Lucy McConnell's Snow Valley Box Set

by Lucy McConnell

  It’s not about me.

  She put the OJ back in the fridge. It sure feels about me. I’m the lonely one. I’m the one he rejects.

  And yet, he’d never done anything like this before he was fired.

  What if it isn’t about me?

  If it wasn’t about her, then nothing Natalie could do would change or improve their marriage. If it was about Eli, then all the cards were stacked on his side of the table. Any improvements in their relationship were on hold until he could figure things out.

  Just like they’d been on her side of the table several times. Like when she’d first gone to work at Dove’s. She’d resented having to leave the lifestyle she’d grown accustomed to and find a way to feel accomplished and happy in her circumstances. And she wasn’t all that great to live with while she acclimated to her new situation. Still, Eli had stayed.

  He didn’t leave when she was crazy exhausted every night from taking care of two kids under the age of three. And he stuck by her when she had her tubular pregnancy and following surgery. Those were dark times for her, and yet Eli was always there.

  So the question that followed Natalie back to the family room was, could or would Eli do the soul-searching necessary to evolve? If he was the man she believed him to be, then he would. If that man no longer existed, she had some tough decisions to make.

  Aunt Sophie sipped the juice and winked.

  The mischief twinkling in Aunt Sophie’s eyes made Natalie wonder what else she’d been up to. “By the way, did you send me and Eli some money?”

  Aunt Sophie shook her head. “Why?”

  “No reason.” Natalie was too tired to worry about the envelopes and Eli and an Easter dress for Hailey—which she was determined to have. By hook or by crook or by sewing needle. Sewing the dress had crossed her mind, but in many cases new material was just as expensive as buying a finished garment. What she needed was a dress she could alter. Maybe something a little retro with a flair for the dramatic.

  As dramatic as Aunt Sophie … “Hey, do you still have that trunk of dresses?” she asked.

  Aunt Sophie tipped her head. “It’s in the back room.”

  “Can I have one to make over for Hailey? Easter is in three weeks and …” She twisted her hands in her lap, knowing full well this was her last hope.

  “Sure, let’s take a look-see.” Aunt Sophie pushed off the arm of the couch and swayed. “Whoa!”

  “Aunt Sophie!” Natalie grabbed onto her elbow to steady her and noticed several dark bruises on her arm. The older Aunt Sophie got, the more fragile she seemed. A bump against a doorknob could leave her hand black and blue. Hitting the table as she stood could lacerate the skin on her hip. Natalie loosened her grip on Aunt Sophie, hoping she hadn’t left behind a mark.

  “Got up too fast.” Aunt Sophie put her hand to her forehead. “Happens all the time.”

  “Well, slow it down, we’re not in a rush.”

  “I got excited about the dress. I think I know the perfect one.”

  Natalie slipped Aunt Sophie’s hand over her arm as they shuffled down the hall. By the time they reached the doorway to the spare bedroom, Aunt Sophie was steady and ready to dive into the old clothes. The lid to the trunk creaked as they strained together to lift the heavy cedar.

  “They don’t make ‘em like they used to,” joked Aunt Sophie.

  “They sure don’t. Eli’s truck door would come off long before the lid of this trunk.”

  Aunt Sophie sifted through the layers of fabric and tissue paper, her knobby hands on a mission. “Here it is.” She pulled out a beautiful robin’s-egg blue dress with a sweetheart neckline and full skirt.

  Rubbing the fabric between her fingers, Natalie was pleased to see that the fibers hadn’t faded and there were no snags or tears. “It’s beautiful.”

  “And it will look stunning with Hailey’s eyes.”

  Natalie grinned. “Do you mind? I’ll have to take the sides in a little and shorten the sleeves.”

  “It’s yours to do with as you please.” Aunt Sophie pressed the dress into Natalie’s hands.

  “Thank you.” Natalie hugged her before closing the trunk and making sure her aunt got back to the couch. “Are you set? Do you need anything before I go?”

