Phoenix
Chapter Five
After their mid-morning intimate encounter, Della and Perry spent the rest of the morning reconnecting, over and over, both physically and verbally. The foundation of a future together was laid, brick by brick, touch by touch, smile by smile, and word by word. Although both never seemed to run out of things to say to the other, the pair had seldom spent so much time actually listening to what the other wanted. For the immediate future, they decided a bath and brunch were in order, followed by an outing to the place they had both avoided for too long. The house they had bought when they learned Della was pregnant.
It was a beautiful house, with plenty of space in the interior and a huge yard, where a herd of little Masons would grow up healthy and happy. Perry had known he had to buy it for Della the first time they walked through it. Together they had chosen paint colors, selected furniture, and discussed renovations. But after their daughter died and Della decided they would no longer live together, Perry couldn't return to that huge, empty house. Not without her. Not without them. And so, he had returned instead to his old apartment.
He had spent a great deal of time thinking about what to do with the property. He hadn't wanted to part with it. There was something—a feeling or a hunch—that told him not to sell it. Perhaps it was the hope of restoring his marriage into a family again, and perhaps it was the pragmatic nature he had always had, but whatever the reason, the idea of someone else owning his and Della's home was untenable. At the time, Della had left that decision completely up to him, and after due consideration, he had thought it best to close it and hire a keeper to maintain the grounds and check on the fundamentals.
More times than he could count over the last nine years he had thought about selling, but it was never a serious proposition. Instinctually he knew he would regret it, because despite the tragic reminder it posed, getting rid of the house was the equivalent of denying he and Della had ever been happy there. And although this seemed contradictory on the surface, it was true. It was in this house—in this home—that he had spent the happiest months of his life.
He and Della had dreamed there, planned there. Even now, if he closed his eyes he could see where he had stood in a corner of the living room while she had marched out the length of the sofa she had picked, just to prove that it would fit. He could picture the raised garden bed he had assembled for her, with the railroad ties and the spikes and the landscaping tarp and the mixed fertilizers and . . . Yes, there were happy memories in the bones of the property, where they had looked forward to the arrival of their first child.
How many times had he sat, his back leaning under the beautiful oak tree that shaded the backyard, while Della rested her head on his lap and listened to him as he read to his beautiful girls? She had told him that the rich timbre of his voice calmed the baby. That from the way the baby moved and kicked, it seemed that he or she had decided to be a soccer player.
Aided by Paul and Gertie, they had been in charge of decorating the nursery. He still remembered the time he and Paul had taken it upon themselves to assemble the crib. Even now Perry's heart warmed when he remembered Della's sweet laugh when, after several failed attempts, they finally managed to assemble it. But when the three looked to the side they realized that there were several pieces left over, causing her to burst out laughing. Della's own contribution to the room had been an artistic one. She had painted a beautiful guardian angel on the wall next to crib.
"She'll always be here, Perry! Always be here to watch over our angel in the night," Della had said softly, her beautiful hazel eyes filled with untapped emotions.
When they arrived after their meal Perry had taken his wife's hand and, after exchanging looks to make sure they were both ready to go in, they had walked down the cobblestone path that led to the entrance. With every step they took, the enormity of what they faced loomed large. Although it only took them a few seconds, each one felt like an eternity. There, standing in the shade near the door, stood Pedro, the property manager. He greeted them as though this were an everyday occurrence, then passed Perry the key.
The moment Perry turned the knob and the door swung open the memories hit them both like a hard punch to the breadbasket. It knocked the air out of them completely for a full minute. Then Della's tears began to fall, silently and unnoticed. Perry trembled, then realized she was, as well. With a muttered exclamation, he pulled her to him, enveloping her in a tight, protective, sheltering hug.
"It's alright, Dearest," he whispered in her ear. Caressing her back with gentle circles, he added, "My beautiful, sweet lady, calm down! I promise everything will be fine." He pressed kisses to her soft curls.
For a long time, both of them stood there just like that, hugging each other in silence, breathing in the essence of the other.
