Accidents of Marriage (25 page)

WELCOME HOME—WE LOVE YOU MOMMY!

Caleb’s artwork decorated the taped-together papers. Flowers, birds, houses, and hearts circled the words. Flashes of turquoise and yellow smudged the sparrows’ breasts, purple outlined the parrot-green houses, and the flowers and hearts were deep red.

Tomorrow her mother would walk in and see this. Emma’s throat tightened, remembering her mother’s halting voice on the phone yesterday.
Luurve you, Eem.
For two days Emma’s father had barked reminders to have everything in its place. Then Aunt Vanessa called:
Keep it perfect, Emma. Make sure Gracie and Caleb shower.
Grandma Anne apologized for not being able to help clean the house. Grandpa
Jake came over to stick money in her hand to
get something for you and the kids
.

Grandma Frances called to ask if her mother needed anything. Anything at all.

As though Emma had some imaginary phone line to the inside of her mother’s brain.

CHAPTER 23

Ben

Freezing drizzle coated the windows at six in the morning. Saturday. Maddy-coming-home day.

Ben looked around the pristine bedroom he’d cleaned until two in the morning. Around midnight he began questioning his sanity in refusing his father-in-law’s offer to send over a cleaning service.

He stripped off the dirty T-shirt and jeans in which he’d fallen asleep and tossed them in the hamper. Careful to keep the sink clean as he brushed his teeth, he set the shower water as hot as he could take it. He stepped in, and he hit play on the shower CD player. A tinny version of Al Green’s syrupy voice poured out. “
I’m still in love with you.
”

Their song—his and Maddy’s signal for shower sex.

Lucky mornings, he’d called them.

When was the last time one of them had needed each other right in the middle of some hurried morning? When had he last run his hands over her soapy breasts?

He loved Maddy’s breasts—could feel the weight of them in his hands, full, dense, serious. So unlike Elizabeth’s pale barely-there chest.

Please, God. Send me a magic spell. Let me exorcise sleeping with Elizabeth.

Jesus, if he could go back and exorcise, he should get rid of the damn accident.

He hadn’t driven anywhere near that stretch of the Jamaicaway since the crash. He’d drive ten miles out of his way before going near there. He wanted to move, buy a new house—thousands of miles away.

At least he had a new car. He’d replaced his overpowered Camaro with the quintessential family car: a Honda Accord—which seemed like the right mate for Maddy’s Toyota Camry. It had taken weeks for him to realize that the Toyota had been towed away, and he’d been grateful for his father-in-law’s offer to pick it up and bring it to their house.

Gratitude had become his new lifestyle. Gratitude to Anne for cooking and taking care of the kids, to Jake for his thick wallet—despite refusing what he could—and thankfulness to his father for keeping on top of the legal problems thrumming in the background.

No matter how confident Ben was that the DA wouldn’t dredge up enough to charge him, he had to remember that was law, not math. Two plus two rarely equaled four in the courtroom.

Ben placed his hands on the white tile, feeling the hot water beat on his back, the heat as close to painful as he could take, trying not to imagine the future. Wondering if Maddy would ever be able to drive again.

After a careful and close shave, he dressed in chinos and the pink Brooks Brothers shirt Maddy had bought him last Father’s Day. Using care to be quiet, he walked to the study to go over plans. Anne had already cooked a major meal for the homecoming dinner, trying, it seemed, to include any and every dish Maddy had favored since birth: apricot-smothered brisket, turkey with stuffing, fresh-baked challah, farfel kugel, and a salad of bitter greens with sweet pecans and shaved parmesan. Even the famous hundred-step chocolate pie demanded by Anne’s catering clients.

Maddy’s homecoming had taken on the air of Passover crossed with Thanksgiving and Maddy’s birthday all thrown in together. When Ben had tried to tone down the menu, Anne had looked so wounded he’d backed off.

God knew what Jake might buy to mark the occasion. A diamond tiara?

Ben touched his pants pocket, assuring himself that he had the key to his home file cabinet. He’d taken to locking things away when he found that his daughters had begun investigating every corner of his and Maddy’s lives. Signs of their snooping were scattered like squirreled nuts. Strands of Gracie’s hair curled on his desk. The last document opened on his computer changed without him clicking a button. Doodles of Emma’s signature floppy puppy faces decorated the backs of envelopes on Ben’s must-do pile.

