Wednesday, April 7, 1982

I awoke with Michele still sprawled on top of me. During the night, Theresa had crawled over as well and pillowed her head on my shoulder. Grace had spooned herself against Theresa and stretched her arm over her sister to touch my elbow. Only Bridget remained in her original position, her back to me.

"Michele, baby, wake up," I said in a low voice. She groaned and pressed her face into my neck.

I shifted my arm and patted Theresa next, trying to wake her up as well. She yawned and sat up. Her movement jostled Grace, who stirred and opened her eyes.

"Hi, Mommy," she smiled.

"Hi, sweetie." I yawned and nudged Michele again. "Sheli, it's time to get up."

Michele hugged me tightly before reluctantly climbing off of me and out of bed. I sat up and embraced Theresa and then Grace before getting up as well. Bridget still hadn't turned. I reached to gently shake her shoulder. "Bree, come on, honey. We're going to get a bite to eat and then hit the road again."

She stiffened and rolled her arm out of my grasp. Without uttering a sound, Bridget moved robotically to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I sighed and turned to her sisters.

"Let's get dressed, and then everyone go to the bathroom before we go to the lobby for breakfast."

Although I would have preferred fresh clothes for us all, I was glad that all we had to do was pull on socks and pants and deal with shoes. The girls amiably took turns using the bathroom. I washed faces and then we filed out of the room to the car for the short ride to the front lot. After I parked and got out, I waited for the girls to join me. Last out of the car again, Bridget once more slammed the door.

I knew she was angry with me, and I needed to have a heart-to-heart with her, but we didn't have time. I had to get the girls fed and we needed to get on the road before it got much later. As it was, I had a full day of driving ahead of me.

We went into the lobby and worked our way through the short line for the complimentary breakfast. I had to take an extra couple of muffins from the serving tray after Grace poked holes in them because she was bored. Scooping her into my arms to keep her out of further mischief, I helped Theresa fix her plate. I put a Danish down for her, only to have her immediately put it back on the platter.

"I don't like those nuts."

I picked it up and put it on her plate again, sighing, "We'll scrape them off. You can't put things from your plate back on the tray."

"Why not?"

"You just can't, Theresa. Mommy says so." I grimaced apologetically at the couple behind me, who were watching and exchanging disapproving glances with each other. When Theresa started to put one of the muffins back, I took it instead.

"My muffin!" Grace said, stretching to grab it out of my other hand. She only got hold of the top of it and it disintegrated into a mess of crumbs as she tore at it.

"Mommy, I need help with my milk carton," Michele told me, nudging the cold cardboard container against my arm. Bridget had taken her plate into a corner, foregoing milk, and sulked as she picked at the cheese Danish she'd selected.

"Baby, I don't have a hand right now." I hefted Grace into a more secure position on my hip and indicated the demolished muffin in my right hand.

"Can I help?" An older woman shuffled toward me in orthopedic shoes. "You look overwhelmed, dear." She reached for Michele's milk carton. "I can open that for you, honey."

Michele looked uncertainly at me, and when I nodded, she passed the carton to the grandmotherly woman. Arthritic fingers slowly pried the flaps apart and handed the carton back to her. Michele smiled and put the straw in it.

"What do you say, Michele?" I prompted.

"Thank you." Michele smiled again and walked off to join her sister in the corner. Theresa had watched the exchange and shyly approached the woman, holding a milk carton. A broad smile split the woman's wrinkled face and she methodically opened Theresa's milk for her.

"Here you go, darling."

Theresa responded with a "thank you" without my having to remind her to. She noisily sucked milk through the straw as she carried her plate.

"You have beautiful children," the woman complimented me.

"Thank you."

She looked at the three girls in the corner and then at Grace in my arms. Light glinted off her bifocals as she tilted her head. "You've got your hands full, dear. Is your husband packing the car?"

Bridget had decided to get some milk and was walking past. She halted when she heard the question.

"My Daddy's not here. She made me leave him and go with her." Bridget's eyes shrank as she stared hatefully at me. "She leaved him behind and made him cry."

Blood rushed to my face. My eyes stung and my cheeks burned. Without saying another word, Bridget walked back to her place and sat down. I felt a thin hand touch my arm and my vision blurred with tears at the empathic contact.

