Careful.
My armpits are clammy with sweat, and my heart feels all revved up, like that toy car of Toby’s where he yanks a plastic handle through the center of the engine, its teeth catching on the gears, causing it to scream. Vrrr! I close my eyes and shudder, picturing how he keeps stabbing that plastic spear into the heart of the engine, just to see how loud it will roar before he lets it go. Vrrr! Vrrr! Vrrr!
“Shel? Did you hear me?”
Breathe.
I roll my lips together in a tight line and hold up my finger, silently asking him to give me a moment. I choke back the fear that’s flooding me right now. I know how much the next words out of my mouth matter. I can’t dissolve. I can’t lash back at him. I can’t say anything I will regret. I have to stand up and let the wave crash into me. It doesn’t have to knock me down. I won’t let it.
Recap.
“Yes. I hear you.” I take his hands and visually strip every strand of sarcasm off my tongue. “Let me assure you, there’s no reason Toby needs for you to protect him … from me.”
He opens his mouth.
“I hear you,” I continue. “I hear you saying I’m responsible for creating distance in our marriage because I won’t ignore this John Robberson thing.”
He nods.
“You think my friendship with Lakshmi is keeping me from confiding in you. And your feelings are hurt because you think I’m not taking your perspective into account.”
“Yes.”
“You are worried, very worried, about Toby and how this affects him. And, I guess, you’re disappointed in me, because you think I’m being gullible and irrational. Do I have that right?”
“Yes.”
I exhale shakily.
“But you’re not saying, are you, that you don’t love me anymore?” My voice cracks at the end, and I hate myself for it.
“Shel.”
I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. “Right? I don’t hear you saying you’re ready to give up on our family, do I?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Okay.”
This recap thing works. I can see why men get good at this; it’s a relief to compartmentalize it. You can’t think and feel at the same time. I’m choosing to think because I can’t afford to uncork everything I feel. Not in this moment. I can do that later. Right now, I have to force myself to say everything from his point of view.
“So, bottom line, you’re saying that my interest in John Robberson is out of control.”
“Yes.”
“You’re … rather offensively … suggesting that it’s more than an interest—that it’s some catastrophic shift in my fundamental”—I make the tectonic-plates movement with my hands, now making him cringe—“belief system.” I glare at him. “Do I have that right?”
He nods.
“So. If you see that I can control it, if I stop researching, stop talking to Toby about it, draw a boundary with Lakshmi, tell you the truth about where I am with it … basically, you need to see that I’ve got it settled in my mind.”
“Shel.”
“Just tell me: if I can do that, will it resolve the issue?”
He says, “That’s why I went to see Anna. I don’t know if you can get it settled in your mind, Shel. I mean, come on. You thought you smelled our dead dog tonight. And you think that holds a hidden meaning. So I don’t know.”
“I’ll get a grip on it. I promise.”
“Maybe we need some time apart—”
“Don’t.” I hold his gaze and force myself not to cry any harder.
He’s the one who looks away. “Fix it,” he says. “If you can.”
“I can.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Give me time. You’ll see.”
He goes to sleep in the guest room. Our marriage bed feels like one of those overhyped mattresses where one partner’s setting is ninety degrees lower than the other’s. His side is now at zero. Instead of being comforted that I can have it my way, all I can feel is the resulting hump in the middle, a barrier that keeps us apart. Tears run into my ears as I lie flat on my back, hollow and anxious, the full weight of our conversation pressing on me until I can almost feel the slats of the box spring on my spine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
*
MAD ABOUT THE DOG
Sorry we’re late,” I say to Lakshmi as I join her on the blanket spread under the tree. I wanted to cancel our standing play date but felt it wasn’t fair to Toby. The boys head off toward the slide and I turn away, not allowing myself the opportunity to notice what version of the game they will play today.
“So, I want to hear! What did Eric say?”
It feels like I’ve aged twenty years since Vaughn Redford asked me about my dead dog.
“He didn’t believe me …” my voice trails off.
