Washington, DC, 2018

NOTE: Some sections are still under construction.

My mother says they used to say "broken record" but now "no one knows what that means." It's an apt metaphor and it's apt that it's an obsolete one. The way my brain works there is no translation.

Finally Alexander settles and I'm on edge. I'm on edge because I've hardy slept this week. This is the most precarious influence on my mental state. Anxiety sits below the surface; of course it does. It's there and eroding, but the nights awake contaminate my senses. I could-now that you're back-Edward, I could ask you to help me and you want to but something comes over me, seeing you asleep in our bed. So at peace, and comfortable. Do you remember how your grandmother explained love for her husband, for her children? She was holding the photograph of your grandfather, even lost in dementia her gray eyes-once blue- turned wet and she stared intently at you. It felt like an omen. She smiled and told you how happy it always made her to know her family was resting, content. I ask myself how she could be so loving. I have to wonder now if it was the dementia because it's obvious now that she had not been at peace and neither had her children. Your father was broken and -in my mind- he had been since he was a young boy. That is how family secrets are though, an ocean of lies, a reality that mimics reality, an uncanny facade and what makes it a transparent foil? Edward, it is because of shadows—the way you are a shadow in your family. The things you do not hide. And, now you are a shadow in our family-because you know what happened to me. You hold my memories and it feels like a haunting to me. But I don't think our connection, our love, is a facade. Honestly, I don't—I think sometimes if the night on Slater's Beach hadn't happened and we had met each other again a couple of years later at Georgetown, it wouldn't seem peculiar at all that I  had known your family when I was a teenager. It wouldn't have seemed that weird that I'd dated Jack.  I don't think there would be temporal irony. I was your brother's friend as a teenager. Well, maybe it would still be weird, seem incestous but incest isn't a word in your family vocabulary. 

I still don't know how no one ever spoke about your father's sister who had drowned on Slaters.  That's weird.

Alexander finds his circadian rhythm and I lay awake at night and it's dark shadows and memories of the snack bar—the cool sand, finally the heat of august dissipating. I force the memories to calm myself, to return to before. I want to go back to that innocent time because it is so precious to me. I can remember how it felt to inhabit myself completely, teenage Annie. 

Two weeks. You've been back two weeks and in this time I've reconciled infidelity because things mean what we want them to mean. I have never been someone to let others shape my truth. And so while I feel betrayed-in such a scarring way—I do not feel like a fool for letting you back in. It's not one sided, I know that Edward. That is why I am writing these letters to you. I am contemplating your need to resolve the "trauma bond" we have. That's what my therapist calls in. She doesn't say it, but Dr. Antol with her questioning eyes and blunt dark hair, I think she wonders if we love each other at all. Becuase of the night on the beach. 

Despite Dr. Antol's insinuations, I'm not so afraid that if we talk about it, I won't love you any more—that is such a rare insecurity of yours. I don't get the logic but maybe you believe that if I remember or let you describe what I experienced then I will somehow transfer it to you. But really, that's your fear. Why would I do that? I do try to direct that fear, that reasoning. No. The reason I don't want process it with you is because while I don't remember the events, I know the truth. My body knows the truth. I was alone for months afterwards—a whole semester. I sat in a dark room and those first nights after the hospital, I felt what happened to me. I think if you tell me what you witnessed, it will release you from the torment of how traumatic it was for you.

I have been up for three hours, since 6:00 a.m. and you were already out. At first I thought you went for a run. You do that sometimes, get up early and watch the sun rise. You tell me you like the air in DC, and the morning amber glow that transforms the darkness into indigo. You like the sound of insects and the balmy morning before the heat rises. But, with Alexander in my arms, as I navigate the kitchen making coffee I see your keys are not on the counter. You've taken the car. No note. It strikes me the way it would any other time in all  of these years together: It does't raise suspicion, there is nothing to suspect.

I look out the window as the electric kettle heats up. This new one takes longer than our old one. It takes a while for the blue ring of light at the bottom of the glass carafe to work it's magic. I hardly notice the light humming, a subtle gurgle just before the boil. Instead, I'm swaying a little back and forth with a sleepy Alexander in my arms. He's so cuddly when he first wakes. Maddy was so different. She seemed to have two states: on and off. We adjusted our tempo to her. She was like you that way: ready to go as soon as she woke.

I love the way the shrubs and trees cast shadows in the back yard. This was not something I'd anticipated or planned. I remember one morning before the kids when the landscaping was just starting to mature. Lucy and I sipping on tea—it was a Milk Oolong that she had brought us back from Japan. We were chatting—I don't even remember why she was at the house. But, she noticed the laurel and Japanese maples. She knew I'd studied architecture and told me I also had a talent for landscape design. What she admired, Edward-and this stays with me—was the way I'd planned for shadows. She told me that a lot of people forget the medium of light when designing. This-according to Lucy- was a fatal flaw in amateur architects, designers, and gardeners. "Light really is everything." And, according to Lucy -if you overlook the effect of light on space you've ignored the way space evokes emotions and stimulates your senses. Dark is as elemental as light. She admired the path down to the fountain, the geometry of azalea bushes, the bursts of chartreuse and the rhythm of the dark shadows beneath the filtered light of the feathery willow. I didn't plan this Edward. It just happened.

My phone rings and I do not recognize the number. I wouldn't pick up except for you. I wouldn't answer a number I didn't recognize because of the spam calls, but you are back and still maybe you're calling from the university or something's happened to you. To mom.

"Hello?" Alexander's nestled in his sling. A pretty calico print, mom found at a farmer's market. I like it. I like it because it reminds me of the clothes she used to buy for Kate and me. Hannah Anderson.

"Hello?" Did I realize the silence was Leora? Did I?

Maddy looks up at me, stops packing her stuffed animals into Alexander's car seat. Tucking in blankets and gathering more and more—and yet she knows I'll have to remove them and give her time to arrange them on the seat between his car seat and hers. Everything takes so long with young children—that is why sometimes I feel I am moving through molasses.

