Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
Three days of island life have me convinced I want to stay here forever.
We’ve sat in the mineral baths, hiked the volcano, and filled my phone’s camera with photos of the Pitons. We’re surrounded by towering green trees and vibrant flowers. The paths are made of stone and colorful rocks, and they shine in the daytime.
I eat exotic fruit sorbet from hollowed out coconuts, and because we’re all-inclusive I don’t feel bad when I order the gazpacho and dislike it.
We sit by the infinity pool and read. Gabriel bought a book at the airport and is making his way through it. I packed four books, and I’m starting on the third. I plan to leave all four behind in the small library in the common area.
We’re at the beach today, snuggled up on a two-person daybed under a cabana. Gabriel lazily traces a finger over my stomach, parallel to the top of my bikini bottom. My eyes are closed, letting the sun’s warmth and Gabriel’s touch wash over me.
“I wonder if there’s already a baby in here,” Gabriel murmurs, retracing the line his finger drew. “Maybe the cells are already dividing.”
“I’m not sure it works that quickly.” I open my eyes and take in the hopeful sparkle in his eyes, the upturned corners of his mouth. Laying my hand over his on my stomach, I say, “But if there is, and she’s a girl, we can name her Lucy, after where we made her.”
“I love that.” Gabriel kisses my temple. “I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t make her in Istanbul. Or Antarctica.”
I laugh. “Listen to us talking about Lucy as if she’s real.”
Gabriel palms my belly and playfully narrows his eyes. “Don’t talk about my daughter like that.”
“You’re already protective of her. I love that.”
“I’d burn down the world for her.”
I laugh louder this time. “You’re supposed to be the one who puts out the fires.”
Gabriel grins. “Figure of speech.”
“I love you so much. If we don’t make Lucy on this trip, it’s going to be fun trying.”
Gabriel nips at my earlobe, and I shiver despite the sun shining on me. “I’m nothing if not determined.”
Ringing comes from inside my straw tote bag. I groan. “I thought our phones were turned to silent.” I turn away from Gabriel to reach into my bag.
“I thought so, too,” Gabriel says when I hand him his phone.
He presses the button on his screen. “Hey, Mom.”
I look out at the water, trying to push away my irritation that our island paradise bubble has been infiltrated.
Gabriel’s conversation floats in and out, but it doesn’t sound as if they’re talking about anything of importance, so I tune them out. I pick up my book and let the world between the pages envelop me.
“Sorry about that,” Gabriel says apologetically, leaning over me to toss his phone into my bag. “It’s on silent now.”
“Is your mom ok?” I bat away my irritation.
“Today is a hard day for her. It’s the anniversary of Nash’s passing. She didn’t say anything, but I know that’s why she called.”
Shit. How did I forget that?
I sit up cross-legged and face Gabriel. “I’m sorry. Somehow I forgot.”
Gabriel hooks his pinky around my pointer finger and rocks my hand gently back and forth. “It’s my fault. I brought you to paradise. Bad things don’t exist here.”
I answer with a lopsided smile. “Do you want to talk about him?” I already know what his answer will be, but it feels important that I offer.
Gabriel flips my hand over and traces the lines in my palm. “Not really.”
“Sometimes it’s good to talk about the people we miss.” I’m treading lightly now, knowing how easy it is to slip into the role of therapist without meaning or wanting to.
Gabriel lies back, capturing his lower lip between two fingers as he considers my offer. I’m shocked he’s thinking about it. Usually he declines, or tells me another time.
Suddenly, he sits upright. “Let’s go in the water.”
He doesn’t wait for my response. He’s already standing up and brushing sand from his shorts.
I do the same. I suppose that’s it for our conversation about those we’ve lost.
The water is warm around my ankles. We walk deeper, and my legs lose shape under the surface. We stop when I’m chest height. The water is smooth, no waves because we’re tucked back in a cove, and small fish dart around my feet.
Gabriel keeps going, and I swim to him, wrapping my arms and legs around him like a koala.
He presses his cheek to the side of my head. I push my nose against his neck and breathe him in. Briny sea mixed with sunscreen, and the inimitable scent of my husband, those pheromones of his that reach deep down inside me.
“Do you remember when you said I should look for a different career once you’re settled in your job?”
My arms around his neck loosen, and I pull back to look at him because this feels like a conversation that needs eye contact. “Yes.”
“What do you think? You seem settled. The practice is successful. You’ve learned the ropes of how to operate a business and still be a therapist.”
I nod slowly, trying not to show my surprise. I’m not surprised at his words or his desire. We’ve talked about this before, and I’ve always wanted him to do something that doesn’t affect him as much as it does. I can’t help but wonder where this is coming from. What did his mom say on the phone? Or not say?
“You should go for it. What would you like to do?”
“I’m actually pretty good at—” he cuts off abruptly, water droplets flying as he shakes his head. “Never mind.”
“What? Tell me.”