Ben flipped open his calendar, where Maddy’s roster of appointments crowded out his court dates. Speech therapy, occupational therapy, and sessions with the physiatrist, Dr. Paulo, lined his calendar. The neurologist to test her. The surgeon to check his work. Maddy would see Zelda, her social worker and rehab case manager, twice a week. Soon there would be a lifestyle trainer. That was actually the real title. Who went to school to become a lifestyle trainer?

He unlocked the file cabinet and took out the notebook in which he’d three-hole-punched his lists of doctors, drug records, schedules—everything, including the rehab notes Olivia, Kath, Anne, and Vanessa had put together for Maddy’s recovery. Despite reading as much as possible—towers of brain injury books were next to his side of the bed along with dusty unread law journals—he never caught up. Cleaning his glasses one more time, he flipped pages, picking out the relevant passages, words he’d highlighted as he had in law school.

Most recovery,
Olivia wrote,
takes place in the first six months. However, though improvement takes place at a slower rate in the second six months, this does not mean that it will eventually slow to zero. Ben, take note of this and be patient!!!!

Oh, yeah, he just loved Olivia’s little sidebars. He’d told her last
week that though he appreciated her information distillations, she could refrain from underlining. Moreover, he’d wanted to say, yes, Olivia, he knew it didn’t all happen in the first six months, but when, and for what, should he be hoping? Despite her promise that it might never slow to zero, when would they know that they’d reached the end? That Maddy’s healing had finished and wherever she was, was as good as it got?

He skipped ahead to a note Anne had given him last week, written in her perfect slanted script.

Dear Ben—

These are the symptoms (from that book I told you about) that I’ve already noticed: Maddy is sensitive to slights and shows a little emotional instability.

She gets headaches and she’s spacey. Her lack of insight makes me nervous. Jot down everything you notice so you don’t forget when the doctor asks. Watch her.

The dysarthria symptoms I’ve seen are slurring and speaking softly (almost like whispering), breathiness, speaking very slowly—a changed vocal quality.

Other possible symptoms I’ve read about are rapid rate of speech w/ mumbling quality (thank G-d, she doesn’t have that!); limited tongue, lip, and jaw movement (also, thank G-d, no); abnormal intonation when speaking (a little, but I know it will go away); hoarseness (maybe she has a little?); and drooling or poor control of saliva (thank G-d, no!).

Ben rubbed the back of his neck and steeled himself for the next page. He tried not to hate Anne for writing all this—it looked too bold and ugly, these words slashed on the paper.

Ben, some tips in the book that I think would be helpful are: PATIENCE (Number One most important, Ben). Reduce distractions. Pay attention to Maddy. Watch her for cues and clues as she speaks! Be honest and let her know when you have difficulty understanding her (but only nicely).

Love,

Anne

She expected so little of him.

Why not? The knowledge that his rashness had caused this sat between him and everyone else in the world. Much more than recklessness. Stupidity. Gross idiocy. Worse, eventually he had to let Maddy know someday. But not yet. Not until the time was right for such truth. Right now he wanted to keep their newfound trust. Maddy needed him, she clung to him; he’d become the center of her universe.

Ben would change. He’d be a better person. He liked the gentle side he’d found with Maddy.

He fell back in his chair, his arms crossed over his forehead. Maybe this had all happened for a reason—maybe God was curing him of the rage that had always been his curse.

Right. God used Maddy to teach him his lessons.

Why not? The God of his youth was nothing if not a mean bastard—the tote-that-barge, lift-that-bale variety. What would hurt Ben more than hurting Maddy?

•  •  •

Ben led Maddy and Anne up the walkway. He took a few breaths before putting his key in the door. Seeing Maddy leaning on Anne as she stood on their porch, shaking as she waited to walk through their door, just about killed him. Her fragility—in appearance, in voice, in action—Jesus Christ. He had to keep superimposing this new Maddy on top of the woman he’d known for so long. Everything was wrong. Harshly bright sun spotlighted bristly places on her scalp. Angry red scars peeked through the wiry strands. Chopped off short hair, where someone at rehab had tried to even things out, had replaced her massed curls. Where she’d had tight lean muscles, there was now soft, almost flabby, gauntness.

