Sunday, January 3, 1982

I was just on the edge of wakefulness, debating whether or not I wanted to acknowledge the day, when I felt Al shift against me. He lifted his head from my chest and kissed the spot where my ear and jaw met.

"Good morning, beautiful," he told me in a husky voice when I opened my eyes.

"Good morning," I said, smiling and kissing him. I slid my hand down his back and up again, coming around his neck to caress his cheek. Though I wanted to ask him if he'd slept well, I thought better of it and settled for cuddling with him as the fog of drowsiness gradually began to seep away.

Al nuzzled my neck and murmured, "Do you think the girls are gonna wake up soon or do we have time to fool around?"

I was just reaching for the clock to see what time it was when we heard rustling—no, shoving! The shoving suddenly resounded with a heavy thump against our bedroom door, and then a loud smack of a hand against skin in retaliation. We were out of bed and in our robes before the wailing started.

Quickly knotting his robe, Al strode to the door and pulled it open. He jumped back as two dark-haired banshees rolled towards him, hands gripping hair and scratching cheeks as both screamed and sobbed. His eyes widened and he looked surprised by the ferocity with which the girls attacked each other.

I, however, wasn't surprised. Though the twins didn't often engage in physical fighting, I'd seen enough of their squabbles that I didn't blink. Janie and I had been known to get into a few catfights ourselves growing up. The question on my mind was—what had started it.

Al reached down to separate them and earned a scratch on the back of his hand that welled a few drops of blood.

"Ouch!" he yelped. After giving me another stunned look, he returned his attention to the twins and bellowed, "That's enough!"

They froze and, giving each other hateful looks, broke apart. The twins panted, their hair frizzed and sticking out around their heads. Both had oozing scratches on their cheeks, and Bridget's nose was bleeding.

"What is going on here?" demanded Al.

Bridget gave Michele an annoyed shove, shouting, "She started it!"

"Did not!"

They glared at each other and I reached down to bring Bridget next to me, while Al took hold of Michele before the fight could resume.

Bridget wiped her nose with the sleeve of her pajamas and realized for the first time that her nose was bleeding. Indignant, she turned to me and cried, "Look what she did!"

"Looks like you did a few things to her, too," I commented, indicating the deep scratch on Michele's right cheek that bled freely. Looking to Al, I asked, "Can you keep control for a few seconds while I get what I need to get them cleaned up?"

He favored them both with a hard look and nodded. "What started the fight?"

"Ask her! She started it!" Bridget pointed at Michele, who promptly stuck her tongue out at her.

While I gathered washcloths and antiseptics, Al continued grilling them. Bridget kept insisting that Michele had started it, while Michele denied it. No matter how he phrased his question, they didn't deviate from various combinations of passing blame and denial back and forth.

"All right, just hush for a minute," Al finally said. He took one of the washcloths from me and began gently dabbing Michele's cheek with it while I tended to Bridget. Both girls were sullen by this point, their tears dried and the blood congealed on the smaller scratches. When Bridget's nose finally stopped bleeding, we sat the girls on the foot of the bed—out of each other's reach—and regarded them.

"Let's try a different approach this time," said Al. "Where did the fight start?"

Neither girl wanted to be the first to answer; they just turned and glared at each other again. Al cleared his throat. "Bridget, where did the fight start?" She looked at him, but still didn't speak. More firmly, Al asked again, "Bridget Louise, I asked you a question. Where did the fight start?"

She mumbled her answer. "The bathroom."

Michele nodded, "Because Bridget is a poo-poo head!"

"Michele!" My eyes widened to the point they began to hurt.

"Well, she is!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"ENOUGH!" roared Al, and both girls immediately subsided into silence.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," I added, "and if Daddy and I don't start getting some answers, you're both going to be punished until one of you decides to 'fess up."

"I already told you," Bridget whined, protesting, "Michele started it!"

"Did not!" Michele argued, then saw her father's face and quickly put a finger to her own lips.

Al sighed and rubbed his face, looking at me with a weary expression, his gaze traveling wistfully along my hastily closed robe that had apparently begun working its way open judging from the draft I now felt from neck to navel. I turned to close it properly, cinching the knot I tied at the waist. One thing was certain—there would be no "fooling around" this morning.

"All right, Bridget, tell me your side of the story," Al said. He looked at Michele. "No matter what Bridget says, you are not to say a word, Michele. You'll have a turn, do you understand?"

Her right nostril flared in disgusted annoyance, but Michele nodded.

