Picture Imperfect

by Lea Santos

  All of it imbued Paloma with the strength to be courageous for Teddy and not to think of anything else.

  Like the future.

  Lord have mercy, she did not want to raise these sons on her own. The realization burned through her ears, deafening her like the siren’s wail. The boys did need their mommy, despite what Deanne had said. She hated to admit it, but she needed Deanne, too.

  *

  The first hour in the hospital was a blur. Teddy’d been unconscious for no more than two minutes, but that was long enough to warrant a battery of extra tests. An X-ray machine had been rolled into the room, and Teddy was scheduled for a CT scan. After that came a body exam, more X-rays, lab work, stitches, and cleanup. Several hours elapsed before Teddy was finished, before Paloma was convinced he’d be okay.

  Much to everyone’s relief, the injuries turned out to be less serious than they’d feared, though Teddy wouldn’t be running through playgrounds any time soon. He’d lost five teeth—all babies—and the gash on his chin required seven stitches. His neck was stiff, and two black eyes gave him the look of a baby panda bear. The impact had bruised his chest, and his head against the swing set left him with a sizeable purple goose egg and a concussion. If that weren’t enough, his palms and forearms were covered with oozy gravel burn, and his very favorite Broncos jersey had been cut off and discarded.

  He was one bummed-out little guy, but at least he was going home, just as soon as the doctor returned with discharge instructions. Paloma could hardly wait. Her fear, coupled with the odor of disinfectant and the sound of Teddy’s cries, had left her with a pounding headache. She could only imagine how poor Teddy felt.

  Deanne, who’d been at the nurses’ station calling family and friends, moved silently into the curtained area where Paloma had been sitting with the boys. She looked up, and Deanne’s face warmed, which made her immediately look away. Her heart pounded and her palms grew moist.

  Already she’d begun to second-guess her emotions from the ambulance. Yes, she’d been frightened. Yes, she appreciated Deanne’s support. But now that the worst was over, the truth of their situation rushed back to suck her feet out from under her, like an unexpected riptide. She had been so needy, so accepting of Deanne’s comfort. Fear for Teddy—that’s all it was. Right?

  As though the last three weeks had never occurred, Deanne slipped her hand beneath Paloma’s hair to cup and massage her neck exactly how she liked it. Dee leaned in. “You okay, Punkybean?” she asked, her mouth so close she felt the caress of her breath on her cheek.

  “Ah…yeah, I’m uh…” She pulled away as subtly as she could. She didn’t want the boys to read into the familiarity and harbor false hope, but she didn’t want to seem angry, either. Children were so damn perceptive. Though Pep appeared occupied with toys a nurse had given him, Paloma had no doubt he was attuned to every nuance of his parents’ interactions. He still couldn’t understand why Mommy was staying at Uncle Ruben’s. More than anything, Pep just wanted them to be a family again.

  “Paloma?” Deanne asked, her tone a silky caress.

  Paloma crossed to the foot of the bed, then turned back toward Deanne. Determined not to allow her weakened, flip-flopped emotions make promises she wasn’t sure she could keep, she tossed her hair and lifted her chin. “I’ll be fine as soon as I can take Teddy home.”

  I.

  Not we.

  “Of course,” Deanne murmured, but her eyes said, So that’s how it’s gonna be. Whatever bonding they’d gained at the school had been temporary, she clearly realized, and the fact that she was crushed by it all didn’t escape Paloma’s notice. Deanne laid her palm on Teddy’s shoulder, studying his tiny sleeping form. Her chin tremored, and her nostrils flared sharply. “Thank God he’s going to be okay. Poor little guy. Scared me half to death.”

  The show of emotion made Paloma’s breath catch. God, she felt heartless. She’d greedily taken all the comfort Deanne had offered during the ordeal, but the moment things settled down, she repaid her wife with a solid snub. Impending split aside, that wasn’t the kind of person she wanted to be.

  She tried to make amends for acting so selfishly with a softened tone. “How are you doing?”

  “How am I?” Deanne asked, clearly still fixed on Paloma’s brush-off. Her eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips. “Not good, P. Not good at all, if you really want to know.”

  I meant with this, she wanted to add. With Teddy. “Well”—a tight swallow—“you were wonderful.”

