Secluded Cabin Sleeps Six(14)

She sat a moment, took a deep breath, and let the beauty of the place wash over her.

I am breathing in. I am breathing out.

She felt a twinge of nostalgia for the camping trips with her family—nothing like this of course. Luxury, which was Mako’s number one concern for all travel, was not on the menu for her parents, both teachers. Tents and hot dogs cooked over the fire, her dad snoring too loud, and her brother kicking her as he tossed and turned in the neighboring sleeping bag. Her mother’s slightly off-key but sweet singing as she made the coffee in the morning. It had been enough. More than enough.

Mako popped the trunk, grabbed some of the bags from the back, and headed up to the porch.

She waited a moment, liked to move slowly and mindfully so that everything didn’t rush past. I am breathing in. I am breathing out.

Sitting there, watching Mako try to punch in the code on the door, that’s when she felt it. A hard pain in her abdomen, followed by a mild nausea.

No.

Then the light around her seemed suddenly too bright, a throb beginning at the base of her neck. There, a little spate of floating white dots.

The IVF. It had brought back the migraines she used to get in college with a vengeance. She closed her eyes, took another deep breath and asked the pain to pass through her. It wouldn’t. You couldn’t, it seemed, meditate away a migraine. Maybe, she’d found, you could delay it a bit. But eventually it would come for her, fell her like a villain against whom she was utterly powerless. What are you trying to teach me? she’d asked the pain last time. What can I learn from you?

Be quiet, it had seemed to hiss back. Just lie here until I’m done with you.

Mako was cursing at the door, his voice carrying over the quiet. He was the smartest person she had ever known, and yet he had the hardest time with simple things. She sat another moment, settling into her breath. Finally, the pain and nausea passed. No, not passed. Receded. It was waiting.

Please. Not this weekend. Not now.

Her phone pinged on the dash. Okay. There was service after all. It was probably Hannah, saying they were on their way, or asking what she could do. Her sister-in-law who still, like all Mako’s family, felt distant, not welcoming. Polite. The facsimile of warmth. But maybe it was Liza. Maybe it was she who was keeping Hannah at a distance. This weekend. She’d make more of an effort. It was more important now than ever that they grow closer.

But it wasn’t Hannah.

It was a text from an unknown number; she felt her whole body stiffen.

You have something that belongs to me.

She stared at the screen. The words seemed to glow with malevolence.

“Liza! The code doesn’t work.”

Mako was looking at her from the porch like a disappointed little kid. He could run a company with a nearly billion-dollar valuation but he couldn’t unlock the door to the vacation rental?

If you think you can run away from this—from me—you’re wrong. I’m right behind you.

Liza glanced out into the thick dark of the trees all around them. She quickly blocked the number and deleted the message. She wrapped her arms around her middle.

No.

What she had belonged to her and her alone.

“Liza!”

She opened the door, lifting the weight of her secrets and regrets, and climbed out of the car to go help her husband. She’d push away the pain of her looming migraine, and maybe this weekend she’d share the big news with Mako. It was time, wasn’t it?

That twinge again, this time more mild, less startling. It was normal. It happened when your body was changing, right? She centered her breathing, made herself solid, drew energy from the earth beneath her feet as she approached the house. The air was cool and the trees whispered. The trees, her father always used to say, they know all the secrets of the human heart. They have borne witness to all our follies, but they don’t judge us. They just watch.

She hoped that was true. She hoped that she wouldn’t be judged for the things she’d done.

From the trunk, she grabbed her bag of equipment and her yoga mat. She’d have to find some place to set up for her morning livestream yoga class. Then she joined her husband on the porch.

“Look,” she said at the door. “It’s still blinking. You have to give it a second.”

She’d memorized the code, and when the keypad went dark again, she punched it in. The door unlocked easily and swung open. All she smelled was wood and flowers.

“I’m a dick,” said Mako, pulling her in. “Sorry.”

He kissed her deep and long. She wrapped her arms around him, took in the scent of him, relished the warmth and strength of his embrace. Then, a second later, he was sweeping her off her feet and she was laughing as he carried her over the threshold into the magical weekend they were planning.

5

Henry





1997


Henry knew his mother was different from the other mothers. He just didn’t know exactly what was different about her.

The other women gathered on the sidewalk in front of the school were chatting easily, peals of laughter rising up every so often. They were all pretty at various levels with shiny hair and healthy bodies—not all thin but fit, holding themselves with confidence. They wore jeans and colorful tops, or bright clothes they would wear to the gym after the kids had gone inside. They clutched to-go coffee cups, or water bottles, carried big totes. There was a kind of carefree lightness to them, or so it seemed.