These Three Words (8 page)

Chapter Six

JoAnn had been gone for more than an hour.

I didn’t cry anymore, mainly because I had a feeling that if I started to cry again, there was a chance I wouldn’t be able to stop.

I’d managed to nibble at the granola JoAnn had brought me, not because I had an appetite, but so I could tell her I’d eaten.

I kept catching myself staring at the woman sitting across from me, her nose buried in a book. I forced myself to look at the television screen, but I couldn’t follow what was going on. I wished I could read the way she did.

Anything to take me away from here and now. Television was obviously not going to do it.

I opened my
Kindle
app on my phone. Reading on my phone wasn’t my favorite way to read, but it would do in a pinch. I loved that I always had a book with me. Whenever we had to wait for something, I’d open up my current read and be content.

It amused Gray. He rarely said anything, but he’d roll his eyes and that little ghost of a smile would play across his lips whenever I opened the app.

I closed my eyes and could almost see that smile.

And I caught myself wondering if I’d ever see it again.

I pushed the thought aside, opened my eyes, and tried to read, but I don’t think I’d managed a whole page before I realized that for the first time in my life a book couldn’t take me away from the real world.

I glanced at the reader across from me again and felt a stab of jealousy that she could.

The woman who’d taken James’ seat looked up from her book, as if she could either feel my eyes upon her, or sense my book-envy.

“Have you read it?” she asked kindly as she held the book up.

I shook my head. “No. I was wishing I could escape into a book. I’ve always been able to manage it, but I can’t today.” I flashed her my phone screen. I wasn’t even sure I could tell her what book I’d opened.

She nodded. “To be honest, I think I’ve read the same page five or six times. It seemed easier to pretend to read than to sit here staring into space.” She must have realized that staring into space summed up what I’d been doing because she said, “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing.”

“Who are you waiting for?” she asked.

How to describe my relationship with Gray? I went for the most accepted definition, “my husband,” but given the papers in my hand, I wasn’t sure that was true. “You?”

“My daughter.” There was a catch in her voice as she said the word
daughter
.

“I’m so sorry.” Having Gray here was awful, but to be a mother and have to sit by while your child was sick? Once I might not have completely understood how awful that would be, but now I did.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “She’s only fourteen. She woke up in horrible pain. They said it was her appendix. As a mother, I can remind her to eat right and wear her seatbelt. I can make sure she gets enough rest and studies for tests. But I can’t protect her from her own body. And I know it’s stupid, but I feel like I should be able to.”

I understood her need to protect her daughter. “I think that need to protect your children is embedded in our DNA.”

“Do you have children?” she asked.

I shook my head and found myself answering her honestly. More honestly than a stranger deserved. “I’ve always wanted them. My husband wanted us to wait. He wanted to have everything in place financially before we had kids. We hardly ever fought, but we did about this one issue. If he hadn’t wanted kids, I might have been able to understand. But he did . . .”

I didn’t go any further with my answer because the rest was too hard.

The book reader didn’t seem to notice. “Ruby was a change-of-life baby. I was in my forties and thought I was just going through an abnormally early menopause.” She chuckled at the memory. “I spent two weeks crying once I figured out I was pregnant. But after that . . .” She shrugged. “The pregnancy was so easy that I forgot about her for long periods of time. Life just sort of went on as it always had. Then she was born and was the easiest baby in the history of babies.”

My mother had always said I was an easygoing baby. Peggy had said repeatedly that Gray was not. He was high needs and she swore he had some sort of allergy to sleep. He’d never needed more than four or five hours a day. He still didn’t . . . unless things had changed since I left.

All those months of not talking.

What if he’d found out he had some heart issue during that time? Would he have told me?

I didn’t think so.

Gray wasn’t a man who was prone to sharing his worries and burdens in the best of circumstances. And he and I weren’t anywhere close to being in a best of circumstances. Not for us. Not for our marriage.

I clenched the envelope in my hand.

I could shove it in my purse. Out of sight, out of mind. But I knew I wouldn’t. I needed it as a reminder. I’d given up on Gray. Fair or not, I felt he’d failed me and I’d stopped trying.

Gray had always needed me to try. He was someone prone to isolation.

In another lifetime I could see him finding a contented life in some remote monastery. Not speaking. I could see him achieving his monkly objectives with the same fierce intensity that he used for Steel, Inc.

I didn’t ask this woman’s name. I didn’t ask her any more about her daughter. Maybe that made me selfish, but I wasn’t sure I could handle suffering for one more person. Maude, Bertie, James, Anne
with an E
,
and now this woman’s daughter, Ruby, were all the worries I could handle on top of my own. I didn’t want to know her name.

I was trying to decide how to pull back from the conversation without seeming rude, when someone behind me called, “Harriet Mumford?”

The book reader was Harriet Mumford.

Now I knew, even if I didn’t want to. I was right. Knowing her name made her seem even more real, which made her pain and her worry more tangible as well.

Harriet bounded from her chair as if on a spring, tossing her book on the seat next to her coat and purse. I turned and watched her talking to the nurse or doctor. They all had on scrubs and I couldn’t tell one from another.

Harriet smiled.

I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

Her daughter was okay. I wish I knew if Bertie and Anne were.

But selfishly, more than that I wished the doctor would come down and tell me about Gray.

Harriet Mumford came back to her seat, practically radiating happiness. She picked up her coat, purse, and the book. “I’m going to meet with the doctor, but the nurse said Ruby’s going to be fine,” she said.

