He didn’t respond, so I reminded him. “You felt betrayed. You trusted me and I had let you down. But when all was said and done, you understood. You didn’t demand that I quit. Rather, you made me promise I would never take chances with my life, knowingly put myself in a position beyond my abilities. You asked me to consider you, and your feelings in all of my decisions. To carry you with me.”
“I remember.” He sounded significantly less cantankerous.
“I did as you asked. And when situations escalated, approached my limits, I quit. I didn’t quit for me, for my safety. I quit for both of us. Because when we married, I gave you that power over me, I gave you the right to have an opinion about my life and my decisions. I’m sorry I’ve been freezing you out. I’m sorry.”
He was teetering. I could tell because his dark eyes had kindled with anger, his mouth was clamped shut, and he was staring at the wall behind me. Indecision was a heavy cloak around his shoulders.
“I told you then and I’m telling you now: your opinion matters,” I continued softly, meaning the words. “But we have to stop this cycle of shutting each other out. I can’t mandate that you untie me any more than you can mandate that Grace play soccer.”
“She should play soccer.”
“Then convince her with logic, with love, with sincerity. Not with threats and mandates. And not by punishing Jack in the process.”
Swallowing thickly, his gaze pierced mine. We’d reached a staring stalemate. It was plain to see he was at war with himself. His desire to keep me safe in direct contradiction with what he knew to be right. I could read his thoughts clearly, as though he were speaking them aloud.
And when he finally did speak, his voice was thick with emotion. “Please don’t ask me do this. Please don’t ask me to put you in harm’s way. I’d rather break my own arm.”
My heart constricted, because I could see he was truly torn, tortured by the possibility. “You have to trust me.”
“I trust you, I do.” He crossed back to me, holding my eyes; his were beseeching. “But you are the mother of my children. You are my wife. You are my better half—you are my better whole.”
“I know what I’m doing. I’m good at this.”
“You’re good at everything, darling. You’re extraordinary. I stood by for two years while you risked your extraordinary life. Every time you came home from an assignment I wanted to beg you to quit. I didn’t bind you in bubble wrap and I didn’t lock you in an ivory tower, but I wanted to.”
This was all news to me. I stared at him with incredulous astonishment before I finally sputtered, “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ask me to quit?”
“Because I knew you loved your work and I didn’t want to take that from you. However,” he let the bag he was holding fall back to the floor and he knelt beside the bed, “I can’t go back there, to that as my reality. Just the thought of you . . .” He shook his head, his resolve firming. “I need you too much.”
And I saw that I’d lost. He was going to leave me.
He cleared his throat, his eyes moving over my face with meticulous care, as though memorizing it. “Our children are extraordinary, and that’s because of you. One of us has to make it back home—for Grace and Jack—one of us has to leave here—”
“Greg—”
“And I don’t say that as a manipulation. It’s the truth. You are a phenomenal mother. You’ve been playing the role of parent for both of us—”
Ice entered my veins and my brain was screaming Don’t do this! Please, please, please!
“Greg, don’t do this.”
“I can’t untie you. You might be upset and angry, and, God willing, if we both make it back to Chicago, I’ll understand.” He wove his fingers in my hair at my temples and kissed my forehead. “But at least you’ll be safe.”
CHAPTER 16
Dear R,
Tell me you love me. I don't think I could ever hear that enough. I know you do, but I've never minded hearing it.
-Ted
Letter
Serving in Iraq
Married 7 years
10 years ago
Greg
I usually liked Fiona’s friends. Although, it took me a while to warm up to the concept of her having friends. After four years of marriage, but without her explicitly saying so, I realized community was as essential to Fiona as reading and running were to me.
Therefore, wherever my job took us, Fiona surrounded herself with community. And I encouraged it.
When I was stationed in Alaska, she acquainted herself with the local muskox producer’s co-op, infiltrated their knitting circle, and learned the exotic ways of qiviut-fiber harvesting. When I accepted an assignment in Iceland, she assimilated easily into the culture, deciphering the secrets of Fair Isle knitting, and taking me to all the top-secret geothermal sites and hot springs known only to natives.
Her ability to observe and discover the most tightly held secrets of the locals, assimilate herself as a part of any culture, and gain the trust and friendship of anyone she chose should have been a red flag. Instead, I admired her for it.