Page 40 of Then Came the Fall
“No, it’s okay. We should leave it out in case Matt wakes up. He might be hungry. Besides,” she goes on, “we’ll be back in a little while. It won’t go bad. Just do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Can you leave him a note? Let him know we went to the library. Just in case he gets up and is disoriented.”
“No problem.” I rummage through the junk drawer and find a pad of Post-it notes and a pen.
9:45 a.m.
Matt,
We (me, your mom, and Brett) went out to the library. Please, if you need anything, call my cell. Also, maybe try to eat something. I know it would make your mom happy.
See you soon.
Taylor
Diana drives us in her fancy Lexus. The children’s librarian is happy to see Brett, whose love for reading has made her a fixture in the stacks, a tiny body carrying a fresh armload of books to check out every few weeks. The event is held in the community room, and Brett sits down on the floor in front with the other kids, leaving me and Matt’s mom to sit, side by side, in the back of the room on plastic chairs. The kids ooh and aah at a large tortoise, a Komodo dragon, an iguana, and three different kinds of snakes, their little hands gently touching the scaly bodies of each. I notice Diana’s hands, placed carefully in her lap, adorned by a diamond engagement ring and a platinum wedding band, marking decades of what I can only assume has been wedded bliss.Or is it?Their only child just had a massive health event. That must be insanely stressful.Still, she sits with her hands folded, a statue of composure, the makeup on her face creating a mask of poise, the chewed-up cuticles along the edges of her ballet-slipper-pink fingernails offering the only evidence to the contrary.
After an hour or so and several dozen pictures of Brett with a particularly large, green spotted royal python, we check out five new books (three about snakes) and are driving home when Brett asks if we can go to the playground first.
“It’s so nice out!” she pleads from the backseat, gesturing at the sun. She’s right, too; even though it’s March, the few hours since early morning have given the air a chance to warm up, and the forecast calls for sunny skies with a high of almost 50 degrees.
“I don’t mind,” I say.
“Let’s do it,” Diana agrees, making a quick right turn down the street that leads to Brett’s school. The neighborhood park is adjacent to the large, brick building. The park is small, with just a swing set, three slides, an area with monkey bars, a sand pit—which Matt told me was forbidden ever since he found a hypodermic needle in it—and Brett’s favorite: a tire swing. The fenced in playground is lined with benches, so when Brett runs off to spin herself on the oversized donut made of rubber and rope, Matt’s mom and I sit down together.
“So,” I begin, “Matt says you went on a cruise recently. How was it?”
“Honestly? I begged Paul to cancel the trip. I didn’t want to leave. Some nights, we would enjoy a nice dinner together or watch a show, and I would forget. But just for a moment. And then, just as quickly, I’d remember: my son just had a stroke. And I’d get sick to my stomach with guilt for having a nice time while he was all alone at home.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I mean, the scenery was beautiful. The food was plentiful, and under any other circumstances, it would have been nice to get away. But I kept thinking, ‘Now is not the time for this.’ I would much rather celebrate when he’s better.”
“I understand.” I nod, watching Brett play.
“She’s really something else, huh?”
“Brett?” I ask.
Diana beams. “That child is an angel. So smart and thoughtful. She’s nothing like her father,” she chuckles. “But then, she’s also exactly like him. It’s uncanny.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Just when Matthew was little, he used to give me a run for my money. He was a great kid, just so busy all the time. I don’t ever remember him wanting to sit still and read a book.”
“Yeah, that’s a good point. He’s not much of a reader.” I laugh.
“Sports, sure. Soccer, track, basketball. His childhood is a blur of sports games for me.”
“It’s so funny because he never really hung out with the jocks at camp. He always stayed at the farm.”
“Ha!” Diana chortles. “Who would have thought, right? My little plan to get him to be more well-rounded didn’t quite work.”
“What do you mean?”
Diana smiles. “I signed him up for farm that first year at camp, thinking maybe it would broaden his horizons. Give him something he could be less crazy about. But, no. It just became another thing, another habit for another season.”
