Circle in the Sand (12 page)

So I cheated a little. But it was so worth it to make it back here in time to tuck
Ben into bed and spend a few minutes with James and Sophie before their bedtime. It
feels as if I’ve been deployed, when it’s only been two days. I had Ned bring me home
tonight even though the plan was that we’d spend the night and Eric would get me in
the morning. Night time can be chaotic and can drain the last drops of energy from
your already depleted supply. Messes that take too long to clean, jammies suddenly
discovered unwashed, arguments, tummy aches, stall tactics, last-minute drinks. But
the payoff is big time—when the house is quiet and they’re tucked in for the night.
I’ve heard parents say that you love and enjoy your kids most when they’re sleeping,
so peaceful and innocent. So incredibly perfect. For me, it’s more than that. It’s
the moment I know my children are safe. Sleeping is security. We’ve made it through
another day. I can cuddle up next to them and know, in that moment, that nothing can
harm my child.

It wasn’t easy saying goodbye to Jax and Sage this time. My heart ached for more than
one reason. Will it be another two years before we are all together again? We all
swore it wouldn’t. No matter how much time passes, we’ll always be as close as sisters.
Even if it’s not the same as it used to be. Life goes on, people change, and we all
have to accept that. The one thing that won’t change is our memories. Those will last
a lifetime.

I sit on the couch as close as I can possibly get to Eric. I missed his touch, his
smell, the sense of calm I get from being around him. I know women are supposed to
be independent—all that crap about not needing a man to take care of you. But Eric
takes care of me. When we had our scare with James, it was his touch, and even more
so, his eyes, that brought me through it. Those dark Latino eyes never lie to me.
That’s what I love most about him. They tell me when he’s tired or stressed, when
he’s excited, when things will be okay even if I’m not so sure, and they tell me when
he wants me. The last of which is present right now as he delivers an intense silent
gaze to me. After a moment, I grin and then check to see if we can move along this
bedtime process.

James and Sophie are lying on the floor with the dog sandwiched between them on his
back. Fred is being patient with Sophie as she swirls his long floppy ear around her
fingers. It’s what she does instead of petting him. James tries to copy her and she
bats his hand away, telling him not to copy because the dog only likes her to do it.
I watch them and wonder what they’ll be like when they grow up. I want them to be
as close as Ned and I are. Sometimes I reason that the more kids we have, the happier
and safer they’ll all feel. I don’t ever want any of them to be alone. That might
not be the best reason to have kids, but it’s why I had a third. And, why Eric and
I were trying for a fourth.
Were
being the key word. That, and the fact that Eric is one of five kids and has always
wanted a big family.

I turn back to my husband to find him staring at me. I don’t feel sexy in my cotton
shorts, t-shirt, and fifteen extra pounds of baby fat, but he fixes a sultry glare
on my exposed thigh as his hand slides up and down my leg. I guess he missed me, too.
Eric leans in and deposits a soft kiss on my cheek. Then he whispers in my ear, “I’m
getting these kids to bed.” He pulls back as if to summon the energy, inhales deeply
and booms, “All right guys, time for bed.”

“No,” they both protest in unison.

“I can help,” I say with a bogus attempt to get off the couch.

“No,” Eric says. He puts pressure on my legs. “This is still your weekend. Stay put
until I call you. Or,” he leans in to whisper in my ear, “you can go get a little
less
comfortable.”

This is my cue to get out of this loungewear and go find something sexy to put on.
Like many couples, Eric and I always go through a bit of a dry spell after I have
a baby. He’s patient and sweet but reminds me the Latin blood running through his
veins makes it a challenge. This last drought continued longer than the others. It’s
been difficult to find our way back to something that’s not routine—a Saturday night,
let’s-get-this-done type of thing that many couples fall into.

The kids protest a minute longer, but since Daddy has been the boss for the past two
days, they give in. I promise to come in for kisses and tucks as Eric whisks them
away. I could get used to him doing bedtime. When I can tell they are in their rooms,
I dash away into our bedroom. A sense of giddiness enters my belly, and I laugh at
myself. The unexpectedness of how this night is turning out brings me elation. In
the car on the way home, I’d planned to have a serious talk with Eric about our future.
Now, I don’t want to ruin the mood, so I won’t bring up the baby topic.

