Within Reach

by Sarah Mayberry

  “It’s okay.” Eva used her hands to check on her plaits. “You did a good job.”

  “Plaits are one of my areas of expertise.”

  Michael moved to the end of the dining table. She heaved a silent sigh of relief when he tugged on a white T-shirt from the laundry folded neatly there. She still had to contend with his long, muscular legs, but at least she could look him in the eye now.

  She felt faintly ridiculous. She’d been to the beach with Michael and Billie dozens of times over the years, seen Michael’s bare chest more times than she could count. When she was at art school, she’d seen enough naked men in her life-drawing classes to ensure that the male body—Michael’s in particular—should hold no mysteries for her. Certainly it shouldn’t make her feel oddly skittish, as though she wanted to race for the nearest exit or giggle up her sleeve like a schoolgirl.

  And definitely it shouldn’t make her palms a little sweaty and her heartbeat ragged.

  It’s a chemical reaction. A stupid, primitive response to seeing a man in his prime. It doesn’t mean anything.

  She turned to leave, desperate to get away from Michael’s big, hard body and her unwanted reaction to it.

  “I should get stuck into it,” she murmured.

  “Daddy, I keep forgetting to ask. What are we going to buy for Mummy’s birthday this year?”

  The fridge door closed with a slam. Angie’s breath got caught in her throat, her gaze instinctively gravitating to where Michael stood, one hand on the fridge door, the other hanging loosely by his side, his face pale and tight.

  “I think Mummy would like some flowers,” Eva said, oblivious to the sudden tension in the room as she loaded picture books into her school bag.

  Time seemed suspended for a long, still moment.

  “I’d forgotten Mummy’s birthday was coming up.” Michael said it easily, lightly, as though it wasn’t a big deal at all.

  Angie realized she was clenching her hands. She’d forgotten that Billie’s birthday was next week, too. A self-protective mechanism, perhaps, because Billie’s birthday was also the anniversary of her death. A cruel irony.

  “We can go visit her, can’t we? And take her a cake?” Eva asked.

  “Sure. We can do whatever you’d like to do,” Michael said.

  Angie met his gaze. She wondered if she looked as bleak and shaken as he did.

  He turned away. “Better get a wriggle on if we’re going to make it to school on time.”

  Angie headed for her studio, fighting an upswell of memories and emotions.

  If Billie was alive, next Friday would have been her thirty-third birthday. They would have had a party—Billie always celebrated her birthday, no matter what—and Angie would have made her something to add to her collection of Angela Bartlett originals. A bracelet, perhaps, or earrings to match last year’s necklace.

  For a moment, longing for her friend was so intense it was an ache in her chest. Then, as always, the grief drained away and she was left feeling merely sad and lonely and empty.

  She settled at her desk. It took a while, but her thoughts finally stopped circling. She was using the larger of the ring benders when a tap sounded on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Michael entered, his hair still mussed, wearing the same T-shirt he’d dragged on earlier with a pair of black jeans.

  “Hey,” she said quietly. “You okay?”

  “She caught me off guard, that’s all. I knew Billie’s birthday was coming up. I just hadn’t wanted to think about it.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  Michael buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans. A muscle tightened in his jaw. “We talked in the car on the way to school. She wants to go to the cemetery on Friday, visit the grave and leave a present. And she wants to have all of Billie’s favorite things for dinner.”

  There was a lump the size of Texas in Angie’s throat. “That sounds nice.”

  “She wants you to be there, too. I don’t know if you have any other plans….”

  “I don’t. And I’d be honored.”

  Michael’s gaze skittered around the studio. He looked so alone standing there, trying to contain his pain.

  “I can pick up some things, if you like. Macaroni and cheese, and hot dogs and Wizz Fizz.”

  Michael’s expression softened. “God, she loved junk food, didn’t she?”

  “The crappier the better.”

  “I once saw her eat an entire chocolate cake mix straight from the bowl. She said she liked it better as batter than as cake.”

  Angie smiled. “I could never work out where she put it all.”

  “Hollow legs,” Michael said.

  It was Billie’s favorite explanation, closely followed by “vestigial cheek pouch.”

  “I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Before you go…”

  He paused, eyebrows raised.

  She took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize for last night.”

  “Last night?”

  She couldn’t believe that he’d forgotten. She’d stared at the ceiling half the night regretting her loose lips.

  “The stuff about Gerry and her friend and, you know…” She made a gesture in the air. She could feel her cheeks warming so she forced herself to get the rest out in a rush. “It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t have pushed you and I want you to know it won’t happen again.”

  To her surprise, Michael’s gaze slid away from hers, dropping to the floor. He shuffled his feet. “There’s nothing to apologize for. Forget it.”

  He headed for the door. She was about to stop him again when she realized that she wasn’t the only one who was embarrassed—his cheekbones were a dull, brick red, signaling more than words ever could that he was deeply uncomfortable about this topic.

  She bit her tongue and let him leave, wishing she hadn’t said anything at all.

  So much for clearing the air.

