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FOUR WEEKS LATER
"Mom, have you seen my black shoes?" Allison called out from down the hallway in her own room.
Standing over their bathroom sink, Bess looked at Henry before rolling her eyes. And he sent him the look that communicated, "How would I have seen your shoes in the last few days when I haven't been home and are your shoes really my responsibility?" without having to yell that to her daughter. Instead, Bess just clipped on her bracelet and watch, and yelled back, "I haven't." She refused to look in the mirror, knowing she'd have trouble recognizing the woman looking back at her.
Instead she turned and put her jacket on while asking Henry, "Are you ready to go back to work?"
"Mom! Tell Allie to get out of my ROOM!" Stevie yelled out.
"I think she has my shoes!"
Bess walked to the door and yelled out, "Wear different ones! STOP FIGHTING!" She knew her tone was less motherly and full of anger, but that was her demeanor lately.
He looked up from the chair where he was tying his dress shoes only long enough to say, "I've missed so many classes. My students must be tired of the substitute teachers they've had."
They both knew what he was saying. Three weeks he'd been here at home, trying to help as much as possible from home while looking out for the kids. Elizabeth had been at work for a week before she'd come home the first time. Then she'd only been home enough to pretend to sleep before she headed out every morning to get back to work.
"It will be nice for you to get back in the classroom, and at least take your mind off of things for a little while." She couldn't imagine him being stuck at home, trying to help as much as possible. At least at the office she felt in charge and like she was doing something.
He scoffed at her as he stood up, "You think I ever stop thinking about it?"
Normally, she would've explained what her thoughts were. Normally she would've just told him that she didn't mean how that sounded. And that she was sorry. Because she knew when they were about to get into an argument. And normally they both could see where they could deviate from the ensuing fight.
But today. After she'd come in at 4 this morning, and to be trying to hurry out the door by 7 this morning, she didn't care.
"Do you really think that was what I meant?" She asked, walking briskly past him to get her stacks of paperwork from the nightstand table.
Henry stood up, moving to his bedside table to put books into his briefcase. "I don't know anymore."
She took off her glasses and looked at him across the bed. She bit out, "Oh, come on. What's that passive aggressive comment supposed to mean?"
"You're never home. You lie in bed and toss and turn – when I ask you what's wrong, you just turn over and pretend you didn't hear me."
Bess could see how angry he was – he took his glasses off and threw them onto the bed, staring at her.
"I'm sorry for not wanting to repeat over and over again the things that are going through my head. I'm pretty sure you needed some sleep before you go and teach some cadets about the ethics of war." She snapped back at him.
His eyes widened and his tone sharpened, "Well, I'm sorry for wanting to connect with my wife! And to talk about things."
"The only thing there is to talk about is Emma, and you sure as hell are tired of hearing the talk about that."
And Bess turned and started to stuff paperwork that she wasn't even sure she needed into her briefcase.
"I never said that… I just said…"
"No, you said you wanted to talk about my feelings…" Bess interrupted, then shook her head in irritation, "My feelings aren't going to bring her back."
It was at that moment that Allison burst through the door, "Mom, I've just got to check your closet and see if you have my shoes." And ran to the closet.
And Stevie followed her into the room, "Mom, she just barged into my room and…"
Both Bess and Henry continued packing their bags as if nothing had happened – but they stopped arguing. For a few seconds. Bess could feel Stevie reading the room – knowing she'd stepped into something she shouldn't have.
But Bess was done talking about it. She walked to the door, kissed Stevie's head – and to Allison, she said, "I know those shoes aren't in there." And she just turned to Henry and said, "Have fun with teaching. I'll be at work."
And Henry bit back, "See you tomorrow morning? Or maybe in a few days?"
Bess bristled. And would've snapped back a sharp comment if the kids weren't there. Instead she turned to leave.
But everything fell apart when she heard Allie cry.
"She had them." A broken voice, trembling.
Bess turned back and saw Henry's face – fallen – concerned. And they both walked quickly to the walk-in-closet.
Where they found Allie, sitting in the corner of the shoes on the ground. Bess walked over, crouching down, and grabbed her daughter's hand
"Honey, what's wrong?" Henry asked.
Between the tears, Allie whispered, "Emma. I told her she could borrow my shoes that day."
The air left the room, and Bess pulled her sobbing daughter to her chest. Running her fingers through her daughter's hair, Bess looked up at her husband.
And she knew the pain that they both felt was the same. Deep. Hurting. Desperate. Isolating.
"I just want her back." Allie whispered through the tears.
Bess buried her head in Allie's hair. "Me too, noodle. Me too."