"I got up and went to the bathroom," Bridget said, primly. "I remembered to flush and I washed my hands and I came out. Then Michele used the bathroom, and when she came out, she yelled at me and shoved me. So I shoved her back. And then she shoved me again, and she was shoving me down the hall, so I grabbed her arms and we kinda shoved each other and then she slapped me. So I pulled her hair and scratched her and then…"

"We get the idea, Bridget," I cut in. Michele was fighting to stay quiet, her eyes bulging in disbelief and outrage written all over her face. "All right, Michele, what's your story about the fight?"

"We both woke up and Bridget got to the bathroom first and I really, really had to pee-pee so I asked her to hurry. She took for-ev-er in there and she was only doing number one. She flushed the toilet and I knocked and asked her to hurry 'cause I had to go so bad I was doing the potty dance and I didn't think I could hold it anymore and she went really slow, and took for-ev-er washing her hands and then she came out and closed the door behind her and when I went in it was all dark and I had to turn the light on and then she had closed the potty and by the time I got the lid up and sat down I had made a little on my panties!" Michele inhaled a deep breath. "So when I got out of the bathroom Bridget was standing there laughing at me and I told her she made me go in my panties and she said I needed training pants like Grace and so I shoved her!"

I was surprised by Michele's admission of guilt and yet I understood her reaction. Bridget had certainly provoked her. However, we couldn't allow her to go unpunished for fighting, and while she hadn't started the initial confrontation, she had started the physical fight.

"I'm very disappointed in both of you," Al said, shaking his head. "Look at what you did to each other." They hesitantly obeyed him, each almost afraid to look at her sister. He crossed to my vanity and picked up a hand mirror, which he held up before them and directed them to look into it. After they looked at themselves, he finished by repeating, "I'm disappointed in both of you."

They lowered their eyes as one and sighed, then shifted their gaze to me. I folded my arms and added, "Aren't you ashamed of yourselves? Is that any way to love your sister—by playing a prank on her?" I looked at Bridget and then turned to Michele, "Or by trying to beat her up?"

They were silent for a moment.

"Your mother asked you a question," Al prompted.

It was in small voices that they responded, "No, ma'am."

Michele looked up at us, "I'm sorry."

"You're telling the wrong person, Michele." Al gestured toward her sister.

Sighing, Michele turned to Bridget. Her apology was much more sullen on the repeat. "Sorry."

"Michele Gertrude…say it like you mean it," Al directed.

"I'm sorry I shoved you and hit you."

Bridget nodded and then hesitantly said, "I'm sorry too."

They looked at us as if to ask "Can we go now?" Al sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He let out a small groan and looked at me. "Punishment?" was the question he telegraphed.

Meting this out was going to be tricky. While they'd each inflicted damage on each other during the fight, Michele had started it and struck the first blow. Yet Bridget's provocation had to be taken into consideration as well. I needed time to think about it, but it wasn't a luxury we had at the moment.

"No sweets for either of you today," I decided.

"Not even your birthday cake?" Bridget tearfully asked.

I'd forgotten about the leftover cake from the small party we'd had yesterday. But I had to be firm.

"Not even birthday cake." I looked at them again and then said, "And no TV or books today either. I want you girls to show us you can get along with each other."

"Okay, Mommy," Michele said in a resigned tone.

"Now kiss and make up," said Al, "and then go get dressed for church."

The girls hugged and kissed each other and then slowly walked out of our room. I looked at Al.

"Church? You're kidding, right? The way they look?"

He laughed and pulled me to him. "Isn't it usually you trying to convince me to go to Mass?"

I couldn't argue with that, but the thoughts of the stares we'd get—I'd get—from the old ladies in particular was mortifying.

"Al, they look like a wildcat attacked them. Their faces are a mess! What am I supposed to say if someone asks what happened?"

"The truth." He playfully tugged at the belt of my robe. "You wouldn't think about fibbing at church would you? Besides," he grew more serious, "it'll teach the twins a lesson about fighting. If someone asks, you let them answer."

Sure enough, our family was the recipient of more than a few stares at Mass that morning. I felt the harsh glares of Mrs. Rasullo and her best friend Mrs. Novak most distinctly. As soon as Father Gerald finished his homily and the recessional exited, they both made a beeline for us.

"Hello, Beth," Mrs. Novak said, her steel grey bun as tight as the expression on her face. "I see the whole family is celebrating the New Year together."

