by Rula Sinara
What was with women? First Hope saying he’d left early and now Nina wondering why he was back early?
“I’m right on time, if you ask me.”
“How’s your friend?” she asked, packing tins of baked goods into paper bags to deliver to the local homeless shelter.
“It’ll be a long road, but I think he’ll be okay, emotionally, at least. Where is everyone?” He opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. There was an odd whirring sound coming through the walls.
Nina sniffed and kept packaging without looking up.
“Eric went upstairs to burn off some steam. He actually raised his voice at me. Told me to get rid of all this—” she waved at the bags of goodies “—then stormed off. Would you believe he pulled his shirts that needed ironing off that exercise bike in our room and he’s actually using it? And Hope is hiding out with the kids to the back bedroom.”
Eric yelling and Hope hiding? Ben didn’t like the warning burn in his gut.
“What happened here, Nina?”
She pushed aside a bag and cooled her palms against the countertop. She finally looked up.
“Something Chad said about seeing you and Hope kissing.”
Ben inhaled long and slow, then recapped his water bottle and set it down. No secrets around little mouths. Little kids were like parental paparazzi. Chad in particular.
“It happened,” Ben said, digging his thumbs into the pads of his fingers.
Nina nodded and went to the sink.
“What do you want me to say?” Ben asked. “What do you expect from me, Nina?”
“I have no clue. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Eric obviously didn’t take it well.”
Ben paced a few steps.
“Zoe’s never coming back,” he said. A part of him needed to hear the words, too.
“I know that,” Nina whispered.
“I respect you both, but whatever is happening with Hope really isn’t any of your business. It was a kiss. That’s all. I’m human. The bottom line is, what I do personally or otherwise with the rest of my life isn’t anyone’s business but mine.”
Nina didn’t respond. He knew he was harsh. He needed to be. Every one of them, him included, needed a figurative slap across the face to snap them out of this purgatory they were in. Not dead like Zoe, but not living freely and fully.
Ben left the kitchen and went straight for the bedroom the kids used whenever they stayed over or took naps. Zoe’s old room. A song that was definitely not the whir of Eric’s stationary bike carried through the door. A fairy-tale melody. He knew it was Hope singing. He recognized her voice. It washed through him like the warmth of her kisses and hot chocolate blended to perfection.
He slowed his step, listening. The door was cracked open enough that he could see through the gap along the hinge. Ryan sat in Hope’s lap, his eyes fluttering closed as he gnawed at his thumb. Maddie sat on the floor next to her, leaning on one hand while stroking the bottom of Ryan’s tiny socked foot with the other, and Chad was curled on his side with his favorite pillow and naptime blanket. They all circled Hope, who sat in the “big comfy chair,” as Zoe used to call it. All three looked lost in her voice and in the story it told.
And then everything shifted. Everything changed. Hope hit an off-key note but recovered and kept singing, her eyes directly on Maddie. There was no mistaking the sound of harmony. First humming, then soft words sung to her little brother. Sung with Hope.
Everything inside Ben caught in his throat. He couldn’t breathe, afraid that if he startled her, she’d stop. Afraid he’d mess up again. He moved slowly, carefully, so that he could watch from the opening of the door. He needed to see Maddie’s lips move and her sweet voice coming through them. He needed that memory.
Hope saw him. Her fingers kept strumming Ryan’s hair as she rocked, but her voice hitched. She looked at him and blinked. A signal to let him know it was real. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Ben covered his mouth to stop his chin from shaking. His little girl was singing.
Maddie was singing.
The song ended.
“Maddie, honey,” Hope said, her voice hushed. “That was beautiful. You’re brothers are the luckiest boys in the world for having a big sister like you who can sing them to sleep.”
Maddie got up and stood close to Hope.
“Do you think so?” Maddie whispered.
“I know so,” Hope said. Maddie wrapped her arms around Hope’s neck and began to cry. Cry the way she’d needed to all those months ago. A cry that Ben had no power against. He let the tears fall for his little girl. He pushed the door open the rest of the way and got down on his knees.