  That’ll teach you to keep your advice and opinions to yourself, smarty pants. Remember this the next time you feel the need to share your point of view with Michael.

  Not that she was anticipating that happening anytime soon.

  * * *

  A RISING WIND RUFFLED Michael’s hair as he watched his daughter kneel in front of Billie’s headstone. He glanced toward the sky, trying to gauge if they would get soaked or not. He hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella. There had been too many other things on his mind.

  The sky was mottled with dark gray clouds, but none of them looked immediately menacing. With a bit of luck they would be able to pay their respects without getting drenched.

  “Hi, Mummy. We made you a cake. Chocolate with sprinkles, the way you like. And we brought you flowers.” Eva laid both offerings on the neatly clipped grass. “I want you to know I’ve been trying to be good. I’ve been trying to remember to keep my room tidy, because I know you like it that way. And I’ve been patient with Charlie because he’s only little and he doesn’t always know when he’s being a pain or ruining things.”

  Michael tilted his head back, inhaling deeply through his nose. He heard Angie sniff but didn’t dare look her way because he knew he’d lose it if he did.

  There was a reason he’d avoided coming out here before now. Nowhere was Billie more dead than here, where evidence of her passing was engraved in white marble, utterly incontrovertible.

  “School has been okay. I don’t like math, and Mrs. Dorrit says that I talk too much but that’s because I have so much to say. I’ve been keeping up my swimming but I didn’t want to do ballet anymore because that was always our special thing and it wasn’t the same without you.”

  Michael closed his eyes. He’d thought Eva had simply lost interest in ballet.

  “Down. Me down, please,” Cha
rlie said.

  Michael glanced over as Angie bent to set Charlie on his feet. He walked straight to the headstone and laid his hands on it.

  “Careful of the cake,” Eva warned.

  Michael stepped forward to guide Charlie away from potential disaster. Eva closed her eyes and leaned forward to press a kiss to the headstone.

  “I love you, Mummy. I think about you every day.” She turned her head and looked at him, her eyes swimming with tears. He held out his hand and helped her to her feet. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his shirt, her small body shuddering with emotion.

  Angie took Eva’s place at the graveside. Dropping to her knees, she laid her own tribute on the grass, an intricately woven wreath of fresh flowers. It was too unique to be anything other than her work, and he watched as she bowed her head and closed her eyes. Her hands held each other tightly in her lap and her chest rose and fell sharply as though she was struggling to control tears.

  He turned away to give her some privacy, resting his hand on Eva’s head, resisting the insistent tug as Charlie strived to free himself.

  After a few minutes he heard the rustle of clothing as Angie pushed herself to her feet. She was wiping tears from her cheeks with her fingertips when he looked at her. Her eyelashes were spiky and she gave him a watery smile.

  “At least we didn’t get soaked.”

  “No.”

  “If you want, I can walk the kids to the car.”

  It took him a second to understand she was offering him some private time at the graveside.

  “Thanks.”

  Angie settled Charlie on her hip before offering Eva her free hand.

  “I won’t be long,” he assured them as they began to walk slowly toward the road that wound its way through the cemetery. He watched them for a few seconds before turning and eyeing Billie’s grave. Not for a second could he kid himself that this piece of marble and patch of lawn had anything to do with his wife. She had been life personified, and this place was all about death.

  He stared at the date. She’d been so young. Too young. They had only gotten started. He’d had so many plans for them. So many dreams…

  Now they were all gone. Today, his dreams were about enduring and surviving and doing everything he could to ensure his kids didn’t miss out because life had dealt them a cruel, ugly blow and taken their mother away.

  Not exactly inspiring stuff. But he didn’t have it in him to aspire to more. Not when his past dreams had been rewarded with a cosmic kick in the teeth.

  He laid his hand on the cold marble. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t sound like a plea for something that was never going to happen. After a few minutes, he slid his hand from the headstone. His eyes were dry as he started toward the road.

  He could see Angie and the kids ahead. Angie’s head was tilted to one side as she gave her attention to Eva. Charlie’s cheek was pressed against her shoulder, his face turned into her neck. A drop of water landed on his arm and he glanced up. In that split-second the heavens opened, warm dollops of water hitting his face. He heard Eva’s squeal of surprise and he broke into a run as Angie hustled the kids toward the parking lot. As he drew closer he could hear Eva protesting.

  “We’re going to get all wet.”

  “It’s only water. It won’t hurt us,” Angie said. “It’s like having a shower in our clothes.”

  They were approaching the car. He wondered if Angie realized it was locked and that he had the keys. As he closed the final few meters between them, he drew the keys from his pocket and hit the button to unlock the doors. Angie glanced at him, surprise on her face.

  “You caught up fast.”

  “You walk slow.”

  She smiled. “That’s another way of looking at it.”

  They reached the car and he opened the rear passenger door so Angie could put Charlie in his car seat. He raced around to the driver’s side as she slid into the passenger’s seat. The door slammed heavily behind him. He was immediately aware of how wet he was, his jeans soaked through, his hair dripping, his polo shirt glued to his chest. He twisted to check on the kids. Eva looked like a drowned rat, her hair plastered to her skull, her good dress dark with moisture. Beside her, Charlie was equally soaked.

