and pacing: ‘Your wife’s been getting sick all over this house. Throwing up day and night like some kind of boozehound.’ ”
I try to laugh at Eric’s impression—over the years, he’s perfected Ted’s gravelly annoyance, the drama of his inflections—but I wish that Ted hadn’t told him that. Because now I see the glint in Eric’s eye. The hopeful smile budding at the corners of his mouth.
“So you’ve been sick?” he asks. “Anything I should know about?”
“It’s my period,” I blurt out.
The guilt comes gushing back. It’s a tidal wave that could take us both down.
“I’ve got really bad cramps,” I continue anyway. “You know how bad my period’s been since I went off the pill.”
His eyelids droop a little. His shoulders sag the slightest bit. “Oh,” he says.
I want to make my husband happy, but now is not the time. He’ll want to celebrate, spin me in circles—but my mind is spinning enough as it is. I’m dizzy from the day. Drowsy from revelations and dead ends. But looking at Eric, the disappointment clear as a wince on his face, I feel something else. Cruel. Selfish. A terrible vessel for all the love he’s poured into me.
The screen door squeaks on its hinges. “Well, look who decided to come home,” Ted says. He steps onto the porch, rests both hands on the railing, and the door whacks against the frame behind him.
“Wait,” Eric says, looking back at me. “Where were you?”
Ted is staring at me. He’d love to know that too. “I’ll tell you later,” I say to my husband.
“Dr. Eric,” Ted booms, speaking louder than the distance between us requires. “Would you mind taking out the trash for me? And not just the wastebasket in the kitchen. I noticed the most terrible odor as I walked by Fern’s room. Seems like a woman’s stagnant sick is something a husband should take care of.”
Eric and I share a glance. Unbelievable, I can hear him thinking.
“You do not have to do that,” I tell him. “I’ll clean it up.”
“No, that’s all right,” Eric says, already walking up the porch steps. “It’s Ted’s way of getting rid of me.” He claps Ted on the back as he passes. “If you want to speak to her alone, that’s all you need to say.”
“Oh, I usually like to say more than I need to,” Ted throws over his shoulder. “But thanks for the advice, Doc.” He swivels his gaze back to me.
“Do you have to do that?” I ask.
He flashes a smile. “We’re just having fun.” Now his face goes slack. “Where did you run off to, Fern?”
I look up at him from my spot on the driveway. Standing on the porch, he appears like he’s addressing me from a stage.
“I don’t…” I start. “It doesn’t matter, okay?”
“Oh, but it does matter. It matters very much to me.”
“Yeah,” I scoff. “I’m sure it does.”
Ted tilts his head, regards me in a way I’ve never seen before. An expression so foreign on his face I don’t know how to describe it. “Are you all right, Fern?”
The question surprises me. I try to think back to any time he’s asked me that in the past, but I don’t think he ever has. Not even when I gripped my stomach at the onset of appendicitis. Not even when I came home crying after enduring Cooper’s torture.
“Why are you asking me that?”
“You’ve had quite a shock,” he says. “And you ran off this morning before we had a chance to process it.”
I cross my arms. Build a barrier across my chest. “I don’t want to process it with you,” I say. “If that’s what you really wanted, you could have helped me process it back then. By following up with the police. By sending me to a doctor. Someone who actually knew what they were doing.”
“But the police didn’t know what they were doing, and you wouldn’t…” He stops. Takes a moment to exhale. “I’ve already explained this. We did what we believed was best for you at the time. But now, if you’re starting to remember, if you’re trying to remember more, we should work together. I can help you with that. The source of your dissociative amnesia is fear—and who knows your fear better than me? Let me help you. Please.”
There’s concern in his voice. A thread of kindness, even. If I had my eyes closed, I might not know it was Ted who was speaking.
“I’m not interested in the kind of help you can give,”