15. The Hill

November 2021

Birthdays and anniversaries passed in muted tones of grey, while I overcompensated and became the torch bearer for fun, kicking myself into overdrive to mask what was happening from the girls. It was slowly burning me out, but I couldn’t pull Adam out of it. A slump was becoming something much more like depression, I thought, though he was able to grin and bear it at work, reserving this dampened version of himself for only me, and only when he wasn’t careful enough to hide it from me. I couldn’t get him to see it for what it was. When I suggested therapy, he shrugged it off. When I said it again, he said he didn’t have time. So I watched him for other signs, while I looked for ways to pull him back into himself.

Meanwhile, Henry would check-in, keeping the tone light and friendly. He entertained and distracted me with stories about customers and songs he wrote to cope with his nerves and boredom.

Fall came, and things started to shift in my mind. It happened with a soft one-two punch. Adam kissed me on the mouth. His beard was wet from rushing through breakfast and a bland cereal to get to work on time. His team had shifted back into the office twice weekly – one on Saturdays. I hated that. It felt like time was stolen from my hands.

I grimaced and moved away from Adam. He kissed me on the cheek again. I jerked back, recoiling from the rough whiskers still covered in milk. Instead of lips. He’d stopped paying attention to the finer points of grooming. His beautiful eyes looked at me and I saw less of him in them. I felt it in the pit of my stomach and tried to shield him from my reaction, but there it was – revulsion and grief. I hope that my smile masks both feelings and lean into his chest quickly, hugging him to hide my eyes and breathe him into my lungs. He smells clean after his shower. I find myself quickly assessing to see how worried I should be. At least he’s clean, then, for work. Clean and sober. I’d never worried about his drinking in that regard, but now I was looking for problems to solve. The real issues were less tangible and that was frustrating. Harder to fix.

“Okay,” he asks, head tilting toward me as he collects his lunch from the kitchen island.

“Okay,” I nod, rubbing an elbow while I watch the sun through the kitchen window.

“Can you place the grocery order before lunch today? I’ll grab it for us on the way home.”

“Sure,” I say, looking at a grocery list already open on my phone. “Need anything?”

“Just my sanity,” he grins, kissing the top of Beth’s head, tickling her belly button softly with his finger until she chortles back at him.

“Oh, Daddy, your beard is wet. Yucky!” Jane rubs her cheek after he kisses it and dances away from him before returning for a hug.

“Sorry, kiddo.”

“Cereal beard, Daddy. Really?”

He laughs and rolls his eyes. Jane wraps her arms around his legs and mimics giving his thigh sloppy kisses, wet sounds following each smack of her lips. My mouth quirks into a smile at her, then frowns when she twirls away.

Why can’t he shave it off, I wonder, irked by the hair growing past his upper lip. Who wants to kiss a slob? I am equally annoyed by Adam for this shift in his appearance and myself for not noticing it earlier.

I’ve been pulling at threads lately where I used to be more relaxed, reserving my patience for Beth and Jane while slowly losing it with Adam.

No, I think, staring at his mouth – I’ve been compliant. I haven’t pushed him and have missed these smaller warning signs. I should be paying closer attention to him. Before this last year with Beth happened, I would have caught the warnings early on. Now, it feels different in my house. A shiver runs down my spine, lingering like a ghost on my back.

“Send me pictures and videos of the kids?”

“Absolutely,” I tell him, watching his face for other hints.

He walks into the bathroom, and I hear the water run from the sink. I follow him to squeeze his shoulders, seeing it in his eyes. He sighs at me. “I know, I know. I’m a cereal monster.”

“It’s okay. Just trim it tomorrow morning. And you know, remember that there are still things like napkins. Although I’m not sure how, in Covidiagam.”

“Is that what this place is called now? I was wondering if we’d moved to another planet.”

“Plane of existence.” We head back to the staircase that leads to the garage.

“Fucking hell of a cesspool,” Adam whispers in my ear.

“Worst level of Mario Brothers.”