  “You guys okay?” he asked.

  “This is worse than a shower in our clothes. This is more like a bath.” Eva sounded simultaneously disgusted and delighted by the concept.

  Beside him, Angie laughed. She was soaked through, as wet as if someone had dunked her in a pool. Suddenly he found himself laughing, too. Then Eva joined in and Charlie, unwilling to be left out, began giggling as though someone had told him the funniest joke in the world. For long seconds the car echoed with their laughter. Part of him was aware that it was as much a release of tension as it was amusement at their soaking, but he figured that was okay. He’d much rather see his daughter laugh like this than witness the sadness in her eyes when she’d addressed her mother’s grave.

  “All right. Let’s go find ourselves some dry clothes,” he said as he started the car.

  It was a half-hour drive home from the cemetery and the windows kept fogging up as their clothes dried. By the time they pulled into the garage the car was like a sauna.

  “Inside and into dry clothes. Off we go,” he said, herding the kids toward the house.

  It took him a moment to realize Angie wasn’t with them. Instead, she was running through the rain toward her car.

  “What are you doing?” he called after her.

  “I think I’ve got some dry clothes in my car.”

  He unlocked the front door and let the kids in, then grabbed the umbrella from the big Chinese urn inside the door. He jogged down the path, opening the umbrella as he ran, and reached Angie as she extracted a gym bag from the rear of her car.

  She laughed at him when he stepped close, sharing the shelter of the umbrella with her.

  “It’s not like I could get any wetter,” she said.

  “It’s the principle of the thing.”

  “Very gallant of you.”

  “No need to sound so surprised.”

  She grinned at him. She was standing so close he could smell the damp wool of her sweater and see the fine smile lines around her eyes.

  They turned as one, her hip bumping his as they fell easily into step.

  “Feel free to grab a shower if you want to warm up,” he said as they entered the house.

  “Why don’t you grab a shower and I’ll sort Charlie and Eva out?”

  “I don’t think so. Go get dry.”

  She started to protest but he grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her toward the main bathroom.

  “Quit being so stubborn,” he said.

  Her shoulders were fine-boned but strong and he felt them flex beneath his fingers in instinctive resistance to his insistence.

  “See you in ten,” he said, already heading toward the living room where he could hear Charlie and Eva talking.

  She didn’t say anything more, but he heard the bathroom door close.

  He found Eva trying to wrestle Charlie out of his wet sweatshirt and he placed a grateful hand on her head.

  “Thanks for that, sweetie. Why don’t I take over from here and you can change?”

  “Okay. But good luck.”

  He smiled, amused by her lack of faith in him. Five minutes later, it wasn’t so funny. For reasons known only to himself, Charlie fought him every step of the way as Michael stripped him of the wet items and dressed him in his pajamas.

  Finally, Michael left Charlie in Eva’s care and sought his own shower. It wasn’t until the hot water hit the bunched shoulders of his neck and back that he registered how tightly he’d been holding himself. He hadn’t been looking forward t
o today. Had been dreading it, in fact. But it hadn’t been too bad. He’d survived, and so had the kids. They had even managed to find a small moment of joy in the experience, albeit peripherally.

  So. Maybe he was doing more than simply surviving and enduring. Maybe the dark, dim days of his early grief weren’t the only color he had to look forward to.

  Maybe.

  * * *

  “I FEEL UTTERLY DISGUSTING. As though I need to scrub the inside of my body with bleach and steel wool.” Angie lay on the couch, one hand on her much-abused belly.

  Michael was sprawled on the other side of the U-shaped modular piece, his legs clad in faded denim, his hands clasped across his chest as he rested with his eyes closed.

  They had feasted on a cornucopia of Billie’s favorite foods. Miniature hot dogs, salt-and-vinegar chips, party pies and sausage rolls, macaroni and cheese—the kind with the canned cheese sauce—and a host of sweet treats that they had stirred through softened ice cream. Now, Angie’s stomach was rebelling, clearly highly ambivalent about the heady mix of salt, nitrates, sugars and animal fats she’d fed it.

  “I bought some antacid, just in case,” Michael said.

  “Good. I’ll let you know if I need it.” She eyed her stomach. “Digest, please. Make all the badness go away.”

  Eva looked up from where she was fiddling with the iPad.

  “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. I thought dinner was perfect.”

  “That’s because you’ve inherited your mother’s taste buds,” Michael said.

  “Really?” Eva appeared buoyed by the prospect.

  “Definitely,” Angie confirmed.

  Eva smiled hugely before focusing on the game she’d been playing. Michael cracked open an eye to check on Charlie, who lay curled on his side on the section of couch between him and Angie, dead to the world.

  “I should probably put the C monster to bed while he’s out to it,” he said.

  “Excellent plan,” she agreed.

  Michael didn’t move.

  “On the other hand, he seems very comfortable where he is,” he said.

  “For sure.”

  After a short silence Michael stirred again, sitting up and swinging his feet to the floor.