Alex was setting Molly in her crib when the headlights of Bobby's car bounced off the wall as he turned into the driveway. She settled a blanket over the baby and peeked in on the older kids. She loved to watch her children sleep. Their angelic faces filled her with a sense of peace she was able to find nowhere else.
Tommy's room was the last one she checked. After moving a toy car located strategically in the center of the path between the door and the bed, she kissed his curly blond head and silently left the room. Bobby hadn't come upstairs, which he had plenty of time to do if he was coming right to bed. He hadn't called her again after delivering the news about the baby's arrival, and she worried about his mental state.
The doctors would try to save Denise, she had no doubt, but the thought that they might be out of time filled her with dread. She liked Denise—she always had, despite her struggles with jealousy. She knew that Denise's death was going to be incredibly hard for Bobby and he'd already been through so much over the past year. Perhaps the doctors could pull a miracle out of their hats and buy her some real time. Maybe Denise was stronger than anyone—even Bobby—realized. She had a little son of her own now, and a husband, the family she had always wanted. Maybe they were enough to fortify her will to live against the cancer that had ravaged her for the past few months. Perhaps the cancer wasn't as aggressive as they thought or it would be more susceptible to the chemo treatment than they anticipated. Her mind was filled with so many 'maybes' but she needed to be optimistic, for Bobby's sake. She did her best to instill him with hope, but that was something no one could do. Hope had to come from within, and Bobby's internal stores had been depleted many years ago.
Not sure what she would find when she went down the stairs, she braced herself and went to check on her husband. As she descended the stairs, she heard the clink of glass against glass. At the bottom of the stairs, she turned to the left, into the family room. She saw him silhouetted against the windows on the far side of the room. Unaware she was there, he set the whiskey bottle on the table beside the liquor cabinet and stepped back into the living room.
She crossed in front of the stairs into the living room and watched him from the doorway. He was hard to miss, standing in front of the sliding glass door that led to the backyard, his big frame illuminated by the moonlight that streamed through the glass. "Bobby?" she said softly.
Twisting at the waist, he looked over his shoulder at her. "Alex...uhm, hi. I, uh, I...did I wake you?"
"No. I was just putting Molly back to bed when you pulled into the driveway. How are Denise and the baby?"
He rubbed the back of his neck and answered, "The baby is fine. He's a cute little guy, healthy and, uh, vigorous. Denise...they started chemo, but they aren't very optimistic. She was sleeping when I left."
She knew he wouldn't have driven if he was impaired, but that told her nothing of his mental state. She approached him and he held his arm out to her. She stepped into his embrace and he folded his arm around her, nuzzling her hair.
She smelled cigarette smoke on him but said nothing. She knew he was trying to quit, but no one was perfect. She wasn't going to get on his case for a relapse after such a stressful day. "A little boy, huh?" she said softly.
He nodded. "Sam."
She looked out through the glass into the backyard, which was illuminated by the light of the moon. "I'd like to take a walk in the moonlight sometime soon," she said. "Maybe Reggie will watch the kids tomorrow or the day after." When he grunted in reply, she laced her fingers with his and stroked his thumb with hers. "Can we talk for a minute?" she asked, keeping her tone gentle and inviting.
"About walking in the moonlight?" he answered, hoping she didn't want to talk about anything more serious than that.
"We can start with that, if you want, but I'd like to talk about Denise...and about us."
He shifted his weight uncomfortably and tried to swallow a soft groan of pain. "I don't know, Alex..."
She slid her arm around his waist and slipped her fingers under the edge of his shirt, lightly stroking his skin above his belt. After a moment, he tried to swallow another groan, one definitely not caused by pain. Her fingers strayed to his ribs and he leaned his head against hers, softening to her request. She whispered, "I don't want to argue."
"Neither do I, but every time we try to talk about Denise or my relationship with her, it always deteriorates into an argument."
"I can be...overly sensitive to certain aspects of your relationship, I know. But...it's changed a lot over the years."
"So have I. Everything changes over time."
"Fair enough." She paused. "Bobby, what happens when you...look at me?"
"What...happens? What do you mean?"
"I mean...what goes through your head?"
"Not a whole lot, most of the time. I mean..." He gently grasped her hand and held it against the front of his jeans. "That interferes with a lot of thought processes."
She laughed softly. "That's not what I mean. You get that reaction when you watch porn."
"I suppose, but it's not the same."
He finished off his drink and stepped away from her. Limping into the next room, he refilled his glass. Alex frowned at his limp. When he returned to her, she asked, "Did you hurt your knee again?"
"No. It's just been a long day. I'm tired and it's sore."
She slipped away from his side, grasping his hand and leading him to the couch. Sitting, she gave his hand a gentle tug and he sat beside her, setting his glass on the coffee table in front of him. She slid closer, snuggling against his side. "Are you going to give me a serious answer now?"
