Two Kisses for Maddy_ A Memoir of Loss & Love - Matthew Logelin [61]
John was the last to visit. On the way to my house from the airport, I asked up front, “Is Andrea pregnant?”
“I hope not,” he replied, laughing. “Why?”
“Just testing a theory,” I explained, then turned the conversation to his upcoming wedding.
I taught three grown men how to hold, feed, and burp a premature baby—skills that they then demonstrated via videoconference to their impressed (and relieved) women. It was about to become a reality for two of them, and it was kind of awesome to be showing them the way. To be the one who’d already been there.
They knew they could rely on my experience and probe my ever-growing knowledge base for future use with their own children, and they were determined to learn as much as possible from me before they flew back to Minnesota. And I felt confident that the guidance and practical experience I could give them was the real deal. I wasn’t pretending to be a father; I was a certifiable success. I got to be their friend with the baby instead of their friend whose wife had died. It was a relief.
No matter how eagerly they tried to provide diversions and distractions, though, there were always reminders of Liz. Some of them, like her perfume bottles on the dressers or her shoes in the corner, were constant and to be expected. But others, like the calls my friends made to their ladies before going to bed, made me sick to my stomach; I no longer had Liz to say good night to. But I did have my baby to tuck in every night, and holy shit, was I thankful for that.
One morning when Steve was still in town, I got out of the shower and heard him call my name from the living room.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Maddy’s fine,” he replied. “Your phone rang, but I didn’t know if I should answer. I let it go to your answering machine.”
“Shit. You didn’t happen to hear who it was, did you?”
“United Airlines? Something about your trip to Hawaii?”
“Are you sure? I’m not going to Hawaii.”
“I’m pretty sure I heard the automated message say something about an itinerary change for your trip to Oahu.”
“Fuck. I’m gonna call them.”
“Do you want to listen to the message?”
“No, I can’t.”
What I couldn’t tell Steve was that I was hiding from the answering machine. There was a message somewhere on there from the Los Angeles County Coroner’s office, and I didn’t want to hear it. There was also another message that I’d been avoiding—it was from Liz. She’d left it from the hospital when she was on bed rest. I’d never listened to it, but I knew it was there. I hadn’t heard her voice since the day she died, and as much as I thought I wanted to, I was afraid that if I did, everything would start to seem unreal, as if she were on an extended business trip or something. So I had been avoiding the answering machine altogether.
I called the airline later that day. “I received a message about an itinerary change. Do you have the details of that?”
“Yes, Mr. Logelin. It looks like your flight to Oahu on May tenth has been moved up by two hours.”
“Okay. This may sound strange, but I had no idea that I was going to Oahu. Can you give me any more information about the trip?”
The agent laughed. “It looks like the flight was booked by Elizabeth Logelin, and was originally scheduled for one year earlier. Elizabeth rescheduled the flight for May tenth, 2008.”
It all suddenly came back to me. I hung up the phone without saying thank you or good-bye, and instantly fucking lost it. All six feet seven inches of Steve got up off the couch and hugged me, making me feel like I was a child again, back in the arms of my father.
I sobbed, now remembering everything about this trip. We had booked tickets to Hawaii the year before for a wedding, but we both ended up having to travel for work. Liz rescheduled the trip as a vacation for us, choosing the furthest possible date from the original reservation.