He stands up abruptly. “I’m sorry. I’m going to bed now. Before I say anything else I regret.” He kisses my cheek and leaves me in the dark.
The embers of the fire crackle. I’m confused as to what just happened. With a sinking feeling, I turn to look at our bedroom window, which overlooks the patio and fire pit. I realize the windows are open to the September breeze. Mechanically, I clean up the patio, put the glasses in the dishwasher, and put away the whiskey. I pray that Greg didn’t hear Drew’s words. I’m only mildly concerned that Drew’s and my friendship could change as a result of Drew’s tirade because we’ve had encounters before and lived through them. Our relationship has always been an iceberg. The part the world sees is small and insignificant, where the largest, most complicated parts lie beneath the surface.
I go upstairs and undress quietly. When I climb into bed, Greg is awake. His arm goes around me, and we spoon. We don’t speak. I have no idea if he heard Drew. I strain my ears, trying to imagine if I could hear a conversation taking place twenty feet below the window. I sleep fitfully, replaying the night’s events with different endings in my dreams. When I wake in the morning, I am exhausted.
Sunday passes in a blur of activity. The house fills with family and friends. Drew picks up Sarah from the airport, and I am thrilled to see her. Throughout the day, I wonder if the night before was real. Everyone seems normal. Greg and Drew have resumed their banter, and I relax in the affable atmosphere. Leah cries when presented with her cake and everyone singing, but she loves her presents, ripping into the bright wrapping paper.
Sarah is staying for the week, taking Drew’s place in the guest room. After the party, Drew packs up and gives the girls big hugs with promises to return as soon as he can.
“Come back and visit again soon, Drew,” Greg says, shaking his hand. “Or we’ll come to you one night. Leave the girls with Claire’s parents and come have a wildly fun night in the city.” He puts his arm around my waist. “That actually sounds like a lot of fun. Doesn’t it, Claire?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Sounds good,” Drew says. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon. Are you guys having your holiday party again this year?”
“I don’t know,” Greg replies. “I guess it depends on my mood.”
The hint is subtle, but I get it immediately. I can’t tell if Drew gets it, but he falters. Time stops for a beat, then resumes. Greg picks up Drew’s bag and walks him out to the car; his hand is paternally clamped on Drew’s shoulder. I stand alone in the hallway, while Sarah waves from the doorway. She picks up on nothing. We shut the door and go into the living room with Hannah and Leah. Life continues as usual. The effect is imperceptible.
Except to me.
Chapter 22
During the spring, I did all I could do to keep up with the grass, the gardens, and basic repairs. I lost a gutter anyway, despite my clearing attempts. For the replacement, I hired someone. I was done with Pastor Joe’s ladder. The girls rode their new bikes in the driveway while I weeded, trimmed, and cleared fallen sticks from the yard. I mastered the riding mower after two or three mowings. I learned how to use the weed whacker. The lawn wasn’t going to look great, as I didn’t know Greg’s whole regime of overseeding, aeration, and grub treatment, but I was proud of myself and felt confident the rest would come in time. I had nothing if not time.
I no longer considered I wouldn’t need to learn those things. I no longer mentally added if Greg’s not home to the end of thoughts or sentences. After eight months, I had finally accepted that he was not coming home. I was still angry sometimes, but not frequently. When I focused on it, which wasn’t often, my anger was on behalf of the girls. If Greg had disappeared by choice, what he had done to them was unforgivable. I’d read that children were resilient, and I supposed that was true. I’d watched my kids adapt and move on in ways that amazed me—that part was Darwinian. What I didn’t read, or talk about, was that adaptation came at a price. The girls were irreversibly changed, and that thought haunted me, sneaking up at unexpected moments and breaking my heart all over again.
They no longer asked for Greg every day. But Hannah was wary of everyone. Her small, pure heart had become guarded. When I left her at school or at my parents’ house, she would ask me if I was definitely coming back. She had learned to see the world as unkind at too young an age. She smiled less frequently, and those smiles were hesitant, as though at any moment someone could snatch them away.