Chapter 3
Three
I don’t drive as fast as I used to, that’s a semi-sad fact of life. I could claim that it’s due to maturity, or an increase in intelligence, or even a desire to model healthy behavior for my children’s sake. But any of that would be at least partially a lie. The truth is, I was in an accident a few years back; one that left scars, physical as well as mental. I don’t trust my reflexes the same as I used to. And I shouldn’t either—because they’re definitely not as sharp as they used to be.
It’s been an adjustment, as well as a blow to my ego. This ‘getting old’ shit is hard, that’s for damn sure. It ain’t for the faint of heart.
But, even with all of that, we still should have made it to the airport in plenty of time to meet Scout’s flight. Unfortunately, that’s not how things worked out…
As soon as we reach the tiny airport’s one and only terminal, Cole catches sight of someone selling flowers from a cart on the sidewalk. Which I’m pretty sure is not legit. Even at Christmas time. That would be a local matter, however, and this is not my jurisdiction. Cole drops my hand and runs for the cart, ignoring my calls for him to stop.
“You can’t just run off like that, bud,” I tell him when I catch up with him. “You need to hold my hand and stay with me. Do you understand?”
“But it’s Santa!” Cole explains. “I wanted to thank him for bringing Mommy home. You said I should always say thank you when someone does something nice for me. Didn’t you?”
“Sorry,” the young man in question grins sheepishly. “I guess it’s because of the hat, huh?”
I shrug because I suppose he’s right. He’s youngish-looking, dressed in plaid flannel, jeans and work boots. I would have called the look underfed lumberjack, myself. But I guess the red thermal vest and stocking cap said Santa Claus to Cole. On the other hand, who’s to say? There’s no telling what goes on in the mind of a four-year-old.
“Good manners are important,” I tell Cole. “But now let’s go find Mommy, before she starts to wonder where we are.”
Santa-jack chuckles in response. “Oh, count on it. She’s already doing that,” he says confidently.
I shoot him a quelling glance. “Excuse me?”
“Well, don’t you think so? You’re here for the flight that just landed, yeah? The one from LA? Apparently it got in early. Unexpected tail winds, or something. I’m surprised she didn’t call to let you know.”
“There’s not a lot of cell service in the terminal,” I say—speaking from experience. I take hold of Cole’s hand and say again, “Say goodbye to Santa, Cole, and let’s go. Mommy’s waiting.”
“But I want to buy her flowers,” Cole insists. Pointing at a large bouquet of Peace roses he adds, “Those ones. They’re her favorite.”
They are her favorite—he’s not wrong there. Mostly because her stepmother had planted bushes all along the foundation of the house, and Scout always says the fragrance smells like home to her. They’re also not the flowers you typically find for sale in this kind of venue. Odd. “Okay,” I tell him, peeling a few bills off the wad in my pocket and handing the money to Santa. “Good idea. But now we’ll have to run. So, let’s go!”
“Via con Dios!” Santa calls as we hurry away. “And Merry Christmas!”
Inside the terminal, I spot Scout instantly. She already has her bags piled on the floor beside her—lending credence to Santa-dude’s assertion that she got in earlier than expected. Which was no more than a lucky guess on his part since he had had no reason to know what flight we were meeting. But I have no time to wonder about that. Something about the way Scout’s standing there—with an uncharacteristic slump to her shoulders and an anxious, lost expression as she stares at her phone—pierces my soul.
An instant later, Cole also catches sight of his mom. He wrenches free of my hand once again; this time I let him go. But then he launches himself at his mother shouting, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” enthusiastically as he slams into her legs—so hard he almost knocks her off her feet. And I have to leap into action, to avert disaster.
“Careful!” I caution as I grab hold of Scout’s elbow, to steady her.
“Nick,” she gasps softly, staring at me with luminous, tear-filled eyes.
I lean in close and whisper, “He’s got the right idea. I kinda want to jump you right now, too.”
Normally, saying something like that will win me a heated grin, or a sexy response. Not today. Instead, she throws herself into my arms, grabbing for Cole at the same time, laughing, crying, trying to kiss us—everything at once.