“Oh, there’s my gal. That’s the one. Now, can I kiss you? See? Milkless mustache.”

Jane jumps around the corner and launches her skinny arms at Adam, wiggling her body between us and trilling a happy sing-song that vibrates against my stomach. “Oo-oo-oo! Kisses! Smooch!”

“Thank God for these kids,” I mumble. Adam nods.

“What time will you get out of work tonight,” I ask him, already planning ways to entertain the girls.

“Probably about eight, and then I’ll grab the groceries. Don’t hold dinner on me.”

“Chicken pot pie tonight. Leftovers will be in the fridge. Minus the peas.”

“Clearly. Peas are gross,” he quips.

“Agreed,” I reply, picking up toys and blankets that scatter the path to the door. “Quiet, though. Don’t pass our picky taste buds onto the girls.”

We smile and kiss again, lingering to reassure ourselves before I call out to him, rattling through a verbal reminder. Our daily ritual.

“Sanitizer! Masks and gloves. Lock us in. Love you.”

“Love you too.” I listen for the sounds of locks and the garage as it closes, then move into the rest of the morning with the girls and Atticus, pulling myself out of my thoughts and tabling worries about Adam. Aside from the routine of keeping a baby alive, I’ve shifted into my Mary Poppins part of the day, trying to keep everyone entertained and sane, myself included. I cart the girls and dog outside, grateful for our yard. We run around in circles and play with every yard toy in the garage – the number having quickly increased to distract them from our isolation.

I watch Jane hunt for bugs with her net, her rain boots sloshing through the yard—the puddles from this morning’s storm are almost gone. Beth waves her hand at one of my wind chimes, smiling when I let her touch it as I take her on a tour of the patio and gardens. The sun warms our skin — almost humid — an odd burst of summer in the fall.

Henry messages me. I smile and sigh before opening my phone to read his text.

“What are you and the girls up to today?”

He’s been checking in on me weekly as I’ve told him more about Beth’s heart — a slow build-up between us. The last few weeks have poked a few cracks in my wall as I’ve started to open up a bit more to him.

“Playing with every toy in this house. About to teach Jane how to play Four Square and Hopscotch. Pulling from every bag of tricks over here. You?”

“I loved Four Square as a kid. Right now, I’m avoiding a cranky customer. They’re blaming me for the lack of toilet paper in this country. I had no idea I was suddenly in charge of paper products worldwide.”

“The President should put you in charge. You would charm everyone into behaving themselves.”

“So you think I’m charming?”

My eyes roll in response.

“Not falling for that trap, Mister.”

“Fine. I’ll play the long game then. Do you have some toilet paper for this guy? He almost has me convinced that the shortage is my fault. I’m willing to trade with you. I’ve got books.”

“Books are made of paper . . . “

“That’s sacrilege. Don’t you even suggest it. What would your mother say? Bit scratchy on the ass, I’d imagine.”

“Give him something fluffy. A YA romance should work.”

“I do not sell lousy literature here. You’ve seen what I have.”

“Not for a long time. It’s the land of Covid now. You might have lowered your standards to stay afloat.”

“Never. You should come in and look at what I’ve got.”

I’ve seen what he’s got, I think, with a wicked grin, but resist the bait.

“Nope. Ten-foot pole. Staying far away from you. How’s your family doing?”

“I’d like to get rid of that pole. But fine. My parents have been pretty locked into their bubble. Mom’s been a little sick lately, but not Covid. Thankfully. My siblings are fine. Everyone’s in their cave, and then we take turns poking our heads out before we duck back into them. Yours?”

“The same. Doing our part. Losing our minds. Exercising like a mad woman over here, in my basement, and keeping the kids entertained and safe.”

Jane runs up to hug my side and show me a roly-poly bug that she’s carefully cupped in her hand.

“Look, Mom. A poly-roly!”

I smile, and we watch it crawl around her hand until she slowly sets it free, where she found it.

“Roly-poly,” I tell her.

“Hm. I like it better my way,” she replies, collecting red and yellow leaves that have gathered under a maple tree.

