33. Thirty-Three
Thirty-Three
BEN
I nearly turn around six times before I reach Becca’s house. Exhausted, I try to sleep in her guest room, but it doesn’t go well. It’s not home. I know I’m doing the right thing, that I need this. But why are the right things always the hardest?
I text Dot for updates on Lena’s condition and find solace in the fact that she’s not alone.
After a tense dinner with Becca’s family (she’s none too pleased that I’m here), I FaceTime Lena.
She answers after the first ring. A weak smile accompanies her distracted greeting. “Hey, we just finished eating.”
Her hair is pinned up in that soft way she does when she’s cooking, but loose bits fall around her face, waving as she moves through the kitchen. Her eyes look puffy, but she isn’t tearful or upset. For that, I’m grateful.
Her swimming pool eyes take me in, but only for a second. She’s probably ensuring I am where I say I am, which is why I made the call in my sister’s unmistakable yellow kitchen in front of their family beach portrait.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
Her lips perk weakly, like she wants to smile but can’t. “Want to talk to Ruthie?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. The screen moves from her face to the floor and into Ruthie’s chubby fingers.
“Dad.” She pushes her face into the screen way too closely. “You won’t believe my day.”
Ruthie carries me around the house as she tells me about it.
Her. Adam. Jack and Rowan. The Children’s Museum.
Airlie Gardens. They picnicked under the “ginormous tree” and “pretended to be herons and turtles.” It’s not until she exhausts her story twenty minutes later that she takes a deep breath and asks, “What’re you doing at Aunt Becca’s? ”
“I’m staying here for a while. Remember when I went with Grandpa to his cabin to help him re-shingle the roof?”
“Yep.”
“Well, it’s like that. I have a problem that requires extra help to solve, so I’m spending time here to fix it,” I explain, wishing I’d rehearsed this better.
She giggles, scrunching her nose. “So, you’re fixing your roof?”
“Something like that. We’ll talk more about it when I see you.”
She shrugs, thankfully not sensing a problem.
Our conversation continues until she tells me she has a date with her bath toys.
“Be good for your mother,” I say, though she always is. “I love you.”
“Love you, Dad. Be home soon. Miss you. Bye.”
Regret hits me, especially when Lena takes control again.
She flashes her soft, warm smile at Ruthie. Only I see the pain in her eyes. “Go pick out your toys for bath time. I’ll be right there, okay?”
“I’ve got it, Lena,” Dot chimes in, and Lena nods.
I hear little thuds of Ruthie’s bare feet across the wood floor. When Lena’s eyes return to mine, her smile falters. “That was… inventive. Thanks for keeping your promise to call.”
“Of course. How about I take her to preschool in the morning?”
Her eyes narrow, and her forehead scrunches with worry lines. “I’ll do it. And I’d rather not start talking schedules and who gets her when yet. It’s too hard just yet.”
There’s no anxiety or anger in her voice, just sadness that I don’t want to make worse.
“No, of course not. I’m sorry.”
She forces a smile, but her demeanor cracks. “Are we done, then? With the call, I mean?”
“One more thing. I made an appointment with Rob for ten to check your hand. You can go after dropping Ruthie. I think you should have it—”
“My hand is fine.”
“Please.” My voice falters this time, and I turn the phone away. I take a breath, trying to ignore the despair that emanates from her like a damn toxin. “Lena, look I’m—”
“Fine. I’ll go to the appointment.” She takes a breath as if bored, but the soft shudder in her voice reveals the emotion she’s trying desperately to keep in. “I’ll go.”
“Want me to meet you there?”
“No, I can handle a doctor’s appointment. Anything else?”
Her attitude surprises me. She’s curt and, more surprisingly, together. But what do I expect? Lena is the strongest person I’ve ever met—of course, she’s okay. I’m the one who isn’t.
“Um, I guess not,” I say when the silence is too much, even for me.
She nods. “Okay, do what you need to do.”
The line goes dead, and instantly, I ache for her and Ruthie.
But lying in bed that night, I know the ache will lessen with more time apart. Getting small will help me see what’s important. Then, I expect clarity and renewed focus.
I’ll decide about the job.
Decide about my hearing.
And decide, once and for all, if I’m better off alone. Or rather, if she’s better off without me.