Falling (19 page)

“You don't think it's over, then?” It is the first time all day that Emma has allowed herself even a glimmer of hope.

“I don't know. But neither do you. And you won't know until you've spoken to him.”

Emma is quiet for a long time. She stares at the woman, and notices for the first time, beneath her designer labels and big jewelry, what she hadn't noticed before: a kindness in her eyes. And more than that, she notices that the woman meets her gaze directly, that she is paying attention, seeing Emma, and listening. Emma takes a deep breath. Perhaps she should have guessed that this woman would surprise her when she noticed the sneakers on her feet. “You're right,” says Emma. “Thank you.” Then she hesitates. “You're not going to write about this, are you?”

“I probably will,” says Cece. “But not in a way where anything about you would be recognizable. What if I were to describe you as a delightful South African lady I met downtown who had recently moved to Rye? Would that be all right with you?”

“It would be fine,” says Emma, smiling.

She leaves with Cece's business card and a promise to read her blog and get in touch. Next time Emma's in the city, says Cece, she will take her out for lunch.

The simple human connection she's made with someone older and wiser has lifted her spirits. When Emma finally settles herself on the train heading back to Connecticut, she pulls out her phone and turns it back on with her heart pounding, praying for something from Dominic.

And there she finds what she's praying for.

Text after text after text. Asking where she is. Apologizing. Telling her he wants to explain. Asking her to call him as soon as she can.

D
ominic has not experienced serious anxiety for a very long time. The last time he found himself tensing up on a regular basis was when he was dating Stacy. She was pregnant, still drinking, not looking after herself, doing things he was convinced would hurt the baby.

He wanted to marry her back then. She was so exciting, so vibrant. They made a great-looking couple; they were such an
obvious
couple: the childhood classmates who would live happily ever after. It was hard for him to see any other outcome, any other path to walk along for the rest of his life.

And yet there was so much that wasn't working in their relationship. Her drinking, for starters. Could he really picture himself with a woman who was so careless about alcohol? If she were sober, if she could
get
sober, he knew they could make it work. If she calmed
down, learned to control her explosive temper, didn't pick fights while under the influence, they could make it work.

There were at least two Stacys, he'd learned. Sober Stacy was sweet, funny, huge fun. Drunk Stacy was mean and angry and belittled him in front of anyone who would listen.

On the nights they didn't go out, she would curl into him on the sofa as they watched movies; she was playful, affectionate, and he would wrap his arms around her, imagining the family they would have. They had great conversations back then. Where they would live? Saugatuck? The beach? In their fantasy world, on Beachside Avenue. They discussed how many children they would have. (Two. A boy and a girl: Jesse and Sophia.) And what pets they would have. (A German shepherd for their son, and a cat for their daughter.) It all seemed so perfect. Too perfect to be real.

Every time Dominic relaxed, hoping this was the end of the madness, praying she wouldn't drink again, just as she had promised during those loving, sober moments, he would be disappointed.

Over time, the more frequently she drank, the nastier she became. She told him he was pointless, clumsy, and stupid. She didn't love him; he was a loser who was never going to do anything with his life. She said she hated him, she deserved better, she was only with him because she pitied him.

Dominic knew she didn't mean it, but the words hurt. The longer they were together, the more damage they did. And in time, he started to believe he was as worthless as she told him he was. All the lessons he had learned during his first bad relationship, the one in which he came close to physical violence, his decision to live mindfully, to make the right choices, went out the window.

Then Stacy got pregnant. It was an accident; she was using a
sponge as contraception, and neither of them knew why or how it had failed. But once it happened, at first it seemed to be a wake-up call for Stacy and he was convinced things would change. She cut down on her drinking, which gave him hope. But she didn't stop entirely, and before long he realized his belief that things would get better was just wishful thinking. Before too long, if anything, she became even more abusive. He had trapped her, she would insist; he was manipulative; he had somehow orchestrated the pregnancy in order to control her.

His anxiety grew throughout her pregnancy; he was so worried her behavior was going to damage the baby. She stopped coming home entirely toward the end of it. She would tell him she was staying at Tanya's, or Lisa's, and he would call, or drop by with her prenatal vitamins, and be told that she had just run out to get something from the gas station, or that she was staying there but hadn't arrived, or that she had decided to stay with another friend in Fairfield.

