The Words We Leave Unspoken(40)

“How are you feeling,” he asks as he glides toward me from across the small room on his wheeled stool, stopping just inches from the exam table.

I tell him I feel good, considering the circumstances but confide that the constant nausea keeps me from eating most days.

“You need to slow down and take care of yourself. You need your strength. Make sure you’re resting. And try drinking vitamin enriched supplement drinks when you can’t eat whole foods.”

I agree to take better care of myself, feeling defenseless; I have no other choice. He puts his stethoscope nubs in his ears and stands, moving behind me as he peels open my gown and places the disc-shaped end of the stethoscope on the bare skin of my back. I flinch from the raw touch, the cold metal taking my breath away.

“You’re not having any chest pain?” he asks. I think back to the previous days and weeks and can’t recall having chest pain, at least nothing significant. I shake my head.

“Your heart looks a little enlarged on your scan and your lung sounds aren’t what I’d like them to be. I’m going to schedule you for a cardiac work-up in the next few weeks just to be safe. Nothing to worry about. Okay?”

I nod. My mind is racing. All I can think is more appointments, more tests, more lies. It’s getting harder and harder to keep this from John.

When my appointment is over and I am dressed and walking to my car, I pull out my cell phone and call Charley at work. I give her the update and we both agree that I have to tell John sooner rather then later and, most certainly, before the cardiac tests that will take me away from Seaport for another day. When I end the call, I am determined to tell John. I drive home practicing the words over and over aloud in the car. The words that I have feared telling John for far too long.



Hours later, after the kids are asleep, and John is in the shower, I sit in my bed with my back against the headboard. The television is on in the background, but my mind is focused on telling John the truth. My heart pounds in my head with anticipation.

When John finally emerges from the bathroom followed by a plume of steam, I am so twisted up inside; I think I might be sick. I watch him move to the closet in only a towel wrapped around his waist, taking in the cut of his abs and chest.

“You okay?” he asks as the towel drops to the floor. He pulls on a clean pair of white boxer shorts.

I realize from the metallic taste on my tongue that I’m biting down on my lip with my teeth, hard enough to draw blood.

I release my lip and my words hang suspended between us, just floating on air, out of my reach.

John walks to the bed and slides in next to me, lying on his side with his head propped up on one arm. He looks up at me, his brow deeply furrowed.

“Is it Charley? Because you haven’t been yourself since you let her back into your life. Did she do something? Again?” His blue eyes are pleading.

I shake my head, stalling. My thoughts are a jumbled mess like a page of scrambled words as I try to make sense of the ones I rehearsed in the car. My mind is coming up short, empty.

“It’s not Charley,” I say, my voice catching on her name. I swallow hard and stare at my hands as they mindlessly pull at a loose thread on the comforter that is spread across my lap. I can feel John’s gaze on me, so strong it’s like he’s burning a hole in the side of my face. “It’s…I…”

In that second, I hear a blood-curdling scream from down the hall. It’s Max. And without hesitation, I leap from the bed and run to his bedroom. I can feel John right behind me.

I push open the door and find Max sitting up in his bed, his face flushed red and wet with tears.

I go to his bed and sit on the edge, pulling him into my arms.

“Max, what is it?” I ask, drawing his face into my shoulder as I run my hand down his sweaty back.

“I had a bad dream,” he mumbles through a chorus of sniffles.

John turns the bedside lamp on and says, “It’s okay, buddy. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“There was a bad man and I was running away but I wasn’t fast enough,” he chokes out.

“It’s okay. It was just a dream. There’s no bad man,” I say, my heart breaking.

“Can you sleep with me Mommy?” he asks, throwing his little arms around my neck and hanging on as if his life depended on it.

I look up at John as I run my fingers through Max’s hair, his blonde curls damp with sweat. John nods with a small smile and I say, “Of course, Bubs. Come on let’s get you tucked in.”

I settle Max on his side and slide in behind him as John pulls the bedding up to Max’s chin. He kisses each of us on the forehead and switches off the bedside lamp, bathing the room in darkness. Feeling Max tense, I put my arm around him, squeezing him tight, willing him to feel safe.

“Goodnight,” John whispers as he leaves the room. I lie in the darkness with Max in my arms, listening to his breath until I feel his body slump and I know he’s asleep once more.

I take a breath and blow it out, feeling restless with guilt as I realize how relieved I am at the interruption. I know I have to tell John, and, as ashamed as I am to admit it; I’m glad that it won’t be tonight.





Chapter 23





Charley


The cold of winter has officially arrived, leaving Seattle bare and colorless. Golden leaves lay in soggy piles along the streets, the sky an endless sea of gray that nearly suffocates those who dare to mourn the sharp blue skies and vivid shades of summer. The damp cold pierces my lungs as if the air is made of tiny shards. I place my overnight bag in the back of my car along with two pies that I picked up at the bakery and a box of frosted sugar cookies shaped like turkeys for Olivia and Max. Gwen always hosts Thanksgiving at her house, where she cooks an amazing dinner and I tolerate my mother for a few hours. There are usually a few strays, friends of Gwen and John, who are alone for the holiday or sometimes she invites the neighbors. Whoever their guests might be, it is a welcome distraction from having to hold a conversation with my mother. But this year, I look forward to the holiday. I want to make it memorable for Gwen and the kids. I feel the urge to carve each moment in stone as if I might forget it otherwise. As if I don’t know how many more moments, how many more Thanksgivings, how many more of anything I will have with Gwen.