Broken

by Megan Hart

  It was marvelous.

  There were some eyes that cut away, uncomfortable in the presence of my loss, but for the first time in four years, I was able to talk about Adam, and I did. With my parents. Katie and her husband. With once-a-year acquaintances at the holiday parties and dinners. It felt as though people were able to pity me without feeling awkward about it. Adam had died. They could relate to that. They could offer their condolences, pat my shoulder, nod sympathetically in understanding when I spoke of him. Death was somehow less embarrassing than disability.

  Death is also only briefly fascinating to anyone not right next to it. Eventually, the parties ceased, the calls and cards stopped coming. The world moved on with everyone else in it, leaving me behind.

  Dennis invited me to dinner one night, and I went. He took me to a little place I’d driven past a dozen times but never been to. The food was good, the conversation better. It was good to sit and talk about Adam without the burden of supporting someone else’s sadness. Dennis was smart enough to listen more than he spoke.

  “I miss him,” Dennis told me after dinner, in the parking lot. “He could beat my butt at chess like nobody else.”

  “He was so glad to have you to play with. I could never learn.”

  “I feel guilty,” Dennis said suddenly. “Maybe if I’d been there—”

  “I don’t blame you, Dennis.”

  He wiped his eyes, and I tasted bitterness that he could find tears while I had none.

  “He was a good man.”

  “Yes,” I said. “He was.”

  “I just feel so guilty.”

  “I feel guilty, too,” I told him. “But not because I think I could have done something different or because I left him that day or anything else.”

  Dennis’s earring gleamed in the parking lot lamp as he tilted his head. “No? That’s good, though, Sadie, because those things weren’t your fault.”

  “And it wasn’t your fault you were on a trip and we had to leave him with someone who fucked up, either, Dennis.”

  The strength in my voice seemed to surprise him. He nodded, his features rearranging in relief. “Yeah. I know. But still—”

  “I know.”

  “At least he’s not in any pain,” Dennis said. I’d heard the platitude a dozen times, if not more. “He’s free.”

  So was I, but I couldn’t say that to Dennis even though he might have understood. He hugged me, a big, broad man who’d been part of my life for years and now no longer was. He meant it as a comfort, and it was, but more for him than me. Then we parted, Dennis unburdened and I with a bigger weight than before.

  Seeing Mrs. Lapp again was easier, because she merely enfolded me into her smothering embrace and rocked me back and forth for a few minutes. Then she clucked over my eating habits, bragged about her grandchildren and showed me photos of the trip she’d taken the week before.

  “Samuel and I are going to New York City next week,” she told me. “We’re going to see a Broadway show!”

  I smiled at that. “Samuel’s agreeing to this?”

  “He’s never been to the city,” she said. “We’re taking a bus trip with our church group.”

  I’d met Samuel Lapp many times when he came to retrieve his wife from my kitchen. He was pleasant but silent, and wore faded bib overalls and a plaid shirt on every occasion I’d ever seen him. I couldn’t quite picture him watching a Broadway musical.

  “Sounds like a lot of fun,” I told her.

  I’d actually wanted to ask her if she’d consider coming back to work for me. Cleaning my own house and cooking my own dinner didn’t hold any new appeal for me. Hearing her rhapsodize over her upcoming plans, I knew I couldn’t do it.

  “I’m busier now than I ever was when I worked,” she said, pushing a slice of homemade shoo-fly pie toward me across her broad kitchen table. “I’ve been waiting for years to retire. I’d have done it a long time ago, but…”

  She looked up, her eyes kind and a bit embarrassed. I poked my pie so I wouldn’t have to look at her. “I appreciate everything you did for us, Mrs. Lapp.”

  She tutted. “It was plenty good, most of the time, even when he was grexy.”

  I smiled at her use of the Pennsylvania Dutch slang. “He could be very grexy. And now you can go to New York with Samuel. Or any other place you want.”

  She nodded. “Well, Dr. D, forgive me for saying so, but…so can you.”