"Grace, baby, go sit with your sisters, okay?" I managed to get out. I handed her the muffin and put her down. Grace toddled over to her sisters and sat down to eat her muffin.

"Is that true, sweetheart?" the old woman asked in a gentle voice. She still held my arm. "What your little girl said. Did you leave your husband?"

I put a hand to my mouth and nodded. The movement of my head caused tears to fall from my eyes. "I didn't want to," I softly said. My voice was thick. "Oh God." I began to cry in earnest.

"There, there," she soothed. She slowly turned me around so the girls wouldn't see me crying and walked towards the windows. "You must have had a good reason. It's obvious you love your husband." When I nodded and opened my mouth, she shook her head. "You don't need to tell me why, dear. We'll just stand here and look out the window until you've got your composure back." Her hand worked a reassuring path up and down my spine.

"My girls…"

"There's only one way in and out, dear. And my husband's keeping an eye on them." She indicated an elderly gentleman to our right who patiently smiled and waited, a mug of coffee in his hand. "Stanley was telling me when we walked in how much those girls remind him of our grandkids."

"Is that your husband's name? Stanley?"

She nodded. "Where are my manners? I'm Aggie."

"Beth," I said, shaking the hand she offered to me.

"It's nice to meet you, Beth. Here." Aggie gently pressed something soft into my hand. I looked down and saw a tissue. Giving her a weak smile, I dabbed at my eyes and nose.

"Thank you," I sniffed.

Aggie grinned. "Now what kind of Grandma would I be if I didn't have an abundance of tissues?" She rubbed my back again. "It's going to be okay, honey."

I rubbed my face and breathed out a rough exhale. "I hope so."

We stood in silence for a while. Gradually I was able to stem my tears. In the interim, Stanley had moved to a chair nearer the girls, his cane balanced against his leg. As soon as Grace finished with her muffin, she walked up to Stanley and put her hands on his knee.

"Hold Gracie?" she asked hopefully, now reaching up to him.

Stanley looked over at me for permission then lifted Grace onto his lap with the practiced ease of a grandfather. He touched a finger playfully to her nose. Grace smiled and giggled.

"Your husband's good with kids," I commented.

Aggie beamed and nodded. "You'd never dream he was opposed to having them when we got married."

An ironic laugh escaped me. "That was Al before Vietnam."

"Your husband?"

What little smile remained on my face now vanished as I nodded.

"He came home, though?"

"Yes, thank God. He was MIA—the VC had him for eight years."

Aggie gasped. "Oh, honey." She hesitated for a moment and then asked, "I don't mean to pry, but is he okay? I can't imagine what condition he must have been in."

"He was in bad shape when he came home," I affirmed. "Physically, he's fine now except for the scars. Emotionally…" Breaking off, I shrugged as my tears started again. "They don't make Band-Aids for bad memories."

Aggie took hold of my hand now. "Beth, dear, I don't know what's going on in your home, and it's none of my business. But I do know if he's dealing with what happened to him in Vietnam, then he needs you to do what's best for your family. If that means leaving him for a little bit, then you have to do it no matter how hard it hurts right now."

"It does hurt," I sobbed, pressing the fresh tissue Aggie gave me to my eyes. After I blew my nose I looked up to see Aggie holding a glass bottle of apple juice and a muffin.

"Here, honey, you need to take care of yourself. Stanley's watching your girls."

"I need to check out."

"Okay, then, dear, go settle your bill and then come sit next to me and have some breakfast."

I was glad to see the clerk was different than the man from last night. The young woman had to have seen everything that had gone on in the lobby but she didn't comment on anything, not even my reddened and puffy eyes. I authorized my card to be charged for the room and the long distance call last night and signed the paperwork. Finally done, I joined Aggie on the small couch she'd claimed.

"I must be keeping you and Stanley from something," I protested as she handed me the juice and muffin.

She waved my comment off with a breezy hand. "I'm just glad to be able to help you. I'd hope if it was my daughter in your shoes, someone would give her a helping hand."

"Thank you again," I told her, swallowing apple juice to shove down the lump in my throat.

"Where are you headed?"

I felt more comfortable answering her than I had the trucker last night. "To Kansas City—my parents' house."

"That's good. They'll take care of you. You be careful on that drive now."

