Saturday, March 20, 1982

"Grace, no! No! Did you hear me? I said no!"

Grace's outraged scream and shrill crying followed a loud smack. Theresa looked up from her art project, stunned.

"Stay put, honey," I told her, jumping to my feet and rushing into the living room. Grace was hugging her left hand to her chest as she wailed loudly. "What happened?"

Grace bawled, "Want water." She pointed at the tumbler Al held out of her reach. "Me fursty!"

"She just grabbed the glass off the coffee table," Al said. "I turned my back for two seconds and there she was."

"Good Lord, Al, she doesn't know any better. What harm would it do you to let her have a sip of…" I trailed off as realization dawned in the form of Al's angry face tinged with fear. My nostrils flared and I strode to him, jerking the glass out of his hand. I lifted it to my nose and sniffed the burning fumes of gin.

"Me fursty!" Grace whined as she stretched for the glass and stamped her feet.

"I want you to use your sippy cup, Grace," I said, angrily thrusting the glass back at Al. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from flinging the liquid in his face. I glared at him and then bent to pick up Grace. I hurried into the kitchen and fixed my youngest a sippy cup filled with water.

"Here you go, baby," I told her as I handed her the cup. She grabbed it and began eagerly guzzling the water. "I guess you were thirsty, honey!"

"Aaahhh," she sighed as she removed the spout from her mouth. "Sank you, Mommy."

I carried her from the kitchen to the short hallway separating the den and living room. When I reached the entrance to the den, Al approached me contritely.

"Beth, I'm sorry. I—"

I gave him a hateful look and put Grace down inside the den. "I don't want to hear it right now," I told him before closing the pocket doors and shutting out his pained expression.

As if by mutual agreement, Al and I avoided each other for the rest of the afternoon. When Grace started to go into the living room, I deflected her upstairs with her sister, urging Theresa to play games with her. Theresa gave me a worried look, but complied.

I went into the kitchen and sighed as I yanked the pantry door open. Not in the mood to deal with cooking, I closed it again and picked up the phone to order a pizza. Al stood in the doorway when I hung up the phone.

"Pizza, huh?" he said.

"Don't start with me."

He spread his hands palm out and protested, "I didn't say anything!"

I turned away to put the phone book back and Al came closer to me. "Beth, about this afternoon, I'm sorry."

He reached for my hand and I pulled it away. "The middle of the day, Al!"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I'm glad you can say the words." I folded my arms as I slowly faced him.

Al's lips tightened and one eye narrowed. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Your drinking is getting out of hand, Al. I want you to do more than just apologize; I want you to cut back! Big time!"

He let out a bitter laugh. "I wish it was that easy."

"Why isn't it?"

He waved a dismissive hand and sighed, "You wouldn't understand." He started to leave.

"Don't turn your back on me," I warned.

Sighing again, he stopped and faced me. "Grace almost drank my gin today. I know that. Why do you think I smacked her hand?"

"So the solution is to teach our two-year-old not to pick up other people's glasses when she's thirsty." Sarcasm dripped from my words.

"What do you want me to say, Beth?"

"I want you to say you're going to quit drinking so much!"

Al stared at me then rubbed a hand across his face and sighed. "All right, fine. I won't drink during the day anymore."

I closed my eyes and sighed. During the day, he says. Opening them, I shrugged. "That's not the answer I was hoping for, but it's better than nothing."

"Thanks for the support," snapped Al. "Thanks a lot!" He glared at me and then barreled out the door to the backyard. He threw open the door to the shed and stalked inside of it, emerging with the lawnmower. As soon as Star saw his mortal enemy, he dashed over and began barking at the red machine. Al stripped his shirt off and swatted the dog away before pulling the cord to start the motor.

I opened the door and stepped onto the patio. "Al, the pizza's going to be here soon."

"Let it come," he growled as the motor came to life. He threw his shirt onto the patio and started cutting the grass.

I stayed on the patio for a long time, watching him as he took his frustration out by pushing the lawnmower up and down our yard. I saw the bunching in his muscles, the sweat glistening on his tense body. Each time he turned past the patio, he cut a dirty look at me and finally I retreated inside.