  I wanted to answer that, but I took a bite of pie, instead. The conversation turned to television, the weather and sundry other safe topics. I ate three pieces of Mrs. Lapp’s pie and left with a sick stomach.

  “You call me if you want to talk,” she said from the doorway as she waved goodbye.

  I promised I would, but we both knew I wouldn’t.

  Katie didn’t stop calling to find out what I needed. Just like when we were kids and she knew when to bring me the second half of her grape popsicle, my sister knew how to comfort me. Her gifts now were expensive wine and chocolate and an armful of chick flicks, but they were as welcome and sweet as her grubby, half-eaten popsicles had once been.

  She settled on my couch with a loud, indulgent sigh and kicked off her shoes. She’d cut her hair and wore makeup, and though she wore track pants and a t-shirt, they were stylish. She didn’t look as tired, either.

  “You’ve lost weight,” I said.

  “Damn straight!” Katie grinned. “Now that I’ve gone back to work part-time I can afford to pay for the gym. So when Lily’s at preschool, I take James and get a workout in. Then I work while they’re both napping.”

  I kicked off my own shoes. My sweatpants were far less stylish than my sister’s but that was nothing new. What was new was that I didn’t compare myself to her and feel dowdy.

  “I’m glad you could come over. I’ve been wanting to watch Moulin Rouge for a while.” I leaned forward to sift through the movie choices.

  “Yeah…”

  I looked up at Katie’s hesitant reply. “What? We could watch something else.”

  She shook her head, her expression one I didn’t know how to read. “No, that’s fine.”

  I sat back. “Well?”

  She bit her bottom lip, then let out the giggle she must have been trying to keep inside. “It’s Mom, that’s all.”

  “What about her?” I wanted to be worried but Katie’s laughter meant there wasn’t a problem.

  “She…told me I had to come over.”

  This made very little sense to me. “What do you mean by that?”

  Katie snorted another stream of giggles. “She told me I had to come over and spend time with you. That she was…worried about you.”

  For a moment I sat, silent. Then I started giggling, too. “No way!”

  “Yes!” Katie guffawed. “She absolutely did!”

  We laughed for a few minutes, until I shook my head. “Wonder of wonders.”

  “So, I told Evan I had no choice, I needed to be there for my big sis, or my mom would have my hide.”

  “And he couldn’t complain about that, huh?”

  “Evan going against Mom? He knows better. And look at this.” She held up her cell phone with a laugh. “Turning it off. Evan’s going to have to just learn to deal with the poop explosions on his own.”

  “That sounds scary.” I poured wine and opened the gold box of candy.

  “It’s good for daddies to learn how to take care of their babies,” my sister said. “Especially when they think they can’t. Besides, Lily’s a big help.”

  I laughed, imagining my niece’s “help.” “Poor Evan.”

  “He’ll be fine.” Katie sipped wine slowly, an expression of bliss on her face. “I haven’t had wine in…years. My god, I’m so glad to have my boobs back. I love my children, Sadie, but holy hell, I’m going to be glad to have some of my life back again.”

  I thought I was laughing, but it was the sound of my wineglass shattering on the tile floor. Then I knelt among the shards, my fingers reaching
without care toward the glittering sharpness.

  “I’m glad to have my life back, too,” I said, each word a fishbone in my throat. “I’m glad, Katie. I know I shouldn’t be glad, but I am.”

  Many times I had helped her when she’d fallen, but now it was Katie’s turn to pull me away from the mess. She cleaned the cut on my finger and wrapped it in a bandage the way I’d done so many times to skinned knees and elbows, and she handed me tissues for the tears that boiled out of me at long last.

  “You’re such a mom,” I managed to tell her when my sobs had tapered into hitching sniffles.

  We made it back to the sofa in the den, and Katie tucked her feet up underneath her. “Yeah, funny, huh? Who’d have thought?”

  We shared a smile. She handed me the box of chocolate. “Eat that.”

