That night Bobby slept in my arms in the reclining chair by the bed, determined to help me watch over his daddy. His prized possession, a ragged stuffed dog, occupied the pillow next to my love.
Bobby, watching over him then, watching over him now.
“Did you know when he left me how depressed he was?” I still had trouble believing that Travis had so skillfully kept his condition from both me and our son.
Bob shot me an “oh, please” eye roll. “Like he’d ever complain about anything.”
Good point. After devotedly tending me and Bob, Travis had nearly reached death’s door before admitting that he’d taken ill too. The retching incident had been our first clue.
“He’s working again.” Bob peered up at me from under his eyelashes, probably wondering how I’d take the news.
“Good to hear.” I kept my poker face firmly intact, hoping he’d offer more.
He leaned in and hissed, “Christ, Dad, did you really have to have him committed?”
Committed? “I didn’t have him committed. I sent him to a place to get the help he needed.” I couldn’t tell my son how close his father had come to suicide. Knowing the thoughts had been there was bad enough.
Bob sighed, weaving his fingers through his hair and leaving a streak of butter. “I never would have believed that he suffered from major depressive disorder. He hid the symptoms from me so well. But the doctor says with counseling and treatment, he’ll be fine. How could I not see? Not know? I studied this in school.”
The same way I’d missed all the signs—I’d married one damned good actor. Armed with knowledge from my counselor, I now knew the warning signs. “Don’t blame yourself. You were away at college. I saw him every day. In hindsight, the poor guy’d been sending up flares for months before he left. I didn’t see—didn’t want to see.” How I would love to go back and be his support, as I should have been. I only hoped it wasn’t too late now. “Sooner or later, he’ll have to talk to me, and when he does, I’ll make him see reason.”
“You want him back?”
No finer person existed on the earth. Of course I wanted Travis back. We belonged together. “I never wanted him to leave in the first place.”
My son derailed my reconciliation plans. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but he’s having divorce papers drawn up.”
Oh hell no. Not happening. Not if I had anything to do with it. If I’d only been paying attention, Travis would have gotten his counseling and treatment sooner and we wouldn’t be in this situation.
To stop this train I’d throw myself on the tracks. “Bob?”
He swallowed a sip of tea. “Yes, Dad?”
“Remember a few weeks ago, when you asked me to go see him?”
“Yes?” What are you up to? he asked with his eyes.
“He wanted something from me. Tell him it’s time to return the favor, this Friday.”
Bob regarded me as a mouse might a cat. “What do you plan to do?”
“Take one last chance to plead my case.”
“I’m only doing this because Bob asked.” Travis stood in his much cleaner room, dressed in the new suit that fit more snugly now. Gone were the dark circles and angular planes from his face, and every strand of hair fell neatly into place.
“Hey, you owe me,” I replied, “but where we’re going, you won’t need a suit. Pack an overnight bag. Casual clothes.” He wouldn’t let me rent a new apartment for him, but had agreed to return to his condo at the end of the sublet agreement—a step in the right direction.
He raised a brow. “Where are we going?”
“I didn’t ask so many questions during your night,” I mock-groused, willing him to play along. I had a lot of making up to do, and revisiting the past didn’t figure into my plans. A clean slate. Time to write a new story.
In the end, he complied. I carried his suitcase two blocks to where I’d parked. While he’d recovered a great deal, he wasn’t quite back to his normally vigorous self yet. “Surely that’s not yours.” He stared at the nondescript car that no, I wouldn’t have bought. For our mini vacation I’d chosen to rent a less conspicuous vehicle than my Lexus. Wealth obviously didn’t impress Travis. Maybe sincerity would. I could only hope.
“Humor me.” A few years before I’d met him, I would have considered the Malibu a perfectly sensible car. What a snob I’d turned out to be.