The Apple of My Eye

by Mary Ellen Bramwell

  Looking at her profile while she sat on the floor playing pat-a-cake with Noah, I wondered if it was really that simple. I just couldn’t be sure.

  Reading my silence correctly, she turned to me. “But, Brea, if you don’t believe that, my saying it isn’t going to make it so. Talk it out with me, I can listen as well as talk, you know.”

  Smiling, I nodded my head. “It’s just been so much to process. I feel like I’m fighting a battle in my head all the time. I remember the sweet things he did for me. Did you remember how on Sunday mornings he would let me sleep in and make a special breakfast for everyone? Often it was homemade pancakes or waffles. Occasionally he would take Noah out and buy fresh pastries so that they would be waiting for me when I woke up.” As soon as I said it, I knew that of course she remembered. Many a Sunday she was our guest at Paul’s special brunches.

  I had grown somewhat nostalgic as I thought of other times. “When I was going to school, some of my classes required me to do my homework in the computer lab at school or meet my group there. I remember one particular night when I had been there for hours. Paul showed up with a late dinner for me, just because he figured I would be hungry. I was, too. He didn’t say much while I ate other than to ask how things were going. Then he left.

  “I finished my project two hours later. When I walked out the door of the computer lab, I was shocked to see Paul sitting on the floor in the hallway. He hadn’t wanted to disturb me, but he had been sitting there for those two hours waiting patiently for me to finish. He just wanted to make sure I got home safely so late at night.” A small trickle of a tear ran down my face at the memory.

  “That’s so sweet,” Martha responded.

  “Yes,” I responded, gaining my composure, “but then, as soon as I remember those kind deeds, I think about the lies. I think of how he kept a whole childhood from me, how he was keeping his mother from her grandchild. I can forgive him, but I’m still grappling with understanding it. What goes on in someone’s head that allows him to be both kind and cruel at the same time?”

  Martha took me in with her eyes. She turned away for a moment, busying herself with something at her sink. When she turned back, in her hand was a shiny, fresh apple that she extended to me. I hesitated before accepting it, turning it over in my hands, yet not taking a bite.

  “Brea, don’t confuse this with a justification for his poor choices, but who exactly did you expect him to be? Did you expect him to be perfect?”

  Her words caught me off guard, and I was suddenly frustrated. I let the apple fall from my hand. “No, of course not. This isn’t about me and my expectations. This is about Paul and who he was or wasn’t. I don’t know! I want to know what was real.” I took a breath to calm myself down before continuing. “What he let me see of him told me of a loving, generous man. What he hid, on the other hand, spoke of someone else altogether. I don’t understand.” The tears were coursing down my cheeks again, but for an entirely different reason than before. “Believe it or not, I’m not angry at him anymore. I’ve forgiven him and let all of that go.” I let out a long sigh, “But it would be nice to know the truth.”

  Martha took me into her arms. “Yes, I know. I hope and pray that you’ll figure it out, Brea. I do believe it’s out there somewhere, and if it is, you’ll find it.”

  “How can you be so sure?” I whispered into her shoulder.

  In response, she just held me until I could hold my own weight again.

  INTRODUCTIONS

  Days passed by and the forgiveness in me grew stronger. I wavered when I felt tired or vulnerable, but taking a cleansing breath, I would stand tall and firm again, committed to finding beauty despite the thorns. It surprised me that, even with letting go, the question of whether Paul really loved Noah and me lingered in my mind constantly like an unwanted guest. I ached to know, and I didn’t know if I ever would.

  Time marched on, however, without waiting for me to find that resolution. I soon had to face up to the fact of needing to schedule the visit to see Paul’s parents.

  Reluctantly, I picked up the phone to call Ava Caste. I was a little flustered when Paul’s father answered the phone. It was the first time I had spoken to him, and I wasn’t prepared for the sound of his voice, an eerily familiar sound. I never would have remotely questioned the bloodline between this man and my husband. They sounded almost identical on the phone. I wasn’t sure I could continue the conversation.

  Much to my relief, Paul’s mother picked up another phone extension. Righting myself, I concentrated on the reason for my call. “I was just calling to set the dates for my visit. Would two weeks from now be all right?”

  We each pulled out our calendars and worked out the details. I could tell they were excited to meet their grandson. Before I hung up, Avalon piped up, “We would like to pay for your plane tickets to come out. Would that be okay with you?”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t let you do that. We’ll take care of it. We’re just fine,” and I ended the call as quickly as I could.

  I felt the need to be in complete control of my situation. I was not ready to let these people pay for anything. With self-righteous indignation, I picked up Noah and marched over to Martha’s house to tell her about the terrible thing Paul’s parents had just offered to do.

  As soon as she answered the door, the story spilled out of me like an overflowing fountain. “Paul’s parents seem like genuinely nice people over the phone, but they don’t know who I am. They think I’m some little child that needs to be taken care of. I’m not! They just tried to pay for the plane tickets for Noah and me to visit them. That is so presumptuous of them. That was only the second time I’ve ever even talked to them.”

