As she nibbles her breakfast, Marcy can’t help noticing the brilliant rays of light slashing across the black granite of the kitchen island. Taking a sip of her coffee, she decides it’s the perfect day to take Caroline outside for some sunshine and girl time. She makes a mental list of things she’ll need—a thick blanket, some sunscreen, a few dolls, the tiny suitcase of doll clothes.
A couple of weeks ago, Marcy had gotten Caroline a slew of dolls and an assortment of outfits that were interchangeable among them. She’d even ordered the miniature suitcase that folded out into an armoire to store them. The child inside Marcy thrilled at the purchase. She just knew Caroline would love it as much as Marcy would’ve as a kid. Thus far, however, that had yet to be the case. Her daughter was…less than excited. Marcy isn’t one to give up easily, though. Especially when it comes to the health, wellbeing, or happiness of her loved ones. That’s why she would drag it all outside, along with her child, and hope to coax a smile out of her.
Marcy gives a gentle start when hands slide around her waist from behind. “Penny for your thoughts.”
She lets her head fall to one side in preparation for John’s lips. It was as expected and as comforting as any other part of their routine. This is how he greeted her each morning if she was facing away from him when he found her. At the sink, at the washer, at the window, at the island—after his shower, he’d find her and give her a good morning hug and kiss.
“Just mapping out the day.”
“What’s on the agenda?”
He comes around to steal her mug and take a sip of her coffee before handing it back and going for a fresh cup of his own. According to him, the first sip is always better when it comes from her mug. She just shook her head and smiled when he told her that, but truth be told, it warmed her heart, just as it warms her heart now to remember it.
“I think some sunshine will do us both some good. I’m hoping it’ll perk Caroline up. She hasn’t played with her new dolls at all. Maybe that will change today.”
“Maybe it will.” John smiles as he heads for the kitchen table. Marcy recognizes the gesture for what it is—indulgent.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her tone crackles with defensiveness as she follows him, taking the seat across from his.
“It’s supposed to mean that I hope it will change today.” John takes a sip of his coffee and reaches for the local newspaper. He holds it up and reads above the fold as he lets the bottom fall open.
Marcy snatches it down, away from his face. “Don’t dismiss me like this is nothing.”
Slowly, carefully, like he’s dismantling a bomb, John lowers the paper. “I didn’t dismiss you.”
“Yes, you did. You act like you don’t think Caroline can get better, like you don’t think things can change.”
“No, I don’t. I’m hopeful that they will. Just like you. And I said as much.”
“But I know what you meant.”
“I meant exactly what I said, Marcy. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“That smile… I know that smile. After all these years together, I can read you like the back of my hand.” Marcy’s fingers draw into tight fists and her lower lip trembles in barely suppressed anger.
John slides his hands, palms up, across the table and takes Marcy’s fists in them. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I swear. I hope every day that Caroline will show some signs of improvement, but honey, you know that autism—”
“I know, I know. I know all this.” Marcy jerks her hands free to swipe at the tears that have begun to spill from her eyes. “I just want her to be okay. I want to do everything I can to help her.”
John scoots out of his chair, rounds the table, and takes his wife into his arms. He clasps her shaking shoulders as she sobs quietly into the fresh, crisp linen of his shirt. “You are. You already are.”
Sniffing, Marcy leans back and raises her red, swollen eyes to his. John has always loved the way the green changes to dark, stormy gray when she’s upset. Even in distress, she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. “Do you really believe that?”
“I do. She just needs some time to—”
The shuffling of slippers interrupts them, bringing Marcy to her feet, hands hastily clearing any remaining wetness from her eyes and cheeks. “Good morning, sweetheart. You ready for some breakfast?”
Marcy makes her way to Caroline. She bends to sweep her daughter’s wispy, sand-colored bangs to the side. Caroline jerks away, but not before Marcy notes the bruised skin beneath her dark eyes and the pale skin surrounding them. Marcy’s heart squeezes with worry. She’s always done everything she can think of to engage Caroline, but it has been largely ineffective. Especially in the last several months. Since the doctor so casually muttered those two words—possibly autistic—Marcy has only increased her efforts. What she hasn’t been able to stop doing is worrying about her.
Marcy has had a moment or two of distress and hopelessness here and there; she believes it would make any mother emotional. But Marcy is determined not to let those moments deter her. That’s why she will take Caroline outside today. That’s why she will get her some sunshine. That’s why she will take the toys she bought and try, again, to draw her into some kind of interactive play. She has to keep trying.
And, besides that, Marcy thinks to herself as she smiles down into her little girl’s face, sunshine makes everything better. Marcy is convinced of that.
“How about some French toast?” Marcy keeps her voice low and soothing. Caroline is sensitive to loud noises, including even a slightly raised voice. Marcy waits for a nod. Often, that’s the only thing she will get in the form of an answer. Sometimes Caroline won’t answer her at all, as though she doesn’t hear her, even though her hearing was checked and is fine. The doctor said that regression is one of the biggest red flags in young children. He told them that the deterioration in Caroline’s previously thriving verbal communication wasn’t a good sign. That coupled with her disinterest in playing or interacting with others, including Marcy and John, gave the physician cause for concern.
Finally, Caroline nods and Marcy straightens. “That sounds good to me, too.”
