The Things We Cannot Say(60)

I could look it all up on Wade’s laptop. It’s just within my reach, resting on the coffee table in front of me. I don’t reach for it. Instead, I listen to the music, and I wait until I hear Wade pulling into the garage.

We haven’t spoken a word to each other since the argument last night, but even so, I know he’s going to bring flowers home with him tonight and he’ll be desperate to earn my forgiveness. Right on cue, he walks into the house carrying a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses and wearing a contrite expression. I set the wineglass next to the laptop as I stand, take the roses and accept the kiss he offers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Me too,” I whisper back.

“How are the kids? How is Babcia? How are you doing?” Wade asks.

“Why don’t you go get your dinner and I’ll fill you in while you eat?”

“...even if I wanted to go, it would be impossible.”

Tonight, Wade has been listening in silence while I talk, and it kind of reminds me of our earlier years, when I was the chatty one and he was the calm, scientific one. It used to astound me that someone so brilliant seemed to have endless interest in whatever I had to say—in the early months of our relationship, we talked until the sunrise more than once, and I’d never felt so important before. We’re a long way from that place these days, but for a moment, it actually feels nice to remember that’s the kind of people we used to be together—almost like we’ve taken a brief vacation back to a special place we used to visit.

Wade’s gaze is expressionless as he asks, “Do you want to go?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” I say stiffly. “How could I possibly leave the kids?”

He’s back in my good graces well and truly after listening to me prattle on and on about this for the last forty-five minutes, but in one fell swoop, he’s right back into my bad books.

“Jesus, Alice,” Wade says. His exasperation is immediately on full display. “Give me at least a little credit. I have a PhD, for God’s sake. I can handle a few days on my own with two kids.”

Red rage rushes in at me, so vivid and sudden that I can’t actually see past it. I’m a boiling, seething pile of fury and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with all of this anger, so I just stare at him, my jaw hanging loose.

“Really?” I say when my rage fades enough that I can bring myself to speak again. “It’s as simple as that, is it?”

“Yes, it is that simple,” my husband says flatly. He leans back in the chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not saying I’d do everything your way, but we’d get by.”

It’s my turn to lean back in my chair, and I exactly mirror his stance—crossing my arms over my chest and jutting my chin up a little.

“And what would that look like, Wade? What would you do with Eddie, for example?”

I’ve broken the unspoken rule of our family life: one does not draw attention to the elephant in the room. Wade’s lack of a relationship with Eddie is a ghostly specter we can all see, but we never directly address. The flush on my husband’s cheeks suggests he’s embarrassed by the question, but the impatience doesn’t fade from his glare.

“He’d go to school. Like a normal kid.”

“He can’t handle full-time school, Wade,” I say pointedly. “Even his teachers agree.”

“Well, he’d deal with it for one week. Maybe it’s time we push him a bit more.”

“Push him a bit more?” I repeat the words blankly, but I can feel my eyebrows drawing down as my face shifts into a derisive scowl.

“Yes, Alice,” Wade says impatiently. He pauses, then he says carefully, “It’s just that sometimes, maybe, you coddle him a little—”

“Coddle him?” I gasp, and that’s it—I am done. I slam my hands onto the table, ready to stand, but we’ve been married for ten years—Wade really does know me too well.

“Don’t you dare storm off,” he groans. “You asked what I’d do, and I’m telling you. You have no right to cut me off just because you don’t like my answer.”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it would be for Eddie if you just threw him into full-time school without planning or explanation?”

“Maybe if you give the kid a chance, he could surprise you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you were convinced something was seriously wrong with Eddie from the time he was a baby, and you’ve never given him a chance to prove you wrong.”

“Oh sure, Wade. This is all me, isn’t it? The doctors and teachers and therapists are all wrong—”

“I’m not saying he’s a typical kid. He’s clearly autistic, Alice. I’m not blind. I just think that maybe—” Wade starts out fiercely, but then the sound of that harsh tone echoing all around our kitchen must have bounced back into his ears because he winces and he pauses. When he speaks again, he pulls the aggression right back, until he’s speaking almost too gently. “I’m scared we underestimate him, honey. That’s all. I’m just saying that maybe if you spent as much time challenging him as you do protecting him, maybe your life would look different. And if you’d just loosen the goddamned reins for just a little bit, then maybe I could—”