the weight of a feather

I see the wonder of a world within reach when I watch my daughter. Eyes like globes. Hands stretched out to balance on the mountains that she will one day climb or topple or build. Her wonder settles me. It forces my limbs to extend underneath like roots and overhead like branches.

Guardian. Protector. Provider. The three jobs that I hold on my own now.

I blink a few times and the truth bleeds back in because he, William, does provide. Of course he does.

I’m scared at how easy it is to forget about him and what he’s doing for us, me and Lilly. But the days come so quickly. It can be hard to remember anything outside of what’s in front of me.

Just like the hollyhock in the corner of the yard. Left of center. Center of Right. It all depends on how you look at it. Either way, not quite where it belongs. A feeling I’m familiar with lately.

Will planted the hollyhock. He’s always had a knack for planting and growing things. Raising them up from the ground with tender care. I stare at the flower’s features from my place at the kitchen window. Suddenly, I get a vision of where he is.

A place you can drive for miles and not see another soul. A land so perfectly layered and templated that even the browns have blue. Things rise up out of the ground there. Oil rigs. Foreign structures planted in an otherwise harmonious landscape. Skeletons. Those rise up from the ground too.

Gosh. What time is it?

I jolt from my staring match with the towering buds to check the teapot clock hanging from above the oven.

10:37 am.

He’s probably not far now. My muscles flutter. Why am I nervous? How is Lilly feeling? Probably excited. Hopefully excited.

The sinking feeling I had when he first took the job rises up all over again. Being away can’t be good. But we do need the money and I guess the stable income’s nice. Besides, we’re fine.

The words evaporate with the stale energy I invest in them. My gut’s gotten good at sensing the fallibility behind fine.

10:38. I should text him. I reach for my phone, with its cracked screen.

She likes unicorns and bugs lately.

Send. I imagine the message colliding with particles until it crashes into his phone somewhere in Middle-of-nowhere, West, Texas.

I know there should be more. My thumbs dangle over the screen and the text cursor blinks at me. A steady reminder of the heart beating somewhere that will read this. I type out another message.

Please drive safely. Love you.

I hit send again. Setting the phone back down, I search the house for something to do that will keep my hands and brain busy. But the sleepless nights have not left much wanting. The house is spotless.

Will’s traditional. He wanted to provide. It’s something I’ve always loved about him. So he got this job and then we bought this house. It all began with the loftiest of hopes and the unsurest of assurances. He’d be home every month or so. Maybe more. On top of that, he’d probably get to be home for weeks at a time, before he’d be in demand again. Easy.

If I’m honest with myself, I knew it sounded too good to be true from the start. And, if I’m really honest with myself, we were desperate. I think Will felt the same. So, instead, he’s only been home eight or nine times since he started a year and a half ago.

Ding. The phone makes its addictive and pleasing sound, notifying me that it has done its duty to our relationship and honorably kept us loosely connected by the longest of threads.

Thank you. Love you too. Should be home in a couple of hours.

The first time we stopped in at one of those massive truck stops was on a road trip up to New Mexico. My heart hurt seeing the toys and jewelry for sale. Apologies available for purchase. I picture Will pulling into one along the way and navigating the crowded aisles until he reached the toys. He’d take some care. Really searching for something Lilly will like. I’m glad we haven’t gotten to the point where he gets something for me too.

I go to the window again to check on Lilly. And spy her wedged under a bush, hard at work on her latest construction project. I wonder at her wild spirit that leaves her painted in mud at the end of each day, knowing full well she got it from the both of us. Something I’ve always loved about her, even though I gripe about the daily baths. Sometimes two.

After a moment of thought, I remember that I asked our lawn guy to lay down some fertilizer yesterday, which is exactly where my little worm happens to be digging. Well. That’s the next couple of hours accounted for, because I know Will. First thing he’ll do when he comes in is squeeze her real tight, and I’d rather his first whiff of his four year old princess to be the flower she’s named after, instead of the fertilizer castle she’s been building all morning. I smile at my messy girl and wave. She waves back with all the grace of a chicken in flight.

I open the door. “Come along, little chicken. Let’s go get all clean for Daddy.”

“Daddy!” She scrambles to her feet and whizzes through the door, straight to the bathroom.

“That’s the easiest that’s ever been,” I think. Normally, I end up wrestling an eight-legged beast into the tub. I follow the animal tracks into the bathroom to find that she is ready and waiting.

“Alright,” I say. “Let’s see if there’s a little girl under all that.”

“No! Today, I’m a groundhog princess!”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. My apologies.” I bow my head. “Are you ready to be bathed, Your Majesty?”

With a grand air, she simply nods, not willing to waste breath on a mere mortal.

I turn the faucet on and, sure enough, one and a half hours later, there is a real life human child at the kitchen counter eating a sandwich. And, on top of that, she is fully dressed. Even though she happens to be dressed in the clashing colors and patterns of a child that insists “I do it myself.”

