Thought I Knew You (17 page)

Chapter 20

W
hen I arrived home, I
hugged the girls with ferocity. The trip had worked wonders for my state of mind, but I frequently felt incomplete, as if I’d lost an arm or a leg. Holding my girls, I realized that Leah and Hannah filled that void. While I had enjoyed the long, hot showers and the selfish indulgence of alcohol and rich food, I wouldn’t trade lives with Sarah for anything. I breathed in the girls’ strawberry hair. They always smelled like candy, even when they’d gone days without a bath, as if innocent sweetness wafted out of their pores. Mom said Leah had cried because she missed me, but had slept well all three nights. Amazing.

Hannah held my hand for the majority of the evening, as though the simple gesture could anchor me and keep me from leaving her again. After I put Leah to bed, Hannah and I sat on the couch. She informed me that Annie was no longer her best friend because Pop-pop was and that she liked spaghetti.

I expressed surprise at both admissions, and Hannah said gravely, “Mommy, things change when you’re not here.”

“I guess they do!” I tried not to smile. “I won’t go away again for a long time, okay?”

“Did you go and try to find Daddy again?”

I had a stab of guilt. When I flew out there, that had been my intention. After my stranger chase through the streets of San Diego, the need to do the Greg Barnes tour had died. I decided to lie, thinking that alternate explanations would be too complicated. “I did look for Daddy. But I didn’t find him.”

Hannah absorbed that for a moment. “Do you think we’ll ever find him?”

“I don’t know.”

She sagged against me briefly, and then in the way only a four-year-old can recover, she bolted upright. “Oh! I know what I forgot! I forgot to tell you that I want another puppy!”

“You do?”

“Yup, I just decided when you were away. Can we?”

The time had come for everyone to move on. I didn’t have the heart to say no outright, but I was just starting to feel on my feet again. Dogs meant training and walks and things I wasn’t sure I could keep up with. Yet. “What if we could get a cat instead? I think that would be nice, Hannah. We’ll go to the ASPCA and adopt a cat that needs a home. What do you think?”

“Would he be a kitten? Like a baby?”

“Probably not. But that’s okay. We’ll give a cat a home when he doesn’t have one. It’s better than getting a kitten.”

After a moment, she nodded. “Then he’ll have a family. He’ll have us, right?” Her big brown eyes, mirror images of Greg’s, implored mine, seemingly desperate to get the right answer.

“Yes, he’ll have us.” I pulled her to me, and for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, kissed her head, smoothing her hair.

With my newfound resolve and my self-proclaimed “awakening,” I viewed my house with a critical eye. When had things gone to pot? I realized we’d gone the entire winter with the screens in the doors, as Greg hadn’t been there to replace them with storm windows. The back door where Cody had scratched his way out remained ripped. The gutters had clogged because Greg hadn’t been around to clean them out in November after the trees shed their leaves. The winter hadn’t been kind, and the blocked gutters had collected water, which had frozen, and because of the weight, the gutters sagged in places, straining their brackets. I wondered if I would stay in the house, with the big yard and all the work, if it remained just me. There were tough decisions in my future.

For the time being, I needed to get control over my home and learn how to do the things Greg had done. I watched a YouTube video on screen replacement, made a trip to Home Depot to pick up new mesh, and rescreened the patio door. That job took me half of a Saturday. Dad called twice to see if I needed any help, but I declined his offer. I borrowed a ladder from Pastor Joe because the one I found in the barn seemed rickety, and while Greg might have kept on using it, I wasn’t about to break my leg or worse.

Monday, while Hannah was at school and Leah was napping, I started on the west-facing side of the house, pulling mounds of rotting organic material from the gutters. The April air was brisk, but the waterlogged leaves were held together by thawing ice, making removal easier. I did the same thing to the east side of the house the next day.

I noticed the grass getting long and searched my memory for when Greg usually did the first cut. Sometime in April or May? I’d have to tackle the riding mower at some point when I wasn’t exhausted from gutter cleaning. I realized I hadn’t given Greg the credit he deserved, as most of the husband duties around the house were turning out to be the more physical variety. My arms and back ached, and fleetingly, I thought about how fantastic a massage would feel. Only then did I realize that I had never offered one, in all the years being married, as Greg performed backbreaking labor in our home.
Maybe he found someone who would massage out every kink.

