10. A Small Door

May 2021

“Still alive. You?”

The ellipsis that quickly follows my words distracts me from the discomfort of the pump. I watch as Henry writes.

“[Climbs off bridge.] Everything is awesome! There is no Armageddon. We have toilet paper again. What are you doing?”

I listen to the “woo-sha, woo-sha” sound of the pump as it pulls me in, and I laugh.

Adam calls out from the kitchen, “What’s so funny?”

“This pump is talking to me again.”

“Ask it to buy apples and milk, will you?”

I nod and smile. “On it,” then return to Henry.

“There’s a musical that’s performing on me right now. It’s very off-Broadway.”

“What’s it about?”

“Vampires.”

“Don’t make me say the line.”

“You can’t suck my blood, Henry.”

“Your nipples, then. I’ll take those any day.”

“Only if you’re gentle.”

“Always.”

I suck in my bottom lip and bite it, a reminder to behave. A thread of guilt tugs at me.

“Alas, I am tied to a milking machine just now. Moo.”

“Always happy to help you pump. Or any pumping action, really.”

I roll my eyes and smile.

“Henry.”

“Caroline.”

“Behave.”

“Pax then. We’re still pretty shut-in here, except when I’m at work. You?”

I stare at the sea of arts and crafts on Jane’s table.

“Yes, we’re still being pretty careful because of Beth. But the rest of us are already vaxxed. So, at least we feel a little more protected.”

“Same – we’re current with ours. How are the kids? How’s Mom of Two life going for you?”

Another notification from the hospital holds my attention for a moment.

“Really?”

“Always.”

“Wonderful and scary.”

“Tell me.”

We are each other’s confessors, but I hold back. I’m not ready to say all of the words yet.

“Some health issues that we’re still figuring out with Beth. More to come on that.”

“I’m sorry. You’ll conquer them. Always here when you want to tell me more.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Henry shifts the conversation to distract me with his humor. We entertain each other throughout the rest of the afternoon, disrupting the monotony of our day. I tuck the phone away before the sun sets to be safe, a pat on the back for good behavior. Still, I feel him slip back into my mind, finding a corner to lie down and stretch out. Beth murmurs in her sleep, and I carefully slide her off my arm, wiggling my fingers until they are alive again.

Adam and Jane are already asleep in rooms across the hall.

My mind drifts to the last time Henry and I touched. The week of my wedding, I bought books for my bridesmaids. He joked that he would never marry. I asked him why. He laughed it off. His fingers touched my back as he held the door open for me to leave. I brushed an invisible piece of lint off his shoulder. We said goodbye to each other with our fingertips. Seven years without touching. Thirteen years without kissing. I had buried him. Now here he is again. How shallow had I dug? I couldn’t claim that he had not found his way into my thoughts in the years in between, but it had been manageable. A moment of reflection. A small thought. A finger under the covers and then back to life.

“Goodnight, Caroline.” The light from my phone as the message appears. It teases me. My fingers hover, thinking of all the times we’ve said goodnight to each other years ago, wrapped under sheets.

I wonder what Henry is doing under his sheets, across town, with the lights off, and try to shake off the thoughts, but I left the door open for him to come in. The thread pulls tighter. My fingers fold together tightly, resting on my stomach, and I wait to fall asleep. I think of Adam in the other room. I think of Henry in another. The pendulum swings.

“Goodnight, Henry.”

Damnit.