Illusions Complete Series (82 page)

Over dinner, I felt uncomfortable. Sheila had joined us, along with the two live-in nurses. One was named Gercon. He was a French immigrant, with black tightly curled hair and a lean and trim body. He spoke perfect English, but with a very thick accent. The other nurse who stayed with us was Tammy, a willowy blonde who had eyes for my husband. I could see the way that she looked at him. But, then again, it wasn’t any different from how any other woman looked at him, so I wasn’t offended.

But Dalilah was pretty upset about the fact that her father was in the next room and refused to see her. “I wanna see daddy now!” she had screamed earlier, her little face getting as red as her hair, her hands balled up into tiny little fists. “Why can’t I see daddy?”

“Baby, daddy’s tired. He wants to see you, but he needs his rest.”

Dalilah looked unconvinced. “Give me painting. Daddy’s painting.”

I went into the other room and brought the painting to her.

She promptly tore it up in tiny little pieces.

Oh, boy, she’s going to be a handful.

“Dalilah, why would you do something like that? You worked so hard on it.”

“Daddy make me mad. Daddy don’t love me.”

“Baby, please. Daddy loves you very much. He’s just very tired right now, that’s all. He needs his rest.”

I was amazed at how perceptive she was about the situation. She clearly wasn’t satisfied with my explanation of why her daddy wouldn’t see her.

So, dinner was uncomfortable. Dalilah sat in her high chair, eating her chicken and fixins, clearly still very angry. She usually was quite chatty, but tonight, she ate in a sullen silence. Combine Dalilah’s attitude with the fact that I was sharing dinner with three strangers and Nick, while my husband was in the same home, and I felt that the entire affair felt surreal.

My life was, once again, like a Dali painting. Nothing made sense.

Nick kept shooting me meaningful glances, but I just shook my head. We would have to discuss everything later.

After dinner, I helped Sheila clean up, while Gercon and Tammy went to check on Ryan before retiring for the evening. Then I joined Nick in the den, where he was playing with Dalilah. He was showing her an Old Maid game, which seemed to cheer her up some. She was quite good at the game, and laughed at the different characters on the cards. Then she saw me, and she started pouting again.

Ignoring me, she asked Nick if they could play Chutes and Ladders next.

“No, Dalilah,” Nick said. “You have to get ready for bed. Your mother’s here to give you your bath and tuck you into bed.”

“NO,” she said. “You to give me bath and tuck me into bed.”

I just shook my head. My daughter, entering her terrible twos already, before she even had her first birthday.

I didn’t want to deal with it. “Nick, do you mind doing that for me?”

“Sure,” he said, “but don’t make a habit of it. You’re the parent, not me.”

“I know,” I said. “I just really need a glass of wine right now. I know it sounds selfish, but I’m at my wits end right now.” And Dalilah wasn’t helping one bit.

“Ok,” he said, picking her up. “Say night night to mommy.”

Dalilah just shook her head and stuck her thumb in her mouth.

If she had the power to flip me off, she would have.

About an hour later, Nick joined me in front of the fire. I was on my second glass of wine, staring at the fire pensively.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Nick asked.

I just looked at him. He was so hard to figure out sometimes. He could be such a controlling, insensitive jerk. But there was also a sensitive side, and I was seeing this more and more.

“I don’t know what to do about Ryan,” I began. “I mean, I know I need to give him time and space and everything. I understand that. But it’s so hard for me to figure out what I need to do to help him. I’m not good at this kind of thing. A part of me wants to force myself on him – go in there, whether he wants me to or not, and force feed him and sleep in the bed with him. Hold him and tell him that everything is going to be ok. Then there’s another part of me that says to give him his space, and he’ll come around. What should I do?”

“Give him time and space. He’ll come around and let you know when he’s ready for your help. In the meantime, take your cues from him. Trust me, I know what he’s like when he’s forced to do something he doesn’t want to do. That’s what almost got me killed, when I pushed too far. So I suggest that you tread lightly.”

I sighed. I knew that he would say something like that.

“What about his therapist? He should see Dr. Halder.”

