“Did he?” she said, absentmindedly rubbing her stomach. “Of course he did. He told everyone when we found out. Only a couple of weeks ago, when everything made sense because the smart people were going to fix everything. We were going to live. It’s a girl. I don’t know how I know, but I do. I’ve named her Eleanor. Ellie, for short.”
“That’s a lovely name,” Don said, heart heavy. “Have you told John?”
Suddenly, she raised her hand as if to slap him. Her arm cocked back, her eyes narrowed. She even began to swing her arm. Don flinched—of course he did—but the slap never came. Instead, her arm stopped halfway through the arc. Then her face twisted like she was about to burst into tears, arm falling back to her side.
Don took a step away from her, unsure of what she’d do next.
She snapped, “It’s notforhim. It’s mine. It’s for me. You’ll never understand. How could you? You don’t know what it’s like. I’m carrying a child inside me, a girl that’s barely bigger than a berry. And what am I supposed to do with her? What am I supposed to tell her late at night when I can’t sleep? Do I apologize? We put her there. Do I get rid of her? What would be the point?” She bent over once more, hugging herself and coughing. “I’m sorry,” she spat out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
They came back together, Don and Megan. He thought her broken, broken in ways that her husband did not see. She smiled—alovely, genuine smile not made of plastic—when her children shouted for her, running up and hanging on to her legs. She ran a finger through their hair and exclaimed along with them about the stick they had found, a stick that looked like a sword. When they asked why her makeup was running, if she’d been crying, she laughed and said, “Just thinking some Mommy thoughts. Everything is wonderful now.”
Rodney and John stood near the table, a few feet apart. Rodney had that look on his face, the one that said he was about done with people for the day. John’s hands were in his hair.
“Thank you for joining us for a meal,” Rodney said. “It’s time for us to get back on the road.”
“Are you sure?” John asked, dropping his hands. He smiled again. Don had never seen anything quite like it. He thought that if he wanted, he could count all of John’s teeth. “Minnesota. Might be the best place to go.”
“No,” Megan said, her children still clutching her legs. “I don’t want them to come with us.”
“Honey, I think—”
“I will scream,” she told him pleasantly. “I will scream and scream until someone comes over and I will tell them that these men tried to hurt us. They need to leave. I don’t want them near my children.”
Her kids looked up at her with widened eyes.
John looked at Don, a line forming on his forehead. “Did you touch my wife?”
“Okay,” Rodney said firmly. “That’s enough. No one did anything to anyone. We’ll be on our way.”
“Did he touch you?” John demanded. “Did he hurt you? Did he hurt the baby?”
“Children!” Megan cried. “First one back to the car gets to pick the song on the radio!” Without looking back, she pushed herchildren toward the parking lot. Jamie and Lauren protested, but she was stronger than they were.
“I didn’t do anything to her,” Don said. “She’s upset because of— She’s upset.”
John laughed, a bright and broken sound. “I know. Really, really upset. Did I tell you what I do for a living?”
“No,” Rodney said. “You didn’t. But that’s all right. We’ll just—”
“I’m a veterinarian. Love dogs and cats and birds and reptiles. It’s hard, though. Animals die. People coming in with tears in their eyes because their pet is acting weird. Sometimes, things turn out all right. Other times, though. Other times, you have to do the right thing, thekindthing. Veterinarians have some of the highest suicide rates out of any profession. Did you know that? Vets and vets: veterans and veterinarians. Same boat.” He looked back at the van. Megan was turned around in the passenger seat, saying something to the kids. “Phenobarbital. No pain, you just… go right to sleep. I brought some. Enough. Just in case.”
Rodney took a step back, pulling Don with him. “Why do you need it, John?”
He looked at them, but Don thought he was staring right through them both. “I… don’t know. A contingency plan? But I have this thought in my head. If it happens, if the fire comes, I don’t want to burn. I don’t want them to burn. It will hurt. A parent should never let their child feel something like that. And then I ask myself, what would a real man do? A real man wouldn’t let bad things happen. A real man would get in front of the problem. Arealman does the things no one else will do. He’d make it so it doesn’t hurt anymore.” John began to walk toward the parking lot. He didn’t seem to notice he was leaving some of their things behind. A picnic basket. Cups. Uneaten food. He stopped in the grass and looked back over his shoulder at them.
“I’m willing to do whatever I need to.”
And then he walked away. To the van. To his awaiting family. He climbed inside. Looked in the back seat to say something to the kids. Then he leaned over and kissed Megan on the cheek. She didn’t acknowledge it, staring straight ahead.
The van started up. A moment later, the rear lights flashed white as it backed up. The last they saw of the family was the children pressed against the rear window, waving at them.
Don and Rodney waved back, out of habit.
Then they packed up the remains of the lunch and got back on the road.
That night, while parked on a dirt road surrounded by fields, Don listened as Rodney snored next to him. A familiar sound, comforting. He knew it well. Had gotten used to it too, though sometimes, when Rodney was congested, he slept in the spare bedroom to let Don get a good night’s sleep. He was like that. Not to most people, but to Don. Ever since they first met. Over the years, they’d known people who were put off by Rodney. They thought him quiet, too quiet, as if not saying anything was a mark against his character. It wasn’t. Rodney just spoke when he had something to say. No more, no less.
The mattress was uncomfortable, but they’d slept on worse. Once, about a year into their relationship—the newness still there, crackling, exciting—Rodney had taken Don camping up in White Mountain National Forest. And not just the normal type of camping with allotted spaces and facilities within walking distance. Wild camping, Rodney had called it. Legal in parts of Maine. You parked your car and went out into the woods. Rules had to be followed, very strict rules, but Rodney was experienced.