Chapter 2 #3
“Or baseball,” Megan said. “We could talk about baseball and hot dogs and those peanuts that come hot in the bag. We went to a ball game. Did you know that? About a year ago. Jamie got it in his head that he wanted to be a ballplayer. Don’t know where he got that from.
John doesn’t like baseball, but Jamie must have seen it on TV one day, and it became his entire personality.
” Her smile returned. It looked like death.
“He learned all the rules, the positions. Read books. Looked up things online. We got him a mitt. A bat. Took him to batting cages and wouldn’t you know?
” She slapped her hand against the table, causing the plastic flatware to rattle.
“He was good. He is good. Has an eye. Watches the ball. Good grip on the bat. Nice swing. He has the follow-through. Fearless.” A tear fell onto her cheek.
“We’re going to sign him up for a team next year.
Get him a uniform. He already has cleats.
They were so expensive. I mean, how could they cost so much?
Especially for something he’ll grow out of in a few months.
Do you have any idea how much it costs to dress growing children?
It’s ridiculous!” She stood abruptly. “Sorry,” she said, too loudly. “I need to run to the restroom.”
Off she went, her pace hurried, shoulders hunched.
A long, drawn-out silence.
John said, “She’s … upset.”
Rodney’s leg bumped against Don’s. Careful, that movement said. Careful.
“Aren’t we all?” Don asked. “I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t be—”
John grinned, gaze sharp and wet. “Yeah, of course. You’re right.
We should all be upset.” He chuckled, a sound that seemed to crawl up his throat and out his mouth.
“She’s pregnant. A couple of months. We weren’t planning it.
Two was enough, you know? Almost too much.
Jamie was a handful, and Lauren, she…” He blew out a breath.
“She came early. Two months early. In the NICU for weeks, and I told her I’m your dad.
I’m your daddy. And I promise you, if you pull through, if you get out of here, I will do everything in my power to make sure you get the life you deserve.
I swore that to her. And guess what? She came home.
It took a long time. And it was touch and go more times than I care to admit.
But she persisted. She grew stronger, healthier.
Still so small, but she could breathe on her own.
The day we took her home? The best day of my life.
I cried! I cried because she was crying, and I’d never heard such a crazy sound.
It echoed around the house and I remember thinking, This is it.
This is what I was made for.” John gripped the edges of the park table.
“And she grew. They both did. Grew to have thoughts of their own, to have feelings about anything and everything. The two of them. From me. From Megan. We made them, we brought them into this world, we gave them love and hope and joy and for what? For this? For it all to end like this? No. No. I refuse to believe that. I refuse to believe there won’t be a day when I get to see my son graduate high school.
I refuse to believe there won’t be a day when my daughter comes to me and says, I’ve met someone.
I refuse to believe that my unborn kid won’t get to take a breath of air.
We didn’t plan on it, but now that it’s real, why should I let it be taken away?
” He glared at them. “I have hope, but it feels like lying.”
They sat in silence, only interrupted by the sounds of Jamie, of Lauren, screeching toward the sky.
Don excused himself as Rodney and John began clearing up the remnants of their meal. He wanted to use the restroom before they got back on the road. The kids were eating grapes, tossing them up and trying to catch them in their mouths.
He nodded at the few people he passed by and was about to enter the men’s room when he heard a choking sound coming from the other side of the small building. He thought about ignoring it, but Megan had been gone for close to twenty minutes.
When he walked around the building, he found Megan leaning against it, hunched over, hair hanging down around her face. Her fist was in her mouth, her pale face pulled back into a silent scream.
He didn’t touch her. He didn’t know her and didn’t want to run the risk of comfort being misconstrued for something else. These were strange times. Instead, he mirrored her pose, leaning against the building, leaving a couple of feet between them. He didn’t speak, letting her decide how to proceed.
A minute passed, her breath hitching. Another minute. Then another. Then she said, “I hate this.” She sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her arm.
Don sighed. “I know. We all do.”
He didn’t think she heard him. “I’m tired,” she said.
“Tired of putting on a brave face. Tired of holding this all in because there’s nowhere else for it to go.
