A Little Bit of Everything Lost

by Stephanie Elliot

  Trey’s tears stopped, happy to know his brother would be punished, then turned his attention to his mother. “Bad word!” he accused.

  “I don’t give a fuck.” Marnie mumbled under her breath, but Jeremy heard her.

  “Mom!” Jeremy yelled. “That is like the baddest, most terrible, awfulest word in the entire whole universe, Mom!”

  “What’d she say? What’d she say?” Trey yelled, both of the boys no longer concerned with math problems or tears, or seeing who they could get into trouble.

  Marnie turned toward the refrigerator, knowing she was going to lose it if this continued. Her head pounded, like it was going to erupt into volcanic fire and explode all over the place. These boys, she thought, again feeling the sadness and loss over what it would have been like to have had a quiet little princess of a daughter. Then, a pang of guilt hit for thinking such thoughts.

  “It rhymed with truck, but it wasn’t suck!” Jeremy explained.

  “Jeremy!” Marnie yelled. “You are not to use that word!”

  “Mom! You are not to use the word you said either!” Jeremy shot back.

  “I don’t know what it is!” Trey whined.

  “It’s the “F” word,” Jeremy said.

  “Jeremy! Enough! No Xbox.”

  “Fart?” Trey asked.

  “Duh. Does fart rhyme with truck or suck?” Jeremy looked at his brother, and Marnie stared daggers at Jeremy, but knew he was avoiding her eyes because he should be in big trouble himself. Marnie couldn’t believe she let the “F” bomb slip; she’d never used that word in front of the kids. She was sure this conversation would get back to Stuart when he got home.

  Good, she thought. Let him figure out how to parent these boys.

  Stuart was trying, Marnie knew, but he wasn’t giving it his all, hadn’t done so, not since the baby died. And that was the worst part of it all. Because the baby did die, no matter what anyone said. It wasn’t just a miscarriage, like everyone thought. Like everyone wanted to believe. To make it better for themselves.

  Their baby died. She had grown a baby in her belly for six months. Six whole months. Almost twenty-five weeks that baby had grown inside of Marnie. And now their baby was dead. It wasn’t a miscarriage. Their baby had arms and legs and eyes and was blinking and breathing and kicking. She had felt her baby move and roll and her baby was quite possibly a thumb-sucker, and her baby had established sleeping patterns, and was on its way to becoming her child. To claim it just a miscarriage was practically as bad as saying her baby never even existed.

  Stuart tried grief counseling over the summer. They had gone to exactly one meeting. To a place called Our Angels Among Us. But everyone there was grieving babies who had been alive and out of the womb, so he felt like they didn’t belong. He made Marnie feel as if they hadn’t belonged either. Marnie remembered him saying after the meeting, “Marnie, all of those people buried live children. Our situation was different. That’s not the right place for us.”

  She resented him for this, so very much, and felt another shift in their relationship much like she imagined an earthquake tremor might feel. But, who was she to place blame? Marnie hadn’t even given him much time to get used to the pregnancy, and then their baby was gone.

  Marnie tried deeply to remember that there had been very good times before all of this; there had been very, very good times between the two of them. She had to remember there was a deep love and a connection between the two of them, and a reason they were together. That they had a family, and a commitment to one another, and that there were always rough points throughout a marriage that every couple had to endure. And that maybe this was their rough spot they had to get through?

  The best times had definitely been in the beginning, before the chaotic times of children. The times when there were no cares in the world, and the days were all about taking care of Marnie and Stuart’s needs. They’d wake up on a Saturday with the whole day stretched ahead of them. They’d read the paper, take long walks around the city, have lunch at outdoor cafes, or if they chose to, they’d lie in bed, make love, get up, go out for food and then head back to bed for the rest of the day if they wanted. Marnie and Stuart did that a lot in the beginning.

