“No problem. That explains a lot, though, now that you mention it.” He shot a glance at Wren and finished quickly, “I mean, yeah, right, she’s good. Anyway, you’d better go. Take care of Christy. My lovely and not-at-all-hormonal wife will kill us both if anything happens to her.”
“Damn right I will,” Wren said.
I leaned in to kiss her. “Missy’s beautiful. Congratulations. To both of you.”
Trip smiled in paternal pride.
Wren caught my arm before I could leave. She squeezed, part plea, part reassurance.
“Take care of her,” she said. “Let us know what you need. Anything. And… I’m sorry I lost my temper.”
“No worries.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
* * *
Christy’s health continued to improve over the next month. She gained weight and began taking care of herself again. She didn’t like going to the therapist, but I didn’t give her a choice, and the sessions seemed to help.
She wouldn’t talk about “her troubles,” except to say that she’d had them. To hear her tell it, she’d been a little “out of sorts.” Still, I wasn’t going to complain, especially since I was getting my wife back.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t shake a nagging sense of guilt. A small part of me didn’t want her to get better. I enjoyed spending time with her, but most of all, I enjoyed spending time with the girls.
Emily was a different child. Laurie had been sweet, but Emily had a temper, so we came to a tacit agreement not to annoy each other. Laurie had gone to sleep easily, but Emily was stubborn, so I rocked her and sang to her. Laurie didn’t mind sleeping in the dark, but Emily hated to be left alone, so I bought her a little froggy night light to keep her company.
I also put Laurie to bed every night. She liked a story instead of songs. I read to her at first, but then I started making up my own story, about a princess who lived in a tower and didn’t want to leave. But then one night she heard a ruckus downstairs and saw that a pack of pixies had invaded the castle. They were throwing food and making a mess. The princess stomped her foot to make them listen. Then she asked them very politely to play nice and clean up after themselves.
I picked up the story the following night. The princess decided to explore some of the rooms in the castle. She discovered the library, but an old ogre scared her. She came back the next night and tried talking to him instead of running away. He was a friendly ogre after all, and he taught her the alphabet.
I continued the story, night after night, and the princess met new friends in the castle. They taught her new things, like how to braid her hair or how to tie her shoes. Sometimes a group of dryads or sprites would make trouble, but the princess always found a way to make them play nice. Sometimes she talked to them. Other times she won a race. One time she even made funny faces until they stopped arguing and listened.
Laurie hung on every word until I finished for the night. Then she gave me a goodnight kiss, curled up on her side (just like her mother), and closed her eyes. She usually fell asleep in minutes.
“Now I want to know what happens to the princess,” Christy said one evening when I joined her in the living room. She closed her sketchbook and poured me a glass of wine.
“You were listening?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mr. Raconteur.”
I smiled and accepted the glass. Then I sank to the couch beside her.
“I looked it up, you know. Raconteur. Erin isn’t the only one.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Something you said, years ago.”
I shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“No, you’re lucky.” She stared into space and then sighed. “I don’t remember them. My troubles, I mean. I remember you being there, but that’s all. I just have this big brown space where I usually have memories.” She sighed again. “I suppose that’s a good thing. My therapist says it is, but I’m not so sure. Maybe if I remembered better I wouldn’t want more children.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“I can’t help it, though. I know we should stop at two, but…” She exhaled, long and dejected. “Oh, well. We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. You said that to me once. I remember that just fine, but I can’t remember what you said when we brought Emily home from the hospital. Isn’t that weird?”
“It’s probably healthy. You weren’t very happy back then.”
“I know. I’m happy now, though. I like hearing you sing. You’re a little off-key,” she teased with a smile, “but only a little. No one else would notice.”
“Thank you… I think.”
“I like listening to your stories, too. I like relaxing and sitting here with my wine and knowing you’ll always be here.”
“I will.”
“I know. Only, you need to go back to work.”
“Not yet.”
“Soon.” She held up a hand before I could protest. “You can’t protect me forever.”
“The hell I can’t.”
“Paul, I’m serious. Sooner or later, I have to do this. Be a mother, I mean. On my own. You’re a wonderful father, and I love having you at home, but you can’t keep avoiding it.”
“Avoiding what?”
“Leaving me alone with them.”
I sipped my wine so I wouldn’t have to answer.
“I’m not going to hurt them. Or myself.”
“I know. I never thought—”
“Yes. Yes, you did. Leah told me.” She let the words hang there. “You have to trust me, Paul.”
“I do.”
“Oh, no,” she countered. “You can’t just say ‘I do’ and then expect me to do things your way. We have to compromise. You said it, like, a million times. So, now we’re going to do it.” She paused in case I wanted to object, but she knew I couldn’t.
“You’re going to go back to work,” she finished, “and I’m going to be a mother. We have to, Paul. Otherwise, this isn’t a marriage, it’s a dictatorship. I signed up for that in bed, but not the rest of the time.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
She lifted my arm and pulled it around her shoulders. She was still too small, but she felt solid for the first time in a long time. She leaned against me and sighed.
“I love you.”
I kissed the top of her head. “I love you too.”
“We’ll get through this.”
* * *
In the summer of 1992, Trip began looking for a development partner for our tract of land on Lake Lanier. He found him in September. His name was Douglas J. Trimble, and he was a big-time property developer in the area. He wanted to build a golf course, condos, a country club, and a gated luxury community on the lake itself.
“I’d love to start right away,” he told us, “but I have this other development I need to finish first. It’s behind schedule, and the architect just quit.”
Trip had a solution for that, of course. Our company could do the work while we negotiated contracts and drew up plans for the new development.
“I don’t know if it’s the kind of work you normally do,” Trimble said. “It’s a mixed-use development, condos and retail.”
“No, I can totally do that,” I said.
Trip nodded enthusiastically.
“All right. If you think you can handle it. Besides, we’ll get to know each other while we put together the big deal, the one that’s going to make us all rich. Well, richer. Am I right, boys?”
“Right!”
So I started designing boutique shopping centers, restaurant spaces, and several different condo layouts. Trip tried to get the schedule back on track from where the previous architect had left it.
We had so much work that we stopped accepting new clients for our homebuilding company. Even better, Trimble planned a multi-year development schedule for the Lake Lanier project, so we’d have plenty of work for the foreseeable future. In fact, we’d have to hire more people once we started.