Frustrated, I smacked the counter before resting my hands against it and hanging my head down. Al and I seemed to argue all the time now. Usually about his drinking, but lately anything seemed to be a bone of contention between us.

"Dammit!" I whispered, hitting the counter again. I turned around, leaning against it, and folded my arms against my chest as I let out a discouraged sigh.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" Theresa asked, peeking around the doorway.

"Nothing," I lied, forcing a smile to my face. "Where's Grace?"

"She fell asleep on my floor. I covered her with my blankie." Theresa came closer and reached to hug me. "You look sad, Mommy."

"Mommy's just tired, baby girl." I kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry, okay?"

She studied my face and hesitantly said, "Okay." She craned her head at the sound of the lawnmower and asked, "Why is Daddy cutting the grass again?"

"Again?"

Theresa nodded, "He just cut it yesterday, don't you 'member?"

"Oh, you know, it's that time of year, it just grows so fast. Just like you girls." I tickled her under her chin and kissed her cheek.

She remained serious though and moved away to stand by the glass storm door, watching her father attack the grass. After he made several cycles, Theresa turned to face me. "Mommy, is Daddy upset?"

"Why do you ask?" I deflected.

"He looks mad."

I looked out the window and Al did indeed look angry. Trying to ease Theresa's worry, though, I fibbed, "He's concentrating, Resa. The lawnmower's pretty heavy. It's hard to push it around the yard."

She gave me a doubting look, but moved away from the door. Theresa sat down at the table and sighed, resting her chin on her fists. "You're fighting again."

I sat at the table and took her hands in mine. "Disagreeing, Resa."

"I don't care, I don't like it," she said, dropping her head to rest it on her arm.

"Oh, baby." I stroked her head.

Thick tears formed in her eyes and slowly trailed down her cheeks. "Don't fight with Daddy anymore, please, Mommy."

"Honey, we're not—"

"Yes, you are!" She picked her head up and looked at me straight on. "If Sheli was home she'd say so, too."

I rubbed my forehead and tucked my hair behind my ears. "Theresa, Daddy and I are just having a disagreement."

"About what?"

I chewed my lip and finally opted to say, "It's grown up stuff, honey. It would bore you."

Theresa turned towards the backyard and then faced me again. "I wish you would make up."

Giving her a gentle smile, I bent forward and kissed her. I didn't say anything but I was wishing the same thing.

Al busied himself duplicating yard work from yesterday evening and didn't come inside to join us for dinner. I put the leftover slices of pizza on a plate and set it in the oven to keep it warm until he came in. The twins were spending the night at their friend's house, so Theresa and Grace had my full attention. After their bath, we watched TV in the living room together, all three of us on the sofa, one girl on each side of me. Before long, Grace drifted off to sleep, her head pressed against me.

I heard Al finally come inside. He'd obviously found the note I left, because I heard paper crumple then the oven door creak open. Beside me, Theresa tensed when Al yelped and cursed and then we heard a drawer yanked open and slammed shut again. Apparently he'd reached for the plate without an oven mitt and burned his hand.

Neither of us could keep our attention on the show anymore, and the laugh track seemed to mock us. Wide-eyed, Theresa stared up at me, shaking a little and snuggling closer. I wrapped my arm tighter around her and bent to kiss her forehead.

"It's okay, baby girl."

As soon as my lips touched her skin she burst into tears.

"Oh, honey, what's wrong?"

Unable to speak, Theresa just shook her head as she sobbed uncontrollably. Al came into the room to see what was going on, and as soon as Theresa saw him, she jumped up and ran to him. Throwing her arms around his legs, she bawled, "Don't be mad, Daddy. Please make up with Mommy." She turned her face towards his, her round eyes pleading. "Please."

Al knelt and hugged her. He kissed her cheeks and softly said, "Don't cry, honey."

"I don't like it when you and Mommy fight," she wept.

"I know, munchkin. I don't like it either." He lifted his eyes to meet mine. I looked away first, still angry about this afternoon. Al sighed and returned his attention to Theresa. "You know I love you very much, don't you?"

