Chapter Three

Carrie offered to watch Evie for the night and for as many nights as I needed. I was appreciative and gratuitously accepted. I went to the house and gathered up Evie’s clothes, toothbrush, and her lovey. It was while I was plundering through her drawers that I noticed something glistening beneath her bed. I knelt down to lift it from the tangles of the carpet. It was an earring. An expensive one. On my baby’s bedroom floor, and it didn’t belong to me. This brought my attention to my daughter’s bed which was tousled, the comforter folded down at the pillows. I knew I’d made it before I left this morning, and I always tucked the comforter beneath her pillows. 

I put my nose to the covers, and there was that smell again. The perfume, the cigarettes, the sex.

With a fury like I’ve never felt, I screamed. I screamed so loud that I hurt my own ears. I did not care. I dug my fists in her bed just before I started ripping the sheets and every stitch of fabric from it. My first thought was to burn it all. But this was Evie’s favorite quilt and sheet set. So, I composed myself and carried it into the laundry room instead. 

I grabbed the bag of clothes I’d packed for Evie, and as I walked through the living room, I looked up at the clock on the mantle. Nine thirty-eight the hands pointed out. “Home before you go to bed…” Peter had said to us just as he was leaving. What time exactly did he think we went to bed? I pulled my phone from my pocket to call Carrie to tell her I was on my way. 

Again, no missed calls. 

No nothing. 

I dialed his number one more time. This time it rang, but he still didn’t answer. It went straight to voicemail again. My first thought was to leave a few choice words for him, but instead I simply said, “Please call. Love you.” I tightened my grip on the bag, half-tempted to go pack one of my own, but decided I could only handle one major crisis at a time. I dialed Carrie, and slammed the door as I walked out into the night. The cicadas roared and the stars twinkled in the darkness of the night sky. The moon shone down from its lofty bed in the heavens. It was hard to believe that all this beauty continued to exist in the midst of my suffering. I felt like the stars should be falling, and the world should fall silent in the wake of my mourning. 

Evie was asleep by the time I arrived at Carrie’s, and Carrie herself was already in her pajamas. I quietly and quickly handed her Evie’s bag through the door. She came out onto the porch, gently pulling the front door closed behind her. 

“I don’t know what to say,” was all she said before wrapping her arms around me. I held onto her for a long time, letting it all go. The reality of it still hadn’t sunk in. I couldn’t be sure that it ever would. 

She reassured me that it was all right with her husband, David, that Evie stayed and that he too was sorry for my loss. He was already in bed or he would have told me himself, she said. I didn’t stay but a minute. Carrie wasn’t good at this kind of thing, and I knew it. Death is never an easy subject for anyone, regardless of how well you know those who are affected.

I drove home in silence. I didn’t bother to turn on the radio. I don’t think anything was in my mind. I was on autopilot, driving the all too familiar roads with no thought to it at all. I just stared into the darkness and drove.

When I got home, I dove straight into the Grey Goose and didn’t come up for the night. In the morning, I woke up on the sofa, eyes nearly swollen shut from all the crying, lying in a pool of my own slobber. Strangely, my mouth was dry. Probably because all the moisture was puddled on the sofa cushion where my face had just been. My head was pounding. I lay there for a long minute staring at the static on the television screen. I guess I tried watching one of our home videos. The TV had been on, but the DVD player had turned off sometime during the night. All that played now was the fuzz emitting the hissing sound from the speakers. I was supremely surprised that hadn’t woken me. 

I covered my eyes as I lay there in my hungover haze, and the events of the previous day flooded back to me, and I felt like I might vomit. The tears began to overtake me again. The memory of my dad lying there lifelessly on that cold metal table. My sore eyes couldn’t take any more of this. Neither could my nose. I rubbed my face and rose from the couch like waking from a bad dream you can’t shake. I thought I might fall over from my lack of balance, but somehow, I managed to make it over to the television to turn off the noise.

Sluggishly, I dragged my heavy legs into the bedroom where I’d expected Peter to be, but the bed was still made. Now, I was no longer angry with him, but genuinely alarmed. I struggled to pull my cell from my pocket.

There was one missed call. It was from Peter.