"I was serious."
"You are always thinking, and I'd like to know what goes through your head when you see me."
He paused to give it some thought and apprehension set in. "Suppose I say the wrong thing?"
"There is no right or wrong answer. Just an honest one. I won't get mad. I promise."
"When I look at you..." he began, pausing for a moment, though he didn't have to give it a great deal of thought. "I see...my wife. The woman I chose to spend the rest of my life cherishing. The mother of my children. The love of my life."
She smiled, her heart warmed by his answer, "And when you look at Denise?"
"Denise..." he said, trying to hide his fatigue as he stifled a yawn. "When I look at her, I see my friend, a close friend who saw me through a very dark time in my life. I see...my best friend's wife, the mother of his son."
"Do you ever think...'lover'...when you look at her?"
"Not any more. That phase of our relationship is long over."
"Not really. We've only been married for three years."
"Is that all? It seems a lot longer. Seems like forever, actually."
"A lot has happened in a few short years. I guess that's why it seems so long. We've done a lot of living in the past three years."
"I suppose we have. But I wouldn't want to change it...unless...unless you do..."
"No. No, that's not what this is about. I just wondered how firmly your mind sets the roles people have in your life."
"You want to know if I ever look at Denise and think about what I once had with her."
She paused. "I...I still do that...sometimes," she admitted. "When I think about Joe, I wonder what would have happened to my life if he hadn't died."
"Of course you do. But you and Joe never really had a chance to move past the newlywed phase to settle into...something else. When he died, you were still vital lovers, and that's what you will always be. You'll never have a chance to be anything else."
"But—what if he hadn't died? Sometimes, I wonder...would I still have fallen in love with you?"
"That's impossible to know. My life never intersected yours when you were with Joe, so you have only known me as Joe's widow, never as his wife."
"Do you think you would have fallen in love with me if you'd known me then?"
"Possibly. And chances are I would have had a different relationship with Denise, too. If Joe was still alive, she would never have had to compete with you. There would have been no reason for her to say no when I asked her to marry me."
"What about our partnership?"
"That's all it ever would have been, if Joe had lived."
She reached out and snatched his glass from the table, taking a drink before putting it back. She was uncomfortable with the conversation, but she didn't want to move on to another topic, not yet. He was soft and honest, much they way he used to be before his mother died. She'd missed this part of him so much it hurt, and she didn't want to lose it again.
For his part, Bobby didn't know what to make of the conversation. He wasn't any more comfortable with it than she was, but she wasn't angry with him, so he was willing to talk. But he wanted to know what was going on in her head, too. "Uhm...what brought this on?"
She made a dismissive gesture with a shrug of her shoulders and a tilt of her head. "Nothing. I was just curious."
He wasn't willing to let her get away with blowing him off. "That was more than curiosity. Tell me."
She dipped her chin down to her chest and twisted her fingers together. "It's stupid."
"Stupid or not, I think I have a right to know if I've done something wrong."
"It's not you. You haven't done anything wrong."
"Are you sure? I mean...I know I've been distracted lately, and I've kind of been an ass...well, since Mom died. I haven't been such a good..."
She touched his mouth with her fingers. "Don't go there, Bobby. You're a wonderful husband and father, and you always have been. You have had a lot to deal with this past year, and that's not your fault. You've done the best you could."
"That's not saying much. You had a lot of slack to pick up."
"I don't see it that way."
"What other way is there to see it? I haven't been pulling my weight and that's left everything in your hands..."
"Bobby..." She sighed and tucked her hand into his and nestled closer into his side. "I've done a lot of worrying, I will admit. I've been so afraid that your drinking has been getting out of control, and I'm afraid that my worry has come through as anger. I don't handle worry very well."
"You don't talk about it."
"You're not exactly forthcoming, either."
"I know...and I'm sorry for putting you through...well, everything. It all started to go downhill in Syracuse, and I haven't handled it very well. I dug myself into a hole and I just had no idea how to get myself out of it. Every time I tried, I seemed to dig myself deeper. I...I don't have many coping skills...and I didn't know where to turn, so...I did the best I could. Maybe it wasn't good enough, but my choices are fairly limited."
"Maybe they aren't as limited as you think. If you would just talk to me, things might not get so bad. That's all I really want. Just talk to me and let me try to help you through it. We can work it out together. That's what you have trouble with—doing things together."
"It's not that easy for me. I've spent my whole life handling things myself. Whether that's been good or bad, well...I've done my best. I was never properly prepared to handle the life I've had, you know. I've never had anyone I could rely on..uh...for anything. And then...you came along...but...just when I thought I'd found someone..." he trailed off with a shudder, turning his head away from her.
She knew exactly where he was going, and she couldn't blame him for the way he handled things after she married Ricky. It had taken years, but she was finally coming to understand the way his mind worked. "And you think I'm going to let you down again."