"I will." I'd already polished off the muffin and now I finished the juice. I threw away the containers and returned to Aggie's side. She stood and reached to hug me.

"God bless you, Beth."

"And you, Miss Aggie. I can't tell you how much this has meant to me. You've been so kind to me."

She smiled. "It was my pleasure, honey. You get to your parents and let them look after you and your girls until you and Al are able to work things out."

"Thank you. I will."

I walked over to retrieve Grace from Stanley, thanking him for keeping an eye on the girls for me. He, as Aggie had, pressed my hand and wished me the best. He slowly got to his feet and joined his wife at the front desk.

I picked up the remnants of their breakfast and advised the girls to take extras for the road if they were still hungry, since we weren't going to stop until lunchtime. In addition to toiletries, I'd neglected to pack snacks, so hurried had I been to get on the road and away from Al's drunkenness.

As Al crossed my mind, I wondered how he was doing. Despite Aggie's encouragement, I wanted to cry as once again I was revisited by the image of him broken by despair, collapsed on the front lawn. Surely he'd have gone inside at some point…and then what? He might have downed the squat tumbler of alcohol awaiting him on the foyer table, trying to numb himself. Then again, the sight of the booze might have jarred him as a reminder of why we'd left. I just couldn't know.

I breathed a prayer for his safety, then ushered the girls to the car. It was a long haul to Missouri.

We'd been on the road for a couple of hours when Theresa's tears started up again. Michele did her best to comfort her little sister while I tried to convince her that everything would be fine. I hoped I spoke truth.

"How long is Daddy punished?" Theresa asked through her weeping.

"That's up to Daddy, honey."

"I miss him!"

"I do, too, baby girl."

Michele hugged her then, and kissed her cheek, whispering to her. I couldn't hear her, but Theresa nodded and kissed her back. Gradually, her tears stopped.

Grace, to this point, had appeared mostly unaffected by the previous night, crying only when we'd actually driven away from Al. I'd assumed she was too young to really understand what was happening, and perhaps she was. But as she heard Theresa crying and talking about missing Al, Grace's tears began and she just kept saying, "Daddy… miss Daddy."

I wished there was some way of magically transporting us immediately to my parents' house. There were hours to go before we even got halfway there. I wasn't sure any of us could endure it, and I fought back tears as I assured the girls yet again that I loved their father and missed him as much as they did.

We stopped for lunch at a McDonald's. When I asked the girls what they wanted, Bridget refused to speak to me and whispered her order to Michele, who apologetically parroted it to me. I knew we had to look a state—finger combing could only do so much—but the cashier didn't bat an eyelash.

Theresa selected a table at the rear of the restaurant, and we filed in the booth. I noticed a pay phone at the back near the restrooms. After I finished feeding Grace her McNuggets and had eaten half of my own meal, I got up while the other girls ate to check in with my parents. Keeping one eye on them, ready to dash over if someone started to choke, I updated my mother on our location.

"Oh, by the way, I forgot to pack toothbrushes, hairbrushes, and so on. I hate to ask, but do you think you could…"

"I'll have a whole spread of toiletries for you when you get here, Beth."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Beth…I've been debating whether or not to tell you this. Al called a few hours ago." She paused. "He sounded awful. I told him you hadn't arrived yet, but he insisted I was lying to him."

"He was probably drunk, Mom. I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"No, honey, that's exactly why I wasn't sure I should tell you. I don't want you to blame yourself; you did the right thing."

"It doesn't feel that way much."

"I know, Beth." She hesitated again. "I don't want to keep you from the girls, and I didn't want to upset you…you've got a very long drive ahead of you yet."

"No, it's okay. He's been on my mind."

"I'm sure he has been, honey."

I sighed. "I'd hoped our leaving would be a wake-up call."

"It's not that simple, Beth. You know that."

"I just wish it could be," I said, my eyes misting over. "I've got to go, Mom."

"Okay, honey. Drive safe."

I hung up and slowly walked back to the table. Grace nibbled on a fry and studied my face. I wiped my eyes and took a deep breath.

"Nana says 'Hi,'" I smiled when I sat down.

Bridget and Michele were whispering to each other, Michele having crawled into the far backseat with her twin. Theresa had cried herself to sleep about an hour ago. Grace softly sang the Alphabet Song over and over again to amuse herself.

