Chapter 14: Robert

 

“The doctor said it’s common for people to change past events to deal with things. He felt like it’s her way of coping.” Robert’s eyes didn’t meet Eileen’s. “I don’t want to push her. I don’t want to make her snap. What’s the problem with her thinking that? What’s the problem with anyone thinking that?”

“Because it’s not true,” Eileen said quietly.

“Look. I don’t know what to do. I’m doing my best here.” He stood up and paced around the room and left. He found the girls and said, “Who wants to play?”

“Me, me, me.” Abigail ran to his arms as Serena hugged his leg tightly. Serena giggled as he walked with her attached to his leg.

“Hmm, what’s this on my leg? Is it a big shoe?”

“Noooo,” Serena said, laughing.

“Is it a monster?” Robert asked.

“Noooooo,” said Serena.

“Yes, it is.” And Robert tickled both the girls. “Tickle monster!” Abigail cried and surrendered to the onslaught of chin and tummy tickles.

Every day it was more of the same. Robert tried his best to bring laughter into the girls’ lives. Even when he was bone-tired from working, he pushed himself to play. Over time, he could see Barbara getting more tender with her children. Hugging and giggling again. And when Abigail mentioned Dorothy, Barbara calmly said, “No silly, Dorothy died a long time ago. She was sick.”

One night as he was lying in bed with Barbara, she sat up, soaked in sweat.

“What? What is it?” Robert touched her arm, but she didn’t move. Her skin felt clammy and cold.

“We’re never going to tell them.” Barbara stared straight away, looking at the wall like it was a beautiful angel.

“Barbara, are you okay?” Robert turned his body so that he was facing her. Her eyes stayed straight.

“They don’t need to know the truth. Serena is so young. It’s too horrible.” The tears tumbled out of her eyes, a never-ending waterfall of big, splashy tears that soaked her already-wet nightgown. Her crying got louder and frantic. Robert’s pulse quickened.

“Shhh. Shhh. Don’t wake the girls. It’ll be okay.”

Suddenly Barbara grabbed Robert hard. All sadness gone from her face. “Promise me. Promise me this. It’s the only way I can face them. The only way I can wake up tomorrow. Do you have any idea how hard it is to wake up each morning? Every morning I wake up to her, Dorothy. Wondering where she is. Listening for her cries. Every morning I relive it all.” Her hand was gripping Robert’s arm so tight that her nails were leaving red marks on his flesh.

And that was it. The past was changed. Serena was young, and when she did mention her sister, it was changed to, “Dorothy died before you were born. She was sick. But then we were lucky, and you came along.” For Abigail, it took a little longer. But both Dorothy and Serena had brown hair. Robert always felt slightly guilty when Abigail’s eyes would show her confusion, but he felt like it was for the best. Serena could grow up without this terrible incident, and Barbara seemed to have renewed energy. In his silence, he felt like he was saving his family.

One day he came home and Barbara was sitting on the floor in a praying position. She sat about five inches from the television. It wasn’t until she turned that he could see the tears down her face. Her eyes lit up, and she said, “They were talking about what Dorothy had. Edwards syndrome. That’s what she died of, too.” Abigail was playing in the background, her eyes looking up at her mom and dad, quietly taking it all in.

Barbara said it again, this time with a stronger, more defiant tone. “Edwards syndrome is what Dorothy had.” And that was it. A talk show feature now became their daughter’s past.

***

And now here he was, staring at Barbara’s grave; everything seemed like a big dream. A strange world that wasn’t any better. But was it worse? Was he mad at Eileen? Had he betrayed Barbara in not stopping Eileen? Had he betrayed Serena all these years? Robert prided himself on being a simple man. He was straightforward and honest with his friends. He had been through so much that he didn’t have the energy to be mad at Eileen. She’d always been there for his daughters. Relieved? He didn’t feel relieved by the truth. Uncomfortable would probably be the best word to describe him. But he had always felt uncomfortable with the world around him.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said to Barbara’s grave. “I don’t know what I should do. I don’t know if what we did was right. I just wanted to make things better. To fix you, the girls. But it never was right. How could it be?” Robert stared silently at the grave. He was not a man of words, and he felt odd to have said those words to Barbara out loud. They were a couple who did things, nagged, but didn’t talk. Their relationship had been about not talking in some ways. This painful wedge between them. An invisible scar that was always felt, but never discussed in detail.

And now here he was, standing in front of her, although she was not really there. And suddenly he had words. Words he wanted to talk to Barbara about. Words they hid from for so many years.

