“Can I help you?”
The receptionist looks me up and down. Not out of interest, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t see people like me come in here a lot.
“Yeah.” I give her what I hope is an easy smile. “I’m here to see my wife.”
“What’s her name?”
“Amanda Barnett.”
I’ll never forget the first time I said her married name. I puffed up like a damn peacock. It wasn’t even changed yet, but you couldn’t tell me any different.
“Okay.” She hands a tub over to me. “I need you to place your belongings in here, and if you could walk through that metal detector, we’ll get you back there.”
I’d been warned about these things, but it still strikes me as odd. In a way it’s like a prison. Wonder if that’s the way it feels to her? Add that to the list of questions I’m dying to ask.
When I’ve been cleared by their security, I’m taken through a bunch of hallways. I’m not even sure I could get out of here if I tried. Finally I come to a door, the security officer directs a gaze my way.
“You’re allowed to touch her, you can kiss her, but don’t give her anything. You two are the only ones meeting today, so the room is yours. If you’d like for her counselor to come in, or if you need assistance, there’s a button on the table. Enjoy your time with your wife.”
It’s all so clinical, but I do my best to realize this isn’t for me. It’s for her. He opens the door, and when I step in, I feel my heart stop.
There she is, sitting at the table, looking like an oasis in the middle of a damn barren desert. She immediately looks up, sees me, and she’s out of her chair. I’m pretty sure it gets knocked over in her exuberance because the next thing I know, she’s launching herself into my arms.
I catch her easily, the way I’ve always tried to.
But this time I hold onto her, hold on so tightly no one will ever be able to pry her from my arms again.
Her legs wrap around my waist and I just stand there holding her. Neither one of us says a word; because there aren’t words to say. There’s nothing that can explain the way we feel for one another in this moment. My hands quiver as I hold her tightly. Part of me wants to give her a cursory look over, the other part of me dares someone to tell me to let her go.
Our cheeks are pressed against one another, and I breathe in deeply. Her shampoo is the same. Even in the middle of all this change. Her shampoo is the same, and I’m rooted in that little piece of us. Rooted to the floor and refuse to move.
Eventually I feel wetness against my skin, and I know she’s crying. Fuck it may be me crying too. I’m overwhelmed, completely overwhelmed by the feelings crawling up into my stomach. It’s like I went over a hill too fast on my bike. My throat is tight, my nose burns; but my heart, my heart is so damn full with love for her.
Her legs and arms are wrapped tightly around me, so I let go, putting my palms on her temples and pull her back enough so that I can see her face. It’s her, she’s crying, and I wipe those tears from beneath her eyes. The way I should have wiped them up when we lost our baby. Instead of it bringing us closer together, it ripped us apart. I have so much to apologize for, but first I need to see her.
For myself, I need to see that she’s making a recovery.
“Open up for me, babe,” I speak so softly it’s not even a whisper.
I’m scared to ruin this moment between us, because I’ve wanted it for so goddamn long.
She does. She opens her eyes, and the eyes that have looked lifeless, sad, and cloudy shine brighter than a fucking star in the sky. They’re clear, ready to see the entire world, ready to face it head on.
“I love you.” I smile at her. “I love you so much, I wish I could show you.”
She cries harder, but doesn’t close her eyes. Mandy lets me look, lets me get lost in the depths. It’s been months since I looked at her, and knew she was looking right back at me. This guts me.
It’s a hitch in my throat at first, but then it comes rushing out as a sob. One I can’t hold back, even if I were to try, it would come wrenching out of me. All broken and ugly.
Together we hold each other in this empty room, pouring our hearts out to one another without words.
Because we can.
The couple who couldn’t even bear to talk to one another a few months ago, can now talk without words.
Healing is taking place in this silent moment and I let it. Whatever we have to say to one another will still be there once we get through doing something together we’ve never done: process emotions.
Chapter Seventeen
Mandy
Sitting across from Dalton is worth everything I’ve done to get to this point. Seeing him again is my present for all this pain I’ve endured, for the work I’ve accomplished, even when I haven’t been sure if what I’m doing is working.
“You look really good.” I smile, holding his hand tightly across the table.
What I wouldn’t give to lay in his arms right now.
“You do too, babe. God I’ve missed you.”
Those words make my soul feel lighter, they get rid of some of the doubt and punishment I’ve put on myself.
“How’s Walker? I wish he could have come with you.”
“He’s good, doing much better since you wrote him that letter.”
Our conversation flounders, and I know it’s not because