Dominic grew tired, exhausted not just by Stacy's antics but by his fears about the baby. That was all he could think about. As long as the baby was okay, nothing else mattered.

When Jesse emerged, he was perfect. His Apgar score was a perfect ten. Dominic couldn't believe not only his relief but the pure joy he felt when he first held his son in his arms.

He also assumed that having the baby would force Stacy to grow up. But she didn't care. She barely looked at Jesse when he was born. Once they got home, she went through the motions of mothering an infant, but it was obvious to everyone that she didn't attach to her baby. When Jesse woke crying in the night, it was Dominic who went to him. Always. Stacy didn't breast-feed. Dominic was the one who sterilized the bottles, warmed the formula, changed the baby, rocked him to sleep, worried when he cried.

One night, Stacy disappeared. She took everything that was hers and sneaked out in the middle of the night. No note. No explanation. Dominic didn't know whether to be devastated or relieved.

In some ways, it was easier. Having a relationship with Stacy was like having two children to take care of. He was constantly worried, angry, or scared. More than anything, he was terrified of what she might do to the baby. She had hit him only once, when drunk, but he knew it wouldn't be the last time. The thought of her raising a drunken hand to their son kept him awake at night, and he knew then he had to protect Jesse, could never leave him alone with her if she had been drinking.

When she finally left, he was relieved, although the thought of raising Jesse to adulthood as a single parent, of being the only body in the house, was equally terrifying.

He knew then he would never live on anyone else's terms. That he would never again tolerate behavior that was fueled by rage, or alcohol, that he would never put his son, or himself, in that position again.

He had too much respect for himself. And he was able to make a choice. He would never make the wrong one again.

Relieved as he was that Stacy had gone, as he settled into daily life with his infant, he kept thinking that she would get in touch. Jesse was her child. He could understand her walking away from
him
, but her own flesh and blood? He knew that she would have to eventually return.

But as time went on, and she didn't reappear, and he didn't hear a word from her, he began to wonder. He tried to find her, for Jesse's sake, always aware that Jesse was equal parts of both of them. That was when he discovered how completely she had vanished. Her parents didn't know where she was. Even her best friends claimed not to. He started searching on the Internet and couldn't find a trace of
her anywhere. At one point, he considered hiring a private investigator to find her. But he really didn't have the money. And then he started to be honest with himself, and admit that while he felt obliged to look for her, he didn't really want to find her.

By the time Jesse was three, he started to ask about his mother. By then, he had noticed that most other kids had moms and he was the only one with a daddy and no mommy. Dominic explained that she had to leave, but it didn't mean she didn't love him, that one day she would be back to see the gorgeous son they had created.

As the years went by, he occasionally heard rumors that she had returned for a visit. Someone would say she had been spotted in town, or that a friend of a friend had talked to her. But he never believed that she could come back to town and not want to see her son. So it was easy for him to dismiss the rumors. The Fat Hen had been her hangout. Mario's. The Black Duck. If she was in town, surely he would have run into her somewhere.

And after all these years, finally seeing her felt as if someone had taken a knife to his heart and twisted it. How could she be back in town and have made no attempt to reconnect with her son?

And what about Emma? He knew his reaction had rattled her, knew he needed to reassure her. He also knew that if he opened his mouth to speak, all that would come out would be a howl of pain. His perfect, wondrous little boy. How could Stacy not want to see him, to know him? She doesn't know he has her crooked smile and long fingers. How could she have abandoned her son the way she has?

This morning he couldn't wait to get to Sophie's to pick Jesse up from his sleepover. He lifted him up and held him close, squeezing him hard, kissing him all over.

“Dad!” Jesse wriggled out of his clasp, insisted on being put down, immediately running off toward the car, giggling. “Get off me.”

Dominic couldn't stop looking at him as they drove home. His beautiful boy. With a mother who didn't want anything to do with him. How could she be here and not want to see who her son had grown up to be?

And so he has spent the afternoon on the phone. He has asked everyone he can think of where Stacy is. He has settled Jesse in with a sitter and driven to the Commuter Coffee Shop, Dunville's, AJ's hardware store, the Fat Hen to ask if anyone has seen her. He has been to the Black Duck, and finally, he goes home. He may not be able to find Stacy, but he does know where to find Emma. If nothing else, she will make him feel better. She always does. Emma, who is so good for him. So good for Jesse. So good.

