Page 28 of Lost in Love

I want to comfort her. As her husband, I should. I want to reach over and offer her the warmth of my hand, but I can’t do any of that. I don’t know how to make this pain go away. I’ve been trying for over a year, and it doesn’t work.

Nine

Wicked Walls

(You build them up, over and over again until their foundation is solid.)

Since Mara died,I’ve had four breakdowns where I couldn’t get out of bed. Physically could not lift my head up to function. Noah had to take care of everything. I couldn’t even feed Finley. It was like I had the flu with full body shakes and vomiting.

And now, after seeing her pediatrician, I know it’s coming and will finally hit when we’re at home.

I’m angry that he was there as a reminder on a night where everything just seemed to be falling apart. Why does that happen? Why, when everything else is going to shit, does something add to it and set you over the edge? I cry the entire way home, but the real pain, the kind you can’t get rid of, it’ll hit when I don’t have to pretend to be okay. Noah tries to comfort me, to take away the pain. He doesn’t like people touching him to begin with, so to hold me, it’s something similar to how you might imagine Hitler trying to comfort someone.

In his truck, I grip the steering wheel with every intention of driving away from the hospital, but all it does is remind me of the night we left without her. The night we sat in our car for two hours, crying, wondering where we went from there. I remember that night so vividly. The fog, the rain, the tears, the helplessness inside my chest that my daughter died and I couldn’t fix her. I couldn’t take away her pain or mine, and I certainly couldn’t take away Noah’s. That night, he held me as we sobbed together, but now, now he won’t touch me. Next to me, he looks over at me, and I swear I can I feel his pulse racing, his eyes dark and shadowed, full of feeling, his breathing just as heavy as mine.

My tears slow and I’m able to ask, “Are you okay?” Twisting in the seat, I face him and circle my hands around his neck, looking down at his splinted hand. My heart is beating so hard, so fast it feels like I can’t even draw in a breath, but here I am asking if Noah’s okay.

His eye brows are furrowed, looking like he’s in a world of pain. Not physically, but emotionally. He doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure he can. There’s tension in his guarded stare, he’s anything but okay. After a minute, he pulls away from me and finally whispers, “Let’s go home.” His eyes fall shut and he releases a heavy sigh. “I have to be at work in two hours.” His words are shaking, a tremble to each tone, as if at any second he’s going to break down.

When Mara died, that night, he sobbed. Uncontrollably. I’d never seen him like that before. Struggling to breathe, he collapsed to his knees, begging God to not take her. But since then, even at her funeral, no tears. He’s held me during my breakdowns, as awkwardly as Noah holds anyone, but never ever does he let himself slip back into the darkness of that night. His coldness takes over, and he turns into a zombie.

The drive home is completely silent aside from me sniffing and Noah’s heavy breathing. I’m afraid to say anything, let alone ask how his problem in his pants is doing. From the looks of his jeans, it’s still standing at attention. Any other night, this would be funny. And I’m sure years from now we’ll look back on it and laugh.

We walk to the house, again, in silence. The blue dawn of the sun rising over the city provides just enough light we don’t trip over Oliver’s bike he left in front of the door. Noah kicks it aside and pushes the door open.

When we’re inside the house, I immediately look for signs that everything has gone to shit since we left. In my head, I’m picturing all the children running around like lunatics, and they’ve tied Bonner up.

I don’t walk into any of that. What I do see is Bonner on the couch, asleep, with Fin on his chest and Sevi lying in the chair next to them on Ashlynn’s chest. Of course he has his head on her tits like they’re pillows. I’m actually a little jealous because he never lets me hold him like that since I stopped breastfeeding him.

Ashlynn smiles when she notices us, rubbing Sevi’s back like she’s a natural at calming children. I can still feel the anxiety building, the need to let myself break down, but for a moment, knowing a seemingly complete stranger took care of our children for us and cared for them as if they were their own, makes me feel better I think.

I don’t know for sure. Noah slides past me, says nothing to Bonner and stomps upstairs. It’s a moment later and I hear our bedroom door slam shut.

I kneel next to the chair. “Thank you for watching them,” I whisper to Ashlynn, careful not to wake Sevi or Fin.

She smiles tenderly, her perfect white teeth hidden behind a thick layer of bright pink lipstick. “I only got to spend a few minutes with this little guy before he was fast asleep.”

Hmmm. Maybe he’d trade the dog bed for Ashlynn’s chest? No, that’s even weirder, right? Probably.

Ashlynn nods upstairs. “Looks like you two need to talk.”

Tears sting, threaten to push me over the edge, but I hold on. I fight it. I glance over my shoulder, worried about what I’m going to find when I walk upstairs, not to mention the bathroom is covered in blood and glass. I’ll probably be the one to clean that up later.

“Go relax, take a shower, whatever you need,” she whispers, continuing to rub Sevi’s back. “I’m totally fine here.”

I can’t believe I’m letting a porn star hold my son. I don’t even want to think about what she did tonight to earn her pay. But then again, I do. I really am curious for some strange reason.

“He loves you,” she tells me, and I think she’s referring to my son who has found a new set of boobs to be happy about.

“He has to. He’s my son.”

Ashlynn laughs. “No, I mean Noah. I don’t know how you got to this point in your marriage, and it’s none of my business. But there’s still love there. Now go. I got this.”

I hesitate, but a moment alone sounds amazing. In an hour, Oliver and Hazel will be getting up, and I need to get them ready for school. Nodding, I stand and draw in a deep breath. The moment I stand, the emotion returns. It builds and pressurizes like it knows the moment I’m inside my bedroom with the door closed, it can finally release.

Tiptoeing up the stairs and down the hall, the farther down the hall I walk, the more I try to prepare myself for what Noah will say or what he’s doing.

The TV is on, the door open, and Noah’s standing in front of the window. When I shut the door, he says nothing, as if I’m not even there.

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