Thought I Knew You (29 page)

The next four days were going to be interminably long. But I wasn’t doing it alone. Guilt notwithstanding, I was very grateful to have Drew in my life.

The week passed quicker than I anticipated. I went through the motions of each day, playacting as though things were normal. We were a typical family on a typical day.
Except Daddy is five hundred miles away, recovering from a coma.
Incongruity ruled my life again, and the sensation was eerily familiar. However, at least I felt more in control of the ride.

I was mostly calm and collected. I had moments where I would be making dinner, laughing with Leah, or helping Hannah with her homework, and then I would remember.
Greg.
His name would fill the empty pit in my stomach, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. As soon as I could tell them, I knew I’d feel better. Or would I? Telling the girls would make it real. During that first week, it was almost as though our life had not been upended. Again.

Friday afternoon, I waited at the bus stop with clammy hands and a racing heart. When Hannah got off the bus, Leah ran to her, and we began our daily walk home. Once inside the front door, Hannah threw her backpack down and ran for the couch, wanting her half-hour of television to wind down from the day.

I sat next to her and pulled Leah to my lap. “Girls, I need to talk to you. No TV today, okay, Hannah?”

She sat up straighter and eyed me warily.

“Remember how the policemen were looking for Daddy?”

They both nodded solemnly. Hannah’s face changed, and I knew at that moment that she knew what I was going to say. She looked at once terrified and excited.

“They found him, honey.” I spoke to Hannah directly, as I knew it would have the greater impact on her.

She shook her head, her mouth open in a silent O.

“Hannah, sweetheart, Daddy is alive, and we’re going to see him tomorrow.”

Leah bounded up from my lap and shrieked with joy. Being only two when he had disappeared, she had few memories of Greg and none of the heartache that followed his disappearance. To Leah, getting to see her daddy was simply joyful news. She had a
daddy
again! Someone to take her to the kindergarten Daddy-Daughter dance next year!

Hannah’s eyes were mistrustful, sullen, and cautious. Hannah guarded her joy, always, as though someone could easily snatch it away. “Where is he?” she asked.

“He’s in Canada. Do you know where that is?”

She shook her head. “But why hasn’t he come home?”

I had been weighing a response for that question that would be both truthful and age appropriate. “Daddy was sick, honey. He was in a hospital, and they didn’t know who he was, so they couldn’t call us. He was sleeping for a year, and that’s why he didn’t come home.” I pulled her against me. She resisted, but eventually fell against my side. We sat like that for a few minutes, and I let her digest the news.

When she sat up and looked at me, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“I’m happy, Mommy. I’m just scared. What if he disappears again?” And there was the crux of all things Hannah feared. What if any of us left her? She bore a permanent scar, a never-abating fear of abandonment.

I hugged her fiercely and kissed the top of her head. “Oh, Hannah, we never know how long people will be in our lives. I hate that you have to worry about this, and you’re only six years old. But the best we can do is love people as much as we can while we’re together.” I had no idea if that was the right thing to say.

Leah had wandered into the corner and was reading books, already losing interest in the conversation. Her four-year-old mind couldn’t absorb the impact of my words. Leah would be fine, though. She welcomed change and challenge in a way that Hannah never did. I marveled at their differences—one reticent and wary, the other so tough, seeming to bravely confront life in every way. My lion and my lamb. I retrieved a globe from the playroom and I showed them Canada.

“Why is Daddy in Canada?” Hannah asked.

Good question.
“I don’t know exactly, Hannah.” Then, I decided to tell her a small lie. “He went there for work, but made a mistake and told me the wrong place before he left. So I didn’t know he was there.”

“Will he come home and live here now? With you and me and Hannah and Drew?” Leah asked, and I almost laughed at the image. If it weren’t such a good question, I would have.

“I don’t know what will happen, Leah. We’ll have to see. Daddy is going to be in Canada for a while, but we’ll visit him every weekend.”

“And then he’ll live here?” Hannah pressed.

I sighed. “We’ll see, Hannah. We’ll see.”

The ride to Toronto felt significantly shorter than the one a week ago. Drew’s hand rested lightly on my knee, physically connecting what emotionally divided us. I drove faster than I should have, nervously tapping the steering wheel.

I tried to talk to the girls on the way about Greg. “You guys should know that Daddy was really sick. And he doesn’t look the same, okay? He feels a lot better now, so don’t be worried, but he looks skinnier.”

Hannah regarded me distrustfully.
What are you hiding?
she seemed to ask. Leah hummed and looked out the window, clutching Uglydoll and bouncing her feet. Drew remained silent next to me, an extra in the movie of our life. I caught his eye every so often, and he would wink or smile, making me think for the millionth time how lucky I was to have him.
I could never give this up. I won’t do it.
First things first.
Get through today. Tomorrow I can worry about the rest of my life.
My kids were about to see their father for the first time in two years.

When we got to Toronto, Drew dropped us off at the rehabilitation center and went to check into the hotel. We would call him when we were ready to leave. Before we went in, I kneeled down in front of the girls. What I was about to say made me uneasy, but I didn’t know what else to do.

“Listen, girls, don’t say anything to Daddy about Drew, okay?” They nodded, but I could tell from Hannah’s expression that she didn’t like it. Leah was agreeable; her age made her more compliant and trusting. “Daddy doesn’t remember very much. His memory got hurt when he was sick, so we’re going to spend today talking about all the things we did before he was gone and all the fun we had, okay?”

