Verity

Even at the height of day, when the sun is keeping watch over this part of the world, it still feels eerie inside this house. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon. Jeremy is working on the dock again, and Crew is playing near him in the sand.

An unsettling energy buzzes throughout the house. It’s always here, and I can’t seem to shake it. It seems to be getting worse at night, nocturnal and intense. I’m sure it’s mostly in my head, but that doesn’t put me at ease, because the things lurking around inside the mind can be just as dangerous as tangible threats.

I woke up last night to use the restroom. I thought I heard a noise in the hallway—footsteps lighter than Jeremy’s and heavier than Crew’s. Then, shortly after, it sounded as though the stairs were creaking, one at a time, as if someone were creeping up them with a deliberately light foot. It took me a while to go to sleep after that because in a house this size, noises are inevitable. And with the imagination of a writer, every noise becomes a threat.

My head jerks toward the office door. I’m jumpy, even now, and all I hear is April in the kitchen talking to someone. She uses the same calming tone when she speaks to Verity, like she’s trying to coax her back to life. I’ve never heard Jeremy speak to his wife. But he did admit to being angry at her. Does he still love her? Does he sit in her room and tell her how much he misses the sound of her voice? That seems like something he would do. Or would have done. But now?

He cares for her, helps feed her sometimes, but I’ve never actually seen him speak directly to her. It makes me wonder if he doesn’t believe she’s in there at all anymore. As if the person he cares for is no longer his wife.

Maybe he’s able to separate his anger and disappointment toward Verity from the woman he cares for, because he no longer feels they’re the same person.

I go to the kitchen because I’m hungry, but also because I’m curious to watch April as she interacts with Verity. I’m curious to see if Verity has any sort of physical response to her interaction.

April is seated at the table with Verity’s lunch. I open the refrigerator and watch as she feeds her. Verity’s jaw moves back and forth, almost robotically, after April feeds her a spoonful of mashed potatoes. It’s always soft foods. Mashed potatoes, apple sauce, blended vegetables. Hospital foods, bland and easy to ingest. I grab a cup of Crew’s pudding and then sit at the table with April and Verity. April acknowledges me with a fleeting glance and a nod, but nothing else.

After eating a few bites of the pudding, I decide to try making small talk with this woman who refuses to interact with me.

“How long have you been a nurse?”

April pulls the spoon out of Verity’s mouth and dips it back into the potatoes. “Long enough to be in the single-digit countdown to retirement.”

“Nice.”

“You’re my favorite patient, though,” April says to Verity. “By far.”

She’s directing her answers at Verity, even though I’m the one asking the questions.

“How long have you worked with Verity?”

Again, April answers toward Verity. “How long have we been doing this now?” she asks, as if Verity is going to answer her. “Four weeks?” She looks at me. “Yeah, I was officially hired about four weeks ago.”

“Did you know the family? Before Verity’s accident?”

“No.” April wipes Verity’s mouth and then places the tray of food on the table. “Can I speak with you for a moment?” She nudges her head toward the hallway.

I pause, wondering why we need to leave the kitchen in order for her to have a conversation with me. I stand up, though, and follow her out. I lean against the wall and spoon another bite of pudding into my mouth as April shoves her hands into the pockets of her scrub top.

“I don’t expect you to know this, especially if you’ve never been around someone in Verity’s condition. But it’s not respectful to discuss people like her as though they aren’t right in front of you.”

I’m gripping my spoon, about to pull it out of my mouth. I pause for a moment, then shove the spoon back into the pudding cup. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that’s what I was doing.”

“It’s easy to do, especially if you believe the person can’t acknowledge you. Verity’s brain doesn’t process like it used to, obviously, but we don’t know how much she does process. Just watch how you word things in her presence.”

I stand up straight, pulling away from my casual position against the wall. I had no idea I was being insulting.

“Of course,” I say, nodding.

April smiles, and it’s actually genuine for once.

Luckily, our awkward moment ends thanks to Crew. He runs through the back door, cupping something in his hands. He rushes between me and April, into the kitchen. April follows him.

“Mom,” Crew says, excitedly. “Mom, Mom, I found a turtle.”

