ovember 2008
There were a Few thı Gs that William knew without being told. He knew that Kent had called his psychiatrist, to make sure William’s
medications were airtight, and that his psychiatrist scrutinized him during their sessions with a new level of concern. William could feel Kent’s worry too, a presence that had existed at different levels since the two men had met. When Nicole had moved out of her and Kent’s townhouse during the divorce, William slept in the guest room for a few nights so Kent wouldn’t go from married to completely alone. He’d been grateful for the chance to help his friend during that period. When Kent had apologized for his sadness, William told him that it was a relief to direct some worry at him after so many years of feeling it pointed at himself. On the other side of the divorce, even though Kent had regained his enthusiasm and love of life, the giant doctor was still a bit weary, and William felt that too. He hated that his friend had to resume the duty of standing guard over his depression.
William also knew that he was the reason Julia was staying away from Chicago. With him in Sylvie’s life, Julia wouldn’t budge, even though Sylvie deserved her older sister’s devotion. And finally, he knew that Sylvie had lost weight over the previous weeks. She hadn’t said anything, but she was smaller, and she was always cold.
He made dinner every night now, trying to cater to Sylvie’s diminishing appetite. He roasted chickpeas with extra salt to
accompany their meals, because he knew she would eat those. He stocked mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer and went out first thing every morning to buy fresh donuts. Sylvie smiled when he offered her a granola bar or nudged the bowl of chickpeas in her direction. She saw what he was doing; she always had, after all.
During dinner one night, she said, “I’m sorry. I know I’m not talking much lately.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “You’re tired.”
“It’s more that…” She paused, as if searching for words. “Everything is so rich inside me now…that it holds my attention. You know the Mark Twain quote about how the only reason for time is so everything doesn’t happen at once? I feel like everything that’s ever happened in my life is happening inside me. I’m never bored anymore. I think about everyone and everything. I’m with you now, and you’re with me in here too.” She pointed at her head. “My dad is here too. He and I are in the back of the grocer’s.”
William nodded, to show that he was listening more than that he understood. He knew he probably couldn’t understand. “Is that nice?”
She considered this and nodded. “It’s nice.”
They went straight to bed after William put the dinner dishes in the dishwasher. Sylvie needed lots of sleep, so they no longer spent an hour or two of their evenings on the couch, reading and watching basketball. After they made love that night, they slept naked, for the first time since they were young. They were dismantling their habits and routines, and it was like pulling up floorboards and finding joy underneath.
Before they fell asleep, Sylvie said, “Oh, I did want to tell you something.” She propped herself up on an elbow. “I’m proud of myself.”
The surprise in her voice, and the unexpectedness of the comment, made William laugh.
She smiled. “It’s just, I didn’t expect to be. When you and I got together, I thought I was going to hate myself, a little bit, forever. Because if I was a good person, I would have stayed away from you. Stayed miserable. But when I made this choice…” Sylvie paused, and William realized that she was doing that more and more. Words seemed to be harder for her to reach, like fruit in the highest branches of a tree.
“It’s hard to explain, but our love was so deep and wide that it made me love everyone and everything in sight. Which included me.” She smiled wider. “I know it sounds silly, but I’m proud of myself. I guess for living a brave life.”
William nodded, unable to speak for a second. “You should be proud,” he said.
She closed her eyes, the smile still on her face. She fell asleep quickly, and William lay awake for a long time in the dark bedroom. He listened to his wife breathe. Was he proud of himself? William had never considered this before. Maybe he’d felt that way a handful of times, for fleeting moments. When he truly helped a struggling player; when he spotted a problem no one else had seen and found a solution. He searched inside himself and realized, with surprise, that he was proud of himself for calling Julia.
He remembered kissing Sylvie for the first time in his dorm room and how their love had stayed in that room during the first few months they were together. In a way, William never stopped containing their love, cupping it in his hands. He’d felt safer that way. He’d known he couldn’t lose Sylvie’s love if he knew where it was. His wife had been brave—she’d been the one to lose Julia and hurt the twins—but William had never risked anything. He’d been an eternal coward, scared of what he might lose.
But when Sylvie became sick, the worst thing that could have happened was already happening. He’d had to open himself in order to protect her. William reached out to his first wife for help, and just making that request—across the quarter century that separated
them—had made him vulnerable not only to Julia but to a reckoning with the broken man he’d been during their time together. He’d always assumed openness was synonymous with danger and that if he wasn’t holding on tight to the new life he’d built, it would blow away. But with the barriers down, he’d discovered that life became bigger. A hidden photograph transformed into a mural. Alice and Caroline stood within arm’s reach of each other. His father-in-law had found a way to shine his affection across distance and time. And Sylvie’s love, once William let it out of his hands, had shown itself to be exponential in its power. It had expanded to fill all the space around him, which was his entire life.