I’m sure I don’t have much time, but I get to work on the muddy footprints, not ready to think about why I’m so intent on the place being spotless.

Ding! The doorbell jolts me and my eardrums burst a split second later at the screech my heathen lets loose.

“DADDY!!!”

Before I can stand up straight, she’s flung the door open and he’s wrapped her in the tightest of hugs.

“My princess! I missed you!”

I sidle over to the pair and am relieved when he lets her go to pull me in. He burrows his nose into the knape of my neck and inhales. On his exhale, he releases. “Oh. It’s so good to be home.”

We both let go and he turns to Lilly. “I’ve got a present for you, my little worm.”

I watch him closely as he goes back out the front door. He looks skinnier. Is he hunched over a little bit? He’s lost some of the muscle he worked so hard for a couple of years ago and there are circles under his eyes. But he does seem happy to be home, which lifts me. The whole family together, under one roof. He returns brandishing a child-sized shovel. My eardrums burst all over again.

“A SHOVEL! Thank you, Daddy! Thank you!” She gives him the cutest kiss on the cheek and steals away with the shovel. I hear the back door open and slam shut. I cringe.

Will turns to me, eyes apologetic, “Sorry. I’ll bathe her tonight.”

I chuckle a bit. “Thanks.”

Without saying anything else, we make our way over to the kitchen window to watch the groundhog princess building a throne of fertilizer using her new present. I sidle over to the fridge.

“Did you want something to eat? I have some leftovers.”

“Thanks, but I picked something up on the way.”

“Good.”

I never noticed how loud the teapot clock is. Maybe it’s time to get a new one. Subconsciously, my eyes drift to the hands ticking away. I’m aware of his eyes on me, but I’m nervous to meet them. He’ll see right through me.

He breaks the silence with a question. “What have things been like around here? You kinda look tired?”

I finally meet his stare. And, for a brief second, he almost looks like he’s begging me to ask him to stay home and quit and never go back. Maybe that’s what I’m hoping for.

I try to brush it off with a chuckle. “I look tired? Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look half dead, sir.”

“I believe it.” He brushes his overgrown hair away from his eyes, but even that seems like a chore to him.

“But yeah.” I smile, hoping it will be the ray of sunshine he used to think it was. “Maybe I’m a little tired. It’s nothing I can’t handle. And her majesty happens to be exceptionally cute, so I almost don’t mind bribing her to not bring any more live beetles inside.”

I can tell he spots my fib. Did his shoulders sag a bit more? I feel my branches extend and my roots lengthen below.

But it doesn’t work. The ground opens up beneath him and I feel him sinking. It happens every time he comes home. I dig through the knowledge from my college psych courses. Perhaps shame from being gone. Maybe guilt from missing out on things. Maybe fear that I’ll leave him or something. I search for a lifeline he can hold tight to.

“You nailed her gift. It was perfect!”

“Really? Thanks. I kinda feel bad. I’m sure you bathed her for me. I should’ve waited to give it to her until tomorrow or something. Or I should’ve checked with you about it?”

“No. I think it’s great! This is not the first time she’s had multiple baths in one day. Trust me. It’s a good gift.”

I notice myself talking about her like he doesn’t know her. I gotta stop doing that. I’m sure it hurts.

His eyes lock onto his reason for all this. A girl with wonder awaiting her because of the mountains he moves for her. Will turns to me, eyes like globes. I love that Lilly got those from him. He brushes the hair away.

“I actually. I know I’ve been working a lot and I know it’s been rough on both of us.”

I tell myself not to interrupt, even though I know how hard it’s been on him to be away. I know how much he wishes he could be here and I’m so grateful. But I picture him, on his drive through the blue-brown desert, chewing on the words. So I keep my lips pressed together.

“It’s been a lot and I’m sorry that I haven’t gotten to be home like I promised I would, but it does mean I could finally get you something I’ve always wanted to.”

My heart stops for a moment. Maybe it’s not fair but I pray that it isn’t something like a bracelet from one of the big truck stops. Please, we can’t be there yet.

He pulls a small jewelry box from his pocket.

“The last piece of jewelry I bought you was your wedding band, but I always wished I could’ve gotten you an engagement ring too. I know we both decided it didn’t make sense at the time, but I’ve always wished I could’ve.”

He treads over to me and lifts my left hand. The question and answer came before the vows so, without waiting, he slips on the ring.

“It’s pretty small. The diamond. But I knew you’d prefer that anyways.”

“It’s perfect.” I stammer, not really knowing what to say. “Thank you. I love it. Really. But you really didn’t need to.”

“I know. And I know we could’ve used the money for other things or we could’ve saved it or whatever, but we’ve been saving a lot and I felt like this was more important to me than putting the money somewhere else.”

I reach my hand to his face and he rests his head on it. I take him all in. Guardian. Protector. Provider. The three things he’s always been for me. I won’t let him sink.

“I’ve been thinking about it. Can you please come home for good now?”