Sarah needed to nap today. Although she had mostly given them up this past summer, she’d grown tired of playing with the dollhouse, and she was rubbing her eyes between moving the plastic figurines from room to room.
“Hey, little beauty,” Maura murmured as she whisked her off the floor and into her arms. “Whaddya say we go read?”
Thumping up the stairs with her daughter in her arms, Maura impulsively grabbed a book from the shelf and settled into the white painted rocking chair in which she’d nursed all three children.
“Sarah, sweetie,” Maura began in a soft voice. “You read to Mommy.” And as part of their little routine, her daughter pointed to an object in the book, and Maura launched into her version of the story.
“Big red bawl.” Sarah pointed triumphantly.
“That’s right Sarah, b-a-l-l,” and Maura would repeat the word in that subtle nudging way a parent refines and corrects their child’s speech. When they had finished the book, Maura began to softly brush her daughter’s velvety belly skin with the tips of her fingers, as she grew more limp and pliant in her arms. They rocked a few minutes longer and then Sarah’s head sagged. Maura rose from the chair in slow increments, skillfully lifting her over the rail of the crib and lowering her onto the mattress.
Down in the kitchen, the good feeling with Sarah sputtered, replaced by the strangled quiet of the house. The whir of the appliances was broken by the sporadic angry caw of black crows arguing in the branches outside. The old Maura would have had any number of things to accomplish during nap time, but now, she hung listlessly over the sink, staring out the window and into the side yard, fixated on the angry birds and the curled, dead leaves tumbling across the grass in a gathering wind.
Maura thought about the feelings of pure joy she’d experienced in mothering moments with Sarah and her boys, especially at seasonal times: ironing fall leaves between wax paper, choosing Halloween costumes, carving pumpkins. All of these moments were tinged now, sepia toned, the purity of them tinted by her overarching loss. And yet deep inside she had to admit she was feeling infinitesimally and incrementally stronger; there were spikes of her old self. She was more up to the challenge of being outside of the house for longer periods. She’d accepted a lunch invitation from Celia and was determined to go, although she was bringing Erin as a buffer. Pete was right. Her hiding from the world wasn’t accomplishing anything other than to worry her two remaining children. She was trying hard to focus on placing one foot in front of the other.
Maura opened the front door and pulled her cardigan around her, bracing against the breezy October afternoon. She reached inside the front porch mailbox to grasp the day’s delivery and a cardboard coffee cup flipped out with the magazines and fell onto the porch floor. Maura’s heartbeat surged as she bent to inspect it. This time there was nothing written on the outside, but the meaning was clear.
Back at the kitchen computer, she found it sandwiched between some junk e-mails in her in-box. The subject heading read “Vet Appt Confirmation.” Maura hesitated a moment before opening it and then clicked on it. She was surprised to see that this one was longer, an actual letter, the message no longer in ambiguous code. Her heart constricted as she began reading.
M—
I’m taking a huge chance writing this but I don’t know what else to do. I figured you’d get the cup and check your e-mail right away and if you’re reading this, I was right. It’s been almost four months, and I’m going crazy. I gave you some big space at first because I assumed that I was probably the last person you needed to see or hear from. But then you didn’t answer any of my calls or texts. I even called the house twice but didn’t leave a message. I can only try to imagine what you are going through. It’s an incomprehensible loss.
I was in the back of the church for the service, and then I left before you could see me. I had to steal in and just get a look at you. You turned around once and it was all I could do not to run to the front where you were sitting. I realized then, that I had never seen you sad, only happy. That’s the way I want to picture you now, although I know that’s not the case.
When I think back to how we happened, how simply it began over that appointment with Rascal and my growling stomach, it amazes me what followed. Our whole short history together makes me feel both foolish and still, oddly hopeful. Despite all of my promises to myself NOT to become involved with someone when I moved here, I ended up falling for a married woman at the practice. Great planning! (Joke)
Thankfully, you’ve spared me many of the insights into your relationship and it was certainly easier for us both to live in the present. But when I left Madison, I resolved never to make anyone else feel as miserable as I had by the slow crumbling of my relationship and my ex-wife’s betrayal.
Your initial friendship while I was still very much a newcomer here was invaluable. But then I started to fall for you. Those walks on the beach, the sandwiches and coffee at the diner. I’m not sure either one of us could have predicted what that first lunch would lead to. I knew we were getting into dangerous territory and I know you did too. And yet when I think back to that day in the diner last spring, when I tried to break this off, you practically pleaded with me not to end it. You told me you thought this was what you wanted and that you felt we had a chance. And now I can’t help but think that our decision only damaged you and damaged us.
After the funeral, I returned to our spot on the beach a few times at lunch, hoping to catch you there. All I wanted to do was see you and hold you. I wanted to look in your eyes and try to determine if there was anything there left for us.
I still hold on to those memories and when I want to really torture myself I sit back and think about how your skin smells, or your laugh, or the dozens of little things that made me fall for you against my better judgment.
I realize it’s all complicated now, and that you are going through many things that I can’t relate to. The only basis I have for comparison is losing my parents when I was in my twenties. But people say that still doesn’t touch what it feels like to lose a child, and that must be true. All I know is that I have lost you. And with that the friendship, laughter, excitement, and so much more you brought to my life.
I’ve been biking a lot, and yes, in those tight, silly shorts with my bright orange helmet. Every time I start kicking around the apartment thinking about us and getting frustrated at the situation, I hop on my bike and go for a twenty-mile ride. Once or twice I’ve passed your house. Biking is the only way I can get you out of my head.
Maura, I understand where this is going. Or maybe I should say, where it’s not. You’ve made your intent pretty clear with your total silence. I won’t e-mail you again. I know I took a chance in writing this, but I didn’t have any other alternatives. I’d love to be able to talk to you. You know where to find me.
Maura leaned back against her chair and let out her breath. She had been frozen, statue-like, as she read, her hands clenched in tight balls. She was incredulous and appalled at the giant risk he had taken. Her heart was beating now as if she had shoplifted a piece of jewelry or been pulled over for speeding. Pete might imagine someone had put an old coffee cup in the mailbox once as a prank, but not twice. Maura felt competing emotions swirl inside of her—confusion, guilt, anger at his calculated gamble to send such an intimate e-mail. Then another feeling unexpectedly joined the tumble … desire. Maura closed her eyes and sighed. This self-control was far more difficult than she had imagined, but she would not respond to his letter. She could not respond.
Maura focused on a photograph of their family pinned to the bulletin board over her desk. It had been taken more than two years ago at Six Flags amusement park and Sarah had been an infant. The boys wore the satisfied expressions of a day of excess sun, sugar, and excitement. She blinked back tears as she studied the snapshot. James’s wide, freckled smile was directed right at the camera, his bangs askew, and there were scarlet bands of sunburn under his eyes where she’d neglected to apply sunscreen that day. Maura pushed her chair back from the kitchen desk and rested her head in her hands. No, she would not hit reply. It was the least she could do for her marriage, the least she could do for James.