"A bushel and a peck," she hesitantly said, referring to the song Al often serenaded her with.

Al nodded. "A bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck," he said, duplicating his words in action. Theresa buried her face in his shoulder. "Nothing can ever change how much I love you."

"Or Mommy?"

"Or Mommy," he agreed. He sought my eyes again as he stood with Theresa in his arms. "I'm sorry," he mouthed.

I wearily nodded but didn't speak. This wasn't the first apology he'd made regarding his drinking. It was just another in a long string that seemed to have no end in sight. Maybe he would cut back, but the haggardness around his eyes made me doubt it. While sporadic nightmares had been a part of our lives since he'd come back, their frequency hadn't been anywhere near to what they currently were. Al had gone nearly two years without a nightmare before this.

What worried me almost as much as his excessive drinking was the fact that his nightmares were no longer relegated to sleep. For the last few days, the smallest things seemed to trigger memories of the prison camps—thankfully our half-Vietnamese daughter wasn't one of them. Rather it was sounds or smells that brought about troubled thoughts during the day, and my heart broke for what Al was going through, but I couldn't cope with how he was choosing to deal with it.

"Tell Mommy you love her," directed Theresa in an urgent voice. She looked intently into her father's eyes then turned towards me, her wounded expression imploring me to do the same.

Al kissed Theresa's nose and rubbed her slender back. He took a step closer to the couch and said, "Beth, I love you."

It was easier to respond to that than his apologies. Giving him a weak smile I echoed, "I love you, too."

Theresa relaxed slightly, but still looked from Al's face to mine and I got the distinct sense that she picked up on our residual tension with each other. Reluctantly, I asked Al if he wanted to watch TV with us, indicating the spot Theresa had vacated.

Al hesitated and said, "I need to take a shower."

"No you don't!" cried Theresa, burying her face in his neck. "You can do that later," she added, her voice muffled as she clung to him.

"Okay," he relented. He approached the sofa and sat down next to me. I detected the scent of beer on his breath and I felt my body stiffen even though I tried my hardest not to react. He's always had a beer after he does yard work, I reminded myself. Even before Vietnam. You're being unreasonable on this one. In the next moment, I thought, Am I?

I waged an internal war with myself and felt my lips constrict as I did so. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that Al had noticed. His expression had slightly tightened and the air in the inch or so of space between us practically tingled with mutual irritation we could feel.

Afraid of upsetting Theresa again when she had just calmed down, I scooped up Grace's sleeping form and stood. I announced that I was bringing her upstairs to bed then fled up the stairs.

Grace didn't stir as I put her in her toddler bed and settled the sheets over her. Not wanting to go downstairs again and not wanting to do much of anything, I lowered myself to the floor and watched her sleep. Her little chest rose and fell beneath the covers. She exhaled a tiny sigh and the small smile that I loved curved her full lips. I thought about how she'd almost consumed Al's drink and tears stung my eyes.

"But you're all right," I whispered. I leaned forward and softly caressed her cheek. "I love you, Grace Shae."

I watched her for another couple of minutes then got up and went into our bedroom.

The framed photograph of Al and me displayed on our dresser taunted me. Rob's girlfriend, Angie, a professional photographer, had taken it the last time we'd gone to visit my parents. I was sitting on the ground, one knee drawn up to my chest. Al knelt behind me, his arms embracing me while his cheek pressed against mine. My hands covered his forearm. We smiled as if we had won the lottery, as if life couldn't possibly grant us more happiness than we had at that moment.

"The higher you climb, the farther you fall," I lamented aloud. I knew neither of us had worn a smile similar to the photograph for well over a month. Sadness pricked its cold thorn at me, and to shake it off, I went into the bathroom and started a hot shower.

I luxuriated in the steam and the pounding water. The glass walls of the shower cubicle fogged so thickly that I couldn't see out of them and when I ran a hand at eye level to clear it the steam immediately fogged it over again. I must have showered for almost an hour when the cubicle door opened and Al stepped in to join me.

