Hence the ambush.
When our parents died in the fire, I stepped up from role model to mother. Never having to look out for anyone else, she’s got no practice. Lorna’s closed heart has worried me for years. I love her so much and I want her to find someone.
But Barry?
Why couldn’t it have been Arthur?
No matter how much it hurts me as my baby sister says, “I will do whatever you want, but think about this. You both need to heal,” I understand what I must do. Put her broken heart before my open one.
“Go get another bottle of wine from the store. Then come back.”
She nods a tentative, “Okay,” and releases my hand to stand up, motioning for Barry to go around to the other door, closer to the driveway so they can leave quickly.
Max and I watch until they’re gone.
Falling off the cliff.
Her unwanted, uninvited visit.
And the final punch in the heart of her not only with Barry, but forcing me to face him before I’m prepared.
I whisper, drained, “She couldn't see you.”
Facing the door, Max says, “Nope,” as if it’s not a surprise.
For the first time it dawns on me.
Is he even real?
I stand up, asking myself, and the ghost of my husband, “What if I’m crazy?”
Max turns around, shocked. “I’m real.”
But can I believe the figment of my grief?
Chapter 24
Max
Abby won’t look at me.
While she cleaned herself up as best she could knowing they were returning any minute, I kept trying to talk to her.
My wife all of a sudden believes I’m not real, purely her grief-stricken imagination, and it’s all because of Barry and fucking Lorna.
If I could touch Abby, it would be proof. We’re both too aware that I can’t.
She averted her gaze every time I tried harder, made jokes, got mad. Nothing worked. With pain behind her eyes, Abs just brushed her hair, washed her face and put on some lipstick, a bit of mascara to be less naked than she feels.
Lorna really outdid herself this time. I’ve always been patient with her ‘quirks,’ knowing why Abby’s kid sister was such a fucking bitch, but this stunt!
Seeing him out there. Uninvited on our property. I could feel how uneasy Barry was, all of our history in his eyes.
For both of them I felt rage.
Dark emotions aren’t my thing.
Not in my blood.
Doesn’t feel natural.
And I don’t even have blood anymore.
He’s the reason for that.
Lorna hurt my wife, and made her doubt me.
Unforgivable.
The broken bottle is cleaned up with a new one to take its place. Air thick with silence. Barry and Lorna stand in our kitchen watching Abby set down coffee cups.
Three of them.
Barry reaches for the bottle, and she snatches it, holds it away from him. “I thought you were sober.”
“I am! I was just being chivalrous.”
Abby looks as if she might bite his hand.
She pours, and hands Lorna a cup. Her eyebrows rise in a challenge as she hands Barry his.
“Come on, Abby,” warns Lorna.
“What?” She glances between the unwelcome lovers. “I’m just acting out of habit.”
Barry almost took that cup.
He reached for it.
Only now he says, “I wasn't always that bad.”
Abby tells him the truth, “No, at first you were fun. Later, not so much.” She plants his cup with a thump onto the table’s pale wood, as Lorna rubs Barry’s arm, her face deceptively soft, eyes encouraging him to stick with it.
My smart friend isn’t so sure.
Or as brazen.
He walks out of the kitchen, passes right where I’m standing by the door that leads down to our basement-storage room. He’s gnawing his cheek, wishing for inspiration on how to get through to my widow.
Lorna turns to fill a glass with water for him, since he can’t drink the wine — though I know he’d like to right about now — and Abby takes a sip of that damn cup.
Wine ain’t gonna cut it.
Talking to me will.
As she follows Barry to see what he’s up to, we come face to face, her eyes carefully averted.
“Baby, why won't you look at me? I'm really here. You're hurting me.”
Abby stares ahead. At him.
Barry has found a photograph of his mom the one time she came to visit the cabin. He was ignored as a child, parents fighting so often they couldn’t stand still long enough to be the solid foundation he needed.
But that one summer, Mrs. Dasson accepted the invite to join, saying she needed a break. Barry was so happy because she was like a real mom for the trip. Mine took that photo and I printed it to surprise him next time he came over.
Surprise.
He’s looking dizzy from the impact of all the memories this place must give him, concentrated into one simple photograph that brings it home.
Family.
He was mine.
Love can be as strong as blood.
Looking dizzy, Barry says, “I never print out photographs anymore. I didn't know he printed this one.” He slowly returns it to the bookshelf as Lorna rushes to him before he crumbles. “I’m so sorry Abby!” Barry croaks, tears clogging his eyes. “Every day I wish I could go back and take a fucking taxi, put the drinks down, anything! It should have been me. I know you think that, too, and I need you to know you're right.” He cries out, “It should have been me!”
Hard shell evaporated by sincerity, Abs has tears in her eyes.
“He just had to go and cry,” I mutter, “didn't he?” irritated and not moved in the slightest.
Lorna embraces Barry, consoling him, but he doesn’t feel he deserves it, and breaks free, moving to the far side of our leather couch where he wipes his nose, slouched with shame.
There’s forgiveness in Abby’s voice as she tells him, “It wasn't your fault. It was the driver's fault who hit him.”
I go to stand by our glass door, staring out at the forest, our beautiful property, the flowers I can no longer smell, wondering if I can forgive him. And how to get my wife back.
She’s right.
I chose to walk him home.
He fought the idea.
Barry didn’t shove me in front of a moving vehicle. I was the one looking at my phone, and so was the driver. We’re both to blame for not paying attention.
Lorna takes a deep breath, glancing between Barry and her sister like a referee unsure the heavyweights will stay in their corners.
I eyeball her as she walks near me, turns the chair I’m standing by, to face our couch, and pats it for Abs to take a seat, and join them. I look further over my shoulder, suspecting my wife still won’t acknowledge I’m here.
She’ll forgive him.
But ignore me?
“Abby, how have you been spending your time up here?” Lorna walks around the trunk-coffee-table and sits next to Barry, lowering herself as if the volcano might burst to life at any moment. Wouldn’t want Abby’s vino all over her face. “It's pretty lonely. You make any new friends?”
Abby sets her wine down, and sits back, looking confused, voice devoid of strength or clarity, “I’ve been fine.”