“Are you okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”
I smile but feel my eyes rim red. She squeezes my hand and waits.
“We had a horrible fight last night. Somehow we got from Thud, which I thought would make him feel better, to my mom, to talking about his accident, and the next thing I know—”
“He tells you you’re crazy.” Lakshmi finishes for me. “That’s his default position, you know, when you don’t agree with him.”
In the past, I’ve felt I could tell Lakshmi anything, but I’ve never needed to tell her that my husband left my bed, that he loves me less today than yesterday, that the connection with my soul mate might be less eternal than I want to believe possible. If I fix it, I don’t actually have to say that out loud to anyone. And maybe it won’t be true.
“Why is he so defensive about this?” she asks.
I rub my eyes in an attempt to camouflage my involuntary tears. If I start crying out here in the park, I may never stop. “Gawd! I just want John Robberson to go away.”
“You know what to do. It’s a puzzle with only one missing piece.” She twists her hair into a ponytail, a gesture as familiar as her tone. “John Robberson wants Toby to go see Kay. Obviously, he’s using Toby to get a message to her. I know you don’t like it, but that’s all he’s wanted for weeks.”
“I know.”
“Then give him what he wants! Have you ever thought of this from his perspective? Put the pieces together. You’ve got an Air Force fighter pilot who survived a plane crash in Vietnam. Voluntarily or not, he leaves the military and becomes a fire chief. This man spent his life with a front-row seat to trauma. He’s seen and done worse things than you can imagine. I’m willing to bet he’s no rank-and-file follower, Shelly. He’s used to taking risks, and he’s used to getting his way. He’s a spirit with unfinished business with his wife. If you help him with his marriage, maybe it will help you with yours.”
Or destroy mine. The involuntary tears again. I dig in my bag until I find something to throw away.
On the way to the trash can, I look over at the boys and see they’ve added a new twist to the fireman game. Sanjay is on all fours, barking like a dog, inside the plastic cube at the top of the connecting slides.
“I’m coming in to get you!”
Toby climbs up the ladder of the closest set of monkey bars, fighting off imaginary flames on the way. It comes to me like an echo in my head: Kay gets mad when you go back for the dog.
I turn my back and walk over to Lakshmi, so I don’t see Toby jump or fall or trip or get shoved by an angry spirit or whatever happens next. All I hear is a dull whack, a splay of gravel—and silence.
Sanjay calls out, “Mommy!” and points to Toby lying facedown under the monkey bars.
We both turn. In an adrenaline sprint, I reach him while he’s still inhaling his scream. His face shudders, trying to find a recognizable place for the pain to land, but he’s in unchartered water here. He’s moving. He’s conscious. I see him curl up, roll onto his back. With one hand clamped to his mouth, his eyes search me for an explanation.
“Let me see, baby.”
I pry his hand a
way from his mouth. Through the bloody drool running down his chin, I see a gooey gap where his baby teeth used to be. Before I can tell him not to look, he sees, for the first time, his own bright red blood, mixed with dirt and slobber, a shocking gory mess, dripping from his fingers down his wrist. He thrusts his sticky hand in my face, shaking it, saying, “Bwud! Bwud!”
I cover his hand with mine and bring it to my lips. I kiss his palm and say, “It’s okay, baby. Breathe.”
He collapses into me. Lakshmi offers a package of moistened baby wipes and a makeshift ice pack.
Keeping my voice calm, I inspect him systematically; I test his pupils, his bones, his skull. He’s surprised that even though his hand has blood on it, it does not actually hurt. His lip is starting to swell. His tooth is gone. A baby tooth.
I know it was going to fall out anyway, but just for today, I need for John Robberson to give me a fucking break. More than anything, I wish I could believe this was a harmless accident. Against my will, my eyes once again fill to capacity with tears. I blink them away.
“Did you see what happened, Sanjay?”
“I was the dog, and he was saving me from the fire.”
Toby says, “Don’t be mad, Mommy.”
I hug him and shake my head.
