If the Fates Allow

by Zoe Kane

  I can’t believe I’m writing these things down, with you so close to me that I can hear your breathing. I think this may be the stupidest, most dangerous thing I’ve ever done. But I’m in too far, and I can’t stop, and it feels so good to say this, even though maybe – hopefully – you’ll never get this letter. I don’t want to be dead. I don’t want Grace to be dead. I don’t want this letter ever to make its way out of that locked metal box. But if the worst happens, then Charles Miller is going to put a new will into your hands that you’ve never seen before and you’re going to want to know why.

  I know you. I don’t think I’ve ever been wrong about you. And you’re going to think I stuck you with Marcus because I don’t think you can do this on your own. Which is ridiculous. You’re the only person in the whole world I do trust to handle this on your own.

  I just don’t want you to have to.

  I’m not an adventurous guy, not really. I’m not a risk-taker. I’m not like Marcus, with his skydiving and his high-stakes real estate deals and his motorcycles. I’m not the kind of person this was ever supposed to happen to. I’m just a boring, vanilla dad who mows the lawn and carves the Thanksgiving turkey and drives his kids to school and never, ever, in a hundred years, would have thought it was possible he could love two women at the same time.

  Who could possibly have seen that coming? Who would have a contingency plan for that?

  You’re reaching up to fix your hair, it’s coming undone from its knot. I love your hair like that. It makes you look softer, somehow. Less stern. More human. I like that it’s a side of you that only the people in this house get to see. Our own private Annabel. The one with a smile like the sun.

  My Annabel.

  Do you remember that day, years and years ago, when I came over to your house at like six in the morning to install your new garbage disposal before I had to take the kids to school? (Least romantic setting ever, am I right? Installing your sister-in-law’s garbage disposal. Even the hardest-working porn script writers in the world would have a hard time making that compelling.) I didn’t want to wake you, so I just let myself in and was trying to be quiet, but I dropped the wrench and it woke you up anyway. And you came stumbling downstairs, and you were wearing this thing, this kind of flowy, flowery thing, the kind of nightgown a woman wears when she thinks there’s absolutely no chance anyone’s ever going to see her in it. And your hair was all messy around your shoulders, no makeup, no defenses up, just you. Raw and vulnerable and open and rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand, like you were only partly awake. And then you looked at me with this kind of sleepy half-smile like you weren’t sure I was really there, and I realized – she doesn’t quite know whether she’s dreaming or awake, because she’s had this dream before.

  I couldn’t un-see it after that, the way you looked at me. All I could do was try not to let anyone see me looking at you the same way back. I knew even then that if I let myself fall for you I would never stop falling, and everybody would get hurt. We both love Grace too much. We both love the children. There was never a good way out of this, Bel. There was never a happy ending for you and me.

  Why Marcus? That’s why. Because I know you, Annabel. I know you like I know my own self. You’ll think to yourself, “I only ever loved one man in my whole life and I lost him, only an idiot would risk that twice.” You’d close the door and you’d lock up your heart and you’d never let anyone in ever again. And I don’t just mean a man, I mean anyone. I mean Michael and Vera. I mean the children. You’d go down into the darkness and you’d never come back.

  But I know one person as stubborn as you are.

  I know one man good enough, kind enough, tough enough, loving enough to deserve you. He is not, as of the present time, anywhere closer to settling down and getting married than you are – in fact, he’s sworn it off altogether. He’s too afraid of becoming our dad. He needs a kick in the ass to open himself up too. He also needs to be forced to learn how to let someone else in.

  I told Grace it’s so the kids can have two parents. I told Grace that it’s so one of you can stay home, that there’s a second pair of hands, that Isaac has a guy around to teach him how to be a good man, that the girls have someone to put the fear of God into their future boyfriends. (Or girlfriends. Or whoever.) I told Grace that it was practical, that it would help Marcus feel less isolated from his remaining family, that it would alleviate the burden on Michael and Aunt Vera (please, God, let Aunt Vera outlive us all; please, God, let Aunt Vera get her chance to take a crack at knocking some sense into Marcus).