“Mads?”
Hope smoothed Maddie’s hair and kissed her head. She turned her gently so she could see and hear her daddy through her sobbing.
“Maddie, can I give you a hug?” Ben reached his arms out, and Maddie ran to him.
He held her tight.
“I love you, baby. I’m here for you.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dear Diary,
My head is hurting me. My words came back and I told Daddy it was all my fault that Mommy died. She wanted to make something different for dinner the day he came home. She had already bought groceries, but I said no. It had to be his favorite burger because it was our tradition and we knew it made him happy and we didn’t want him to go away again. She said that traditions can change and she wanted to start a new, special one. If I had listened to her, she would still be here. He said it wasn’t my fault and that he loves me. I think he was just trying to make me feel better, but part of me believes it. I want us to start a new tradition this year with Hope.
HOPE CLOSED THE door to Ryan’s room at the same time Ben emerged from Chad’s. They both listened outside Maddie’s door. No sound was heard, so Hope went ahead and opened the door.
“She’s sound asleep,” Hope said a minute later.
“She wiped herself out crying.”
Ben had, too, and watching him fall apart over what Maddie had confessed—realizing why she’d retreated into silence and how deep the inner turmoil she’d suffered ran—had shredded Hope to pieces. They were all spent. Drained beyond reserves, yet relieved that she’d finally opened up. No child should have to carry that kind of burden or feel that level of guilt. No child.
Hope went to turn on the closet light as Ben turned off his daughter’s bedside lamp. He pulled the covers up to Maddie’s shoulders and tucked her stuffed monkey next to her. They left the room, feet dragging.
“I wonder if she’ll sleep better or worse tonight,” Hope said, heading into the kitchen. She’d told Ben about finding Maddie next to her in Chad’s room.
“I think she’ll sleep soundly, out of sheer exhaustion, if anything. Her teacher was right. I don’t think she’s been sleeping well. Hope, I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for her. For all of us,” Ben said. Hope angled her head at him, then began filling the electric water kettle.
“Please, don’t ever mention it again,” she said. “I haven’t done anything. There are so many factors in something like this. Perhaps the new psychologist is working, or it just happened because it was the right time for her.” She set the kettle to boil and leaned back against the counter. “I desperately need a cup of tea. Would you like one? Or decaf coffee?” She held up the instant decaf she’d found in a cabinet.
“Sure. I’ll have the decaf,” he said, collapsing into a chair at the table. He put his elbows on the table and hung his head in his hands.
Hope put a teabag and spoon of instant coffee into two separate mugs. The electric water boiler clicked, and she filled the mugs and carried them over.
“What if she wakes up and she’s not speaking again?” Ben said, lifting his face. If Hope had seen worry lines before, there were a thousand more now. She came around his chair and ran her hands over the broad line of his shoulders, then began to gently knead away his tension. She ran her thumbs along his neck. His muscles fe
lt like iron rods with no give or take.
“You can’t know. You can’t predict,” she said. “Morning will come soon enough, and you can give her therapist a call and see what she says.”
“I don’t think the office is open tomorrow, for Christmas Day,” Ben said.
Hope stopped massaging. Maddie had spoken on Christmas Eve. With the excitement over Maddie speaking, she’d forgotten what day it was.
“It’s okay,” she said, running her hands down his thick upper arms. “Tomorrow she’ll have fun opening presents. And then soon it’ll be a new year. Remind her of that. A fresh start. It can be a new beginning for her. For all of you,” she said, patting his shoulder and then sitting next to him and taking a sip of tea.
“Ben, I know it’s none of my business, but did you talk to someone after Zoe died?”
Ben stared at the wisps of steam swirling from his mug. Maybe it wasn’t her business, but she wanted to know. They were more than just friends, and if she was supposed to trust what was happening, she had to know how much healing he’d done.