  Martha cut me off. “Brea, come sit down and have some tea.”

  I looked at her with confusion. Hadn’t she heard me?

  “Come on in. I’ve got some cookies for Noah, and I just put a pot of water on for tea.”

  Stunned into silence, I followed the familiar path to her kitchen table. Noah practically leaped out of my arms toward the waiting cookie jar. I think he believed the cookie jar belonged to him and him alone.

  While Noah took turns taking bites out of the cookies in each of his hands, Martha and I settled down, each with a nice cup of herbal tea. My breathing had slowed and I was calmer than I had been.

  “Is that better?”

  “Yes, thank you Martha. I can‘t ... “

  “Brea, excuse me for interrupting, but I think you should hear me out.”

  This didn’t seem to be going the way I’d planned. “Okay,” I tentatively responded.

  “These are two people who are hurting. For whatever reason they haven’t been in Paul’s life for some time, but it’s clear they have wanted to be. Now they learn there are two additional people in their family, you and Noah. They are trying to make up for lost time and welcome you at the same time. You are rebuffing those efforts, efforts borne out of love. You’re robbing them of that,” Martha gently chastised.

  Her words surprised me, but I had to admit, even if I didn’t want to, that what she said made a lot of sense. “I guess you’re right,” I finally conceded. “In hindsight, I kind of overreacted.” I smiled apologetically. “I think I need to go make a phone call.”

  “I think that would be a good idea,” she agreed. “Let me keep Noah. Then you can come back and talk about it when you’re done.”

  I didn’t argue; I just got up and walked thoughtfully back to my house. Paul’s mom answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, this is Brea again. I need to apologize. I believe I was terribly rude to you a few minutes ago. If the offer is still open, I would love it if you would pay for our plane tickets.”

  I could hear th
e joy in her voice as she responded, “We would love that!”

  What followed was a back and forth conversation as we both went online and looked at options. A half an hour later, flights were booked, and email confirmations were on their way.

  Trust Martha to be right. This was clearly a gesture Paul’s parents were happy and eager to make. “Thank you, Ava. I appreciate this.”

  “Glad to do it,” was her simple reply.

  Over the simple banter of booking the flights, I had become more comfortable with her over the phone. I was beginning to want to learn more about Avalon Caste. “You know, I still know so little about you and your family, our family now. Have you always lived in Ohio?”

  “’Fraid so. We like it here. Both of Paul’s grandparents were born and raised here as well. We just never considered making our home anywhere else.”

  “Are his grandparents still alive?” I hadn’t thought about there being other family members around.

  “No, they had all passed away by the time Paul and Owen were in high school. There are some cousins, but they live all over the country now. We haven’t seen any of them for ages.”

  “Who’s Owen?” I asked, curious.

  “Paul’s younger brother,” was her only reply, but I detected something in her voice, sadness or longing maybe.

  “Does he live close by?”

  I was met with silence. Finally, a small voice responded, “No, he died when he was only sixteen years old.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” was all I knew to say.

  “It’s okay. They say you never get over losing a child. I think they’re right.” A chill went through me as the unspoken words passed between us of the death of her other and only remaining child, Paul.

  At a loss of what to say, I responded with, “I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this is for you.” Then to brighten the moment, I quickly added, “We’ll bring pictures with us when we come.”

  “That would be nice.” Then with fake bravado, she concluded, “It’s been pleasant talking with you. We’ll see you in a couple of weeks then.”

  . . .

  After hanging up I sat still, feeling the weight of this woman’s grief adding to my own. Assuming Martha wouldn’t mind keeping Noah a little bit longer, I turned back to the open computer in front of me.

  It only took a short while to find the details of Owen Caste’s death. He was driving a car at excessive speed, failed to negotiate a turn, and ran headlong into a tree. He was declared dead at the scene.

  I couldn’t imagine losing Noah, especially so young with so much life left to live. I turned off the computer and made a beeline for Martha’s house to retrieve my little boy.

  HEALING

  I can’t begin to describe the myriad of emotions I felt those next two weeks before visiting my newly discovered in-laws. What I had learned told me that these were three-dimensional people, not just names on a page. They had histories and hopes. They had a whole lifetime full of experiences, both good and bad, and my husband would have been a part of many of those stories. What was he like as a child? What had his growing up in general been like? How did his brother’s death affect him?

  Despite my growing peace about my own life, I was still nervous about the unknown. I kept telling myself that I wasn’t afraid of what they would tell me about Paul, but, if I was honest with myself, I was slightly worried. Worried that I would learn too much and equally concerned that I would learn too little. I tried not to think about it because when I did the butterflies in my stomach felt more like racecars.

  Noah was the best salve of all for my angst in so many ways. The attentions he demanded distracted me from my worries and sometimes even allayed them completely.

  His crawling became more and more efficient. He could race from room to room at lightning speed. If I wasn’t watching closely, or didn’t have a baby gate in place, he was gone, making my heart race until I could locate him and reassure myself that he was okay. Finding him, however, was the best of all. He thought it was a game and would giggle and giggle when I came breathlessly around a corner seeking him. Often he would crawl around a corner and turn to a sitting position, just waiting for me to appear. Before long, I let it be the game he wanted it to be.