"Annie? Annie Clark?" It's professional sounding. Have I ever heard her voice, both forceful and feminine?

"Yes" before I know for certain it's her, a rise of anger then embarrassment.

"Ed's wife?"

Now I'm confused again. "Ed?" Who is Ed I think. Edward, you  are so different than an Ed. I have never heard anyone call you Ed.

"Eddie Clark?" And Eddie.Well, Eddie is even more foreign and antithetical to you, Edward.

I stay silent.

"It's Leora. You probably figured I'd call. It was necessary."

"What the fuck?" I say.

"Don't..." she warns as if she and I have some sort of relationship. The one thing I don't want is a relationship with this ugly bitch.

"Don't call this house," at first I am loud, angry but immediately I see Maddy stop—stunned—she stares at me waiting for the equilibrium. Something you wouldn't know Leora is that children require equilibrium.

"Let me speak. This needs to be said." She says. She is calm but it's an insecure calm, a feigned strength.

"Don't call my house. Stay out of my life. Whatever you've got to say, tell Edward."

She cuts me off, "that's just it. He's torn up. He feels responsible for your...and why wouldn't he?" It trails off as if it's something she didn't mean to say, as if it slipped out. But it didn't slip out. It was rehearsed.

I am silent. Why don't I hang up? I don't hang up  because I feel confident that this grotesque beast might provide information I could use to gauge your sincerity.

"He's torn up—you can't do this to him. Threaten suicide.Annie. He was finally happy. For once. I know it's hard with the children—"

"You don't know anything. Leave me alone. Don't call me. Don't talk to me. Who do you think you are?"

I hang up but it's there, an even stronger echo. Threaten suicide.  Did she even say that? I couldn't remember. The anxiety was starting to feel like voices. She did say it. Threaten Suicide. It's a lie but yet if she knows I did...then, Edward,  you were the one who told her. There's the logic again, the way my mind lingers, gets stuck.

Another script trespassing in my life. This time, the echo, is almost a voice—it's not a voice but it is a code—I know words have potential to hide unconscious meaning and this phrase does: trespassing in my life. I'll have to keep a notebook again. I'll have to write these phrases down, reflect on them. Journal them as Dr. Antol says.

Edward, now I am lost in timelessness, and it is very destabalizing. It is causing a panic. You've been gone for a long time, I think. Two hours?

 I call mom. The phone rings and rings. I put it back down and ready the children once again for the park. I nurse Alexander and he's alert and smiling at me. There is a wall between us but I smile. I know what the doctor said—to give the baby interactions. To respond. I love him and I love Maddy and I love you but that love is just out of reach. Maddy jumps beside me and pulls my ear as I try to nurse Alexander. She tugs on a small piece of hair. Her curls are soft but they're in my face, they're tickling me and I'm trying to nurse Alexander.

"I want some." She says.

I shake my head "Silly girl. Momma will get you a juice in a minute."

"I want milk-like Alexander."

She reaches for me and I feel a rush of love—"You're my funny little girl." I kiss her nose. She squirms down and runs to the bookshelf. She finds Where the Wild Things are.

"Read me" she says.

"Can you read it to momma?" She can't read but she knows the story by heart. Her little hands open the book and she turns pages sometimes one at a time, sometimes two. Her movements look sticky. She is still developing.

She is satisfied with the distraction, lost in her book. I am woozy from nursing, all the tranquil chemicals make the afternoon suddenly calm and complacent.

Yes. Where the wild things are I think. 

Leora. The call. It stabs and I think of this ugliness between us. Will it go away. Immediately I'm swept into indignation. That ugly, crass woman calling my phone. 

When Alexander finishes nursing, I whisper to Maddy "You done reading?"

"Yes." She scrunches up her nose. "Finish" she pushes the book towards me and I adjust Alexander over my shoulder. His eyes light up when he looks at Maddy. I take the book. "Alright:

The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws but Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye and sailed back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day and into the night of his very own room where he found his supper waiting for him and it was still hot.

We read the last bit together and act out our routine. Gnashing our teeth, holding up or claws.

"This is our boat momma."

I smile at her.

"All done."

"I want horses. I want ride horses."

"The carousel?" I am snapping her into her car seat. She kicks her legs joyfully. Alexander watches from his car seat. Already buckled in securely but I check him again I make sure.

"That's near grandma's house. That's for when you got to grandmas."

"I want horses!"

"I know. When we get to the park we'll play wild things ok?"

She gnashes her teeth.

I smile "I'll eat you up—I love you so!"

I didn't need to take the car, the park is close enough to walk. And I should walk. The doctor says. Light, fresh air. It's summer after all and last year —walking with Maddy we would have picked flowers growing in empty lots. Even in a year, the neighborhood has become more gentrified. There are houses like ours, in different stages of renovation.

But I drive. I drive hoping they will fall asleep on the way home.

See? I'm a good mother. I take care of my children.

The sunlight hits the dashboard in heat not light. It seems impossibly hot, as if the engine is boiling over. It's just heightened senses and I open the window. I look back and Maddy looks sleepy. Alexander is wide awake now.That wise baby alertness. In short glances I look back at them in their car seats. "Safe" I think, I whisper but that becomes a curse and I fear I haven't buckled them. It takes three stops, checking to reassure myself. To check and re-check. Maddy doesn't seem to notice. The car pulling to the curb, the engine going from smooth hum to idle, the back door opening a rush of air, my hands finding the buckles, the fasteners. The third time when I lean over and secure her she cups her little hands around my face. "Mama" she whispers

"My little angel," I whisper.

"No cry" she whispers and tries to pull closer, but she is secure in her car seat, held back. Safe from me.

We make it to the playground. I park in the shade and reflexively follow the ritual. Remove the umbrella stroller from the trunk, pop it open with one foot as I carry it to the side door. I panic for a moment-have I accidentally locked them inside? At once I see the grotesque, terrifying image of my children in a car turning hot. Nightmare merges with everyday banality. I feel panic rise and the door is unlocked. I have the keys. Automatically I've put them in the baby back pack diaper bag  and strapped it on. I open the door and pull Alexander out first.

