The Holding Place

Chapter 6

Michael…





         I glance at the clock on the wall in my home office and cringe inwardly when I see that the morning has sailed right by me without making any sort of progress. Norah is in her room down the hall playing some type of childhood game with her plethora of dolls; her hair unwashed and still dressed in her pajamas.  Time in ticking by quickly and I am not doing myself any favors but avoiding the inevitable.  I don’t know how to make myself go down the hallway and prepare my little girl for what is about to be her first dance with heartbreak. I am not sure if I am punishing myself or Claire.


         I can’t blame my sister for wanting to leave. Hell, I pushed her towards this. I have been nothing but unavailable for the past four years, making nothing easy on my daughter or my sister. Claire has no choice but to leave. Her husband’s patience has been eroding for a long time and now it has finally hit the breaking point. Between Norah and her family the choice is obvious and natural. Norah is not an orphan. Claire is not abandoning her. She is leaving her with her father.


Claire should be here in less than an hour. This will be the last time that Norah will see her aunt for years to come. I know my sister and I know that all she wants to do is leave the past four years behind her, no matter how much she loves my daughter. She needs to get her own life and marriage back on track. I’ve been nothing but a selfish bastard to my sister. All she has ever tried to do since Abby’s passing is to give her love, patience, and understanding to Norah and me.


         I don’t even know who I am anymore. It was never like this when Abby was still alive. The light that existed within her shined within me as well. What Abby and I had was a love story that made New York Bestsellers.  There was never a want or need when I had her wrapped tightly in my arms. All she had to do was snuggle closer against me and smile up at my with those green eyes of her for all of my troubles to instantly melt away.


         I cannot even bring myself to look my daughter in the eyes; she takes so much after her mother. She has her mother’s green eyes, dark curls and her infectious laughter. I punish her for the things that I should love her for, for the things that I once so loved about her. Abby doted on her and showered her with unconditional love. The six months that Abby was able to be with Norah were the happiest of her life. I’d do anything to rewind the hands of time and give all that Abby has missed back to her. 


         The sound of Norah playing with her dolls in her bedroom a few yards away is audible through the walls. This morning is no different than any other for her. She is used to the mornings where I work from my home office. Claire uses these mornings to catch up on the things she has missed in her own families’ life. Norah has been conditioned to keep quiet and stay out of my way while I engross myself in my work. A pang of guilt goes through me as I realize how she has come to be that way. In all of her four years I can recall very few times where I have been warm or inviting towards her.


         Abby adored being a mother. The moment Norah was placed into her arms she was lost, hopelessly and utterly devoted to the little bundle of flustered pink that found the beginnings of life within her. She cried the first time she had to allow Norah to be taken away from her. I thought it was impossible to love Abby any more than the day I married her but the moment I saw her holding the life we both created made my heart know a level of love I never knew existed. It was unconditional love I felt for both wife and child.


Our marriage had never been perfect, arguments all along the way, but we were happy nonetheless. Sometimes I let her to go bed angry with me and sometimes she let me go to bed angry with her. The clock would never reach midnight before one of us was pulling onto one another to make love and peace. I kept no secrets from her, my heart an open book the entire span of our marriage. I saw the damage as a young child that secrets could do between lovers and friends. I wanted a marriage different from the one my parents continue to struggle with.


         The moment I met Abby I knew that I could never live life without her. She was brave, vulnerable, clever, cautious, daring, secure and insecure all at the same time. She was everything I ever looked for in a woman. She took my hands into hers and melted the fear of the future away without ever knowing it. She brought out the best parts of me, teaching me the joys of fast-food runs on Saturday mornings and laughing at me through the most uncomfortable and awkward of moments.  She was the love a person can only find once in their lifetime.


         It was her past that she could never bring herself to share with me. She pretended that the life she lived before the age of eighteen never happened. When I asked her about her childhood she would give me a wistful look and tell me that some things ought to always remain buried deep in the ground where they belonged. There was something or someone that existed there that left a hole in her heart that was never able to heal. Abby was strong in the face of many things but she couldn’t gather the strength to confront her past.


         Early in our marriage I thought her past was something that she simply didn’t want to confront but as time passed it became clear to me that it was something that she could not bear to face. A couple times a year she would receive letters from home. Abby would allow the letters to remain unopened on the kitchen counter for a couple days after receiving them before she would slip them in the paper shredder without ever bothering to read them. She never invited her side of the family to our wedding, telling me it would be a waste of paper to send an invite out.


