Thursday, February 25, 1982

"And they lived happily ever after. The End."

Michele looked up at me when I closed the book. "Do people live happily ever after in real life, Mommy?"

"Yes, they do," I answered softly, not wanting to wake her twin who had fallen asleep several pages back.

She sat thoughtfully then said, "I wish we could live happily ever after."

I cupped my hand under her chin and tilted her face toward mine, searching her eyes for what led her to say that. "Don't you think we are?"

"We're not happy all the time."

"That's not what that means, Sheli. 'Happily ever after' doesn't mean there are never any arguments, or sad times. It means that they love each other and they stay together through good times and bad."

"So Beast and Beauty…they had arguments after they got married?"

"More than likely."

"Do you think they had kids?"

"It's possible."

Michele considered that and looked intently at me. "Are you and Daddy living happily ever after?"

I didn't hesitate for a second. "Yes. I believe we are."

"I'm glad." She yawned around her next words, "Because Daddy was crying last night."

I froze and tried to keep my tone light as I pressed, "Honey, are you sure you weren't dreaming?"

"Uh-unh," she shook her head and rubbed her eyes. "I had to go potty and I saw Daddy come out of your room. He was crying. His face was wet and everything."

"Did he say anything to you?" I asked anxiously, hoping that the tension I felt didn't come across to my young daughter. Crying? Oh, God, is he still having nightmares?

"No, he didn't see me. I tiptoed downstairs after I went potty and he was standing in the living room drinking a glass of water."

In the living room? I pursed my lips. Al hadn't been drinking water. He'd have been in the kitchen. If she saw him in the living room, his beverage had come from the liquor cabinet.

"Mommy? Why was Daddy crying?"

"I don't know, baby." I bent to kiss her goodnight. "You just go to sleep and don't worry your head over it, okay?"

"Okay. 'Nite! I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too. Goodnight, Sheli."

I turned off the lamp and left their room, walking past the darkened bedrooms where our youngest daughters slept. When I reached the top of the stairs, I paused before descending and looked at our bedroom door. A cold twisting seized my stomach as Michele's revelation of witnessing her father's tears continued to linger in my mind.

Slowly, I descended the stairs thinking of Michele's statement for the entire 20-step trip. "His face was wet and everything." I wondered how I hadn't heard him, hadn't been awakened by his weeping, and I wondered, too, what sort of dreams he'd had to prompt such a physical reaction. A couple of weeks ago Al had startled me awake with his tossing and turning. I'd barely gotten the lamp lit when he began screaming then exploded into wakefulness. A bout of shivering had taken hold of him, ceasing only when I wrapped my arms around him and held him close as I whispered soothingly, "It was only a dream, baby." He'd let me console him for a while, but then he'd abruptly pulled away and left the room without a word. Although I'd tried to stay awake until he returned, I was so tired I fell asleep before Al rejoined me in bed.

The thought struck me that perhaps Al had gotten "a drink of water" that night as well. I rubbed my arms to counter a nervous chill as I considered the possibility that I had slept through a great number of my husband's nightmares.

The TV was on in the living room, but Al slept in his recliner, oblivious to the sitcom. A vertical line between his brows gave evidence that his slumber wasn't entirely peaceful. I sat on the couch and reached for the remote to lower the volume a couple of notches while I kept my eyes on Al. His arms were folded across his middle over the papers he'd been reviewing and he shifted his shoulders slightly. He moaned softly and murmured words that were pitched too low for me to hear. Just when I was about to stretch to touch him, he woke up.

Al opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling before rolling his shoulders and wiggling in the recliner to bring it into more of an upright position. When he did so, he looked over at me and blinked to see me watching him so intently.

"Hey, honey, what's up?" he asked.

"Nothing," I answered as lightly as I could.

He cocked his head dubiously at me, but didn't press. Instead, he moved over in the recliner and beckoned for me to join him, leaning to put the papers on the end table. Once I got settled, he tilted slightly towards me and took me into his arms, his right arm wrapped around beneath me and his left hand caressing my face.

"Kids asleep?"

"Finally."

"Good." He kissed me tenderly, the kisses quickly increasing in pressure and passion. I brought my hand up to stroke his cheek and I kept it there when we broke apart.

