Page 26 of The Caretaker
“I can hang out here until you fall asleep.”
“I really should go.”
He followed my gaze to the door, then tilted his head at me. “Is that what you want?”
“No, but I should want it. Not wanting to leave here doesn’t make sense,” I said, every syllable loaded with confusion and despair.
“Does being here feel right?”
“Yes.”
“Then hold on to that. Hold on to what feels right.” He offered me his hand, and I took it, holding on to him, because that felt right too.
Solace tugged me down, patting the pillow he’d placed on his lap until I rested my head on top of it. I settled in, each blink heavier than the last.
He hummed while playing with the damp strands of my hair, and I tried to hold on for him. Tried to stay awake for one minute longer, because his touch and his voice somehow made everything better right then.
The humming stopped, and so did his fingers. My eyes opened sluggishly. I couldn’t see him from this angle, so I concentrated on the fire while hoping he’d pick up where he left off. His nails lightly dragged along my scalp, and I exhaled in relief.
“Gavin hated being dropped off at daycare,” he whispered, like maybe the crackling fire had ears and would spread his secrets if he wasn’t careful. “Taking him was my job. He didn’t understand why I had to work, why I wanted to be with other kids more than I wanted to be with him.”
“You were a teacher?” I guessed.
“Yes. I didn’t have to work, but I loved my job and believed I could do what I loved and be a good father. Gavin couldn’t wait to be old enough to go to school with me. We started a countdown calendar after his fourth birthday. He’d get to go to school with me when he turned five.” Solace’s voice took on a faraway quality. He was no longer in the room with me. His memories had taken him somewhere else, and I bunched the knees of his sweats between my fists in dreaded anticipation.
“We were a day away from that long-awaited first day of school. ‘We made it, Dad!’ he’d said. Lunch was packed and in the fridge, and with my help, he’d ironed his clothes like a big boy. I don’t even think he got a wink of sleep that night.” He gripped my hair as if bracing himself. “And then the morning came, and so did the first of many seizures.” Solace swallowed, and my stomach hollowed out.
“I ended up quitting my job to homeschool him, which was a nice consolation for him, but over time it secretly made me resentful. Gavin’s father is a doctor, and he tried his best to fix Gavin. Called in the best pediatric specialists, the top neurologists, but nothing worked. It took a toll on our marriage, although the complete fracturing of it would come much later.”
I rolled over to face him then, brushing back his loose strands of hair blocking his anguish from me. I needed to see him clearly, and I needed him to see me. Needed him to know I was right there with him.
“He loved to swim, always had, but now we needed to be careful. Every second he spent around bodies of water had to be supervised at all times.Everysecond. I knew this. I understood it. One day I wasn’t careful. He was splashing around in the pool, having the time of his life when I received an important call. A call I’d been waiting for all week, one that would’ve allowed me, in some capacity, to go back to doing what I loved.” He took a second to blink up at the ceiling, and I wanted to tell him not tofight it. I wanted to tell him that it was okay to cry. I settled for being a listening ear instead.
“Gavin’s happiness couldn’t be contained, and his shouts of glee escalated until it became impossible to hear the person on the other end of the phone. I stepped inside for what felt like only seconds to wrap up the call. A lot can happen in a few seconds,” he cautioned, his voice dipping lower. “I wanted more, when I already had so much. Because of my ungratefulness, I ended up losing the person I loved most. I hadn’t noticed when the splashing stopped. I wasn’t careful.”
His fingers were so soft and calming as they combed through my hair again, and I wondered how he could focus on me in any way as he recounted what had to be the most painful, and life-altering experience of his life. I hadn’t gotten to meet my unborn child. The accident had robbed me of that. But the pain of losing someone who I hadn’t gotten to meet, but who was still a part of me, left me riddled with pain every time I thought about it. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the magnitude of Solace’s pain.
“It wasn’t—”
He pressed a single digit to my lips, silencing me. “Don’t,” he said. “I didn’t tell you so you could make me feel better. I’m okay. I’ve already made peace with it.”
“So why did you tell me?” I wiped the wet corners of his eyes with my thumb.
“There are things I didn’t think I could survive, didn’t think I could live through, but I did—” He shook his head, starting over again. “I can’t watch you fight to regain your life and not try to help. I’d like to believe that every time I share something with you, it’s helping, or will help, in some way. That’s my way of fighting in return. Now, sleep,” he said, the calming effects of his hands in my hair resuming.
For the first time, I didn’t try to understand what he meant, didn’t search my mind for the deeper meaning, for the familiarity of it. I surrendered to living in the moment, to believing that my hardships had inspired him in some way, even if I didn’t understand how.
I brought one of his hands to my chest, keeping it there as I drifted to sleep.
That night I dreamt of vinyl records and dancing in the snow. I dreamt of “Tears in Heaven.”And in between those dreams, Solace’s warm breath tickled against my ear as I imagined he whispered, “You once took care of me, now it’s my turn to take care of you.”
Solace
Then
I’D JUST ZIPPEDup my coat when Noon crossed the tree line onto the front yard.
“I was about to come looking for you,” I said as he stomped through the front door. He’d been here over a week now, and without fail, he went for a stroll through the woods every day at dawn. I’d had to find him twice after more than an hour passed and he hadn’t returned.