He had texted her that morning, eager to explain why he'd been so preoccupied and upset, longing to make things right. He'd had a terrible night's sleep. Last night he'd gone through the box that was stored at the back of the closet, the box that contained all the old photos of him and Stacy. They were both different people back then, he'd realized, as he stared at the images. Different people living a different life.

He thought he had said good-bye to Stacy long ago, but seeing her brought back memories he'd buried, and pain he hadn't felt in years. And the only person who might be able to make him feel better wasn't around. Where
was
Emma? He had gone over there this morning, but the house was empty. It was only then that he realized how his behavior the night before must have seemed to Emma, especially right after the conversation they had just had in the restaurant before they saw Stacy out the window.

He texted her multiple times but got no response. Had he screwed things up? She couldn't have done a runner—her things were still everywhere—but why else would she have disappeared? Why else would she have ignored his texts and messages all day?

And his anxiety, the kind he hadn't felt for so many years, came roaring back. That terrible, heart-jumping, unsettled feeling, when you know that something in your life is terribly wrong, or about to go terribly wrong, and you don't know how you're going to fix it.

He loves Emma. He doesn't want to screw this up. He should have spoken to her last night; he realizes that now. But he'd been too blown away by seeing Stacy standing there in the middle of town, laughing like she hadn't a care in the world. He'd been too upset, his mind racing with everything Stacy's return could mean, his thoughts a jumble, his emotions so in turmoil he doesn't even remember the drive home from the restaurant now. He doesn't even remember the last thing he said to Emma.

But he does know Emma is the person he is supposed to be with. Not Stacy. Never Stacy. Or indeed any of the dramatic, volatile, unpredictable women he had dated before Emma.

She has brought a peace and calm to his life he hadn't known was possible. She makes him feel good. More than good,
loved
. It has taken him forty years to understand what it is to be loved. Now that he has found it, he can't lose it.

But now he can't find her.

Where
is
she? He checks his phone once again to see if she has responded to his texts, and when there is nothing there, his chest tightens; the pain only gets worse as the day goes on. He feels like he is barely able to breathe by the time he hears a car pull up next door. He jumps up and dashes out the door, certain Emma has finally returned; she would never just leave like that, never just walk out like Stacy . . . With a jolt he realizes it is not Emma's car he sees, but a white Suburban. The same white Suburban he saw last night. Outside the restaurant. His heart stops.

Stacy gets out of the car and stands beside it, looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Dominic just stares, not
knowing what to say. He may have spent the day looking for her, but he never expected her to come looking for him.

“Hey,” she says softly, slowly approaching. “Remember me?”

Dominic doesn't take his eyes off her until she is standing in front of him.

“You look good,” she says, with the crooked smile that is so familiar to him, it is almost heartbreaking. “It's been a while.”

“Over six years,” he says, after a pause.

“But who's counting.” Stacy seems awkward.

Dominic just looks at her.

“Can we talk?” she says.

“Sure.” He is staring at her intently now, trying to see if she will meet his gaze. “What do you have to say?”

“Can we maybe go inside?”

Jesse is still inside with the babysitter. It's the last place Dominic wants to go.

“We can go for a walk,” he says. Stacy nods, and the two of them turn to set off toward the beach.

“I'm sorry,” Stacy begins. “I should have said it years ago, but I didn't know how. I didn't know anything. I am sorry I abandoned both of you in the way that I did.”

Dominic spent years imagining these very words coming from her mouth, but now that he is actually hearing them, he is stunned. He doesn't feel the relief he sometimes thought he would feel; he feels . . . confused. Angry. Conflicted.

“I know it doesn't help or make it better. I was not in a good place, and it has taken me a very long time to get to a good place. I really wish I could turn back the clock, and do things differently, but . . .” She trails off. “Dominic, I can't do anything other than apologize and try to show you that I've changed.”

Show me?
he thinks.
How is she going to show me? And what makes her think I even care? Saying she's sorry doesn't change anything.
He's too pissed off to respond to her. They walk in silence until Stacy speaks again.

“What's Jesse like?” she says.

Dominic stops walking and turns to her with a spark of anger in his eyes. “I don't know what you want me to say. You've been gone for six goddamn years and now you come back and want to know what your son is like? If you'd stuck around, you would know. If you'd made any attempt to get in touch with him in the past half dozen years, you would know.”