David was drifting on pink puffy clouds.
I goddamn love this, he thought, feeling silly and giddy, spinning through another cotton candy tuft. I have no fucking clue why, but this is great.
His arms reached out in front of him, then swept back. He darted through the cloud cover and saw the ground below him.
It was a meadow, a lush sage bathed in mist. He remembered reading a book when he was a boy, about the legend of the wild Haggis in Scotland. He didn't remember the story, but he'd never forgotten the illustrations. Watercolors that splashed the page in vivid streaks, glossy and textured. In his formative cooking years, he recreated traditional haggis, boiling sheep offal for hours. The first bite was a reckoning. He'd missed the meadow, his heaven. Here it was.
He landed and smelled the loamy earth. Shallow walls in the distance, gray stone. It seemed to go on forever, the hills and the rocks. Highlands, he thought. I'd always wanted to go there. Am I dead? Is this my heaven?
A shadow.
He squinted, hearing the water of the Isles lapping in the distance. The wind blew fresh into his nose, and he was safe. The figure came closer.
He breathed out. A familiar shape that spoke, but didn't speak.
Do you remember, it whispered, when you wished me a happy birthday? You asked if you said anything else.
He inhaled sharply, and the lush rain was infused with cedarwood. Nigel, Nigel.
The voice in David's head again. You did. You asked me to forgive you.
He was silent. He remembered. It seemed so far away, and then it was here.
Do you? He asked the shadow.
My sweet broken man. I'm here, now. Is this your paradise?
David looked around in the mist, the fog, the gray. Are you surprised?
Pleasantly.
What does yours look like?
A pause. About five-ten. A hundred and sixty pounds. Cooks.
You can be so cheesy.
Only with you.
He couldn't quite see him. He was there, but he wasn't there.
Am I dead?
If you were dead, would I be here?
I don't know. Maybe you're like, my spirit guide. Ushering me to the afterlife.
I'm flattered, but that's a little too organized. I don't think death is like a vacation to Maui, with tours and narratives.
Maybe my death is.
You're not dead. You're unconscious. And so am I, I suppose.
He stooped over and ran his hand through the thick grass. It was firm, wet. He clutched it, as if to ground himself. The clouds drifted overhead. What happened?
You and Jane fought. You fell down the stairs and lost a lot of blood. I wouldn't call this a coma, but no one knows when you'll wake up.
Is she okay?
Yes.
She knows about us.
Yes. She does.
"What do I do?" he asked, his voice ringing. "Nigel, what am I supposed to do?"
It helps, the low voice continued, if you stop waiting for someone to tell you. Haven't you at least learned that much from our time together?
His arms fell to his sides.
No one has the right answer; not me, not Jane. Not even your children. What makes you happy?
"You! It's always been you!" He called, and it echoed. The shadow wavered.
Suddenly, a whisper in his ear.
"Then come back to me."
He inhaled, and his eyes opened. The sage meadow was replaced by a white ceiling with spotted flaky tiles crisscrossed with plastic. He winced at the overbrightness of the room, but the light came from the window, where the snowflakes still fell.
He was in his hospital bed. A whiteboard was on his right, with something scrawled in purple marker.
Hello! Your nurse's name is:
Below, it was blank. He smiled a little.
Jane had already briefed Detective Niels on what happened, a giant bear with kind brown eyes. She asked with trepidation if David would be pressing charges. The detective said no. She'd already taken his statement and confirmed that it correlated with Jane's. She added that David had asked to see her, when she was ready.
"Normally in domestic disputes, we wouldn't grant that request," the detective explained. "But from what we've been able to determine, this was a situational action that spiraled out of control, and I'd consider it an outlier on... how many years have you been married?"
"Eleven," Jane answered numbly.
"Now, I've heard my share of penitent spouses," the detective continued. "And every excuse in the book. 'I didn't mean to do it,' 'I'm normally very even-keeled,' 'I was provoked,'... I'm not getting that vibe from either of you. In fact, both of you are blaming yourselves."
"I attacked him." Jane stumbled over the words. "He was trying to defend himself."
"The way he tells it, you reacted to him dropping a bombshell on you after a few months of tension, which he also takes credit for."
"I won't pretend we were both at fault for those months," Jane replied, her voice hardening considerably. "I was so confused. I lost count of how many times I asked him if there was something on his mind, or if he needed to talk about something. I felt like I was going crazy whenever he acted like nothing had changed."
