“Why do you think I left the bank? I wasn’t about to miss a single second with you, even if it does stain my shirts.” And it does. The colorant that’s used in the supplemental nutrition can be seen on every one of my lighter-hued shirts.
I grin every time I do laundry. I can’t help thinking of all the occasions when Lena has come out from the washroom over the years, shaking her head, muttering about how messy I am. I can now see that she was right. I have no idea how I get that damn food everywhere, but I can’t deny that I do. The evidence of it is right there on my clothes. That’s why I started wearing my grilling apron when I deal with that stuff.
“I’ll be curious to see who’s messier, you or Grace.”
I smile down into Lena’s exquisite face, my eyes drifting over the gentle curve of her brow, the pert tip of her nose, the lush bow of her mouth. I love hearing her talk of days when the three of us will be together. I hope against hope that there will be many of those.
My smile falters for a split second before I catch it, rescue it. I have to be even more careful these days. It’s getting harder and harder to combat the surges of sadness. They hit me when I least expect them sometimes, but I’m still as determined as ever to hide them from my perceptive wife. “I can’t wait to see you with her. You were born to be a mother.”
Lena says nothing, only stares up into my face like I’m the sun in her sky. Finally, after a long silence, she speaks. “Nate?”
“Yeah, baby.”
Tracing the collar of my shirt with the tip of her finger, Lena chews her lip nervously. “Do you think we could go see my mother?”
I tense. “Why would you want to do that?”
I feel her shrug against me. “I’d like to see her one last time.”
My heart! Jesus!
It twists painfully behind my ribs, a sensation I’m becoming quite accustomed to. “I’m not sure that would be the wisest thing. I mean, you’re supposed to be on bed-rest.”
“But I haven’t bled since I got back from the hospital.” She pauses, concern crinkling her brow. “Have I?”
Another stab to my chest. Lena knows that she loses pieces of time. And she knows why. When she’s lucid, she becomes aware of how sometimes whole days have passed that she can’t remember. She knows what’s going on. That’s undoubtedly why she wants to see her mother. And why she had to ask if she’s been bleeding.
“No,” I confirm softly, my voice perceptibly choked. “No, you haven’t bled any more.”
“Then maybe we could make the trip?” Her whiskey eyes are hopeful.
“Let’s check with both docs first.” Lena nods, but is obviously deflated, so I add, “If not, then maybe I could bring her here. I’m sure they’d let her out for the day. With me. For this.”
“Thank you, my love.”
“Anything for you,” I reply, caressing the silken arch of her cheekbone. And I mean it. Anything, anything at all for her.
I’m reminded of the way she organizes and tidies things when she’s at her most confused. This effort to see her mother is probably part of her process of getting her life in order—making peace with the woman who gave up on her.
I resolve to make the reunion happen, by hook or crook. I want my wife to have whatever makes her happy, whatever will ease her heart and mind, even if that means her spending time with her mother.
We fall silent after that, each lost in thought as the setting sun bathes us in the golden glow of day’s end. We watch as the sky fades from bright orange to deep, royal blue.
It’s Lena’s keen eye that catches the first glimmer of a different light.
“Nate!” She sits up so suddenly, it startles me.
“What? What’s wrong?” Every muscle in my body is instantly straining beneath my skin, prepared for action.
“Go get a Mason jar! Quick!”
For a few seconds, it’s me who is confused. But then, I notice her expression, open and excited, and follow her eyes to where she’s looking. A single firefly is blinking off and on as it makes its way into our backyard. I probably never would’ve noticed it, but Lena spotted it right away.
“Okay, hang on,” I tell Lena, trying to maneuver myself out from under her without unseating her. When I manage to untangle myself, I make my way quickly into the kitchen, flinging open cabinet doors, looking for a Mason jar, but having zero luck. That’s when I hear her voice waft in from the patio. “Look in the pantry,” she instructs.
I spin on my heel and head for the pantry, flicking on the light and spotting a single empty Mason jar on the top shelf in the corner. I think I remember Nissa bringing us homemade strawberry jam in it last year.
On my way back outside, I pause at the counter only long enough to use the tip of a steak knife to poke holes in the lid. With that done, I grab my phone from the charger and go back outside.
Lena is sitting upright in the lounger, her pregnant belly touching the chair between her spread thighs. She reminds me of a beautiful blonde Buddha.
Impulsively, I turn on my phone, raise it to find her on the screen, and snap a picture. I know without a doubt that I’ll go back and look at it often. Something about her face is magic. Pure magic.
Then I look up and see our yard.