"Can't leave any of the babies in the car." Maddy chimes. It startles me. It is an evil echo or a moment, but I quickly wash the thought away. I don't want to contemplate that she senses what I'm fearing.

"Your babies?" I ask. They have names and saying them now releases the evil, it evaporates and I am with them again. The panic lessens and I can come to my senses.

That was all I wanted Edward, was to come to my senses. And you-you are making it worse. I didn't think you would. But now the phone call—yes that is the genesis of today's anxiety but what scares me most is how quickly the descent is. There's a line, an invisible threshold after which there is no one to blame.

Alexander is locked in the stroller, a sun cap floppy on his head.

"Ralf," Maddy whispers as I unbuckle her, she had been reaching for a red yarn hair doll with a baseball cap. It is a girl doll but she's named him Ralf. He looks almost like one of those muppets I had -a puppet- when I was little. Fozzie Bear. -Ralf is more contemporary, an organic Waldorf doll. Waldorf. I wouldn't know anything about it except for Carol's funny story—that she didn't know Waldorf was a cult when she purchased it on line for $100. She liked that the doll came with it's own handmade clothes. That it was organic. She says she didn't mind that Maddy calls the baby Ralf even though it is a girl doll.  "You do whatever you want angel." she always says with no hint of meanness. 

Carol loves Maddy and Alexander. She doesn't like you, Edward. She hates me but she loves our children. Ralf wears only underpants, blue polka dots. Truth be told one can't discern if Ralf is a boy or girl. He's a gender neutral doll, the website says. No assigned gender. If you think Ralf was expensive, your mother told me, you wouldn't believe how much her clothes cost.

I want out Edward. I want to leave you and your family before I kill myself.

Ralph has bright red hair that stands straight up. Maddy used to suck on the hair and when I tried to pull it away from her—last Christmas your mother said no, it's fine. It's all organic. Besides she's building her immune system.

"Momma. Hold Ashy." I think she means Ashley but now the little cat is called Ashy.

"How about we leave one or two in the car."

She is ignores me. Then I see it. She is buckling and unbuckling the baby. Checking and rechecking just like me.  It sears. It burns because I see I'm harming her. As. Much as I try to hide my terror and panic, it is spilling over.

Alex is content to stare ahead. When I look down at him, his sock has come off. His little leather moccasin and his light blue sock. He's a master at this, Edward but you wouldn't know.

Kiki—my mom sewed Kiki for Maddy. I love my mom but Kiki is bizarre. Mom sewed her when I was pregnant with Maddy- you remember her I'm sure. You'll remember her when you see her. Her face unintentionally shaped like a lumpy potato. Light pink fabric embellished with embroidered eyes, big blue circles. The small pink stitch mouth, looking more like a chin than a mouth. So misproportioned. Triangle body, stuffed tight and then thin tiny arms and legs, none of them the right size. One arm longer than a leg. Kiki -the miracle- we used to say after Maddy was born. "She's our miracle baby." Mom would hit your arm affectionately "Hey I made that with love." She had too. Embroidered on the back of the doll is Maddy 2005 in pink thread.

We were tired, Edward do you remember? Both of us walking with Maddy up and down the long hallway. You'd looked so vulnerable. At the same time, to me you seemed like a Calvin Klein ad—-the other side of masculinity. So gentle. You loved her. A slow meander-we had no place to go and once she'd been soothed and asleep we'd sit up and make a fire, place the baby monitor near the couch. We'd pour a glass of wine-and we'd basque in the quiet of a sleeping baby. You made up a song for Kiki-I haven't heard you sing it since you've been back. "Kiki, sweet curiosity, little Kiki you've lost me....your arms are so long, your mouth is a chin..ok Kiki, Kiki our miracle girl ..." Do you remember that silly lullaby, you'd almost whisper. It was unconscious at first, without a tune but night after night walking - it took root. I still remember it.

I pull Maddy's baby doll stroller from the floor of the car. It's a plastic pink one and I've equipped it with a fabric sack mom sewed so Maddy could hang it on the back of her stroller. It's more of a pain than n anything because it's susceptible to tipping. Maddy stuffs her bag with the dolls. It takes a long time because they each have to have their head sticking out so they can see. Then she has to adjust and re-adjust Kiki and Ralf in the seat. She buckles and tries to unbuckle the babies. Just as I had.

"What are you doing sweetheart?" I ask her.

"I want them safe mama"

"They're safe, honey." I'm aware that I'm trying to undo the harm I've caused.

This is tedium but having young children is tedium. It's not hard to give into it. Time expands and passes in long moments. Finally we are walking. I click the key fob and there is a familiar high pitched squawk. "The duck" Maddy says and she looks up at me and smiles. Her red curls are catching the light and when I inspect her pretty little face I can see she's getting freckles across her tiny noise. "Quack" she says. Our joke. She starts pushing the stroller but it won't go fast enough. "Here momma. She leaves the stroller for me as she runs towards the playground. She likes the wood chips and the plastic buckets and garden tools people leave there. She builds things with the larger wood chips.and once I catch up with her she'll bring her babies to watch her play. Alex has started squirming and I know he wants to nurse. This is the exhausting part. With Maddy it was narcotic and I was in a dreamy state. The depression was kept just at bay. It was there, little voices and haunting shadows but I don't think it lasted long. I lift her toy stroller and carry it with one arm. I navigate the asphalt path leading to the wood chip play pit. I lift Alexander out of the stroller and nurse him.

Finally, I can think. Obsess. The call. What the fuck? I whisper. My sunglasses shielding my tired eyes from the sun. Seeing the rays through the polarized amber lens. I reflexively rub Alexanders downy hair. It's growing faster now. Now that it's coming in, I see it will likely stay blonde. Maddie's was brown before it turned red. Alex's was almost white but I can see the hint of yellow and gold.

