Each of the girls, John, and I had a jar of ashes. Not a fancy urn or beautiful container, but a plain, glass Ball jar containing what was left of the woman I loved most. Scott had claimed he needed to get to the airport, but I knew it was simply too hard for him to stay. He had said good-bye to Mom in spirit at the church, but to say good-bye to her in the flesh was too much. May as well move on to something where he might be able to help. I thought his Iraqi quest was silly at best, terribly risky at worst. But, as I have known from that moment as a teenager when Jack told me he never wanted children, you cannot change a man. It was fruitless to try.
Sloane opened her jar first and said, “Grammy, we miss you so much already, but we know you are happy here. You are at peace.”
We all wiped our eyes as the ashes blew into the wind, mingling into the sand, being swept out into the water, and catching on the blades of marsh grass. My mother was a part of Starlite Island now, as much as the waves and the wind and the tide. It was just as she had always wanted it to be.
“Mom,” John said, his voice catching in his throat. I took his hand and nodded at him to go on. “I know I didn’t always make you proud, but I promise you that I’m here now. I will watch over your family. I promise you I will make it right.”
I hoped with all my heart that was true. I didn’t say it then, but I would tell my brother later that, for me, it wasn’t about making anything right. It was what we did now, how we came back together that mattered.
We all took turns saying our piece about how much my mother had meant to us, and even as we were saying our final good-byes, it was incomprehensible to think she was gone. I went last, and when it was my turn, so much that I had wanted to say to my mother had already been said. Jack put his arm around me, squeezing me to his side. “Mom,” I started, “I am so happy you get to be here, at our favorite place, with Daddy, for eternity. The two of you together forever was the way it was always meant to be.”
Jack looked down at me. I looked up at him. And I wondered if maybe the same couldn’t be said for the two of us.
THIRTY-ONE
possibly ever
sloane
Adam’s return home from his first deployment after we were married was so magical that I felt like it might be worth the time apart if I got to have these golden moments when he came home. He flew into one of our small local airports and when he and his unit arrived, dressed in their Class A’s, everyone was clapping and cheering. I felt so proud in that moment. Everything I had sacrificed over the past few months had been worth it. My husband was a national hero. I couldn’t help but feel like I was a part of that.
I had made up my mind to finally tell him only one of us had been trying for a baby. But as we fell asleep that first night, and he held me close, I kissed his lips and felt his stubble on my cheek, and I knew I simply couldn’t bear it if he left me. I was fine with being alone. I just didn’t want to be without Adam.
When we woke up the next morning, Adam rolled over, kissed me, grinned boyishly, and said, “Let’s get you pregnant.”
I smiled, thinking,Well, unless I’m that tricky half of a percent, that seems unlikely.
But I couldn’t tell him. Not yet.
As he made love to me with so much feeling, so much intention, I promised myself I would tell him the truth. This had gone on long enough. I was betraying him, and I couldn’t do it anymore.
I cleaned up the town house and went to the grocery store to get everything I needed to make my grandmother’s chicken divan that Adam loved so much. I bought him his favorite IPA from a local brewery, put my hair up the way he liked, and wore a dress that showed a little more cleavage than usual.
And then I prayed that he would forgive me, that he could understand, that I would be forgiven for treating the man I loved most in the worst way I could imagine. Even in the moment it seemed kind of foolish. Who could possibly understand what I had done?
When we sat down at dinner, candles flickering between us, I took a sip of wine and a deep breath, and said, “Adam, I have to tell you something.” I paused and looked down into the plate I knew I wouldn’t touch. “It’s hard to say, and you aren’t going to like it.”
He eyed me warily, and I could almost hear what he was thinking. Deployment affairs were not uncommon. I almost felt offended that he would possibly think I would do such a thing—until I remembered that what I had actually done was so much worse.
I took a deep breath and reached for his hand. “Adam,” I said. “I wish with everything I had that I had told you a long time ago, when we met.” For the briefest of moments I considered telling him I couldn’t have children. Then he couldn’t be mad at me, right? But I couldn’t lie to him anymore. “I don’t want to have children now.” I paused and said more softly, “Possibly ever.”
I felt his hand go limp in mine before he pulled it away. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He took a bite of his chicken, wiped his mouth, put his napkin back in his lap, and stared at me.
I could tell by the look on his face that he was thinking I couldn’t possibly have said what he thought I said. “I don’t understand.”
“I just can’t, Adam. After my dad died, I swore up and down I wouldn’t put myself in that place again. I wouldn’t love with all I had only to be heartbroken.” I paused. “I went against everything I had ever told myself by falling in love with you, but I just can’t do this, Adam.”
The look on his face was something between shock and betrayal. “But we’ve been trying to have a baby,” he said. “We tried for months.”
I bit my lip. “Well...”
“Well, what?”
“I have an IUD.”
Now I wasn’t having any trouble reading his look. It was a look that said he didn’t know me at all. He stood up calmly and smoothed his napkin, setting it on the table.
“Adam, please,” I said. “Let’s talk about this. I want you to understand.”