  And they’re true, all those things. They really are.

  But they’re not the reason.

  I chose Marcus because I don’t want you to live the rest of your life without letting yourself love someone who is free to love you back. Free in a way I never was. I know my brother. He’s going to fall for you in ten seconds flat, though he’ll probably be able to convince both of you for a fairly long time that he hates your living, breathing guts. Oh, the fights you’ll have. (Don’t worry, though, he’ll never win. I’d back you against Marcus Rey anytime.)

  You have the most extraordinary heart of anyone I’ve ever known in my life, Bel, but the reason you’re unhappy is that you’ve never had anywhere for that love to go. You could be the fiercest, most heroic mama-bear warrior woman the world has ever seen, but you’re so terrified of failing your hypothetical future children that you think you don’t want any. And you could be the most earth-shattering, heart-smashing love of a man’s life, but you’re afraid once you open that door you’ll never be able to get it closed again. And so here you are, thirty-four years old, one of the two most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life, and you’re spending a Friday night grading papers on your sister’s couch while her husband sits fifteen feet away from you and pretends like he’s doing his taxes.

  I don’t want my children growing up surrounded by fear and loneliness. I don't want them to learn the lesson that love only comes once. I don't want them to believe you can never start over.

  I haven’t said the thing yet. I wasn’t sure, when I started this letter, if I would, and I’m still not sure now. It feels perilous, somehow, to make those words conscious when you’re sitting so close to me. What if you looked up? Would you be able to see it on my face? Would we have to endure that unspeakable moment here, in this kitchen, with my wife and two toddlers and a three-day-old baby all asleep upstairs?

  Am I a monster because there’s a tiny, reckless part of me that wonders what would happen next?

  Or maybe it’s a talisman, this letter. Maybe that particular suffering is one we’ll never have to endure. Maybe I’m purging something inside me by writing this, getting it out of my system, and you’ll never have to read it. Maybe we’ll all end up happy and old and fat and lazy together, living in some retirement home and golfing on the weekends and having Thanksgiving with our grandkids, and peacefully keeping our secrets locked up where nobody can get hurt.

  Because of course that’s how it will end. Of course it will. I can’t imagine living in a world that you’re not running. I can’t imagine an existence where you aren't my family.

  But just in case the worst happens, here it is.

  I’m going to say it. I have to say it. Just once. Just so it’s been said. So if I’m gone, you’ll know.

  You looked up at me, just for a minute, just now. I couldn’t read the expression on your face. Was I thinking about you so hard that you could feel it? Do you know? Can you look at me and tell that I love you?

  There it is. I love you, Bel. I love you. I love you. I always have. I will never stop. And I know that you love me. And if I could be two men – if I could live two lives, side-by-side, one of me would be upstairs lying beside my wife and children, holding them in my arms, and would be perfectly content. And the other would put this pen down, walk over to that couch, take that stack of midterms out of your hands, and kiss you until you didn’t know which way was up.

&n
bsp; But I’m just one man, and I can’t say these things. I can’t even think them, ever again, once they’re sealed inside this envelope. I have to lock them up and put them away.

  And so, this is the last thing I’ll say to you, before this letter goes in the envelope to disappear forever into a safe-deposit box that you’ll hopefully never, ever see.

  The woman you were always meant to be has a fierce heart, and she is not afraid to love. If I die first, don’t use that as an excuse. Don’t close the door forever. Love the kids with your whole heart. Be the mother they need. And maybe – if you can – let yourself love someone else too.

  Take care of my brother when I’m gone. He needs it. And please make sure my children know how very much their father loved them.

  Love always,

  Danny

  * * *

  Outside, the rain crashed down in silvery sheets. The neighbors brought in their potted plants. Cars slicked by, tires hissing through puddles. The children went to school, and then came home. All around, things were happening, the world was full of movement and life and activity, full of color and light and sound.

  But Annie heard nothing.