“Wait,” Maddy whispered as he put the key in the lock.

This soft halting voice—was it permanent? He worried she’d never regain her vigorous tones. He’d give a million dollars to hear her yell at him.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Ben asked.

“Ring. Ring . . . ring.”

“You want me to ring the bell?” he asked.

Anne put a light hand on Maddy’s back. “This is your home, darling.”

Maddy kicked at the dried brown leaves blown on the porch. “No ask.”

“Don’t ask why?” Ben asked.

Maddy nodded.

“Okay.” He took out the key and rang the bell. Maddy slipped her hand into his and gave a squeeze, which he answered with a double squeeze back. Maybe she needed the children to come to her; maybe seeking them seemed too frightening. Maybe she just needed one more minute. Maybe she just wanted to hear the goddamn doorbell.

Maddy held his hand tighter.

They listened to the family thudding, running, crashing toward them.

Caleb pulled the door open with a flourish. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.” He threw his arms around Maddy’s waist. “Mommy. I got you!”

Ben let go of Maddy’s hand so she could hug Caleb, and then entered the house, though he kept his hand hovering over her body.

“Mommy!” Gracie squeezed in next to Caleb. Maddy bent and kissed her on top of her head. She sank to her knees, laughing and crying as the three of them folded in to one another.

Emma, off to the side, wiped her hands on a towel. Jake stood next to her, squeezing her shoulder until Ben feared his father-in-law would break off a piece of his daughter’s arm. Maddy looked up. “Come. Come . . .” She held out her arms, and Emma dropped the cloth and ran over.

“Did you get our cards?” Caleb asked Maddy.

“Got . . . all,” Ben heard her whisper into Emma’s hair.

Anne wept. Ben watched his wife and children, the three shades of deep black-brown hair mingling, Emma’s braid falling over Gracie’s arm.

Ben wanted to fall down on his knees.

Instead, he knelt behind Maddy, supporting her from behind as the children leaned on her. “Let Mommy get up, okay? She’s tired—we need to remember that.”

“ ’Kay,” Maddy whispered. “ ’S fine.”

“Do you want to see the sign we made, Mommy?” Caleb asked.

Maddy smiled. “Yeh.”

Caleb tugged on her to get her up. “Hold on, buddy,” Ben said, reaching for Maddy. When Ben had her safely on her feet, he relinquished her to Caleb and Gracie.

“There! Isn’t it good?” Caleb pointed at the raggedly taped papers.

“Buuuut . . . ee . . . full.” Maddy smiled over their heads at Emma.

“Why are you whispering?” Caleb asked. “Talk regular.”

“We talked about this, Caleb,” Jake said.

“It’s okay, Jake,” Ben said. “
We
talked about this—Maddy and I. The kids shouldn’t be afraid to say or ask anything. Right, hon?”

Maddy’s nod looked uncertain. “You okay?” Ben asked.

“Did I do something wrong?” Caleb asked.

Emma put an arm around Caleb. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Mommy’s talking slow because she’s still a little sick.”

“Does it hurt to talk?” Caleb touched his mother’s neck with one finger.

“Careful, Caleb,” Jake said.

“ ’S’kay. Nah . . . glass.” Maddy bent, took Caleb’s hand, and held it to her left temple. “Broke. Here. But. Nah hurt.”

“Mommy means she was injured in her head,” Ben added. “Her brain. That’s where the trouble comes from—the problems—but she’s not in pain now.”

“How does a brain hurt make her not talk, though?”

“We don’t have to discuss this right this second.” Anne came over and put her arms around him. “Let’s go into the living room, everyone.”

Ben wanted to remind everyone again of Maddy’s and his wishes—
let the kids ask away!
However, his wife had become public property and he didn’t know how to get the control back in his court. Mostly, he worried about Maddy’s frightened confusion, so he let Anne lead her out and followed meekly in their wake.

CHAPTER 24

Maddy

Maddy the carapace.

Her mother steered her to the couch, where she lay as though on display. Like in a museum maybe? What was a carapace? Did it mean anything? Words popped into her mind without grounding. Her brain seemed like a half-filled trunk. Where once it was packed with rows of facts and thoughts, now things rolled around, came out of nowhere. Was a carapace a shell?