“Poly-roly it shall be then, Wildflower.”

My phone chirps again. “Tell me more about exercising. Squats? Lunges? Anything involving bending over?”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend these days, Henry? Watch her workout.”

“Technically, I do. She’s – less bendy than you are.”

“I am less bendy than I was. But I’m fixing that. Yoga and pilates are whipping me back into shape.”

“I love your shape.”

“Henry. Call your girlfriend.”

Alex. She has a name. I’ve never met her, but she’s real. I pinch the skin on my arm.

“You’re right. Hard not to reminisce these days. Sorry. Just. Remember who we used to be?”

“Yes. Should have. Could have. Would have. I have already told you this, Henry. Many times.”

“I know. Harder not to regret it now.”

I swear softly, blowing the air out of my lungs in a quick huff. Not my fault. That’s his. Just his, I tell myself, ignoring the threads of memories — past conversations that haunt me when I let my mind linger on them. I resist asking him all the whys, leaving them to roll around in my head instead.

“I can’t solve your problems for you, Henry. Work on your relationship with her, or figure out what you want to do with it. I can’t be an option, though.”

“I wish you could be.”

The sentence pulls on my heart. I wanted that a long time ago.

“But not now,” I say to the ground, wiggling my toes and digging them into the soft dirt to root myself there.

“Well. I wanted that before Adam,” I tell him.

“I know,” he answers me.

“I was incredible.”

“I know. You still are. It’s why it’s so hard to forget you. Or behave myself.”

He should have come and got me, but it’s too late now. I put the phone in my pocket. These bursts of truth have been happening more consistently. He’s planting seeds. I’m not unaware of Henry’s efforts or the lack of Adam’s. The difference is unfair and discomforting.

Beth giggles as I let her sit on the grass. I show her how I can whistle with a blade between my thumbs. She claps and spits bubbles onto a thick green leaf from a grass pile in her lap. Jane collects rocks and dumps them at my feet for us to admire. I rub a soft blue-black stone between my thumb and forefinger, round and smooth between my fingers.

I remember who I was. I tilt my head to the sky and let myself forget who I am. I remember who I used to be. Fragments of myself shine like prisms in the sun. Reality and fantasy slowly turn in circles in the sun, blinding my eyes for a moment. The humidity hangs in the air after a thunderstorm earlier in the morning. The storm hit us hard and fast without a care in the world for the damage it caused.

I stand on the grass and pick up Beth, scooping her into my arms. My bare feet soak up the cool, damp earth, and I stare at my wind chime before I turn to watch the ants on a hill that had washed away. The survivors are already rebuilding their homes, their bodies dry in the sun. Atticus snuffles the grass at my feet before trotting over to an old oak tree to bark at a squirrel.

I don’t want to give Henry any pieces of me, but it’s already happened. He occupies my thoughts. Though I push back against it, there he is, each time lingering longer in my mind. I bite my thumb every time he sneaks in as though I can stop it. A trail of soft teeth marks wanders down my skin. He’s made several appearances in my dreams, popping in and out of them absurdly. There are two hearts in my home, though, I think to myself, and there’s no room for a third.

All of the pieces of a day that make up a memory. I remembered being in Henry’s store once, years before Adam came along, with the excuse of buying a book for a friend. We teased each other with our eyes and leaned against the shelves, fingers brushing and hips touching. It was fun and made us laugh at ourselves until a customer walked in, and I ran away. I never lingered when someone came in – always feeling I had overstayed my welcome because Henry never said anything to make me think he wanted me to stay. How could he now regret it when we were both married? I shook the thought away. “I don’t believe you,” I whispered, sending the words to Henry on the wind.

There was less of that fun with Adam lately, but we were each full of mischief, too. Something we were good at and needed to resurrect together. Each doctor’s appointment for Beth seemed to suck away at us. Another one on Monday. More ultrasounds. We held our breaths, our lungs heavy as we waited to be told what would happen next before we could exhale. Everything was a slow suffocation.

