Chapter Three: Remembering

The night passed into morning without a single bitter recrimination, but April couldn't hold that against her husband because he had been sleeping on the couch for the past couple weeks. Overall, she hated that her children asked why he was lounging in the living room, but now that that phase was hopefully over, she was ready for a fresh new start.

The past few minutes she had done nothing but stare at the austere white ceiling, her mind focusing primarily on her stupidity the day before, until she finally coaxed herself to sit up. In her hand was Frank's, the warmth being standardize and spread out among her relaxed fingers, which had been clenched and digging into her palms yesterday. As much as she didn't want to let go, she pulled away and slowly opened her hand, the nail marks having been left in her smooth skin.

Dragging her legs off the side of the bed, she exhaled the breath she had been holding in unknowingly. The past few months had seemed unbelievably surreal, starting from the failed play to the impractical goal of moving to Paris. What had they been thinking?

April stood up on her stiff legs and stretched her arms, peeking down at the tiny swell of her stomach. Everything had gone so wrong the day she learned she was pregnant again, but she was determined to push those vicious thoughts aside and embrace the new family member.

After all, didn't she love him or her as much as she did her two children and Frank?

Frank. She sighed and glanced down at his sleeping figure. They'd been so on and off for weeks, profanity flying after sweet murmurs of "I love you." And the children: They were coming home soon.

Preparing breakfast was a housewife's job, so that's what April did. She followed the procedure that she had done every morning for the past decade: set the skillet on the stove, get the eggs out of the fridge, beat them in a bowl, and fry them with butter. Whatever else was in the house that day she added to the measly meal—fruits, oatmeal, bacon. Whatever it took to feed the family she'd cared for without a single complaint. To her, whining was a silly woman's work. Frank gave her everything he could, so she made to it to pay him back with every ounce of chores she could manage in ten hours.

As soon as she was peeling the eggs off the skillet and onto a plate, there were the sounds of footsteps on the stairs. She tensed, her mind and body still used to the meaningless bickering that had pursued morning after morning before Frank headed off to work. Excluding yesterday, where she had somehow magically managed to paste a smile on her face—no matter how tremulous her hands were—her life had been falling down the cliffs of a broken marriage since then.

No greetings for a blessed morning were said; none were, necessarily, needed. April watched from the corner of her eye as Frank plopped down on the nearest kitchen chair with a dragged out sigh, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Sometimes he reminded her so much of a child, she could almost remember the days when they had been dating, before they were forced to settle down.

"Frank, no!" April cried as he coaxed her into sitting on the front railings of his bike. They were parked at the top of a steep hill; riding down it would give the fastest ride April will ever be victimized by on a bicycle.

"Come on, April, it's only a short distance down," he said, giving her the advantages.

"No!" she laughed. "What if we fall?"

"Then I'll be there to catch you." April giggled to hide her creeping blush. She sighed in defeat.

"All right," she said, starting to get a proper footing on the bike. "I'll do it."

Frank put his hands on her waist and aided her in sitting on the handles. "Oh, God," she murmured as she peeked down at her knees, which hid the wheels of the bike from her sight. Her sweaty palms gripped the handles as far as she could, stabbing Frank in the side with her elbows.

His fingers firmly curled around her death grip on the handles. "You could loosen up a bit," he said, entwining them in hers. Immediately April felt secure.

After a few more seconds of shuffling and getting comfortable, it was the moment of truth. "You ready?" he asked, glancing at the side of her face, which was pasted with a smile full of nerves and excitement.

She gulped. "I think so," she admitted, not wanting to chicken out now.

Exhaling a puff of air, Frank lifted his feet off the ground. At first they just crept along, sending a squeal out of April's throat which made Frank bark out a laugh. "It's going to be okay," he soothed her, but then the bike starting moving faster and faster.

It was a mostly smooth path with a few rocks and broken pieces of gravel dotting the way. After noticing these, April became a little distraught, but she let the euphoria and adrenaline fence in her nervous thoughts. With the pounding of her heart came a giddiness she hadn't felt in years (in short, she had a strict childhood). If her father saw her now, he'd keel over in his grave!

April let out a giddy shriek as they neared the end of the hill, immensely enjoying the feel of the wind through her hair. It was the best feeling she'd had in her short lifetime. Frank laughed along with her.

However, their moment was short-lived. As soon as the bike came slowing to a stop, it also happened to hit a rock in the path—sending the bike out of control and into the trees on the outside of the path. The couple only had time to scream, short and crisp, before they were back first in a pit of leaves, shrubs, and twigs. April sat in the pile stunned while Frank rubbed his knocked head and groaned.

"Frank?" she gasped out, putting a hand to her racing, trembling heart; her fingers were shaking. They shared a moment where their eyes interlocked, and suddenly April was erupting into wet, teary laughs. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, wiping away a stray tear on her jawline. "That was the most fun I'd had in years!"

Back cracking, Frank carefully stood up and dusted the dirt and leaves off his pants and shirt. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said, even though there was much pain in his scraped leg. He gave April his hand, and was immediately alarmed by the blood covering her knees and the stain that appeared on his hand. "God, April," he whispered, guilty, "you're bleeding everywhere."