  She did not hear Isaac and Sophia in the back yard shouting for the cat. She did not hear Lucy stand at her doorway and ask about dinner. She lay on the bed, motionless, cold, still, inside the empty space where Danny Walter used to be, and she felt her entire world shrink down to the size of the piece of paper in her hand. She lay her head down on the pillow and she closed her eyes, and the Dark Thing inside her flexed its muscles and snapped free of its restraints and surged triumphantly forth, wrapping Annie in a heavy gray fog of silent despair, bending its shadowy head to her ear where it lay on Danny's pillow, and murmuring, It was all a dream. The snow, the hope, the man who might have loved you. None of that was real. Only this is real, Annabel.

  Danny is dead, and you are alone, and you will be alone forever.

  Chapter Twenty-One: Shelter from the Storm

  That was Tuesday.

  Aunt Annie did not leave her bed at all that day, or the next. Isaac gave everyone Cheerios for dinner that night, and breakfast the next morning. They put themselves to bed, walked themselves to the carpool pickup, and rode home after school with Helen. (“She’s sick,” Isaac explained when Helen asked where their aunt was. Sophia worried that this was a little bit of a lie, because she didn’t look sick, she just looked like she wasn't really there; but then again, she had spent the whole day in bed, which was a thing people did when they were sick, so Isaac felt confident he had plausible deniability if it came up again later.)

  Sophia tiptoed upstairs to check on Aunt Annie and returned back downstairs to report.

  “She’s still on top of the bed in all her clothes,” she announced as Isaac pulled string cheese out of the fridge to give them all an after-school snack. “I said ‘Hi Aunt Annie’ and she didn’t move, but she didn’t look asleep.”

  “Where is Bug?” asked Lucy suddenly, and Sophia and Isaac looked at each other guiltily. They had forgotten about the cat.

  Bug’s food bowl was still untouched, which meant that he hadn’t come in since breakfast yesterday. And he was only a little kitten, and he hated the rain, which had kept up steadily overnight and into the next day. So now they had two problems.

  Lucy spent most of the afternoon and evening with her face pressed up against the glass of the French doors, her sharp little eyes scanning all the nooks and crannies in the shrubbery where Bug liked to hide, and Isaac even went outside with his umbrella to call for him again. But by the time they had done their homework and eaten another bowl of Cheerios apiece and put on their pajamas, Bug had still not returned to the porch. He wasn’t under the rhododendron bushes, and they couldn’t hear him yowling anywhere.

  On Thursday, Isaac tried again, without success, to rouse Aunt Annie before they left for school.

  “Aunt Annie, are you okay?” he said. She mumbled something inaudible in reply. “Aunt Annie, do you know what day it is?” But she shook her head and didn’t move from the bed.

  There was something strange in the energy of the room, something Isaac couldn’t identify or name, that made both him and Sophia afraid to actually cross the threshold and set foot inside. They called to her from the doorway, but neither one of them could bring themselves to go in. There was something sinister and dark wrapped around her that made it impossible for them to get too close.

  Thursday was the beginning of the weekend; school was closed Friday for teacher inservices, which meant one less day that Isaac would have to deflect questions from Helen about Aunt Annie. When they returned home from school Thursday afternoon, there had still been no change. And, just as worryingly, there was still no sign of Bug.

  Something would have to be done.

  Dolphin called an emergency conference in the kitchen as they ate their after-school snacks. None of the children knew what was written on that little envelope that lay on the bedspread next to Aunt Annie that had made her so sad, but they knew it must have been something big. “Aunt Annie doesn’t cry,” said Sophia. “Not really. Something bad must have happened.”

  Lucy’s eyes grew wide and worried.

  “If it was a Bad Thing, she would tell us,” Isaac assured them confidently. “This isn’t like before. She is just sad about something. But we don’t need to be scared.”

  “Maybe it’s about Uncle Marcus,” suggested Sophia. Isaac’s face darkened slightly, and his jaw clenched. He was still mad at Uncle Marcus. None of this would have happened if he had kept his promise, and stayed.

