Chapter 6 Henry
Chapter 6
Henry
Lucy isn’t wrong. He lives in the clouds. And maybe he’s a little broken. But he hasn’t always been that way. Like most great stories, there was a before and there was an after. Before appeared shiny and lacquered; after was dull and lifeless. In some ways, Henry preferred the latter, if for no other reason than the honesty of it all.
His phone pings, and there it is: another message from his mother.
You can’t ignore him forever.
Of course he can. That’s the plan. His hard-earned self-preservation.
Please talk to him.
Lucy catches the strain on his face and moves closer. “What is it?”
“Just the usual spammy politicians.”
“Henry.”
Lucy wouldn’t be too pleased if she knew what had transpired the last few weeks. The frequent letters from his father he ripped in half rather than opening. The repetitive calls from across the country he’s declined. She has never fully understood his knee-jerk reaction in cutting him from their lives, and none of her well-meaning lectures could sway him. His father is a criminal. His actions hurt people. He didn’t pull any triggers, but people wound up dead. An early release doesn’t change any of that.
“Please, Luce. Not now.”
“You think I don’t know what’s happening? Don’t shut me out. He’s my family too.”
Henry spots the frailty in her tone that wasn’t there before. How could he have missed it? He takes a closer look. Her hair is styled differently. Instead of the slicked-back ponytail she wears with her patients, the dark-brown strands fall loosely down her shoulders. He once loved when she wore her hair down, especially when they had sex and the wisps would graze his chest. But it’s her eyes that give him pause. They’re their usual blue, Neptune blue, named for their deep, dark, and sometimes cool undertone. Today they’re lighter, and he can almost make out the faint glitter circling the iris. Henry understands gravitational forces, and despite agreeing to the imminent divorce, he feels himself being pulled in.
Quashing the urge to gather her up and drop her onto the fluffy white duvet, he remembers when she first brought him home to meet her parents. The elitist, scholarly psychiatrists came right out and said, “You didn’t tell us your boyfriend was Black.”
Later that night, after he was inside her, she said, “Why would I have to announce the color of your skin, Henry? When I brought Daniel Miller home for the first time, they didn’t expect me to hold up a ‘He’s white!’ sign.”
He had loved her for that. He still did. So when she used the word family , and he saw vulnerability slip from her eyes, it was hard to turn away.
“It’s him.” Her voice is wistful.
Henry isn’t very good at pretending, especially with her. When you’re married to a therapist, you’re perpetually on a couch. Every word, every nuance laid out bare, your mind an open book. Motives are carefully examined. Answers magnified for deeper meaning—similar to how Henry uses a telescope at work. In her field, Lucy is the telescope, and Henry and the people around her are the stars she analyzes.
“The kids miss him.” She finally says it. The thing that’s been sitting between them. And before he has a chance to process, she says the other thing. “I miss him.”
Lucy and his dad had been close. When her father died unexpectedly, his took over, swooping in—never overstepping—and providing enough paternal love to ground her. And what she held most dear was that at every holiday, every dinner table, any opportunity, Henry’s dad pulled her aside to talk to her about her father to keep his memory alive. He’d tell her how their boys had his eyes, his sense of humor. While Henry disappeared in the constellations, Lucy and his father shared a love of ice hockey and regular chili cook-offs. They were close.
He knew what his dad’s absence meant to Lucy. She’d lost another father. And when she told Henry she wanted to visit him, he cautioned against it. They told the kids Grandpa was away on business ... traveling. Sometimes he’d allow them a quick phone call, but there was a missing piece in their lives. No matter how hard they tried to pretend, it was gone.
It has been three years since the world toppled over. Since the stars dipped erratically from the sky. Most of the time, he has felt as though he’s floating in space. They decided to tell no one. That’s how deep the shame is. And before he can languish in the downward spiral that is his personal hell, there’s a knock, and Sienna’s face peeks around the door.
“Hey ... you guys hiding from us?”
Sienna’s voice is lyrical, like Sienna herself. She moves in rhythm like a bouncy song. In Henry terms, Sienna could easily be the sun, radiant and bold, tough to look at directly, but you always feel her presence. Henry had bestowed Sienna with the title Sirius : luminous and sparkling like the brightest star.
Today she’s as shiny as ever. Her blond bangs land just above her brows, framing her large hazel eyes. She doesn’t wait for them to answer; she waltzes in, wrapping first Lucy in her arms, then Henry. She smells like Sienna, a mixture of sunscreen and citrus perfume, and she steps back, taking them both in. “You ditched us!”
Sienna is the embodiment of summers spent beneath this roof. She’s the campfire glowing under the night sky, the pink tube floating in the New River, the steady stream of a waterfall. For the last dozen years, the couples have met at the Charlotte airport and shared the two-hour drive to the inn. Their decision this year to travel separately made a bold statement.
“Things got chaotic with our schedule ... and the flights ... but we’re here!” Lucy says, tripping over her words.
Henry observes the exchange, a history and a future about to unravel. Maybe they were foolish to think this annual trip would be anything like the others. “Where’s Adam?”
“You know him. He’s already out for a run. Can’t sit still for a minute. Oh, you’ll never guess who called me today—literally on the way to the airport: Syl Farmer. That woman has an eerie sense of timing.”
“No way.”
Syl and Sy. They had all met during year five at the inn. The eccentric couple had disrupted the table on night three with Let’s throw our keys in a bowl and play a little game . Lucy and Henry were shocked. Adam and Sienna pretended not to hear.
“What did she want?” Lucy asks.
“What do you think? They’re getting divorced.” She tosses her hair back. “You know those types of games just cause problems in a marriage. You can never go back. Did you see the other guests?” Sienna talks in a rush, one fast sentence running into another. “So far, there’s only two of them. You’ll have a field day, Luce. Renée said they’re a mother and daughter. Mom’s obviously done a number on the kid. She looks pretty miserable.”
Sienna jumps on the bed, wriggling her tiny body into the folds of the cozy down. “I’m so happy we’re back together again.” She stares at the ceiling, her blond hair fanning across the comforter. “I love our kids. I love our house, but there’s something about being here with y’all that just makes me giddy inside. It’s like college again. Everything’s simple. Just us. It’s my favorite trip of the year.”
Henry doesn’t know what to do with himself. Lucy eyes him warily.
“Us too,” Lucy says, breaking her silence to join Sienna on the bed.
“What’s wrong?” Sienna rolls onto her side to face her. “You don’t seem very excited.”
“Just thinking about how many years we’ve been coming here. Makes you wonder how much longer we can keep it up.”
“Rubbish,” Sienna says. “We made a promise. We’re growing old together.”