“I did,” he said. “For a short time. Then I stopped because I needed to focus on caring for the kids, and some of Maddie’s sessions involved all of us anyway. Plus, I knew the steps of mourning. I’d read about them in college. I’d seen a campus counselor a few times back when my mom passed away. A single mom who’d dedicated her life to providing for me. And here I am now, her son, a single dad.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to talk about Zoe’s death anymore. I got so tired of everyone trying to tell me it wasn’t my fault when it was so obvious to me that it was. It had to be. I’d spent over a decade surrounded by death on a daily basis. Watching its horrible face. Knowing it could take me any second. And right when I come home…
“She was the one who was supposed to be here doing what she’d always done. I was the one who should have died. I was the high risk. I was ready for it. I should have been the one to go pick up dinner. But Zoe was right. I was out of my element being alone with the kids…with a newborn. She insisted that I stay because of that. Just like you insisted I go to get a tree alone with them.” He grimaced. “Man, I sound like Maddie, blaming myself, don’t I? But in my case it’s true. I let my guard down. I was tired and let it down, and I let her have the last word. I ignored the voice in my head that told me she was tired, too, that I should go. And that was all it took.” He closed his eyes and held his head.
Hope scooted closer to him. She put her hand on his back and rubbed small circles.
“You can’t blame yourself. Everyone who told you that is right. You can’t live by what-ifs. That accident was a heartbreaking tragedy. I saw how it devastated Jack. I only knew of Zoe through him and Anna, and even so it tore me up. I know it had to have been a million times worse for you and the children. I see that it was. But you’re the one who’s living. You’re the one who’s here for them now. At this point, all you can do is honor her, cherish her memory and care for her children the way she would have wanted.”
He looked up at her.
“I know I’m not the perfect father, but I will do whatever it takes to provide for them.”
Hope reached out and took his hand, her soft fingers laced through his callused ones. That was what she was afraid of. He’d forget that what they really wanted was him.
She went over to the tree and brought him the gift she’d had made.
“You should open this now, Ben.”
He took the small box and ripped the wrapping. Inside was a pewter ornament that framed a collage of his family. One picture of him and Zoe together, then the faces of all three kids branching out. She’d managed to make him a family photo. Something he’d thought was impossible, since Zoe had died before they could have one made with Ryan in it.
He closed his eyes briefly, overcome by her thoughtfulness.
“Thank you, Hope. This is the nicest gift I’ve ever received.”
He got up, wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. Then he went and hung the ornament on “Zoe’s tree.” Hope had given him his family back. And he couldn’t help but feel she was now a part of it.
*
THE NEXT FEW DAYS were spent mostly at home, enjoying all the games and toys they’d unwrapped under the tree and playing in the backyard. Just normal family stuff, and it felt good.
Ben couldn’t believe New Year’s was already here. A series of blasts and pops ambushed the air. Ben jerked his head up, then visibly relaxed. He ran his hand back across his head.
“Midnight fireworks,” he said.
Hope got up and went to the front window. Sure enough, the sky beyond his neighbor’s house lit up. The fireworks were a bit distant from the direction of the university, but it was the perfect vantage point.
“Come on,” she said. “I’m stepping outside for a minute.” She grabbed the afghan off the chair and slipped on her shoes.
It was freezing cold outside, and magical and brilliant. She sat on the front step, and Ben joined her, sitting one step above and behind her.
He wrapped a wool scarf around her neck and cradled her from behind. His warmth and scent caressed her back. Several more fireworks lit the sky. He jolted at the bigger explosions.
She turned suddenly. “Ben, I’m sorry,” she said, turning her face up to him. “Let’s go inside if this bothers you. I wasn’t thinking about your past.”
“It does bother me…a little…but I don’t want to go inside. You being here helps.”
Hope’s pulse raced. Their breath swirled in a fog of want and need. Of honor and gratitude. Of understanding and acceptance. He ran his fingers along her cheeks, then held her face as if he’d discovered something too precious to release. She reached up and held his wrists. “Happy New Year, Hope Alwanga.”
