Chapter Forty
Atlas
March
"Noah, don't run, there's glass—I love you too—Liam, get your brother out of the kitchen!" I shout, walking back into the kitchen and glancing down to realize I ended the call.
Damn.
Well, I'll see her in a couple of minutes and apologize then, thoroughly. That thought makes me smile, but I have to get this glass cleaned up before someone—Noah, most likely—steps on it.
Mom and Dad already went to the utility closet to grab the mop and broom. Noah had yelled about helping after finding out he was getting a snack and disappeared that way with them, running without a care in the world near the glass minefield.
"Daddy! I got the dust pan!" Noah says, this time making a wide berth around the glass and racing over to me. I sweep him up into the air with one arm, taking the dustpan with the other. "Liam!"
My teenager strolls lazily back into the kitchen, his head still buried in his phone, no doubt texting his girlfriend.
"What?" He asks, finally glancing up at me. I give him a look, and he sheepishly puts his phone back in his pocket as I carry Noah over to him, plopping my youngest in his arms.
"Take this."
Liam hikes his giggling brother over his broad shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Where you want it?"
"Both of you stay in the living room for a bit until we get this glass cleaned up," I say, and Liam turns and disappears through the doorway just as my mom and dad come back.
My dad, still in his heavy boots, starts sweeping the glass and I bend to pick up the larger pieces from the floor.
Mom puts her hands on her hips, "Atlas, be careful—"
"Mom," I sigh, shooting her a look. "I operate heavy machinery all day, I think I'll be fine with a little glass—oh fuck!"
Her face is completely unamused as I pluck the small piece of glass from my thumb, blood welling up from the small cut.
"What did we learn?"
"That woman's intuition is spot-fucking-on," I say, sucking the blood from my thumb.
"Smart-ass," she mumbles, shaking her head and walking away. Dad snickers and brushes the glass in the pan.
"That woman..." he hums with a loving smile on his face.
I look at it for a long moment, wondering if that's what I look like when talking about Wendy, if that's what I'm going to look like in twenty years talking about Wendy.
When we're making dinner at our house, both kids come over with their partners, if they have them. I smile, thinking of Liam walking into the house with a particular blonde under his arm.
Then my mind shifts to Wendy, my beautiful wife—still beautiful years later, with new lines on her face and some gray in her hair—and I'm filled with contentment picturing her at my side, smiling at me as she cooks dinner.
I see myself grabbing her around the waist, pulling her into my arms to sway to music only we can hear, and the happiness of the vision makes me pause.
I think of the future, and I smile. I want to get there, but I also want to remain in this moment for as long as I can. My kids are giggling outside, my dad and my mom are still young, and I’m waiting for my Wendy to come home.
Twenty minutes later, the wine is mopped, and the glass is cleared from the floor.
But Wendy still isn't here.
I talk myself through it, my anxiety rising with every tick of the clock.
Maybe she got caught up talking to her coworkers. Maybe it's busy. Maybe there's traffic. Maybe there's an accident and a road is closed.
As coached by Dr. Wilson, I try to focus on the logical reasons first. Even so, a cold fear begins to settle in my stomach, and the rational explanations are unable to hush it.
When the doorbell rings, there's an odd sense of relief and dread.
It's got to be Wendy. It has to be.
But why is she using the doorbell? She would just walk in.
I'm frozen in my spot on the living room couch, chest tight with anticipation and dread. Liam and Noah sit across from me—Noah sketching, Liam lost in his phone, a soft smile on his face as he texts.
My mom is calmly finishing dinner, and I hear my dad's booted steps clomping to the door, each sound hammering my anxiety.
I can't move. I can't breathe.
I place a hand over my chest as my dad opens the door and talks to whoever is there for a few moments, and then he appears in the doorway.
"Atlas..."
Numb, I stand from my spot and walk to the door, feeling like I'm walking to my execution.
It's a miracle I stay on my feet when I see Sheriff Grady at the door. The Sheriff and my dad went to school together, so they speak in hushed tones, his face sympathetic, while my dad's is stricken.
And I just know.