"I...I don't...I..." He looked ashamed. "It's hard...for me..."
She watched a single tear escape from the corner of his eye and roll down his cheek. She'd never intended to hurt him, but she had, deeply, and it was a struggle for him to trust her again. He wanted to, and he tried to get past the pain, but the bottom line was...it was hard. He considered himself an unmitigated failure because he struggled so hard to find something that he felt should come more easily. When he'd taken his vows to love and cherish her, he'd meant every word, but trust...trust was something he did not have in abundance. Trust was something he struggled to give and to find—and he failed at both. He refused to accept failure on such a grand level, though, and he'd turned to the bottle to hide his contempt for himself, and the shame and misery that dogged his every step.
Alex had her struggles, too. In Bobby she sought her ideal mate—the one she'd lost when Joe died. Joe hadn't been perfect, but over time, her mind had practically deified him, and she sought perfection from Bobby. In doing so, she had set him up for failure. He would never be perfect, much though he tried, and he would never be Joe, and for that, on some level, she punished him, compounding his already fragile state. She was finally realizing what she had done to him, and, in turn, because of her unconscious demands, what he had done to himself. The big question was...was it too late to fix the damage and set themselves on the path to recovery? Was it too late for them to repair their already rocky marriage?
"Can we...fix it?" she asked.
"I'm not even sure what's wrong. I don't know what happened, Alex. I...I love you so damn much...but that hasn't been enough. I don't know what more I can give, what more I need to do...or to feel...or what. I can't fix it if I don't know how it's broken."
"Well, there's the first problem. You are taking all the blame onto your shoulders. We're a team, just like when we were partners. We succeed or we fail together. So...if there is something that has to be fixed—well, we broke it together, so we have to fix it together. And we have to both be willing to make it work."
He stared at his hands. "Maybe we should...see someone...someone who can help us...undo the damage."
She nodded. "Maybe we should. I don't think we can fix it ourselves."
"I can ask Olivet to recommend someone."
She nodded. "I'd trust her recommendation."
He was trying hard to keep his emotions in check, and he needed a distraction if he was going to succeed. He was getting restless which made him agitated, so he refocused himself on her. "What brought all this about?" he asked.
If she hadn't started in or if she'd backed off sooner, he wouldn't have gotten himself so worked up. Something had driven her to question him.
She pulled away from his side and sat up straight, wondering if she should tell him what he wanted to know. "It's stupid, really. It's nothing."
"I don't believe you," he said.
There was no reason he should believe her, she realized with a jolt. She still wouldn't look at him, but she gave him an honest answer. "It was just...a dream I had, that's all."
He perked up a little, his interest piqued. "A dream? What kind of dream?"
"The kind of dream that you should never pay any attention to because it makes you question everything in your life."
"Tell me about it."
"I'd rather forget it."
"Come on, Alex. I want to hear about it."
"It's stupid and it doesn't mean anything."
"Not necessarily. It worried you enough to start this conversation. Come on."
"You don't tell me about your dreams."
"I don't have dreams."
"That's a bunch of bull—"
He cut her off with a soft kiss. "I don't have dreams," he insisted. "I have nightmares. There's a difference."
"You mean to tell me you never have good dreams?"
"I wouldn't go that far, but if I do, I never remember them. I promise, if I ever do have a good dream, and I remember it the next day, I'll tell you about it."
She poked his side. "Don't patronize me."
"I'm not! I promise, I will!"
She drew in a deep breath. "Okay, fine," she sighed, giving in. "I'll tell you...upstairs."
"You're stalling."
"Yes, I am."
She got up and walked toward the stairs. When she heard him get up, she broke into a run. He gave chase, but his bad knee slowed him significantly and he didn't catch her until she dashed across the threshold into their room. He wrapped an arm around her waist as she made it through the doorway, pulling her back against him and holding her tight as she laughed. "What was that?" he breathed into her ear.
"A distraction," she confessed.
He kissed her neck. "I like this kind of distraction, but I'm not going to forget about that dream."
"I wish I could."
He placed a kiss behind her ear. "Was it really that bad?"
"Not bad. Just...unsettling."
He loosened his hold and she turned in his arms. Holding her so close drove him to place a series of soft kisses on her face, finally settling his mouth on hers. She snaked her arms around his neck and parted her lips to let his tongue slide along hers. A quiet groan slipped from her as he guided her to the bed. She unbuttoned his shirt as he pushed her pajama pants down over her hips. "We can forget about that little talk, right?" she whispered, certain he would let her have her way, as he always did.
"Nope," he answered just before he worked her shirt off her torso.
She unbuckled his belt and undid his pants. "Are you sure?" she asked as she slid her hand into his boxers.
He groaned and pressed her back onto the bed. "Positive," he answered. "But it can wait."
He slid back up to her mouth and kept her from further debate with another kiss. She melted into his arms and the conversation was over...for now.