I slip into a silky white chemise with matching underwear. It’s not as sexy as some
of the numbers I’ve worn in the past, with my pre-baby body. This outfit suits me
for tonight because it covers my tired, lumpy, tummy. I suck in some air and turn
to the side, checking my butt. Stay positive, I tell myself. Don’t compare yourself
to him. Eric stays fit for his job and himself. He’s tan, tall, and thick. The tiny
love handles that poke out on his sides are miniscule—still sexy. Compared to him,
I’m a pile of pale oatmeal. With three kids, I have zero time to exercise. A fourth
will make it impossible.

I pull on my robe to tuck in the kids and manage to keep it short. Eric’s libido is
in high gear now. But if he has to lie on the bed for thirty minutes waiting for me,
all bets are off.

As I enter our bedroom, I am refreshed, energetic. I’ve had my time to decompress.
I hope it will last—that I won’t fall so quickly back into my own private game of
brain pinball. I eye my man who is spread out on the bed, shirtless with a pair of
drawstring shorts on. I decide right then that I will take charge of this moment,
instead of letting him lead the way. I am a woman. I am a wife. Eric’s wife. I close
my eyes and breathe.
Please, for twenty minutes, let me be his wife and not a ragged, out-of-shape, mother
of three
.

I lock the door, turn down the lights. Way down. Then I walk over to the bed and climb
on, resting on my knees right next to him.

“Hey,” he says with a wide set of sparkling teeth. “Missed you.” He reaches up and
tangles his fingers through my hair.

I recognize he’s not just talking about this weekend. “Missed you,” I repeat offering
him my own genuine smile. Usually, the first few minutes of his arrival from work,
I have to remind myself to smile. Sometimes it’s plaster; I’m happy, I’m thankful,
but damn, I get tired. Now, though, this smile is an appreciative one—for the hot,
sexy man that I get to be married to.

I rise up, straddle his hips still wearing my panties and begin a slow passionate
grind on top of him, still wearing his shorts. His face shows that I’ve caught him
off guard, causing me to flush but not stop. Our eyes stay connected as I continue,
and eventually increase, my pace.

I lift the chemise over my head and lower my chest to his; continuing my movement
as I kiss his neck.

“Oh, babe. Yeah, this weekend did you right.” His hands land on my hips and help me
keep the rhythm.

This position of control is where I need to be. I’m not thinking about anything else—not
the kids or my lists, or how my body looks. We both breathe deeper and harder, my
senses becoming more alive with each breath. Soon, I’m content in knowing I’ve worked
him into a proper frenzy. And, then, a cough, somewhere beyond the door. “Kruff kruff.”
I bolt upright and perk an ear, a curious collie surveying the scene. “I think that
was Benny,” I whisper. I look at him in the dim light, enough to see a flash of frustration
on him. “You didn’t tell me Benny had a cough.”

“It’s nothing. Just a residual thing from the virus.” He runs his hands up my bare
back, pulls me back to him. “C’mon, babe.”

I can feel his solidness beneath me, and I don’t want to lose that. I lie there a
moment with my hands on his chest.

“Kruff. Kruff.”

I exhale, defeated.

“Damn.” Eric says, aware I won’t relax unless I check on Ben.

We exchange apologetic looks as I climb off my husband, throw on my robe. In Ben’s
room I touch his sweaty forehead. It’s warm so I take his temperature which is only
slightly above average. I get him a drink. I rub his back until he falls asleep, then
I slink out of the room.

“Where were we?” I say as I close and lock the door behind me, trying to stay positive.

“Right about here.” Eric smiles and draws an imaginary circle around the spot I vacated
on him.

For some reason, I leave my robe on when I slid back on top of him. I may have lost
some of my courage in the other room. Eric slips it down my shoulders. “Off,” he whispers.
He’s never made me feel bad about my body.

I let him take it off, then he tosses it on the floor. His hands find my breasts,
delivering gentle caresses that bring up goose bumps on my skin. I arch into him,
his caresses turning into a full-on grope session that I’m not minding at all.

“Mmm.” I close my eyes as though we’ve got all the time in the world. Then, “click,
click, click,” the doorknob jiggles. My hands shoot to his, still covering my breasts.
Our wide eyes catch each other.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s locked.”