Tuesday evening, I made a quick dinner of chicken nuggets and peas—about which Hannah complained—read appropriate bedtime stories, and tucked the girls into bed. I sat in the dimly lit living room, drinking a glass of white wine and staring blankly at the phone. Dreading the call I knew I had to make, I dialed the familiar number.

When Drew picked up, he sounded genuinely happy to hear from me.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called,” I blurted.

He chuckled softly. “I was starting to wonder.”

“No, I’m…” I swirled the wine in my glass, thinking of how to explain. I drew a blank. “Just getting through, I guess. How are you?”

“I’m good. I’m working on another print series.”

“Really? Tell me about it?”

“Are you sure? You might be offended.”

“Of course.”

“It’s… um… businessmen. At lunchtime. In public parks… with women.”

No wonder he had been hesitant. I was speechless. “Really? Isn’t that… wrong or something?”

“No. I have permission to use the images from men and women in the picture. So it’s not actually wrong, but it does look like clandestine affairs. But the weird part is most of the people I approached were husbands and wives meeting for lunch. So, innocent and harmless. But my photographs paint a slightly different picture.”

“And they didn’t mind?”

“Nope. In fact, most of them thought it was pretty cool. There were a few people who weren’t married, and it ended up being… uh, a thing.”

“A thing?” I laughed. “What kind of thing?”

“I got punched in the face once.”

“You did not! Drew, that’s terrible!”

“No, I’ve never been punched before. I felt kind of accomplished. Turns out the guy
was
cheating on his wife. I wouldn’t delete the picture in front of him, so he demanded my camera. I said, ‘No way.’ So he punched me. Turns out, photography is a contact sport.”

“I miss you!” I blurted.

After a long pause, he said, “I miss you, too, Claire.”

“But…?” I could hear the silent ‘but’ as clear as day. I’d become so accustomed to it.

“But… nothing. Well, I’m seeing someone.”

Of course. What did I want? What did I expect? Did it matter? I hadn’t called him for anything other than friendship. Then why did my chest ache? I didn’t want to think about it. “Good!” I said enthusiastically. “Tell me about her.”

“Maybe another time, okay?” His voice was gentle. I felt the impending dismissal before he said it.

“Well, I should go anyway,” I said. “I think Leah is awake.” Another lie. “Call me soon, okay? I want to hear about the new woman in your life when we both have more time.” I forced a laugh.

“Are you all right? You sound kind of… maniacal, actually.”

“I’m fine. But I’ve gotta go. Leah is crying. Love you. Call me later, okay? Bye.” I hung up.
Why is everything so complicated?

Chapter 21

T
he Saturday before Leah’s first
birthday party, Drew is coming for dinner and drinks and will spend the night in the guest room before the big party. Sarah is flying in tomorrow morning, and Drew will pick her up at the airport while Greg and I take care of last minute party things. The girls are at my parents to keep them out of the way. The weather has been warm for early September. Indian summer. I am weeding the garden; sweat is running down my forehead. I wipe my brow and feel a kiss between my shoulder blades. I turn to face Greg, who kisses me on the mouth. We’re both covered in dirt and perspiration.

“Hi!” I laugh. “What was that for?”

“You just looked beautiful.” In the rise and fall of marital tides, we are at a high. He pulls me out of the garden and onto the grass. “I can’t believe Leah is going to be a year old already.”

“I know. It’s crazy. It happened so fast. She’s still a baby.”

“Our last baby, unless…” His hands go to the top of my jeans, slowly unbuttoning. He kisses my stomach. “Unless you want to make another one…”

“Greg,” I hiss. “The neighbors.”

“What neighbors?” He pushes up my shirt.

He’s right. The closest neighbors are a quarter-mile away and there are trees on all four sides of our property. We make love on the grass. Afterward, we lay half-clothed in our own yard. I giggle.

“I hope we don’t get a FedEx delivery.”

Greg laughs. “It could be the highlight of the driver’s day.”