Without thinking, Marcy reaches out to stroke Caroline’s arm. The instant she makes contact with her daughter’s skin, Caroline flinches as violently as if she’d been burned. It’s another sign Marcy knows doesn’t bode well for her child, but rather than focus on the negative, she tucks her hands inside the pockets of her robe and spins toward the refrigerator with a chipper, “Mama’s lip-smacking French toast coming right up.”
When the ingredients are all lined up on the countertop in the order in which they will be used, Marcy pulls the griddle out of the cabinet and turns to the stove. John is standing in front of it, arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing a pensive expression on his face that brings her up short. “What?”
“Nothing. Just thinking how much I wish I could stay and have French toast with you two today.”
“Then stay. You can be a few minutes late, can’t you?” She reaches around him to set the griddle on the front burner.
“Not today. I have that meeting this morning. What kind of an employee would I be if I didn’t know the ins and outs of my company’s products?”
“If you stayed here for French toast every time I asked, probably a fat one.”
“Fat and unemployed, so it’s probably better for all of us if I get going.” He kisses the tip of her nose. “I hope you two have fun in the sun today.”
“We will. It’s going to be a good day.”
“Any day that starts with your toast is a good day.”
Marcy leans into his chest, blossoming in the warmth of his love. She’s never been the kind of wife to take his compliments for granted or to underestimate the value of them. Both Marcy and John have seen too many marriages crumble because one stops noticing and appreciating the little things. Marcy trusts her husband and their union implicitly, but she’s not fool enough to think she can stop trying. Neither of them can. Marriages take work and she refuses not to bring her A game to theirs. Just like she refuses not to bring her A game to motherhood. Marcy’s two most important roles are wife and mother.
Or maybe mother and wife. In that order.
A knock, just loud enough to be heard in the kitchen, brings a crease to Marcy’s forehead. She glances behind John’s back at the blue numbers on the microwave. “Who could that be at eight-thirty in the morning?”
“I’ll check and go through to the garage that way,” John offers.
“That’s okay. I don’t want you to get caught up in something and be late. I’ll get it. The toast can wait a couple of minutes.”
“You girls have fun. See you tonight.” With a quick peck to her lips, John moves through the kitchen toward the door that leads to the garage while Marcy makes her way through the living room to the front door.
She angles her eye in toward the peephole as she reaches for the dead bolt. Her forehead smooths when she sees who’s standing on the stoop. Marcy flips the locks and swings open the door.
“Good morning, neighbor. This is a nice surprise. Come in.” Marcy backs up and motions for Jill to come in.
“Oh, I can’t. I’m on my way to work.” Marcy notes the Wednesday Addams’ hairstyle—the lackluster drape of hair from skull in a thick curtain—and the dull, muted clothes. She deduces that this must be Jill’s work look. She can only hope she has another, prettier look for home life. If not, Marcy will have to think up a nice way to offer a makeover.
“Oh, what do you do?”
“I work for an accountant.”
“Nice,” Marcy replies. “We haven’t gotten around to all those basics yet. I’ll be starting to teach in the fall, and John is in sales. What does Mark do?”
“He, uh, he works from home. Computer stuff.”
“Wow, that’s handy. Having him there all day must save on the cost of daycare.”
Jill doesn’t respond. “I hate to rush, but I forgot to ask if we could exchange numbers or I’d have just called you later. I wanted to see if you and your daughter might like to come with us to the park this evening. Mark read that they’re bringing in some rides for the kids to celebrate the start of summer break, but he has some work obligations and can’t go. I thought I’d check with you. We could make it a girls’ night.”
Jill’s smile is sweet and kind, and Marcy has no doubt that they will make great friends. She can feel it in her bones. Unfortunately, they won’t be making any headway in that arena tonight. As much as she’d love to take Jill up on her offer, Caroline doesn’t do well in a crowd. They’d tried something similar in Austin and the results were disastrous. All the people and movement plus the noise level were more than she could tolerate. It put Caroline so on edge that when Marcy took her hand, just to keep her close, Caroline started screaming and flapping her arms. She tried to escape and nearly ran out into the street before Marcy caught up to her.
No, hopefully one day Caroline will be able to enjoy something like that, but that day is not today.
“That’s so nice of you, but we already have plans for tonight. Maybe another time.”
“Oh, sure. Yes, of course. I knew it was last minute, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”
“Maybe we could all get together sometime this weekend.”
“Or even just the four of us. Keep it to the girls at first.”
“That sounds great.” Much better for Caroline. Marcy was already wondering how she’d do at a dinner with three extra people. Three strangers no less. Two girls is a much better start. “My phone’s in the kitchen. Do you have yours on you?”
Jill pats her pockets and pulls a small rectangle out of one. “I do.”
“Let me give you my number. You can text me later so I’ll have yours.”
Marcy rattles off her phone number and Jill taps it into her phone. When she’s finished, she shoves it back into her pocket and pulls back her sleeve to glance at her watch. “Okay, I’ve got to run. I’ll text you later.” She whirls around and starts down the sidewalk. “Oh, and I’m sorry to come by so early. I saw your kitchen lights on and hoped you were up.” She’s talking even as she almost jogs to her dark blue car, which is parked and running in the driveway.
“No problem. Have a good day at work.”
Jill waves and ducks behind the wheel. The engine roars as she puts it into gear and goes barreling backward down the driveway. At the bottom, she turns out into the street and waves to Marcy again through the window.
Marcy mimics the gesture. She’s still smiling when she closes the front door and returns to the kitchen. That smile dies when she sees that Caroline is nowhere to be found.