What a fool I was to think I could bear all this pain alone, Della thought. How strong he is! How comforting! How—wonderful. And yet, was it my imagination, or was Perry trembling when we opened the door? He has been in just as much pain as I have, and yet . . . I wasn't there for him. Will he forgive me for pushing him away? She raised her head to look at him through tear-drenched lashes. To her profound surprise, all she saw was fathomless love and tenderness. No resentment, no hostility.
When Perry was sure Della had calmed down, he pulled her back to see her face. Cradling it with his hands, he wiping her tears with his thumbs. Looking at her with those big cobalt blue eyes, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his eyes crinkled at the corners. "All better?"
"Yes, thanks to my knight in shining armor!" Della replied. She flashed him a shy smile. "Thank you, thank you, my love!"
He laughed softly. "For providing you with a comfortable shoulder to lean on?"
She shook her head. "For being with me and not letting me fall into this abyss with no return. I know the pain at times made me uncompromising, but you had enough patience to wait, to let me find my way back to you."
"Oh, Della! You sweet, sweet, beautiful woman! There is no need for that. You know good and well that I would wait for you a century—no, a lifetime—if you needed it. Now, why don't you sit I get you a glass of water."
Della shook her head again, then chuckled. "That's not necessary, Perry. I don't want water. I just want to go upstairs. I need to see the nursery. I want to see that empty room which never received its tenant."
"But Del—" he broke off with a sigh, then managed, "I don't think that's a wise idea. I had already thought about asking Pedro to have someone dismantle and pack everything in there. Maybe later, we can donate everything to an orphanage or to a family in need."
She reached up and brushed a lock of his hair back from his forehead. "I agree with that, but first I have to get in there. Perry—this is my chance to close the circle once and for all."
"Della . . ."
"Perry, please . . ."
Frustration festered, but he managed to tamp it down. "Okay, okay. You win. You always do. Let's go upstairs."
They ascended the stairs still hugging. When they arrived in front of the bedroom door, the two of them looked at each other before he reached for the handle.
Are you sure, his eyes asked, but aloud he said, "Shall we?"
Nodding, Della smiled sadly at her husband. After opening the door, they stepped inside and instantly tears flooded both pairs of eyes. She turned her gaze to the guardian angel she had painted more than nine years before. There, untouched by time and dust, it remained, a mute, sad witness of someone who had never been.
Approaching the image, Della gently brushed her hand over it and whispered in a broken voice, "Please, tell me! Why didn't you take care of my little one?"
Perry's heart squeezed and he thought the pain would be too much. But then he saw his wife turn away. She went to the edge of the crib, leaned over and picked up a little stuffed bunny that was still in it.
She turned to show him. "Do you remember this, Sweetheart?"
He nodded. "Of course, I do! We picked it out that first morning, after the doctor confirmed the news! It was with us in the apartment first, then after we bought the house, it was the first thing we brought here to stay."
He came to her, his strong arms grabbing her as she turned back to the crib. Kissing her unruly curls, he rested his cheek against her hair.
"My beautiful lady, are you okay?"
Della took a deep breath, held it, then slowly released it as she clutched the little stuffed animal against her chest. "Yes . . . Yes, I think I am! Perry—?" She stopped, not knowing if she should risk the question.
"Look at me, my beautiful lady. Della, what's wrong?"
"Perry, pl—please tell me . . . What was she like?"
A wave of panic and remorse crashed around him. "Oh, Della, no . . ."
Surely, she isn't serious . . . She can't possibly want to know, not after all this time! I thought . . . I thought she didn't want any of the details, that the pain of knowing was worse than the not-knowing.
"It's okay, I just need to know. Please tell me, what was my little girl like?"
"She— She was—" He stopped to breathe and control his emotions. "She was as beautiful as her mother. I still remember her little brown curls that began to grow on her little head, and how, like her mother, from the first moment she had me wrapped around her little finger. Although she had a small flaw."
"A defect? Perry! What happened to my baby?" Della's voice cracked as anguish robbed her of thought. "Tell me she wasn't born with something wrong?"
