I hoped I’d be able todo something about it by then.
I was always hoping.
“All right, ladies,who’s ready for story time?” I pulled one of the little white chairs out fromthe miniature table and sat down, grabbingThePhantom Tollboothfrom where I’d left it the night before.
They sat cross-leggedon Lilly’s daybed, all eyes on me with studious intent. My gaze lingered forjust a moment on the face of Annabel. The upward tilt of her inquisitive brows,the full, rounded bow of her lips and the wide, almond-shape of her sea-greeneyes, filled with honest intrigue.
It stopped me in my trackssometimes, how much she looked like the mother she never really knew. I couldjust see Beth in her expression, asking me about my day at work or how thephone call with my parents went.
“Okay,” I said, pryingmyself away from the forever-painful memory. “Where were we?”
“The Doldrums!” Lillyreminded me with excitement, as though the bookmark tucked between the pageswasn’t enough.
I raised a finger andpointed at her button nose. “That’s right. Thank you, Lil. Milo and Tock werejust heading into the Doldrums.”
And so, the first ofournearly-nightlyrituals began. I read animatedly,doing the voices the way Shelly liked and making the faces that made Annabelgiggle. It was our thing, always had been, even before we found ourselves shortone member of our family. Beth would give me the room, to read my favoritechildhood books to our daughters. It was important then, and it was even moreimportant now, in this newer version of our life together, for them to havethis promised time with me. Even while I was still working myself to the edgeof my sanity, just to pay our bills.
When the chapter wasover and Milo was just about to embark on another adventure within NortonJuster’sKingdom of Wisdom, I slipped the bookmark back inand the girls whined in unison.
“One more chapter!”Lilly demanded with an accentuated pout.
I shook my headregrettably. “Sorry, kiddo. You have school tomorrow.”
“So?” The hint ofpre-pubescent attitude in her expression gave me a pretty good idea of what herteen years were going to look like.
“So,” I chuckled as I stood up from the table, “that means it’sbedtime. Come on, Shelly and Annabel. Get in your beds.”
Shelly’s feet landed onthe floor with a huff. “You’re no fair,” she grumbled as she climbed the ladderto her bed.
“Well, it’s a goodthing you now get to dream about how unfair your lame old dad is,” I replied,hiding my amusement behind my stonyImean businessexpression.
Begrudgingly, all threeof them got themselves snuggled under their blankets, hugging their respectivestuffed animals in their arms. One by one, I tucked them in and gave them eacha good night kiss. I walked to the door and turned out the light.
“Keep the door open alittle, Daddy,” Shelly reminded me, just as she did every night.
“I always do,” I saidsoftly, and from the top bunk, I watched her nod with the comfort of knowing itwas true. “Okay, girls. Tell me you love me and tell me good night.”
In practiced unison,they replied, “Love you, Daddy.G’night.”
I smiled. “I love you,too. Good night. Sweet dreams.”
I headed out the door,leaving it open a crack to allow a stream of light from the living room tocascade over their floor, and walked the seven steps it took to reach my room.
Ourroom.Years had passed since I last shared the bed with my wife, and that thoughtstill felt more natural.Mybed,myroom,myapartment,my,my,my… It felt so wrong, so premature, when it was all supposed to beourslonger. Decades.Forever.
I kept the door open,in case of any midnight emergencies or nightmares, and turned my attention tothe picture on the dresser. I reached out to touch her cheek, to trace itscurve, frozen behind a pane of glass, and managed a smile.
“Hey babe,” I mutteredunder my breath before turning toward the bed.
This was the toughestpart of my day, when the loneliness crept in close and wrapped itself around mein a tight, suffocating embrace. When I laid in bed and remembered everything Iwas missing. Remembering so much, I could almost believe I could remember herinto existence with a vivid dream, only to wake and remember all over againthat she was gone.
Two years later, and Icould still wake up with a shattered heart. So fresh, so painful.
And maybe Mom wasright, I considered, resting my head on my pillow. Maybe talking about itwouldhelp. Maybe it could give me afair chance to cope, to heal, tomove on,if there ever could be such a thing. It was almost tempting, to have a shot atfeeling better. But I dreaded to think of what it would take to get there, thecan of wormstalkingwouldopen up, and what would that do to me? Hell, forget aboutme—what would that do tothem?
I shook my head. Momwas wrong, just like Jeff. They didn’t know what it was like, to lose yourspouse and be left to take care of three kids—babies—by yourself. Grieving takes time, and time wasn’t somethingI had in abundance, not as a full-time dad.
No. I was fine—wewere fine. Things weren’t perfect,but what is? There was no reason to unsettle this balance I had so delicatelyworked to achieve, and nothing said I had to screw it all up now. By talking,by writing my songs, byfeeling.
