Chapter 64 - The Light We Lost

Kids are amazing. Really, truly they are. They’re open and caring and loving, four-and-a-half-year-olds especially.

Seeing you so distraught at the airport tugged at my heart. But it tugged at Violet’s too, apparently, in an even more powerful way.

“Mommy’s friend Gabe was crying,” she told her dolls the next day. “He’s really sad.”

“Can I give Gabe this picture?” she asked me. “It’s a heart and a sun and a lollipop. And smiley face stickers. Because they’re happy.”

“How about I take a photo of it, and we send that to his phone?” I asked her.

She nodded and solemnly held out her picture for photographing. “Don’t forget to charge your phone so it’ll work,” she told me, which tells you a lot more about me than it does about her, I think. Or maybe a little bit about each of us.

I took the picture and e-mailed it to you with an explanation. Do you remember? Your response came back a few minutes later: Tell Violet thank you.

“Good,” she said. “Tell him you’re welcome.”

Then at dinner Violet told the story to Darren. And to my surprise she added, “I need to cheer him up more. So I think he should come over for a play date. I’ll show him how to make cookies.”

We’d just started baking together, and Violet thought it was one of the most magical experiences in the world. She’d stare and stare through the oven window at the pan of batter until it bloomed into a cake, often narrating in real time.

Darren lifted his eyebrows at me.

“It’s the first I’m hearing of this too,” I said.

“He was so sad, Daddy,” Violet told him. “He was a grown-up crying like a kid. And when people are crying we’re supposed to cheer them up. That’s what Miss Melissa says at school.”

I bit my lip. I knew Darren’s feelings, but I also knew that I was as worried about you as Violet was and wouldn’t mind seeing you once more before you went back overseas.

“She’s right. That is what Miss Melissa says . . .” I shrugged at Darren, kind of at a loss. I wasn’t going to push it. I was going to let him decide. Because you did put another man’s wife in your photography retrospective, Gabe. And even if you hadn’t, I would’ve understood if he said no. Darren had every right not to want my ex-boyfriend at our home. To be honest I probably should’ve said no. I should have thought more about it, about what it would mean to have you there, but I didn’t. My marriage felt strong enough that I didn’t even wonder if letting you into my world would crack it, dent it, change the way I thought about Darren. But it did. I didn’t realize it at the time, or even in the months afterward, but if I trace things back, I think this was one of those fork-in-the-road moments, a decision that pointed us down the path we ended up traveling.

Darren thought about it, his chess-playing crease appearing between his eyes. “Fine,” he said, after a few moments of Violet looking at him with imploring eyes, of me looking down at my plate, cutting salmon into bite-sized pieces. “You’re right, Vi. We should cheer people up when they’re sad.” I wondered then if he’d maybe stopped seeing you as a threat—because of something I’d said or Violet had said. Or if he thought that being in our apartment, with photographs of our family all around, would somehow make me less desirable to you. Or if he simply thought, like I did, that our marriage was solid enough that it wouldn’t matter. I never asked him why he said okay. I just accepted it. But I’m sure there was a reason. With Darren there’s always a reason.

And that’s how you ended up with an invitation to my apartment, to bake cookies with my daughter. I have to admit, I was surprised when you said yes.

•   •   •

WE CHOSE A DATE over e-mail—a day that was supposed to be a work-from-home Friday for me, though I ended up taking the day off. You were planning to be in New York for forty-eight hours, and were going to come straight from the airport. Violet insisted we decorate the apartment with balloons for you, and that we draw happy faces on each one. So we did, some with tongues, some without. Some had eyelashes. Others, eyebrows.

“Do you want one?” she asked Liam. He was almost eighteen months old, and Maria was going to take him to the Transit Museum—he loved running up and down the trains.

“Green,” he said. She nodded and handed him a green balloon before he left with Maria.

I started the kids’ laundry, and then Violet and I got out all the cookie-making ingredients. As we were taking out the mixing bowl, the buzzer rang, and my daughter went running. Annie followed her, barking.

“Hello?” I said through the intercom.

“It’s me,” you answered.

“It’s him!” Violet said.

I buzzed you in and opened the door. A few minutes later, you arrived in my living room. The first thing I noticed was that you’d shaved your head. Violet noticed too.

“Where’s . . . where’s your hair?” she asked, her tiny brow furrowed. It was the one expression that made her look like Darren.

Your eyes went quickly to me and then back to her. “It’s . . . in the laundry,” you told her.

“The laundry?” she echoed.

You shrugged, your dimple making a brief appearance. “Don’t you wash your hair when it gets dirty?”

Violet nodded. “But in the bath!”

You put the bags you were holding down onto the floor. “I thought the laundry would be easier.”

Violet looked up at me. “Can I wash my hair in the laundry?” she asked.

“We’ll talk about it later,” I told her.

She took off into the kitchen, assuming you’d follow, reciting the cookie-baking plans. But you stopped next to me. I held out my arms, and you fell into them. I felt your tears on my neck. “Why’d you shave your head?” I asked, quietly.

You straightened up and rubbed a hand over your eyes. “It’s a mourning ritual,” you said. “It felt right. Do I look that different?”

“Different, but still like you,” I said. “Are you sure you’re okay enough to make some cookies?”

“Of course,” you said. “And thank you. For having such a sweet daughter. For indulging her desire to cheer up a sad old man. For being there for me. It may sound absurd, but part of how I made it through everything in Arizona was by looking forward to today.”

After we mixed the dough and dropped it in different shapes on the cookie tray, after I slipped the tray into the oven, Violet got out a pasta pot.

“This is what we do so we don’t burn ourselves,” she told you. Then she turned on the oven light, put the pot in front of the oven door, and sat behind it. “We can’t reach the door now,” she said, and patted the spot next to her on the floor.