I look at my kids, and I don’t know what to do.
” She looked at him. Don thought she was hanging on by a thread.
“How do I tell them? How do I look them in the eye and tell them that they’re going to die? ”
“I don’t know,” Don admitted. “Maybe you don’t have to. You heard your son. I think he might already know. Or, at least, have some idea.”
She took that in, let it simmer. Then, “It’s weird. Talking to strangers. It’s like therapy, almost. It’s easier to tell a stranger something hard than it is to tell someone you love. With strangers, you don’t give a shit how they look at you. You’ll never see them again.”
“I … suppose that’s one way of thinking of it.”
“You’re a stranger,” she said. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make sense of all of this. Tell me how I’m supposed to act, what I’m supposed to say.”
Don hesitated. “The truth? Or some version of it. Or maybe you lie to them. Tell them that everything is going to be all right. One night, you’ll all go to bed together and you’ll tell stories and eat candy and remind each other that it was all worth it.
All of it. Every bit, even when it hurt beyond comprehension.
But is that right? Isn’t honesty more important? ”
She put a hand on her stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
“John said as much.” Though it was on the tip of his tongue, he managed to catch himself before he added congratulations.
“Did he?” she said, absentmindedly rubbing her stomach.
“Of course he did. He told everyone when we found out. Only a couple of weeks ago, when everything made sense because the smart people were going to fix everything. We were going to live. It’s a girl.
I don’t know how I know, but I do. I’ve named her Eleanor. Ellie, for short.”
“That’s a lovely name,” Don said, heart heavy. “Have you told John?”
Suddenly, she raised her hand as if to slap him.
Her arm cocked back, her eyes narrowed. She even began to swing her arm.
Don flinched—of course he did—but the slap never came.
Instead, her arm stopped halfway through the arc.
Then her face twisted like she was about to burst into tears, arm falling back to her side.
Don took a step away from her, unsure of what she’d do next.
She snapped, “It’s not for him. It’s mine.
It’s for me. You’ll never understand. How could you?
You don’t know what it’s like. I’m carrying a child inside me, a girl that’s barely bigger than a berry.
And what am I supposed to do with her? What am I supposed to tell her late at night when I can’t sleep?
Do I apologize? We put her there. Do I get rid of her?
What would be the point?” She bent over once more, hugging herself and coughing.
“I’m sorry,” she spat out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. ”
They came back together, Don and Megan. He thought her broken, broken in ways that her husband did not see.
She smiled—a lovely, genuine smile not made of plastic—when her children shouted for her, running up and hanging on to her legs.
She ran a finger through their hair and exclaimed along with them about the stick they had found, a stick that looked like a sword.
When they asked why her makeup was running, if she’d been crying, she laughed and said, “Just thinking some Mommy thoughts. Everything is wonderful now.”
Rodney and John stood near the table, a few feet apart. Rodney had that look on his face, the one that said he was about done with people for the day. John’s hands were in his hair.
“Thank you for joining us for a meal,” Rodney said. “It’s time for us to get back on the road.”
“Are you sure?” John asked, dropping his hands. He smiled again. Don had never seen anything quite like it. He thought that if he wanted, he could count all of John’s teeth. “Minnesota. Might be the best place to go.”
“No,” Megan said, her children still clutching her legs. “I don’t want them to come with us.”
“Honey, I think—”
“I will scream,” she told him pleasantly. “I will scream and scream until someone comes over and I will tell them that these men tried to hurt us. They need to leave. I don’t want them near my children.”
Her kids looked up at her with widened eyes.
John looked at Don, a line forming on his forehead. “Did you touch my wife?”
“Okay,” Rodney said firmly. “That’s enough. No one did anything to anyone. We’ll be on our way.”
“Did he touch you?” John demanded. “Did he hurt you? Did he hurt the baby?”
“Children!” Megan cried. “First one back to the car gets to pick the song on the radio!” Without looking back, she pushed her children toward the parking lot. Jamie and Lauren protested, but she was stronger than they were.
“I didn’t do anything to her,” Don said. “She’s upset because of— She’s upset.”
