Don't Go (21 page)

He’d been taken aback, though it wasn’t the first time he’d heard the term “stump” and he’d even used it himself in the OR. But it was jarring to hear it applied to his own arm, though he got used even to that, because everybody called his left arm a stump. They gave him a “a stump sock” or a “stump shrinker,” a compression bandage he used to keep the swelling down, and the nurses taught him how to wash his stump, palpate his stump, and tap or massage his stump, to help with the pain. In time, Mike learned to be grateful he had a good stump, not one with redundant soft tissue, which produced a larger, oddly bulbous or irregular deformity, or the opposite problem, an excessive retraction of the soft tissue, which produced a narrowing to the flesh almost to the bone, in which the stump had a more pointy appearance.

Mike twisted on the faucet and picked up his plastic razor, thinking back to his month at Landstuhl, which showed him that no matter how awful he secretly felt about his stump, he was one of the lucky ones, having an upper-limb amputation, only one at that, and to the non-dominant hand. He didn’t have to learn to walk again like the lower-limb amputees, or face the challenges of multiple-limb amputees. The courage of those soldiers made him feel ashamed for having any self-pity at all, so he kept it to himself during adaptive rehab, where they told him to get a buttonhook if you can’t button your shirts or buy pullovers, and taught him cross-body and shoulder-elevation stretches to avoid contracture of his remaining muscles. This morning he would skip his exercises because he had to get going. He finished shaving, dressed, and went downstairs.

“Good morning, everybody.” Mike walked into the kitchen, where Bob was finishing his eggs and Danielle was at the sink. Emily was in the family room, playing with her toys. “Hi, Emily,” Mike called out, but she didn’t turn around.

“Good morning.” Danielle smiled, already dressed in jeans and a colorful peasant top. Her style had definitely gotten more like Chloe’s, maybe because she was home full-time, more relaxed than he’d ever seen her.

“I’m late.” Bob rubbed his face, clean-shaven. “Gotta go.”

“Thanks again for last night. It was good to see everyone.” Mike crossed to the coffee machine, slid out the glass pot, and poured himself a mug.

“How do you feel this morning?” Danielle turned from the sink, with a smile.

“Pretty good, thanks.”

Bob brought his dish to the sink. “I can’t believe you slept through that racket.”

“What racket?” Mike asked, sipping hot coffee.

Danielle rolled her eyes. “Bob, don’t be that way.”

Bob picked up his wallet and tucked it inside his dark suit. “Emily was up most of the night. You really didn’t hear?”

“No, sorry.” Mike didn’t explain that he slept soundly because of the sleeping pill, on top of another Oxy. “What happened with her?”

“She woke up twice, talking about your arm.” Danielle twisted the water off. “I think it shook her up to see it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Mike felt a guilty stab and eyed Emily. “What can I do? Should I go in there and try to talk to her?”

“No, don’t. She’s tired. Let’s not set it up to fail.” Danielle dried her hands on a dishtowel. “Do you want some eggs? I’ve got scrambled ready.”

“I’d love some, but you don’t have to do that. I can get my own breakfast, honestly.”

“I know, but I like to do it.” Danielle bustled over, took a plate from the cabinet, and spooned two mounds of fluffy scrambled eggs. “Say when.”

“When, thanks.”

Bob cleared his throat. “Mike, Danielle said that you wanted to go through your things at the storage unit, to see if there was anything you needed.”

“That’s right.” Mike figured that Danielle had made up some story about why he wanted to go to the unit. He avoided Bob’s eye, picked up his fork, and took a bite of his eggs, which were deliciously buttery. “Danielle, these are awesome, thank you.”

“Okay, your car’s in our garage, so feel free, but you should check the closet in my home office first. I put some boxes up there, Chloe’s valuables and letters, both of your wills, and other things I didn’t trust to storage.”

“Oh. Is her laptop up there, too?”

“You were looking for Chloe’s laptop? I should’ve mentioned this, but I threw it out.”

Mike couldn’t hide his surprise. “You threw out Chloe’s laptop?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. It got so damaged that day, it crashed.”

Danielle looked at Mike, pursing her lips. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t know. I thought it was in the storage unit, but evidently not. It had all her photos and everything. It kills me that we don’t have it anymore.”

Mike wouldn’t be able to find Chloe’s password file without her laptop. “Bob, I don’t understand. Was it broken or what?”