“Why do we have to lie?” Hannah asked.

I shook my head. “Don’t lie, Hannah. If Daddy has a question, always tell the truth. But this is going to be hard for Daddy because he’s missed us so much. I wanted to tell Daddy about Drew on my own. It’s a grown-up thing.”

Hannah finally agreed, but the mistrust in her eyes remained. I led them inside, through the hallways, and to the same room where I had spoken with Greg the last visit. I had a Disney movie tucked into my purse. If nothing else, that might help occupy Leah for the duration of our visit. I paused outside the door, holding Hannah’s hand tightly.

Leah gripped Hannah’s other hand, her smile brilliant and her feet tapping. “I’m so excited,” she stage whispered, giggling. Little Leah saw nothing but joy in the situation, a stark contrast to Hannah, who patiently waited for the other shoe to drop. But even Hannah grinned broadly.

I opened the door and was struck by déjà vu. Greg stood at the window, then turned to face us with the same expression. But tears streamed down his cheeks. I was taken aback. I had never seen Greg cry. He approached and, with the abandonment of a child, wrapped the girls in a hug. He sobbed then, raw and guttural. I felt a lump in my throat as I knelt with them, one hand on each of the girls’ backs. Hannah was crying, too.

“Why is everyone so sad, Mommy?” Leah asked.

I laughed through my own tears. “Oh, baby, everyone is so happy.”

I turned to watch Greg. Realization dawned on his face, his joy replaced by regret and then anger, a spectrum of emotions I’d never seen him have.

“Claire,” he said, “they’re so big. Hannah is so big. I’ve missed everything. Why?” He sank to the floor, letting go of them, his delight turning to sorrow.

The girls scurried back to me. He put his head on the floor and cried. My heart felt ripped apart for him. For us. I reached out, and for the first time since I discovered he was alive, held Greg in earnest. Hannah stood at the door, protectively embracing Leah.

I waved her back to us. “It’s okay, honey. Daddy is sad because he’s missed you so much.”

She reached out in a gesture beyond her years and patted Greg on the back, shushing him the way I did Leah whenever she fell or got hurt. Greg cried heaving sobs, and we waited patiently for them to subside. When he finally straightened, he didn’t apologize for his outburst or try to make excuses.

It’s the brain injury
.
He has no idea how to restrain his grief.

We all sat silently on the floor for a few moments, holding each other.

Then, Leah announced, “Daddy, I’m so glad to see you, finally!”

And we laughed.

Chapter 36

W
e stayed with Greg until
four o’clock in the afternoon. By then, the girls were hungry, and we were all mentally exhausted. For three hours, we sat in the small room in the rehab facility and told the stories of our lives, randomly, all talking at once in a jumble of words, which confused Greg most of the time. We told the story of the time we went looking for a Christmas tree, and Greg wanted the biggest tree he found, which wouldn’t have fit in our house. We had gotten in a fight, then, because I tried to be agreeable. We settled on a slightly smaller behemoth of a tree that still didn’t fit in our house. Greg had to carve out the back of the tree to fit into the corner of the living room. On the upside, I had enough greens to make a live wreath. Hannah remembered that well, as it had happened the Christmas before Greg disappeared.

We let Hannah guide the conversation, bringing up memories at random. Some would spark Greg’s memory, and some wouldn’t.

She would turn to Greg, hope shining on her face, and ask, “Do you remember, Daddy?”

He would sadly shake his head and say, “Tell me what you remember, Hannah.”

And she would. But I could tell she was disappointed. Leah didn’t have memories to contribute, but she delighted in telling Greg all about preschool, day camp, and all the new things she could do.
Hannah showed me how to tie my own shoes! I can color a whole picture and not go outside the lines at all!

Several times, Greg cried openly, marveling at his children—so grown, small adults with opinions he didn’t help form and views of the world he didn’t give them. Hannah would shrink against the back of the couch, unused to seeing grown-ups cry so candidly.

Greg’s memory was spotty when it came to the year before he disappeared. He finally remembered Leah, or at least he said he did, although not specifically the day she was born. He sat on the wooden chair across from the couch, rapt as Hannah spoke. His face was alight with a joy I’d never seen. Because his baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes, I was struck frequently with the sensation of talking to a stranger. Not one expression or mannerism was recognizable as something I’d seen on my husband’s face. He had never worn baseball caps; he claimed they gave him a headache.

When we stood to go, he looked crushed. “Will you come back?”

“Yes, Greg, I will come back,” I promised. “Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know.” His expression pierced a hole in my heart—pained, nervous, and so very sad.

I motioned for the girls to wait in the hallway for me. I kissed Greg on the cheek.

“Were we happy, Claire? As a family?” he asked.

I thought so, but you weren’t.
How could I say that? The answer was, simply, that I didn’t. So I did what I’d gotten quite good at the last few weeks. I lied.

“Yes, we were happy, Greg.” And I left.

Drew and I took the girls to Applebee’s for dinner, and then we watched Cinderella in the hotel room. Hannah and Leah slept in one bed, while Drew and I slept in the other. Drew was quiet and withdrawn all night, a trait I was unused to in him. His reticence bothered me, but I let it go. I told myself that it was hard on him, too, and he had been nothing but accommodating.