George Hartmann Box Set

by Kelly Utt

  “Do not change your appointment,” she replies. “How about you take care of everything you need to take care of and we’ll keep in touch between now and then. Maybe you can come by after your session.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “Liam and Marjorie and Roddy are all at the house and can fill in for me as needed. They’ve been great.”

  “If something changes, I’ll let you know,” Mom replies. “For now, go home to your family. John Wendell and I will be alright.”

  “Okay,” I say as I give my grandfather’s hand one more squeeze before letting go. I lean over and kiss him gently on the forehead. It’s a meaningful gesture. One that I wouldn’t offer if he were well and in good health. Now, it feels right.

  I’m still exhausted from my conversation with Dr. Epstein and my eyes are sore from crying. I’m anxious to get home to Ali and the boys and veg out to take my mind off of everything going on. Maybe we can cue up a movie to watch together. I’m comforted by the thought that my in-laws and my uncle will be there waiting for me as well.

  I say goodbye to Mom, then I get into my Tesla and drive home. She seems to have things under control for the time being. I’m glad. I want to be there for Mom, but it’s reassuring to know she’s taking the lead on this. She has a lot more experience with the elderly and with death and dying than I do. She’s comfortable tending the threshold. I’m ready to see John Wendell though. But I won’t pretend I don’t like the thought of Mom being there to guide me.

  8

  Intertwined

  When I arrive at our house and walk in the front door, the comforting smell of a home-cooked dinner greets me. Judging by the intensity of the aroma, I got here just in time. As I enter the eat-in area of the kitchen, I see Liam and Ethan cheerfully setting the table together. I give my little man a high five and I give Liam a look that lets him know I have news to share. I’ll wait until after dinner to tell everyone about John Wendell. Ali, Leo, Roddy, and Marjorie are all in the larger section of the kitchen around the island. Roddy and Marjorie have cooked a big dinner for us: spinach stuffed chicken breasts, mashed potatoes, roasted cauliflower macaroni and cheese, and Boston brown bread. It looks as good as it sounds. My in-laws are excellent cooks. I’d go as far as to say their creations are restaurant quality. I often joke with Ali about what a stroke of luck it was for her to have met Liam and Estella in a cooking class since her parents could have probably taught her anything she wanted to know about cooking. Leo is in his high chair snacking on raisins and Ali is relaxing in a chair next to him with her feet up on an ottoman brought in from the living room. It looks like her parents are taking nice care of her.

  Our house feels like home. A home filled with love and happiness. Less than a week ago, I was thinking about getting more modest vehicles and moving to a smaller, less pretentious place. Today though, in this moment and in spite of everything happening, I think I want us to stay right here. I don’t want to turn tail and run when things get difficult. That’s not how I handled myself in the military and it’s not how I want to handle myself in my personal life. It’s been such a wild ride though. I might change my mind again tomorrow. We’ll see. Right now, I’m grateful for the present. I feel surprisingly good.

  We eat the scrumptious dinner Marjorie and Roddy made and we enjoy a bottle of white wine Liam picked up from the Seneca Lake Wine Trail today while he was out. It’s a forty-five-minute drive west from Ithaca out to Watkins Glen, but he insists he enjoyed himself and appreciated the scenery. He spent a good part of the afternoon relaxing by a wood fire in an especially charming winery’s tasting room while looking out over the snow-covered landscape. It sounds amazing. There is an interesting microclimate in this area which makes for great wine. The steady water temperature of the Finger Lakes regulates the air temperature so that harsh, cold weather is avoided in the winter and the grapes end up with a longer growing season. I’d like to stop into a few wineries soon myself. I wasn’t interested when I was a high school kid and have only visited once as an adult. Maybe Ali and I will make a date of it one day next week while the boys hang out with their grandparents. Assuming my very pregnant wife feels up to the excursion, I think the idea sounds charming.

  If someone had told me a few weeks ago that I’d be crying one minute, laughing the next, and planning trips to wineries in between, I never would have believed them. Yet, here I am. The craziness of the ups and downs is not lost on me. All I know to do is to keep moving forward. Slogging my way through as best I can.

