What the Dead Can Do, page 23
The idea of an authentically happy version of herself was scary. Friends in her home group had shared their own stories of overcoming their fear of the same—it didn’t matter, she still felt isolated and trapped. Defective. No one disliked her husband—at least, no one she knew. In fact, they all loved him. A consummate buddy. Tag and Amanda had held him in such high regard that … well, they certainly hadn’t picked them to be Ethan’s backup family because of her. She’d spent nearly a year believing that if she continued to fix herself, someday soon, she’d see Matthew the way everyone else did. The opposite had happened. Physically, she’d never been this healthy, but internally, she was infinitely more disingenuous for having quit drinking.
The red digits behind a large vodka bottle flipped to 11:25 AM. There’d been no new texts or calls from Matthew since his last voicemail the evening before. Boundaries. The word popped into her mind—not just the word but how he’d often said it. “This is your journey, Nicole. I’m here to help, but you know, I have to set boundaries.” His smug image made her spit. Fine, Matthew, set your boundaries. See what that gets you.
She grabbed a lukewarm beer from the nightstand and gulped for salvation, but it did little to ease what was stabbing at Nicole’s heart even more: Emily, who had her own phone, hadn’t reached out to check on her missing mother, not once. Nicole’s body shook from her hatred of them both and shook further still as her hostility shifted—she hated herself for hating them both so completely.
Part of what had always made her relationship with Emily so tenuous was her daughter had sensed from a young age that she didn’t love Matthew. It could have been projection, all in Nicole’s head, save for the fact Emily had once, and only once, asked about her feelings directly.
You don’t really love Dad all that much, do you?
Em was only seven when she’d asked. Nicole lied and tried to punctuate it by telling Emily it was a ridiculous question. Her daughter never brought it up again, but Nicole knew it wasn’t because she’d convinced her otherwise. Not everyone fakes love well.
As her daughter got older, Emily’s antagonism toward Nicole grew. When Nicole was a drunk, Emily’s anger was justifiable. But with Nicole sober and attentive, Em could still be quite caustic. Her epiphany last night revealed more than knowing it could never work out with Matthew. Emily still loathed her because she knew her mother had picked up the lie where she’d left off. Sober, stronger, capable, and still with Matthew. She was a coward.
She reached for the open pack of Camel Lights on the floor, a brand-new sin she’d added to her self-destruction repertoire. She’d smoked three of them, and they weren’t doing much for her anxiety. Were they supposed to? The clerk at the liquor store had recommended them.
“What’s a good cigarette to smoke?” she had asked him.
He squinted over an intentionally puckered lip as if the question was too dumb to answer. It was the type of disapproval that can sometimes turn a relatively plain man into forbidden fruit.
She tried to grin the question away, but the heat in her cheeks was uncomfortable, and speaking seemed like the only way to effectively squash her embarrassment.
“I mean, what do you smoke?”
“Camel Lights,” he said. His face had dropped the faux stupefaction. He was decidedly unremarkable again.
“OK then, give me a pack of those.”
He’d already grabbed and tossed them next to the liquor and beer. “That it?”
“That’s it. Yes.”
“You headed to a party?” he asked as he rang her up.
“No. Sadly, this is all just for me.”
His face went sideways again. It was far less sexy than the first time.
“It could be a party,” she hedged.
“Oh yeah?”
She’d already mentally committed to bringing him along for her tragedy. “Yeah, why the fuck not.”
“Cool. I’m off in a little bit.”
He’d arrived far earlier than she’d imagined he would, and she was only one drink in—ten too few to fuck a liquor store clerk. So, they drank together for a while, but the chit-chat was stilted. When he veered into questions about her home life after spotting her wedding ring, not even shot-gunning warm vodka made sex with him more appealing, so she pulled the plug.
His exit had been uneventful. Half of her had hoped he’d get angry, maybe even physical. She was ready to be broken, and violence might’ve been the quickest means to that end.
Nicole’s phone vibrated for the first time that morning.
ICAL EVENT: ETHAN’S FRIEND’S BIRTHDAY PARTY—10 MINUTES
A calendar reminder ushering in crushing pangs of regret might have been good for a chuckle had it not been happening to her. The ping on its own was devastating.
Her stomach couldn’t hold any more liquor, and the blackout she’d hoped for—a days-long, unfeeling detachment from everything real—remained out of reach. Dead to the world had been the goal. Or had she been wanting to die. To be dead. She wondered just how thin the line between the two feelings actually was. Either way, she cursed herself for not having put in the extra legwork the evening before to secure the drugs capable of packing just such a punch. A real walloper that didn’t give two shits about how sober you’d been, what you’d learned in the program, or how your brain had rewired itself to be impervious to its mind-altering credentials.
She hurt—bad. Her whole being was cloaked in a deeper distress than any she’d ever experienced, and she’d brought it on herself. Maybe that had been her plan. To work herself into a darkness so bleak and self-destructive that Matthew would have no choice but to leave her instead of the other way around. It was a coward’s plan, ripe with guilt, paranoia, and bordering on hysteria, not at all a best foot forward.
