CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

John

He knows what is happening. Barb is going to take care of him forever now.

He is sliding away, not toward, and he still has not said the right words. The flower word that will save his wife. The other words he wants to say. He needs his girls to be here, and Barb, and when that happens, he has to be ready. He has to be here.

But the world is grainy and blank, and the feelings come without words. He keeps trying, but he is slipping down the mountain he was trying so hard to climb. The snow is too heavy, and he is so tired. Days pass, and he is unaware. Sometimes everyone is here, sometimes he seems alone, sometimes he is asleep and sometimes in the snow. He has to say the words. He has to tell his Barb about the long-ago.

And then one day, he wakes up on the patio, in the chair that lets his legs stick out straight. It is warm and his daughters and wife and his friend with the warm rain voice are all here.

This is his chance, he knows. It will not come again. He knows that, too.

He grabs the arm of the person closest to him. Juliet, his oldest, his perfect girl, and she jumps. “You!” he says. He forces his mouth and his brain to work together. “Poor,” comes out, the word tortured and heavy.

The women look at each other, confused.

“Pour?” Sadie asks “You want a drink?”

“No!” He looks at Juliet again. “Prow. Prow.”

There is a silence, and the word slips away, Juliet’s word, and John’s eyes are wet because she didn’t understand, and now the word is gone.

“Proud,” Barb says. “He’s proud of you.”

She knows. She knows! John nods and takes Juliet’s hand and kisses it.

“Oh, Dad,” she says, and her eyes are raining, which is not the right word, but he has made her happy and sad. It was her word, and he gave it to her, at last.

Sadie kneels in front of him and says words, but they’re blurring and tumbling in his head.

“Joy,” he says, touching her face.

“Joy,” she repeats, nodding. “Yes. Joy.”

His heart is so full, and his eyes are raining, too.

Just a little more now. The snow has held off, but the clouds are heavy with it. “Bar,” he says, and his wife comes closer. Sits on the chair next to him. She waits for her word, too.

Bathroom. The closed door. Crying. Sorry. I should have gone in and I didn’t.

But the words are too many and too hard.

“Rose,” he says. “Rose.” The flower word! He said it at last.

“That’s real nice, John,” she says, patting his hand, but she doesn’t know that this is the word that will set her free.

“No! Rose . . . Heel.”

Everyone freezes. The snow is coming, and is this why no one is moving? Just a little longer, that’s all he needs.

“Rose Hill?” says his friend, and he nods again, his head wobbling on his neck. He is an old man now. He closes his eyes just for a second.

“What do you mean, Dad?” Juliet asks. “You want to live at Rose Hill?”

He nods again.

“And not live here anymore.” She is clarifying, his older girl, and he knows that is her way.

He nods. Oh, he is tired now, but he forces his eyes to open.

Sadie’s face is crumpled and sad. Juliet is crying, yes, that is the word. Janet is smiling her nice smile, her rope-hair so tidy and twisty.

But there is one more word Barb needs to hear. One more word for John to tell her before the snow comes, because he knows the snow won’t stop this time.

“Barb,” he says, looking at her. He takes her hand, bringing it against his face. “Barb.”

Sorry. Forgive. Love.

“Divorce,” he says, and it is the right word.

They talk then, and he can hear their voices but not understand their words.

It doesn’t matter. He knows he made it. He said the words they needed, and they understand.

The snow comes, but it is warm and light, and he falls into it, knowing he has once again been a father . . . knowing that, for the first time in a long time, and for the last time ever, he was a good husband.