“Happy New Year, Ben.”
He kissed her tenderly, and she kissed him back until the sky covered them in dark silence. She shivered and put her fingertips to her lips.
Maybe she didn’t have to return to Kenya.
Maybe her destiny was here.
*
BEN WOKE UP earlier than usual. The anticipation of hearing Maddie say good-morning had kept him from a deep sleep. That and sleeping in an only half-reclined position. He’d forgo sleep for the rest of his life if it was the trade-off for Mads staying okay and getting to wake up every morning with Hope’s face nestled in his shoulder.
They’d come inside last night—or really, early morning of the New Year—and he’d thrown a couple of logs in the fireplace to warm her up. Then they’d sat there, staring at the flame in comfortable silence until they had both fell asleep.
He sat now at the breakfast table scanning emails. Hope stirred on the sofa. She stretched her legs from the fetal position she’d curled into when he left her, and rubbed the side of her neck. She wasn’t quite awake yet.
He looked back at his email list and found what he was looking for. He clicked on it. Finally. He read through it. He had interviews at two more major military contract companies in DC.
Hope opened her eyes and yawned, rubbing her neck again.
Ben closed his laptop.
“Sleep okay?” he asked.
Hope craned her neck to see over the counter to the table. He had the height advantage.
“Good morning,” she said. “Tell me you brewed coffee.”
“It’s waiting for you.”
She stood and padded across the room.
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
Ben got up, poured out the black ink that had formed at the bottom of the pot he’d brewed a few hours ago and started a fresh pot.
As soon as the kids woke up and ate, they’d all head back to Grandma and Grandpa’s house—assuming that Maddie was okay when she arose.
He put his laptop back in its drawer and grabbed the sheet of paper and jotted down reminders of what he wanted to bring up at the next therapy visit. If he ended up getting the job in DC, he’d want to talk to his kids abou
t it during a counseling session. Not only did he not want to upset Maddie and have her retreat again, he’d want advice on what would be best: leaving the kids in the environment they grew up in, with Nina and Eric…or uprooting them completely. Now that Maddie was recovering, the latter option might be a possibility. He folded the paper and stuffed it into his pocket.
What about Hope? She’d become such an integral part of their lives. A part of their family. But she was leaving. They both knew it. She had a life and a career. He couldn’t take that away from her. He had learned that lesson. He’d let Zoe sacrifice her dreams for him. He wasn’t going to let Hope do that, too. And she was younger than him. She had so much to offer. So many ways she could make a difference in the world.
Hope reentered the kitchen.
He handed her a mug of coffee.
“Bless you.” She sighed. “I’ll stop seeing two of you once I drink this.”
“Two of me, huh? Must be nice. Here, give me that mug back before you’re only left with one of me.”
“Ha, no, you don’t.” She laughed, holding her cup away from him. “I can barely handle one.”
“Good morning.”
Ben and Hope both spun around.
Oh, that sweet, sweet voice. Maddie stood at the door to the hallway. Her tangled hair was sprawled against a backdrop of flannel snowmen.
“Morning, Mads,” Ben said. “How’d you sleep?”
“Good.”
“Are you hungry?” Hope asked.
Maddie nodded. She still looked as though she needed a second to wake up. She rubbed her eyes.
Ben went over and put his hand on her back and guided her to a chair.
“Which cereal do you want?”
“All mixed up,” she said.
“I like that idea,” Hope said. “The breakfast of a creative genius.”
Maddie’s mouth spread into a smile, and she waggled her eyebrows.
Hope and Ben burst out laughing.
*
JANUARY HAD FLOWN BY. Hope wiped Ryan’s face with a wet paper towel and coaxed him to take another bite of jarred chicken in between the cubes of sweet potato he was managing on his own. He pushed his tongue against his lips, and beige sludge oozed out of his mouth.
