died wasn’t a healthy place for someone who just wanted to feel like there’s something else in this world other than the past.
For Evan it wasn’t a sudden car crash, it was the phrase “two weeks to live” that brought him to his weakest moment.
I insisted on seeing him and meeting him at his parents’ place and even though I thought he’d object, he didn’t. He’d never been so passive toward anything like he was that night.
Evan’s only cried twice since I’ve known him.
That night after his mother had finally gone to bed and we went back to his childhood bedroom. And nineteen days later, when she was put in the ground.
My hand itches to hold his right now. Instead I hold a ringing cell phone in an empty home.
“Henry,” I say, answering the phone as if nothing’s wrong although I’m very aware my voice sounds nearly breathless. Clearing my throat, I repeat his name. My voice is peppy and full of life, even though it’s nearly 10:00 p.m. and I feel nothing but dead inside.
I squint at the clock on the computer and wonder why he’s calling so late. “Is everything all right?” I ask, rushing out the words, my heart beating slower and a deep fear of loss settling in.
“My favorite daughter-in-law,” Henry says and his greeting makes a soft smile lift up my lips. I even feel the warmth from it.
“Your only daughter-in-law,” I correct him, picking at a bit of fuzz on the sleeve of my shirt.
“Still my favorite,” he replies and I give him the laugh that he’s after, even if it is a little short and quiet.
“What are you calling for?” I ask him and rest my elbow on the desk, chin in my hand. I absently minimize the document on my screen and clear out all my tabs, checking my email yet again as Henry talks.
“I just wanted to check on you, make sure everything’s going well.”
Again, I get the sense that something’s off. “That’s sweet of you,” I tell him but before I can say everything’s fine, he gets right to the real reason he called.
“You two all right?”
“Yeah,” I say and instantly feel like shit. The single word is a vicious lie on my lips. I question what I should tell him: I don’t know if my marriage to his son will last? That I’m falling apart and I have no idea how to make this better? That his son is a liar and I hate him for the pain he’s putting me through?
“I spoke to Evan and he said he’s not sure about the holidays coming up,” Henry tells me and his tone reflects that he’s baiting me. Henry’s kind, polite, keeps to himself and doesn’t want to be a bother, but he has a way of getting the truth out of people. Evan certainly inherited his charm from his father.
The screen of my laptop dims, ridding the room of any light so I hit the space bar and bring it back to life.
“It’s a bit away, but,” I say then pause and swallow, not knowing how to articulate the onslaught of thoughts. They all crowd themselves into a jam at the back of my throat, refusing to come out. I don’t have family, so it’s not as if I can use them as an excuse. “Work may be a little much.” I finally say the words and breathe out slowly, giving him a lie I’m sure he knows is exactly that.
“He said you’re going through something.” There’s no bullshit in his voice as he adds, “That you two aren’t doing the best.”
A pricking numbness dances across my hands as I ask weakly, “Did he?” Staring blankly ahead, the rhetorical question is like a knife in my back. It’s a betrayal. That’s how I feel hearing that Evan’s told his father what we’re going through. It makes the crack in my heart that much wider.
We aren’t doing the best. I hear it over and over and each time the knife stabs deeper.
It’s not fair that he invites so much attention. I don’t need the judgment, because I don’t want their opinions. I don’t want them to know we’re flawed. I just want us whole again. I wish no one knew so I could silently be the weak wife I am. The one willing to turn a blind eye for the unfaithful man she loves more than herself.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Henry,” I say bluntly as my eyes