by Cameron Lowe
Winnie became something of a needy child at that age, but Gwen could understand it. She’d been their sole focus for years, and now she had a newborn sister and a brother on the way. There had to be some jealousy of the time Gwen and Malcolm focused on Roslyn and their as-yet unnamed third child, so she made a point of developing some new habits with Winnie, like a movie night, where Winnie got to pick a movie from the kids’ section at the library and they’d curl up together with popcorn – salted for Winnie, unsalted for Gwen since overindulging made her ankles swell up. It was during those nights, Gwen suspected a few years later, that Winnie began to develop a love for theater and music. She gravitated towards musicals aimed at kids or movies with big song and dance numbers. Gwen couldn’t count the number of times Winnie picked out Annie until she finally found a copy of it for their new (to them, anyways – it had been fifteen dollars at a garage sale) DVD player.
It was a quiet year on the family front too. Now in his own gorgeous little studio apartment, Hugh seemed to be enjoying life in Ogunquit. He had a regular girlfriend, the daughter of the owner of the landscaping business he worked for during the days. On weekends, he loved working part-time for one of the local fly-fishing shops, a topic he and Malcolm could chat about for hours. Hugh had also taken to writing a self-care blog, updated twice a week religiously. It had started as a mean of communicating his wellness to his sister, but he’d cultivated a small, friendly readership of fellow attempted suicide survivors, their families, and the loved ones of those who weren’t so lucky. It sated his need to write, to create, and in it he found a measure of rejuvenation. Strangest and sweetest to Gwen was that one of the first comments on each blog usually came from Nic, offering support, commiseration, or a bad joke or two.
Charlie and Denise, now married and expecting their first child, grabbed Hugh up twice a week for dinner or a night out. Sometimes, Charlie said, he caught Hugh crying and couldn’t get him to talk about it, and those days always made him a little scared, but it generally came out eventually if he was patient and didn’t push too hard.
Daphne still took on the brunt of their daycare needs. She was thrilled to have two granddaughters to dote on. Elliot was a completely different person around them, jovial and sweet and goofy. Gwen could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she’d heard up until that year her father sing – the most memorable being the time at a busy bar and grill he drank a few too many Long Island ice teas and serenaded his wife – but Winnie taught him the words to her favorite musical numbers and he belted them along with her, never sarcastically, never with a knowing wink at the other adults in the room. Winnie and Roslyn, and later Marley, were his universe. His do-over, as it were.
Juliet came around frequently. Nearing forty, she was growing tired of the dating game and had started to focus on her own hobbies and interests with more of a passion. She took up needlepoint, bicycling, and, of all things, raising chickens. Juliet started that because it would annoy her neighbors, but by the time Marley came into the world fuming and eternally crying, she’d genuinely fallen in love with the little creatures, and having something to take care of did wonders for her disposition. She dropped thirty pounds in a year, and looked healthier and happier than Gwen could remember her since she was a teenager and Juliet was in her twenties.
It was a good year. A good year to heal, to reflect, and to hope.
Chapter 36
It was not Marley’s fault. They knew that in their minds and hearts. But the fact of the matter was that his birth coincided with a great many events that ended the year of peace.
A few weeks after his birth, Gwen’s cramping and the reek of her painful discharge became too much to ignore. She drove herself to her appointment and found out she had a nasty uterine infection. Having dealt with one after Winnie’s birth, she thought the antibiotics would be enough to knock it into shape, but the fever didn’t want to break. It took every trick in Malcolm’s marriage playbook to get her to go to the hospital a second time, but as it turned out, he was right to be adamant. The dehydration she was suffering from laid her up in a hospital bed for a full day and a half while she was monitored for any further complications.
Malcolm brought a pizza from Matto Furio’s and the kids along to “read” to her while she rested, leading to Winnie poring over one of her favorite Little Critter books, occasionally reading out snippets and smaller words while making up the rest as she went along. For Gwen, it was as nice a time as she could have had in the hospital, all things considered. Malcolm was concerned about her, of course, but compared to some of their previous ventures to the hospital, this one felt about as routine as a checkup.