  When I first laughed my carefree laugh, it scared me. It was like a long lost friend, but one I was estranged from. However, Noah reassured me that laughing was good, and soon I welcomed the sound coming out of me as a sign of healing.

  Mundane as it may seem, mealtime became a cherished time. Noah was curious about his food. What did it feel like in his hands? How did it taste? What would happen when he threw it on the floor?

  A master chewer by now, he loved macaroni and cheese or spaghetti and meatballs. I would make him chicken noodle soup, and when cool, he would reach in to grab the slippery noodles and transfer them to his mouth.

  I tried making a ramen one day. Noah could easily grab the curly noodles, but not so easily wrangle them into his mouth. All the time he kept saying, “Noo-noo,” for noodle. He ended up with noodles all over his head, like Raggedy Andy hair. I started laughing, and before long, Noah’s giggles joined mine. It felt so good to laugh heartily that I laughed until I cried. It was hard to tell if they were tears of sadness or joy. Everything seemed to be a mixture of both these days. I laughed and cried while Noah giggled himself to exhaustion.

  When I finally finished cleaning him up from his lunch he laid his head on my shoulder and immediately fell asleep. Rather than lay him down in his crib, I settled in the rocking chair in our great room. He slept in my arms for an hour and a half. It was peaceful and serene.

  I admired his beautiful little face and perfectly shaped head. He had sweetheart shaped lips like his father. His ears were small like mine, but the curly strawberry blonde hair was the perfect combination of Paul’s auburn hair and my blonde. He was clearly our son, his genes drawing from each of us to make a new little whole.

  I couldn’t help but think about Paul. The memories came unbidden but not unwelcome, like the pleasant surprise of fireflies lighting up a summer night. I remembered one day Paul coming home from work early to find us just like this, wrapped up together in the rocking chair. He took one look at us and his whole face lit up. “The two of you look as sweet as the apple pie from our wedding,” he whispered almost reverently. I don’t even think he meant for me to hear him.

  I had forgotten that moment, but now I allowed myself to remember his voice, his words. Despite everything, I loved him deeply and knew I always would. I hoped that he had truly loved us, that we had honestly been the apples of his eye.

  GRANDMA AND GRANDPA CASTE

  I slept fitfully the night before our flight to Ohio. I had dreams that pressed upon me, but when I woke, I could not remember the details; only gray shadowy images flickered through my memory. I shuddered to think of my earlier nighttime scares, worried that this was a premonition of further dilemmas or problems. Out of reflex, I took a gasping breath, as if I were reliving those terrible moments, but I was startled to realize that I was breathing calmly and deeply.

  What did that mean? As I sat in bed mulling it over in my mind, only one thing was clear - whatever was coming was the opposite of what came before. Something positive and uplifting was awaiting me. While nervous about the day ahead, I was full of anticipation now as well.

  Later that morning, Amy and Martha came by to wish us well. Amy brought snacks and toys to keep Noah entertained, and Martha brought her last-minute advice.

  “Brea, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Sure,” was my natural reply.

  “You are a kind, strong, courageous woman. If Paul’s parents don’t immediately fall in love with you, then there
is something wrong with them. However, even if that’s the case, you can choose to love them. They are the parents of a man who, though imperfect, was a good husband and father. I know how much you love him in spite of everything. I can read it in your eyes. Surely there is much of what was good about Paul that was learned from his dear mother and father. Be grateful to them for that.”

  I looked at her and nodded my consent, but she was not done. “Good. Now, Brea, know that by making the decision to feel that way, you are playing the game by your own rules. You are choosing your path and not allowing anyone to dictate it for you. You, dear, can do all of that by just being yourself, because that is truly the loving, forgiving kind of person I know you to be.”

  I was touched by her words and reached to hold her in a long embrace. I turned to hug Amy as well and found her with tears coursing down her face.

  “Brea, I wish I could put words together like Martha does. Hey, I’d even settle for putting together cookies like she does. About all I can add is that I love you! And just come back happy, okay?”

  I laughed and gave her a big squeeze. “I’ll do my best.”

  Noah had been playing at our feet but started to whine, feeling left out of all the affection. He put up his hands, “Up, up!”

  I picked him up and held him close, but he wanted more. “Umum,” he said, and Amy responded to Noah’s form of her name by snuggling in close. But he wasn’t done. “Gaga,” his all-purpose grandparent word, summoned Martha into our large group hug. Noah knew what we all needed. I started to cry and then to laugh, filled with joy and wonder.

  . . .

  It was only a short flight to Ohio, but it felt like hours as I counted each minute. Keeping Noah entertained occupied some of my attention, but not enough as I still managed to picture the various scenarios I had imagined for meeting Paul’s parents. I knew it was a pointless exercise, but I couldn’t help but play it out in my mind. I felt like I was a little girl on the merry-go-round, not knowing how to get off.