Good Dirt

Despite All

Despite All

D espite all, Ebby still yearns for the Henry she was supposed to have married. Ebby understands that this man before her now is not that Henry. This is the Henry she is better off without. The one Hannah says she was fortunate not to have married. Ebby is sure that this Henry is a man she could never again kiss, never again hold. But as she sits on the sofa, watching her tears wet her hands where they rest in her lap, she tells him anyway. She tells Henry about the pregnancy, about the miscarriage, about never having said a word to anyone. She tells him everything, the way she used to.

Henry makes a grunting noise. When Ebby looks up, she sees that Henry is crying. Actually weeping into his hands. Shaking his head back and forth. Really, Henry? Tears? And where was he when she needed him? She feels the full force of the grief and humiliation wrapped up in her history with Henry coming back to her. And the anger. This is the emotion that surges through Ebby’s limbs, now, pulls her to her feet. Henry, too, stands up and turns toward her. She sees the look on his face but it only makes her angrier. Ebby rushes at Henry, pushing him back.

“You fool,” she says.

“I know, I know,” Henry says.

“You fucking idiot.”

“I know, Ebby, I’m sorry.”

Ebby is screaming now. “You ruined us!” She pushes Henry again and he drops to his knees, covering his head as she keeps pushing at him. He wraps his arms around her knees but she kicks him away. “How could you?” She stalks over to the kitchen door and pulls it open. Stands there, chin held high, not looking at Henry. Waiting for him to walk through the door. Henry approaches slowly, but instead of walking out, he puts a hand over hers. Gently. A glimmer of the old Henry. Ebby feels her legs trembling. Henry pushes at Ebby’s hand until the door is closed again.

“Don’t,” she says, walking away. “Don’t. Just go.” But she says it softly. And when Henry turns her around, she doesn’t fight. She knows that this is what she wants. She thinks, for a moment, that she should feel ashamed of giving in to a man who has treated her the way Henry has. But it is only a moment. Henry is kissing Ebby’s face, now. His hands are on her shoulders, on her thighs. Ebby doesn’t even know how they end up in the bedroom, only that when they lie on the bed, they lie down together.

Ebby sees the Henry she knows in this man’s eyes. He is gentle, now, as he tugs at her tank top. Asking with a tip of his head, not insisting. He would stop, now, if she were to tell him to, but she does not want him to stop. She wants to know that she did not imagine this Henry. She has missed him. She wants to believe what he’s told her, that it was not so easy, after all, for him to walk away from her. He is more urgent, now, and she is there with him. She is still wearing her skirt, pushed all the way up, when she lifts that part of her body to meet his. And he is still wearing his T-shirt. It used to happen this way, sometimes, between them. They used to laugh about that.

This feels like love.

Henry, next to her, in bed.

This feels like belonging.

Henry’s scent on her skin.

But love without trust is something less than that.

Henry, like this, is less than what she wants.

Afterward, Ebby lets him kiss her and nuzzle her until she can take it no longer. Until she feels strong enough to push him away. She sits up and shrugs her body back into her top and juts her chin toward his pants, discarded at the edge of the bed.

“Wait? What?” Henry says.

“I think it’s time for you to go.”

“But I thought…” Henry says.

“I know.”

“Couldn’t we, could we just…”

“Just what, Henry? Pretend you fought for our relationship? Pretend you didn’t want something easier? That, faced with a choice, you didn’t choose me?”

“I wanted you. I never stopped.”

“You may have wanted me, but you didn’t care enough about me to keep me from going through what I had to go through on my own.”

“I’ve already explained to you, I was trying to protect you.”

“You were running from confrontation, Henry. You were more interested in protecting your own interests.”

“It’s not that simple, and you know it.”

“Oh?”

“What was all this about, then?”

“ All this is about what we used to be, Henry. Not what we are now.”

“After everything that has just happened, you can’t find a way to forgive me?”

“This is not about forgiveness, Henry. It’s about trust. It’s about me not being able to forget.”

“But, Ebby, I thought you still loved me.”

“Everything I’ve loved about you, Henry, everything I’ve admired about you, hasn’t really changed. But the rest is the rest, and it makes a difference. It makes me really sad to see that you don’t get that. You just finished telling me that you had all these doubts about staying withme.”

“That was before.”

“Before what, Henry? Before you brought Avery to France for a romantic vacation?” She reaches one arm out, pointing in the direction of the guesthouse.

Ebby shakes her head. This time, she is not shouting at Henry. This time, she is not crying. She feels strangely tender toward Henry. She has seen Henry shed tears for the first time since knowing him. She believes he, too, is mourning the baby they never had. She has felt his desire to be with her and his willingness to be vulnerable to her anger. She has heard him, in effect, ask for another chance with her. But this man, who has just made love to her, is still the man who failed her in too big a way for her to get past it.

This time, Ebby feels truly ready to see Henry leave. When he does, she locks the kitchen door, goes back into the bedroom, and changes the sheets.