in her hand. “Sorry for the short notice,” she mimicked in a bitter voice. “Don’t wait up.”
She picked up the white porcelain vase that she’d placed the daisies in and hurled it across the room. The vase hit the corner of the table and broke into several pieces. The daisies seemed to float to the floor in slow motion, as she stood there, shocked at what she had just done. Water from the vase sat in little pools on the kitchen floor, reflecting the midday sun that shone in the windows. Ever so slowly, she walked over to where they had fallen and knelt down to pick them up, one by one, as though she was picking them out of a garden. Once she had gathered them back into a bouquet, she stood up, leaned against the counter and held them close to her heart, as if they were Dillon himself.
She was relieved that Eric wasn’t there to witness her outburst. What would he think if he saw her acting like a madwoman? For that matter, what would anyone think?
As she walked over to the cupboard to find another vase, her gaze fell upon Eric’s wrinkled Post-it note on the counter and the rage bubbled inside of her again. Who did he think he was, that such a cryptic scribble would suffice? She knew she hadn’t been much fun lately, but couldn’t he see that she needed him? Perhaps she’d been so unpleasant to be around that he was trying to steer clear of her. She arranged the daisies in the new vase, a cut glass one that had been her grandmother’s, and made a mental list of examples from recent days to support her theory. As the light bounced off the vase and made prisms on the kitchen wall, she remembered how alone she’d felt in the days since Dillon’s death. Dillon’s death. The very thought made her realize how she’d been avoiding the painful reality of it all. She’d been thinking of how Dillon had been born, but couldn’t quite admit that he had died. She didn’t know if she was ready to do that. Maybe Eric was having the same problem, even though he’d told her that he was ready to move on. He said he was tired of the sadness and tears; he wanted his wife back the way she was before all of this happened. He wanted it to be fun again. Annie wanted to be supportive of his wishes, but she didn’t know how to be fun right now. It seemed wrong, not to mention impossible. She hoped and prayed that she’d be “normal” again, but deep inside, at the very core of her being, Annie knew she’d never be the way she was before. It scared her to think of that because of how Eric would react. Would he be able to love the new version of Annie? Would he even like her? She needed him. Had she told him that? She couldn’t remember -- all she knew was that he was awfully hard to talk to lately. Whoever he was with on the boat was probably a lot more fun.
Suddenly a disturbing thought popped into her head: Who else was on the boat? Was that blonde from the cemetery with him? A chill ran though her; a cold front clashing with the heat of anger. She felt dizzy and sick to her stomach and had to grab the counter for a second to get her bearings. She hated feeling jealous and insecure, but there was something about that woman that made her blood run cold. She felt it the first time she’d seen her, and then at the cemetery, and she felt it now. Annie took a deep breath and shook her head as if to make the bad thoughts disappear. She needed to keep her mind on the task at hand and that was to bring Dillon his blue daisies.
Seeing her baby’s headstone for the first time had been painful. It made everything more real to see Dillon’s name carved into the granite, with only one date to measure his life instead of two. She hadn’t expected it to be there and was both pleasantly surprised and stricken with sadness at the same time. The grass had been recently mowed, leaving clippings scattered across the headstone. Some of them had settled down into the grooves, filling the curves and angles of his name. Annie knelt down and ran her fingers over the cold, smooth surface and lovingly traced the letters of his name. She patted it, as though she were patting his little back, soothing him to sleep. A tear ran down her nose and landed in a tiny splash in the center of the “o”. What are the chances of that? She smiled to herself for a second and thought how if Eric were there with her, she’d point it out to him. She definitely knew that Dillon would find it funny and it occurred to her that perhaps he had something to do with it. Perhaps he was trying to make his mommy smile in spite of her tears. She wiped the tear away, patted the headstone again and whispered, “Thank you.”
It was almost dinner time when she returned home to a still empty house. That was when she decided to open the bottle of Chablis. She’d been perfect throughout the pregnancy, never allowing a drop of alcohol touch her lips. A lot of good that did, she thought as she struggled to remove the cork from the neck of the bottle. The wine rolled over her tongue as she took a sip, tasting tart and sweet at the same time.
She ambled over to the refrigerator to see what there was to eat for dinner. There were fresh vegetables for a salad and two thick steaks, as well as juicy green grapes and succulent peaches. Nothing looked appealing even though it had earlier in the day when she bought it. Then she had been picking out food to make a special dinner for Eric that night, and now she would be eating alone. Again. She closed the appliance door, telling herself she’d eat later. Nothing appealed to her now anyway.
Annie took her wine glass and went outside on the deck. The late afternoon shadows stretched across the yard, making abstract shapes on the lawn below. She placed her forearms on the redwood railing and leaned forward, staring aimlessly past the trees. The distance that was growing between she and Eric worried her. She never thought she’d lose her husband, but now she wasn’t so sure. She’d also never thought she’d lose her baby, but she did. She felt she was no longer immune to danger. Bad things could happen to her.
Eric didn’t get home until well after midnight. He tried to be quiet, easing the bedroom door open slowly, but cursed under his breath when its hinges creaked, piercing the silent darkness. He undressed by the light of the small black and white T.V. that was perched on the chest of drawers in the corner. Annie had been falling asleep with it on lately, explaining that it kept her mind off her dreams. What she hadn’t said was that it also helped her feel less alone since he was gone so many evenings. The low hum of the voices of Johnny Carson and Ed McMahon kept her company as she drifted off into the fitful slumber that had become her normal routine. Eric switched off the television and climbed into bed. The waterbed sloshed violently as he tried to rearrange the top sheet that Annie had clasped under her chin. He tugged at it gently at first and then more firmly when he couldn’t loosen it from her grip. The noise and movement flickered in and out of the dream she was having about holding Dillon close to her chest as he sucked his thumb and slept contently. The commotion irritated her because it was finally a good dream, one that brought some peace to her heart and a smile to her lips. Because she didn’t want to have the dream disappear, she pretended she was still asleep and let the sheet fall from her hands. She heard Eric let out a sigh of relieved exasperation as he pulled it over his shoulder and rolled onto his side with his back to her. With the sheet gone, Annie clasped her hands around each other, placed them under her chin again and hoped that Dillon had waited for her to come back to him.
Sunshine filtered in through the blinds early the next morning and fell across Annie’s face. She opened her eyes and just laid there, waking as slowly as she could, taking in the day. Birds were chirping in the lilac bush outside the bedroom window. Hearing them as well as seeing the sunshine made her realize that she’d slept later than usual. She turned onto her side, and saw that Eric’s place next to her was empty. Feeling it with her hand, she was relieved to discover that the sheets were still warm, that he really had been there next to her last night. Her mouth felt as though it was lined with cotton, a reminder of the wine she’d had the evening before. She swallowed and licked her lips a couple of times, happy to realize that she felt fine except for this. No headache, no nausea. Good. The last thing she needed was a hangover.
The aroma of fresh brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen and Annie followed it like radar. A cup of coffee would taste wonderful. Eric was in the kitchen with what appeared to be half the contents of the refrigerator on the counter. Bowls and frying pans and egg shells were strewn about haphazardly. He was humming a little tune as he used the wire whisk to beat pancake batter briskly. Sensing he was no longer alone, he looked up at her.
“Good