"No, Della! Nothing bad happened to her," he quickly reassured, "I told you she was beautiful and almost perfect. The problem was, when she opened her eyes, instead of looking at me with beautiful hazel eyes like yours, insipid, boring cobalt blue eyes greeted me."
She wiped away a tear, then punched him on the shoulder. "Oh Perry! My baby . . . did she really have your eyes? The eyes of her father," she added dreamily, "Those same eyes that I loved from the first time they looked at me."
His dimples flashed. "I didn't know that!"
She nodded. "Even though the first time I saw you, I didn't just love your eyes, but every part of you."
"Me, too, Della," he responded, moving a lock of hair to the side to access his woman's neck and kissed it. "You know, now that I think about it, I think if she could have been with us, she would have been a lot like Peggy."
Even as the thrills from his kisses tore through her, Della had the presence of mind to ask, "Peggy?"
"Mmm," he grunted, still enjoying the pleasure of her neck and her sighs. He breathed deeply, then resisted the urge to make love to her. Instead, he returned to the topic. "Please, Della, don't tell me you haven't realized Peggy is very much like you. You have the same mannerisms! Even when I watch you and that girl interact, there is no doubt anyone would believe you weren't mother and daughter."
She shivered. "Oh, wouldn't that be wonderful! That our daughter was as beautiful and sweet as Peggy. She is such a charming girl. And she looks like you."
Perry looked at his watch. "Della, we have to go. It's late and tomorrow we have to get back to business. We also have to be at the boarding school early to find Peggy. Remember—I decided to take her to her grandfather and see if that stubborn old coot reacts once and for all."
Della nodded and replaced the bunny back in the crib. Before leaving the nursery, she stood at the door for a moment to look at everything around her, whispering, "Goodbye, my sweet baby!" She turned to catch Perry watching her. Embracing him tightly again, she said simply, "I'm ready, let's go."
As they come down the stairs, Della wrapped her arm around his waist.
"Perry, what did you do with her? I know I said I didn't want the details, but . . . I just wanted to erase the memory that for a few hours we were the parents of a beautiful girl. But I was wrong! I was so wrong, Sweetheart! It was all because the pain clouded everything and wouldn't let me think coherently. Many times—so many times—I wanted to ask you, but I second-guessed myself. I thought, what difference would it make? My little girl will never be restored to me! I think I thought it would make the pain increase and prevent us from moving on. How absurd! I know now it was a mistake because, by denying it, all it did was let this agony fester for nine years."
"Della—" he tried to cut in, but she shook her head.
"Tell me, Perry. Did you give her a name, before you had her buried?"
"Of course, I gave her a name! She deserved to have one. I knew if she was a girl you wanted her to carry Mae's name, but I also thought that she should carry something of her mother's, too. Your middle name." He tilted her head up so he could look deeply into her eyes. "I love you, Della. I love you so very, very much. And I loved her. I loved Mae Elizabeth."
Della can't help but sob when she heard their daughter's name. "Mae Elizabeth Street Mason! Our daughter, Perry! Our daughter."
Perry hugs her tightly. "Yes, my love, our daughter! Only you forgot—we'd agreed all our children would be Streets. Mae Elizabeth Mason Street. And this time there is no pain in remembering her. I am just grateful she was in our lives."
Perry kissed his wife's forehead, then her eyes and her nose before crushing her mouth under his. The first kiss brought closure. The next ones brought a beginning.
As they walked through the house that afternoon, memories of the good times flooded them. More often than not, Della would look down in surprise to find she was holding Perry's hand as naturally as he usually took her elbow. The painful memories where there, too, but for some unaccountable reason, they were muted, pushed to the background, like an underpainting on a not-yet-complete masterpiece.
They finished their tour of the rest of the property, returned the key to Pedro, and began the drive home. Della reached across the console for his hand and threaded her fingers with his.
"Perry?"
"Hmm?"
She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then plunged, her voice shier than it had sounded in years, "I can't face another night without you."
He glanced at her in startled surprise. His eyes flamed a brilliant blue and his dimples formed on both sides of his mouth. "Never again, my beautiful lady. Never, ever again."