Page 111 of Every Good Thing
Our conversation continues until she tells me she has a date with her bath toys.
“Be good for your mother,” I say, though she always is. “I love you.”
“Love you, Dad. Be home soon. Miss you. Bye.”
Regret hits me, especially when Lena takes control again.
She flashes her soft, warm smile at Ruthie. Only I see the pain in her eyes. “Go pick out your toys for bath time. I’ll be right there, okay?”
“I’ve got it, Lena,” Dot chimes in, and Lena nods.
I hear little thuds of Ruthie’s bare feet across the wood floor. When Lena’s eyes return to mine, her smile falters. “That was… inventive. Thanks for keeping your promise to call.”
“Of course. How about I take her to preschool in the morning?”
Her eyes narrow, and her forehead scrunches with worry lines. “I’ll do it. And I’d rather not start talking schedules and who gets her when yet. It’s too hard just yet.”
There’s no anxiety or anger in her voice, just sadness that I don’t want to make worse.
“No, of course not. I’m sorry.”
She forces a smile, but her demeanor cracks. “Are we done, then? With the call, I mean?”
“One more thing. I made an appointment with Rob for ten to check your hand. You can go after dropping Ruthie. I think you should have it—”
“My hand is fine.”
“Please.” My voice falters this time, and I turn the phone away. I take a breath, trying to ignore the despair that emanates from her like a damn toxin. “Lena, look I’m—”
“Fine. I’ll go to the appointment.” She takes a breath as if bored, but the soft shudder in her voice reveals the emotion she’s trying desperately to keep in. “I’ll go.”
“Want me to meet you there?”
“No, I can handle a doctor’s appointment. Anything else?”
Her attitude surprises me. She’s curt and, more surprisingly, together. But what do I expect? Lena is the strongest person I’ve ever met—of course, she’s okay. I’m the one who isn’t.
“Um, I guess not,” I say when the silence is too much, even for me.
She nods. “Okay, do what you need to do.”
The line goes dead, and instantly, I ache for her and Ruthie.
But lying in bed that night, I know the ache will lessen with more time apart. Getting small will help me see what’s important. Then, I expect clarity and renewed focus.
I’ll decide about the job.
Decide about my hearing.
And decide, once and for all, if I’m better off alone. Or rather, if she’s better off without me.
Thirty-Four
LENA
I awake early Monday morning to black skies and Mrs. Moore’s words. Be the woman he fell in love with. Be yourself. Maybe it’s good advice, but the truth is, I’m no longer the woman Ben fell in love with, and I don’t want to be again. That woman was sad, lonely, spastic, and lost. She barely functioned on a mental diet of anxiety and self-doubt. And while those aren’t the parts that Ben fell for exactly, that was me back then. I’m lucky he saw through my bullshit to love the real me.
Maybe that’s what I have to do for him now.