When Malcolm left, he was supposed to grab Gwen’s purse and wallet out of a little cupboard for her personal items, and instead, his hands full with Marley, Roslyn and the remains of the small cheese pizza, he simply forgot. Gwen woke up the next morning, ate and chatted with the nurse and aides that came in to check on her, and finally decided she needed to brush her teeth with her own toothbrush. She called Malcolm to ask if she’d left it in her purse, and he told her to hang on while he checked.
There was a long pause. A very long pause. When he finally came back on the line, Malcolm was frantic. “Honey, I can’t find it.”
“It’s fine. I’ll just use one of the hospital’s. Maybe I’ll sneak a few extra for the kids for presents.”
“No, your purse. I don’t have it.”
“What?” Gwen asked, sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.
“I’m trying to think. I had Roslyn and Marley, and the pizza, and Winnie was walking with me. I think I forgot to grab it from your room. It’s not here, and it’s not out in the van.”
“Well, that works out then,” Gwen said cheerfully. Shuffling her wires and the portable cart around so she could walk to and from the bathroom was an old habit by that point, and she was up and moving within half a minute.
But the purse wasn’t in her little personal cabinet. Had the thief also not taken her shoes, Gwen might have thought Malcolm really did grab it and just left it somewhere, but her scuffed sneakers were gone. Only her clothes were left behind. She hurtled back towards the phone, still connected to her husband.
“Someone stole it,” she shouted.
“What?”
“It’s gone. So are my shoes. Crap, Malcolm!”
“Fuck,” he muttered. “All right, think who I call. Bank for the debit cards and the checkbook-”
“Credit card company.” She wanted to kick the railing on the bed.
“Right, yeah. Gwen, I’m so sorry-”
“Don’t be sorry. Get off the line and start calling.”
* * *
With Winnie out in the adjoining living room singing along to Anastasia, her latest obsession, and Roslyn banging two trucks together while she sat against her battered hand-me-down unicorn bean bag chair, Malcolm and Gwen had the quietest fight of their whole marriage.
“You’re acting like I meant for this to happen,” Malcolm murmured. He leaned forward so his wife could hear, his hands folded in front of him. Behind him, the electric heater clicked on. Gwen had it cooking in there despite just getting out of the hospital for dehydration.
“You forgot the purse,” Gwen said, speaking through nearly gritted teeth. Marley snoozed in her arms, so she was even more quiet then him. “I asked you twice to take it when you left. I don’t know who else to blame here.”
“How about the thief?” Malcolm asked.
“Yes, how about the thief? Do you suppose they’re having an awesome time with all the crap they bought?”
“Damn it, Gwen-”
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, glancing over at Roslyn, then the living room. “We have three kids, Malcolm. I shouldn’t have to babysit you too.”
“Oh, we have three kids? Really? Hadn’t noticed. Thanks for clearing that one up. At least we’ve got one mystery solved.”
“Great. I’m now officially
the one adult in this family. Because I sure as hell can’t have a grown-up conversation with you.”
Malcolm brushed sweat from his forehead. “Awesome. Now you’re just unloading on me. Go on. Get it all out.”
“All right, fine. I hate being the one who always has to say no, Malcolm. I hate being the responsible one twenty-four seven. I hate being the one who always has to be relied on to make sure the bills are paid.”
“I take care of plenty,” Malcolm snapped, then glanced towards the living room. The song sequence had ended. Winnifred still stood in front of the TV. When she was totally engrossed in something on TV or a story her mom and dad were reading her, she’d sway side to side, and she was doing that now. He returned his focus to Gwen. “Unless you’re saying I’ve been hallucinating taking her to school every day and working extra shifts to make sure your time off is paid for.”
“I can’t help being sick.”
“And I can’t help that someone took your purse. I’m sorry. I told you that already. I don’t know what else you want me to do here.”
