The After Wife

by Summers, Melanie

  ~ Mick Jagger (also, Every Mother Everywhere)

  The next morning, I wake early with a dull headache but a happy heart. Some things are best done sober. Cryptic. And what did he mean by fear? I mean, it’s so much better than repulsion obviously, but what was he afraid of? Was he so attracted to me it was terrifying? I want to call Lauren to dissect the entire conversation, but then I remember she’s at work by now. Plus, we’re not fifteen, so …

  I quickly get myself ready for the day, taking extra time for some mascara and a touch of bronzer. I don’t want it to look like I’m trying too hard, but I definitely want to look a little better than normal, you know, just in case he comes over and we have ‘the talk’ which leads to … oh, I can’t even think that far ahead. I reach up to my neck to play with Isaac’s ring, only to remember it’s gone. I spot the framed photo of the two of us I have on my nightstand. It was taken in Paris on the Pont Alexandre III bridge that connects the Champs-Élysées quarter with that of the Eiffel Tower. I walk over and pick it up. It was a rainy spring morning and we’re sharing a large black umbrella provided by the hotel. We look so happy. And we were.

  “You won’t hate it if I found someone who makes me happy, will you?” I ask. But he doesn’t answer. And I don’t suddenly have an overwhelming feeling that he’s in the room and is giving me his blessing. There’s just nothing but me and my own conscience to decide. I stare at him some more, then open the drawer and put the photo away. I quickly leave the room, then feel my entire body turn to jelly at the reason my favorite photo of us is now in a drawer beside my bed. “Nope. Not even close to ready for that.” Spinning on one heel, I take it back out and put it where it was.

  Walt and I are heading down the stairs when I receive a text from Liam. My heart speeds up as I slide the screen. Then it promptly drops. Abby, I can’t make it today. One of the toilets at my in-laws overflowed and flooded part of their basement. I’ll be there all day and most of the weekend getting them sorted out. I’m sorry to skip out on you, but I promise I’ll be back on Monday.

  What about Olive? Will she come here after school?

  I thought I’d bring her back here instead to save time.

  Okay, good luck with everything. See you next week.

  Well, that certainly sucks. First, Liam says something that fills me with an abundance of hope, and then he decides to stomp all over that hope the next morning. Overflowing toilet. Yeah, right. That basement’s not the only thing full of shit. He just doesn’t want to lose his babysitter. Or maybe the thing that’s best done sober is turning a woman down, because if she’s been drinking, there’s a higher chance she’ll overreact.

  I stew over it while I eat a bowl of Mini-Wheats and watch as the trees outside are blown around by a furious wind. Then I go into my office so I can use my own personal angst for Beatrice, who has just found out the reason Ian has been rebuilding the orphanage for free. It’s not because he fancies her, but because he accidentally set the fire.

  I spew out angry pages all day, breaking for lunch, then getting right back to it. After dinner, the wind and I both give out, and the world outside feels suddenly calm again. My mind refuses to distract itself from Liam, so I pull on a fleece hoodie and my Keds, and I go for a long walk, finding myself in front of the pier.

  “I should just go home,” I mutter. What exactly would I say if I went up to his boat right now? ‘Hey there, I’m sober now, what’s that thing you wanted to do to me?’

  I stand, staring at his boat, then shake my head. “Screw it. Why not just say that?”

  A light is on inside the cabin and I wonder if Olive is still awake. If she is, I’ll just say hello, then walk back home. Hmm. This is a bit awkward. I can’t exactly ring a doorbell, and once I’m up the ladder, it’s basically the equivalent of letting myself in unannounced and uninvited. I pull my phone out of my pocket, then dial Liam’s number and wait. I hear his cell phone ringing, then the sound of a light cough. He must be sitting outside on the deck.

  He doesn’t answer, and I consider turning back, but then for no good reason at all, I call to him. “Liam? It’s me, Abby.”

  “I know.” His voice is low and there is an unfamiliar quality to it.

  “Can I come up?”