"Oh, but look at the twins," tutted Mrs. Rasullo. "What happened, did they fall into the bushes at your house? I was telling Esther just the other day how badly your bushes needed trimming."

I sighed and gave a small smile as I said, "The twins got into a fight this morning."

"With each other?" gasped Mrs. Novak. She looked at me with barely veiled disapproval. "In my day mothers taught their daughters to be little ladies."

Speechless, I just stood in the pew holding the twins' hands. The polite smile on my face froze and I silently nudged the twins forward to leave. They looked uncertainly up at my taut face but obliged. Behind me, holding Grace in one arm with Theresa grasping his other hand, Al came to my defense.

"Did they?" he commented as he passed. "Perhaps you should consider taking a refresher course."

"Well! Did you hear what he just told me, Maria?"

We left their muttering behind us and headed out of the church. Outside, Father Gerald was shaking hands with the departing parishioners, and he smiled as we stepped outside. He patted Grace's cheek and shook each of the girls' hands before shaking Al's hand and then mine.

"Always good to see the Calavicci clan at church." Father Gerald looked at Michele and Bridget and remarked, "Looks like it was quite a morning."

"We got in a fight," offered Michele.

"But we made up," Bridget quickly added.

"That's good. I'm glad you made up," Father Gerald told them. "You make God happy when you forgive one another." Catching sight of my burning pink face he chuckled. "Don't look so embarrassed, Mrs. Calavicci—I have three sisters. I've seen much worse than this before. At least you made it to Mass."

"Thank you, Father." I hustled the girls down the steps and to the parking lot.

While we waited for Al and the younger two girls to join us, the twins looked up at me. "Are you upset, Mommy?"

I sighed. "Frankly, yes."

They touched their scratched-up cheeks and frowned. "Mommy, we're sorry we fought today," said Bridget.

Michele nodded, her eyes filling with tears, "We won't do it again, we promise."

I had to chuckle at that. Of course they would fight again. They had just turned five barely over a week ago. We had years of disagreements ahead of us. Anyway, it wasn't so much their fight that had me upset, but the looks and comments from Mrs. Novak and Mrs. Rasullo…and my self-castigation over Dirk Simon that had carried over from the previous night.

Al joined us and unlocked the station wagon so the girls could clamber in. When I didn't move to get in as well, he stepped closer to me.

"You're not still letting what those old biddies said bother you, are you, honey?"

"Can we just go please?"

"All right, you don't have to bite my head off."

"No, wait," I touched his shoulder, "I'm sorry, babe. Thanks for standing up to Mrs. Novak for me."

"I just wish I could've said it where Father Gerald could overhear." Al smirked and kissed me on the cheek. At my surprised expression, he laughed and added, "Oh, come on…you were thinking it!"

As the day wore on, thoughts of last night weighed heavier and heavier on me. I wished that Al would have said something, rather than bottling it up like he always did with anything that bothered him. While the memories of how I'd started to be taken in by Dirk's charm generated enough guilty feelings on their own, when I added in how his appearance at our table last night had triggered night terrors for Al, the guilt settled into the pit of my stomach like heavy boulders.

While Al played Candyland with the twins and Theresa, I took Grace upstairs and tried putting her down for a nap. She popped up and tossed her blanket on the floor every time I turned my back, so I picked her up and carried her to the rocker. Once I sat down, I draped her blanket over her and started rocking and humming, hoping that the trick that had always worked on Theresa would work on her.

"Mommy, me not sleep," Grace declared.

"That's right, you're awake right now. But Gracie needs to take a nap."

Laughter drifted upstairs and she stared indignantly at me. "Sissies play! Not nap! Me play!"

"Your sisters are going to take a nap, too."

"When?"

"In just a few minutes."

"Me not sleep." She yawned and settled against me despite herself. "Me play."

I started a gentle rubbing on her back and nestled my chin on the top of her head as I continued rocking and humming "Brahm's Lullaby."

Grace yawned again and slowly began to go limp. "Me…not…sleep…" she managed to get out before deep breathing took over.

Even after she fell asleep, I stayed in the chair with her in my arms. Her curled up body was snuggled into my chest, her head pressed against my neck, and one small hand gripped the V-neck of my sweater. I fondled her cheek and whispered, "I love you, Grace." I didn't want to shift her and possibly wake her, but I did wish I could see her face—her long lashes spreading across her cheeks, her delicate mouth in the small smile that so often traced her features as she slept.

