A Little Hope(23)

She will not pray because people pray every day, and often the answer is no. She will not ask a yes/no question because she doesn’t like one of the answers. But her mother and father at the farm pray. Her mother even mailed her their church bulletin that had Greg’s name in it. She imagines all these parishioners praying for a man they’ve never met.

Her rule for all of this is that she play a part: the strong wife in a movie. Maybe a Meryl Streep role. Something Sally Field could do. She can be this woman who doesn’t flinch. Who says I will not let him die.

So when the pager starts vibrating, the circles of red lighting up, she holds it in the air as though she has won something. “That’s us,” she says.



* * *



Greg drinks ginger ale at the table (no ice) and Kay leans over to Addie and asks if she can help her color the holiday scene on the place mat.

“The branch of holly? You’ll let me do that?” She clasps her hands together, and her green-blue eyes sparkle. Addie nods. “Why thank you, Miss Addie.”

“You’re welcome,” Addie says. She pulls her top lip up. “See my tooth?”

Alex leans in. “Goody good,” he says. “What’s the tooth fairy’s going rate these days? I used to just get a note that said, ‘Maybe next time.’?”

Greg and Kay chuckle, and Addie says, “Five dollars.”

Alex looks at Greg and Freddie, eyes wide. “That tooth fairy should come to my house.” He smiles, and then pulls out a five-dollar bill from his pocket. “Here. For when the other one comes out, in case the tooth fairy oversleeps.”

Addie smiles.

“What do you say?” Freddie says.

“Thank you.” Addie hands the money to Greg, who has always been the money keeper. Freddie wonders for a second about money. They have plenty, and she does okay at Crowley’s with her in-high-demand alterations. But she realizes she would miss this terribly—the way Greg takes care of everything. The bills, the online accounts, the check at the restaurant when they’re out together. He always has his credit card ready, always smiling in his charming way, flagging down the server. She imagines a quiet table in a place like this, her and Addie alone. No. She wishes she had a button in her brain that could reset bad thoughts like this.

God, she could write now so easily. She’d have a thousand things to say. This new urgency gnaws at her, as though the words are crackling inside and need to come out; as if she’s one of those writers who needs to scribble ideas on a napkin, something she always found ostentatious. She hears phrases (unashamed sky). She could write all day and skip lunch. She could write about her rules.

Next rule: only positive thoughts. The dark ones breed and gallop through her mind. She has to steer clear. She has thought too many bad ones already: her holding his limp fingers as he takes his last breath in a hospital, in a flannel shirt at his gravestone. Her alone in their bed the way she was when he spent ten and a half days at the hospital for the first round of treatment. Her holding her sobbing daughter. Her having to answer her daughter’s questions. No, no, no. Happy happy thoughts.

“So where did you say you’re going next week?” she asks the Lionels.

Kay glances at Alex. “To, um, it’s north of Hartford. Just two nights.”

Greg sips his ginger ale and smiles as the waitress sets his soup in front of him. “And they made it extra hot?” Freddie asks.

The waitress nods.

Freddie sees Greg roll his eyes. I didn’t make these rules, she wants to say to him.

When the waitress brings drink refills, Freddie doesn’t want Greg to touch his. One glass is enough. She takes a bottle of water out of her purse and tries to nudge it toward him. He pushes it away and takes the new drink from the waitress’s hand.

“Perfect,” he says, and sips. Freddie glares for a second but then smiles at Kay.

“That sounds like a fun trip.”

Kay nods. “Oh, we’ll see. It’s just a little inn.”

“We’re going to catch up with friends,” Alex says.

Kay starts to say something. She colors a red holly berry, checks on Addie, who is immersed in her coloring, and says quietly, “To be honest, they’re not exactly friends.”

Freddie and Greg look up. Addie tries to trace her green crayon through a maze shaped like Santa’s hat.

Alex looks nervously at his wife. “You should tell them,” Kay says. “It’s okay.” Her expression is calm, her face is relaxed.

“Tell us what?” Greg asks.

Freddie is imagining Alex’s retirement. Maybe a house they’re buying. She racks her brain, trying to figure out what news they’d have. An illness? Something bad? She thinks for a moment she doesn’t want their news. She doesn’t want another ounce of change. She wants to hold her hand up in a halt signal. She has enough news to weigh her down forever.

Alex looks at Kay, his face worried. His gold watch catches one of the restaurant’s recessed lights. Is he trying to read her expression? But Kay nods at him, and he looks relieved. “I have a daughter,” he says.

“Oh my,” Freddie says. She and Greg exchange a silent glance. They push their knees together. What do we say? she mentally asks him. She wonders if her eyes are ten times their normal size. What the hell is going on? Where could a daughter come from? The Lionels have been together since they were in college.