Gabriel tips his head up at the nearly cloudless blue sky. “Listen to me, talking crazy. Of course I’m not going to change careers. I have a family to think of.”
“You could though,” I tell him, because I want him to know I’m behind him. Whatever he needs to do, we’ll do. I’ll support us. We’ll make it work. “You could quit as soon as we’re back.” Never mind the mountain of grief he will get from his parents, and what it will mean to his dad to have a son who is no longer a firefighter. We’ll weather that storm, too.
Gabriel grunts a single laugh. “Now who’s talking crazy?” His eyebrows lift, then drop back into place. “It’s all good, Avery. All good. Promise.”
Sadness casts a shadow on the moment. I want Gabriel to have what he wants from life. I want him to stop denying himself. I want him to stop living for Nash, and live for himself.
Gabriel turns us so he faces out of the cove, his view the ocean beyond. I snuggle into his chest. Water laps around us from my movement. His skin is warm, his muscles solid.
Gabriel is quiet, and I wish I could peer inside his head. I can tell he’s holding back.
All good. Promise.
I want to believe him.
It’s just that I don’t.
I wake up alone.
It’s three a.m., and my bladder is telling me not to drink a glass of water before bed again. I knew better, but the heat of the beach left me thirsty.
Gabriel is a sound sleeper when he’s beside me. He closes his eyes, sleeps for eight hours, and wakes up happy.
That’s why the thrown back comforter on his side bothers me.
I leave the bathroom and walk through our bungalow. It has three rooms, and we’ve used one to sleep in, and all three to have sex.
His snoring leads me to him.
Only, Gabriel rarely snores.
Is someone else in our room? Of course not. Gabriel wasn’t in bed. It must be him. I’m the one who needs to go back to bed, if these jumbled thoughts are any indication.
I cross the living room, where the snoring is still as deep and rhythmic as it was when I first heard it. All the way to the couch I go, peering over.
Gabriel lies on his back, face serene, mouth open. I take a moment to study him. I’ve only slept beside him for two-thirds of our relationship, and it makes me remember an old couple I interviewed in college who said they hadn’t slept apart from one another their entire marriage.
Gabriel’s eyebrows twitch, like maybe he’s dreaming. His head moves back and forth, the movements tiny but rapid.
Time to wake him up and get him to our bed.
I round the couch and crouch beside him. My plan is to kiss his cheek, gently rousing him, but a snore followed by a long exhalation stops me. I’m frozen, my lips hovering an inch above his warm skin.
I smell it on his breath.
Vapors. Ethanol.
How? The room doesn’t have a mini-bar.
I sink down to the cold tile floor, my shattered heart clattering around me. His commitment to me, to us, to the life we wanted to bring into the world, poof , there it goes. Alcohol soluble. And with it goes every remaining shred of hope.
How can I keep loving a person who refuses to love himself?
He has a problem.
My Gabriel, my husband with the kindest soul, has a problem.
Confusion and anger fill me. Gabriel lies passed out, oblivious to my pain. He has become oblivious to it while he is awake, too.
I push the tears from my face, certain of one thing. I cannot, will not , bring a child into this marriage.
I get to my feet and walk away from my snoring husband.
I find my suitcase, then the smaller toiletries bag nestled inside it, and locate the plastic disc I didn’t plan on using.
Tears stream down my face as I swallow two birth control pills. Tomorrow I’ll take the next two.
I lie down in our bed, but I’m not alone, because I have my loneliness beside me. It has a heartbeat. It’s a living, breathing thing.
True loneliness isn’t being alone. It’s being with someone else and still finding yourself alone.
A truth I wish I never learned.
When I wake up in the morning, Gabriel is beside me. I lie there, quietly reading the news on my phone even though we were supposed to be cutting ourselves off from the real world. I figure it’s fine, considering the real world has detonated a grenade in the middle of my bliss.
Gabriel reaches for me when he wakes up. I push his hand away. He doesn’t try again, or ask why I’m mad.
Silently, we dress for breakfast. I don’t have an appetite, but I know I need to eat. Our server delivers a Bloody Mary alongside our coffees. “A little hair of the dog,” he says, winking. Gabriel doesn’t touch it.
“You have a problem,” I murmur, spearing a pineapple slice.
He stares out at the bright blue water in the distance. “It was the anniversary of Nash’s death.”
“You’ll always find a reason if you’re looking for one.”
“You’re overreacting.” He tosses his napkin on the table.
I stare at him, waiting for him to remember his declaration on the day he told me about this trip. Waiting for him to remember what this trip is supposed to symbolize.
The muscles in his jaw flex. “I’m on vacation.”
I say nothing.
“Give me a break,” he says, teeth clenched. He pushes back his seat and leaves.
Tears pool in my eyes, blurring the happy yellow color of the fruit on my plate. He’s the one who messed up, so why is it I’m sitting here feeling like I’ve done something wrong?
I finish my coffee, watching the melting ice turn the Bloody Mary into a soupy mess.