“I want you to pay attention. I want you to stop being unreliable. I want to know when I ask you to do something it’s going to happen. What I don’t want to do is keep cleaning up your messes.”
“Got it. Everything is my fault.”
“What, you’re saying it’s mine?”
“I’m not the one with a season pass to a hospital bed, Gwen.” Even as he said it, Malcolm regretted it instantly. Her mouth parted like he’d just called her a bitch, or worse. “I didn’t… that’s not what I…”
“No,” she said faintly, no longer keeping her own voice quiet. “I think you meant exactly what you said.”
“Gwen…”
“Don’t. I get it. Every five minutes I’m in the hospital. I know. Getting sick with things I can’t help because I’m stressed out about having to hold your hand through every minute of our adult lives. Having our kids. Nothing major.”
“Shit, baby, I was just angry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
“But it is what you think. No, don’t shake your head. I know. It’s fine. Really. No, I just should’ve had Marley here. Maybe I could have fixed dinner for you at the same time and vacuumed and made the house oh so pretty for you when you came home.”
“Come on-”
“Are you guys fighting?” Winnie asked from the doorway. Her voice quaked with fear and uncertainty, and her hand hovered next to her mouth like she might throw up. She did that sometimes when she was stressed out. Reflux, the doctor called it.
Both Malcolm and Gwen froze. Slowly Gwen looked at her oldest daughter, trying to smile. “No, sweetie, we’re just… having a conversation.”
“It sounded angry. Don’t be angry, okay? I’m sorry I was s-singing. I’ll be quiet.”
“Aw, baby,” Malcolm said, and both of them rose to their feet. Gwen shot him a quick, dark look – this wasn’t over – but they rushed to their daughter and knelt down beside her.
“It’s not your fault,” Gwen said, stroking her daughter’s hair.
“She’s right. Mom just had something stolen from her and we’re a little scared about it.”
“You tell me not to get angry when I get upset.”
“I know, sweetheart,” Malcolm said. “Sometimes we forget to listen to our own rules. I said something mean to your mom I shouldn’t have.” He glanced up at Gwen, real pain etched on his face. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
“You’re not supposed to be m-mean to her!” Winnie snapped. Surprising Gwen, she rushed to her mom and wrapped her arms around her, glaring up at her dad.
Taken completely aback, Malcolm said, “I… I know.”
“Sh, sh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Gwen whispered, and kissed Winnie’s head. “Thank you for standing up for me.”
Roslyn started bawling, and that set Marley off. Soon Winnie joined in, burying her face in her mother’s shirt, and Malcolm, horrified and ashamed, rushed to pick up their other daughter. They sat with the three of them until they’d each passed out from the fussing and crying, but it was a very, very long time.
That night, in bed, Gwen undressed and slid on her pajama bottoms. Malcolm sat on the edge of the bed, himself completely nude, and watched. He started to say a dozen things, stopped, and just left his mouth hanging open most the time. Gwen pushed past him around to her side of the bed and crawled in. He followed after her, trying to wrap his arm around her waist to cuddle with her. Gwen flopped over onto her side, and when Malcolm tried to spoon her, she jerked away nearly to the edge of the bed.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and kissed the side of her neck. She tensed, and he sensed it, pulling away with a quiet, drawn-out sigh. They stayed like that for minutes, him on his back, Gwen with a knee over the edge of the bed, staring at the wall lit by streetlamps filtering through their curtains. Finally, he started talking again, quietly so hopefully the babies didn’t wake up. “I don’t blame you at all for the hospital bills. That was shitty of me. So was forgetting to grab your purse. But I’m human, Gwen. I can’t remember everything. I’m sorry someone stole our cards and stuff. But I also can’t take that back and I can’t guarantee you I’ll remember everything going forward. So I hope we can get through this.”
Gwen thought about that for a while, and of a dozen different retorts. She felt the bed shift, and the springs creaked. God, how old was the bed? It had been Nic’s, then theirs now for… ten years?
