Page 24 of Between Our Hearts

Coming to stand over Lottie’s shoulder, he saw her three-circle drawing. Each crude circle had filled in oval eyes and a swoopy mouth. She grinned up at him before pointing at each circle.

“Dada. Ottie. Mama.”

“I see that, little love. That looks just like us.”

His chest squeezed thinking over the last week. After the connection they’d had after Lottie’s accident, some foolhardy part of him had thought things would change. But Sadie was still working ridiculously long hours, and he was keeping everything going at home while whittling away in the woodshop during Lottie’s nap or at night. Their communication hadn’t improved.

Only one thing was different.

Now each night when Sadie slept, she faced him in bed.

Yesterday morning when he’d woken up to get Lottie ready before Dad Bod Fitness, Sadie had continued sleeping, having been at the hospital late the night before. Though the blackout curtains were snug over their bedroom windows, enough light had escaped them to reveal his wife’s leg slung on top of the covers and her arm outstretched toward his side of the bed. He’d stood, simply watching her for a minute, his heart light because in her sleep, she’d reached for him.

Tonight, they were supposed to make up for last week’s cancelled date, and he’d been more nervous thinking about dinner with his wife than he’d been about any date he’d ever been on. Lately, his stack of non-fiction books had transformed from his usual subjects of history, crime, and politics to the psychological variety. Though he’d had to keep the ones about reconnecting with your spouse and rebuilding a broken relationship hidden in his bedside drawer when Sadie was home.

“I think so too. But what about that one?” A young couple talking to themselves drew his attention back to the present.

Clark had learned it was better to wait until people addressed him rather than interjecting himself into their conversations, asking if they had questions. Plus, he could learn people’s organic opinions of his work if he let them converse freely. That, and which designs he sold the most, helped him decide what to create next. He already had several ideas to try out while Lottie took her two-hour nap this afternoon.

Twenty minutes later, he’d cashed the young couple out after they’d purchased three of the twelve-by-twelve pieces to hang over their couch.

He pulled his phone from his front shorts pocket, checking the time. “It’s almost closing time. Do you want to get a quesadilla from the food truck before we go home?” He swung his daughter up on his hip.

“Yeah!” she cheered, hugging his neck.

A smile tugged his lips taut before they turned down again. He was doing his best making a new schedule for him and Lottie, finding unexpected joy in creating something different and selling it among newfound friends, but he still missed what this day used to be.

Sundays used to be Sadie’s only expected day at home. Monday through Friday she’d have scheduled surgeries and office hours. Occasionally, a call shift would pepper in throughout her schedule throwing her hours out of whack, forcing her to stay overnight at the hospital.

Sunday used to be their family day. A day that often involved a leisurely and messy pancake breakfast in their kitchen, followed by playtime in the backyard, or an occasional stroll through the farmer’s market. They usually had lunch out together—trying the various eclectic restaurants in Northwood—before putting Lottie down for her nap and having “adult nap time.” While he made dinner later, Sadie would have some solo playtime with Lottie.

But over the last few months, Sadie had started having scheduled Saturday surgeries or call shifts over both weekend days. The loss of the one day a week when he’d felt everything was perfect sat like a cinder block in his stomach.

Part of him suspected that his wife was picking up extra call shifts to keep herself busy. There was nothing Sadie liked more than surgery, and he expected being fist-deep into someone’s body cavity had a tendency to keep one’s focus off issues at home. But it still hurt.

No, that was a drastic understatement.

It shredded his insides that she’d rather be anywhere than in his presence—than in their daughter’s presence.

“Would you take one-twenty for this?”

Clark’s head shook, bringing him back to the market. A tiny elderly woman stood on the other side of his folding table, struggling to hold a three by eighteen panel of wood aloft with her thin, crepe-skinned arms.

His hand instinctively jutted out, bracing the wood piece before it smashed her on the head. “Only if you let me carry it to your car for you.”

The woman’s fingers released their hold on the wood to fluff her tight white curls before straightening the single strand of pearls over her high-collared blouse. “If you insist.”

He couldn’t help the broad smile on his face. “I insist.”

???

Clark rolled the ice ball around in his glass. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but tonight, having a whiskey while he waited for his wife seemed appropriate. When she’d texted saying that things were running long in a meeting with the residency chair but she’d meet him at the restaurant, part of him had worried that she wouldn’t show. He tried to shake off the thought, pushing a breath out of his nose while bringing the highball glass to his lips.

“Is this seat taken?” Sadie’s soft words entered his ears as whiskey entered his mouth.

When he turned, he immediately choked—half-coughing/half-wheezing—as burning liquid went down the wrong pipe. He slapped his chest as he continued to hack, but managed a hoarse, “Sweet Jesus.”

She firmly patted his back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

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