  I debate about how to break the news of John Wendell’s steep decline to the others. I’m especially cognizant of the effect this will have on the boys. No one close to us has passed away since they’ve been alive. For that matter, no one close to me has passed away since Dad. I don’t want to sound like I’m counting John Wendell as already gone. I know Mom’s right when she says he could recover and be back to his old self. It’s hard to guess exactly what will happen. My sense though, is that he won’t ever be back to his old self. Mom didn’t have to say as much out loud. I know she’s sensing the same. That speech at Yellow Cob was significant. I knew it then and it’s especially clear now, looking back in hindsight. I’m pretty sure that evening was John Wendell’s farewell party. His last big hurrah. And to think, earlier that day I was talking about how he could live to be one-hundred. That sentiment sounds so naive now. Foolish even.

  We’re polishing off what’s left of our wine when I share the news about John Wendell. I’m careful with my choice of words so as not to alarm the boys. Ethan is sticking around the kitchen table tuned in and hanging on my every utterance though, desperate for a chance to learn how these things work. I don’t blame him. Curiosity is a good thing. I don’t mind explaining. The adults are sad, but not very surprised. They’d been thinking along these lines ever since last weekend at Yellow Cob. After a few minutes of discussion, Liam decides to pack up a plate of food and take it over to Mom. She is still his sister-in-law, after all. I know Dad would appreciate him looking after her.

  The rest of us retreat to our spot in the basement and cue up a random Tom Hanks movie we figure Marjorie will like. Everyone knows I’ve been to see Dr. Epstein and I’m sure they’re interested to know how it went. They don’t ask though. I’m glad because I don’t feel like talking about it. We have a busy day coming up tomorrow and I want a reprieve from the heavy, emotional sludge which no doubt awaits me. I feel like I’ve made enough progress for today and wish to pace myself. Marjorie tells me Ethan has been talking more about having been another person in Greece, but she doesn’t go into details. I don’t inquire. I want to know. Just not right now.

  When the movie is over and both boys are down for the count, Marjorie and Roddy offer to keep Ethan and Leo in their room overnight. They say they want to give us some time alone and a good night’s rest. Ali and I are a little unnerved by the thought of the boys sleeping upstairs again, but we know Roddy will protect them. I’m sure he’d protect them with his life if need be. We agree to the arrangement and thank Marjorie and Roddy, then all head to bed.

  My wife and I haven’t made love since the break-in. This has to be the longest we’ve gone without, aside from times I’ve been away TDY. It’s understandable given the circumstances this particular week. The boys have been sleeping in our room, although it’s not like that has stopped us before. We’re pretty regular about making love in spite of logistical challenges. It’s time to end this streak because I want to make love to Alessandra Davies right now. Thinking about it warms me and in a rush, I’m aroused. I want to taste my wife’s lips. To wrap my big hands around her delicate fingers and feel the energy surge between us. I want to take all of her clothes off and press myself against her soft, smooth skin, then slowly move my mouth down her wriggling body, over her firm nipples and around her pregnant belly until I reach her wet spot. When I get there, I want to wrap my arms tightly around her thighs as I dig in. I want to feel her glorious long legs in the air above me while I curve my tongue the
way she likes. I want to immerse myself completely in her sweet, familiar scent and circle her throbbing bud until she moans with delight and my chin and cheeks get all slippery with pleasure.

  “Ali, babe?” I try as I climb into bed. She finished her nighttime prep in the bathroom before I got in there. I was fast, but had to wash up and brush my teeth. She’s rolled over towards the windows now and I can’t tell whether or not she’s still awake. “You still up?”

  “I am, Georgie,” she says as she looks over her shoulder to see me behind her. “Just lying here.”

  “How would you feel about a little lovemaking?” I ask as I gently move her long hair to one side and begin to rub her shoulders.

  “Isn’t that like being a little pregnant?” she replies with a laugh. “Just a little lovemaking?”

  “Yeah, well, you’re more than a little pregnant, so I guess neither description makes any sense,” I say, slowly moving my hands down to her lower back.

