He knew he was supposed to nod and agree and say that of course he was proud of his wife, but he couldn’t do it.
“I’ll do what needs to be done,” he said instead, and knew that he’d disappointed his mother.
How many more people would he let down before this was over?
*
Michael spent the weekend watching his life as if from a distance. Betsy alternated between being blazingly pissed off and desperately clingy. Lulu was so confused she became overwrought and cried at everything. Michael couldn’t bear any of it, could hardly look at the pain in his daughters’ eyes, but Jolene was a warrior, as strong as tested steel. He saw how carefully she treated the girls, how tenderly. It was only when they weren’t looking that her pain was revealed; tears welled in her green eyes, and when they did she turned away quickly, dashing the moisture away with the back of her hand.
An hour ago, she’d put them to bed. God forgive him, but Michael had let her do it alone.
Now he was in the family room, standing in front of the fireplace. Bright orange and blue flames danced across a tepee of logs, sending off waves of heat, and yet still he was cold. Frozen, really.
He glanced through the kitchen. In the window above the sink, he could see moonlight skating across the bay.
“They’re asleep,” Jolene said, coming into the room. “We can talk now.”
Michael wanted to say no, I don’t want to talk, not about this, not yet, not anymore. He knew it was selfish of him, and small, but it pissed him off to be left here as Mr. Mom. Not that he could tell anyone this. He’d look like an asshole if he admitted that he didn’t want this job that had fallen in his lap, didn’t know if he could even do it. How was he supposed to manage a sixteen-person legal firm, defend his clients, and handle the day-to-day minutiae that came with raising two kids? Carpool. Field trips. Meals. Laundry. Homework.
Just the thought of it overwhelmed him.
“How the hell am I supposed to do it?” he said, turning to her. “I’ve got a job to do.”
“Your mom will be a huge help. She said she’ll hire someone for the store, and that’s perfect. I don’t want a nanny taking care of the girls—they’ll be so scared and confused,” Jolene said. “Especially Betsy, she’s fragile these days, and kids can be cruel. She’ll need you, Michael. They both will. You’ll have to be really present. I want—”
“You want.” Already he was losing patience with that sentence. “Classic, Jo. You’re the one leaving—but not before you tell me how you want me to handle things while you’re gone.”
“Not things, Michael. My children.”
He heard the way her voice broke on that and knew how deeply his words had cut her. Not that long ago, he would have turned to her and taken her in his arms and apologized. Now, he just stood there, dropping his chin forward, staring dully at the scuffed hardwood floor beneath his stockinged feet. The echo of that word—divorce—hung like smoke in the air between them.
She waited a long time. Her breath sounded like waves breaking along a shore, ragged and uneven. He could feel her judging him. Then, quietly, she left the room.
*
On Monday morning, Tami showed up after carpool, and honked her horn.
Jolene walked down the driveway and climbed into her friend’s big white truck.
They looked at each other, and in that look—unaccompanied by words—they revealed their fears, their hopes, their worries.
Tami sighed. “How was it?”
“Brutal,” Jolene said. “For you?”
“I barely survived.” She put the truck in reverse and backed down the driveway. In no time, they were speeding down the interstate toward Tacoma.
“Seth tried to act cool when I told him,” Tami said after an unfamiliar silence that had gone on for miles. “He asked what would happen if I didn’t come back. He’s not even thirteen. He’s not supposed to have to ask his mom a question like that.”
“Betsy was pissed off. She said she wouldn’t forgive me if I left her. That I love the army more than I love her.”
“Carl cried,” Tami said softly after another long silence. “I’ve never seen him cry before. It was like…” Her voice broke. “Man, this is hard.”
Jolene swallowed the lump in her throat. “What’s worse,” she said quietly, “a man who cries when you go to war or one who doesn’t?”
At that, they both fell silent. The miles passed quickly, and in no time, they were at the post, driving up to the checkpoint.