“It’s a Blue World” is on the radio. I sing along, the babies are asleep. I open the window and inhale the damp, cool Portland air. Henry, Henry—I miss him, want him to embrace me, just hold me. I sing into the night, hoping my words will latch onto him somehow like a fish hook, to bring him home. Didn’t he care even a little? How could he leave me like this? I sink into the words, throwing myself into them, longing … and down the street he’s holding his hat. “Keep singing, Deliah, keep singing.” My heart stops.
He walks up the stairs, I meet him at the door. He hangs up his hat and coat.
“I missed you, baby.”
“You did?” I embrace him.
“Wrap your legs around me like you used to, baby.” He takes me in his arms and carries me to the bedroom, places me on the bed and I try, I try to hold onto him, hold on. “These legs, baby, I missed these legs.” And he enters me, all the emptiness I’ve felt, I longed for him to fill—
He lays limp on my chest, I squeeze his back tight. He brushes my hair from my face, and I start to cry. “Deliah, baby, Deliah, don’t cry, don’t cry.”
“You left me, Henry, and what am I to do, what? I’ll stop drinking for you, I will, I will.” I lay my head on his black, smooth chest, run my fingers up and down across his shoulders, his strong arms. His chest, my home, I could rest on like I used to, and he’d stroke my hair. We’d lie like that, every second an eternity. “Didn’t you ever think about me? Did you ever care?”
“I’m here aren’t I? Now dry your tears and get my drink.” He kisses me. I put on my robe, he pats my bottom. I bring him his drink, scotch on the rocks, lie down across his chest and fall asleep to his heartbeat. He doesn’t stay. He places my head on the pillow, gets up and puts his clothes on.
“Henry, stay—Henry …”
“Deliah, I’ve got to go.”
“Please, Henry, please? The children, Henry, think about Margaret and Hank. They need you.” He buttons his shirt.
“Deliah, be good now.” He walks out of the bedroom. I can’t get up. I can’t hold onto him. The emptiness creeps in again. I reach for the bottle on the dresser and drink myself to sleep.
Who am I? What am I? I’m nothing, no man loves me—though I take them to my room—they leave money on the dresser, that’s how I survive. Got to take care of this throbbing headache, hungry children pestering me. Is it morning? Guess it is, sunlight too bright. Little Margaret opens the ice box, takes out milk for her and Hank. I put the kettle on for coffee and sit down staring into thick space. Hank breaks my gaze. “What do you want?” Margaret stands in front of Hank, guides him towards the door and they hurry out to school.
“Out of here! Out of here!” The door slams behind them. Where’s that coffee? Where’s—where’s—? I fall to the kitchen floor cradling my achy head. “Where’s Henry, where’s … baby Lloyd?” Sun beams through the kitchen window, for a moment I feel grace, like the Virgin Mary herself touched me—
Why did you take him? Why did you take him? Why. Why, why my baby, my baby. The whistle of the kettle startles me. It must be Monday. I get up, turn the kettle off and make some coffee.