  When she first met him, at an airport bar of all places, she thought it was interesting that he was a pilot, but she wasn’t overly excited about his occupation, and perhaps that’s what most attracted Stuart to her. That she didn’t fawn over the fact that he was a pilot like most women did. She was heading home from a family friend’s wedding she had agreed to photograph. They were both stuck there, stranded because of bad weather in Tacoma.

  It had been one of her first freelance gigs, and she thought she’d done a horrible job. It had been before digital cameras and she’d used up all of her film and had to run out halfway through the reception to get more. So there she was, after the reception, wallowing in self-pity and tequila, with a canceled flight at the Do Fly Inn in the Tacoma airport.

  And there he was, an anxious sexy pilot, ready to get his jet in the air, ready to take his passengers where they needed to be, yet he was stuck in Tacoma, drinking Scotch on the rocks.

  She remembered their first conversation as if it were yesterday. He noticed her camera, he noticed the tequila and he noticed she wasn’t very happy.

  “Not a good day huh?” he asked.

  “You could say that,” she replied, and she looked up and saw his pilot uniform, his jacket folded neatly on the back of the chair, and his top two buttons undone at the collar. She noticed his disheveled hair and his well-past five-o’clock shadow. She noticed his ringless wedding band finger.

  “Looks like your day hasn’t been much better?” She nodded at his nearly empty glass.

  “Yeah.”

  They were silent for a few moments and then he asked if she was stuck for the night too.

  “Pretty much,” she answered.

  “Can I buy you another?” He pointed to her glass.

  “Sure.”

  He waved the bartender over and he took their drink orders. Then Stuart inched closer to Marnie’s chair, and said, “I’m Stuart,” and he reached his hand out to shake hers. She liked the way it felt in hers, warm and strong, and a little bit soft. She could tell he took care of his hands, and she imagined he read paperbacks and industry magazines when he wasn’t flying.

  “I’m Marnie.”

  “So Marnie, what’s so bad about today?”

  Marnie told him the whole story about how she botched the wedding photography shoot and ran out of film and she was sure she’d never get another photography job ever in her entire life. By the end of the night they were laughing and sharing stories about bad dates and dramatic airline passengers and planning to meet up in Illinois, which happened to be his home base.

  While Marnie had felt an immediate connection to Stuart, she had also felt something else, something more, and although she didn’t know what it was that night, that something else had turned out to be safety, comfort and loyalty. Later, she would realize that he would take care of her, love her and understand her needs more than anyone she had ever known. He would know how to deal with her emotions and how to pull her in when she was falling. Until recently.

  And although she hadn’t known all of those things he would turn out to be, she knew she was wildly attracted to him when she met him. At the start of that day she never expected she’d end that night in bed with a pilot. But there it was. And she certainly never expected him to call her again.

  But there it was.

  And, here it was, nearly ten years later.

  Two children, a traveling husband, and on the brink of a major nervous breakdown. She’s suffered a great loss and is slowly trying to put the pieces of a confusing and sad past back together.

  And her husband thinks if he takes her out to dinner on the weekends then everything in the world will be all right again. Because he’s still normal.

  Because everyone else around her is still normal. Marnie
’s the one who’s changed. Marnie’s the one who’s lost. But at least she’s aware. Aware that she needs to fix a few things in her life.

  She’s going to start by getting a babysitter for Jeremy and Trey for Friday night, and go out to dinner with her husband. She’s going to try to be normal, to try and not resent her husband so much for not understanding how hard things have been for her; she’s going to try to understand that maybe he’s grieving their loss in another way, and that maybe it’s just as difficult for him to be away from the family all of the time. She’s going to try to have a nice evening with her husband and connect with him the way they used to be able to connect.

  Then on Saturday… Saturday she is going to Allesiano’s Italiano Bakery.

  She’s got to find some answers.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  August 1988

  The busboy tipped the pitcher and sent the ice water spilling into Marnie’s glass. She watched it, mesmerized, afraid he wouldn’t know when to stop pouring.

  She was stoned.

  She had only been stoned once, okay, maybe twice. But that first time she was certain she hadn’t held it in long enough to get high. She was never, however, this high, and had never been out in public feeling this way.

