Chapter xlvii
xlvii
WHEN THEY’D ALL LEFT FOR DARREN’S, I LAY DOWN on the couch, exhausted. It went both better and worse than I’d expected. And I still had to tell my parents and Jay. Darren and I had decided that we’d tell our immediate families and closest friends, the people the kids might go to if they wanted to talk. If word spread, so be it. And if not, not. It was no one else’s business, and if people thought about us differently because of what they’d heard, that was on them.
After about an hour of staring at the ceiling, I got up and made myself a whiskey on the rocks in honor of you, the cocktail you were drinking when we reconnected at Faces & Names.
As I sat back down on the couch, my phone pinged. I grabbed at it to see if it was Darren or the kids, but it was Dax.
Just wanted to check in , he said. How did it go? How are you?
I stared at my phone for a while. I felt like a wrungout washcloth. I was drained and lonely, and I wished he were there. I wished I could lay my head against his shoulder, that I could feel his arms, strong and warm, holding me tight.
I miss you , I wrote.
The phone rang. It was him. I picked it up. His voice sounded tired. It was close to three A.M. over there, but maybe he’d been out on the ship, or triaging people whom they’d found and brought to shore.
“You’re not okay,” he said.
“I’m not okay,” I whispered and started to cry. The strength I’d used to hold myself together through all the conversations dissolved, and I felt everything: the stress, the emotion, the fear, the guilt, the pain.
“I wish I were there with you,” Dax said. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting.”
“I wish you were here with me, too,” I said. “When are you coming home?”
“As soon as I can,” he answered. “Next week.”
“I’ll teach you to make marshmallow pies,” I said, my voice still thick with tears.
“I can’t wait,” he said.
We stayed on the phone a bit longer while I told him what had happened.
“I’m not sure what to do next,” I said.
“I don’t know your kids, of course,” he said, “but I wonder if a one-on-one day with each of them might be helpful? Give them a chance to ask you questions, share how they’re feeling with just you. I did that with Zac when we found out he was sick, and Aviva did, too. He ended up talking about different fears he had with each of us.”
“It sounds like Zac was lucky to have you as a dad,” I said.
Dax was quiet for a moment. “I did the best I could,” he said. “And that’s one of the things I noticed about you, Lucy, when you were talking to Sammy and Violet on the phone from Lampedusa. You do the best you can with your kids, too.”
His words brought tears to my eyes. I did do the best I could. But that wasn’t always good enough. I swallowed a sob. “Lucy,” Dax said, his voice wrapping around my heart, “is there someone you can be with tonight? Or tomorrow? I hate the idea of you being alone right now. I’m sorry I’m so far away.” I don’t know if it’s all doctors, or if it’s just Dax, but he is so thoughtful, so insightful, and— like our Sammy—so wise.
I took a shuddering breath. “I’m okay,” I said. “I have plans with Eva tomorrow.”
“And tonight?” he said, his voice so warm.
“It’s just me tonight,” I told him.
“Well, then imagine me there with you,” he said. “Imagine my arms around you, my lips in your hair. Imagine me holding you close until you fall asleep. Imagine me being there for you.”
“I will,” I told him, already closing my eyes, already feeling his arms wrapped around my shoulders.
That night, in bed, I imagined everything he told me to. And I also imagined much more.