Coldness against my ankle drew my attention downwards, and I looked to see Star sitting at my feet, his short tail wagging. He stretched on his hind legs to rest his front paws in my lap and I reached down to pet him as he leaned into my hand.

"What are you doing upstairs, boy?"

He whimpered softly and nudged my hand again, urging me to pet him. Star looked into my eyes as if discerning my distressed thoughts and licked my arm before dropping back to the floor and trotting out of the room.

Wondering at the dog's behavior, I inclined my cheek against Grace's head and closed my eyes as I continued rocking. I tried to focus on the softness of her baby skin as I stroked her cheek, the warmth of her knuckles where they pressed against my chest, and the regularity of her breathing, but instead, I thought of Al's face as Dirk had matter-of-factly described his pursuit of me in '69.

I knew I should have told Al sooner, but I had honestly blocked a lot of it out. I also acknowledged that the timing of whenever he learned about it still wouldn't lessen the hurt and betrayal. Whether I'd told him from the moment he arrived home or not, the thought of me spending time with another man was something that absolutely killed Al.

A cold hand of shame twisted in my chest and I squeezed my eyes more tightly closed. Grace sighed in her sleep and murmured, "Mommy." Her hand tightened on my sweater and she turned her face into my skin.

"Honey?"

Al's voice startled me and my eyes flew open as I sat up and gasped. Grace mumbled an annoyed "Awww" from the back of her throat and shifted closer to me in her sleep.

"You scared me!" I whispered.

He grinned, "I thought you were sleeping too."

I shook my head. "No, just thinking."

Al bent to lift Grace from my lap, smiling as she snuggled her head into his chest as soon as he took possession of her. He kissed her forehead before easing her into the crib and draping the blanket over her again.

"They're all down for the count now," he whispered as we walked out of her room and downstairs.

"I'm glad. I was hoping to have some time with you this afternoon."

"For that fooling around we didn't get to do this morning?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye. "If that's the case, we're going the wrong way. Unless you had another location in mind…"

"Fooling around isn't exactly what I had in mind," I admitted around the kisses he planted on my lips when we reached the den. "I wanted to talk to you…about Dirk Simon…and what he said last night."

"Oh." The smile immediately disappeared from Al's face and he stiffened. "What's there to talk about?" he said in a dismissive voice, turning slightly away.

"I think there's a lot to talk about. At least, I need to. I need to know you understand."

"You thought I was dead. I understand perfectly," he said easily, still not looking at me. "You were lonely."

"Al, that's not what it was. I mean…it wasn't anything!" I grabbed his arm and held on until he faced me. "He was kind to me, that's all."

Inscrutable, Al just nodded. "It's okay, Beth. I was gone a long time."

"It's not okay," I insisted. "Nothing happened between us, I swear to you. I would never…"

He took my hands and brought them to his lips, smiling a half smile at me as he kissed my fingertips. "You don't have to convince me of anything."

Though his words were intended to comfort me, they did anything but. I tried to match his smile, but could only manage a slight upturn at the corners of my mouth. "I love you, Al. Always have."

"Always will," he finished for me, tracing my jaw with his index finger. He pressed his forehead to mine. "I know."

I hugged him for a moment, clinging to him as I tried to accept the reassurance he was trying to give me—a reassurance he shouldn't have to give, didn't have to give. I couldn't, and I pulled back, turning away from Al as I said, "I'm sorry. I should never have doubted that you'd come back to me."

Al gently put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him. "You thought I was dead." Something in his tone, in his expression opened up a valve inside me and whether he wanted it or not, a confession was about to pour out.

"Everyone was telling me it was time to give you up for lost. Janie and R-Rob…they," I broke off, bringing a hand to my mouth and biting the knuckle of my index finger to keep from crying. After a deep breath, I continued, "They said the odds were that you had been killed. But I wouldn't listen to them. I kept hoping against hope that you were alive. Even when I heard about other men who'd been shot down after you—men whose bodies had been recovered…I still hoped."

He was silent, his face revealing nothing.

"For two years I clung to that hope. I watched so many men come through Balboa from Vietnam; saw what they'd been through. Saw the odds claim them one by one, and," my voice shrank, "I started to doubt.

"I was dying inside. Just going through the motions. I started working double shifts at the hospital because it was better than sitting at home missing you. And that's when they brought Andy in."

"Andy?"

"He was just a kid, Al. Burned so badly he had every right to give it all up. But he had a will to live that was so strong you could feel it. He reminded me of you, actually. And he was beating the odds…for a while."

