December 27, 2004
Marco
I wake up early in the morning, so early that the bedroom is blue in the almost-dawn light. I lie in the bed, listening to Brooke’s deep breathing, listening to the intermittent noise of traffic on Ferntree Gully Road, crows calling to each other, the heater shutting off. My lungs start to ache again. I prop myself up on my pillows and find the bottle of pain killers on my bedside table. I take three, wash them down with cold water.
I slide back into blankets and turn onto my side. Brooke is sleeping face down, with her arms wrapped protectively around her head. Her hair is unseen under the covers. She reminds me of Jenny, they are both so look alike. I smile. The light is changing. Brooke stirs, turns toward me, onto her side. I study her face. There are few soft lines, at the corners of her eyes and mouth that are the merest implication of the beginnings of Brooke’s face in middle age. I will in no way see that face of hers, and I regret it bitterly, the face with which Brooke will go on without me, which will never be kissed by me, which will belong to a world that I won’t know, except as a memory to Brooke’s relegated at last to a explicit past. What will Brooke have when I am gone? How can I ever leave her alone?
I hear Jenny talking in her bed. “Teddy...” says Jenny. “Jenny, are you awake dear? It’s still early, go back to sleep.” Silence. “Daddy?” I watch Brooke, to see if she will wake up. She is still, asleep. “Daddy!” Jenny called again. Carefully I turn, extricate myself from the blanket and get up from the bed. I walk out of our bedroom, down to the hall and into Jenny’s room. She giggles when she sees me. I make a growling noise, and Jenny start laughing. She is sitting up in bed, in the middle of every stuffed animal she has. “Move over, Jen.” Jenny scoots aside and I sit beside her in the bed. She fussily arranges some of the dolls around me. I put my arm around her and lean back and she holds out Mr Teddy to me. “Daddy, he wants to eat chocolates.”
“It’s a little early for chocolates, Mr Teddy. How about some omelettes?”
“Mr Teddy doesn’t want that,” she announces. Jenny makes a face. She does it by squinching together her mouth and eyebrows and nose.
“Shhhh. Mama’s sleeping.”
“Okay,” Jenny whispers, loudly. “Mr Teddy wants cereal.” Brooke groans and starts to wake up in the other room.
“Honey stars?” I cajole. Jenny considers. “With chocolate milk?”
“Okay.”
Jenny climbs onto my back, and we make our way into the kitchen. Brooke is standing sleepily by the sink, watching coffee drip into the pot and then she look at us and smile. “What’s for breakfast, kiddo and of course my darling husband?” she says.
“Cereals!” Jenny screams.
“Mmm. What kind of cereals?
“Honey stars!!”
“Honey stars it is, yum.” Brooke gets out the chocolate milk and honey star cereals box. She sets them on the counter and looks at me. “How about you darling? Omelette?”
“If you’re making it, yeah.” I wonder at Brooke’s efficiency, moving around the kitchen as though she’s Julia Child, as though she’s been doing this for years. She’ll be okay without me, I think as I watch her, but I know that she will not. I watch Jenny waiting for Brooke finish making her breakfast, and I begin to think of Jenny at twelve, at sixteen, at twenty one. It is not nearly enough, yet. I am not done, yet. I want to be here. I want to see them, I want to hug them in my arms, I want to live!
“Daddy’s crying,” Jenny whispers to Brooke.
“That’s’ because of my terrible cooking.” Brooke tells her, and winks at me, and I have to force myself to laugh.
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