         A sharp knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I stare at the numerous stacks of paper that are taking up the majority of space on my desk and groan at the amount of work that remains undone and untouched. I do not want to greet my sister at the door, knowing that a devastating change in my life is only a few moments away. I cannot help but feel as if I am being betrayed by my sister’s sudden decision to move and leave me alone with Norah. It is silly for me to feel this way. Claire’s place is not within sad confines of my home. She has a family of her own who needs her and deserves her.


         Another knock at the door pulls me to my feet and sending me walking towards the front door. I walk through a long hallway and spacious living room that still retains the modern style that Abby adopted when we bought the house seven years ago. A small smile crosses my lips as I recall the months we spent house hunting. Abby and I must have looked at hundreds of homes, touring through several dozen of them, and her hating each one. All she had to do was spend five minutes walking through this house to know that it was the one. Custom designed with hardwood floors and thick cream carpet in the bedrooms it was love at first sight for her. This house was her dream home and I was helpless to deny her.


         I open the heavy double cherry wood doors to invite my sister inside. She is standing in the doorway, dressed in comfortable looking slacks with highlighted hair that is usually worn down drawn tightly back at the nape of her neck. Her car is parked in the driveway and I see that it is packed to the brim with large cardboard boxes. The fact that she is indeed leaving is even more real to me now and a subtle panic begins its creep to the bottom of my stomach. Claire, who knows me like the back of her hand, catches the slight flash in my eyes and smiles at me discerningly.


         “Michael,” she says solemnly.


         I give her a simple nod and move aside to allow her room to come it. She comes through the large door slowly and takes in the room around her. Never a fan of the earth tones and pastels that Abby adored, she was always lobbying for me to change the color scheme of the house. Claire thinks I keep the house the same as a shrine to Abby and in a way she is right. Our wedding pictures adorn the mantel above the fire place and the crazy knick knacks that she loved to collect from all of our travels are scattered among the several shelves throughout the house.


         I keep the house the same because of something that goes much deeper than just maintaining a shrine for my deceased wife. This house is simply just a house without the echoes of her warm laughter and images of her laughing green eyes. When she was alive this was our home. It was more than just walls and a roof to shelter our family from the rain. This is the home we brought our daughter into. This was a home where love existed.


         As a child I was never much attached to my material things, even the toys I considered precious after my grandmother died. Claire does not understand my attachment to these material things and I have never asked her to try. She simply accepts that they are important to me and does not attempt to move them or pack them away. The stability I have maintained in the past four years is fragile and she does not want to do anything to shatter it.


         The reluctance I see in my sister’s eyes tells me that she is just as terrified as I am at her leaving. I have lost count at how many times in the past few weeks that I broached the subject that it might be best if she take Norah with her. I know that she seriously considered it and might even discussed it with her husband at some length, but her family is moving on without her. Claire never meant for her involvement with Norah to come to this point, she never intended to become a surrogate mother to the child.


Norah sees the pictures of her mother on the wall and often asks Claire about her. Claire quickly glosses over Norah’s natural inquisitive because she does not know what to tell her. She has never heard me even once bring Abby up in conversation, knowing what her memory does to me. She longs to tell me daughter about all the funny and amusing memories she has about Abby. Claire thinks it is not her place to introduce Norah to her mother’s memory. She believes that this is a task that is mine alone to do.


         The countless times where I have stood outside of Norah’s bedroom door, unbeknownst to Claire or Norah that I am there, and listened to them play or read together. My heart clenches every time I hear happiness in their voices, listening to the bond between them grow every stronger. I long to be able to drop to my knees to share in an imaginary cup of tea with my little girl or play alongside her with her collection of dolls. All it takes is one look into her deep green eyes and I find myself staring right back at Abby, the pain engulfing me as sharply as the night I watched her die.


         It is the same moments that play over and over in my head, day or night. I watch them over and over again; searching for something even a fraction different, but it always remains resolutely the same. I’m not even giving Abby a chance to speak as I shout vile accusations at her. I am upset at the most petty of things and she is sitting quietly in the passenger seat, not saying anything at all. Her expression is so blank, not a trace of emotion to be found. Her silence makes my anger even more marked and I blame her even more, for things that hardly ever mattered in the first place. She was gone before she ever had the chance to say anything, before I had the chance to tell her I was sorry for everything.


