and Annabelle talked more than either of them. And much to Alex's surprise, she didn't seem to sense the tension between her parents. She was so happy to have her mother home, she was flying high and full of funny stories and jokes and new songs, and unintelligible tales about her friends. It was a lively dinner. And then they put her to bed, and Carmen cleaned up the kitchen. But when Alex and Sam went to their own room, suddenly the conversation ran dry and she didn't know what to say to him, and he seemed to have nothing at all to say to her. He looked tired and distracted.
“Everything okay at work?” she asked, wondering why he was so nervous.
“Fine.” But he couldn't ask her the same thing. She hadn't been to her office all week. Everything she knew was about her illness.
He turned on the television, and sought refuge in it, and eventually he fell asleep, as Alex watched him. She was drained from the emotions of coming home to them, but she was glad she was here. She just didn't know what to do with Sam. But Liz had reassured her again, when she called her that afternoon, and told her to be patient. She said she'd had the same problems with her husband at first too, the awkwardness, the fears about her illness, the resentment too, but eventually he had adjusted.
Sam woke up after the late news, stirred, and looked up at her, as though surprised to see her there next to him, and then, without a word, he went to change into his pajamas. She had already bathed as best she could, and changed her nightgown again, and then she'd put on a bed jacket so the dressing wouldn't upset him. But when he came back to her after he'd showered, which seemed an eternity to her, he seemed to hesitate before coming back to bed again.
He was suddenly afraid of her, as though she might taint him with her problem. She wanted so much from him, and he just didn't know how much he had to give her. His own inadequacy frightened him more than anything. It was easier not to be around her.
“Is something wrong?” She looked at him, confused. It was as though he wasn't sure if he should sleep with her. But with Carmen in the guest room, there were no other options.
“I …would it be …will I hurt you if I sleep here?” Suddenly she couldn't help smiling at him. He looked so uncomfortable in his own skin, and so ill at ease with her. It was tragic in a way, except that it had made her feel both sad and angry. And yet she felt for him too. He looked so awkward.
”You won't hurt me unless you hit me over the head with your shoe. Why?” She tried to pretend that everything was normal, but they both knew it wasn't.
“I just thought maybe …if I rolled over … or touched you …” He was treating her like a piece of glass instead of a woman, and he seemed to go from one extreme to the other. One minute he wanted to pretend there was no problem at all, and the next he wanted to go to the ends of the earth to avoid her. It was more than a little distressing.
“You won't hurt me, Sam,” she said quietly, trying to reassure him. But he slipped into bed as though there were a land mine on her side of it and he was afraid to set it off. He lay there stiffly on the edge of the bed, keeping as far away from her as he could. And doing that made her feel like a pariah.
“Are you all right?” he asked her nervously before he turned out the light. “Do you want anything?”
“I'm fine.” Or at least she wished she were, and she was certainly fine enough to sleep beside him. But it was obvious that he didn't want to. Eventually, he fell asleep clinging to the edge of the bed, as Alex watched him. It was as though, with the absence of one breast, overnight they had become strangers. And once he was asleep, she lay in bed and cried, pining for her husband.
He woke up on Saturday long before she stirred, and by the time she got up, and changed her bed jacket for the dressing gown again, he and Annabelle were dressed and tailing about going