“We got you flowers,” Cole announces, having squirmed free of his mother’s grip. “Look!”
Scout pulls away at that, far enough to see the battered and bruised bouquet that had gotten crushed between us. “Roses,” she whispers in what sounds like disbelief.
“There was a guy selling ’em outside…” I start to explain.
She rolls her eyes. “Of course, there was.”
“…and Cole insisted we stop. That’s why we were late.” I wince a little when I hear what I’ve said. “Sorry. Guess I coulda phrased that more romantically, huh?”
But Scout shakes her head. “It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s all good.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” I say as I gather her into my arms once again. “You’re crying; what’s wrong?”
“Not a thing,” she insists, stretching up onto her toes to press a soft kiss against my lips. “Everything’s absolutely perfect now. I’m home.”
“Yeah, you are,” I agree, playing along, instead of saying what’s really on my mind: If everything’s so perfect, then why are you trembling so hard? Why are your eyes still swimming with tears?And—not that I’m complaining, or anything like it—but why are you still hanging on so tight, clinging to me like you’re afraid to let go?
All questions that one can’t really demand answers to in the midst of a crowded, pre-holiday airport. So, “C’mon. Let’s get you home,” I say instead.
I’m only partially mollified when Scout leans against me for a moment, closes her eyes and say softly. “Yes, let’s do that. Please.”
So, here’s something else that’s changed in the past few years. My new car—the one we bought after the accident—is an automatic. It was necessary in the short run. And, in the long run, it just seems all-around easier.
I still believe that driving stick’s a skill everyone should have, at least in theory. In reality, however, I was low-key relieved to have an automatic car for Kate to practice on when she was learning to drive.
But, all that aside, what I’m appreciating about it the most right now, is that it lets me hold Scout’s hand the whole way home.
Despite the fact that she’s still clutching me with an iron grip, we don’t talk much as I navigate us over the winding roads. Which, given that Cole has, predictably fallen asleep, seems a lost opportunity for the two of us to clear the air. But Scout seems preoccupied and ill at ease.
And as for me? Well, I’ve gotten sidetracked. My mind is fully taken up with trying to decide whether it even makes sense to keep my Targa. Shouldn’t I be trading it in for an even more family-friendly model?
See, it occurred to me to wonder, as I was stowing Scout’s bags in the trunk, whether we’d even be able to fit two children’s car seats in the back seat. It would be a squeeze. Especially in the beginning, when one of those seats would need to be a rear facing model.
And, looking beyond that, we definitely can’t fit five people in it—car seats or no. So… do I really want a car that’s not big enough for the whole family? Or should I be leaning into yet another potentially unpleasant fact of life? Namely, if Kate does go away to college in the fall, perhaps ‘a car big enough for all five of us’ won’t ever be an issue again?
But maybe I’m getting too far ahead of myself. Maybe none of this is an issue. Maybe it’s all in my head, or in Lucy’s head…or, well, something along those lines.
A baby is kind of a big deal. And I still can’t fully believe that Scout could be pregnant, and know that she’s pregnant, and still be keeping it from me. Lucy’s lunacy aside, that’s not who we are. At least, I didn’t think it was.
We’re a block from our house when Scout’s grip on my hand suddenly tightens. She leans forward in her seat, her gaze anxious, only really relaxing when the house comes into view. “Oh, how beautiful,” she sighs, and I find myself smiling. Because she has to be admiring my handiwork, right?
“It looks nice, doesn’t it?” I inquire, chest filling with a warm sense of pride and satisfaction. It’s not quite dusk, but the Christmas lights are on timers and, from top to bottom, the house is aglow. Which, yes, not great in terms of light pollution. But at least I upgraded to LED lights a few years back, so don’t come at me with your environmental concerns.
“Yes,” Scout murmurs. “And you didn’t cut down the rosebushes.”
I side-eye her in surprise. “I did not. Was I supposed to?”
“No! No, God, of course not,” she says, then she drops my hand and scrubs her hands over her face, sighing deeply and nearly sobbing again. “It’s just…”
“Just…?” I prompt when she doesn’t seem likely to finish the thought.