  After a long pause, I hear a crashing sound. “Shit.”

  I start up the ladder, not caring that I am intruding, and tossing aside my original purpose in coming here. Something is very wrong.

  When I get to the top, I see him stumble as he bends down to right the chair that must have been responsible for the crashing sound. I watch in silence as he gropes around behind him to find his seat again, and I’m alarmed at the considerable effort it takes him.

  “Liam, is everything okay?” I walk cautiously toward him, finding it difficult to see in the dim light.

  He shakes his head. “I need to be alone right now, Abby.”

  When I reach the table, I stand next to him and rest my fingers on his shoulder. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. Then I’ll go.”

  He won’t look up at me, but from what I can make out, his eyes are blurry. There is an almost-empty bottle of scotch in front of him but no glass. He takes it and tips it back, then clicks his tongue and says, “Aah, yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  “Is Olive at her grandparents’?”

  Finally, he looks at me. “Do you really think I’d do this with her here?” He’s obviously insulted. Angry. Ready for a fight.

  “No, I’d never think that of you. Is today an anniversary or did it hit you out of the blue?”

  His head rolls back, and he looks up at me in surprise. Then he turns to face the floor. “The first one.”

  I pull up a chair next to him and sit down. I’ll wait.

  “He would’ve been six today.” He hands me a photograph he’s been clutching in his left hand. It’s of Olive holding a tiny baby. The baby has the same dark curls she does and is looking up at her as she smiles at him. She is so little herself, with big chubby cheeks.

  I feel a lump in my throat but swallow it. This is not my pain. I’m here for Liam. “He’s beautiful.” I place the photo on the table and put my hand on Liam’s arm, gently rubbing it.

  “He was.” His eyes are full of tears, and even though he’s looking at me, I know he’s not seeing clearly. “I killed them. Nobody around here tells you that. They all act like I’m a fucking saint. But I’m no saint. Someday Olive’s going to hate me. When I tell her the truth, she’ll never look at me the same away again.”

  My hand stops moving on his arm, but I don’t take it off.

  He’s crying now in violent sobs that erupt from his chest. “I should have driven them to the doctor. Malcolm had his booster shots that morning. He never slept. Colicky little thing, like his old man. Cried most of the time. Sarah was exhausted.” He traces the baby’s face with his finger. “I knew better. A little voice told me not to go, but I ignored it. I told myself they’d be fine, and I went off with Jake.” His words slur together, and he shakes his head as if the thought is too much for him.

  Tears fill my eyes now, and I’m grateful that the night sky hides my face from Liam. I force my breath to stay steady so he won’t know.

  “What kind of a man does that? Just goes off like that, to go fishing and drinking all day, when his wife and his babies need him home?” He waves his hand in the air wildly as he poses the impossible question to the night air.

  I consider telling him it’s not his fault, that he couldn’t have known, but I don’t. He needs to cry tonight. To get this awful pain out of his body. Besides, he knows the truth when he’s not drowning in scotch and sorrow. This is the pain talking. Regret. The useless ‘if onlys’ that haunt the soul.

  He’s sobbing again, his arm folded on the table and his head resting on his forearm. I rub his back and feel a shift in the air as a slight chill moves in.

  After a long while, he sits up and looks at me. His face is blotchy, and his eyes are red and puffed like he’s gone ten rounds
with a prizefighter. In a way, he has.

  “You’re over the worst of it.” My voice is gentle, like a nurse seeing a patient through a horrible bout of nausea.

  “I should sleep now.” He steadies himself with both hands on the arms of the chair as he rises. “Sorry I didn’t make it today. They really did have a flood.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize.”

  I stand and hover as he stumbles to the door. He manages to open it himself, then navigates the small ladder that leads into the cabin. I follow him, ready to help if he needs me. Liam makes his way to the back and slides open the door to his bedroom, then drops onto the bed.

