945 a.m. Matt,
Matt,
We (me, your mom, and Brett) went out to the library. Please, if you need anything, call my cell. Also, maybe try to eat something. I know it would make your mom happy.
See you soon.
Taylor
Diana drives us in her fancy Lexus. The children’s librarian is happy to see Brett, whose love for reading has made her a fixture in the stacks, a tiny body carrying a fresh armload of books to check out every few weeks.
The event is held in the community room, and Brett sits down on the floor in front with the other kids, leaving me and Matt’s mom to sit, side by side, in the back of the room on plastic chairs.
The kids ooh and aah at a large tortoise, a Komodo dragon, an iguana, and three different kinds of snakes, their little hands gently touching the scaly bodies of each.
I notice Diana’s hands, placed carefully in her lap, adorned by a diamond engagement ring and a platinum wedding band, marking decades of what I can only assume has been wedded bliss.
Or is it? Their only child just had a massive health event.
That must be insanely stressful. Still, she sits with her hands folded, a statue of composure, the makeup on her face creating a mask of poise, the chewed-up cuticles along the edges of her ballet-slipper-pink fingernails offering the only evidence to the contrary.
After an hour or so and several dozen pictures of Brett with a particularly large, green spotted royal python, we check out five new books (three about snakes) and are driving home when Brett asks if we can go to the playground first.
“It’s so nice out!” she pleads from the backseat, gesturing at the sun. She’s right, too; even though it’s March, the few hours since early morning have given the air a chance to warm up, and the forecast calls for sunny skies with a high of almost 50 degrees.
“I don’t mind,” I say.
“Let’s do it,” Diana agrees, making a quick right turn down the street that leads to Brett’s school.
The neighborhood park is adjacent to the large, brick building.
The park is small, with just a swing set, three slides, an area with monkey bars, a sand pit—which Matt told me was forbidden ever since he found a hypodermic needle in it—and Brett’s favorite: a tire swing.
The fenced in playground is lined with benches, so when Brett runs off to spin herself on the oversized donut made of rubber and rope, Matt’s mom and I sit down together.
“So,” I begin, “Matt says you went on a cruise recently. How was it?”
“Honestly? I begged Paul to cancel the trip. I didn’t want to leave.
Some nights, we would enjoy a nice dinner together or watch a show, and I would forget.
But just for a moment. And then, just as quickly, I’d remember: my son just had a stroke.
And I’d get sick to my stomach with guilt for having a nice time while he was all alone at home. ”
“That’s horrible.”
“I mean, the scenery was beautiful. The food was plentiful, and under any other circumstances, it would have been nice to get away. But I kept thinking, ‘Now is not the time for this.’ I would much rather celebrate when he’s better.”
“I understand.” I nod, watching Brett play.
“She’s really something else, huh?”
“Brett?” I ask.
Diana beams. “That child is an angel. So smart and thoughtful. She’s nothing like her father,” she chuckles. “But then, she’s also exactly like him. It’s uncanny.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Just when Matthew was little, he used to give me a run for my money. He was a great kid, just so busy all the time. I don’t ever remember him wanting to sit still and read a book.”
“Yeah, that’s a good point. He’s not much of a reader.” I laugh.
“Sports, sure. Soccer, track, basketball. His childhood is a blur of sports games for me.”
“It’s so funny because he never really hung out with the jocks at camp. He always stayed at the farm.”
“Ha!” Diana chortles. “Who would have thought, right? My little plan to get him to be more well-rounded didn’t quite work.”
“What do you mean?”
Diana smiles. “I signed him up for farm that first year at camp, thinking maybe it would broaden his horizons. Give him something he could be less crazy about. But, no. It just became another thing, another habit for another season.”
“The farm was fun.” I shrug.
“That boy is habitual,” Diana says, shaking her head. “He needed his dose of soccer in the fall, basketball in the winter, track in the spring, and Taylor in the summer.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“What, dear?” Diana continues. “Surely you didn’t think he was in it for the chickens?”
I laugh.
“He’s been smitten with you his whole life, sweetheart.” Diana’s smile fades.
The words linger in a moment of silent understanding between us.
