“Give it another go,” she called. “What do Americans say?” She affected a nasal accent. “You got this.”
He checked her face to see if she was making fun of him, but her eyes were shining faintly with good humor. He looked away, grinning to himself, then swung. He split the piece of wood in a perfect half. When he looked back at her, the eagerness was all over his face.
“Good job,” she said, still in her twangy accent. “That was great.”
“So you’re American now?” he asked.
“Only when I’m being peppy,” she said. “You know my favorite Americanism?”
“What?”
She lowered her voice to a gruff southern baritone. “Winners win and losers lose.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
Cleo smiled.
“That American man from our honeymoon said it.”
“He would,” Frank scoffed.
He picked up the pieces of wood he had just chopped and cradled them in his arms. The thought of their honeymoon brought a terrible sadness. That was before he met Eleanor, before he bought Jesus, before anyone had irredeemably hurt anyone else. Back then, he did feel like a winner. He walked up to the porch and set the wood back down between them.
“I know you think I’m a loser,” he said. “You wouldn’t have done what you did otherwise.”
Cleo looked up and exhaled smoke to the gray sky, shaking her head. “That’s not why I did it. It was bigger than just you.”
“Just me? I found you. I thought you were—”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” said Cleo. “I meant—”
Frank dropped to the porch swing and put his head in his hands. “I thought you were dead, Cleo.”
She didn’t know what it had been like for him while she was in there. First, the horror of finding her. His hands convulsing as he called the ambulance. Holding a towel to her wrist, feeling her blood throb through it. Still couldn’t get the stains off the sleeve of his coat. The only thing that stopped his hands from shaking now was a drink. Then the days and nights without her, longing for her and hating her and worrying about her. The terrible, stultifying hospital visits where she barely seemed to recognize he was there. Lost, he felt as if he had lost her for good. Santiago, the only other person who knew, had left for LA. Eleanor had been avoiding him at the office since the Kapow! party. He had been desperate to confide in her, she who he trusted above all others, but he held himself back out of loyalty to Cleo. At least at the hospital, they knew. Outside, he had no one. Heading straight home after work, shedding his false smile along with his coat at the door. The relief of a drink. The relief of not having to pretend anymore. The relief of falling apart until the next morning, when he would pick up his bloodstained coat and worn-out smile and do it all over again.
Cleo shook her head with a pained expression on her face. “I wasn’t trying to die,” she said. “I was, it was … A moment of weakness.”
Frank looked up at her from his hands.
“Eating an entire tub of H?agen-Dazs is a moment of weakness, Cleo. What you did was violence.”
“Only toward myself. No one else.”
“Only?” Frank spluttered. “You think what you did didn’t affect anyone else? Didn’t affect me?”
“No, I—” She paused to think. “I just don’t want that one act to become the totality of who I am. It’s no more definitive to me as a person than what you did to Jesus is to you.”
Frank looked up at her in disbelief.
“That was an animal—not to mention an accident. This is you.”
“She mattered just as much as me.”
“Do you hear yourself? That’s insane.”
“Her life has just as much value as—”
“No. I’m sorry, it does not. Some lives are worth more than others. That’s just a fact. Your life is worth a thousand sugar gliders’ lives. Christ, it’s worth a thousand people’s lives to me. I know that’s not ethical, but it’s how I feel. It’s how the human heart works. Your life is more precious than any other life to me. Even more—even more than my own.”
“Is that meant to be romantic?”
“It’s not meant to be anything. It’s just true.”
Cleo, who had felt nothing for seven days, felt an invigorating rush of anger pulse through her. She felt articulate and strong. It felt good. She paced up and down the porch, waving her cigarette.
“You have a funny way of showing that my life is so valuable to you when you make absolutely no concessions or changes to your behavior to account for or accommodate my happiness.”
“Why are you talking like we’re in a law court? Did the psychiatrist say this to you? Are you quoting him?”
Cleo stopped to stand directly in front of him. “I’m quoting me.”
“You really think I made no changes to my life for you?”
“Can you name one?”
Frank opened his mouth, then shut it again. He stood up.
“Look, we’re both tired. Let’s just drop this.”
“I’m not tired! I’ve done nothing but rest for a week!”
“Fine, I’m tired. Shall we make some food?”
“I told you I’m not hungry.”
“Okay!” he yelled. He took a deep breath and tried to modulate his voice. “What would you like to do then? Read? Watch a movie?”
“I’m freezing. It’s freezing here.”
“Then let’s go back inside.”
“It’s freezing in there too.”
“I can run you a bath.”
“I can’t get my stitches wet.”
“You can keep your arm outside the tub.”
“But I don’t want to. You’re not listening to me.”
“For Christ’s sake, I’m trying here.”
“And I’m not?”
“Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”
“I don’t want to have to tell you!”
Cleo stalked back inside the house. Frank picked up the wood and followed her, wrestling to maneuver the screen door with his hands full. He dropped the logs by the fire and trailed her into the kitchen. He didn’t want to fight with her, but he could not stop his feet from following her. They stood either side of the dining table, the bags of unpacked food between them.
“Look, I get it, Cleo,” Frank said, rubbing bark residue off his hands. “I’m the asshole. I’m the corporate clown. I’m the bad guy who fucked up your life.”
Cleo rolled her eyes at him.
“Don’t do that. Don’t victimize yourself under the guise of taking responsibility. That’s not an apology, that’s self-pity.”
“It doesn’t matter if I apologize or not! You don’t want to forgive me. How many times can I say I’m sorry?”
“I don’t need you to say it! I’m sick of your words! Words, words, words—” Cleo slapped the table in front of her for emphasis. “Words might be enough for Eleanor, but they’re not enough for me.”
Frank gave her a startled look.
“Eleanor?” he stammered. “What does Eleanor have to do with this?”
Cleo narrowed her eyes at him. “You know, Frank.”