  “It has been a while, hasn’t it? I know you must be itching for some of this good stuff, Dr. Hartmann,” she teases. “Like fine wine, I only get better and better.”

  “I know that’s right,” I whisper.

  She reaches for my arm and pulls it close around her so my hand lands on her exposed breast. She’s wearing a sheer, sleeveless nightshirt with a deep v-neck which allows her exquisite breasts to appear when she twists just right against the bedsheets. She acts like it happens by accident, but I’m convinced she knows exactly how to maneuver to make me wild with desire. She turns around towards me and we’re ravenous for each other. We kiss deeply, surrendering to the passion we feel. I prop myself up on my hands and knees above her and begin my descent down her body as she pulls her sleep shirt off over her head and tosses it onto the floor. No panties. She moves in response to my every touch, arching her back and panting in anticipation. When I reach my destination, she’s dripping wet with desire. She’s never had trouble with natural lubrication, but pregnancy hormones have taken it to a whole new level. I love it. I bury my face and do my duty. She moans with delight. She doesn’t let me stay long though. When she’s nearly at peak excitement, she tugs my hair and moves my head away, pulling me upwards and guiding me to enter her. I do as she wishes and it feels like home. We heave and thrust until we reach ecstasy in one glorious moment together. We ride the waves as far as they’ll take us, moaning and gripping and pushing until the tension recedes.

  I’m still inside her when she begins to sob. Large, insistent tears stream down the sides of her cheeks and into her pretty hair.

  “Oh, Ali, what’s wrong?” I ask. “Don’t cry, babe.”

  “I can’t help it,” she says in return, her face contorting as the tears continue.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I ask. I gently slide out of her and roll over to put my arms around her from the side.

  “Gracious, no, Georgie. You couldn’t…” she says in between sobs.

  “Then what, Ali, babe? What can I do?” I ask. She swivels around in the bed and places her cheek down on my chest. Positioning is more difficult with little Will inside her belly, but we get as close as we can. Maybe she wasn’t ready to make love yet. I hope I wasn’t too forceful.

  “I guess it’s just a release,” she says. “I have had so much tension built up inside. I’ve been angry, sad, and scared. And then grateful. It’s been a rollercoaster of emotions. I know I’ve cried plenty of times this week, but being with you like this and having the release of orgasm is apparently something different. It has opened the floodgates.”

  “It’s alright,” I say. “You cry as long and as hard as you need to. I’m here.”

  “It’s not a bad cry,” she adds. “I’m just emotional. I sure do love you, Georgie. When we make love, I can feel how much you love me back. I feel it in your touch. I needed this tonight.”

  “Oh, Ali, I do love you, so very much. To the depths of my being. I’m glad you feel it. You and our sweet boys are my world. I’m right where I want to be. You know I’d do anything for you,” I say. I almost wish I could cry with my wife now. Lord knows I’ve cried plenty of times over the course of the past week. At the moment though, I’m all cried out. Funny how it comes and goes.

  “Georgie?” she queries, her tears beginning to slow.

  “Yeah, babe?” I return.

  “It makes me sad that we haven’t talked much about little Will’s arrival,” she says. “At this point in my other pregnancies, we were counting down and making final preparations. Will’s due date is next month and it feels like it’s sneaking up on us without the attention it deserves. Can we talk about Will now?”

  “Of course,” I reply. “You’re right. Let’s get the countdown going. Have you entered your due date into any of the online calendars that tell you what’s happening with his development week by week?” I ask as I reach for my smartphone that’s on the nightstand beside me and pull up the calendar.

  “I did all that when I first found out I was pregnant, remember? I checked in on it a few times in my first trimester, but for the most part, this is old hat for me. I’m on my third pregnancy in five years. I know a thing or two about how it works,” she says.

  “You are an old pro, for sure,” I say.

  “We are old pros,” she says, with a smile. I’m glad to see her smile.