  “Apparently not wonderful enough.”

  Paloma sighed. They were talking in riddles and subtext, but she couldn’t find the right words to make it stop. Her hand snaked around the cold metal bar at the end of Teddy’s bed for support.

  “We’ll both have different perspectives in the morning. Things’ll look better then.” Her gaze slid to her son.

  “You think?” Deanne’s voice grew husky. “Because tomorrow, and the day after, the next year, the rest of my life, Paloma, they look nothing but bleak to me.”

  “I was talking about Teddy.”

  “Yeah? Well, I think we need to talk about us.”

  “Not here.” Her throat ached with unreleased emotion. She blinked several times. “Please.”

  “Then where? When? I may still be in your private purgatory for my unforgivable sins, but I know we can work through it. I’m not willing to give up.” Deanne’s left hand slid along the bed’s side bar as she approached her, their commitment ring zinging like a long musical note against the metal.

  Paloma stared down at the band Deanne hadn’t yet removed, the band she hadn’t removed, as a matter of fact, in the fourteen years since she’d placed it on Deanne’s finger. Self-consciously, Paloma curled her bare left hand into her body, riddled with guilt. She hadn’t wanted to take hers off yet, but a TV divorce therapist had suggested doing so as a symbolic first step to moving on. So angry after the missed appointment, she’d just…reacted. She looked at Deanne’s well-worn band, talons of regret gouging into her. Over and over. Clearly, Deanne wasn’t moving anywhere, and part of Paloma was terrified to leave her behind.

  “That’s right,” Deanne said, and Paloma’s gaze snapped to her face. “I’m still married. I’m still wearing it, and I don’t plan to change that. I guess I don’t have as quick of an on/off switch as you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it now, Dee.” Paloma wondered if the words were as honest as they’d once been.

  “How can you say that?” Cords of muscle stood out along Deanne’s neck, spanning out toward her toned shoulders. “Our marriage is the most important thing in my life.”

  “I meant, about the divor—” Paloma sighed and pressed two trembling fingers against her forehead, closing her eyes. Deanne knew what she meant, and she wouldn’t be baited in front of the boys. She peered over at Pep again, and Deanne cupped her elbow and pulled her outside the curtains.

  “He can’t hear us now. No excuses.”

  Bitter heat ripped through her. “You know what I’m saying. The divorce, or whatever the hell we’re calling it, won’t just disappear because of what happened tonight. Nothing’s solved. You aren’t being fair—”

  “Fair?” An unreadable emotion both cold and hot flashed in Deanne’s eyes. She jerked her chin to the side in a restrained shrug. “Forgive me, but you know what they say about all being fair in love and war.”

  War? Teeth clenched, Paloma leaned in. “That’s what this is now? War?”

  “Absolutely not,” Deanne enunciated. “God, I feel like I’m banging my head against a brick wall. This is love, Paloma Vargas. Love. Though maybe the dark side, it is still…love. We’ve sure as hell seen better times, but this”—she placed one palm over her own heart, the other over Paloma’s—“you and me, this is love. Sometimes when we say ‘I love you,’ we forget it isn’t a simple thing, or a sentiment we can take for granted. Remember those words?”

  Paloma fumed. How dared Deanne throw their vows in her face. She steppe
d back from Deanne’s touch. “What about cherish?” she snapped. “Did you forget that one?” Spinning away, she reached up and caressed her temples, trying to quash the burst of bitterness. Long moments passed, during which Paloma felt every hot pulse of blood through her veins.

  “Did I, Punky?” came Deanne’s emotionally shredded reply.

  Paloma turned back.

  Deanne didn’t appear angry. She looked crestfallen. “Because if my actions didn’t show how much I cherished you, I swear, I didn’t intend—” She cut herself off and fought for the right words. “I never knew you felt that way.”

  Paloma hadn’t expected that, and for a moment, didn’t know what to say. How could Deanne not have known? The silences and conspicuous absences. The disappointments, the distance. Working all the time. How could Paloma have been the only one to see it?

  She reached up and wound her fingers in the chain of the diamond pendant Deanne had bought her when Pep was born. Tell her, Paloma’s mind whispered. Now or never.