I turned away from his naked body and tried to rinse off as quick as I could. I edged around him to reach the door but he held my shoulders from behind. Freezing in my tracks, I stood there as he kissed the back of my neck and slowly brought his hands around.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against my skin. "I'll change. I promise I will." He kissed me again and I could feel my body responding to his touch, urging me to give in against my will.

I shook my head and reached up to remove his hands. "Al, sex can't fix this one."

Undeterred, Al settled for wrapping his arms around my waist and spooning against me. I could feel his arousal as he continued to kiss my neck. "You know Theresa wants us to make up." His right hand began to slide slowly down my stomach.

"Al, stop." He didn't. "I said stop!"

His hand was gone in an instant and he released me, taking a step back into the shower spray. "I don't understand."

"I think you do. I think you understand full well. I appreciate that you're sorry, but you can't expect sex to go along with an apology all the time." I opened the shower door and stepped out, grabbing my towel and wrapping it around me. I didn't even stop to dry off. Dripping, I walked into our bedroom and sat on the foot of the bed.

I heard Al shut off the water followed by rustling. He must have been drying himself, because he came in wearing a towel around his waist and his hair showed signs of having been towel-dried. His jaw set, he moved to the dresser and quickly got into a pair of boxers, then his pajamas. I cringed at the hardness to his expression as he stalked past me to grab his pillow.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Giving you what you want. You mind getting off that blanket?" He tugged at the folded blanket beneath me. As I rose, he muttered, "Got it all damp."

"What do you mean you're giving me what I want?"

He glared at me. "I wouldn't want to upset you by getting too close to you in bed tonight."

"Al, that's not what I…"

"I really don't care," he coldly interrupted. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.

I followed, even though I still wore only the towel and beads of water continued to roll down my skin. He practically stomped down the stairs, his bare feet thumping as loudly as if he had on work boots. When he reached the bottom floor, he turned to the living room and stormed in. He threw the pillow viciously at the arm of the sofa.

"Al, listen to me, please, honey."

Sitting down hard on the couch, Al growled, "Don't 'honey' me right now, Beth. You've made it perfectly clear how you really feel. Just leave me alone." He was horizontal and covering himself with the blanket in no time at all.

Heat bubbled up within me and I found my hand grabbing the blanket and yanking it back before I quite knew what I was doing. My eyes narrowed as I hissed, "Don't try to turn this into my fault!"

Al didn't even bother sitting up. "Oh, that's right. Must've been someone else in the shower because it obviously wasn't you." He snatched the blanket out of my hand and covered himself up again.

"You're such a child, Albert. Pouting because you can't get your way."

If it was possible, his angry expression hardened even more, any hints of hurt vanishing. "Whatever you say, Elizabeth, since you obviously know everything." He turned away, rolling so that he faced the back of the sofa and pulled the blanket up to his ear. Tension radiated from his body.

It radiated from mine as well. I wanted to shake him and I gritted my teeth to hold back a frustrated squeal. I stood there, seething as I stared at the curve of his shoulders under the blanket, until the clock chimed the hour. The tenth bong faded into silence and still neither of us had budged.

Finally, I turned away. My steps were slow and even until I reached the stairs and started to climb. By the time I reached the landing, hot anger had burned completely into infuriation. How dare he act as if he was the injured party?

The only thing that kept me from slamming the door was my fear of waking the girls. I did find myself taking harder steps than necessary as I finally dried the final bits of water and changed into underwear and the nightshirt that Al absolutely hated. Quarter-sleeved, shapeless, and made of tatty flannel covered with green stripes and tiny tea roses, it nearly came to my ankles. Al said it made him feel like he was sleeping with someone's grandmother whenever I wore it, which wasn't often. I wasn't that fond of it myself and just hadn't gotten around to getting rid of it. Now I put it on out of spite.

Folding my arms, I couldn't help but rub the material and I sighed as I stomped my way to the bed. I threw the covers back and climbed in, settling down and telling myself I wasn't lonely as I turned my back to Al's empty side of the bed. It didn't work. Even in the midst of my anger, I missed his presence.