52stories

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Rain splattered irregularly on my windshield. I couldn’t find the right setting of intermittent speed for the wipers. To fast and it was annoying, too slow and they screeched loudly without water to lubricate their way. Again, annoying. The strong winds of the day’s storm were finally letting up. Starlight couldn’t make it’s way through the cloud cover, but the silence was the worst. My wife was giving me ‘the silent treatment’ despite my earlier attempts to talk it out. She was too mad for that. My mind drifted back to what I’d heard on the radio, about women’s brains physically ‘wired’ to be madder longer. A fat lot of good that did me now, as just knowing a fact doesn’t help make it untrue. And just wishing you could take back the last hours of your life doesn’t mean it will happen.

She moved, although still looking out the passenger side window, then returned to her previous pose, fingertips on her lips. I think she was wiping away a tear, but it so quickly, I really didn’t get a good look. I was a second-grader again, scared, and sad, waiting for my punishment. Except this time I hadn’t cut Sally Jenkins hair with scissors, or glued a book’s pages shut. I had, I just realized, ruined lives! Well, was it that bad?

I signaled my approaching turn off the road, the click-clack sound the only thing louder than our breathing. It wouldn’t be long, we’d be home. I thought I knew how it would play out. She’d go to our bedroom and shut the door. I’d wait, just wait, not daring to enjoy myself with TV, or the computer. Our boy would might be sleeping anyway. Where would I be sleeping?

The rain decided to stop, as did the wind, just the time I pulled into our driveway. She spoke, “Lou… I want a…” Her words stopped, her focus now on something else entirely. “SAM!” She opened her door, well before I could put the car in park. Running through the sloppy lawn, she screamed our son’s name over and over again. “SAM! SAM!” I saw what triggered this burst of energy, a tree had fallen on our son’s play set. Large splinters were everywhere, branches, leaves, all littering the grounds. Seeing Linda stagger around the area, coming up with nothing, I bolted inside the house. It was my turn to yell, “SAM!”

“Daddy!”, Sam ran to me from his room, wearing a ‘brave knight’ outfit we’d gotten from the local toy store. I grabbed him up in my arms, and rushed back to the door. “Linda!” I yelled, and saw her tear-streaked face turn toward us. Her steepled hands covered her face, from nose to lips to chin. She made her way to us, and embraced both of us in a warm, long hug.

“Mr. Daily?”, this time it was Nedra speaking. She held miniature playing cards in her hands. I knelt down to the babysitter’s level, and asked what happened. Nedra explained while we were gone the wind got worse, and a tree cracked and fell. It was too dark, windy, and wet to be playing outside, anyway, so she and Sam were playing games indoors until the parents returned.

Not much else was said that night. Linda took Nedra home. Sam and I played some more games, and the evening continued like most Saturday nights. I laid awake, in my usual bed, a long time that night. I had a lot to think about, to re-evaluate. In all the years since, Linda never brought up the incident at the party, never completed that sentence she began in the car. Perhaps she re-evaluated too. Life was too precious, family so important, and the smashed play set proved it. For that moment we both gained clarity, and have since held to it tightly in our hearts.