  I stand in the entrance to the tiny room for a minute. It’s neat as a pin. Framed photos line the wall that tell a love story. Liam and Sarah at the beach, cheeks pressed together as they make funny faces. Their wedding day. Sarah laughing with baby Olive. Sarah holding both their children on her lap while she blows out birthday candles. It occurs to me that the pages in their book have been ripped out so near the beginning. The thought is like having my heart squeezed.

  I look at Liam who is snoring lightly now. I take his shoes off and fold the quilt over him.

  He mumbles, his words slurring together. “She’ll be all alone.”

  “She’ll always have you,” I whisper, as I touch his hair.

  This is how Liam falls apart. He makes sure Olive won’t see, and he drinks until he can let himself cry. Then he keeps going.

  * * *

  I don’t expect to hear from Liam today. In addition to helping his in-laws and being a dad again, I’m sure he must be hungover, raw, and maybe a little embarrassed even. In the aftermath of what I saw last night, my romantic notions toward Liam seem frivolous, although my feelings for him have deepened. I want to be there for all his bad days and nights. The good ones too.

  All day, I have to resist the urge to call him, but around four in the afternoon, I get a call from his number. My heart leaps, then squeezes, and when I answer, it’s Olive’s voice I hear. “Abby? It’s me, Olive.”

  “Hi, Olive, what’s up? Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. I’m calling because it’s my class picture day on Monday and I was wondering if you know how to do a waterfall braid?”

  “A what, sweetie?”

  “A waterfall braid. All the girls in my class are going to have them, but my dad doesn’t know how. I thought maybe you could do it?” Her voice is quiet, and I know this call was hard for her to make because even at her young age, she has already figured out that being a burden is not desirable.

  “Sure I can. I haven’t done it before, but I’ll look it up on YouTube. Maybe see if your dad can drop you off here tomorrow for a while so I can practice.”

  “Really?” She sounds so thrilled at the possibility, and it breaks my heart on so many levels. “Okay. One second. I’ll be right back.”

  I love her little Maritime accent. I’m not sure I’ve ever loved a voice as much as hers. I could listen to her talk all day long. I wonder if I should tell her that or if that would be weird.

  I hear murmuring in the background, then Liam says, “Abby, hi.”

  “Hi, how’s it going?” I ask, hoping to leave space for him to choose to pretend I didn’t see him at his worst.

  “All right” he says, his voice becoming much quieter. “Thanks for your help last night.”

  I aim for a breezy tone. “That’s what friends do.”

  “Well, I appreciate it.” There’s a quick pause while Olive says something, then he’s back on the line. “I didn’t realize she was calling you about this braid thing. I’m sorry about that. We can take care of it.”

  “I’d be happy to help.”

  “No, I saw a video for this waterfall thing she wants. It looks really complicated. We can just put her hair in a ponytail. I’m good at those. It’ll be fine.”

  “Liam, Olive doesn’t ask for much. It’s nothing for me to show up and play with her hair for a while.”

  He sighs. “Are you sure? Because you’d have to be at our place at seven-thirty on Monday morning.”

  “I can do that. Apparently, I’m an adult,” I say, drawing on my ability to pretend everything’s fine to get through this call.

  “You sure?”

  “Not about being an adult, but definitely about coming by to do Olive’s hair.”

  He laughs, then says, “No. I’ll do it.”

  “Good lord, Liam. She didn’t ask for a kidney. She asked for some help so she can look like her little friends for picture day. Bring her over tomorrow so I can play with her hair for a while … and maybe take her into Sydney to get her a chic outfit.”

  “No, that’s too much. I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You didn’t. Olive asked about the hair and I’m the one who wants to go shopping. It would be very satisfying for me to see her go to school looking like she owns the place.”

  “All right, that would be nice for her, actually, but I’m going to give you cash for the clothes. That’s non-negotiable.”

  I can hear her squealing with delight in the background, then after a quick back and forth between her and Liam, she comes back on the phone.

  “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Abby!”

  “Anytime, sweetie.” I wish I could hug her right now.