Detective Niels nodded. They sat in silence.
"I suppose I should see him. I have no idea what to tell our kids."
The nurse asked Jane if she wanted someone with her when she talked to her husband, maybe one of the detectives or a local police officer. She politely declined, her friend's husband was a policeman and he always seemed to take his work home with him, so to speak. The last thing she needed was a third person sharing the juicy details of their marriage with half of Elwood City.
However, Detective Niels insisted on standing outside the door in case things escalated. She laid a large, comforting hand on Jane's back. "Remember to breathe. Remember that you can leave anytime you want."
Jane nodded.
"Say that last part back to me."
"I... I can leave anytime I want."
Detective Niels smiled and opened the door for her.
The foot of David's bed was propped up and he was almost draped over it, on his stomach, so that he faced the door. His back was swathed in bandages and he was hooked up to an IV and a couple of quiet machines that hummed and beeped. Seeing him look so unexpectedly vulnerable had an unexpected effect on Jane, her hand flew to her mouth and tears stung her eyes.
"Oh, hey. Come on, I'm fine," David smiled, but that just made the tears flow, and seeing her weep made his own eyes well up. "You're the one with the cast on."
"It's not a contest," she blubbered, which made him laugh, which made her laugh. It surprised her, and the air that had been thick with tension cleared a little.
"Wanna take a seat, drink some water? I think there's a couple cups of juice too." David offered, untucking his arm from the pillow he rested his head on to motion to the chair in front of him. She sat down and with her good arm, picked up one of the plastic fruit-cup shaped drinks with a tinfoil lid. Examined it, then set it down.
"Maybe later." She sighed. "David."
He reached for her hand from his bed and she gave it to him. "Jane."
"I'm so sorry. I always told the kids, use your words."
"The kids never had to worry about someone confessing to an affair."
Her hand slipped out of his. "But they do, now. They have to know."
Bewilderment on his face. "What are you talking about, Jane? They'll hate me!"
"Don't you think they'll have questions? When we tell them..."
He looked at her face, contorting could barely get the words out.
"When we tell them, we're divorcing."
He knew it was coming, but he could have never prepared enough for it. That was it. The marriage was over. Eleven years of love, growth, learning. Eleven years of communication, holidays, birthdays, anniversaries. Eleven years and three kids. A carefully tended tree that would now be cleaved in two.
"Is that what you want, Jane?"
She stared at him with her wet, beautiful eyes. Truly looked at him, for the first time in a long time. "Of course not. But it's what's going to happen. I don't want to try to work things out - I know we can't. And I'm not going to look the other way. Couldn't you see how miserable I was?"
He nodded. "I know. I know I did that to you. I will spend the rest of my life making up for it."
"Don't bother," she said bluntly. "It would be a colossal waste of time for both of us. I'm not strong enough to forgive you yet, but I'm sure it will happen."
"Would you at least talk to a therapist with me?"
"I'll think about it, David. But I need time to figure out what I want. If we did, it would only be to figure out how to work through this divorce together, with the children. I want to talk with them, but I have no idea how to start. I don't want to rely on intuition for that, I have none."
He sighed and rested his head on the pillow. "Thank you. For talking with me."
She stood up. When she spoke, it was quiet, and it was clear. But her eyes were dry.
"I think you're a piece of shit, David. I think you fucked up completely, and I hold both you and Nigel responsible for our marriage ending. I'm not going to be amicable about that, but I'll keep it out of the discussion with the kids.
"I'm going to get a divorce lawyer, I think you should as well. I'd like the house and I won't pursue full custody."
He exhaled. "That's – "
" – what's best for our children. Not for me." She moved toward the door. "Would you like them to visit you here?"
He was pensive. "I... don't know. I should only be a day or two. Maybe after I'm out, we can talk to them together. Please?"
She nodded. "We'll talk soon."
David watched her leave. When the door closed, he slumped into the pillow and closed his eyes, exhausted.
A few hours later, a muted knock.
When there was no answer, the visitor entered silently. David was still sleeping, his prone form rising and falling. The sun was setting outside and the visitor closed the shades against the brilliant orange light, then turned on a little table lamp in the corner. Much more calming.
The visitor took the chair, now cold. He reached into his bag for a book and the thermos of tea, setting both on the table as he removed his jacket. Settling in, he leafed to the page he'd left off on and crossed his legs, resting his head on his hand as he started to read.
Rest, my love. I'll wait for you.