  “I’m all set.” Sophie held Natalie’s hand between hers. “And don’t forget what we talked about earlier. Men face hard times, too; we can’t expect them to be invincible.”

  “I’ll remember.” Natalie planted a kiss on Aunt Sophie’s wrinkled cheek. “Love you.”

  They said their goodbyes and Natalie was soon driving home, the dress in her lap. Her mind bounced back and forth between planning the alterations on the dress and thinking about Aunt Sophie’s advice.

  It’s not about me.

  She repeated the phase over and over again, each time letting go of the insecurities that had plagued her over the last few months. She’d worried that she’d lost her youthful bloom and therefore Eli wasn’t interested in her anymore. Even though she’d dropped weight because of her decrease in expensive foods and increase in movement, the weight of the world seemed to burrow into the crow’s feet around her eyes, aging her faster than she cared to admit. Was she still pretty? Desirable? Could she make it on her own? Who was she, really, without Eli and the kids?

  Slowly, other thoughts filled her mind.

  I am a good person.

  It’s okay to find fulfillment at my job.

  I don’t have to feel guilty for enjoying life … my kids …

  I can laugh out loud.

  I am attractive. I am desirable.

  Somehow, along the way, she’d defined herself by what happened between her and Eli. His orneriness and disinterest in her had, in her own mind, been her fault. Mistakenly, she’d believed that by reducing herself, he would enlarge. As if they were in a glass bubble with only so much space for the two of them, and if she took up less room he’d be able to expand. According to Aunt Sophie, that wasn’t how things worked. Instead of becoming less or stifling herself, Natalie needed to get out of the bubble and breathe, really breathe in life. She could allow herself to be happy. Sharing Eli’s burdens in a marriage didn’t mean she had to let them weigh her down.

  This revelation poured into her soul and filled many of the cracks, leaving her head spinning like Aunt Sophie’s when she stood up too fast.

  She pulled into the school and killed the engine while she waited for Ryan. Freeing herself from the burden was one process; understanding how to move on from here was quite another. She didn’t want to leave Eli behind, but she was too tired to continue dragging him along with her.

  Chapter 8

  Natalie didn’t have time to work on the dress until the next evening, when Eli took her car to gather parts for their broken toilet and the kids were at the youth Sunday school. She enjoyed pulling out her old sewing machine, threading it, and hearing the gentle hum. Working with her Bernina 1000 transported her back to simpler times, when her biggest worries were her midterm English paper and the cute cowboy in geometry.

  The machine itself was loud compared to the newer, computerized models she’d seen in the stores. However, Natalie always felt a sense of achievement when her buttonholes turned out even and her zippers were straight. Learning to sew on an older machine meant she had to perfect her abilities instead of rely on the computer to do the work … although she wouldn’t turn her nose up if a Bernina 1230 fell into her lap.

  The first step to adjusting the dress was to remove the sleeves. They were slightly longer than a short sleeve. It was quite the look in the fifties, but shortening them would update the entire look of the dress. With careful snips of the thread, Natalie managed to save the fabric. Next, she pinned in each side seam and then removed an inch and a half of fabric; Hailey was still a stick of a thing and didn’t have the curves Aunt Sophie had had when she’d made this dress.

  After a while, Natalie’s hands took over and allowed her mind to return to the conversation she’d
had with Aunt Sophie about men in general and husbands more specifically. She became curious enough about the common threads in their marriages that she decided to do an Internet search on depression in men. She twisted her seat to reach the keyboard on the computer desk better. Pausing, she listened hard to make sure she was still the only one home. Eli would have a fit if he knew she was sorting through psychology websites on his behalf. As much as he hated taking money from strangers, he would despise the idea of a shrink.

  This search was not about him, per se. Depression was treatable and not a permanent condition. Knowing that Eli was depressed would give her hope for their future together. Her logic was twisted, she knew that; being happy about having a depressed husband was … weird. And yet finding a reason for his behavior would allow her to make a plan and understand how to help him through all this.