The call is here with me. At first I feel strong thinking of her. Thinking of her desperation but there are so many innuendos and implications to untangle. I freeze-inside-so much so that Alex stays on my breast but stops nursing and looks up at me. He waits. I smile but behind my smile is a terrifying consideration: are you still with her? Have you come back to see if I am sane enough to care for the children? I shake the thought away but I can't help returning to it, like a light flash on and flash off. Terror and my internal attempts at reason. But it's rolling out, it's a narrative untangling: you and Leora Hall will take my children. I can't breath. The panic attacks-these are the worst part. I start to cry and somehow I keep it silent. Somehow I can stay here and not run and escape the terror.

What if I ran Edward? Yes, I'm thinking of it. What if I ran away or told mom what you were doing—maybe doing. What if she and I came up with a plan. I start to reach for my phone, call mom. But I can't. I am frozen.

I lift Alexander and button my shirt. He's finished nursing and he is awake and exited. I carry him over to the play pit where Maddy has lined up her babies. She's stacked some wood chips and two other little girls, dressed in jeans and stained sweatshirts are sitting like birds perched on the short cement wall that surrounds the play pit. They are so rapt with Maddy's game that I can see they are resisting the urge to reach for the chips, take them. I know what Maddy will do and so I sit next to her, just in case.

I hold Alexander supported so he's standing. He likes for me to hold him and he sways, wobbles, and then gains a few moments of strength in his leg. Sometimes he acts as if he'll bounce and I remember from Maddy that it won't be long before he'll want me to hold him and while he stands and bounces and reaches.

A woman sits next to me and her child rushes over to the other two toddlers who have now begun laying in the wood chips. One is stuffing chips in the other's sleeve. I look around and the two women who must be their moms are watching but don't care. I think maybe they are these free range type parents who aren't afraid to let their children get dirty but I've never been that way. "Would you look at that?" Mom used to quietly criticize when we'd take Maddy to the park together. "What's wrong with them?"

I'd laugh, "It's called free range mom."

"Ugg." She'd say.

I'd laugh "it' good for their immune system."

"A splinter in the eye?"

How did she think of these things? The worst case scenario dangers. The 1% of freak accidents. This -maybe- is where my anxiety stems from.

Eventually we leave the playground: Ralf and Kiki are tired. The road seems soft and my mind is foggy as I drive back. I don't tell anyone about these moments. The the asphalt seems to melt with the car is sluggish or my feet can't seem to fully balance. I put on lipstick in the rear view mirror before we get out of the car. Habit. Pavlovian.

Just as I'm about to turn on to our street. Just as I look back and see that both Maddy and Alexander are fast asleep, I change my mind about going home. I think if I see you, that woman's words still reverberating in my brain. I'm afraid I'll act crazy. You'll call the police. You'll take the children. I don't want to hasten your plan. I turn the car back on to the main road. I don't even drive by and see if you're home. I head out towards town and it takes me fifteen minutes with traffic to get to the Southwest Duck pond. I pull into the parking lot. I like it here because it feels remote but is right downtown. I sit and watch the water. I lock the doors then put my seat in recline. I stare out into the water and start to fall asleep. But, one thing you don't know, sleep is worse. That's when the delusions grow and invade my rational mind. This one will stay I'm afraid. You and Lenora want to take my children. And, Edward what kind of life would that be? It starts as simply a thought I can skip over, brush aside but it comes back. When it does, it's the entire scenario. It's you and her. It's a courtroom. Psychiatric records. It's mom crying too, her on the stand saying she'll keep the kids til lI'm better. It's Leora. It's her eyes, that voice suspended on the other side of the call. It's her. It's you and it's that terrible betrayal. She's carrying the babies-my babies. No one cares that you left Alexander for the first three months. Everyone forgets what a terrible husband and father you were. Now, you have everything and I can see crystal clear that coming back to me was a manipulation. And the sex all the intimacy? That was an indulgent fringe benefit. Because you're a man and you still have desires, no matter how base.

The anxiety hums.

I parked in the shade.Sat for a short time, considering the way the light is growing warmer. The reflections on the pond. I opened the window a crack and looked back at the sleeping kids. That's the routine isn't it? A busy morning, full tummy, play and then exhaustion. I am in a state of suspension, cognitive dissociation but I want something. I feel it way back there, almost far away. It's yearning. It's anticipation. I think I remember myself. You say it to me, you do have your own life, Annie. I know why you say it. I've lost myself. I pull on the door handle and slowly push it open. I don't make a sound although they are both sound sleepers. I push the lock closed rather than hitting the button on the key fob. The little chirp might wake Maddy. She's woken with such an intense startle since my suicide attempt. She sleeps deeply-an escape I think—but waking is so frightening. And yes, I do regret that. I regret all of it. I see how much I harm her every day. Don't you think that's torture? To see what I'm doing?

I forget about them — just for this brief interlude. I walk the short distance to the pond. I can feel the change from rough asphalt to the gooey ground cover of goose poop...a splattered white. The, it's soft and mushy under the oak trees that surround the water. I don't see any geese now though and their absence is haunting somehow. Evidence of a flock, the angry and aggressive birds—the reason I don't bring the children to this particular pond. Remember that goose that chased us early on—when we moved to this part of DC? Remember -before the kids—we were terrified? I don't see geese, but a group of ducks swim by in a straight line. Two larger ducks at the front and then three little babies. They seem content. Will we have three children Edward? Will another baby plummet me too far down to recover?