"He didn't make it, did he?" Al said in a gentle voice.

I shook my head, that day now coming forth in my mind with such clarity and detail that it surprised me. "He died. It was horrible. And…what was left of my hope died with him."

Al guided me to the couch and urged me to sit, taking a seat beside me a moment later.

"I went to the marina that afternoon. I'd been going there a lot, just looking out over the water and thinking about you. I was leaving for home when I got a flat tire."

"And Dirk showed up to change it," cut in Al.

"Yeah." I closed my eyes as his flirtatious comments came to mind, how he'd said it was a shame I was married, and I flushed as I remembered how I'd smiled at that.

"And this Jake person showed up after that?"

I nodded. "He changed my tire and, um, for some reason he said they were investigating Dirk while his partner told Dirk the same thing about me. Anyway, the next thing I knew all three of them were gone and I drove home in tears. The only thing I could think was that I wished you were there."

I told Al everything, about meeting Dirk's mother at the marina, about Jake taking me out for dinner. About crying in Jake's arms all night. Al didn't comment on that, and I wasn't sure if I was relieved or apprehensive about his silence. He didn't speak until I mentioned bringing Dirk home with me after running into him at lunch. I thought the fact that I'd talked exclusively about Al would soften things.

"You told him that?" Al said in an appalled tone when he learned I'd discussed the then-fragile state of our marriage. "It must've made his day to learn you were considering divorce."

"I wasn't! I…oh, Al, I told you—I was weak! I was hurting! I thought you were dead! And I felt dead, too. Dead inside. I guess I was looking for excuses to start living again." I buried my face in my hands and started to cry. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Al hesitantly touched my shoulder.

"That night was when the angel came," I whispered. "First thing the next morning, I called Dirk and told him you were alive and that I couldn't – wouldn't see him again."

Upon my mention of the angel, Al grabbed me in a tight embrace and quickly murmured, "Shh, okay. It's okay, honey. I understand."

"Do you?"

"Didn't I just say that?"

I suspected he was concerned that discussion of my strange visitor might lead to another collapse and that was what had prompted his quick resolution, but I didn't dispute his proclamation. Instead I relaxed into his embrace.

"I love you, Al."

"I love you, too. Always have."

"Always will."

He nodded and kissed me then settled back and just held me. I leaned against him and held his forearm where it wrapped across my chest. Subtly, Al slipped his hand under my breast so he could feel my heart beating. I fought down a lump in my throat at his overriding concern for me that hadn't abated any over the last few weeks.

"Al?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry I kept that from you."

Hugging me tighter, Al said, "I thought I told you not to worry about it anymore."

"You did," I acquiesced. Sighing, I laid my head back upon his shoulder and tried to take his advice.

Soft whining drifted up to our ears and we both looked down to see Star anxiously pacing at our feet. He looked toward the door and then desperately up at us again as he whimpered.

"Someone needs to go outside," commented Al. As the word "outside" left his lips, Star's ears perked up and his tail started wagging.

"I'll take him," I offered, and stood to do so. Star dashed ahead of me and was waiting at the kitchen door, his tail wagging and he let out a soft "yip" when I didn't open the door fast enough for him. As soon as the door cracked wide enough that he could pass through, he took off as fast as his short legs would allow and made a beeline for the fence, where he marked the border of his territory. His immediate urgency alleviated, Star took his sweet time finding the perfect spot to finish his business, and it was only when I tapped my foot and impatiently cleared my throat that he obeyed my commands to "Hurry up."

After a final territory marking, Star pranced back inside, apparently satisfied with his patrol. He paused to lap some water from his bowl before making his way to his basket and curling up on the tartan flannel pad. I shook my head and laughed softly; Star raised his head to look disdainfully at me before settling down for his nap again.

I made my way back toward the den, but noticed that Al had moved to the living room. His back was to me and he stood before the window, looking out without giving any sign of really seeing anything. He seemed to be staring into space or, maybe it was into himself. Ice tinkled softly in the squat tumbler he held as he raised it to his lips. I stepped fully into the room and he moved his head slightly so that I could just see him in profile. Without saying a word, he turned his head away and drank another sip of the amber liquid.

I watched him continue to nurse the drink, watched him continue to stare aimlessly out the window. No matter what he said, I knew the tense slant to his shoulders meant that he was still hurt by my confession. I wanted to go to him, to hold him, but I held off. Al had made it clear the subject was closed.

I wasn't so sure.

Ice tinkled within his glass.