Page 47 of Woman on the Verge

Him: A comfort food type show

Ha

Him: I like how you say “ha” when something is funny

Ha

This banter has made the day go by quickly. It has made her children seem more delightful than they usually are. It has made errands less burdensome. It is a salve, this banter. She is already addicted to it, the rush of seeing his name appear, the anticipation, the giddiness.

Returning to the topic of her visiting him again, he says:

I can’t wait

Me neither

Him: How is it only Monday?

I don’t know, but at least it’s the end of Monday. You’ve made it much better than Mondays usually are

She wants to hear his voice, to see him, to confirm the reality of him. But it’s not feasible to have a phone call, let alone FaceTime. There is always another human being near her. Texting, for now, will have to do.

I can’t wait to hold you

I can’t wait to kiss you

Their sappy messages go on like this until she tells him she has to go to sleep. She is in bed texting, daring her husband to say something. He just stares at his own phone, looking at sports scores like the stereotypical husband he is, until he falls asleep, the phone on his chest, rising and falling with his breath. If he ever finds out about Elijah, she hopes he blames his own obliviousness. He won’t, of course, but he should.

“Good night,” she whispers to him, though she doubts he can hear her. He is the type of person who enters a deep sleep approximately four seconds after closing his eyes.

He doesn’t respond, as expected. He’s on his back, meaning he’ll be snoring soon. She gently pushes him, and he rolls onto his side with a grunt. Perhaps if he gave her the courtesy of agood night, if their communication involved something more substantial than grunts, she would feel more guilt about Elijah. As it is, she feels no guilt. She feels only exhilaration.

Chapter 9

Nicole

It was just before midnight when I got to my dad and Merry’s house Friday evening. Merry had left a key under the doormat, and I let myself in quietly, not wanting to wake them, but then discovered Merry was still awake, sitting on the couch in the living room, watching something with a laugh track on TV.

“Hey, Mer,” I said, not wanting to startle her. She was startled anyway.

“Oh god, Nicole, you scared me.”

She put her hand to her heart.

“You’re still up?”

She was fully dressed in linen pants and a wool sweater.

“I can’t sleep. Your father has these muscle spasms. It’s like someone shocks him with a cattle prod. He hit me in the face last night.”

I’d seen the spasms in the hospital. Whenever he’d fall asleep, his arms would start to twitch. Sometimes one of them would float upward and stick straight up in the air.

“I’m sorry.” I sat next to her on the couch. “How is he today?”

She shrugged. “The same. I’m worried about him on the stairs. His walking has gotten so much worse just in the last week.”

I’d read online about this—the rapid decline. He would need a wheelchair in the near future. I had no idea how to procure a wheelchair.

“I was thinking on the drive up that we should move him to the guest room down here,” I said.

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