Lakshmi says, “Don’t be silly. Why would she be mad, Toby?”
“Kay gets mad about the dog.”
Lakshmi raises her eyebrows and lowers her voice. “See what I mean? It’s time to get him to say that to Kay. Whether he wants to or not.”
She has no idea what that would cost.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
*
THE GOOD WIFE
Eric hasn’t gone for a morning run since Thud died. He’s taken to riding his bike instead. I’m glad for his early morning routine because it means I haven’t had to explain to Toby why his dad is sleeping in the guest room.
Every day this week, as soon as I hear Eric leave the house, I make up the guest bed and vacate our room so he can still shower there. If he moves his clothes into the guest closet, it’s going to make me sick.
Every day so far, I’ve had a smoothie ready for him when he returns. Strawberry banana, made with mango juice and that expensive protein powder he likes. He’s polite, says thank you and all, but he doesn’t acknowledge that I’ve gotten off his back about the protein powder. We both act like we don’t know how hard I’m trying.
Once I noticed that if Toby is downstairs when Eric leaves for work, he gives me a peck on the cheek. But when he’s not, I get the same goodbye I’m sure he gives to the guys on his project team. I try to make sure our son is eating breakfast at that time every day.
I put my John Robberson notebook away. After all, I don’t need to keep collecting evidence. I don’t tell Eric what Toby said about Kay being mad at the dog. I don’t tell him what Lakshmi said about the possibility of John Robberson getting impatient. I certainly don’t tell him I’m worried she might be right, or how much it scares me to think that my son is blocking the goal of a military-trained spirit. But I can’t keep from ruminating about it all day long.
And I’ve been avoiding Lakshmi the last couple of days. Yesterday, I took Toby to the science museum but couldn’t find the energy to engage with him once we were there. I just let him play while I sat on a bench and spun on my speculations. Today, we’re going to an afternoon movie.
When we come out of the theater, Toby jabbers about the airplanes he saw as I turn on my phone and check for messages. I don’t know whether to be happy or nervous when I see a text from Eric. I click on it.
do we have plans this weekend?
No, I type back.
Scott invited a group of us to his lake house to go tubing. Says to bring the whole family. I need this. Project budget not approved yet.
I almost hear angels in my head, singing the “Hallelujah” chorus. This is exactly what we need. I worked with Scott. Scott loves me. I can help Eric get his funding.
I’m so excited!! Want to send me your proposal? I can take a look at it if you want.
My thumb hovers over the “Send” button. Too much, I decide, and I backspace it away. I wait for my heart rate to slow as I think about how to strike the right balance between nonchalance and cooperation. Less is more.
Sounds great.
Immediately, he answers: I’ll set it up then.
At dinner that night, we talk to Toby about what he can expect. He’s never been boating before. I smile as I listen to Eric describe tubing to him, of course starting with where inner tubes come from, detouring to the difference between an inner tube and a tire, and finally ending up with how much fun it is to ride in the tube behind the boat.
When I come downstairs after tucking Toby in bed, Eric clicks off the TV and asks, “Can we talk about this weekend?”
“Sure. I’m really looking forward to it.” I sit in the armchair and turn to face him on the sofa. “What time do you think we need to leave?”
“I don’t know. I’ll check.”
“Friday after work? Or are we driving up early Saturday morning?”
“Shel. I don’t know.” Eric fidgets. “Sorry. Look, I’ll get the details and make sure you know all that. I just don’t have it yet. That’s not what I want to talk about.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want what’s going on between us to be … you know … an issue. I don’t want you talking to the wives about it.”
“It? Meaning our marriage?” I ask. “Eric. Of course I’m not going to talk to women I barely know about our marriage.”
“Or John Robberson. So if Toby says something, just let it go. Don’t react. Don’t drink too much and start talking about ghosts or airplanes or fire chiefs or anything. Don’t”—and he waves his hand, that dismissive gesture I hate—“just don’t.”