“I guess I fell asleep. On the plane. And I…I had a bad dream. A nightmare. But it was a really vivid one and… And you have no idea. I’m just so happy to finally be home.”
“Exactly how late did you stay up last night?” I ask. Because, I mean, yes, Cole can fall asleep anywhere, anytime—sometimes before we’ve even pulled out of the driveway. And he must’ve inherited that from somewhere, I suppose. But the flight from LA is only about an hour. So either Scout’s suddenly developed Narcolepsy, or something else is going on.
Three guesses what that something might be. Oh, baby.
“Not that late,” she replies. And then the nickel must’ve dropped because she shakes her head and says, “It’s not a lack of sleep, okay? In fact, it’s nothing. It’s just one of those things. Let it go.”
With no other choice—other than to start an argument—I do my best. But holding my tongue isn’t easy.
And it doesn’t get any easier, either, once we’re inside the house and Scout is walking around, as though in a daze. She puts the roses in a vase, fills the vase with water, places it on a mat in the center of the dining room table. None of which is out of the ordinary, of course. But her movements are slow and robotic. And I don’t have the heart to point out the obvious—those flowers are history. They’re too busted up and bruised after being caught in the middle of our reunion. They’ll probably be dead by tomorrow.
Then she turns from the table and begins wandering around; moving from room to room, looking at everything, touching everything, stopping to stroke every cat that wanders across her path, crouching down to talk softly to each one.
“Hey, do you want a drink or something?” I ask, rejoining her in the entryway, after settling Cole—who’s still asleep—on a couch in the living room.
I’m hoping he won’t sleep through dinner because I’d bet my Porsche on what’ll happen next if he does He’ll be awake again in the middle of the night, hungry, fussy, impossible to console. And, while sometimes I don’t mind when that happens. That’s life, after all. I really, really don’t want it happening tonight. I’m long overdue for a little one-on-one adult time with my wife.
“How about some wine?” I suggest.
“No, thanks,” Scout replies straightening up. “So, I was wondering. How come we don’t have a tree up yet?”
“Oh, don’t come at me for that,” I say jokingly. “That’s on you. I wanted to get one last week, but Cole insisted that you had to be here when we trimmed it, so…”
“Oh. Sorry,” she says—looking anything but.
“No worries,” I tell her. “I asked Dan to put one aside for us, so we’re all set. We can pick it up tomorrow morning if you’d like.”
“On Christmas Eve? That’s cutting it a little close, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Sure is.” I want to say more. I want to point out that she’d cut it close, as well, coming home today instead of last week like she’d originally planned. I mean, just because the weather along the coast is generally good this time of year, doesn’t mean things couldn’t have gone wrong. Her flight could have been cancelled or delayed—and where would we all have been then? But she’s still looking semi-distraught so instead I say, “You look like you’re still upset. Is this still because of that dream you had? It must have been really bad to bother you this much.”
Scout nods. “Oh, believe me; it was.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No. Not now. Maybe someday, but…right now I just want to forget it ever happened.”
Some… day ? I blink in surprise. Not later, not tomorrow, not even after Christmas? What the hell?
“I’m just so glad to be home,” Scout sighs and—silver lining here—I’m hit by a flash of inspiration. I’ve been wanting to get her an extra something this Christmas since five years seems somewhat momentous. But I couldn’t think what. Now, I know just what to get her…assuming there’s still time to find what I need.
“Well, we’re glad you’re home too,” I say, nodding toward the living room to make it clear that I’m including Cole. “So, unless you’re too tired, or want to take a bath, or something, why don’t you come into the kitchen and talk to me while I cook dinner?”
“Okay. I can do that,” Scout says. And then she smiles at me, and it’s a genuine smile. And I feel myself relax as relief pours through me. Because that’s just the way it is with us. That’s the power of her smile.
And as long as she’s still able to smile at me like that, I can’t help but believe that, whatever secret she’s keeping, whatever’s going on with her, no matter what it is; it doesn’t matter. It’s all going to be okay.