“You can’t force him to go. He’ll go willingly when he’s ready. Iris, I’ve known this guy almost my entire life. I know him very well. No offense, but you’ve known him for just a few years. Please listen to me when I tell you what you should do. I’m a Ryan expert if ever there was one.”

I took another sip of my wine. I wondered if I should even go and see Ryan and tell him good night. Even that small gesture might be somehow intruding on his space.

Nick changed the subject. “So, what’s going on with the Rochelle thing?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Ryan needs to be a part of that. He needs to be deposed. The trial has been rescheduled for next month, but I don’t imagine that Ryan can be a part of that so soon. So, I would imagine that it would be drug out some more. That’s the least of my worries, now, though.”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “Ryan is the star witness for the prosecution. I would imagine that the entire case will hinge upon his testimony.”

I nodded my head. “You know, it’s strange. Before all this other stuff happened to myself and Ryan – the shooting, the rape, etc., etc., I was obsessed with Rochelle and what she did. Now, it’s like a distant memory. I really don’t care what happens to her, to tell you the truth.”

“That’s understandable. I would imagine that all your mental energy is focused on that guy in the bed in the next room.”

“That’s an understatement. He’s all I think about. That’s probably why Dalilah is mad at me – I don’t think that I’ve been giving her enough of my attention, because I’ve been so fixated on Ryan. I hope that she’s not scarred about all this.”

“Well, you are unfortunate in that Dalilah is probably the brightest child I’ve ever met. Which means that she probably won’t forget about whatever it is she’s angry about, like other children would. You might be stuck with a pouty little girl for awhile.”

“Ugh. One stressor at a time. I can’t even think about the fact that she’s going to be uncontrollable for me. I’ve never dealt with a genius in my life. Well, except for my husband. I wonder if he gave his parents the same type of attitude?”

“No, he didn’t. Sarah did, though. From the stories I have heard from Maggie, Sarah was a lot like Dalilah when she was little. Ryan never gave his parents grief, though. They gave him a lot of grief, but not the other way around. At least that’s what Sarah and Maggie tell me.”

We stayed up talking for a little while later before I begged off and went to bed. “It’s been nice talking with you, Nick. But I really need some shut-eye.”

“Sure, see you tomorrow.”

Then I went to my huge empty bed, and cried myself to sleep.

The next morning, I crept into Ryan’s room. I had prepared breakfast for him – I was energetic the previous evening and made a cheese strata that was refrigerated overnight. That was one of his favorite breakfast meals. I went to the market to buy some Challah bread, which was a Jewish egg bread, and some special imported cheeses. Then I layered the Challah bread with the cheese in a heavy baking dish, and poured an egg mixture over all of it. I added some spices and refrigerated it overnight so that the bread could soak up the egg mixture, then put it in the oven that morning. Cheese strata was always a favorite of us both, and it was what he had made for me on our first breakfast together, so it had a special meaning for us.

My mouth was watering as I brought it out of the oven. It smelled divine, and I couldn’t wait to share it with him. I made some Mimosas and Bloody Marys to go with it, and some chicken breakfast sausage. I actually made the sausage myself in Nick’s meat grinder – I simply ground up some chicken breast, added apple, fennel and spices, and made it in to patties. Then I went into Nick’s garden to prune a few roses, with Nick’s permission, of course.

“Nick,” I had said. “Do you mind if I prune a couple of roses from the garden?”

“No, of course not,” he said. “What do you need them for, though?”

“I’m going to bring Ryan breakfast in bed this morning. I know how much he loves roses, so I thought it would be nice to have some on the tray in a little vase.”

Nick said nothing at first. Then he said “ok, but please don’t get your hopes up. It might not go the way that you would hope.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning nothing, maybe. But if he doesn’t react with hugs and kisses, don’t take it personally. Just sayin’.”

I thought about Ryan’s sudden bout of temper yesterday when I tried to get him to eat the chicken, and felt a little bit apprehensive.

But I had to try.

So, I prepared a little tray with the goodies. I even baked chocolate chunk cookies, which were his favorite treat. I found a little crystal vase and put the flowers in that, and made a plate with the strata, the sausage, and a couple of cookies. The Mimosa and Bloody Mary rounded out the breakfast. Then I made a tray for myself as well.

