The house may have been in his name, there was nothing she could do about that until the lawyers settled things, but the backyard was hers. How many hours had she spent with the landscapers, working out every detail? The roses caught her attention, like they always did, incarnadine against the pristine, literal white picket fence that separated her little section of the suburbs from all the other. They were particularly striking, today. The dark weather that had been gathering for days had stained the sky a fearsome gray that just seemed to tinge everything, everything but those roses, and they only seemed all the brighter in contrast. The wind was picking up; she hoped that they survived the coming storm.
Her hand shook as she wrapped it around her white mug full of tepid black coffee and made her way up the stairs. She felt like a ghost, haunting her own life. She?d awoken, simply woken up, not tired, fully awake, a few hours ago, before the sun, and she?d spent that time drifting through the living room, the parlor, the kitchen, touching things just to see if they felt any different today than they had yesterday, and the day before that. Up the stairs she glided, sipping coffee that was comfortingly bitter, and then down the hall. She tensed on the steps that brought her past their bedroom, didn?t dare look in at the empty bed, its tangled sheets. She couldn?t bring herself to make it, to sleep in it, not since that night. The couch was far from comfortable, but it wasn?t as if she?d been sleeping much anyway.
The door to their daughter?s room was open, just a crack, and a sliver of light fell into the otherwise dark hall. She was quiet, wraith-like as she edged the door open just enough to admit her. She remembered being pregnant, picking out paint swatches and wallpaper, eggshell or cr?me?, buying a crib, a chest of drawers, a mobile. It was all packed away, now, collecting dust, but it was still the same room, the same little girl?s room, the same little girl. Her daughter.
Setting the mug down on the nightstand, she watched her daughter sleep. She thanked God that she looked so little like him. She had her mother?s raven dark hair, porcelain skin, and soft, curving lips. She was always such a still, deep sleeper. Barely breathing, silent, beautiful. She was careful as she lowered herself onto the edge of the mattress.
?Sweetheart,? she whispered. Her daughter slumbered on, and so she reached to touch her cheek, ready to whisper again, but she didn?t have the chance. There was a bright flash from beyond the curtains, then almost immediately a report of thunder that rattled the window panes. The little girl was awake all at once, eyes wide and frightened, but her mother was there, and she sank back into the softness of her pillow.
?Just thunder,? she assured her daughter, summoning a smile that she hoped was reassuring. Smiles had come easy, once, but now they were the result of conscious effort. ?It?s time to get up. You need to get ready for school.? She reached down, gently bringing a bit of order to the girl?s long, straight, black hair.
Her daughter yawned, nodding slowly but not moving. ?Is daddy coming home today?? She felt something twinge inside her chest at the question, and her smile evaporated. How could she explain to her why her father wasn?t home, what he had done, whom he had done it with?
?Maybe, sweetheart,? she answered, her smile making a thin return. She lost herself for a moment, remembering the innocence with which her daughter had brought everything to light. Is daddy friends with Kaylee?s mommy? Her daughter?s best friend?s mother was her best friend, or had been. Maybe she never was. She didn?t care to learn how far back it went, all that mattered was she knew now. She?d laughed at the time, said of course, why wouldn?t they be friends?
The thought had lodged in her mind, though, like a thorn in a paw. She?d went about her day with it at the fringes of her awareness. She remembered the time that she?d found one of Melissa?s earrings in their bedroom, but because she wasn?t that sort of person, had merely returned it without question. The two of them were in the bedroom often enough, after all. It could have fallen off while they tried on clothes that they only meant to return. Then she thought about all the times that Melissa?s trips out of town had coincided with her husbands. The very idea of it was like poison, flooding her, and just like that, the spell called trust was broken.
Their daughter was playing Angry Birds on his phone; he was upstairs, changing for dinner. ?Let me see that for a minute, darling.? Finding the truth was that easy, a few touches of her finger and thumb to the screen of a cell phone. Texts, pictures, worse. She?d dropped the phone, her face deathly pale and rigid, and taken the stairs two at a time.
What truly astonished her had been how different he looked. Everything she?d overlooked for so many years was blindingly apparent now; not just in terms of this pernicious infidelity, but his appearance as well. He?d developed a bit of paunch, not much. His pores were too large, visible in the stark white light of the bathroom even from the door. His hair was thinner every time he cut it.
He smiled at her, lifted his eyebrows. He knew something was wrong, and she watched his face transform again when she asked a single question. When he answered that one, she asked another, and another, barraging him with them. When did it start? Who knows? How could you do this to me, to us, to our family? She was too angry, too frightened to cry, not until he?d left through the backdoor with a single suitcase packed. Even then, she couldn?t. She had to put their daughter to bed, reassure her that everything was fine, read her a story, and leave the lamp on the nightstand shining.
The thunder sounded again, shaking her from her reverie. ?I asked if I could have pancakes and eggs, Mommy.? Her daughter was regarding her curiously, and so she blinked back tears and smiled yet again, taking her by her small hand, winding their fingers together.
?Of course you can. Do you want me to help you get ready?? Her daughter shook her head, independence ablaze in her young eyes. She couldn?t help but laugh, falteringly. ?Alright then. I?ll go get started on those pancakes.? She squeezed that small hand, brought it to her red lips and kissed it.
She stopped before the kitchen to look out the sliding glass door. Past her ghostly half-reflection, she could see that the rain had started in earnest, drumming down on the earth, turning the soil in her garden to mud.
mariano rivera jobs report tiger woods masters 2012 nikki haley stan van gundy navy jet crash virginia beach crash
No comments:
Post a Comment