It wasn't long. I don't think it was long, anyway but you did. When I got back into the the car I could see you'd called four times. I didn't call you back. Instead, I let the phone fall into the diaper bag.deep enough to be muffled. It was both reflexive and intentional. I didn't want to think of you calling me after all these months of abandonment but then a part of me didn't want to lose you either. And the anxiety and rapidly developing delusion was right there. It was right there Edward and I know- I knew- that I might have had a chance of dispelling the delusion if I just told someone. But who? You? The delusion would see right through anything you said. Mom? She'd half believe it or she would worry I was losing it again. And, those friends you keep telling me to call. Edward- I can't. Even if I could, just stroll into the office and bask in their welcome. The gorgeous light of the loft space, the tall antique iron arched windows. That isn't me any more. I wouldn't even dare to think about what would happen if I started up again, interning waiting for a junior architect or designer position. No. Even if I could muster that—I cant—but even if I could, do you think I would let it all spill out. Explain that you and your lover are likely plotting to take my children from me? The delusion becoming reality. There is that you know, don't you? You can manifest your own fate just by thinking it. Sometimes.

The babies were still asleep and I had a revelation about taking these moments of contemplation—maybe this is a strategy...the path to a solution. Maybe -no matter how dark the thoughts—just being alone for short periods might help me understand or resolve the torment.

It's 6:00. We'd been out for four hours. I tried to remember all we'd done—how we'd spent that time. It was unnerving to me because I thought maybe—maybe—I'd done something in a span of that time I didn't remember. The children were safe, yes and I knew I could account for the time if I tried, but the anxiety Edward, the anxiety overshadowed reason. I thought maybe I had run someone over. A hit and run. It became a compulsive anxiety. It grew, this fear. Had I done something terrible? Before I started the car I got back out, looked for blood on the bumper. The obsession was almost debilitating but you interrupted it. The phone rang. I heard it — the wheels on the bus song— picked by Maddy...it was almost inaudible from inside the bag on the seat beside me.

The wheels on the bus go round and round. Round and round.

I started the car.

I arrive home and the evening is dissected into three parts. Three acts.

Act I. You freak out with worry —then we bring the kids to mom's so "we can talk."

Act II. We talk. It escalates because you bring up the night at Slater's beach when we were young, when we hardly knew each other. You always do Edward, don't you know that? Why? Then I change the subject by telling you about the call from Leora

Act III. We make up I ask you about your book.

Act 1

The house smells of pasta but there is no food in sight. You've obviously cooked and put the food away. It's only 6:30 and that seems dramatic. Maddy may be hungry but I haven't lost my mind so much that I'd forgotten snacks. She's full on pirate booty, cheese sticks, juice boxes, and a granola bar. I nursed Alexander before leaving the playground. He'll be hungry soon.

"Where were you? I was worried." you ask more frightened than vulnerable than a man who lefet his wife for three months should be. 

 I wonder if you know that Leora called. I wonder if you had been beside her. If she was testing the water to see when the right time to move in, take my children. Take over my life.

"I was out with the kids"I struggle to get the diaper backpack off my shoulder. Maddy runs to you and starts crying. There's no reason for this and inside I worry that this will be just more evidence to you that I am unfit.

"Out with the kids?" Your tone is almost mocking. "Out with the kids? I tried calling you —" You look down at your phone to check the number of unanswered calls "I tried calling you eight times!"

"I'm too tired right now." I say. I want to have a glass of wine. "can you make Maddy something? I've got to change and nurse Alexander."

"Annie you can't just do this."

"Do what?"

"I'm worried."

"Oh is that why you came back, I snap."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind." I slur.

Maddy has stopped crying and is pulling on your arm. She's singing loudly and it's very annoying. You don't seem to notice you pick her up and she snuggles into you. I should be warmed by the sweetness of it. For a moment I recollect her as a baby in your arms. You pacing up and down the hallway in just your jeans. She was so tiny in your arms. Your masculinity so archetypal and the sweet gentleness of our little newborn.

I let out a breath. "Where were you?" I'm opening a bottle of wine.

"Why don't you hold off on the wine?"

Instead of responding I stand staring at you for a long moment—I make a mental note that this act returns me to my self. To a sense of power. I laugh and remove a large, red wine goblet from the cabinet. I stare at you while I pour.

"I want to talk to you," You say.

"ok then talk"

"No. Can I call your mom? Can I see if we can bring the kids over?"

You're being strategic I think. I think you've read my power -that one little act of pouring the wine. Ignoring your paternalism. Is this it? Is this when you're going to start questioning my sanity?

"Why?" I can hardly get the words out. "why call mom?"

You notice my anxiety, you soften. "Annie, it's ok. I just want to talk to you."

"All right. I'll feed Alexander and pack up."

"Maddy, do you want to go to Grandma's house?"

"No." She starts crying again. You shoot me a look as if I've been negligent.

"But then tomorrow we'll go somewhere fun. Just us."

"Horses?"

You look at me.

I've taken a sip of wine and I feel the liquid grow warm in my throat. Just the anticipation of it's tranquilizing effects has calmed me some. "the carousel at West Park" I say.

"Near grammas" Maddy says. She looks at you and takes on the expression of a business man, negotiating a deal.

You laugh. "that's a great idea."

"Alex too?" She asks.

"yes, we'll bring Alex too."

Act II. We talk. It escalates because you bring up the night at the beach. You always do Edward, don't you know that? Why?

I'm in the living room when you return. I've showered and changed into joggers and a tank top. I am finally relaxed and starting on my second glass of wine. In a gesture of truce I've brought a glass in for you. You walk into the room and my heart drops. I feel sad seeing you and I realize we are not really back in our marriage. We are not really together. There's so little trust left. I look down.

You walk in slowly. I think of the sea shells of the long driveways at Slaters. I remember the feel of the white clamshells, crushed and polished. How tasteful it is with the sea grass and the abundant climbing red roses. That long driveway, the wood fence behind which a bright green lawn stretches for acres with beds of hydrangeas and more climbing roses, the pots full with perennial's pouring out. 

My hair is still damp. I feel so drained and exhausted.

"Hey," you say.

I just stare at you. I don't feel crazy. I don't think you and Lenore are going to take the children. I wish I could feel the way I do after two glasses of wine - all the time. I wish that Ativan or valium worked. Dr. Antol is against benzodiazepines. They're too habit forming. She says that the effects are harder and harder to maintain and stopping triggers severe panic. I believe her.