“Knock, knock,” I said, as I opened up the door to Ryan’s new room.

Ryan was sitting there on the bed, watching television. It was some kind of History Channel show, I surmised.

Ryan looked at me, said nothing, then turned his attention back to his show.

I took a deep breath, feeling daunted. Then I set the tray up on his lap. “I made you all your favorites. I even pruned some roses for you.”

Ryan still said nothing. He just continued to stare at the television set.

“Can I scoot in next to you? We can eat together.”

Ryan said nothing, and made no move for me to get into the bed with him.

“Ok, then, I won’t eat in bed with you,” I said. “I’ll just eat at this little table here,” I said, gesturing to the small table and chairs that were next to the bed.

I started eating, and I was talking nervously, trying hard to fill the silence. Ryan wasn’t eating any of the food, nor was he reacting to anything I was saying. Still, I kept talking.

“I see that you have on a World War II show on. What is the exact subject?”

Ryan said nothing.

“Dalilah made you another picture. I hope that I get a chance to give it to you. Looks like she’s really going to be a prodigy. Might even have a musical ear, too. She sure is mesmerized by Nick when he’s playing the piano.”

Still nothing.

“This strata is really good, if I do say so myself. I found some really nice imported cheeses at Dean and Deluca. There’s Cantal and St. Nectaire in there, both imported from France. I also added some Camembert, and a little Gruyere. The bread’s very nice, too – I got that at the Whole Foods. Take a bite. I think you’ll be in heaven.”

Ryan still said nothing, his eyes glued to the television set.

I started to feel depressed, but the food was so good, it cheered me up some. Then I immediately started to worry – food used to be the way that I drowned my sorrows, before I met Ryan. I could polish off an entire log of cookie dough – not the actual cookies, mind you, just the dough – in one sitting, and top it off with an entire bag of Kettle Chips. I was overweight when Ryan and I had met, then lost a ton through being in a three-month long coma after Rochelle’s attack. Then lost even more in the aftermath. I had since maintained my smaller weight, through great diligence on my part.

Now I was, once again, using food as a way to cope with rejection. Because I felt happy, even though Ryan was completely shutting me out. The happiness was coming through eating this really delicious and rich meal. I would have the stifle the urge to eat the rest of it after I left the room. I had made an entire baking dish full of it, and I figured that I could feed Nick, Dalilah, Sheila and the workers with it. But there was a voice in my head that was telling me to eat all of it before anybody even knew that it existed.

I soldiered on, determined to engage Ryan some. “Here,” I said, putting some strata on a fork and putting it close to his mouth. “Here’s some. Taste it. It’s pretty divine, really. I could get on a cooking competition with this one.”

He said nothing, but turned his face away, his mouth closed, his face in a grimace. It was obvious that he didn’t want to try my delicious strata.

Should I just give up?
Nick’s warning was ringing in my ears – don’t get my hopes up. Ryan doesn’t like to be pushed. I tried not to take it personally – I hated him for several weeks after my rape. It wasn’t rational for me to feel that way – he was just a convenient target for my rage. I would imagine that Ryan was going through something similar. So maybe it was a good idea just to leave it alone right now.

So, I finished my breakfast and got up. “I’m going to go right now, honey. I want to leave the food there for you, though, so if you get hungry, you can eat it.”

He said nothing, but handed me back his tray of food.

I took the hint, and left his room without another word.

I brought Ryan’s tray of food back to the kitchen, then devoured everything that he didn’t eat. I rationalized doing this because it wouldn’t be sanitary to serve it to the other people in the house, and I certainly didn’t want to waste it. I drank his Mimosa and Bloody Mary as well.

I saw Nick sitting outside on the back patio. “Um, I’m going to get Dalilah, and maybe we could all eat together?” How badly I wanted some companionship. I didn’t like to eat alone, and that was what I just did. I ate two breakfasts alone, and I was about to eat a third with Nick and Dalilah.

I had to stop myself before I binge-ate my way to
The Biggest Loser
competition.

“That sounds great, Iris. I saw that strata you made, it smells really good. Do you mind if Sheila, Gercon and Tammy joins us?”