“Do you actually
want
to have another baby?” I ask. Do we want three kids? Three plane tickets to Disney, three college tuitions, three seems so much more than two. We always said we’d be done at two.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess lately I’ve been thinking about our life. I can’t believe how lucky I am. I never thought I’d end up like this. I always expected to be alone. And poor. Struggling or something.” He pulls me to him. “My life has exceeded my expectations in so many ways. Because of you.” He kisses my forehead.

I love the way I feel in his arms, small, protected. We lie there for another half-hour before we get up, dress, and return to our chores that now seem so much less like chores. Briefly, I look around, wondering if anyone saw us. Doubtful. I say something to Greg, and he waves my concerns away.

A few hours later, we are showered and dressed with weeded gardens, cut grass, and a cleaner house. My parents drop off the girls, and I start dinner. Drew arrives amidst screaming excitement from Hannah and mimicked excitement from Leah.

Over dinner, all three of us make conversation. Sometimes Greg is reserved around Drew, but tonight, he is gregarious and jovial. He hands Drew a cigar, and I feel, for the first time, hopeful they will become friends. Parts of the evening, I feel like an outsider. I pout about that, as I’m not used to it. Greg is affectionate with me, more so than usual when we are around other people. He and Drew drink whiskey, a rarity for both men. Before bed, Drew reads the girls a bedtime story, and Hannah cannot believe her good fortune that Drew will be there when she wakes up in the morning.

We take our drinks outside, where Greg starts a fire in the fire pit. The men polish off half a bottle of Crown Royal. I stick to my white wine. I’m tipsy, but the men are drunk. Greg waves the white flag early, leaving Drew and me to put out the fire. Greg kisses me goodnight, a little longer than normal, and whispers in my ear that he loves me.

Drew and I stay up, drinking and talking. We debate about politics. Drew is staunchly liberal, active in his causes. Our debates are usually heated, but Drew is much more knowledgeable, as I have little time to give to others. This infuriates him, as he sees my selfish suburban bubble life as unappreciated good fortune. He says I am ignorant of struggle. I say he is ignorant of systemic abuse. He is angry in a way I’ve never seen him. He is also drunker than I’ve ever seen him.

“You are selfish and oblivious to the big world around you,” he says, his arm swinging wildly. He knocks over a citronella candle on the patio table, and the wax snakes its way toward the edge.

“I don’t think that’s true,” I say, stung by his accusation. “Yes, I’m absorbed in my life. I have two small children. I
have
to be. More people should be focused on their kids. Maybe there’d be less need for social do-gooders if more people raised their children properly.”

“That’s a completely oblivious thing to say. It discounts any extenuating factors. But that’s how you are. Your life revolves around you. You don’t account for how other people feel.”

“Other people like who? Like homeless men on the streets of New York? No, I do not frequently account for homeless drunks on city streets when I make my daily life decisions.”

“Other people like me, for instance.” A beat. The air has shifted. Somehow we are no longer talking abstract politics. Things have gotten personal.

“What does that mean?”

“You have no idea how I feel, for example. You invite me to every holiday, every birthday party, to come here and sit and watch you and your husband either love or hate each other, depending on his moods. And I come. I laugh in all the right places and shake Greg’s hand when I’d really love to sock him in the face. And I do that because you expect it. You have no clue what it costs me.”

I grip the arm of the chair. I know deep down that what he is saying is true, but I’ve never acknowledged it, either to him or myself.

He stands up abruptly. “I’m sorry. I’m going to bed now. Before I say anything else I regret.” He kisses my cheek and leaves me in the dark.

The embers of the fire crackle. I’m confused as to what just happened. With a sinking feeling, I turn to look at our bedroom window, which overlooks the patio and fire pit. I realize the windows are open to the September breeze. Mechanically, I clean up the patio, put the glasses in the dishwasher, and put away the whiskey. I pray that Greg didn’t hear Drew’s words. I’m only mildly concerned that Drew’s and my friendship could change as a result
of Drew’s tirade because we’ve had encounters before and lived through them. Our relationship has always been an iceberg. The part the world sees is small and insignificant, where the largest, most complicated parts lie beneath the surface.