  Gathering information was about her need to flush out her suspicions and, if she was honest, a smidgen of both validation and reinforcement. What she found as she sifted through sites soothed her troubled mind and confirmed her aunt’s words. It was not about her.

  Eli’s symptoms closely matched those listed on the mental health site. Lack of interest in life or hobbies. Trouble sleeping. Lack of desire for intimacy. It was all there, laid out in layman’s terms. The worry over trying to “fix” herself so she could “fix” him lessened with every sentence she read.

  Eagerly scanning ahead, she learned that treatments included everything from talking to a therapist to taking antidepressants—neither of which she believed Eli would consent to. An extremely private man, he would consider a therapist nosy and invasive and he would probably resent Natalie for asking him to go to counseling. His mother had been on antidepressants, and Eli mentioned several times that her dependence on prescription drugs had embarrassed him. Although Natalie didn’t equate her mother-in-law’s self-obsessed behavior with medication; she was a notorious drama queen who took public opportunities to draw attention to herself, which was probably why Eli was so adamant about his privacy.

  Now who’s analyzing things? She smiled.

  Feeling spent without having accomplished much on the dress, Natalie decided to check Tracie’s blog and see how the pleated dress fared. The twelve-hundred dollar creation was still listed for sale and the comment list continued to grow. The woman who wanted the dress in orange had apparently placed an order, and Natalie made a mental note to congratulate Tracie.

  “Whatcha doing?” Eli asked over her shoulder.

  Natalie jumped up, hitting her hip on the edge of the computer desk. The pain didn’t register, because her heart was beating too fast for her to notice much else. How long had he been there?

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Eli took a step back.

  “No, I didn’t hear you come in.” Natalie ran her hand over her hair and sent a quick thank you to the Lord that Eli hadn’t caught her browsing a website that had “MANOPAUSE” written across the top of the page. Sensing the coast was clear, and slightly light-headed, Natalie plopped back into her seat. “This is Tracie’s blog on sewing.”

  “Oh.” Eli set a white plastic bag on the counter with a sigh. Lately, his sighs seemed to involve not just his lungs but his whole body. She could imagine his toes sagging right along with his shoulders.

  Natalie glanced at the computer and then back at her wilted husband. She wasn’t sure she could pull Eli out of depression; one man had said he didn’t come out of his funk until he made the conscious effort to change. She could at least let him know she wasn’t giving up on him, that he wasn’t alone. Maybe sharing something from her life would open a door to further communication. “Tracie asked me to guest post for her.”

  Eli didn’t move. “If it makes you happy.”

  While his response was kind, his words lacked the enthusiasm she’d hoped for. Intent on reaching out to him, she asked, “What would make you happy?”

  “Money.”

  “You and me both,” Natalie muttered. Although, if we had a million dollars and Eli was this down, I don’t think I could be happy. Money is not the source of true happiness. “If you’re not happy now, what makes you think you’ll be happy when you have money?”

  Eli finally turned her way. “I’m not stupid. I know happiness is not something I can pick up at the IFA. But life would be easier, and I’m so tired of everything being so stinking hard.” He slammed his fist on the counter.

  There was the fire. Natalie did a mental fist pump. Even though her fleeting happiness was inappropriate and did nothing to soothe Eli’s irritation, she was grateful there was some fight still in him. Drawing on the wisdom she’d recently acquired on the Internet, Natalie offered him something to look forward to. “We got five more Easter envelopes today. Which means we might be able to pick up your truck tomorrow.”

  Yanking open the fridge, Eli said, “I hate those things.”

  Natalie slid the dress fabric over the envelopes to hide them. Not exactly what I was looking for … “I love them. Each one is filled with love and a sense that all will be well in our world one day.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  Natalie gasped. She’d come to cling to the letters, especially in her low times and often carried one or two in her purse. Hurt and antagonized and angry at herself for pushing Eli, and frustrated that the Internet search hadn’t translated into a solution for her problems, Natalie shifted in her seat so she faced her sewing machine as she spoke over her shoulder to Eli. “They are a reminder that people care, and if people care, then God cares. Which has been pretty hard to remember when I pour my heart out to Him and received comfort but no change in our circumstances. You may not get much more than cash out of them, but to me the words are much more valuable.”