Bob’s upper lip curled in distaste. “Frankly, there was blood all over it. I tried to wipe it clean, but it wouldn’t turn on. I found it on the kitchen floor.”

“Could we not talk about this? Please?” Danielle shuddered. “Mike, when does your rehab begin? I remember you mentioned that, in one of your emails.”

“I should call to set up some appointments, but I want to see about a job today.” Mike was thinking about Chloe’s laptop, wondering how else he could get into her email.

“What do they do, in rehab?”

“Flexibility exercises, but I can do them on my own.” Mike swallowed his eggs. He was stalling on rehab because he was in no hurry to account for his increased Oxy use. In fact, he was already wondering how he could resupply.

Bob put his dirty glass in the sink. “Well, in the good news department, we wanted to talk to you about your living arrangements.”

Mike held up a hand, with his fork. “Let me beat you to the punch. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and Emily, but the first thing I’m doing this morning is to go to a Realtor’s office and get him started on finding us a place, at least to rent, until I can buy.”

Bob smiled. “We appreciate that, but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. We love having you and we want what’s best for you and Emily. The longer you stay with us, the more we can ease her transition. What do you say?”

Danielle smiled. “If you have to start your rehab, it doesn’t make sense for you to get a babysitter while you go to your appointments or whatever. This way, you can come and go as you please. Doesn’t that make sense?”

Mike looked from Danielle to Bob, feeling a warm rush of gratitude. “You guys don’t have to do this, really. I’m a big boy, and I have the money, and I’m ready to move away from home.”

Bob chuckled. “If I were you, I’d take us up on our offer. Start looking for a house if you want to, but staying here takes the pressure off. You don’t have to find one right away, in winter. It snowed again last night, four more inches.” He gestured at the backyard, which was covered with newfallen snow, its crusty surface reflecting the frigid sun. “Stay here, focus on your rehab, and get your feet back on the ground. There’ll be better listings in March.”

Danielle nodded, from the counter. “What job are you talking about?”

“Jim says he has something for me, and I’d love to get in with his new partner, if I can still practice.”

“How wonderful!” Danielle beamed.

“I know, right? I’m so lucky on the job front. So many ampu—” Mike caught himself—“
vets
don’t get these opportunities, and I have two. My buddy from Afghanistan said he’d give me a job, too, in Greenwich.”

“Greenwich, Connecticut?” Danielle frowned. “You’d move away?”

Bob seemed to stiffen in the threshold. “You wouldn’t want to move. There’s no need for that.”

Mike realized he’d said the wrong thing. “No, right, I’d much rather stay here and work with Jim. I’m just saying I have a Plan B. I don’t want you to think you have to take care of Emily and me, like a mooch.”

Bob’s expression softened, and he picked up his messenger bag. “We never think you’re mooching, Mike. So, will you stay with us, here?”

Danielle made praying hands. “Please, Mike? Stay with us?”

Mike felt vaguely pressured, but they were only trying to help him and Emily. “Thanks for the offer, and yes, of course.”

“Wonderful.” Danielle smiled.

“That’s settled.” Bob leaned over and kissed Danielle on the cheek. “Now I gotta go. Love you.”

“You, too.” Danielle smiled. “Bye.”

“See you,” Bob said, leaving. “Bye, Emily!”

“Bye, Daddy!” Emily called back.

Chapter Forty

Mike went up to his bedroom with a coffee, unpacked his laptop, fired it up, then sat down in the desk chair. He was going to crack Chloe’s email if it killed him. The screen came to life, and the laptop found the wireless Internet, which wasn’t password-protected, so he got online and went directly to Gmail. The screen popped into view, and on the right, it read
SIGN IN
and underneath that
USERNAME
and
PASSWORD.

Mike typed in her username, hunting and pecking with one hand, and paused at password. Back in Afghanistan, he had tried emily1000, their go-to-password for most sites, the other variations of their birthdays, and their old street name and house number, but they didn’t work. He thought of Jake the cat, typed in Jake, then tried to guess at which numbers Chloe would pick. Then he realized something. Chloe didn’t have Jake or Emily when they’d met, so the password wouldn’t be anything relating to them.