“Dorothy died. And so did you. Maybe even me. Things were never the same. And Serena. I don’t know. I don’t know. But the truth is there now. For better or worse, at least it’s there in the open. No more secrets. No more.” Robert put his hand in the air to signify everything. Because somehow the whole air around him seemed different, less constricting. “You never asked me what I wanted to do. You just talked and I listened. And I loved you.” Robert couldn’t find the words, his heart filled with anger, sadness, and frustration. “You were so damn headstrong. And the funny thing is, Serena is just like you. She just doesn’t realize it. And now, you let this truth come out. Letting your sister do your dirty work. You didn’t even ask me. You never did. But I let you. I let you.”

Robert stared down at his hands. A little brown bird flew down and perched on a gravestone nearby. It tilted its head at Robert as if to say, who are you arguing with? Robert wasn’t sure if he was arguing with Barbara or himself. But he was done talking. And he smirked as he said to the little bird, “Barbara probably isn’t listening to me anyway.”

As Robert drove away from the cemetery, he knew where he should go. The contents in his trunk gave him a good excuse anyway. He pulled into Serena’s driveway. It was not a driveway he visited often, even though there wasn’t much distance between their two houses. He opened his trunk and took out two large boxes. He fumbled his way up to the door, balancing the awkward shapes, and knocked on the door with his elbow.

He heard Maggie’s voice, “Mamma, door.” He peered inside and could see Maggie trying to grab her canes to get up. The door opened, and there was Serena, staring at him as if the whole world was between them.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she said. “Come on in.”

“Grandpa!” Maggie exclaimed, warming the whole house with her voice.

“Hi, Mags.” Robert put down the boxes and knelt down to give Maggie a hug.

“Presents!” Maggie said as she saw the boxes.

“Maybe, I don’t think so,” Robert said. He looked up at Serena and said, “I’ve found these. I don’t know why your mom kept them. Thought maybe you or Abigail would want them? If not, I can just throw them away.”

Serena opened the boxes and sat down on the ground, tears streaming out of her eyes. Robert ran over to her and put his arm around her. He hadn’t meant to upset her. As he put his arm tighter around her, through the awkwardness of their closeness he realized Serena was not crying, she was laughing. Hard.

“What? What is it?” he asked. Feeling confused and relieved all at the same time to see her expression of absolute amusement. “I don’t get it. Why are these funny?” Robert asked. He felt left out of the joke.

“I’m sorry. They’re not. They are to me. Mom saved these damn doilies all her life. As a kid, I can still remember taking them out for special occasions. One time I used them for a tea party, and she freaked out on me. ‘They are only for special occasions.’ I can still hear her voice,” said Serena as she fingered the white lacy paper. “She kept them all this time. Saving them for a special day.”

Robert shuffled his legs back and forth, the way he did when he got nervous. Serena tried not to notice it, mainly because in her heart, that shuffle is what she’d think about most when he was gone. Those little idiosyncrasies that she knew so well would haunt her with a mixture of happiness and sadness long after he was gone. His collection of tiny pencils. How he never threw away an old flowerpot. He could always glue back, repaint, and accept the cracks as room for roots to spread through if need be.

“Do you want them, then?” Robert asked.

“Uh, yeah. I’m sure Maggie could make something with them.”

She held it up to Maggie who grabbed it instantly and said, “Snowflakes!” Serena grabbed a bunch of the doilies and threw them over Maggie’s head. Maggie laughed as they swirled around them. Serena didn’t stop. She grabbed more and more as Maggie laughed and laughed as three-hundred-forty-seven white paper doilies covered every surface of her living room. Her brown couch was littered with them. One fell between the leaves of her green plant. They were under her chair, couch, and peeking out beneath the rug. Maggie used her arms to pull them around her like she was building her own paper snow fort. Robert, caught up in the moment, gave a half-smile at the ridiculousness of it all. Maggie went to use her crutch to get up, but it slipped and knocked over the vase on the coffee table.

“Sorry, Mamma. Sorry.” Those were the only words Maggie got out before an avalanche of tears started.

Serena put her arms around her and stroked her hair. “It’s okay, Mags. It was just an accident. I never liked that old vase anyhow.” Maggie peeked her eyes out at her mom, searching her face for forgiveness.

“You still love me?” Maggie asked.

Serena hugged her harder and said, “Of course, of course. Don’t you know mommies always love their little girls?” And then, there it was. Those words out in the room taking up all the space. Serena looked up at her dad, his eyes wet with tears. She buried her face in Maggie’s hair to hide from her father’s eyes. She peeked out at the white doilies all around them, escaped prisoners who, like Serena, had finally been set free.