  “Dad said he’ll bring me over around eleven tomorrow, okay?”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  She hangs up, and I can picture her bouncing around with a big grin, knowing that for once, she’s going to look like the girls in her class, instead of a motherless child. The thought both breaks my heart and makes it sing. She needs this, and it’s something I can do for her.

  I get up and put the kettle on for some tea while I think about Olive. She’s innocent and sweet and makes the best of any situation. And here I’ve been, moping around, feeling sorry for myself because the guy I have a crush on may or may not be blowing me off. While across town, a little girl who lives on a tiny boat with her dad is calling me because she doesn’t have a mom who can make her hair look pretty for picture day. And if I say no, she won’t complain. Not Olive. She’ll say, ‘okay’ and go to school with whatever she and her dad can come up with, and she’ll smile just as brightly as if she had the most beautiful hairdo in the world. I need to take a page out of her book.

  My entire life, I’ve thought that children would be exhausting because you have to teach them everything about being an adult, when the truth is, they teach you about how we’re supposed to live. Olive possesses a wisdom that is both jarring and beautiful. She’s been a mirror for me, holding up who I am for my careful examination. This brings the odd glimpse of pride, like when she says I’m the funniest person she’s met, but also moments like this, of deep shame. Maybe this is why I avoided children my entire life. Because some wise part of me knew they wield the power to force self-reflection, and it’s just so much easier to go on ignoring one’s shortcomings.

  I may be broken-hearted, but I’m also exceedingly self-centered.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone.

  ~ Dorothy Parker

  It’s Monday at seven a.m. as I hurry up the pier. I’m earlier than we had originally planned, but I’m worried I’ll need extra time to make her look just right. The chilly autumn air nips at my skin as I shift the heavy bag of hair products and supplies looped over my arm. It’s still dim out, and I can see the lights shining brightly inside the cabin as I approach the boat. I’m a bit of a nervous wreck about this entire thing. Somehow, I’ve decided that this is like a ‘potential step-mom for my child’ audition, even though I know Liam wouldn’t think of it that way. I’ve been driving myself crazy all weekend thinking about everything that’s happened (and hasn’t happened) between Thursday night and now. I mean, that was some high-level flirting at the pub, but then after … I don’t know what the hell that was. Him being a gentleman? Him trying to put off the
inevitable (which would be letting me down easy)? Him secretly being so in love with me he’s been trying to forge an engagement ring in his spare time so he can present it to me in the mother of all proposals?

  Okay, so that last one’s not likely. I know that. He and I were very much ‘business as usual,’ on Saturday, not that there was an opportunity to talk. Maybe we should leave well enough alone. We can go on like this, with me being Olive’s part-time caregiver and friend to both of them. It’s better than nothing.

  I lug my purse and my heavy bag up the ladder, then take a deep breath. Relax, Abby. It’s just hair.

  Liam opens the door, then takes my things so I can climb down into the cabin.

  “Good morning,” he says, in a warm tone that says, ‘we’re friends and that’s that.’ “I made you some tea.”

  “Oh great, thanks,” I say, channeling my inner smooth, powerful Lauren.

  Olive, who is already dressed in the black leggings and turquoise crocheted sweater we picked up, rushes around her dad to give me a huge hug. I hug her back and plant a kiss on top of her head. “Shall we get to work?”

  She nods, her eyes wild with excitement. “I can’t wait for everyone to see me with smooth, straight hair just like yours.”

  “Well, I love your curls, but I suppose I can miss them for today.”

  I set up the hair elastics, a comb, a brush, and my straightener on the kitchen table.

  “I’m frying some eggs. Can I make you some?” Liam asks.

  “Sure.” Thanks, buddy.

  “How do you like ‘em?”

  “Fertilized.” I laugh. Why did I say that? That was ridiculous.

  Olive looks up at me. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. It’s an old joke for old people,” I answer. “However you’re making the eggs is my favorite way to have them.”

  “Okay,” he says, trying to sound like this isn’t the most awkward moment ever.

  Fertilized, Abby? You total moron.