“Race ya!” I say, pulling off the rest of my clothes and jumping into the black water. He strips and jumps in beside me. I squeal at the mush between our toes and we splash each other until that turns into our bodies touching in the murky, shadowed water. Then we make love, and I try to hold him close enough and kiss him hard enough to erase everything I’ve done.
***
9
THINGS FEEL BACK TO normal at home when we get back from our weekend away. The week is filled with mundane tasks that comfort me: spreading peanut butter on bread, cutting the crusts, stuffing Ziploc bags with carrots and baked chips for the kids’ lunches, listening to Rachel figure out what other sports to try out for, helping Ben with his long and short vowels on colorful worksheets.
On Tuesday night, I bathe Claire as usual in her en suite bathroom. It’s tough to maneuver her in and out of the shower. When I get her seated on the handicap bench inside the shower, I try to help her hold the sprayer on her own. It helps with her strength and coordination. I smile at her blank face and wrap her hand around it gently when she suddenly grabs my hair with much more strength than I thought she was capable of and pulls. Before I can even react, she’s wrenched my head so violently, it crashes into the shower tile.
“Dirty!” she screams.
I sit in shock a moment, now wet, fully clothed, on the shower floor touching the spot of blood on my head. I call for Collin. I know he can’t hear me in the front of the house from way back here, so I don’t try again. I want to cry and run out, but I can’t leave her by herself like this. Rationally, I know she doesn’t know what she’s saying, I know that arbitrary, violent outbursts can be part of the disease, but it doesn’t make it easier to take. Of course she doesn’t know what I’ve done, but it feels...personal. It feels like she meant to hurt me for hurting Collin. I know it’s totally irrational. I blink back tears and take a breath. Now soaked, I stand and squeeze some shampoo into my hand and massage her hair with it.
“It’s okay, Miss Claire. We’ll get you all clean. No worries. You’re okay.”
When I finally get her into a clean nightgown and propped in front of her sitcom and box fan, the kids are in their rooms. I peel off my soggy clothes, hang them over the side of the washer to dry out a bit, and go up to slip into a bath and assess how bad my head wound is. I don’t tell Collin about it. I’m not sure why. I examine my scalp in the mirror as the bath runs. It’s not bad. Cuts on the head are deceiving because they bleed more, but no one will notice it once it’s cleaned up. I quickly dab a warm cloth on it and pull my hair up to cover it.
Then I sink to my chin in bubbles and close my eyes.
I wish Luke’s face would not visit me every time I’m alone. I could go there right now, to his house, say I’m meeting Liz or Karen for a drink. I could say Gillian needs some last-minute help with her fundraiser—doesn’t matter what it’s for, she’s always working on one. There would be no question. I took Ben to the community pool all afternoon in the early autumn heat, so he’s out like a light. Collin will be engrossed in work or a game on TV. I sit up sharply at the thought of this.
Right this minute I could simply drive over there and spend an hour in his now-familiar bed on the second floor inside a massive, historic bedroom—the creaky wooden floors and simple white sheets. I imagine the musky sweetness of his breath from the drink he’d fix us, a sultry dampness on his skin from the muggy air.
My phone buzzes. I dry off one hand on the towel hanging on a rod above me, and feel around on the floor outside the tub to pick it up. It’s a notification. Lacy accepted my friend request. She sent a message. Thanks for your help the other night...and for not saying anything.
I start to type back, then wonder if it’s too quick a response and will make me look like I’m just sitting here waiting to hear from her. I get out of the bath, wrap a towel around my head, put on yoga pants and a tank, and sit out on the back deck to take advantage of the evening breeze. I’m grateful the air is actually moving today and it’s feeling cooler. I curl up on an Adirondack chair and, feeling I’ve waited long enough, reply back.
Of course. How are you doing? I ask, not wanting to invite her to meet too soon. I’ll see if she opens communication or shuts me down.
I’m fine, thanks. Fucker called me a dozen times the next day. I just don’t want him showing up at my place, drunk.
I’m glad she feels like she can talk to me about this.
I can’t believe he’d call you after that. I’m so sorry you have to deal with it, I text back.
Yeah. Prick, she says.
Hey, do you wanna get coffee or a drink sometime?
I wait, hoping she doesn’t think it’s weird. Making new friends as an adult is weird in general. I feel like I’ve asked a boy out and fear he’ll reject me. Text bubbles pop up a few times and then disappear. Jeez, she doesn’t know how to respond.
Sure, is all she replies.
Great. Just let me know when you’re free.
Thurs or Fri are good.
Okay, I have a group at Classics Bookstore Thursday at six. The Local has a good patio happy hour on Friday, starts around five.
That works. Sorry, gotta go. C U then.
Her green dot vanishes off my phone. I have no plan, and I have no earthly idea how I’ll help this woman, but how can I just pretend it didn’t happen? What sort of person would I be?
I hear the sliding glass door behind me open. Rachel comes out and sits at the patio table.
“Hey, I thought you were in bed,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says. She turns her phone to show me an image of a girl with French braids forming a round crown on the top of her head. “Pretty, huh?” she asks.