No attempt was made on their part or mine to start up a conversation. It would’ve been too awkward anyway. Peace found me once they had gone back outside, but not for long.
As I exited the bathroom, I noticed that the door to Violet’s office was cracked. She wouldn’t want any kids in there, or snooping parents. Violet had her own way about things, but she had her way, and it worked for her. Organized mess. I went to close the door, but I stopped before I did.
Shipping boxes were piled in corners, all marked with the contents inside. Mick’s this or that. A pallet had been made on the floor, the outline of it indented in the carpet— a sleeping bag was rolled up, set on top of a box. Extra blankets were folded and set on top of the sleeping bag. It smelled of his cologne in here.
My heart dipped into my stomach.
Had Violet told him about her and Mitch? I shook my head. No, that made no sense. We would have heard something about it—from Violet or Mitch.
What the hell was going on here then? Was Mick leaving? These were new boxes, crisp, some still open. The roll of tape was on the desk.
“Scarlett.”
I almost jumped clear out of my skin. Brando. He was soaked from head to toe in sweat, stains of mud and blood on his clothes. He smelled bitter from the outside air, and of musk from healthy sweat.
“You left,” he said.
“I had to—” I waved a hand toward the bathroom. “You won.”
The look on his face when he came in and the rush of adrenaline I felt told me all I needed to know. He nodded once, confirming. Then he looked beyond me, at the same scene I had been trying to absorb.
“How did you know that I was in here?” I whispered.
“Lo so,” he whispered back, unable to cease staring at Mick’s things from his life with Violet, all packed up.
I knowwas all he had said. He became so quiet that I almost touched him to make sure that he hadn’t turned to stone.
“I don’t like this,” I said, hoping for a reply. Without conscious thought, my hands came to my chest, to cover my heart.
There was still no response from my husband. His eyes stayed locked on the boxes, but his arms opened for me. I remembered feeling the same desperation right before I left for Paris, as my boxes were hauled into a store to be mailed. A three-year separation that almost did me in followed after that.
How long would Mick be leaving for?
The thought made tears spring to my eyes. I buried my face deeper into my husband’s chest, holding onto his shirt as though he might dissolve into thin air. He seemed to have similar feelings. He held me so tight that I could hardly breathe.
“Brando—you in here, man?”
Mitch. Even at the sound of his voice, neither one of us made a move to separate, only turned so that we were facing the door.
“We’re about to cut the cake.” He stuck his thumb behind him. “It’s good cake, man, goes well with the taste of victory.” He smiled, but it faded as he took in our faces. “What? Please don’t tell me someone died.”
Brando made a motion with his head toward the boxes. It took Mitch a moment, but he peeked around us. Time seemed to stand still. He didn’t move for a while.
“What’s going on, Lewis?” Brando broke the silence; the resuming of the hands of time loud as ittick,tick,tickedin all of our ears. “Mick leaving?”
I could’ve answered for Mitch. He was as stunned as we were, face pale and hands trembling. Violet and Mick hadn’t spoken to him either, apparently.
“I don’t know,” he said, at last. “But today’s the kid’s birthday. I—” He shook his head and then walked out, the tilt of his gait bringing him against the wall for support.
* * *
We stayed late to help Violet clean up. Paul was having a sleepover, and Mick had to keep lassoing Mary from his room. She wanted togrowlat the boys. Finally, Brando was enlisted to get the little monster and put her to bed. It sometimes gave me a pang when he did; no matter what he felt, I knew he’d be a good father. I just wished he could believe it.
“I do my best thinking while washing dishes, too,” Violet said, coming to stand next to me. She grabbed a dishtowel and started drying. “I put a little music on. All of the kids are in their rooms. It’s nice.”
My mind hadn’t left the room with the boxes and what they meant. It wasn’t just divorce either. That was still the loss of a life full of dreams and promises never seen through, two lives breaking apart and leaving each other with jagged hearts. It was the thought of loss in general. It was morbid, and I was sorry to be thinking about such things on a day we should have been celebrating.
I flicked a wad of bubbles at her, trying to seem a little happier. “You sound too grown-up. Stop it.”