  “Great. Just what I need to feel better about myself. Fat thighs.”

  She reached to pluck out one for herself. “Fuck fat thighs, bitch, and eat the chocolate.”

  There was no denying the power of chocolate, especially not this premium sort that melted on my tongue. “It’s like…a little piece of heaven in my mouth.”

  Katie made devil horns with her fingers. “You said it.”

  Devil horns and chocolate. There were some things nobody understood about me better than my little sister. Not even Adam known some of those small pieces of me.

  “I miss him, Katie.”

  “I know you do. I miss him, too, Sades.” She licked chocolate from her fingers and gave me a serious look. “Nobody expects you not to miss him.”

  “I went to the grocery store after work, and I didn’t have to call home, first. I didn’t have to make sure anyone was at home to take care of him. I didn’t have to wonder if he was all right, or if I’d get home and find out something had happened…or get home and have an argument because I’d been gone too long. And I sleep, Katie.” I swallowed more tears. “I sleep all night long. Every night. And I don’t have to wake up, not once.”

  Her hand was the rope thrown into the sorrow trying to drown me, and I clutched it.

  “None of that means you didn’t love him, Sadie.”

  It didn’t feel true, though I wanted it to be. “He could be such an asshole! And I knew it was because he was depressed and upset, but he was so fucking mean sometimes! It was like he wasn’t even the same man I’d married. It was like he woke up from that coma with a different person inside his head.”

  “And none of that means you didn’t love him, either,” my sister said. “Because you’re right, he could be an asshole. But he could be an asshole even before the accident.”

  From anyone else I’d have self-righteously protected my husband’s memory, but I couldn’t do that with my sister. “Yeah. I know. But he could also be the best man in the world, when he wanted.”

  “It’s not your fault that he stopped wanting.” Katie squeezed my hand.

  I nodded, more tears seeping from my eyes. “I never got the chance to fix it. I never got the chance to find out if we could.”

  “Yeah.” She pushed more chocolate on me.“I know.”

  And I knew she did. I didn’t need my sister to tell me the truth, but it wasn’t until her words became the mirror reflecting what I already knew that I believed it.

  “Wanting to be able to go to the bathroom by myself and fit into a regular bra doesn’t mean I don’t love my children with every breath I have,” Katie said. “And wanting to take your life off hold doesn’t mean you didn’t love Adam.”

  “How’d you get to be so good at giving advice?” I asked her.

  My sister smiled. “I learned it from my big sister.”

  Then we both cried.

  Grief goes away like a cold sore, painful even as it fades, and sometimes leaves a scar to remind you always where it had been. Missing Adam didn’t mean I loved him any more than not missing him meant I did not. Time would mend and mesh my emotions and all I had to do was let it happen.

  I made an attempt at moving on. I joined the gym. I cancelled my subscription to the DVD rental service and joined a book discussion group. I filled my time with all the things I’d denied myself for so many years.

  They didn’t all bring me joy. In fact, I soon dreaded going to the gym more than I’d regretted being unable to workout. Reading and discussing books took more effort than watching movies. Still, for the most part I allowed myself to enjoy my new life and not let guilt weigh me down.

  I could fill my life with activities but I couldn’t fill myself. Something was missing. Something left undone. The feeling of something lacking insinuated itself in the back of my mind like a hole in a snagged stocking, bit by insidious bit.

  I thought it was Adam’s room, which I’d left unchanged since his death. I thought maybe I needed to get rid of those final reminders of his life after the accident so I could focus on remembering better things. I stood in the hall, my hand on the knob, and it took me only a moment to understand my problem wasn’t this door I’d kept closed.

  It was the door I’d left open.

  Chapter

  18

  February

  I knew he’d be there. There was no reason he shouldn’t, other than perhaps the same long habit that had drawn me back. Like toads returning in the spring to the pond where they’d hatched, Joe and I both made our way to the bench.

