,” and when he still doesn’t show, I remove my sweater, feeling warmer than I should.
The hours pass, each one more irritating than the last. An apple joins me on a single plate, methodically cut and chewed and cut and chewed and cut and chewed.
Why won’t he talk to me?
This is becoming a thing.
And I can’t let that happen.
I call out, “Max?” and even I hear a hint of sarcasm. I’m not the sarcastic type. He is.
What’s wrong with me?
I chew some more, loud crunching my company, until a thought dawns on me.
I grab the car keys and go.
Chapter 34
Max
Spent the last twenty-four hours thinking, feeling, running.
Traveled all around the area, from here in New Paltz to Gardiner to Accord and Kerkonkson, all the towns within Abby-distance. I traveled the forests, too, watched the turtles, the badgers, the foxes, the deer, avoided the snakes because they’re freaky. I scoured pretty much every inch of Minnewaska State Park hoping I’d scrape out an understanding of what this is. This unease. This knowing.
What is it?
Intuition? Instinct?
Ever since Lorna painted the picture I keep trying to unsee, I’ve been running in search of another solution. Couldn’t stay away long. When I felt her talking to Jack Mc-fucking-Caffrey — wish I could forget the Scottish fuck’s name — suddenly I flashed to My Market like I was pulled there, forced to watch her light up as she smiled at the Redwood-sized guy who was charming the pants off of her.
Bad term.
Her pants are staying on.
This is so painful!
Been running, but it won’t shut up. It was a whisper, then a voice like my own in normal conversation. Now it’s screaming that I’m not here to stay with my wife.
I’m here to help her move on.
Abby wipes her eyes, covering her tears with a smile. “Hey, handsome. You done playing hide and seek?”
I step into the light of our bedroom where she’s been sitting on the bed in a slip and robe that match her skin, no makeup, ready for bed, staring off, looking as sad as I feel.
“I was working some things out.”
Abby smiles, trying not to scare me off, “Without me?”
I’ve got no smile or reassurance to give her. “Without you.” I lower myself to the bed.
“Now, that's not exactly fair, is it?”
“Neither is my staying here.”
Abby's smile vanishes. “Neither is your leaving here!”
“Abs—”
“—No!” she cuts in, “I heard you tell your dad, you have nowhere else to go!”
I gently say, “That doesn't mean I should make you wait around for me.”
She laughs like that’s the most insane thing ever to reach her ears. “I’m not waiting around. I'm just here. I'm just—”
“—here,” I finish, motioning to our old bedroom where she sits alone, unless you count me.
Abby searches my eyes, my face, “There's nothing wrong with that, Max.”
I whisper, “Come on.”
“I don't care what other people want! I want you.”
“You seemed pretty happy flirting with that lumberjack guy.”
Abby reacts like I hit her. “I was just talking to him.”
I don’t want to say it, “You had that light in your eyes,” but I saw what I saw.
“I had no light in my eyes!”
“If anyone knows that light, it's me.”
Desperate, hardly able to speak, Abby insists, “I was just being nice!”
I lean in to tell her with all the love in my heart, “And you should be. You should be nice to men who like you and can hold you and make love to you—“
“—Oh God, you're killing me.”
“—and can grab your hands when you're about to fall off a cliff—“
“—I’m begging you—”
“—Hug his parents. Chop wood!”
Abby croaks, “Stop!”
“You should have a man who can be a man. I’m not a man anymore.” I reach out, tracing near her face, an inch beside her soft cheek. “I can never touch you again. Kiss you again. Feel your legs wrapped around me again.”
“Please don't do this!”
“You know how that makes a man feel? To not be able to touch his own wife?”
“Stop saying these things neither of us wants to hear.” Abby covers her face, breaking down and unable to face me.
I stand up, and disappear.
In the forest outside of our cabin, far enough away that Abs can’t hear me, I look up to the sky, to the Source, the Universe, God, or whatever it is people talk to.
I have to do something. I don’t want to go. What I just did to her, it wasn’t me. Not what I really want. Abs and I are meant to be together. Why was I robbed of my life so soon? Robbed of being with her on such an important day as our ten-year anniversary? Is there any reason to this whole ‘life’ thing — the pain, the heartache, the tests, the obstacles, the sorrow, the joys, the laughter, the sex and the love? Will I ever know the truth? Because it seems as far away to me as when I was alive.
“Why can't I keep her? You gave me this chance to be with her again. How come I know it's wrong to stay?”
I’ve never been a praying man, but I’ve nothing left to lose.
Trying again, I shout, “Fuck! You are killing me all over again.”
I point in the direction of town, the bookstore where we first met him, the market to which I was yanked like a dog on a leash.
“And that guy! Is that what you want? What are you trying to do? Torture me?!”
I swallow my rage, transform it into determination. That got me far in the finance world. It even gave me Abby when she was against opening her heart to me in the beginning.
It will help me keep her now.
I tell the heavens, “Stay away from us,” half-expecting to be struck down as I add, “Leave us alone.”
An owl hoots in the distance.
That’s it?
That’s my answer?
An owl?!
Abby…
I have to go to Abby.
Chapter 35
Max
I need a moment before I can go upstairs and speak to her, tell her what’s been going on with me, why I’m so screwed up this past week.
Maybe Abs can help.
But how?
I g
lance to the sound of urgent footsteps clamoring down our creaky staircase, step out from under them to see my wife no longer crying, a sense of purpose on her face. This isn’t just a bathroom break or a need for water.
“Where are you going?”
She pauses on the final step, holds up our car keys with a jingle she stops with her fist. “To the bridge”
As she passes me, I ask, “Where I proposed to you?”
“Yep!”
Starting to understand what’s going on here, I rasp, “Abby,” pointing with my chin, “you're not wearing shoes.”
She looks at her bare feet, locks eyes with me. “I don't need them anymore.”
If she jumps off that bridge, the questions end. Forever.
It might be the only way we can be together. I want that. We’re standing in our living room, surrounded by our memories, my wife and I together, yet apart.
Cautious hope fills my question, “You're doing this?”
Frustrated and as angry as I am, Abby answers, “I’m going to make it so I can touch you again.”
She spins, and walks out our front door.
Is this the answer to my prayer?
The bridge. Where I kneeled down and asked her to marry me during a normal walk, when she least expected it. We were holding hands, strolling over the old Springtown Truss Bridge, built back in the 1800’s. Originally for trains through Wallkill Valley it is now used by hikers, bikers, and joggers to access the beautiful park it leads to on the east side.
When Abby believed we should just live together, I bought her a ring, kneeled down without warning, and said, “Abigail Lyons, the thing is…if we merely shack up for life, nobody will see this ring and know you’re mine. I want to be with you forever, Abs.”
That did it.
And here we are.
Choosing forever again.
But suddenly a pain twists insides me. Something is wrong. I start to pant, flashing outside, stopping her in her tracks — even scaring her which I’ve never done. Ever since she’s be able to see me I’ve walked around like a normal man to feel like one, and let her believe it, too, that nothing has changed.
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