were gone.”
He looked around the room again, searching for something to spark his mind, but nothing came to him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
He had been cleared to come home the day before. He had worked hard after that day in the bathroom to regain his strength. He went through extensive physical therapy, torturing himself and his leg to perform properly. He did it so he could start a new life to prove to the world that he wasn’t the man they thought he was, that Lexy thought he was. He would do whatever he needed to wipe that perpetual look of worry off his wife’s face.
“You’re tired.” She touched his face in an almost motherly way. “You should lie down.” He was tempted to tell her to stop acting like his mother and act like his wife, but didn’t. She was right. He was tired. His body was still weak.
His mind weaker.
“Maybe for a little while,” he told her.
She nodded placing his arm around her shoulder and helping him to the bedroom. He should have told her it was unnecessary. The pain no longer raced up his leg with every step. It only ached. He had a slight limp, which the doctor promised would go away.
They stopped at a small room with a large bed against the middle of the back wall. There were two small windows, one on each side of the bed with periwinkle curtains covering them like blue eye shadow.
“I changed your curtains and bedspread. If you hate it I can change it back.”
Ever since they left the hospital he felt as if some of Lexy’s fire had deserted her. She was quiet, more reserved, unwilling to relax around him. He loathed it.
“I don’t hate it, Lex. The house looks nice.”
She smiled slightly.
“I finished the quilt before the— Before they sent you home. It took me six months to finish. Your bed is so big.”
He studied the piece of art he thought had come from a store. It was an intricate pattern of blue squares in different shades and textures. It reminded him of blue jeans all sewn together. It was just right for a man.
“Thank you. How did you learn?”
“My grandmother. Maybell,” she clarified, “taught me how. I can quilt and crochet, too. I learned a lot of things living with an old lady.” An extreme look of melancholy overtook her features. Maybell must have been special. He wouldn’t forget that.
“Your underwear are in here.” She opened the top drawer of the dresser. “Some of it had so many holes I could strain spaghetti in them. I threw them away. We’ll need to go shopping for more. Your socks are in the middle drawer. Then the T-shirts, which you have way too many of, are at the bottom.” She moved to the closet, sliding the door open. “Your work clothes are in the corner. Your jeans are folded up on the top rack. Some of your finer T-shirts are hung up in here.”
He listened as if he was going to be tested later, and then something dawned on him.
“Where are your clothes?”
“In my room.”
“In your room?”
“We don’t share a room,” she said as if it were normal for a husband and wife to sleep separately.
“Why not?”
“We just don’t.” She sighed. “We haven’t for years.” She sat on the bed and looked up at him. “We didn’t have a good marriage. We don’t have a good marriage. For the most part you lead a life that I wasn’t a part of. You only paid attention to me when you...” She trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. This is your room. Mine is across the hall. If you need me, just call me.”
“Lexy...” He needed her now. There was something not right about this story, something he couldn’t swallow. There had to have been something great between them. Why else would he feel this ache? “Tell me about my life here.”
She tensed and he didn’t know why. He hadn’t even touched her.
“What do you want to know?”
“What do you want to tell me?”
“I’m in no mood to recap your whole miserable life. Just ask me a damn question.”
He annoyed her? Well that was too
He looked around the room again, searching for something to spark his mind, but nothing came to him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
He had been cleared to come home the day before. He had worked hard after that day in the bathroom to regain his strength. He went through extensive physical therapy, torturing himself and his leg to perform properly. He did it so he could start a new life to prove to the world that he wasn’t the man they thought he was, that Lexy thought he was. He would do whatever he needed to wipe that perpetual look of worry off his wife’s face.
“You’re tired.” She touched his face in an almost motherly way. “You should lie down.” He was tempted to tell her to stop acting like his mother and act like his wife, but didn’t. She was right. He was tired. His body was still weak.
His mind weaker.
“Maybe for a little while,” he told her.
She nodded placing his arm around her shoulder and helping him to the bedroom. He should have told her it was unnecessary. The pain no longer raced up his leg with every step. It only ached. He had a slight limp, which the doctor promised would go away.
They stopped at a small room with a large bed against the middle of the back wall. There were two small windows, one on each side of the bed with periwinkle curtains covering them like blue eye shadow.
“I changed your curtains and bedspread. If you hate it I can change it back.”
Ever since they left the hospital he felt as if some of Lexy’s fire had deserted her. She was quiet, more reserved, unwilling to relax around him. He loathed it.
“I don’t hate it, Lex. The house looks nice.”
She smiled slightly.
“I finished the quilt before the— Before they sent you home. It took me six months to finish. Your bed is so big.”
He studied the piece of art he thought had come from a store. It was an intricate pattern of blue squares in different shades and textures. It reminded him of blue jeans all sewn together. It was just right for a man.
“Thank you. How did you learn?”
“My grandmother. Maybell,” she clarified, “taught me how. I can quilt and crochet, too. I learned a lot of things living with an old lady.” An extreme look of melancholy overtook her features. Maybell must have been special. He wouldn’t forget that.
“Your underwear are in here.” She opened the top drawer of the dresser. “Some of it had so many holes I could strain spaghetti in them. I threw them away. We’ll need to go shopping for more. Your socks are in the middle drawer. Then the T-shirts, which you have way too many of, are at the bottom.” She moved to the closet, sliding the door open. “Your work clothes are in the corner. Your jeans are folded up on the top rack. Some of your finer T-shirts are hung up in here.”
He listened as if he was going to be tested later, and then something dawned on him.
“Where are your clothes?”
“In my room.”
“In your room?”
“We don’t share a room,” she said as if it were normal for a husband and wife to sleep separately.
“Why not?”
“We just don’t.” She sighed. “We haven’t for years.” She sat on the bed and looked up at him. “We didn’t have a good marriage. We don’t have a good marriage. For the most part you lead a life that I wasn’t a part of. You only paid attention to me when you...” She trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. This is your room. Mine is across the hall. If you need me, just call me.”
“Lexy...” He needed her now. There was something not right about this story, something he couldn’t swallow. There had to have been something great between them. Why else would he feel this ache? “Tell me about my life here.”
She tensed and he didn’t know why. He hadn’t even touched her.
“What do you want to know?”
“What do you want to tell me?”
“I’m in no mood to recap your whole miserable life. Just ask me a damn question.”
He annoyed her? Well that was too
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