  “Right,” I reply. “We are. But it’s probably time to take a good look at the calendar. We want to have everything ready. What are you thinking about his room? I know what you wanted, but after what happened…”

  We had planned to make Will’s room the first one upstairs, on the other side of Ethan and Leo’s from the guest room my in-laws have been staying in. All the stuff we have for him at this point is already unpacked and set up there. I’m not sure how I feel about that now. Will won’t sleep upstairs until he’s older anyway, but his room is where we’ll keep all of his clothes, toys, and baby gear. We want it to be a positive place that feels good.

  “It’s a dilemma, Georgie,” Ali says. “Part of me wants to move all the kids’ rooms downstairs. To the basement even. It feels safe down there. Maybe because it’s farthest away from the breach. Or maybe because it’s partially buried in the Earth.”

  “I hear you,” I say.

  “But the other part of me doesn’t want to cower in our own home. I want to find some way to reclaim our feeling of security. I’d prefer to keep his room upstairs as planned,” she explains.

  “I agree,” I reply. “Taye will be here in the morning. How about we sort of figure on staying the course, but wait to hear from him before we decide?”

  “Yeah, okay,” she agrees.

  “Did you reschedule your appointment at the birth center?” I ask.

  We were supposed to meet with the midwives a few days ago to get established, but after everything that happened, we decided to push it off awhile. Both Ali and Will received clean bills of health from our midwife in D.C. a few days before we left town, so we feel okay about taking our time.

  “I did. Called them earlier today, actually. We have a new appointment for Monday morning. I’m far enough along now that they want to see me once each week for the duration of my pregnancy, so I went ahead and scheduled for every Monday morning from here on out. They even penciled me in for the two Mondays after my due date,” she says.

  “Okay, good,” I reply. “So that’s taken care of.”

  “It is,” she agrees. We lay quietly for a minute as I stroke her hair. It’s wet from her tears. I hope I’m helping her feel better. It pains me to see my wife hurting.

  “Babe,” I begin. “How long do you figure your parents will stay?”

  “I think they have the flexibility to stay for quite a while if they want to,” Ali explains. “The symphony has a sub filling in for Mom and from what I understand, that person is available as long as she needs him to me. I know Mom would like to get back by mid-March when Yo-Yo Ma performs, but I assume even that’s up for discussion. She’s been with the group
so long, they’re like extended family. I’m certain they’ll support whatever she decides.”

  “That’s nice,” I say. “Your parents have been great. They’ve really shown up for us lately.”

  “I know, Georgie. I don’t know what I would do without them,” Ali replies.

  “Me neither,” I say, thinking of Roddy’s actions the night of the break-in. “So, what about your dad? When does he need to get back?

  “I think he’s good for quite a while, too. I’m less familiar with the specifics of his situation, but he has someone filling in for him as the cast rehearses the latest play he’s written,” Ali explains. “It premieres next season, which doesn’t kick off until the end of May. Maybe he has named a director to fill in. I don’t know for sure, but they both seem genuinely happy to help.”

  “Wow, okay,” I reply. “That’s awesome.”

  “I know,” Ali says. “I appreciate them so much.”

  “Given the situation with John Wendell, I wonder if we should talk to Marjorie and Roddy about coming back before Will is born and then staying with us for at least a few more weeks after he gets here,” I say.

  “That makes sense,” Ali affirms. “Your mom may have her hands full with John Wendell’s care. I kind of doubt she’ll be able to help as much as she planned. It sounds like we have no idea how things are going to unfold with him. Plus, you’re going to be working soon, and I think I’ll need someone here.”

  “Yeah,” I add, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to take off more than a couple of weeks after Will is born since I’m starting significantly later than scheduled. I assume Cornell has things they want me to get going on. I’d hate for Marjorie to miss Yo-Yo Ma though.”

  “Well, she might not end up missing him,” Ali replies. “I guess it all depends on when Will decides to make his entrance. But I think Mom would rather be with us than with Yo-Yo Ma. She’s worked with him before anyway. I’m pretty sure they’re friends. Acquaintances, at least. Maybe she could invite him over for dinner one night when she’s back in New York City if she misses performing with him in the Philharmonic. They could break out their instruments and play together right in Mom and Dad’s brownstone.”