The whispering gradually segued into normal voices, which steadily grew more and more heated, until the twins were screaming at each other.

"Then you don't love Daddy!"

"I do!" Michele was crying now.

"If you love Daddy, then you're mad at her! She tooked us from him!"

Their angry voices woke Theresa up, and Grace started crying. Theresa looked frightened.

"That's enough!" I shouted. "Bridget Louise, I've had about all I can take of your attitude, young lady." I stared at her in the rearview mirror for as long as I dared keep my eyes from the road.

She defiantly turned her head away to look out the window.

"I know you don't want to listen to me, but you have to understand something. I love your Daddy, Bridget. I love him so much I waited eight years for him to come back to me! You wouldn't be here otherwise." I shook my head, realizing I was speaking above a kindergartner's level. "Bree, I didn't leave because I wanted to, I left because I had to. I hate not being with Daddy. It tears me up inside." I glanced in the mirror again. She still looked out the window instead of at me, but twin streams of water trickled down her cheeks. "Honey, Daddy's going through a hard time and he doesn't know how to be a good daddy right now."

She whipped her head around and narrowed her eyes into little slits. "He is a good daddy," she hissed.

"He's being bad," Michele quietly argued.

"How?" demanded Bridget.

Michele wept as she shrugged and admitted she didn't know.

"Bridget, they're grown-up problems."

"You left Daddy behind," she accused.

"I know I did! And I miss him terribly!" I started crying. Fatigue and stress had my emotions raw and far too near the surface.

"Then let's go back home," she reasoned.

My tears intensified. "I can't, honey. Not yet."

"Then you don't love Daddy." Bridget clamped her mouth shut, set her jaw, and turned away to look out the window again.

Her words cut me. I sobbed for the next seventy miles, incapable of soothing my children who were consumed by their own sorrows.

Sheer determination to make it to my parents was the only thing that got me through the drive. It was well into the wee hours when I finally pulled into their driveway, my biological engine running on fumes. I'd barely killed the motor when my parents came outside in their bathrobes and hurried to the car. I got out on shaky legs and collapsed into their embrace, weeping.

"It's okay, Beth," my mother assured me, stroking my head. "You're home."

No, I'm not. Home is with Al. I sobbed harder.

"Come inside, and get some sleep, honey," my father urged. He opened the car door and lifted Theresa and Grace out. I took Grace from him, and he passed Theresa to my mother. Both stayed asleep through the transition. He leaned in and folded the seat down so he could reach the twins, taking one in each arm. They awoke as he stood with them, and they blinked at him in astonishment.

"Papa?" Michele asked. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

Bridget seemed to temporarily forget her rage as she, too, greeted her grandfather with a hug and kiss. He smiled and kissed each of them, then lowered them to the ground.

"Run along inside so I can get the suitcases," he told them.

As soon as the word "suitcases" left his lips, Bridget's face hardened and she cast me an irritated look before obediently following her sister inside her grandparents' house.

"I see what you mean," Mom said in a low voice, rubbing the small of my back.

"She'll come around," Dad assured me, now carrying a suitcase in each hand.

I locked the car and followed them inside. Dad brought the suitcases upstairs and Mom and I followed, carrying Theresa and Grace to Janie's old room which, like all our rooms, had been converted to a modified guest room. Mom quickly found the nightgowns. She and Dad took charge of getting all four girls changed and in beds, while they sent me to my old room where I dazedly took off my clothes and got into a nightgown of my own.

My parents returned to find me turning in a slow circle in the middle of the room, not sure what to do next. Mom embraced me and guided me to the bed while Dad turned down the sheets. She eased me down and tucked me in.

Brushing my hair back, Mom kissed my forehead and said, "Go to sleep, honey."

I nodded and closed my eyes, a pair of tears racing to see which would reach my chin first. "I do love Al, you know. I love him!" I insisted.

"We know that, Bethy. No one's disputing that," soothed Dad.

"Bree does…" I murmured.

"She'll come around," he reminded me. "Now, you just get some sleep."

"Okay…"

I dreamed of Al.

Author's Notes: Thanks to L for suggesting some fleshing out at the motel lobby and assisting therein.