You sat there with her, the two of you watching the entire twelve minutes while the cookies baked, neither of you saying a word. I wondered what you were thinking. What she was thinking. But I didn’t ask. I watched you both, hoping that this day would help you, that Violet’s concern would mean something, that you would feel like you still had people who cared about you even though your mom was gone. I didn’t want you to feel untethered.

When the timer rang, Violet brought me the oven mitt that hung on the drawer next to the sink. “They’re ready!” she said. “And we can play Hide and Go Seek Castle while they cool.”

“Hide and Go Seek Castle?” you asked, standing up and taking the pasta pot with you.

Violet turned to you while I opened the oven door. “We dress up like people from a castle, and play hide-and-seek. You can be the king.”

I almost dropped the cookie sheet when she said that. Darren was the only person she’d ever let be the king. When Jay came over she had him be the magician. And my father and Darren’s father were always court jesters.

“Are you my queen?” you asked Violet, as she took your hand and brought you to her box of dress-up clothes.

“No!” she said, as if that were the most ludicrous idea anyone had ever come up with. “I’m the fairy! Mommy’s the queen.”

You looked over at me as I turned off the oven and walked toward you two.

After she’d put crowns on both of our heads, Violet slipped on her fairy wings and said. “Okay, king and queen, I’m hiding in your castle now! Count to twenty-three and then come find me!”

Twenty-three? you mouthed to me.

I shrugged. Violet ran off and we started counting.

“Louder!” she yelled from the hallway.

We’d gotten up to thirteen when I heard her say, “Hey! There’s a moat in this castle!”

I stopped counting. “A pretend moat?” I called.

“A real one!” she called back. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of small feet jumping in a puddle.

I ran out of the living room to the hallway. “Where are you?” I asked.

“It’s Hide and Go Seek Castle!” Violet said. “I can’t tell!”

She’d left the door to the laundry room open, though, and the puddle was expanding into the hall. “Oh, God,” I said, running toward the puddle.

You raced past me to Violet. “Found you!” you said to her. “I think this is the part where the king picks up the fairy and makes her fly!” You lifted Violet up and out of the puddle.

“Higher!” she shouted, laughing. “Fairies fly higher.”

I stood in front of the laundry room, staring. Shit, I thought, Shit, shit, shit. The water was still coming from the back of the washing machine. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed Darren.

“You okay?” he answered after the first ring.

“Me, yes,” I said. “The laundry room, no. There’s a huge puddle. I think the washing machine’s broken. Who’s our plumber?”

“Oh, hell,” he said. “I’ll e-mail you the number. Unless you want me to call?”

“No, no,” I said. “I’ll do it. Should I turn it off? Unplug it?”

“I have no idea,” Darren said. “Ask the plumber. I just e-mailed you. Let me know how it goes.”

I hung up and flicked to my e-mail. You came flying by with Violet. “Where’s your fuse box?” you said. “You need to cut the electricity to the washing machine.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, checking for Darren’s e-mail. “I was going to ask the plumber.”

“I’m sure,” you said, flying Violet in a circle. “You need to turn off the washing machine to stop the water from running, and you don’t want to deal with anything electric while standing in a puddle.”

“Oh,” I said. “That makes sense. It’s in the kitchen.”

You flew Violet into the kitchen, and then said, “Fairy coming in for a landing!” as you put her down on the countertop.

“More flying!” she said.

“The king needs to fix a few things,” you told her. You still had your crown on your head, only now it was slightly crooked.

She and I both watched as you adjusted your crown and flipped the fuse that said laundry room.

“Should I call the plumber now?” I asked.

You were already taking off your socks and shoes. “Let me take a look,” you said, rolling up your pant legs.

I picked Violet up off the counter and carried her to the laundry room, where we watched you pull the washing machine away from the wall and fix a loose connector in the hose. Since the water had stopped running, the puddle was already smaller, thanks to the drain in the middle of the laundry room floor.

“That should take care of it,” you said. “You may still want to call a plumber to be sure, but you can also try running the washing machine again and see whether or not it leaks.”

You stood up with that ridiculous crown still on your head. This is what life would be like if things had gone another way, I thought.

“You okay?” you asked, looking at me funny.

I smiled. “Thanks to you,” I said. “You’re more knight in shining armor than king, I think. Thanks for saving my laundry room.”

You laughed. “I’d hate to trade in my crown, but I have always liked Lancelot.” Did you want me to go there? To Lancelot and Guinevere? I have to assume you did.

I swallowed, wishing you couldn’t read me as well as you could, then turned to Violet, who was still in my arms. “Well, my fairy princess, I think our cookies are probably cool enough to eat. Do you want one?”

She squirmed down to the floor and went running into the kitchen shouting, “Yes!”

“A cookie, my queen?” you said, straightening my crown.

I looked into your eyes and saw the sadness there, even though you were trying to camouflage it. In the chaos of the laundry room flood, I’d lost sight of why you’d come. “How are you doing?” I asked.

“Better,” you said. “Thank you for today.”

“I’m glad—and you’re welcome.” I wanted to reach out and hug you, like I had when you walked in, but I held myself back. Guinevere’s married to Arthur, after all. Instead I said, “We should get to the kitchen before Violet tries climbing the cabinets.”

And then we sat down with Violet and ate the cookies the three of us had baked together.

•   •   •

I NEVER TOLD DARREN that you and I stayed in e-mail touch for a while after that. And then you were traveling so much I could barely keep track: the Philippines, Russia, North Korea, South Africa. The time between our messages got longer and longer until I realized it’d been months since we last spoke. Violet seemed to forget about you, for the most part. But every once in a while she’d ask if she could put her hair in the laundry, and I’d pause for a moment to send up a wish to the universe, hoping that you were safe and happy.