  Joe had offered her a hit earlier when he came to pick her up. He told her it would be fun, that they could have sex later on, and that he would take care of her. She trusted him. It didn’t scare her. Every time it thrilled her to be doing something new with Joe. She inhaled deeply from his one-hitter. His eyes dove into hers as she sucked in the smoke.

  “Keep it in as long as you can,” he looked right into her eyes. “And when you’re done, put your lips to mine and blow into my mouth.”

  They were on her bed, sitting Indian-style, face-to-face, the bed covers mussed. Marnie never made her bed. What was the point? She mentally counted to three, tried to hold it in a second longer and spurted out the smoke before she could make it to Joe’s lips. She laughed, then felt like an ass.

  She couldn’t even smoke pot right.

  He smiled. “It’s okay. I’ll do it this time.”

  He put the lighter to the tip again and inhaled. Marnie watched it glow. She wondered if he was stoned when he got there. He hadn’t seemed so, but she wasn’t sure. He sucked in deeply, held it in, and motioned for her to come closer. She did.

  He held her chin gently, and looked at her, just looked at her, as if she were the only person that mattered to him. He brought her lips to his and touched them against hers. Instead of a kiss, he sealed their mouths together and then he exhaled. As he did, she sucked in her own breath and took in the smoke.

  He said, “Keep your mouth closed as long as you can and hold it.”

  She did as he told her and then she blew it out, a puff of smoke lifting from her mouth.

  They began to laugh. She wanted to touch him, to melt into his body, to meld against him. Her body felt soft and airy, like cotton candy, or like a cloud. He kissed her, but not the way she wanted him to kiss her. She leaned in and moved her body sideways so she was close to straddling him but he nudged her away and laughed again.

  “I feel floaty,” she said.

  “Let’s go get some food.”

  She was hungry. She could eat. He took her hand and led her out of her bedroom, down the stairs, and she stumbled, leaned against him and he grabbed the railing.

  “Watch it,” he steadied her.

  Marnie giggled. “Sorry. But it’s your fault.”

  “How?”

  “You’re the one who stoned me.”

  They walked out the front door and she ran to the oak tree.

  “Let’s climb my tree!” She remembered when they had moved in, the tree was just a teeny little thing. The neighborhood was brand new, and each house had a tree planted right in front. Now, every home had a great big oak near their mailboxes. It was Marnie’s tree.

  “No tree climbing. You’ll fall out of it for sure like this. Food,” Joe said.

  Marnie pouted, but Joe took her hand, and they made their way through the neighbor’s yards to the back trail, so they could cut through to the main road. They talked nonsense. And laughed. And stopped to hug and kiss.

  “Don’t step on a crack,” she jumped.

  After a while, they turned into the strip mall. “Pizza.” Marnie suggested.

  “No, I want to go somewhere so we can sit, and have a waitress. And maybe kiss a little.”

  “A lot,” Marnie said, and jumped ahead of him, all giggly and stoned.

  They ended up at Omega, where the busboy was now surely going to overpour their water glasses. It wasn’t even five o’clock so they had beaten the dinner rush. Joe asked for the booth in the back corner. It was a U-shaped booth, and was big enough to fit six, but since it was early, the hostess sat them there. Marnie felt a wave of jealousy as Joe placed his hand on the hostess’s shoulder and said, “Thanks, hon.” The hostess blushed deep red. Marnie was sure she had turned red too, and tried to not be mad.

  As soon as they sat, Joe pushed Marnie toward the middle of the booth. She scooted over and he put his arm around her low. “There’s my girl.”

  The jealousy wave dissipated, and she sat and felt the buzz from the pot quiet her. A worn-faced waitress, surely overworked and underpaid, came over to their table. Marnie wondered what she and Joe looked like to her. Could she tell they were stoned, were here to feed their hunger buzz?

  “Hey there. What can I get y’all to drink?”