“What if it’s Sophie?” I’m sure my daughter won’t end up doing time for B&E, but she
has developed a nasty habit of picking locks in the house. Nothing can stop her when
she wants something, and usually that something is me.

“Shit,” he whispers. He lifts up on his elbows, sending me tipping to the side like
a bowling pin. I scramble across the bed to reach for the robe that isn’t there. My
hands rummage around until I find my chemise and toss it over my head. The door opens
just as I reach it, flustered and pissed. I glance back at Eric to make sure he’s
covered the important stuff.

“Mommy, the door was locked. I needed you.” Sophie has one hand on her hip, the other
clasping her mimi blanket that should have been retired years ago.

“Sophie, we’ve talked about this.” I try to keep my sexual frustration from dominating
my tone. “You may not open a locked door, sweetie. It’s that way for a reason.”

“Wull, what was the reason?”

“I, uh…Daddy was going to take a shower.” I flinch at the lie. I don’t want to become
that kind of parent. “The reason doesn’t matter. You need to be respectful. Why are
you up?”

“Benny’s coughing woke me up and now my tummy hurts.”

I take her by the hand, lead her back to her room. She runs tiny fingers down my chemise.
“Pretty, Mommy. I want one.” In bed she turns on her tummy and I rub her back. Tummy
aches get back rubs, so I’m betting there’s no coincidence here. We talk about privacy.
I tell her she needs to be able to work through some things without me.

I plod back down the hall, noticing the glow filtering out of our room. Eric is on
the bed, remote in hand, watching news on the sports channel.
All righty, then
. He doesn’t look over as I take the spot on my side of the bed. I have a few choices
here, one of them not being to climb back on top of him for try number three. That’s
too ridiculous. I could wait and see if
he
starts us back up, which would be great for me. Energy levels quickly depleting.
I could try another tactic, like taking my clothes off. Scratch that one. I wait.

I look over at my nightstand, eyeball the rectangular object resting on the top corner,
remembering the last time I’d opened one of those things, read the words inside, and
been magically transported to interesting places with entertaining people. That was
back when I had a little something called free time. As much as I was tempted, now
was probably not the best time to take up reading again. A moment later, the bed shakes.
I look down at my foot and realize it’s me causing it. It’s happening again.
No. Not now.
A quick glance at Eric tells me he hasn’t noticed yet. I cross my legs, but the twitching
continues. My heart begins to beat faster. I think I can hear it, as clearly as the
day I rushed James to the hospital. I’m never able to distinguish if this is a memory,
a flashback, or simply my heart reacting to something causing anxiety to rise up.
After a few fruitless attempts at deep breathing, I swing my legs over the edge. “I
need some water,” I say.

“You okay?” The response is a reflex. Eric has minimal knowledge of my situation—a
couple of random, explainable events as far as he’s concerned. He has yet to discover
anything of my intermittent tendency to come completely unglued, or the haphazard
maintenance program I’ve come to rely on.

“Fine. My throat’s a little scratchy.”

I perform my catwalk to the kitchen, even though the kids are finally out cold. The
damn cat cuts in front of me and I almost trip, sending my heart racing to a new high.
I turn the water on high, glance over my shoulder, then ease the top cupboard open.
The bottle is barely beyond my fingertips, but on my toes I can reach the handle.
I quickly splash some into one of Ben’s sippy cups that was on its side in the sink.
Cleanliness is not a consideration at this moment. The water is still running, providing
my cover for any clanks or splashes. I don’t know whether my stomach is knotted because
of my anxiety or due to the fact that I’m ashamed to be sneaking alcohol. It’s all
very meticulous and practical. And, I would never do anything when my kids are under
my care. But there are times, when I’m aware that I can’t calm myself down. Times
when I must allow myself some assistance. So sometimes it’s a drink; sometimes it’s
half a Vicodin from a leftover prescription that I stashed away in my drawer. Or a
couple of sleeping pills. Other times I can get away with a simple cup of calming
tea. It’s my coping mechanism and for now, it works. During the day, it’s much tougher.
I breathe and bear through it as best I can. I make lists to organize my thoughts.
The lists help me. There have been many times I’ve come close to giving in. Those
are the days that scare me most.