  Someone had changed the plants in the atrium. The hanging potted ferns had been replaced with spider plants. The spiky, dangling clusters made a different sort of shadow. I couldn’t decide if I liked it.

  I’d dressed carefully for the occasion in colors that flattered, shoes that made me feel tall. My lipstick was a shade that always gave me confidence, but as I sat and waited, I wasn’t sure if I needed it or not.

  The moment I saw him, I no longer had a question. I wasn’t sure what I’d feel upon seeing Joe again. I’d imagined anger, or disappointment. Maybe a surge of recalcitrant lust. I hadn’t expected relief.

  It washed over me with an almost physical force when he sat next to me. The breath I tried to take stabbed my throat and my hands twisted into knots in my lap. It was like losing someone in a crowd in a strange place, that heart-skipping moment of fear before your eyes at last capture the sight of the familiar face among those of strangers, and you realize you are no longer lost.

  “It’s good to see you, Sadie.”

  I nodded and squinted up toward the sun shining through the glass. The ferns had made shade. The spider plants did not, and I decided I didn’t like them, after all.

  “I figured you weren’t going to come back.”

  “My husband had a stroke,” I said quietly, looking toward him at last. “He died.”

  I thought I’d grown used to saying it. Making it real with words. It had been easier to say than “My husband is paralyzed from the neck down.” Easier to say and easier for people to offer condolences for a dead spouse than one who’s disabled.

  The words sounded as if I’d said them easily, but the ground blurred and I put a hand to my face to cover my eyes. I felt his hand on my shoulder. We moved closer without moving at all.

  It was the first time he’d ever touched me.

  I whispered, but had no fear he wouldn’t hear me. “Do you have a story for me, Joe? Because I really need one.”

  This month, my name is still Priscilla and I wear a diamond on my finger that tells the world I’m engaged. 1:28 PM 3/17/2007 It’s big enough to draw comment from strangers. I love it.

  Today, I’m meeting my fiancé for lunch with one of the seven caterers I’m considering hiring for the reception. She’s going to let us sample all the menu items I’ve checked off as possibilities, including the cake. We have the choice of strawberry shortcake and chocolate layer cake, both gourmet. No grocery store wedding cake for me, thank you. After all, a woman only gets married once, if she does it right the first time.

  “Darling!” There he is. My Joe. He turns and I tut-tut at the way he’s standing with his hands in his pocke
ts. “Baby, you’re doing it again.”

  He takes them out at once with that apologetic smile I find so charming. “Sorry.”

  “You’re too handsome to look so sloppy.” I’m wearing flats today and must stand on my toes to kiss his cheek. He smells very clean. “I’m going to get you some cologne.”

  He slips his hands over my hips, pulling me closer and looking down into my face. “You don’t like the way I smell?”

  “You smell fine. But I like cologne, that’s all.” I kiss his cheek again and push away. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”

  “Of course not. Heaven help us if we break out of our schedule.”

  I stop to give him a narrow-eyed look. Is he mocking me? With Joe, sometimes, I’m not quite sure. Most of the time we seem to be on the same page, but every once in a while he comes up with something ridiculous.

  “It’s rude to keep someone waiting.” I don’t mean to sound curt, just firm. He should know by now how I feel about that. It’s not like we haven’t discussed it at length.

  He reaches out to snag my wrist and pull me back toward him. I don’t want to kiss him, but he bends me with such grace I end up doing it, anyway. He tastes like mint.

  He sounds sincere. “I’m sorry. I know you hate being late.”

  I smile when he says that, and kiss him with a little more enthusiasm. I take his hand. “Come on, Joe.”

  Inside, the caterer treats us to samples of tiny sandwiches, cubes of cheese, spirals of meat and lettuce. She’s got a little of everything, all on those fancy toothpicks with the plastic fringes. Joe plucks bite after bite, chewing and swallowing, and I know he can’t possibly be savoring the differences between the teriyaki chicken and the barbecue. His eyes look as glazed as the honey ham.