“How do you know he’s dead?”
“The way you talk about him. That kind of loss charges language.” Alice waited, but Madeline did not elaborate.
“I was fourteen. Some days it feels like it happened so long ago. Others it feels like he’s still here.” Alice watched her hands wring in her lap. It was not the sort of thing she admitted to anyone, even herself. Some days she would wake up and his death would hit her anew. Others it seemed like he’d always been an apparition. She wasn’t sure which scared her more.
Madeline smiled in commiseration. “It’s been over ten years since Gregory died, and some mornings the realization that he’s gone is enough to keep me in bed all day.” She didn’t say who Gregory was. She didn’t need to.
“What happened to him?”
“An accident.” Madeline stroked the scar on her cheek.
“My dad had a heart attack. My mom was in the kitchen. I was clearing the plates, but he was at the table. He was a big eater, so even though he ate quickly, it always took him longer to finish than me or my mom. We’d start doing the dishes while he was still eating because we didn’t want to wait. When I walked back in, he was slumped over his plate. I always thought, I always wondered, if I’d been in the room when it happened, if maybe I could have saved him.”
“Do you know CPR?”
“Not at the time.”
“Did you have a cardiac board for resuscitation?”
“Of course not.”
“So what exactly would your being in the room have done?”
“I could have called 911 sooner. My mom could have helped.”
“And a minute or two would have made a difference?”
“If I’d been there, he wouldn’t have died alone.”
And there it was. The essence of her guilt. Alice and her mother had been laughing over something that had happened to her at school that day, something she’d long ago forgotten, while death had seized her father’s body, refusing to let go. Did he hear their laughter? Did it fill him with one last moment of joy before he was gone? Alice would never be able to ask him.
“Blame is its own form of grief.” Madeline scratched at the scar on her cheek. “It’s easier to feel guilty than to admit you’re helpless. We’re all helpless when it comes to love and to death.”
“You blame yourself too,” Alice said.
“I would have done anything for Gregory.” Madeline held her frail hands out to warm them against the fire. “I mean that literally. I would have died for him. I would have had children if that’s what he wanted. I would have moved anywhere to be with him, even here, to the woods. It didn’t scare me to be that devoted to him. What scared me was my suspicion that he didn’t love me with the same intensity that I loved him. I couldn’t shake it. One day he might wake up and decide we were over. No matter how often he told me he wasn’t going anywhere, words were never enough. Flowers felt like a ruse. Passion was just passion. I never doubted that he craved me physically, but desire isn’t the same as love. I could feel him in my blood, pumping through my body, keeping me alive. I didn’t believe it was the same for him. So I’d test him. I’d say, ‘If you love me, you’ll walk across the highway blindfolded.’ ‘If you love me, you’ll jump into this freezing pond.’ ‘If you love me, you’ll eat a pot of dirt.’ Sometimes, the tests were silly. Other times, they could be dangerous. Russian Roulette, knife throwing, fire walking. Anything I asked, he would do it. While it was fun for both of us, it never seemed to be enough for me to trust that his love was absolute. I didn’t want anything less.” Madeline sipped her tea, savoring it as she had the food, eyes shut, mouth pursed.
“You let him eat a pot of dirt?” Alice interrupted, horrified and struggling not to show it.
“It was a very small pot,” Madeline said.
“And he really crossed the highway blindfolded?”
“It was the middle of the night, and I made sure there were no cars coming, although I didn’t tell him that. It wasn’t actually dangerous, just held the illusion of danger.”
“What about the Russian roulette?”
Madeline shot the girl an incredulous look. “The gun was empty. I would never let anything happen to him. That wasn’t the point. How can love be unconditional if you don’t condition it? That’s why I constantly tested him. Even that day.”
It was a rare clear morning in the mountains, normally cloaked in fog from the ocean. Gregory had been jumping on the bed until Madeline could not ignore him anymore. She peeked open one eye. That was enough. He grabbed her hand and dragged her outside. They ran through the woods barefoot, Gregory in his boxers, Madeline in her long white nightgown. She dared him to scale a tree in the name of love. He climbed so high she made him come down, and when he did his palms and feet were bloody. They made love against the tree, the bark tearing Madeline’s skin, cuts that outlasted Gregory. When even the contact of their bodies could not warm Madeline against the icy morning, Gregory carried her into the house and drew her a bath. Madeline bet him his love wasn’t limitless enough for him to hold his breath underwater for a minute, and he held it for two. When they were famished, he made them eggs, holding his palm over the open flame when Madeline lamented that his love for her didn’t burn. It was a perfect, aimless morning where they had nothing to do but enjoy each other. That was always when she tested him the most. Gregory said it was because Madeline didn’t believe she deserved the perfection of their love. Madeline asserted it was because she did.
Gregory felt like taking a drive. They dressed in black. Madeline always insisted they match subtly. That way everyone who saw them would realize they were a pair. After Gregory died, Madeline wished they’d picked different outfits that day, stripes or paisley, anything other than black.
They barreled down the dirt road in Gregory’s old truck. Madeline played with his hair. He had thick wavy hair that he grew long because she liked to comb her fingers through it.
He turned up the music and drove faster, the truck bouncing with every root along the road. He swayed his head, tapping the steering wheel as he shut his eyes and sang.
“Deer!” Madeline screamed. “Gregory, deer!” Even in moments of panic she called him by his full first name.