"You're not speaking to me?" you ask, your voice low almost wounded. 

I look down at my glass.

"Do you want me to leave?"

I still don't say anything. I still don't look up. You stay in the doorway, don't enter the room. "Can we talk?" You wait, "I don't give a shit about her, Annie. I'm not someone who cheats I'm not."

"Oh really? Well she gives a shit about you."

You walk into the room. I look up at you and watch your moves, I know I have no expression. That is because I have no idea what I feel.

"Is this for me?" You ask picking up the wine glass.

In that moment, a part of me yearns for you. Then I feel a strange longing to be together at the beach house-even with all the horrible memories. Yet, the salty air, the warm nights on the screen porch, making love on the shore or in the water, sometimes by moonlight. I left the memories co-exist with the present...  but why would I be soothing myself with sense memories of your parent's place on Slaters. It seems antithetical to what I should want.

"Your girlfriend called me today." the words came out before I even realized it. 

"Lenore?"

"She called today—and it fucking sucked."

"She's not my girlfriend."

You pour another glass and sit down on the club chair. I examine you. You're wearing grey Bermuda shorts and a t-shirt.You have a short sleeve oxford shirt over it, unbuttoned. I don't even know why you're wearing the button down. It's hot. Why are you wearing it, is all I can think. You let out a long breath

"Oh Jesus. I'm sorry. I'm trying to untangle this. She's not stable."

I shake my head, "Can you spare me your concern for Lenore?"

You look into your wine glass, take a long sip, and keep your eyes on me. 

"Well," I say" I'm not sure what you're untangling—she told me how much guilt you feel-how you're worried about the kids. About me."

"That's bullshit."

"How am I supposed to believe you? How am I supposed to know whether you are just planning some nefarious fucking plan."

"What —? What kind of plan? I don't know what you're saying, Annie. I told you it's over—what do you mean plan?"

"Just go fuck yourself. Save it—leave it for the lawyers!"

"What lawyers?"

"Stop fucking lying, Edward. Something is going on. Why is she calling me?"

"I just told you. I fucked up. She has a history of —"

"No one told you to come back or for your ugly mistress to defend you!"

"Annie, you're acting weird."

'Weird?! Weird like a psychopath who dates his brother's girlfriend? Is that what you're trying to say?"

I can see you are not following me. I'm not following me. I don't know how I am constructing this logic. How I am calling you a psychopath because I dated Jack when I was a teenager. Or that you —I don't know what I'm saying,  but I'm afraid if I stop then you will become aware that I'm starting to fall apart again.Maybe even becoming psychotic. Am I Edward? Or am I just vulnerable to anxiety. Is this woman threatening me? "Just admit it. You never got over that I dated Jack."

"Oh God Annie, let it Go! For once and fucking all—Jack doesn't care. I don't care. Who fucking cares that you were my brothers girlfriend when you were 16?"

I'm glad, it's landed in a rational place. You somehow embroidered my unrelated thoughts. You brought us back to a fight—maybe you just thought I was being defensive trying to make you jealous. I don't know.

You lower your voice, look at me for a long moment. I am not sure I really even recognize you. I'm not sure I want you.

You whisper, resigned, worried "you're acting weird Annie."

"Weird like what?"

"Like fucking weird."

I scoff. It's rising in me again slowly then crescendo "Just say it! Weird like what? Like a married man who leaves his beautiful wife and gorgeous children to go fuck an ugly woman, a horse face who wants a married man? Weird like that? Because that's fucking weird, Edward."

"No." You look down and shake your head.

"And..for all your talk about me not calling you for help. You didn't show up. You knew what happened. And this ugly bitch knows you chose her over seeing if your wife is ok after trying to commit suicide."

"I have no defense." Youu say, then you look up at me. "Ok. Your mom called me—after. She said she didn't want me to come. She wanted me to stay away."

"What the fuck is with your lies?" I lower my voice, patronize. "really Edward why are you such a fucking liar."

"Can you stop using that tone and language with me?" A moment passes. At least the anger makes me feel less crazy. At least the obsessions and delusions retreat when I'm furious with you. "I don't' know Annie. I don't know why I keep lying. I'm going nuts."

I can feel my heart pounding. I let out a long breath. Try to slow myself down. "OK."

"We have to talk about what happened."

"What do you mean? I'll talk about it—I don't want to freak you out. I don't want you to think I will hurt the children or I can't take are of them. I'll talk about the suicide the depression."

"No. I mean yes. I do want you to tell me. I want us to be confidants again. I want to ease your pain Annie. But not that—I want to talk about what happened at Slaters— that night. I have to talk about it...on Slaters--before we got together."

I shake my head, look up at the ceiling then follow the lines of the wall back down to the limestone mantle. The roettes. I follow it down to the stone surround. Limestone too. It's so pure and I like the contrast between the white surround and the old oak floors. I like the plush Persian Heriz Serapi. Lucy found just the size antique rug so the large medallion sat there visible from the Italian gilded tree limb and glass coffee table. The coffee table was the hardest to find. Do you remember? Even with this piece, a frustrating treasure hunt for the ordinarily enthusiastic Lucy—it had to be just right for the room anchored by that damned medalian.

"Annie." Your voice is softer.

I return to the conversation. "I don't think I want you any more."

You raise your eye brows. You are suddenly a child. I have seen that same expression on Maddy when she is tired and disappointed over something. "You don't want me?"

"What does your girlfriend want?"

"She's not—"

"Jealousy isn't my thing. Not in the long game." That's your dad's phrase. A phrase we've mocked. He's getting weaker in the long game. You won in the long game.

"You ant me to leave you?"

I nod, take a sip.

"Well I'm not leaving. If I do we both know that will be it. It will be over."

"I've already proven I can handle it."

"No. You haven't."

"I'm not even attracted to you."

You frown, irritated I think. I think you're surmising I'm acting childish.

"Is that so fucking hard for you to believe?" I continue. "that I'm not attracted to you?"

