want to be in his arms. But I know he’s still playing cards with Greg.
The air is chilly and I bury myself into the crisp linens. The moonlight filters through the window and the beautiful white room is drenched in a soft blue tinged darkness. My gaze drifts to the old brick fireplace, painted white, and unused. The cool sleek vase filled with dry branches casts weird shadows along the bead board covered walls. The black and white vintage photos of flowers are just abstract shapes now, lost in the darkness. Yet, I still study them, trying to make out the details.
And after what seems like eternity, I finally drift off thinking about Gabe’s strong arms wrapped around me.
It’s a beautiful summer day. A soft breeze blows, easing the heat of the sun. The lake is calm today. I take in the beauty surrounding me and try to hold on to it, to let it fill my thoughts, and help me forget the reality of my life. Just a second of happiness, free of worry and remorse, that’s all I want. But I can’t quite hold on to it. It slips from me because I won’t let myself have it — I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve even a second of joy.
“I like your swim suit, Mommy,” Claire tells me, all smiles. “I like the polka dots.” She’s busy working on her masterpiece — Cinderella’s ‘sand’ castle.
I’m gathering rocks to build a big gate to circle the castle. And Chloe has gone to fetch some water. “We kind of match,” I point out. “You’ve got polka-dots too.”
She looks down and studies her cute two-piece pink and white suit, her eyes fixed on her adorable belly comfortably hanging over the band of her bottoms. “We do. We match,” she says with a squeal, her gap-toothed smile making my heart sink — she and her sister are so carefree today, so happy.
We lived such an idyllic life. Such a perfect life. But it wasn’t good enough for me, was it? No, I needed excitement, passion, fancy dresses, and overpriced scallops. I can barely stand myself. I hate myself.
Here is my baby, sitting next to me — I am her whole world. Her whole life consists of Gabe and I, and her sister. And all I’ve been thinking about is how my life is about to change. But what about hers? And Chloe’s?
The lump in my throat grows and pricks. My eyes fill with tears and I know I can’t let her see me like this, because I know she’ll ask me what’s wrong. And I don’t want to lie to her too.
I race to the lake, the rocks hard under the soles of my feet. As I plunge into the lake, the cold water cuts, but my thoughts are more painful — visions of the end of a marriage, the breakdown of a family — custody arrangements, kids shuffled back and forth, and endless fighting.
I’m crying as I dive into the lake. My tears dissolve into the cold waters of Lake Michigan unseen.
They all look so delicious — rows of homemade spreads in glass jars, gussied up with pretty vintage inspired labels; strawberry-rhubarb, blueberry, raspberry. I can’t pick just one. I’m in heaven in this quaint, little treasure of a market bustling with people.
“I love those spreads on crackers with a little cream cheese,” Gwen tells me as she passes by me with a basket full of fresh produce. “Yummy.”
“I think I’m going to buy all three. I can’t choose.”
She lets out a huge sigh as she pulls the crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket. “Greg made me this list. I need to get Portobello mushrooms,” she says. “I have no idea…”
I smile at her. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”
As I help her pick the mushrooms, I smile at her again. “You’re lucky Greg cooks.”
She laughs. Her big smile usually always calms me. But today…
I trail my finger along the edge of the old wooden crates full of fresh produce. I like the cute little black tags — the prices are hand-written in white chalk.
I haven’t had a chance to tell her. We haven’t been alone since I got here. When she suggested I join her into town to grab a few provisions, I wondered if it would be a good opportunity.
But I haven’t had the courage just yet.
I trail behind her as we walk to the register. The place is busy and we stand in line making