Mike remembered the address of Chloe’s old apartment, 2-C, which was in a house at 101 Maple Avenue. He typed in Maple2C101, but it didn’t work. He tried MapleAve101, but that didn’t work either. He typed in CV10210, Chloe’s initials and her house number, but he was wrong again. He drank some coffee, trying to get his brain in gear. He was still on Landstuhl time, and his stump began to throb.

“Mike?” came Danielle’s voice, with a knock at the door.

“Come in. How’s Emily?’

“Down for her nap.”

“Good. I’m on your wireless, hope you don’t mind. I’m trying to get in to Chloe’s Gmail but I don’t know her password.”

“Oh, I see.” Danielle entered the room, pulled up a chair, and glanced at the screen. “It feels intrusive, trying to break into her email.”

Mike looked over. He had passed that stage a long time ago. “I understand how you feel, but now I just want to know who the guy was. You don’t have to be here. She didn’t cheat on you, after all.”

“No, that’s okay.” Danielle eyed the screen, biting her lip. “You need her password? Try Lucie, spelled the French way.”

“Who’s Lucie?”

“Lucie was our first dog, a big red golden retriever. I use her for all of my accounts and I bet Chloe did, too.”

“Really?” Mike typed in Lucie, then stopped. “What would the numbers be? Do you know? You need to have numbers.”

“Try 214.”

“Where’d you get
that
from?” Mike shook his head, surprised. “I’ve been racking my brain for a year.”

“You would never have guessed it, you didn’t know about Lucie. We got her on Valentine’s Day. That was a big thing for Chloe, and she always made us have a birthday party for her.”

Mike added 214 and pressed
ENTER
. The screen changed instantly. “Great!”

“Voila,” Danielle said, but she didn’t sound as happy.

Mike watched as a blue bar appeared on the screen, filling up quickly while Chloe’s email loaded, then it changed to the brown background of a standard Gmail account. He avoided glancing over at Danielle, who had fallen quiet, and scanned the senders. There was a slew of junk mail that kept coming after Chloe’s death, and he scrolled to December 15 of last year. Most of the senders were Sara, other women, and Facebook notices, but there was an email address he didn’t recognize: [email protected].

“Mac702?” Mike read aloud, turning to Danielle. “Do you know who that could be?”

“No idea.”

“Did she know anybody with the first or last name Mac Something?”

“Not that I remember.” Danielle shook her head, mystified. “Are you going to open it?”

“I want to and I don’t want to. Is that possible?”

“Yes, it’s exactly how I feel.”

“You can go, if you want to. You don’t need to know who he was, or read this. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t unknow what you know. You can’t unsee what you saw. I wish I didn’t know about her cheating. But now that I do, I can’t ignore it.” Mike looked over, meeting her eye, evenly. “This is your chance. You want to go outside and I’ll fill you in later, or not? Up to you.”

Danielle eyed the screen, emitting a small sigh. “I’d like to know,” she answered, with a firmness that surprised him.

“Okay.” Mike clicked
OPEN
, and the email popped onto the screen. It read:

Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Just let me hold you and make love to you. Everything will be all right, you’ll see. I love you.

Mike clenched his jaw, involuntarily. He could feel Danielle waiting for his reaction and he didn’t want to look over. He tried to get past the moment. “Be careful what you wish, right?”

“No,” Danielle answered, gently. “You didn’t wish for this. You didn’t wish for this at all.”

Mike didn’t want to go there, not now. “So obviously the guy isn’t signing his name, which I get. Do you know who this could be?”

“No, not in the least.”

Mike looked back at the screen and there were only six emails from Mac702. They started on November 7 and ended on December 14. “So it looks like the affair lasted a month.” His chest felt tight, his emotions bleeding through the Oxycontin, and he wished he could take another pill. He slid the chair back and got up. “Excuse me, I forgot to take my pill this morning, and my arm is hurting.”

“Of course.” Danielle’s mouth turned down at the corners, in sympathy. “Is there a lot of pain?”

“Yes.”

“What are you taking?”

“Steroids for swelling, something for edema, antibiotic in case of infection, and a few others.” Mike went to his backpack, got his Oxy bottle, and brought it back to the desk. He uncapped the bottle with his thumb and shook one out, but all the capsules rolled onto the desk. “Oops!” Mike felt his face go hot. A million things were harder with one hand, but he remembered he wasn’t supposed to feel sorry for himself.