My heart hammered as we pulled up in front of Toronto rehab for the last time, I felt. Drew helped me get Leah out of the car, then hung back, deliberately fading into the background.
When we met Greg in the lobby, he carried only a duffel bag. He greeted the girls, hugging them, then kissed my cheek. He turned to Drew, and I held my breath. Greg extended his hand, almost grudgingly, and Drew shook it. Greg said, “Drew,” and they nodded at each other.
Greg then turned his attention to Leah. “Your hair has gotten so long, Leah!” Leah laughed in delight, as she wanted a “ponytail that goes down my back.” I expelled a breath and caught Drew’s eye. He winked discreetly at me. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.
We made the trip home, stopping for dinner and to stretch our legs. Drew and Greg made casual conversation, but Drew stayed at arm’s length, careful not to be overly present, not to overshadow Greg’s big day home.
The next day, we had a welcome home party at the house, which was as strange as it was happy. My parents tried to put on cheerful faces. They were happy to see Greg again, but at the same time, the room felt tight with tension. We all laughed a little too loud and talked over each other, trying to make it feel normal. Greg was alternately withdrawn and excited, surely remembering his home and a time when he had a place in it.
Drew said later he’d never felt so uncomfortable in his life and that any progress toward making our house feel like his home was erased. I knew then that moving was going to be in our near future. I dreaded the impact that would have on the girls, but could foresee no other option.
As the evening wound to a close, Mom and Dad left, and I could see Greg fading. Life took its toll on him so easily. I drove him home, and the moment felt surreal. I remembered his memorial service, and the sensation of watching events unfold through Plexiglas returned. As I pulled into the parking lot of Greg’s new house, we turned to face each other.
He reached out and thumbed my cheek. “I still love you, Claire.”
“I know, Greg. I love you, too. I’m always here for you. But things are different now. Do you understand that?”
“Yeah. Thank you,” he said. “For all you’ve done for me.”
Guilt pierced my heart, tailed closely by ever-present anger that never seemed to abate, following me like a sinister shadow since I’d left that small, dark kitchen weeks ago. Thank me for leaving you? “You don’t have to thank me,” I replied. “We’re still a family. You’re Hannah and Leah’s father.”
I drove away, haunted by doubt. I felt selfish, choosing my happiness over Hannah’s and Leah’s best interests. What if Greg and I could be happy again, the new Greg, a secret-free Greg? What if I was making a choice that would scar them forever? Could I push the anger out? Counsel it away? Or would it always be there, a long-ago applied Band-Aid over a gaping wound? I had no idea.
By the time I pulled into my driveway, I was consumed with my thoughts, unsure of my choices, of my emotions. When I walked into the house, Drew sat in the living room, reading a book. A glass of wine stood on the coffee table, waiting for me.
I watched him for a second. His brow was creased in concentration, his foot gently tapping to some inner rhythm. When he looked up and met my eyes, he smiled broadly, and my breath caught. He patted the cushion next to him, and as I sat, his arm went around me.
He kissed my head and, without waiting for me to say a word, said, “Tell me.”
I knew then that he understood my doubt. Because he knew me and always had. As I rested against him, telling him my fears and confusion, I realized neither loving Greg nor loving Drew had ever been a choice.
Epilogue
1 year later
There have always been two men in my life. This has not changed. We’ve all somewhat adapted to our new patchwork family.
Greg has a new job; he went back to teaching. His short-term memory was too spotty to go back to giving lectures, but he found a position as an aide at a rehabilitation center, working with people like him. Some suffer from traumatic brain injuries; some have lifelong disabilities. He’s moving out of the group home and into his own apartment at the end of the month. This is no small accomplishment, and I’ve spent a lot of time organizing a surprise party in his honor. He’s developed an enormous support system; the guest list has over seventy people. New Greg draws people in, and the list of people he calls friends is longer than the list of people I know.