  But thinking about one uncle redirected their thoughts to the other one, which raised an important point that they felt they needed to consider. Namely – should another grownup be told that their cat had gone missing and Aunt Annie had not gotten out of bed for three days?

  Here they arrived at some disagreement. Isaac was all for asking Uncle Mike or Nana to come over and help them look for the cat, which was the kind of emergency that definitely required a grownup. But there was only one grownup in the house right now, and she wouldn’t get out of bed, and there was no way for them to conceal that fact from Nana once she was actually here.

  Sophia thought Nana should be told anyway. “We can’t just babysit ourselves forever,” she pointed out to Isaac. “What if we have to go to the grocery store? We need a grownup.”

  “I want Bug,” whispered Lucy plaintively, and Isaac squeezed her hand.

  “We’re gonna find him,” he said. “I promise.”

  “We need to tell a grownup,” Sophia insisted again. “We need Nana.”

  “But what if Nana says Aunt Annie can’t take care of us anymore?” said Isaac, finally voicing the fear that had been bubbling up inside him the whole time, and it silenced Sophia thoroughly. “She’s supposed to take care of us and she’s not doing it,” he said. “She’ll get in trouble.”

  “What about if we call Uncle Mike?”

  Isaac shook his head. “He’ll tell,” he said. “And then they will take us away and say that Aunt Annie is doing a bad job. She got in big trouble with Nana before. About . . . you know, The Thing.”

  Sophia nodded sagely. “I don’t want to go live at Nana’s,” she told the others. “It’s small. And Uncle Mike’s house smells like boy. I like it here. Plus if we go away, Bug will never find us.”

  “So we can’t tell them,” said Isaac. Sophia and Dolphin nodded their agreement as Lucy got up again and wandered over to look out the window for Bug.

  “We can call Uncle Marcus,” suggested Sophia. “He won’t get Aunt Annie in trouble. He won’t call Nana.” But Isaac shook his head vehemently.

  “He said he was going to stay,” Isaac said, with a dark edge in his voice. “He promised. He was nice. He was going to be my friend. And then he left and he didn’t say goodbye or anything. Plus Aunt Annie didn’t get sad until he went away. This is his fault.”

  “Nuh-uh, she wasn’t sad about Uncle Marcus, she was sad a
bout the mail.”

  “She was extra sad about the mail,” Isaac corrected, “but she was sad before. Besides, Uncle Marcus can’t help with the cat. He’s in New York. He can’t do anything.”

  “Yeah,” said Sophia glumly. “I guess you’re right.”

  They sat in silence, listening to the rain, watching worriedly as Lucy pressed her nose against the glass and waited for her lost cat to come home.

  Then – just in time – Dolphin had an idea.

  It was time, they decided, to call in the cavalry.

  * * *

  Abe and Alexa were there in minutes.

  Isaac had lied just a little bit to their mom when he called and said that Aunt Annie had told him it was okay if the kids came over for play time. He felt a little bit guilty, but then reasoned that Aunt Annie would have said it was okay, probably, if she wasn't so sad right now, so really it was only kind of a lie. And anyway, this was a kitten emergency.

  The children sat in a conspiratorial circle in the playroom to discuss what was to be done. “Dolphin says that Bug is lost,” said Sophia, calling the council to order. “We have to go find him.”

  “It’s raining,” said Alexa dubiously, looking out the window. “I don't want to get wet. I already got wet today.”

  “Maybe he likes the rain,” suggested Abe hopefully. “Maybe he’s just fine.”

  “Cats don’t like water,” said Isaac. “Even baths.”

  “Bug hates water especially,” said Sophia. “He's probably really unhappy.”

  “And lost,” said Isaac. “What if he got through the fence and can't find his way home because it's rainy and he can't see?”

  “Cats have good eyesight,” said Abe. “They told us in school.”

  “Not in the rain,” Sophia rolled her eyes.

  “He’ll be okay, Sophia,” said Abe, trying to make her feel better. “Bug is a smart cat.”