         “Michael?” Claire interjects into my thoughts, placing a small hand lightly on my shoulder.


         I put my hands in my pockets and fix my eyes on the hardwood floor. I am not sure what to say to her. I know that I shouldn’t be angry with her but I can’t help myself.           She is leaving me at one of my weakest moments, to care for a child who is terrified of me. She is supposed to love Norah as if she is her very own.  There is no understanding within me as to how she can leave Norah in the rearview.


         “How can you just leave, Claire?” I ask. Hurt flashes across her blue eyes and I instantly regret my words.


         “I’m not leaving her, Michael,” Claire says. “You know how much I love her and how much I’m going to miss her.”


         “Why not just take her with you then?”


         Claire sighs dejectedly and turns her gaze down the hall. She has tried to explain to me so many times the past few weeks why she cannot take Norah with her. She says that I do not realize it now but Norah needs me and that she doesn’t need her anymore. Her staying here and caring for Norah is doing more harm than good.


         “She needs you Michael. She wants you to love her even though she doesn’t know how to tell you that.”


         I’m trying to push down my anger towards Claire but it is too strong for me to ignore. She is abandoning Norah, a helpless child who needs her, to a man who does not know how to love her. Norah is fearful of me, dodging out of my presence when the proximity becomes too close for her to handle. The times I have interacted with her have been stilted and forced. Even a child her age knows when she is not wanted.


         She watched me drive away from her birthday party even after weeks of promises that I would be there to celebrate with her. She was happy that I was going to be there and made sure to tell all of her friends that I would be there. She told them that I would put her on my shoulders as everyone sang happy birthday to her. I felt the heartbreak in her green eyes as she watched me drive away in my car, in a desperate hurry to get away from her.


         “Are you going to say good-bye to her or not?” I ask Claire angrily.


         “You haven’t even told her, have you, Michael?” she replies.


         I look away from her accusing blue eyes and feel shame burning at my cheeks. Weeks have passed me by and I made no attempt to tell my daughter that the most important person in her life was leaving her. I have been incredibly selfish. The heartbreak my little girl is about to experience could have been minimized if only I gently broke the news to her weeks ago and allowed her to get used to the idea of her beloved aunt moving away. My stomach begins churning with the disgust I have for myself. I hardly know who I am anymore.


         “I don’t think I should say good-bye to her then,” Claire whispers, tears spilling over the red rims of her eyes. “Tell her that I love her for me, okay Mike?”


         I look at her in astonishment. She cannot possibly think of leaving without saying good-bye to her. She is the only person in this world that Norah trusts and she is thinking about leaving without saying good-bye. My anger is ebbing away and being replaced by a hollow feeling deep within me. Suddenly I can’t even pretend that I am angry with Claire. She knows as well as I do what saying good-bye to Norah will result in and it simply isn’t fair for either of them.


Claire wants to stay as much as I want her to but she is right, Norah doesn’t need her anymore. Norah needs me more than she has ever needed anybody. I always knew that someday Claire would leave us behind to mend the cracks in her own family. She has spent the last four years trying to mend the deep cracks in my own. It is selfish of me to try to ask of any more time of my sister.


         “Claire,” I whisper in a broken voice.


         She pulls me into her arms and embraces me tightly. She has nothing but love for me and I feel it in the hug she is giving me. Claire and I stand there for a few moments in a tight embrace. This is the closest contact I have had with anyone in the past four years and I am reluctant to let her go.


         “Mikey, this is not the life Abby wanted for you,” Claire says softly to me. “She loved you and Norah with all of her heart. She would never have wanted for to hurt this way for this long.”


         I let a single tear slip down my cheek at my sister’s tender words. Deep down I know that she is right. This life is not what Abby would have wanted for me. Happiness is an emotion that I can no longer feel. My misery and grief are all that is left of me. I am a man who knows nothing but the grief of a love that I am to blame for losing.


         Claire’s hand is on the handle of the front door, ready to open it. She regards me for a moment with a mixed expression of regret and sadness. I know she is fighting with herself to keep her resolve of leaving strong. I won’t insist on her leaving if her resolves break. The thought of her family suffering because of my grief does not register in my mind. I am selfish and can think of no body but myself.


         “Take care of her, Mikey,” Claire says as she exits through the front door.