I'll See You Again Part 26

Melissa and Isabelle had been sensitive enough not to talk about missing their kids while we were away, but as we sat on the plane home, I knew they could look forward to eager children greeting them at the door, telling them stories about what they'd done while their parents were away.

I sat on the plane, the window shade pulled. I'd lost the sunlight I'd had on the beach, the sun that forced my darkness away. The air-conditioning in the cabin was freezing, and a slight sunburn I'd gotten made the chill penetrate to my bones. My feet were so cold, I wished I'd worn socks and shoes instead of sandals. The murmur of the pa.s.sengers faded away as I realized that all I could look forward to getting back to was crying in my bed. And the moment the plane landed, the guilt descended, too.

"That whole trip was so wrong," I said to Warren as we dragged our suitcases into our empty house. "We were laughing and pretending nothing had happened. It was terrible and disrespectful to the girls."

"We have to allow ourselves moments of being normal," Warren said calmly.

"We're not normal. I'd rather feel miserable all the time than have these ups and downs." My indignant words seemed to echo in the desolate room. "Why have fun if it's such a letdown to come home?"

"It's worth it. If you stay miserable all the time, you're not partic.i.p.ating in life."

"Fine. I don't want to have to partic.i.p.ate anymore. I'm done with having fun," I said adamantly.

"We have to keep trying."

"NO! That whole trip was wrong and makes everything worse!"

As I got more agitated, Warren did, too, and our conversation deteriorated into yet another argument. I should have learned from other experiences that any high would be followed by an even lower low, and in the following days, I sank deeper into depression. The pleasures I'd felt on the beach in Key West disappeared into buried memory-until Melissa called, a couple of weeks later.

"You'll never guess what arrived," she said, her voice deep with foreboding.

"What?"

"A huge box from Key West. I have the octopus light and all the other stuff right here. Should I bring yours over?"

I tried to revive the happy spirit of the vacation shopping spree, but it had long receded.

"I don't need any of that," I said. "What were we thinking?"

"We were thinking that we deserved to have fun," Melissa said gently. "Even you."

A few days later, she brought over the ceramic rooster. It sat in my living room for a long time, a vague reminder of being happy for a moment in my new world order. I would look at the rooster and a book of photos that Brad made from that weekend and be amazed at how carefree we had been.

How could I have felt so good? And will it ever happen again?

Seventeen

For our eleventh wedding anniversary at the beginning of April, I didn't expect any celebrating. I was too upset to recognize how much Warren wanted to make me happy. He liked to see my face light up, and he was growing worried that it never would again. I sometimes wondered if we were doing ourselves any favors by staying together. I had married Warren in part because he seemed so strong and solid, the man I could always rely on. When I was young, I was insecure enough that knowing a man could take care of me had an old-fashioned appeal. But now Warren's own inner resources had been so crushed that he couldn't possibly provide what I needed. Probably n.o.body could. I had become an empty sh.e.l.l, unable to give him the compliments, comforts, and caresses that he desperately desired. Just looking at each other caused pain.

A year earlier, Warren had marked our tenth anniversary by surprising me with lessons at a local dance studio-particularly amazing because he hated dancing. Whenever we went to a party, I begged him to join me on the dance floor, but he stood on the sidelines while I stepped out. So the lessons were the ultimate selfless gift and got me grinning immediately. He topped off the gift certificate for the lessons with a seductive dress that I could wear dancing and a full-day pa.s.s at a spa for hair, makeup, ma.s.sage, and pre-dance indulgence. A perfect package.

"This is definitely worth another ten years together," I teased him. And I meant it. How could I not love a man so thoughtful?

But the accident happened before we got to learn a single dance step together. I ended up donating the lessons to the foundation for a raffle and sticking the dress in the back of a closet.

Most of the time, Warren didn't make a big deal of gifts. He'd often leave a package in the kitchen before he went to work, knowing I'd rip off the ribbon and open it myself. However, for our eleventh anniversary, Warren had a present that he knew I'd like. With an awkward smile, he handed me a prettily wrapped box and then stepped back, watching me closely as I opened it, probably hoping to see my face light up again.

"You bought it!" I said, opening the box and taking out a gorgeous diamond cross.

"The holy c.r.a.p cross," he joked.

"I never thought you'd buy it," I said, holding it tenderly.

A few weeks earlier, I'd gone into the local jewelry store to thank the owners for the contributions they'd made to the foundation. Always friendly, they invited me to have fun and try on anything I wanted-and I got busy checking out pretty bracelets, fancy watches, and oversize c.o.c.ktail rings. But my religious heart won out, and my eyes popped when I saw a big, sparkly necklace in one of the display cases.

"Holy c.r.a.p, look at that cross!" I exclaimed, without thinking. "If I wore that cross, the girls could see me from heaven!"

When I went home and told Warren the story, he pointed out that I already had a cross.

"Not like that one. It would sparkle up to heaven," I said.

Now for our anniversary, Warren wanted the girls to see my cross from heaven. He clasped the heavy strand at my neck and I looked in the mirror.

"It's beautiful," I said. "I'm going to wear it all the time."

"I hope it gives you a little happiness," he said, his voice choked with tears.

We all need magic in the midst of misery, and that cross around my neck felt like a beacon of hope, connecting me to my girls in heaven. It also had earthly significance, as a gesture of love. Warren didn't believe that the diamond cross would let the girls see me. He didn't think we needed to spend money on jewelry right now. But he knew the cross might mean something to me, and that was enough. In the midst of all our fights and anger and hostility, I could pause now and then to touch the cross and feel a whisper of hope. Even if Warren didn't always know how to improve our situation or ease my anger, he kept trying.

The cross reminded me of another happy gift Warren had given me. A few days before my last birthday, I had overheard Emma on the phone with Warren.

"No, no, Daddy, you have to buy a pink bike," she had said, taking the portable phone out into the yard so I wouldn't listen. "It has to be pink."

I smiled to myself. The girls had been plotting a big birthday surprise for me, and they already told me that they wished I had a bike so I could go riding with them. I agreed.

"I can't find a pink bike," Warren told her. "What about a nice blue one?"

"No, pink."

"Find out if Mommy would like a blue bike."

Emma hung up and came back in. "Mommy, what's your favorite color?" she asked.

"You know my favorite color is fuchsia," I said, describing the deep pink that we all liked.

"Do you like blue?" she asked.

"I love blue, too."

"Oh, good!" she said, a smile lighting up her face.

On my birthday, I was out doing errands when the babysitter called to ask when I'd be home.