John laughed, a bright and broken sound. “I know. Really, really upset. Did I tell you what I do for a living?”
“No,” Rodney said. “You didn’t. But that’s all right. We’ll just—”
“I’m a veterinarian. Love dogs and cats and birds and reptiles.
It’s hard, though. Animals die. People coming in with tears in their eyes because their pet is acting weird.
Sometimes, things turn out all right. Other times, though.
Other times, you have to do the right thing, the kind thing.
Veterinarians have some of the highest suicide rates out of any profession.
Did you know that? Vets and vets: veterans and veterinarians.
Same boat.” He looked back at the van. Megan was turned around in the passenger seat, saying something to the kids.
“Phenobarbital. No pain, you just … go right to sleep. I brought some. Enough. Just in case.”
Rodney took a step back, pulling Don with him. “Why do you need it, John?”
He looked at them, but Don thought he was staring right through them both.
“I … don’t know. A contingency plan? But I have this thought in my head.
If it happens, if the fire comes, I don’t want to burn.
I don’t want them to burn. It will hurt.
A parent should never let their child feel something like that.
And then I ask myself, what would a real man do?
A real man wouldn’t let bad things happen.
A real man would get in front of the problem.
A real man does the things no one else will do.
He’d make it so it doesn’t hurt anymore.
” John began to walk toward the parking lot.
He didn’t seem to notice he was leaving some of their things behind.
A picnic basket. Cups. Uneaten food. He stopped in the grass and looked back over his shoulder at them.
“I’m willing to do whatever I need to.”
And then he walked away. To the van. To his awaiting family. He climbed inside. Looked in the back seat to say something to the kids. Then he leaned over and kissed Megan on the cheek. She didn’t acknowledge it, staring straight ahead.
The van started up. A moment later, the rear lights flashed white as it backed up. The last they saw of the family was the children pressed against the rear window, waving at them.
Don and Rodney waved back, out of habit.
Then they packed up the remains of the lunch and got back on the road.
That night, while parked on a dirt road surrounded by fields, Don listened as Rodney snored next to him.
A familiar sound, comforting. He knew it well.
Had gotten used to it too, though sometimes, when Rodney was congested, he slept in the spare bedroom to let Don get a good night’s sleep.
He was like that. Not to most people, but to Don.
Ever since they first met. Over the years, they’d known people who were put off by Rodney.
They thought him quiet, too quiet, as if not saying anything was a mark against his character.
It wasn’t. Rodney just spoke when he had something to say. No more, no less.
The mattress was uncomfortable, but they’d slept on worse.
Once, about a year into their relationship—the newness still there, crackling, exciting—Rodney had taken Don camping up in White Mountain National Forest. And not just the normal type of camping with allotted spaces and facilities within walking distance.
Wild camping, Rodney had called it. Legal in parts of Maine.
You parked your car and went out into the woods.
Rules had to be followed, very strict rules, but Rodney was experienced.
They’d camped under an overhanging rock ledge.
Two nights. On the second night, a fierce storm had blown in while they were out hiking.
Wind blowing the rain sideways, trees bending and swaying.
Don had worried they’d gotten lost, but Rodney said they hadn’t.
He knew where they were, knew where they were going.
And twenty minutes later, they’d found their camp, right where Rodney said it was.
Soaked to the bone, they’d dried off in the tent, and one thing led to another, Rodney’s hands callused, warm, gentle. At the climax, Don cried out and the sound of his voice echoed through the trees.
Rodney had fallen to the side, Don grimacing at the wetness around his rear. Handing him a towel, Rodney had said, “I think I love you.” It was the first time he’d said it out loud.
To that, Don had replied, “I think you do too.”
They’d slept tangled together, the rain lashing against the tent.
And here, now, over four decades later, the man snored worse than ever.
Don smiled quietly to himself. The smile faded when he thought of Megan. Of John. Jamie and Lauren, none the wiser. Should he have done more? Said more?
He thought of the small box stored away, and the reunion they were hoping for. Out of sight, but never out of mind. That wasn’t possible.
Eventually, he slept.