  “Yeah, you did forget. You forgot the word, the vow, and most of all, you forgot me. That’s the one thing I can’t live with.”

  “I never meant to make you feel as if I forgot you.” Deanne’s eyes melted with sincerity. “If it didn’t show, Jesus, I’m so incredibly sorry. But give me a chance to change.”

  “Yet another chance?” Paloma scoffed, but it felt forced.

  “Yes, Punky. And another, and another, until I fumble through and get it right. Yes. Same as I’d do for you. Aren’t we worth it?” Deanne waited, but Paloma didn’t answer. “I was showing you love the only way I knew how, P. Doing my pathetic best. I didn’t know I was failing you.” She let her arms fall at her sides. “Can’t you see that?”

  Paloma tried to shake the confusion from her head. “I d-don’t know. Didn’t the distance bother you, too, or are you able to survive in an emotional vacuum?”

  The skin tightened across Deanne’s prominent cheekbones. Pain-shadowed eyes searched her face. “Maybe I’m less emotionally insightful than you, but I never intentionally forgot you or our sons. Every day I get up and go to work, every overtime minute I spend away from home is for you and our boys. It’s how I show my love, being the kind of partner my mother never had with Victor. Honestly, I thought you knew that much about me.”

  Paloma squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the rush of tenderness. Damnit, she had known that, somewhere along the line. Was she wrong about the split? If so, why did she hurt so much? “Please don’t say any more. I don’t want to fight. It’s been a rough night—” Her words caught, and she covered her mouth with her hand. She couldn’t bear Dee’s remorse now, on top of her confusion and the terror over Teddy’s accident. She felt a light hand on her forehead, Deanne’s palm smoothing down her cheek.

  “It’s been rough—for all of us. But we hung together, like always.” Deanne placed a soft kiss on Paloma’s hairline. “I’ll do anything to make things better, Punky, except end things without a fight. When I told my mother about the separation, do you know what she said?”

  Paloma’s heart took a sickening plunge. “What?”

  “She said, ‘Don’t lose the best thing life ever gave you, m’ija. Ruben’s better off without that Merrilee, but Paloma is a gem. Go get your family back, whatever it takes.’” Deanne paused, searching Paloma’s face. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse. “Mother knows best. You’ve got to forgive me for the damned appointment, for all of it. Give me a chance.”

  Paloma waved the plea away, trying not to focus on Rosario’s heartbreakingly sweet words, on the warmth, the embrace of family. “What you don’t seem to understand is this: if you hurt me again, I would shatter. I can’t take the risk.”

  Deanne’s hand snaked around her wrist, and she lifted Paloma’s fingers to her lips. “I won’t hurt you”—a kiss on her palm—“if you help me to realize when I’m doing something stupid. Don’t grin and bear it, be honest with me. Help me.”

  “I”—she sighed—“Deanne.”

  Deanne released her hand, but pulled her into an embrace that was more desperate than tender. Paloma couldn’t make herself move away. Dee’s hand cupped the back of her head, smoothed her hair, her heartbeat strong and steady against Paloma’s cheek. “I know we can work, P. Say you know it, too.”

  “I…I don’t know.” She stiffened in the hold, but her words had no oomph. “Please. I can’t deal with this now, on top of everything else.”

  Deanne’s arms slackened, and Paloma extracted herself. Stepping away, she shored up her dignity, smoothing her grass-stained clothing. “Let’s focus on Teddy now.”

  Dee’s eyes shone unusually bright in her haggard face. But her voice—that was the worst. Forlorn and imploring. “I am thinking about him. And his brother, and how much they need their parents—”

  “Mommy?” Teddy croaked, his voice was no more than a dry whisper from the other side of the curtain. After a split second-pause during which she studied Paloma’s face, Deanne brushed aside the curtain to go to her son.

  Paloma remained outside and willed her adrenaline to dissipate. As the sounds of their soft murmurs reached her ears, she backed against the wall and slumped, closing her eyes. Her resistance to Deanne was slipping away. Sand through fingers.

  Dared she believe an apology—another empty promise perhaps—might have the strength to correct the massive structural damage to their marriage? But Deanne had offered so much more than a simple “I’m sorry.”

