The Burning Side(42)
I’m at the sink, scrubbing food off a plate. “Whatever.”
He shakes his head. “Can’t even say one thing to you.”
With that, he tucks himself far away to grade, and a ludicrous shred of me wonders if he might yet remember. There are a few hours left in the day.
But eight o’clock comes and goes. I putter around the silent house. Nine o’clock. I go into the bathroom and undress. Stand in the shower. Touch myself and try not to cry. Then I fall into our bed and stare at the emptiness beside me. When I turned thirty, Leo wrote me a three-page letter, recorded himself reading it, and surprised me with a weekend trip. Was that really us? I honestly don’t care that much about my birthday. But this is a symptom of sickness, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s terminal. I get the vain urge to rewind, but the thought feels dangerous. Because if we could turn back the clock, what choices would we make?
* * *
The next day unfolds similarly except for two things. First, my birthday is over. And second, Amazon doesn’t knock on my front door. Cody Blanchard does.
He came by a few weeks ago to drop something off, but I’m surprised to see him here unannounced. I was just with him an hour ago at one of the middle schools.
His dimpled grin emerges. “Sorry for stopping by like this. I got some great news and was just around the corner.”
Baby monitor in hand, I step outside and gesture to our little bench. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been given the green light to hire a literacy coordinator for next year, and I want to offer you the position.”
“Oh!”
He anticipates my questions. “You can still bring the baby. Actually, you can still do what you’re doing now, but with a few more hours each week—and a hefty raise—where you’ll organize reading lists by level for all the coaches. Lead some trainings and professional development. It’s a new position, so we have freedom. And you’re perfect for it. Say yes?”
His cheeks have a flush to them.
I nearly squeal. “This job was made for me.”
The sky rumbles. Thick clouds are rolling in.
“I know,” Cody says. “You’ll be fantastic.”
“Will the reading levels be split by grade or learning needs or—”
And then the rain is upon us, sudden as sin.
We’re on our feet, hands over our heads, and I lead him into the house.
Just inside the door, we talk more about the position. His shirt is striped blue and pink. It reminds me of something Cameron would wear and Leo would tease him about.
“So you’re in?”
“Yes!” I nod emphatically. “Can’t wait.”
Our hug of excitement is fine. It’s the pulling back, the exit from the hug that sends a tiny alarm through my nervous system. His hand lingers at the edge of my shirtsleeve, his finger slipping just beneath it to graze the skin of my upper arm. I don’t know whether it’s intentional, and the question of intent is electric.
I step back. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” He looks at me. “More soon?”
I nod, swallowing.
He opens the door and dashes out through the rain.
And his absence is my greatest threat, because all through another lonely night, I think of him. Replay. Imagine. I’ve had no dramatic falling-out with my husband, only the long, insidious drift that gathers resentments.
In the morning, I can hardly eat breakfast, unsettled as I am from thoughts of a man who is not Leo. But I reach for more like a life raft—anything to lift me from the ocean of loneliness.
The next day, Cody comes over again. He has a belated birthday gift. Surprised, I pull an embosser from a bed of tissue paper. It reads, From the library of April Torres. I know he gives small birthday gifts to all the educational coaches, but they aren’t usually personalized. And they aren’t house calls.
It’s raining again today, so I usher him straight into the living room. I pull a book from the shelf to test the new embosser, running my fingers over the raised letters. “I love it,” I tell him, looking up. And I really do.
“Sorry it was belated.” We are standing close enough that his voice is almost a whisper.
I try not to think about the things I imagined alone in my bed. But he makes me feel understood and valued and remembered. And you know how rain can make the world fall away: no one exists but us. Not even Otto, who is in his own world of sleep far across the house.
I don’t realize it right away, but some men can sense when a woman hates herself, and my boss is one of those men. His touch is bolder this time, his intention clear. It happens fast, and I have nothing to say for myself except the truth: I encourage him.
By the time Leo walks in, I’m disgusted and relieved. The long simmer has boiled over. Now Leo’s gaping distance will be given reason. Now, both men will leave me.
The three of us stand in the living room, but this is no love triangle. My love runs wildly and hopelessly in one straight line to Leo. But love was not, is not, will not be enough.
I cover myself as they leave, one and then the other.
On his way out, I tell Cody not to contact me again. Find someone else for the job.
And I do not run out the door after Leo. I don’t call or text him. This was not a plea for his love; it was my admission that I’ve already lost it.