A short while later, it feels like old times in the kitchen. I’m at the stove fixing dinner, Scout’s seated at the table cuddling Cole, who’s almost fully awake. The air is redolent of tomato sauce, fresh basil and grated Parmigiano. Then Kate comes in, and my family is complete.
“You’re back!” she says excitedly when she catches sight of Scout. “It’s about time. These two have been unbearable without you!”
“Well, I missed you all, too,” Scout tells her as they hug. “It’s been unbearable for me, as well.”
“Kate, why don’t you get some plates out,” I suggest. “This is almost ready to go.”
“Okay,” she says—but first she wanders over to see what I’m doing. “Ooh, meatballs; yum! It’s been forever since you made these.”
“No, it hasn’t,” I protest. I can’t quite remember when the last time was, but surely it wasn’t that long ago?
“It has been a while,” Scout agrees, looking amused.
I shake my head. “Wow. I guess I’ve been slacking.” It makes me wonder what else I’ve missed seeing—and whether that has anything to do with why Scout’s keeping secrets from me now. It makes me wonder about my own work/life balance. Perhaps I’ll also need to cut back on the time I spend away from home—especially if we’re “expanding the family” as Kate would have it. But then we’re all sitting down together, eating dinner as a family, and it’s all so perfect that, once again, I find it impossible to be too concerned.
After dinner, Scout takes Cole upstairs to bathe him and—hopefully—put him to bed for the night. I catch Kate before she disappears as well, to ask for her help in purchasing the Christmas gift I’ve thought of for Scout.
“You really left this for the last moment, didn’t you?” she scolds—echoing Scout’s complaint about the tree, which makes me laugh. “Really, Dad; it’s almost Christmas Eve!”
“I know that,” I tell her. “And you’re not wrong. But, I just got the idea for this tonight, so what am I supposed to do? Go back in time and fix it?”
“If only.”
“So, d’you think we can find them, or not?”
“Maybe,” she says. “I mean, probably I can. I’ll do my best. But I make no promises.”
“Understood,” I tell her. “And your best is all we’ve ever asked of you.”
Not unexpectedly, Kate rolls her eyes at that. “Yeah, yeah. So you’ve said. “ Then she, too, heads upstairs.
Once again, I find myself straightening up the kitchen, storing the leftovers in the fridge, filling the dishwasher, wiping down the counters, filling the cats’ food and water bowls, and thinking about how much more work will need to be done if there truly is a baby on the way.
Maybe that’s part of why Scout has been so stressed out? If her work is getting more demanding…maybe my plan to cut back a little on my own work won’t be enough to make a difference. I love my job and I don’t feel like I’m through working or providing, or anything like that. But maybe I should consider taking early retirement. Being here for my family, being a stay-at-home dad—that’s not the worst thing I could think of doing.
Finally, the kitchen is clean and orderly. And Scout has not returned. I make the rounds, locking everything down for the night, then follow my family upstairs.
The light is on in Kate’s room—I can see it peeking out from beneath the door. Hopefully, she’s having some luck with her online shopping. The light is on in Cole’s room, too. I glance inside and sigh at the sight that greets my eye. Mother and son are curled up fast asleep beside the short stack of storybooks that they had obviously been reading.
I tuck Cole under the covers, as per usual. I turn off the bedside lamp, turn on his nightlight, and (when Scout proves too hard to wake) I pick my wife up and carry her down the hall and into our bedroom.
Once there, she does rouse enough to change into a nightgown, but by the time I’m done in the bathroom, she’s fast asleep once more.
So much for adult entertainment, I think as I slide into bed and snuggle her close. I can’t help but remember so many other nights like this—when she was pregnant with Cole, when she couldn’t have stayed awake to save herself, when it was the two of us keeping a secret from the world at large, but not from one another.
There’d been so much going on back then—most of it good, but some of it not—that I’m not sure I aways paid as much attention to these little moments as I should have done.
Maybe this time around—if there is a ‘this time’ I can improve on my performance. If nothing else, that’s a goal to work towards.