  “Two Miller Lites,” Joe spoke for them, and he squeezed Marnie’s thigh under the table, as if to say, “Be cool.”

  The waitress didn’t blink. Marnie couldn’t believe they hadn’t gotten carded. The buzz, and knowing she would be drinking beer was too much. Plus, Joe was sitting so close to her, he was rubbing her thigh, and she could feel the heat of him. If that wasn’t enough to get her excited, what Joe suggested next certainly did.

  “Hey, how are you feeling?” He moved a wisp of her hair behind her ear and circled his finger there.

  “Umm, so good. So good.”

  “Want to feel better?”

  Their waitress was right back with the beers. “You want a glass?”

  Marnie answered, “Yes please.”

  Joe smiled as they watched the golden liquid pour ever-so-slowly from the dark bottle into the frosted mug.

  The first taste of beer tingled her tongue. The two of them sat, stoned and drinking their beer. They watched the place fill up. Two more beers arrived, but Marnie didn’t remember Joe ordering them. Time seemed to speed up and slow down in equal moments. She had no idea pot was this magical.

  “You still feeling it?” Joe asked, of the buzz, she was sure, but now he moved his hand higher and was caressing her through her shorts, so she wasn’t sure what Joe meant. Still, she nodded.

  “Do me a favor?” Joe asked.

  Marnie’s eyes were closed, her head resting on the back of the booth, so she just smiled and said, “Sure.”

  “Go to the bathroom.” He slid the one-hitter into her palm. “Take another hit, okay? I want you to keep feeling this good. By the way, you look beautiful. You look so hot tonight.”

  She got that ache low in her belly, like she needed him right now. Forget the food, forget everything else.

  “Can we go? Let’s just go back to my house?”

  “No. Listen, just do one more hit in there, quickly though, okay? I don’t want you to get caught.”

  She nodded.

  “Then, do whatever feels good. For however long you want to. And when you come back, tell me about it.”

  Marnie couldn’t believe he was asking her to do this and the idea scared her a little. But then again, after the shaving episode, and the lemons, she shouldn’t have been surprised by his request, and the more she thought about it, the idea excited her. She was sure that later, she would probably feel a little… well, she wasn’t sure how she would feel. If she knew Joe, she knew this would lead to something
that would later feel really, really good.

  “What about food?”

  “I’ll order something when you’re in there.”

  She pressed her body against his in the booth, feeling suddenly brave, and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him. “Don’t miss me too much.”

  “I can’t wait for you to get back. Hurry. But,” he paused, “also, take your time.”

  Marnie slid out of the booth and weaved her way through the tables. She felt like she was traveling through a heavy mud, her feet were solid, and she grabbed onto a chair every two or three steps to steady herself, apologizing when she bumped into a lady seated with her baby. The woman glared.

  The bathroom was empty. She wasn’t sure if she would have gone through with it had it been occupied. There were three stalls, and she took the furthest one, away from the sinks, away from the door.

  She had to pee. And although she usually lined the seat with a paper liner, she didn’t take the time to do so. She pulled down her shorts and underwear, and peed. When she was done, she pulled up her pants, put down the toilet lid and hoisted her knees up so her heels were on the seat. Joe had given her a lighter when he handed her the one-hitter. She brought the tip to her lips, lit the end with the lighter like she had seen him do it. When the embers glowed, she inhaled.

  The rush was immediate, and she felt soggy, yet light. Like she was stuck in a field of daffodils, and she didn’t want to get up. The main bathroom door opening jolted her for a moment, and then she heard, “Mommy, it smells poopy in here.”

  “Well, bathrooms are for pooping, Annie,” the mother said.

  Marnie held her breath for what seemed like forever while the mom helped her kid go to the bathroom in the next stall. Since Marnie’s feet were still tucked up on the seat, she was pretty sure they didn’t know she was in there, getting higher than she’d ever been in her life. Marnie suppressed a giggle when she imagined getting caught sitting on a toilet seat smoking marijuana by an unsuspecting mom and her kid.