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I smile at Fin who grabs a handful of my hair in passing. “Would you rather I let that thing eat the kids?”
“Holy shit!” It’s then she realizes what’s sitting about, I don’t know, twenty feet from us. Way too close for comfort, but what the fuck do I know. “Is that a coyote? What’s it doing in the daylight? I thought they only came out at night?”
Unwrapping Fin’s hand from my hair, I take her in my arms and set her on my leg beside Hazel. “Apparently not.” I try to snuggle the two of them closer, but Fin pushes away from me. “You stink,” I tell her, joking, and she squirms to get away, her belly laugh startling the coyote away from us.
All the kids join in tickling her to get her to laugh because it’s rare Fin laughs like this. My smile meets Kelly’s, the setting sun reflecting in her eyes. She’s fucking beautiful in this light. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a smile like that. Two years to be exact. Before Mara got cancer and never since. In my arms, it’s the little wild child who refuses to talk and smells like shit who gets us all laughing.
* * *
It’s after midnight,all the kids are asleep and I’m searching for a hotel with a vacancy in the desert. I’m thankful they’ve fallen asleep because if I have to hear “Baby Shark” one more time, I just might drive this car off a cliff, should I find one.
Beside me, Kelly’s looking out at the barren moonlit land, her eyes watery. “I think we should take the kids to Mara’s grave.”
My heart pounds in my chest, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. I lean into the door. “You can take them.”
Her eyes drift to mine. “What?”
“I said you can,” I reply, throat thick with tears I won’t let fall.
The passing lights along the highway light up her face. I feel the burn of her gaze, and then the demand. “So you’re not going?”
“She’s not there, Kel. That’s just her body. I don’t see the point.”
“At least it’s something. Kids need something to believe in and see.”
“The kids or you?”
“Whatever, Noah.”
“So you’re mad now?”
“I am. You’re doing everything you can to forget her.”
It’s a truth I never want to admit, but it’s easier this way. “I am.”
“Why would you say something like that?”
“Because it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad I can’t even bear to hear her name, and I don’t want the fucking reminder.”
Kelly’s a picture of frustration trapped inside a nightmare. “I refuse to let our children grow up not knowing her. I refuse to forget her.”
I don’t want to forget her either. I don’t, but this pain, this guilt, I don’t want it.
Groaning, I keep one hand on the wheel and drag my other through my hair. My mouth is dry, lips pressed shut as her pain radiates from her. I gaze at Kelly’s tormented blue eyes, and they tear at me. I’m tired of living half a life and this void between us. I’m terrified of what we’ve become, false smiles and stone silent. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
A memory hits me at my words. Kelly said that same thing to me when the doctors told us Mara’s cancer had spread so fast, so much that she wouldn’t make it.
“I can’t do this,” she cried against my shoulder. “I can’t make this decision.”
And I told her, “We can’t keep doing this.”
We couldn’t. I wouldn’t put Mara through any more suffering than what she’d been through. Her childhood was gone. For the last few months, her bright blue eyes had become lifeless, and finally, her body had enough.
My body feels like lead. A nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach stirs. I need air. I crack the window. It doesn’t help. Swallowing against the lump in my throat, I repeat, “Tell me what you want.”
Kelly exhales, tears sliding down her cheeks. My gaze holds hers steady. “I shouldn’t have to tell you what to do.”
I watch her carefully, eyes assessing. I avoid because it’s what I do, but here in this car, confined, the bitterness and betrayal are evident. “Do you hate me now?”