Today's Reading
"Her leg will be scarred for the rest of her life." Alex spat each word at me. They might have hurt if I hadn't loosed them at myself dozens of times over the past week.
I'm so sorry, Jackie.
My eyes swerved to our daughter, sitting in a wheelchair in the hospital garden. My hand rose, pressing against the window glass between us. It hurt having her even this far away. I'd held her hand in the ambulance, keeping her in arm's reach from the moment she came out of surgery. It was only her second visit to the garden. I wanted to be with her, but Alex had words for me, and neither one of us wanted them overheard.
His arrival the night before, delightful to Jackie, was torture for me. We'd smiled and made the best of things in front of her, but there'd been no chance to talk. What could I possibly say? This was my fault. I gave thanks every hour for her life, for her two legs, still able to walk.
"I'm taking her home with me," Alex said.
"You can't." I said it as solidly as I could. "I'm her mother."
"I'm her father. She needs me. Look what happened when I left her with you."
"It was an accident," I said, knowing Alex would never agree. Sure enough—
"Accident," he snorted. "Negligence is more like it. Look how happy she is to see me."
"Of course she's happy. She thinks this means we're a family again."
His nostrils flared.
"A girl needs her mother," I said.
"Like you need yours?"
I kept my hands still. Maman and I seldom agreed, and Alex never fought fair. "Jackie and I are staying here," I said. "You know we can't live together." If Alex cut me off from our joint checking account, I'd do what had previously seemed unthinkable and ask to live with my mother.
"Maybe you and I can't, but Jackie and I sure as hell will. I'm not leaving her with you and that man who almost killed her. Or whoever you find next month or the month after that."
I stiffened. I wasn't talking to him about Henri, who'd retreated the moment I received Alex's telegram. Since the accident, I wasn't sure how to look at him. I didn't know how to look at myself either, so I avoided the mirror. Alex had pointed that out too, annoyed by my tired face and untidy hair. "I've told you a hundred times I want a divorce," I said tightly.
Outside the window, Jackie leaned forward in her wheelchair, chatting animatedly with my mother.
"She looks better since I came," Alex said, joining me at the window.
I wished I could deny it.
"She wants her home. That's London," Alex asserted. "If you try and stop us, you know what I'll have to do. No court will let her stay with you, not if I say no. Not after this."
I closed my eyes. "You can't take her from me. Please, Alex. You know you can't look after her. You're never home."
"I've never come within an ace of killing or crippling her."
Hold your tongue. Hold your tongue. Hold your—
"I'm sorry." Alex sighed. "That was unfair. You weren't driving."
Even though you chose the man who was, I added silently, finishing the sentence for him.
He tapped the pane of glass, telling me to look with him at the dark-haired girl smiling in the outdoor sunshine. I did, painfully noting the brightness in her eyes that hadn't been there yesterday.
"Of course she wants her family," he said gruffly. "All children do. And you're right. I can't be mother and father to her."
I waited.
"For her sake, we have to tackle this sensibly."
When had I ever been sensible? It was one of his chief complaints, though years ago, I would have sworn it was why he loved me. Then, I was delightful and spontaneous. Now, I was impulsive and irresponsible.
Perhaps we wouldn't kill each other if we each had a little distance, but we didn't even like each other anymore. I couldn't go back to England. I'd suffocate. France was my home, where I could have a new life, not a dead one.
But if I couldn't have Jackie...that wasn't much of a life either.
I turned to Alex, barricading myself behind my folded arms. "What do you propose?"
His eyes were fixed on Jackie. "Come back to London. We'll work something out."
...