I took her hand. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you.”

Before I could say anything else, she was already gone, anxious to see her daughter.

Moments before I’d wanted to withdraw from our conversation, but now that Harriet Mumford was gone, the waiting room felt lonely.

I stared blankly at the television, ignoring the conversations around me. The memories I’d shared with Maude and James seemed to have opened a floodgate. Moments from my life with Gray kept worming their way into the forefront of my mind.

A commercial that touted the best dishwashing soap ever made me remember a night when Gray had offered to help me with the dishes.

“You wash, I’ll dry,” he offered.

I ran the water and added a generous squirt of dish soap. The sink was soon full of suds and dirty dishes.

I handed Gray the first cup and he dried it with meticulous thoroughness before setting it down and reaching for the next cup from the rack.

I kept glancing at him as we worked in companionable silence. He looked so serious as he worked. I wanted to see him smile—not just wanted, needed—so I scooped up a handful of bubbles and blew them in Gray’s face.

He didn’t react. Instead, he finished drying the cup in his hand and then casually took his towel and wiped the bubbles off his nose. I thought our impromptu bubble-battle was over, but he surprised me.

He reached into the sink, grabbed a handful of bubbles, and, rather than blowing them at me, he smooshed them into my face.

“Hey,” I hollered. I grabbed another handful, ready to retaliate, but Gray was ready for me. He grabbed my wrist and pushed it into my hair.

Still holding on to my wrist, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. The kiss tasted of soap and love . . . so much love.

He scooped me up and carried me upstairs.

The dishes didn’t get washed until the next morning.

How had I forgotten moments like that?

Everyone I spoke to reminded me of something.

Everything I saw on the television did as well.

A kid throwing spitwads in class on television reminded me of an afternoon—I had no idea how long ago it was, though it felt like a lifetime ago. Gray had been working on some figures for the business and I’d been filling out some forms for Harbor House. I’d made a football out of a piece of paper. The same kind we’d made in grade school. I’d flicked it expertly at Gray. It had landed in the center of his paper.

He didn’t say a word, but he looked up and his serious, business expression melted into a smile. Then he’d picked up the paper football and flicked it back at me, with just as much expert aim.

We both went back to our respective work, but for the next few hours, the paper football periodically volleyed back and forth.

When he finished working he’d simply said, “Love you.”

I still had the football in my jewelry box, next to my plastic drink swan. It was a strange memento, but it had been such a lovely afternoon. The two of us working independently, but together.

I could almost hear him. “Love you.”

I think those small moments were the ones that kept creeping into my thoughts because they were the ones I missed the most.

I didn’t look back longingly at major events. Not our wedding. Not the big Steel, Inc. gala parties. Not the big moments for Harbor House.

I missed paper footballs and washing dishes together . . . or not washing dishes together, as the case may be.

I missed Gray.

I missed him so much I almost ached with it.

How had I not noticed how much I missed him?

Then I remembered.

I’d missed him long before I’d walked out of our house on February third. To be honest, I think he left me on December second. The months before that, I’d never felt closer to him, but that day we’d lost everything, I lost him . . .

“Mrs. Grayson?” Another woman wearing scrubs stood in the doorway to the waiting room. The difference was, this time she was calling my name.

Part of me wanted to bound out of my seat like Harriet the book reader had. But a bigger part of me was terrified and seemed to be rooted to the spot.

If I didn’t go see this woman, Gray was still in surgery. His fate was still in limbo.

And limbo was so much better than bad news.

“Mrs. Grayson,” she called again, this time with a tinge of frustration in her voice.

I looked in her direction and knew I had to get up and go get the news, but still I hesitated. Finally she came to me.

“Mrs. Grayson?” she asked.

I nodded.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll get you set up in the consult room. The doctor is on her way down.”

I nodded and got up to follow her.

I was relieved Gray’s fate was still in limbo.

I was terrified that all too soon I’d know.

The small room the nurse escorted me to had two chairs, a small table, and two doors. I entered through one door and the nurse closed it behind me.

I knew that I was expected to sit in one of the chairs, but despite the fact my knees felt weak, I couldn’t seem to.

The room was private. Probably because it was easier if they had to deliver bad news.

Easier on the doctors because they could get up and leave through their back door.

Easier on the other families who were waiting to hear the outcome of their loved ones.

I paced back and forth. The room was six steps from wall to wall.

I wasn’t claustrophobic, but this small, windowless room was oppressive. I stood in the center, closed my eyes, and tried to picture my view of Presque Isle from the Ferncliff house, but instead I saw my room on Willow Lane.

I was in bed, propped against a pillow, watching Gray in the bathroom shaving.

The sheets were freshly laundered. I’d hung them outside and they smelled of summer air.

I could almost smell the shaving cream as I watched him tilt his head this way and that, scraping the stubble from his face. He leaned over and splashed water on his cheeks and as he reached for the towel, he spotted me watching him.

His expression changed. He didn’t smile, but rather he looked at me. And
in
his gaze, I could see desire, but more than that, I could see love.

I reached for him, and without words, he understood my need . . .

I wished I could reach for him now.

I opened my eyes and again felt as if the walls were closing in.

Where was the doctor?

Would she tell me he was going to be fine or . . .

No, there was no
or
. He would be fine. Gray was the strongest man I’d ever known. He had more determination than any man I’d ever met. He wouldn’t leave me.