"Baby, if something was bothering you, you'd tell me, right?"

He laughed dismissively. "You think something's bothering me?"

"Is there?" I insisted.

"Besides the fact that I can't kiss you when you're talking?" he asked, leaning in to do just that. I put a hand on his chest to stop him and gestured at the end table.

"How about that?"

Al turned to look at the squat glass I was pointing to. Less than an inch of amber liquid remained.

He frowned. "I had a rough day."

I pressed my lips together. "You've been having a lot of 'rough days' lately, hon. Don't you think maybe you should cut back a bit?"

"Beth," said Al, "since when do you have a problem with me having an occasional drink?"

My mouth twisted and I lifted one eyebrow before answering. "It's just that those occasions seem to be a lot closer together than they used to."

An annoyed breath exploded out of Al's nose. "What are you insinuating?"

I got out of the chair and walked over to the liquor cabinet, reaching in and coming up with two half-empty bottles. I set them on top of the cabinet and looked meaningfully at them.

"I bought these for Commander Levinson's New Year's Party, remember? I tucked them in here when we ended up not going because the sitter cancelled. They're both already half gone."

Al's eyes narrowed and he sarcastically said, "I didn't know they weren't to be touched. I figured since my money paid for them, I should get to use them."

"That isn't even the point. And I didn't know my staying home with the girls was such an issue for you that you were keeping track of whose money was whose," I shot back.

"Yeah, well at least you get to spend time with them," he muttered. Grabbing the stack of papers with one hand, and defiantly snatching the glass with the other, Al shot me a dirty look and stalked into the den, pulling the pocket doors closed behind him.

I sighed and put the accusing bottles back inside the liquor cabinet.

"Mommy?"

I rubbed my eyes and tried to come awake. Michele touched my arm and said again, "Mommy?"

"What is it, precious?" I asked around a yawn.

"There's a monster in my closet."

I sighed. "Honey, I promise you, there's no monster in your closet."

"There is! I heard him sniffing."

"Okay, shhh, before you wake up Daddy. I'll come check."

As I fumbled for my slippers Michele said, "I won't wake him up. Daddy's not sleeping."

"He's not? Al, are you awake?" I turned to touch his arm but he wasn't in bed.

"Come on, Mommy," Michele whined, tugging at my nightgown. "I'm scared! Can't I just sleep with you?"

"No, honey. Big girls sleep in their own beds. I'll show you there's no monster and then you'll be able to sleep just fine."

I led the way to her room and dutifully shone the flashlight in all the nooks and crannies of the closet. "See?" I yawned. "No monsters. Now climb back in bed and get some sleep, baby."

She did, reluctantly. I tucked her in and kissed her goodnight then eased out of her room and started back towards our bedroom. I'd taken two steps when a thought occurred to me and I silently made my way downstairs.

I heard a soft clinking sound and the quiet splashing gurgle of a liquid. My stomach twisted and I eased my way toward the living room. Al was standing before the liquor cabinet, his back to me as he set a bottle down and lifted a glass to his lips. There was an urgency to his movements that unnerved me as he tilted his head back and swallowed the contents of the glass in one continuous guzzle.

Frowning, I closed my eyes and shook my head. Before he could catch sight of me I backed towards the staircase, sitting down on the bottom step and resting my head in my hands. It seemed pointless to attempt a discussion at this hour, especially when it would probably only turn into an argument that would wake the kids. Letting out a soft pained sigh, I rose and took a step toward the living room again, thinking maybe I'd just go to him with an embrace, lead him back to bed. Glass clinked against glass, more roughly this time, and something stopped me. Sadly, I climbed the stairs and crawled back into our empty bed.

I laid there for what seemed like an hour but was really more like a half. Finally, Al came back to bed, dropping flat on his back. He lifted a hand to gently brush his knuckles against my cheek, unaware that I wasn't sleeping. I heard the rustle as he chafed his hands against his face after that, quietly muttering to himself, "It was only a dream. It was only a dream."

I bit my lip and remained still and quiet until Al fell into an uneasy sleep. It was a long time before I could do the same.