The Sheriff sees me and tries to smooth his face, "Hey, Atlas—"
"Is she dead?" I ask, the fear in my voice sharp, not bothering to return the greeting. He and my dad share a look, and I snarl, my patience fraying with panic. "Is she dead?"
"Wendy’s being transported to the hospital," he tells me, and it's like a kick to the throat. I inhale sharply and place a hand over the stabbing pain in my chest.
"She was in a car accident. A driver ran a red light, t-boned her. I got to the scene as they were loading her into the ambulance. She should be there now, I can—"
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
Those are the only words that I can focus on right now.
This is it. Look at what you did.
You should have stayed away, it would hurt a lot less.
This is all your fault. You're cursed.
She's going to die. She's probably already dead.
The thoughts threaten to overwhelm me.
Sheriff Grady is still speaking, my dad's eyes focus on me, dark and concerned, as if he fears I'll either shatter or lash out.
I can't hear anything, only the ringing in my ears.
Wendy. My wife.
Her smiling face flashes across my eyes. Twelve years old at that dance, to sixteen at the lunch table, to eighteen and pregnant, to nineteen and a new mom, all of our years together, every expression that's ever crossed her face, every time she's said I love you.
It plays simultaneously, hitting my brain like a tidal wave.
Wendy.
Without her, I'm...
"Atlas, did you hear me?"
I blink, feeling like I just came up for air after holding my breath for too long.
My dad's hand is on my shoulder, steadying me, and I meet his eyes, and then the Sheriff's concerned ones. "Atlas, did you hear me? I can take you to the hospital—"
I'm moving before he's finished, walking right to his car. No coat, but at least I have my shoes on.
"Let's go."
"Atlas," my dad whistles, and I turn to see him toss me my wallet—insurance, ID—right, I'll need that.
The hospital will need that.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
My Dad walks out of the house, pulling his coat around his shoulders, mine in his hand, and heads to his truck.
My mom is at the front door, her arms around the boy's shoulders.
That makes me pause—they look scared.
My sons are scared, their Mama is in this hospital, and I'm the only one here to handle this.
I'm their father, I need to actually be their father. Wendy would want me to do this first.
But I'm not Wendy. She would have this handled. She would know what to say; she knew what to say to Molly and Jem.
My mind is blank right now, and I can't get it to stop spinning.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
I jog back to my sons as Sheriff Grady starts his cruiser.
"Daddy," Noah asks when I crouch in front of him, his voice scared. "What's going on?"
I take a deep breath and meet their eyes, placing my hands on their shoulders, "Mama was in a car accident."
Liam's eyes go wide, but Noah's eyes fill with tears. I feel the urge to fall apart, grief pressing against my composure.
Wendy wouldn't fall apart. Wendy would have this handled—I need to handle this.
"Is she okay?"
"I'm going to go see her right now—" I tell him instead, not wanting to lie to him and then the worst comes to fruition.
Noah's already crying, the sight ripping me to shreds with the combination of worry inside of me.
"I want to come with you—"
"I need you to stay here," I tell Noah, and then glance at Liam. "Okay?"
"But I want to—"
Liam gently cuts his brother off, trying to temper his wobbly voice. "We have to stay here, Noah. We can't get in the way of doctors trying to help Mama."
"Exactly. I need to go and make sure your Mama is okay, and—" an idea hits me, and I lean close to my boys.
It's like Wendy's sweet voice appears in my head, telling me what to do. "I need you both to watch out for Mom-Mom. I need you to stay here and take care of her. Alright?"
Noah's face is still sad, but he nods. "Okay."
"Okay," Liam nods, meeting my eyes. "Go to Mama."
I press a kiss to Liam's head, and he doesn't even fight me on it, or act too cool, he leans into it and hugs me tightly.
"Take care of your brother," I whisper, feeling his nod. "I'll call you when I find out more. I promise."
He nods once more, before I do the same to Noah, who clings to me for a long moment. His little breaths hitch as he tries to calm his tears.
"Everything will be okay, buddy."
Noah nods, "Okay, Daddy..."
I look at my boys once more before I rush to the cruiser's passenger side. Sheriff Grady wastes no time, putting on the lights and sirens as my dad follows us to the hospital, the road ahead clear.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.
Wendy. Car accident. T-bone.