  Eli shut the fridge hard enough to rattle the bottles in the door. He snatched the bag off the counter and stomped to the kids’ bathroom. The door slammed behind him.

  Natalie harrumphed and took her seam ripper to the hem. As she removed stitches, she wiped a stray tear. Eli’s depression might not have been about her, but this sure felt personal. Maybe because this time she’d snapped back and let her aggravation show.

  It’s okay to have feelings. For so long she’d stuffed them away because Eli’s seemed so much more important. Now, she wasn’t so sure. If she didn’t value her feelings, who would?

  Chapter 9

  Eli stayed in the bathroom, tinkering with the fill valve and float, until he heard the kids come in from the youth Sunday school class they attended once a week. He slipped into the kitchen and took his place at the table amidst their excited chatter over the upcoming barn dance. Natalie had packed away her sewing machine. Several light blue threads scattered under the table. The dress didn’t look like much when he’d come in. No doubt Natalie would whip the pieces into shape. He should have told her how much he appreciated her efforts or how he admired her talents—she had so many. Instead, he’d focused on his own insecurities, and with a few well-aimed words he’d ruined what could have been a nice evening together.

  Natalie’s need to rely on the words of strangers for comfort, for a break from her life with him, pierced Eli. There was a time when he had been able to calm her troubled heart, to hold her through their trials and provide the strength she needed. The idea that she no longer saw him as her Superman left him feeling deflated and alone, and in his hurt, he’d called her delusional. Which was ridiculous, because Natalie not only saw things clearly; she saw things others missed. Like the kindness of people being an echo of God’s love. She could see that! Yet to him, finding hope was like looking into a dirty trough.

  For a guy who wanted to be his wife’s hero, he hadn’t been acting like a pillar of strength lately. He’d lost track of how many nights he wasted in front of the TV until he was too bleary-eyed to make the short trip down the hallway to their bedroom.

  He remained silent for most of the meal, answering only when spoken to, and stayed in the kitchen as everyone prepared for bed. His plate
had barely been touched, and when he finally came out of his daze, it was after eleven. How did he manage to do that? Waste hours staring at nothing, thinking nothing, feeling nothing? Was that how he wanted to spend the rest of his life—existing like a shadow or a piece of furniture his family stepped around to live?

  Placing his plate in the sink, Eli had no desire to turn on the television and listen as laugh tracks placated comedians or soak in another rerun. What he wanted to do was regain his purpose and become an active participant in the house. Mostly, he wanted to apologize to Natalie for saying words that poked holes in her sweetness. The need to repair the damage he’d done propelled him across the kitchen, where his feet stopped at the line between tile and faded oatmeal-colored carpet. Why did the line in the floor stop him? Eli stared down, noting that the tile was cold against his feet and the carpet would be warmer, and suddenly realizing he had a say in whether his feet stayed cold.

  Treading quietly to his bedroom doorway, he was met with another line, this one drawn by his pride. He placed his hands on either side of the doorframe, wrapping his fingers around the trim, and pulled himself past the invisible barrier constructed by his self-hate and the sense that he wasn’t worthy to lay next to a woman such as Natalie.

  Changing quietly into his pajamas, he lifted the blankets on his side of the bed and noted that Natalie still slept closest to the wall. She hadn’t moved to the middle or taken over the mattress. It was like she was saving his place, and it meant so much to him that he dared put his arms around her and pull her close. She didn’t fight him or shrug him off as he’d expected, and his chest swelled.

  With a sleepy sigh, she burrowed into his chest, her warm breath on his neck.

  “I—” he started.

  “Shh.” Natalie placed a finger over his lips. She slipped her arm over his side and softened into him, and for the first time in months, Eli was able to lay his burden aside and appreciate the moment.