"No."

"hmm" I say, "I'll bet. You and your whole family are so full of yourselves."

You take in a breath, hold it, and slowly let it out. You hold the wine glass stem between your two fingers and stare at it. I think you're lost in the red liquid as it moves against thecrystal.

I can't stop. I'm so mad at you. "You're bad luck. You really are. I almost lost it today—all this time getting better Why is she calling me? Is she some psycho, narcissistic bitch?"

"Yeah." You're still mesmerized by your wine.

"You know there's a meme for that."

You look at me, an annoyed anticipation "for what Annie?"

"Dealing with people like the two of you."

"What is it Annie? Why don't you tell me what the fucking meme is."

"Grey stone." I wait. Emphasis. " Just don't feed it. Just be a grey stone with no emotion. It's worse than ignoring. It's apathy."

"you don't sound apathetic right now."

I surrender. "It's true. I'm not." A lump forms in my throat. "not about you." I can't read your expression. It's not exactly compassionate or even regretful. I realize there is resentment "Are you mad at me, Edward."

"yeah."

"Why?"

"I didn't think I'd end up in another family full of secrets. End up with someone who pretends, perpetuates taboos and resents me for not going along with it.."

"Is that what you think I am? What I've done?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do."

Now, I'm the pleading child. "What do you want me to do Edward? You know I don't remember."

"But I do. And you do remember Annie. You remember and you know you do."

I let out a slow breathe, bite my lip.

"Annie. God. Jesus. Don't you think it's weird? Really fucking weird? You're never going to talk about it. I was there. Don't you think it's weird? "

I can hear my voice faltering and you are taking this further than you usually do. You are pushing me back out on to slater's beach. I can feel the chill of the night. I can hear the roar of the ocean as it grows louder. I'm so dizzy and confused. "What is weird?" I whisper.

You shake your head. How long are you going to keep us out here? Out here in the darkness. You are there. You were there but I can't see you. I didn't see you.

You shake your head. Roll your eyes. Take a sip of wine. You look at me and hold my stare."Because you won't talk about it with me...we are on these islands. How do we even love each other? I don't get how we can feel so strongly for each other." Another moment. "How do we even know if we really love each other?"

"I know who I love." I say. Now I hold my position.

You ignore me. "And I can't even mention my dad. So I can't tell you—my best friend—my lover. I can't even talk about what happened to me as a kid."

"Jack says people should ride out a storm and keep navigating once it's over. Not dredge stuff up. Not revisit the past. Just be strong, and get through the storm, move on." I wait. "that's what I think too."

Condescension. I've hit a nerve."Do you, Annie?"

"Don't say my name like that-so full of contempt."

"Well, maybe you should have married Jack. He did a hell of a job in life—and he did a hell of a job protecting you that night, didn't he? I tried to warn you but you wouldn't listen. You were too busy navigating the storm."

"This is your whole fucking identity Edward. Protecting me! Being my protector. And you hate me for it."

You shake your head. You're so full of despair. Deep down I know you just want to talk to me but I can't.

You soften. "I don't think we're going to make it. Just talk to me Annie, please."

The rough waters of this conversation. This is closer than we've ever come to this topic. I tell myself to stay calm but I can hear my heartbeat before I feel it. It's a thump - slow, decades between the next —thump. It is now and it is then. I know it. I've lost my peripheral vision and if it weren't for the memory threatening to surface and all the physiological end emotional warning I would think the room would look prettier like this. And I have a morbid though. I imagine hands around my neck and losing consciousness and I think colors must become hyper real-hallucinatory impossible before you die. As your brain is deprived of oxygen or maybe your body after that last breath—like my dad that eerie inhale and the waiting. At first thinking no I must be wrong. Then a minute goes by. A minute is a long time, Edward when you're waiting for an exhale that doesn't come.

Then it starts. The suffocating dark water. This is worse than in the past. It feels real. It is real. Sea water in my mouth. The waves approaching. The searing pain.

I don't have to say anything. You jump up. It's real for you too. "OK. OK. It's ok Annie." You are beside me. Take me in your arms. It's not an embrace. It's a rescue. I take deep gulps of air but as I do I hyperventilate and now the tunnel vision is spotted with bright lights. You hold me and kiss my forehead. "it's ok, honey. You're safe." You say this to me as if I'm Maddy. After a moment you pick up my wine glass. "Here." You say encouraging me to take a sip.

I am numb. Exhausted. It's over but I am spent. "Let's get drunk." I whisper.

"Ok." You say. You have your eyes on me. "I'm sorry." You whisper. You kiss my hand. You hold it, look at my fingers. "I don't know what's wrong with me. "

NEW CHAPTER- NEXT DAY

You enter the kitchen half walking half stretching you're dressed for a run I look up from my coffee cup. Alexander and Maddy have been fed. "Where you going.? I ask"

"For a run."  You say turning off the faucet.

"Wait I'll come with you we'll bring the stroller."

"I'm going for a long run" you say.

I laugh, then taunt you competitively. "Oh yeah well going on a longer one."

"Seriously down around the capitol."

"So? I can run that far."

You laugh. You smile and keep your eyes on me

:You're so scared" I taunt. "Trying to sneak out because you can't keep up with a post partum. Lady?"

"Is that what you are? A postpartum lady?"

I wait. Walk over to you and stand close. "Yes that is what I am." I pretend to challenge you. Raise my eyebrows.

"Go ahead then. Get dressed. I'll get the kids ready."

We are running...my mind wanders and visits another time. When the sun hits my skin and my face grows moist I remember one particular moment. St Thomas, spring break and we've been swimming and laying on the bed for hours. we are high. Really high so everything is liquid. Hallucinatory. Your putting sunscreen on my stomach it's slow and methodical. It's sexual but it's not sexual - it's completely sensual physiological. It's neurology. It's religious. We are connected like that. Like this - there is no way to imagine that you were anywhere this close to Lenore.

