Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [97]
“Not a problem,” I said, and I meant it. I finished slicing the plump creole tomatoes.
We barbecued steaks and ate steamed asparagus and a salad of tomatoes and feta cheese. I’d freed the leaves and pine needles from the antiqued wrought iron table and chairs, and we ate outside. We ignored the steamy August evening, so miserly there were no breezes, just shifts of warm air.
By the time the dampness settled on us like a second skin, we’d finished eating. I held the back door open for Carl who’d volunteered to carry in the wobbling stack of dirty plates, silverware, and glasses. He stepped over the threshold, paused, and turned to me. “This was nice. Our talking to one another.”
My heart heard a whisper of trust in his words. “For me, too. It's been a long time since …” I stared at my hand on the doorknob. The unspoken floated between us like a bloated balloon that waited for the truth to explode it.
I looked at Carl. I whispered what I hoped his heart could hear, “… since I was sober enough to do this.”
Later, I spooned my body inside Carl's, felt the length of him against me. His arm stretched down the side of my body. He lifted my hair, and covered the back of my neck in butterfly kisses. He reached over and patted our child, God's work-in-progress. “Good night, Leah. Good night, baby. I love you both.” And we slept.
We’d been transformed by prayers answered, dreams lived, and promises fulfilled. We traveled the road of our shared lives, the markers along the way built by memory. I recalled that night whenever I thought of being held in the cleft of God's hand. Of the simple joy of a generous life.
Carl, my watch, and I waited for dad's plane to land at Fairway Airport. It was the smaller of the two airports in the city, but closer to the country club where we were meeting Carl's parents. Tonight was the dinner recognizing Carl's becoming a part of his father's business.
Somehow, I managed to squeeze myself into the black dress Carl had bought for the anniversary party. Thanks to the baby, I filled out the top of the dress. The horizontal pleats across the waistline left space for maybe half a slice of cheesecake for dessert. Carl's suit was also the same one he’d worn. A maddeningly unfair advantage men have, being able to not only recycle their suits, but to have anyone barely notice.
The days since Carl announced his news passed so smoothly they could have been lyrics in a richly mellow song. He didn’t pressure me with expectations either inside or outside the bedroom. And his willingness to wait increased my willingness to take small, steady steps in the direction of trust. I continued my 90/90 AA meetings, and I called Rebecca every day. Molly and I talked again, but only briefly. She told me she was busy with doctor appointments. She and Devin were human boomerangs during the in vitro procedures and checkups. We made a walk date for the next weekend. I told her if I didn’t start exercising again, people wouldn’t know which end of me carried the baby.
My brother Peter and I talked a few times. The attorneys had kept him busy preparing their trial notebooks for an upcoming asbestos suit. He had to finish before court, so he was going to the office early and leaving late, checking filings and evidence. Well compensated as a litigation paralegal, he rarely complained about his work schedule. The last time I’d spoken to Peter he asked if I’d check my calendar to see if I could squeeze in a weekend or longer in New Orleans. “I’ll check on AA meetings close to my house. I wouldn’t think we have a shortage of alcoholics in this city. Well, maybe of recovering ones,” he’d said.
I hadn’t mentioned the idea of marriage counseling to Carl yet. Whether he decided to go or not, I