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I spent three years in excruciating grief mourning my wife, who died in a tragic accident – yesterday I saw her alive next to my worst enemy.
« When did you find out? »
I then sat down, not out of desire, but because standing offered my body too many ways to betray me.
« And what about after the months? »
Sarah looked over my shoulder towards the closed patio doors.
A child laughed somewhere downstairs.
She did not look in the direction of the noise.
Marcus did it.
I noticed that too.
« And what about after the months? »
« After several months, » she said, « I booked a flight. »
« When? »
« September. »
« You disappeared in March. »
« I know. »
« Then you went home in September. »
His eyes remained fixed on the table.
« No. »
I waited.
« You disappeared in March. »
She swallowed once.
« I cancelled it. »
« For what? »
She touched the rim of the espresso cup she had taken upstairs, but had never drunk from.
« I saw the article. »
« I cancelled it. »
Marcus looked at her.
She ignored him.
« The one from the memorial service. The photo of you holding Lily by the coffin. You looked… »
« Watch out, » I whispered.
She nodded. « You looked like someone who had learned to stand up because a fall would hurt the baby. »
I remember that day.
She ignored him.
Lily had slept through almost the entire ceremony, her cheek pressed against my jacket. Everyone who hugged me told me she was a blessing.
No one knew what to say when a blessing called to a mother who could not answer.
« I thought that if I came in at that moment, » Sarah said, « I would destroy what you had built around that loss. »
A laugh escaped my lips.
« What I built? »
“You survived, Harry.”
« What I built? »
« I ate standing up over the sink because Lily screamed every time I put her down. »
Sarah’s hand closed over the emptiness.
« I know. »
“You don’t know.”
« I watched some videos Marcus found online, » she said. « Your sister posted some. Birthdays. Christmas. Lily walking. »
I turned to Marcus.
« You let her watch instead of sending her home? »
“You don’t know.”
His jaw moved.
“Every time.”
« Every time what? »
« Each time, she said she would leave tomorrow. »
The word was there.
Tomorrow.
I glanced at Sarah.
His face had frozen.
« Each time, she said she would leave tomorrow. »
« The first day after, it was because I couldn’t walk without help, » she said. « The next, because I was still forgetting my words. Then came the days when my face looked different because of the burn scars. And finally, because Lily’s first birthday had passed. »
She rolled her sleeve up over her wrist despite the heat of the day.
« Each missed day made the next one more difficult. »
« That’s not an answer. »
« No. »
« Each missed day made the next one more difficult. »
« That’s cowardly. »
She nodded. « Yes. »
I wanted Sarah to defend herself.
Part of me needed her to make it easier to hate her.
She refused me that comfort.
« That’s cowardly. »
Marcus finally spoke.
« You can criticize me for not keeping quiet. »
I never took my eyes off Sarah.
« I already do it. » I turned around. « But not for what you think. »
« I already do it. »
« I told her to go home, Harry, » Marcus said. « First gently. Then sharply. We argued about it in hospitals, rented rooms, airport parking lots. I bought tickets she didn’t use. »
« Heroic. »
« No. »
His face did not harden.
That bothered me.
« I told her to go home, Harry. »
“My wife passed away seven years ago,” he confided. “From breast cancer. Towards the end, she was afraid for our son to come and see us, because she thought he would only remember his hospital bed. I told her she was wrong. I also remember how difficult it was to convince her.”
Sarah stared at the yellow duck that was still in the diaper bag.
Marcus followed her gaze.
« When Sarah was paralyzed by fear in a crowd, the therapist taught me how to get her to hold onto something. The edge of a table. A cup. My hand, if nothing else was within reach. »
« My wife passed away seven years ago. »
I looked at the cafe below.
In their hands.
To the image that had pierced me like a betrayal.
Exactly the same gesture.
Another meaning.
It was worse in its own way.
Because I had judged him too easily.
It was worse in its own way.
Sarah reached out her hand towards the duck again.
This time, I took it out first.
The wool was discolored. One carnation was detached. Lily had chewed on the beak during teething and had slept with it during two bouts of fever. The left wing was twisted.
Sarah cried out when she saw him.
Not a sob.
Smaller.
The sound of someone recognizing a room for which they no longer have the keys.
The thread had faded.
« I knitted it before it was born, » she said.
« I know. »
« I wanted to repair the wing. »
« You didn’t do it. »
Her fingers hovered above.
I didn’t give it to him.
Not yet.
« I wanted to repair the wing. »
« Why didn’t you come home? » I asked.
Sarah looked at the duck instead of me.
« Because every morning, I promised myself I’d come home tomorrow. » His finger brushed against the table near the toy. « Until tomorrow turned into three years old. »
No one spoke after that.
Not for a long time.
The truth has not taken a clear form.
« Why didn’t you go home? »
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