Later in the evening, Adam collapsed under the sheets, his eyes lidded with exhaustion. My plans for a date in our living room after the kids were asleep had fallen apart again. I watched him close his eyes and begin to snore before I crept slowly to the family room to watch a show. I stared at the calendar on my phone and thought about how many nights had passed this way in the last two years. First, they were interspersed with bursts of energy and sex and dates. Less of that for the last year, though. Adam was noticeably missing from our marriage. I couldn’t ignore the facts anymore.

I stood up to stretch and shake off the mood. Sitting on the floor and bending forward, I eased the aches in my muscles.

“I mean all of it, Caroline,” Henry says, interrupting a sitcom as if sending his words back to me.

My shoulders tense before I reply to him. “Prove it.”

“Come buy a book tomorrow. I’ll show you.”

“Show me what?”

“Or I could tell you now. What I want to do to you.”

“What are you doing,” I ask him.

“I’m pretending to watch a show in the basement. You?”

“The same. Only I am actually watching the show.”

“You could be watching me. We could be watching each other. Much more entertaining.”

“You are full of bluffs, Henry.”

“Then call me on it. Let me touch you.”

My fingers pause, then move again to respond.

“Where do you start?”

“The back of your neck. I want my fingers there. I want to watch your eyes when I pull you towards me.”

I run my forefinger down the length of my nose and tap my finger on the soft groove above my mouth, brushing the skin and enjoying how cool and smooth the pad of my finger feels.

“Don’t,” my finger taps aloud.

“I’ve never stopped wanting you, Caroline.”

“Don’t,” my finger taps again.

“It’s my fault for being such a coward. I wish I had. I wish we could be together. Right now. I want to kiss you – finally.”

“Don’t,” I whisper.

“She’s never going to be you. I pretend that I am with you.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” I tell my hands.

“You should go be with her now,” I tell him.

“I would only be thinking of you while I was with her, Caroline. Give me your lips, please.”

I put the phone down and returned to the television, focusing on the show. A few minutes later, I heard Adam move to the bathroom. After the toilet flushes, he pokes his head out of the door and mumbles a sleepy goodnight but doesn’t come over to kiss me. I wave in response, feeling myself let go as I watch him walk away and close the bedroom door.

“You can have them for tonight,” I text Adam.

We begin to play with each other, diving in without caring (but caring), with the lights off and the sounds of our televisions masking us. Everything was intimate and familiar and still exciting. Afterward, we disappeared to our own bedrooms, saying goodnight. Henry asked me to come into his store. “We’ll see,” I said, teasing both of us. I heard the wind chime sing out as it caught a breeze.

I peeked into Jane’s room, watching her sleep, then moved to my bedroom. Beth was babbling softly to herself in her crib, dreaming. We had moved it into our room to keep an eye on her. My decision — it was easier to do it this way before her surgery instead of keeping her in bed with us, though I typically did so, craving the reassurance that I felt with each breath she took — each heartbeat. Adam gravitated to the guest room when this happened, making more room for Beth in our bed, pillows bordering the edge of it.

It was a pacifier, reassuring us that she was okay. Was her breathing okay? Yes. Did her heart sound different this time? No. This was our nightly conversation.

Adam’s snores were interrupted briefly as he rolled onto his side, shifting away from my side of the bed, but he didn’t wake up. I shoved the guilt under the blanket, pulling it to my neck. I tucked my feet against Adam’s legs for warmth before I fell asleep.

Now stop, I tell myself. That’s enough of that. The words reverberate in my mind. A crack in the corner of my ceiling is illuminated by the soft blue of Beth’s nightlight. I can’t remember it being there before. My fingers trace it in the air – the short, thin line in the paint. I watch it until my eyes ache and roll to my side, facing Beth’s crib so she can see me if she wakes up. Halfway through the night, I feel Adam curl against my back, wrapping around and anchoring me, his hand curled against my breast. I watch for Beth’s breathing and close my eyes again. I’m where I should be right now. I push the rest of the thoughts away.