“Am I keeping you from doing something?” Colleen asked.
“No,” Scott said, getting back on the line. “It’s just—it’s nothing. It’s just busy here. That’s all.”
“I planned on calling you once I got here,” Colleen said. “I didn’t know you’d leave work and drive home to find me.”
“No,” he said. “It’s fine.”
“I just don’t want to be there right now because it makes me think of him, which is so crazy because he was never even there, there at home, I mean. He was definitely here. It’s just that—”
“No,” Scott said. “I understand. I know it’s hard, and I know I’ve been working a lot and you’ve been alone. Colleen, if you need to—”
“But do you?” Colleen asked.
“Do I what?”
“Do you know it’s hard?” she said. “Do you?”
“I do,” he said. “I know it’s hard on you, and it’s hard on me, but I can’t imagine what it’s like for you.”
“You have no idea what it’s like for me.”
“I know I don’t. That’s why I—”
“Because you haven’t asked me.”
“Colleen, am I— Am I just supposed to—”
“You’re not supposed to do anything,” she said.
“Well, was there some magic thing I was supposed to say?”
“Jesus, Scott, really? Really? You don’t have to say anything, but sometimes things need to be said—” But what she meant was heard. She needed to hear something from him. She did not know what it was, but she knew he would not say it.
The phone was silent. She could hear Scott breathing on the other end.
“I can still feel him,” she finally said.
“I know. I can too,” he said.
“But I mean inside me, Scott. I can still feel where he was inside me. And now he’s not there, and he’s not here, and I don’t know where he is.”
They were silent for another moment. Colleen waited. She heard something squeak on the other end of the line, perhaps his office chair.
She could not control what happened next. Her body heaved, and she began to shed enormous, unstoppable tears.
“Honey,” Scott said. He waited. “Honey,” he said again.
“Did you hold him?” she asked.
“Hold him?”
“Yes,” she said. “In the hospital. After he was born. Did you hold him?”
“Of course I held him, Colleen. Of course I did.”
“I don’t remember it,” she said. “I don’t remember you holding him. I wish I remembered it.” She choked back a sob and coughed. She wiped her nose with her T-shirt. “What did he smell like?”
Scott lowered his voice as if doing so could get her to lower her own. “I don’t—” He stopped speaking, and Colleen could sense that he was adjusting the phone in his hand or turning away from someone or something. “I don’t know, Colleen. I can’t describe it. I wish I could.”
“Yeah,” she said. She sniffed, gathered herself as if pulling all her parts together. “I’ve wished for a lot of things.”
“We’ll get through this, Colleen.”
She laughed, and then she sniffed and used her shirt to wipe at her nose again. “Yes, Scott,” she said, “we will get through this.”
“I’m not your enemy, Colleen. I’m your husband. And I’m his father. Just because I’m dealing with this in a way that’s different from yours doesn’t mean that I’m not going through my own shit apart from yours.”
“Sorry to drag you into my shit,” she said.
“I’m not asking you to apologize for anything,” Scott said. “I don’t think either one of us needs to apologize for anything.”
She looked at the bed where her bag was lying, the Brazelton book peering out as if spying on her, as if asking her why she had not yet opened it that day.
“He’d be four months old now,” she said. “The book says that at four months he would be cooing and chewing on toys. The book says he would be able to recognize our faces. He’d be able to read our emotions.”
“Colleen, honey, I don’t know if you should still be carrying that book around.”
“Why not, Scott? Why shouldn’t I? What do you want me to carry instead? I can’t carry our baby.”
“No,” he said. “Of course not. Let me explain. I understand what the book means to you.”
“It doesn’t mean a damn thing to me, Scott. It’s a book. I’m learning about—” She stopped for a second, and then she whispered, “I’m learning about babies. Who doesn’t want to learn about babies?”
“I know it comforts you, but I’m wondering if it’s helping.”
“I fell asleep on the plane today, and when I opened my eyes, I thought I saw him outside the window. He was watching me.”
“Who? Who was watching you?”
She sank lower into the beanbag chair and rested her head against the wall. She closed her eyes. “Him, Scott,” she said. “Our son. I pictured him flying beside me, right outside the window. I wanted to open the window and touch him, but I couldn’t open it. Of course you can’t open the windows on airplanes.”
“Colleen,” he said. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Colleen, have you been drinking?”
“Jesus, Scott. Really?” She sat forward, struggled to stand up from the beanbag chair. “I’m talking about our son recognizing my face and that’s what you want to ask me? Jesus, Scott.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. Of course not. Of course that’s not what I want to ask you.” He paused, and Colleen stood beside her bed. She knew that Scott’s eyes were scanning his office, his mind churning through ideas in the hope of finding something to say to her. “You just mentioned seeing him outside the plane. It just seemed like, I don’t know. How’s your mom?”
“She’s sick, Scott. She’s got cancer. She’s skinnier than hell and she’s already annoying the shit out of me. It’s been a great visit so far.”
“What did she say about you showing up at home?”
“She said, ‘Holy shit, Colleen, you showed up at home. Now, go call your husband.’ I don’t know, Scott. Hang up and call back and ask for her.”
“No, I want to talk to you,” he said.
“Then let’s talk,” she said.
“I love you,” he said. “I wish I was there, or I wish you were still at home so I could see you.”
“It’s better this way,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. “It sounds like—” He lowered his voice, and Colleen imagined him hunched over in his chair. “Are you leaving me?”
“I’m not doing anything, Scott. I’m visiting my parents. You’re working. I’m here. You’re there. It’s better that way.”
“For how long?”