Edward

Chapter Four

Washington, DC 2018

Do you remember? That night at our soiree?

I can't recall if you noticed us together in the back corner of the garden. Nothing happened. Really, yet we are tangled — all three of us. Mom noticed. She noticed and she shakes her head whenever it comes up. She thinks - I know- that a part of me is stuck in my teenage years. I do. I wish I could go back and then restart. Maybe change the events. But, really, would you have been drawn to me if not for those deadly events?

That's why we live in secrets and shadows. I wish I could remember all of it.

Did you notice me that night? It was before I became pregnant with Maddy? Those were our best days and yet, I was still tangled in that net—when conditions were right as they were in the balmy DC heat, the cocktail parties we had back then. Your family had no boundaries (as it is called. There is a liquid desire or intimacy or sexuality and so for that reason it is both consensual and nonconsensual. A silent violation disguised as complicity. I don't know, maybe I was/ am complicit. I'm sure a part of me liked the attention from Jack that night. No reason. There was no reason for me to want your brother's attention.

I don't know if you noticed us there in the back corner of the garden. I felt pretty and maybe even sophisticated in my jumpsuit—a white loose halter, summer sandals. The silk of the fabric. Brushing against my tanned skin- the consequence of a week at your parent's house on the shore—

Your brother and I -I sometimes wonder if he wants to pick up where we left off when we were teenagers—until the silence descends—a vast emptiness where memories should be.

I don't know where they went Edward. The events that night. I never had them. Only three of us did: me, your father, and you. You are the only one carrying them now.

Well, I do remember parts. I see the ocean. I have the feeling of a cold fright and physical memory of violence—Your father's - Jack and I were still together then. The last summer—three years we'd been together. Three years. And that last year when I started college, I didn't think of you once on the campus of Georgetown. I knew you were there getting a BFA in writing. I don't remember if we did, but maybe we talked about the DC -culture we shared- when our paths crossed on holidays and the summer. Probably not.

Back then your whole family adopted me and adored me. They did adore me at one time. Not any more.

Jack forgave and accepted my abrupt rejection of him after what happened that night on the beach. He even forgave my falling in love with you. It was a series of events that conspired against him. Two long years after the accident we just happened to run into each other on campus. It felt like meeting for the first time.

I know now that the family curse landed on you.

You summoned no memories or triggers back to the black indigo sea and night on the beach. Surf forming and light a white reflection of the moon—deceptive foam that is of no substance—it's just simply water and salt and air agitated and frothy from the crashing violence of the tide.

The morning after you officially move back home to me and the kids, it is so mundane that I find it romantic —or maybe sentimental. It's taking root. You were only gone three months.I walk into the kitchen and you are sitting with Maddy-you've made her pancakes. You've hardly been away from her life and I can tell you genuinely missed her—her unrelenting enthusiasm, non-stop narration of her life and mind. Your little daughter; mornings are full of her thoughts, questions, ideas. I wished every day when you were gone that I'd had the energy to write down the things she said...how it evolved along with her personality. Three months is a long time in the life of a two year old, Edward. They are lost in the ocean of memories. Close enough to the surface that I could jot a few down but they are distorted as they submerged in my brain. Muted and incomplete from the medication I take to keep me afloat.

"It's funny papa."

You turn and smile at me.

"Papa! Papa!" She wants you to see only her.

"What is it honey?"

Do you know there's chicken and then there are the animals chicken. Why is there two kinds Papa?"

You turn to me again and your eyes laugh and I smile at you. I am adjusting Alex in one arm and reaching for the coffee pot with the other.'

You jump up. I've gotten used to managing life with a baby in my arms and a two year old at my side.

' "I got it" I say and take the coffee pot before you can get to it. I soften "No. It's ok...talk with Maddy. I'm fine."
Your eyes linger and you offer an uncertain smile.

"Did anyone think of that papa?"

"What peanut? Think of what?"

"Two kids of chicken - of course!" She shoves a large piece of pancake in her mouth and keeps up with her question. "Can't they find another word? There must be more words in the world. More words than chicken for both."

"Here, here," you say. "Slow down. Swallow your food."

Their conversation trails. I lose her reasoning in a sea of empty distraction. Alexander pulls at my lips and smiles a drooling baby smile—teeth coming in early I think just like Maddy

Maddy — the memory circles around and I wonder—why didn't you leave me when Maddy was born? I had depression-we dealt with it. It was worse with Alexander but not before you left. We thought-the doctor thought- maybe it would be ok this time...it turned out worse.

When I return to consciousness.

"Here let me take the baby" you say. You're dressed in clothes I recognize for work. A subtle difference from your around-the-house attire. You're in Khakis and a short sleeve oxford cloth button down. Your loafers instead of Adidas. You're clean and fresh and it's still so early.

You take the baby from me and sit down. There you are with Maddy fixated on you the baby settling into your arms. I move and place a towel on your shoulder to protect your shirt from the baby's drool.

"You look cute" I whisper as I position the towel over your chest between you and Alexander.

You smile. "You look cute too." Somehow you lean close enough to kiss my lips.

"I'm sorry Annie." You say. "I'm sorry."

Your eyes are fixed on mine and I touch your cheek and kiss you again. "It's ok. You're my best friend. It'll be ok."

"I shouldn't have made—"

"Not now Edward. Let's enjoy the kids."

You nod. You want to talk about it. I know you do. You want all the tension gone. You want me to forgive you. You want to erase it. But we can't.

No one makes the rules. Not with love. I think. I move next to Maddy who is stripping strings of mozzarella string cheese—a new side dish to her every meal—She is eating some and pressing some of the strips against her arm.

"What are you doing honey?" I ask. A rush of fatigue rushes through me—for no reason. Another drop in my physical and mental state. I am slower to react—this is a better version of myself as her mother—the fatigue makes me more patient. My pace gives her enough time to process her ideas—for her to have space to be herself.

"Cheese comes from cows mama." As if that's an answer to my inquiry about what she's doing.

"Cheese comes from cows. Why do cows make cheese and milk? Is cheese hard milk?"
"She has a large vocabulary" you say to me.

I nod. "she gets it from you."

Alexander starts to fuss.

"I'm going to walk him outside for a bit." You stand.

"I want to come too!" Maddy says.

"No honey. Stay with mama. Let daddy take Alex for a little while.:

I worried that because you missed those early months it would impair your attachment with him. Now I see it's ok. You were there when he was born. You touched him first-before anyone. Then you left us and I enveloped him —I attached too much maybe—I was afraid you didn't love your son.

And here you are again, Edward I'm so grateful you came back.