We never talk when we run. The kids never fuss. That's how we are -  together in so many ways. You slow your pace, run in place for a minute then stop. you lean over and catch your breath.

I stop. "You ok?"

"God Annie you kill me. You're not exhausted?"

"No pain no—"

Unexpectedly you grab me and hug me. You kiss me passionately. 

I pull away "Stop ! You're gross!" I laugh. 

You kiss me anyway. "You're gross." you say softly.

"Let's get the kids a juice and croissant."

 You look over the top of the stroller.

"They're sleeping so peacefully, you sure?"

"They'll wake monsters. I'll go easy on you we can walk the rest of the way —let's go to  Milly's."

"Ok."

Once we warm down and I stop day dreaming I can feel how tired I am too. What do I do with these mental shifts these escapes. Do I trick my body into a different experience ? Change my dopamine or whatever ?

I know I'm escaping but you are here watching , protecting

The next day—

There have been three unanswered calls to my phone. It's her number. It's Leora's number. This contact-or attempt at contact has left me exhausted, jumpy. I am afraid not of her but what it means. It's escalating.

[add scene with leora at thehouse/thekid]

You arrive home late for a man who is on vacation from work. Are you really on vacation from work? Did you go to the university and begin to feel your muscles relax, your heart beat steady—did you unlock the door to your office and make your way inside. All the books and papers, the emergency cigarette in a glass tube, hidden in your desk drawer. Is that where you were darling? Yes, I'd prefer to believe that was the case. Just you in your office. Writing? You haven't talked to me about writing in some time but we have the business of your affair, my depression, the new baby.

But what are you writing? Did all this descend upon us when you finished the novel? Had you created your masterpiece while I created two children? And now I"m ahead?

The front door opens and closes with the recognizable metal jiggle, the scrape and the dull thud. I hear you removing your jacket - a light cotton blazer It was too warm for a jacket really, but you wore one anyway to see mom. You've always wanted to impress her. You've never been good at hiding your desperation for her approval.

"you up?" You walk into the room. I turn on the light.

"yeah."

"What are you doing?"

"nothing."

"you ok?"
I nod. Do I tell you about the call. That I know Lenore is Leora?

"I went to see mom and then—I went to the office."

I don't answer or say anything.

"I did, Annie. Really."

You sit on the couch next to me. The plush cushion sinks a little. You's so close to me, your kaki pants touch my bare leg.

"pretty dress." You say.

"Does Leora know I attempted suicide?"

You looks at me curiously and I know somehow it's because I got her name right. I don't use my moniker Leonore. The bridge of familiarity has been crossed. I call his mistress by her real name.

You stammer but doesn't give in to guilt. You catch yourself. I'm surprised when You pulls a pack of cigarettes from your pocket. You keeps your eyes on me as shake one out and puts it into his mouth. You only look away when You light the match.

I want to say "you can't smoke in here. It's bad for the babies. You're killing our family!"

"How could she?" You ask.

There. A lie. There's only one way she could have known.

"Do you still speak with her?"

Now you look away, examine the iron paned window. "no." you whisper.

"Look at me" I say to you.

"Annie." You surrender "I did talk to her today. I saw her today."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you? Talk to her.Why would you tell her about me. I never asked you for anything I never asked you to come back. And now you're bringing this—"
"You don't want to make this work? You don't want me?"

You put the cigarette out in a tea cup on the table. The act is revolting. "I don't know why I'm smoking."
"I don't know why you do a lot of things." I say. It would be better to tell you about the call. The crazy woman's audacious and accusatory call.

"I saw her Annie—you're close enough now that when you turn to me I can feel the warmth of your body. "She wants to call you. She wants contact with you and I"m trying to stop her."

"What does she want?"
"I don't' know. She'll go away. I hope. It was so fucking stupid."
I sneer and roll my eyes. "right."

"Annie. Do you want this to work?"

"I was in love with you. I trusted you." I let out a breath and it is the rush of the ocean. It is the violent break. Everything inside of me is collapsing so I say it. "I'm not well and Dr. Antol says you can't —that you—that it's an unequal relationship."

'What the fuck does that mean?"

'Stop ok. Just stop."

I hear her voice in my brain threaten suicide.

I did something I didn't plan on. It surprised me. I moved closer to you. I kissed you and tasted the cigarette. The stale burnt flavor. Like cardboard. I didn't care. I also tasted scotch. I kissed you and moved on top of you. You surrender to me and lean back against the couch. I wore my short sundress and your hands touched my arms and legs—all that bare skin. I stayed connected to you with my eyes closed. I kissed you and we begin to make love.

"Why did you?" I asked at first a whisper then louder.

"Shhh"

I don't know why but I plunged my teeth into your shoulder. You cried out and I held on. I held on until I tasted blood. You tried to pull away but it hurt more. I thought of myself. I try to pull away and it hurts more.

You are stronger than I am and something inside you is ignited, you push me hard off of you and the force startles me and I release my bite. Now I am on the couch and you're holding my chin with one hand. "Stop it!"

I reach a hand way and hit you hard on the face. With that you pretend to force me. This isn't rape. It's not a game either. I tis what we have at this moment in our relationship. It hurts to pull away.

You are laying beside me. It was violent and this is new to us. The room glows yellow from the light in the hallway. I listen for a moment for the children. They are upstairs. You're naked and I don't remember you undressing. I am so attracted to you that seeing you like this quiets me. I feel embarrassed as if I have a crush on you and we hardly know each other. We've made love but somehow I'm with this handsome man and I think You notice me, want me. I forget sometimes that we are married. I remain as surprised as I was when we first met.

"Annie, I want to do something and I want you to let me."

I roll over. "What?"

"Please don't argue with me, ok?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to turn on the GPS "friends" on your phone."
He expected me to be angry-ordinary I would have-but, something. I guess a part of me knows this is good for the kids. I don't think I'm going to descend quickly and hurt myself or the kids, but with psychosis one really doesn't know.

"OK."

"i'll put it on mine too. You can see — the way we can trust each other."

"OK."