I bite my metallic-tasting tongue and pause before I answer. “Stop.” I attempt a feeble smile and reach to find a tone of voice that will pass for reassuring. “I get it, Eric. I told you I could control it. You’ll see. I can be the good wife.”
“It’s important. Scott can’t think I’m off my game. Distracted by my home life.”
“I know,” I say.
I don’t say that I know damn well Scott is not the one worried about Eric being off his game.
We wake up right after the sun rises on Saturday and make the half-hour drive to Saguaro Lake. Toby and I try to identify all the watercolor shades of the morning sky, yellow and pink dissolving into a blue so pale it barely qualifies as a color. As we get closer to the lake, I’m happy that Eric joins in and points out the striated shades of the rugged desert cliffs, orange and brown and beige.
We find Scott and his wife, Jenny, at the marina, tending to the boat. As we load our bags, Scott explains that both Marcus and Lin bailed at the last minute. Eric pretends to be disappointed, but I know he’s glad to be the only one who showed up.
Jenny and I team up to glob sunscreen on every inch of Toby. I cover his nose with zinc oxide, making it a shiny white button on his face, while she squirts a quarter-sized portion into her palm and reaches for Scott’s back. I follow her lead and turn my attention to Eric, who looks lean and strong in boardshorts riding low on his torso. He stiffens at first when I apply sunscreen to his shoulders. It’s the most physical contact I’ve had with him in a week. When I’m finished, he says, “Thanks, hon,” as if he calls me “hon” on a regular basis.
The boat is white with blue and yellow stripes and blue seat cushions. Its nautical intent stands in stark contrast to the green and gray slosh of the lake, making it seem almost cartoonish. Toby seems nervous, so I’m glad when Scott insists on life jackets. We all make a big deal of strapping into our bright orange vests.
Eric and I watch without a word as Jenny gives Scott a hug from behind while he steers the boat out of the marina waters. I wonder if Eric misses us as much as I do.
As the boat accelerates, Jenny turns on the stereo. Toby pushes his head under my arm so he
can sit closer. I explain to him exactly what we’re going to do. He’s not so sure.
I volunteer to go first. Toby howls when he realizes I am actually going to get out of the boat and into the inner tube. Despite my efforts to prepare him, the shock of seeing his mom in what he considers a dangerous situation is evidently testing his resolve.
The boat starts slow, and I smile bigger than I should, trying to make it okay for Toby. I swallow plenty of lake water before he seems to realize I’m in no danger. I bounce from wave to wave, my legs flopping every which way, and it takes awhile before I can stop worrying about him and enjoy it. I remember to wave to Toby, and he responds by squealing with delight. Eventually, I give the slow-down signal, a thumbs-down. There’s no graceful way to exit an inner tube, so I squeeze and squirm and finally squirt myself free. When I get back into the boat, I’m still laughing.
Eric is next. I keep telling Toby, see, Daddy likes it too. Over and over, Eric gives the thumbs-up signal for Scott to go faster, faster. The boat makes a few sharp turns, which pull Eric across the wake, and we all cheer when Scott successfully flips him into the water. By this time, Toby has the hang of it, so he’s happy to see his daddy fall into the water.
“He’s bwave,” Toby concludes.
Now Toby is begging for his turn. He wants to ride with his dad. Scott promises me that he’ll drive like a turtle.
I keep my eyes on Toby the whole time. He has the same expression as when we swing him in our arms—one, two, three, whee. He keeps his mouth wide open with delight until he swallows a lungful of water, which makes him cry. I signal for Scott to stop the boat, and I can see Eric coaching Toby through it.
“Ready to come back in?” I call out.
Eric waves me off. Toby gives the thumbs-up and they try again, this time with Toby’s lips clamped tight. He’s sitting on Eric’s lap. Eric presses himself far into the tube to make room. He uses his body to situate the tube to absorb most of the bump from the meager wake. Toby, quiet at first, becomes more animated as his confidence grows. When they finally crawl back into the boat, Toby’s giddy, but Eric seems more subdued than usual.
Eight Minutes Page 14