  A seedling of doubt took root in Paloma’s heart, and she bit her lip. Suppose Deanne truly hadn’t known how unhappy she’d been. As her disillusionment had mounted, things had just grown quieter and quieter in their home until the silence became painful and deafening. Until she couldn’t bear to hear nothing anymore.

  A shudder ran through her, and she wrapped her arms around her torso to stave off the soul-deep cold. Would she ever be warm again? Realizing she still wore Deanne’s soft jacket, redolent with her scent and softly shaped to her body, she slipped her thumbs up under the lapels. She lifted the leather to her face and indulged in one more long breath of her wife’s essence before she reluctantly shrugged it off to give it back. That scent, she knew, would chase her to her grave. With choking indecision like a tightly bound gag in her mouth, she pushed aside the curtain and joined her bedraggled family.

  Deanne’s head came up as she neared. “Teddy wants to know if I’ll be staying with him tonight.” Dee’s searching eyes conveyed so much more than the words that formed the simple statement.

  Oh, God. She didn’t know if she could resist Deanne’s comfort if they slept beneath the same roof. She opened her mouth to protest when Teddy’s rough little plea stopped her.

  “Please, Mama.”

  Her heart wrenched. Teddy needed his mommy, and she was just being selfish. She peered at Deanne again, chewing the inside of her cheek. It shocked her to realize how much she wanted Deanne there. For Teddy. Now wasn’t the time to worry about anything other than her little injured boy. She placed her hand gently on Teddy’s tummy and smiled. “Of course, Teddy bear. We’ll all be there together—me, you, Mommy, and Pep.”

  Chapter Six

  Addendum to Paloma Vargas’s journal entry, Monday, September 24

  The house is dark except for the glow of Teddy’s night-light next to me here on the floor. I can’t sleep. Deanne and I are taking turns looking in on Teddy, but I figured as long as I was lying there staring at the ceiling, I might as well come listen to my baby’s breathing.

  Thank God Teddy’s safe. Still, the trial isn’t over. A second concussion within the next couple weeks could be very serious, the doctor said. It will be a full-time job keeping Teddy inactive that long.

  Deanne’s here. Two rooms over.

  It should be normal, but it’s not.

  What could I say to an injured little boy’s pleas for his mommy? No? To tell you the truth, it’s a relief to share this fear, this responsibility for keeping Teddy safe. We have
to wake him every two hours and ask him a bunch of questions, just to make sure he’s coherent. I’m terrified that the next time I go to wake him, it won’t work, or I’ll sleep through my alarm, or that I’ll lose the battle against my weakness and return to the guest room bed with Deanne, just to feel her warmth surround me, her fingers slip inside me. God.

  Me <———wimp.

  I can’t sleep for wanting to feel her. Having Deanne home, but in another room, is awful. I miss her. I’ll admit it. So damn much that sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe. I still don’t know if we can work things out, but what if, for the boys’ sake, we start by being friends? Isn’t that how we started in the first place? Oops, someone’s coming.

  Paloma managed to scramble to her feet just as the door began to squeak on its hinges. Expecting Deanne, she held her breath and her journal equally tight as the golden cone of light spilled into the dark room. But it was Pep, not Deanne, who shadowed the doorway. His belly stuck out, and he rubbed one eye with the back of his hand, just like he’d done since he was a toddler.

  “Mama?” he croaked.

  She set the notebook aside and went to him, pulling him against her. “Shh, what’s the matter, honey?”

  “I had a bad dream ’bout Teddy.” He flickered a worried glance at his brother’s twin bed. “Is he okay?”

  “Sure, beetle bug.” She smiled to reassure him, then urged him into the room. “Want to come see?”

  Pep nodded. They crept to Teddy’s bedside, and Pep peered over, holding his breath until his battered little brother blew out a quivery-lipped exhale. A mischievous smile brightened Pep’s face, and he scrunched his shoulders and peered up at Paloma. She tilted her head toward the door. They tiptoed out of the room and into Pep’s.

  When she had him all tucked in, she sat on his bed and rubbed his chest, loving him so much it took her a moment to speak. She didn’t want him to hold his emotions in. Reaching out, she smoothed his pajama top, then she stretched out beside him, propping herself up on one elbow. Pep nestled against her. “Want a story?”