But April still mustered a large grin, her eyes twinkling when Frank removed one hand off her shoulder to remove the twig stuck in her hair. "I've broken places far worse," she said, trying to comfort him with stories of her boring yet adventurous childhood. "I'm all right."

After cleaning themselves up as best as they could without water, antiseptic, or bandages, they hobbled back to the downed bike while supporting each other by gripping the other's opposite shoulder. Frank kept apologizing and April kept excusing them, saying she was fine a few more times until he finally believed that she was—for the most part.

Instead of hopping on the bike, however, April took one handle in one hand while Frank did the same for the other side. Starting a conversation about the many failed attempts they'd had at bicycle riding, they set up the aesthetically harmless hill on the way back to the park.

It seemed like such a long time ago. Was it really ten years since they'd met each other? Sighing did April no good, yet that's exactly what she did every hour of every day, nothing better to do but fret over the problems their marriage had tried to overcome and, in spite of the good moments in between, sigh about them.

But now they were trying to repair the damage that was done, and April knew with the knowledge she was taught that talking was always the first step—talking, she mentally reminded herself, not fighting.

"The kids should be home soon," she piped up as she scraped the eggs onto a patiently waiting plate. "Do you have work today?"

It was the first time in a very long while that they weren't arguing about a plight, but having a normal conversation. Frank would have ignored April and begun pondering if there was a such thing as normal and perfect, but he knew with the knowledge he was taught that that was a very stupid idea indeed—especially with a woman involved. "I called this morning telling them you were sick."

As much as April didn't like being compared to a sad excuse for a woman—or weak and attention-seeking—she convinced herself that it had been so he could spend more time with her. "We could go to the park and ride bikes," she suggested, shoving aside the overwhelming sense of longing that came with that memory.

Curiosity aroused, Frank stopped chewing and put his fork down, staring up into her hopeful blue eyes. "Is there a reason we should go biking and not watch the children play?"

April shrugged in an attempt to hide her emotional lock to the reason. "I thought we wanted to be different," she argued her point. "All the other women watch their children from the benches. I rarely see a family riding together." Then, pretending like another idea popped into her head, she used her acting skills to her advantage. "I know! Why don't we go and ride down that hill? Michael would love it."

There. That was what she used to get her way: "Michael would love it." Would she ever stop using her kids to get what she wanted? Didn't she love them? Ever since Frank confronted her that she almost flushed their whole family down the toilet—how sick of a joke was that?—she began overthinking and questioning everything about her life.

Of course, Frank had an epiphany about the memory she was indirectly referring to, but he decided not to point it out. "All right," he confirmed, nodding his head. "I'll get the bikes out."

Meanwhile, April watched from the window as Frank opened the garage and started rolling their bikes out, one by one. She was the first to see the children approach the house from the neighbor's lawn, running eagerly when they saw their in the driveway. "Daddy!" Jennifer screamed as he bent down and swooped her into a tight hug. Inwardly, April wondered if it was because he was thinking about their past conversations and yesterday's horrific event.

Eventually Michael caught up behind her, panting. "Jenny!" he whined. "You know I can't run that fast!" He wasn't fuming for long, though, because Frank had put Jennifer down and picked him up too. In the end, both children were glowing and laughing with joy.

"How was it at Shep and Milly's?" he asked the kids, as much as he now loathed saying Shep's name.

But Jennifer ignored her father's question, and her brow furrowed with worry. April didn't notice that she had been gripping the kitchen counter as she looked out upon Revolutionary Road. "Where's Mommy?" she asked in the sweetest, most innocent voice April had ever heard. Her children were so guiltless and guiltless, she didn't know how Frank could have made up something so childish and silly when they had been pointing fingers.

Frank sighed and got down on his knees to meet both Jennifer and Michael's height, both who looked upset and pouty. "Your mother hasn't been feeling too well," he went with, ruffling Michael's hair. "But she's fine now. I think she's in the kitchen."

Imobile, April watched with growing discomfort as her children came running into the house. "Mommy!" they cried, almost knocking her over with their hugs. She made herself laugh the slightest bit to convince them she was all right before putting a hand on one of their shoulders to block out the heavy blow. "Whoa!" she said. "Look at you two!" Frank walked in from behind them, smiling with encouragement. Inside April sighed; it was going to be much longer than she thought before she could open herself up again. "We're going to be riding bikes today! Are you ready to go to the park?"

"We love you, Mommy," Jennifer replied instead, squeezing her waist tighter.

"Yeah, we love you, Mommy," Michael chimed in, but he held on to her legs.

The words broke April's healing heart. Later, when she would look back on it, she was surprised she hadn't cried, but the tears couldn't come.

A/N: I was going to continue this, but kind of lost my motivation for it. But this has a decent ending, right? Yeah, I could've tied up some loose strings, but at least this story almost went somewhere.

Thanks for reading,

Lady Elena Dawson