If there was a way to reverse course, Nicole would have to find out later. Her body finally succumbed to its agony and exhaustion. Call it passing out or going to sleep, it didn’t matter, Nicole was grateful for her brain’s insistence on shutting down. Booze had failed, perhaps rest would succeed and there’d be time to right wrongs tomorrow—but the hurt was too thick to drift away, and her eyes wouldn’t close, not in the way she remembered eyes closing for sleep. Was it tiredness at all? Something heavy invaded her body, and it felt like second breaths were being made by another using her lungs. Inhalations she was not in control of were going in and out around the slower breathing she still had a grip on. She thought it might be a stroke or a heart attack or both, but the panic it created did nothing to help her lift herself from the bed.
She tried to reach for her phone, but her limb stayed put. When she kicked, no kick came. She’d had dreams where she’d tried to run only to stay still or move like she was in quicksand, but this was ten times worse. No thought led to any action from her body—and then, her body started moving with no thought on her part. Her eyes had remained wide open the entire time, but her vision darkened with each passing second. As she fought to stay present in her body and to keep her eyes her own, she heard a voice, faint but familiar.
I’m sorry, Nicole, but there’s no other way to stop Amanda. I’ll take good care of your body so that you still have a chance to take better care of it yourself down the road.
It was Tag.
PART III
23
MATTHEW
Matthew sang “Happy Birthday” with the other adults and children. His contribution felt hollow, so he raised his volume above the others to legitimize his good wishes for the birthday girl. Across the table, Em might’ve been trying to set him on fire by thinking about it. “Stop it,” she mouthed. She didn’t embarrass easily, but she did have a zero-tolerance policy for anyone full of shit.
She’d put up only a light resistance to joining him and Ethan for the party that morning. The past was no barometer of what she might do in the present, but he’d been thankful she’d made it easy and had leaned on her frequently already as he navigated toddler-party politics.
Matthew used to tell his friends their daughter had her mother’s short fuse. Only those they’d known since college ever laughed at the comparison. The adults they’d met through parenting groups and Em’s early schooling had no point of reference to be amused. It wasn’t a good joke, but its success relied on an intimacy with a version of his wife they’d never met.
Somewhere along the way, after Emily’s birth, Nicole had lost her lust for fighting, for love, and maybe for living. He had hoped when she got sober, some of that old Nicole would come back. Maybe it had, or maybe it would, but who’d had the time to find out?
Before Emily’s eyes could finish crucifying him, Matthew forced a smile to let her know he’d read her loud and clear. He dropped his singing to a hush as they belted out the tune’s final line. His fluctuations hadn’t seemed to bother anyone. They were preoccupied with holding their children back from destroying the three-tier cake prematurely. Seeing their intolerant grips made him ease his own on Ethan, which had probably been tighter than theirs.
Matthew was exhausted. He’d fallen asleep mad enough to hope Nicole might never return. A tired brain presents simple solutions to a problem, and he’d faded out on the couch, believing her permanent absence might be the best thing for him and the kids. It’d made sense at that hour and only a bit less sense now. When it came to their family, she seemed disinterested.
Emily tapped his arm. He hadn’t seen her walk around the melee to his side of the table. Though her touch was gentle and she was grinning, it startled him, and he released his clutch on Ethan. The boy took advantage of his freedom. He hopped to the floor from his chair and joined the children campaigning for bigger slices of cake at the end of the table. Ethan’s manners were noticeably mature compared to those of the other preschoolers. He said please. He said pretty please, too. But his son’s civility didn’t garner a slice any faster, and Matthew wondered if he’d spent too much time preaching the virtues of playing by the rules to his kids.
Then, the host handed his son a plate holding the largest slice she’d served so far. He smiled at the woman’s kindness, and she smiled back. It was a near ear-to-ear bend made of color-corrected teeth, too straight to be natural, sure, but the smile’s effect was pure light. There was true joy in her, Matthew could feel it. She seemed authentically delighted with the chaos of dozens of hands that knew nothing about waiting their turn. If it was an act, it was deserving of an Oscar. Her patience with the children turned him on.
His sudden attraction to a woman he’d only met two hours ago was unexpected, and the timing was utterly inappropriate, but there was something sexy about how her enthusiasm rose to the challenge of matching the little monsters’ fervor. He wondered how much she’d had to drink, how she’d found the right balance of champagne and food to stay calm but not uncaring. He considered offering to help her do the dishes later for the chance to flirt with her more directly.
He’d fallen under the spell of other mothers before. Women who seemed immune to the intentional and negligent destruction happening around them, like it was right then.
Four children at the party, all under seven, belonged to the host. He’d been introduced to them all. Her kids and no less than fifteen others, from twelve months to twelve years, were actively bum-rushing the house, armed with chocolate icing the white walls could not defend. Matthew had already accidentally smooshed cubes of cheese and other bite-sized snacks under his feet and into expensive rugs in every room. A casual surveillance of the event turned up dozens of marks and smudges on furniture and walls, which weren’t there when they’d arrived.
How this woman had held her composure thus far was mindboggling. Hers was an equilibrium to lust after. He reassured himself this was what he was attracted to, not the woman herself, but making that assertion didn’t quiet his anticipation of getting to know her better later.