“Where are you going?” she whispered.
“The couch. I figured you’d probably sleep better.”
Her hand found him in the darkness, patted his chest, found his arm, trailed it until she had his hand. “Stay. I’m mad, but… stay.”
“Okay. But I can’t sleep with you on the edge like that. It scares me.”
She nodded, realized he couldn’t see her, and scooted back towards him, her butt in the fabric brushing against his hip. After a good, long time, his breath evened out, but for Gwen, the nightmare of his words in her mind kept playing and replaying until well after the pink of dawn.
* * *
Gwen started on a new insurance plan. This one had better care for the children, but it came with a mile-high premium. The agent promised her the good seizure medication was covered, and Gwen thought nothing of getting that in writing because the man was a professional and should have known what he was talking about. But she didn’t, and when she was low on pills again, she went to the pharmacy, same as any other time she needed to fill her prescription.
Torrie, the kindly woman behind the counter was relatively new. Gwen’s usual pharmacist retired three weeks prior, and this woman was a fresh hire straight out of school, maybe five or so years younger than Gwen herself. At that age, she’d just had Winnie, Gwen mused to herself, smiling as she went through the signature process for the new pills.
“I like the hair,” Gwen offered as Torrie brought out the pills. She had streaks of green coursing through her long bangs. “My cousin does that but with blue.”
“Oh yeah?” The pharmacist’s smile was wide and too-white. Gwen hated the little pang of jealousy that rose up in the back of her mind. “I’m not sure I could do blue with mine.”
“Me either. I tried to go completely blonde once and it just turned out looking like a mop.”
Torrie laughed, and gestured at the card reader. “Okay, Mrs. Irving, it’s ready for your debit card.”
Gwen glanced down at the number on the readout and looked back up, smiling. “Oh, I think you need to hit my insurance first.”
“Nope. That’s after insurance. See there?”
Gwen’s heart sank when she saw the figures. Insurance was taking out a lion’s share of the cost, but it still left her with the three hundred dollars to pay. “I… there’s gotta be a mistake here.”
“Don’t think so,” Torrie said, frowning. “If you have an alternate insurance, I can run that too.”
“No other insurance,” Gwen said, fighting off tears. “I ca
n’t… this is…”
“Well, there’s always Medicare. If you-”
“We make too much.” And they did. It was a cruel joke that they made just enough money to not qualify for electrical assistance, Medicare, and low-income housing, but not enough that they could actually save much of anything. “Dr. Ditmore had me on a cheaper alternative. Can I get that instead?”
“Let me check.” Torrie tapped away on the computer and frowned. “Well, you’d still be paying nearly two hundred dollars out of pocket.”
“Is there any other way we can do this? A payment plan or something?”
Torrie slid the bottle back towards herself, all good humor gone. “I’m sorry, but no.”
“I have kids,” Gwen said. “I suffer from seizures and-”
“Come on, hurry it up!” someone grumbled behind her in line. She glanced over her shoulder, ashamed and angry all at once.
“Is there anyone you could call to help you out? Maybe a parent or a loved one?”
Gwen laughed hoarsely, thinking of the way that conversation would go with her father. Torrie said something else, but she wasn’t paying the other woman any attention now. She’d only just barely gotten over the sting of the fight with Malcolm, and his words rang in her ears.
I’m not the one with a season pass to a hospital bed.
“Could you let one of us through?” the same customer complained. It broke Gwen’s reverie. She ducked her chin against her chest, the red-hot shame burning her cheeks, and fled.
Chapter 37
When the pills ran out, Gwen chose not to tell her husband. She couldn’t let him take on any more responsibilities. Malcolm barely got to see Marley and Roslyn as it was, and Winnie he only saw to take her to and from school. He worked long, hard hours, from nine to nine, at least, and rarely took a day off anymore. He seemed to be determined to make up his words to Gwen by throwing his body at the altar of money, and it broke her heart because it was necessary. Everything was stacking up again. And again. And again.