“And so is she.” Diana nods at Brett, spinning, her long black hair drawing circles in the early spring air.
I gulp.
“She was so excited to see you this morning. She kept going on and on about you, the dates you’ve been on, the little dinners. The bedtime stories.”
Brett drags her foot along the ground, slowing down the tire before grinning widely and waving at us on the bench. I offer her a thumbs up, which Brett returns eagerly.
“I feel responsible, you know,” Diana adds. “If I hadn’t gone away, he might not have called you.”
Words unspoken form the next natural thought, but I hold them back.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Diana says. “And you’re right.”
"What’s that?” I ask.
Diana stares out at Brett. “How could Leyla leave?” she replies, in a quiet, even tone.
I fidget with a loose string near the edge of my scarf. “I’m sure it’s complicated.”
“Perhaps,” she offers. “I try to remind myself that I’m not privy to what goes on behind closed doors.”
I nod, unsure of how to respond. I tug at the string on my scarf until two stitches come loose, forming a small hole. My pulse quickens, but I try to practice intentional breathing to slow it down.
“Still, I don’t understand how she could do it. Matthew would never have done such a thing.”
The irony of Diana’s comment is not lost on me. Memories of our final moments in the Cliff House slam into my mind like waves pounding the shore during a hurricane. “I’m sure there’s more to it than we realize,” I finally reply.
“I can’t say I agree, dear. There’s right, and there’s wrong. And what she did was wrong.” Brett kicks her feet off the ground, industriously pushing back the tire swing.
I roll the string between my thumb and forefinger, looking out into the distance. “Do you think he loves her?”
“Leyla?”
“Mm.”
Diana swallows. “I don’t know, honey.”
I absently wrap the loose string in a circle around my finger. Another stitch pops out of the scarf’s edge. “Do you think it’s bad that I’m here?” I inhale deeply and hold it. Before Diana can answer, I add, “I just want to help him.”
The woman sighs. “I know.”
“I’m not trying to complicate his life—or Brett’s.”
“Sweetheart, no one is happier to see you back in Matt’s life than I am.”
“Wait. You are?”
“Of course, Taylor. You always brought him such joy. He was never as alive as he was when he was with you.”
“Oh,” I reply, confused.
“But, I do have concerns given his condition. He still loves you, sweetheart. I can tell. Matthew is very sick, though…” Her voice trails off.
“You don’t think he’s going to die, do you?” Fear becomes panic, rising in my esophagus.
“No. I don’t. Not now. But I do think his life will be altered dramatically.”
I exhale. “I want you to know, I love him too. Still. Always. And I can handle hard things. I’ve got plenty of practice.”
Diana places her hand on my knee. “I know.”
I put my hand on top of Diana’s, marveling at how small my fingers seem compared to her long, slender fingers.
It’s like I’m still a little girl, even though I’m a grown woman.
“And her. Brett. I know it sounds crazy. I mean, it’s only been two weeks.
But that’s his girl. Matt’s little girl. How could I not love her too?”
Tears fill Diana Thompson’s eyes. She takes a sharp breath and fishes through her purse for a pair of sunglasses. Placing them on the bridge of her nose, she says, “Then, please. I beg you. Don’t leave when things get hard.”
Despite myself, I let out a small laugh. “As if they’re not hard now?”
“Oh, Taylor. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my sixty-seven years on this Earth, it’s that things can always get worse.”
I nod.
“He’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. I shouldn’t say this, because it’s not my place. But I see it in her, too. She loves you already. Fiercely.” Diana squeezes my hand. “Just like her father.”
A flock of sparrows circle overhead, landing in a nearby tree, their chatter offering the hope of warmer, spring days ahead.
I roll the string off my finger, surprised at how long it’s gotten. Hastily, I shove it back into the space where the hole in the scarf has grown.
“Promise me, Taylor. Please. For my granddaughter.”
“Hey, Grandma! Taylor! Watch this!” Brett calls to us. She spins the tire round and round one way until it’s all cranked up, then kicks both of her legs out straight and leans all the way back, arms outstretched into a T, hair flying behind her as she unwinds in a big, beautiful spiral.
“I promise,” I reply. “You have my word. I’m not going anywhere.”