He and Nicole had never hosted a party this large. For the first time, Matthew wondered if the decision to keep Emily’s parties a more manageable size had been a mutual one. His wife’s nerves frayed easily, so they never had more than two of Emily’s friends over at once. It was what they always did—put his wife’s needs above Emily’s and even his own. And now Ethan’s too.
Emily poked at him again. This time, it was hard and into a love handle.
“What a nightmare,” she said. “Don’t you think?”
Her tone was light. It sounded like she’d fashioned the question just to end his spiraling.
“You don’t wish you’d had parties like this?” Matthew asked, eyes still on the host.
She grabbed his hand firmly and dragged him away from the table. As she navigated them from the dining room to the living room at the front of the house, he wondered if she’d set out to save him from making a mistake or just wanted his undivided attention for a while. She hadn’t had it in over a year. It was an odd place for that to sink in, but better late than never, so he went with her willingly. She settled them near a bay window and patted for him to sit.
“Do you think that brat is going to remember any of this?” she asked.
He took it all in again: Hundreds of pastel-colored balloons covered every inch of the ceiling, and intricately decorated cookies and cupcakes modeled after popular children’s show characters were on every available surface. There was laughter and music, and, well, they hadn’t brought in a live pony or anything, but it seemed like a possibility. This was a celebration he knew he would remember. For no other reason than never having given Emily one like it.
“The birthday girl just turned four,” Emily said. “Four! I don’t remember my party from that age, and it’s not because you guys forgot to stuff the house with every kid from the block.”
“You honestly don’t remember anything from that day?” he asked.
“My fourth birthday?”
“Yeah.”
“If I say I definitely don’t, will it hurt your feelings?”
“No,” Matthew lied as he steeled himself for the impending hurt.
“Who can say what I remember and what I only think I remember? I’ve seen the pictures of my fourth birthday on Mom’s Facebook page, you know what I mean?”
“Well, I remember it,” Matthew said lightly, happy she’d handled her response delicately. “Every detail. There were only two other kids, but we did hire a clown. He scared the crap out of you, but I still tipped him.”
Her expression offered no clue as to whether he’d jogged her memory, but his recollection of Em’s fourth birthday party had eased his growing concern for Nicole, which had merged with his guilt for wanting to sleep with the birthday girl’s mother. For a moment, he was present and only thinking about his little girl. Not so little now. He thought he might actually leave the party in a better mood than the one he’d arrived in, but the reprieve was short-lived.
“Are we going to talk about Mom?”
He acted like he hadn’t heard her question.
They’d talked about Nicole already. Both the kids had wanted to know where she was when she didn’t come down for breakfast that morning.
He told them she’d left early for a meeting and that sometimes when you are working out the hard stuff, you need extra help. If it had been only Emily, he’d have told her the truth: your mom went out last night, didn’t come home, and hasn’t called, texted, or responded to mine. But with Ethan all ears, too, he had lied. “She’ll join us later this afternoon, I promise.”
Save Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy, Matthew had always worked hard to ensure that whatever he told his daughter was the truth. He’d also made the same promise to speak the truth to Ethan when he’d first arrived. But if he ever sat to count, he knew the number of fabrications he’d made up to protect his son this past year would stack up quickly.
As it turned out, Matthew had been ill-prepared to talk with Ethan about Tag, Amanda, and the accident. His son had so many questions about death, and the convenience of Heaven was too easy to ignore. Ethan, though, often protested his descriptions of a fluffy cloud afterlife inhabited by winged angels going about their good deeds—protested as best as a four-year-old could, anyway. That made sense. Ethan was bright and it all sounded too stupid to be believed. He didn’t like lying to Ethan, wasn’t about to start lying to Emily, and would have put it all out there about Nicole for Emily right then, but as it turned out, he’d misunderstood her question.
“Sure,” he said. “I think you know that she didn’t have a meeting this—”
“No, Dad. I mean, she’s just been hiding outside on the sidewalk. For like an hour.”
He looked through the bay window, expecting to see Nicole lean out from behind a tree. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Emily turned to look for her mother, too. “I figured you knew and were ignoring her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, I don’t see her now,” Emily said, shrugging it off like a thousand times before.
God help him if Nicole was outside, hiding, or doing who knew what else. Matthew jumped up to go out front to look for her. As he did, he spotted Ethan in a large circle of other children on the floor. His son’s face was covered in chocolate icing, and he was laughing happily at the cartoon playing on the giant TV hung over the fireplace mantle.
Emily had stood too, and his pause gave her time to reach the front door ahead of him.
“No, Em. Please stay here and keep an eye on your brother.”
Surprisingly, she returned to the living room and plopped into the only available chair without any backtalk. However, she did open her eyes extra wide before exaggeratingly looking at Ethan. “Like this,” she said without blinking. “If she’s out there, don’t make a scene.”
“That’s rich, coming from you,” he said with a chuckle as he opened the front door. Then again, Emily had treated Sober Nicole more affectionately in recent months, relatively speaking. “You got it,” he corrected himself before stepping onto the empty stoop. He scanned the sidewalk from left to right and pulled his phone from his coat pocket. There were no new texts.