He stands in front of her, holding the turtle up for her to see. He runs his fingers over its shell. “Mom, look at him.” He’s holding it up higher now, trying to get Verity to make eye contact with the turtle. Of course she doesn’t. He’s only five, so he probably can’t even process all the reasons she can no longer speak to him or look at him or react to his excitement. I immediately hurt for him, knowing he’s probably still waiting for her to fully recover.

“Crew,” I say, walking over to him. “Let me see your turtle.”

He turns and holds it up for me. “He’s not a snapping turtle. Daddy said those kind have marks on their necks.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s really awesome. Let’s go outside and find something to put him in.”

Crew jumps with excitement, then brushes past me. I follow him out of the house and help him search around the property until he finds an old red bucket to put him in. Then Crew plops down on the grass and brings the bucket onto his lap.

I sit down next to him, partly because I’m starting to feel really bad for this kid, but also because we have a clear view of Jeremy from this spot in the yard as he works on the dock.

“Daddy said I can’t have another turtle because I killed my last turtle.”

I swing my head toward Crew.

“You killed him? How did you kill him?”

“Lost him in the house,” he says. “Mommy found him under her couch and he was dead.”

Oh. Okay. My mind was going somewhere much more sinister with that. For a second, I thought he’d murdered the turtle intentionally.

“We could let him go right here in the grass,” I tell him. “That way you can watch and see which direction he crawls. He might lead you to his secret turtle family.”

Crew picks him up out of the bucket. “Do you think he has a wife?”

“He might.”

“He could have babies, too.”

“He could.”

Crew puts him down in the grass, but naturally, the turtle is too scared to move. We watch him for a while, waiting for him to come out of his shell. I can see Jeremy approaching out of the corner of my eye. When he’s closer, I look up at him, shielding the sun from my eyes with my hand.

“What’d you two find?”

“A turtle,” Crew says. “Don’t worry, I’m not keeping him.”

Jeremy shoots me an appreciative smile. Then he sits down next to Crew in the grass. Crew scoots closer to him, but when he grabs Jeremy’s arm, Crew pulls away. “Gross. You’re sweaty.”

He is sweaty, but I don’t really think it’s gross.

Crew pushes off the grass. “I’m hungry. You promised we could go out to eat tonight. We haven’t been to a restaurant in years.”

Jeremy laughs. “Years? It’s only been one week since I took you to McDonald’s.”

Crew says, “Yeah, but we used to go out to eat all the time before my sisters died.”

I watch Jeremy’s shoulders tense with that comment. He said himself that Crew hasn’t mentioned the girls since they died, so this moment feels significant.

Jeremy breathes deeply and then pats Crew on the back. “You’re right. Go wash your hands and get ready. We’ll need to be back before April leaves tonight.”

Crew rushes toward the house, forgetting all about the turtle. Jeremy watches him for a while, his eyes full of thoughts. Then he stands up and reaches out a hand to help me up. “Wanna come?” he asks.

He’s asking me to a friendly dinner with his child, but my wistful heart responds like I was just asked out on a date. I smile as I brush off the backs of my jeans. “I’d love that.”

•••

I haven’t had a reason to make an effort with my physical appearance since I arrived at Jeremy’s house. Even though I still didn’t make much of an effort before we left, Jeremy must have noticed the mascara, the lip gloss, and the fact that my hair is down for the first time. When we arrived at the restaurant and he was holding the door for me, he said quietly, “You look really nice.”

His compliment settled in my stomach, and I can still feel it, even though we’re finished eating. Crew is sitting on the same side of the booth as Jeremy. He’s been telling jokes since he finished eating his dessert.

“I have another one,” Crew says. “What is E.T. short for?”

Jeremy doesn’t attempt to answer Crew’s jokes because he says he’s heard them a million times. I smile at Crew and pretend I don’t know the answer.

“Because he has little legs,” Crew says, falling back into his seat with laughter. His reaction to his own jokes make me laugh more than the jokes themselves.

And then, “Why don’t they play poker in the jungle?”

“I don’t know, why?” I say.

“Too many cheetahs!”

I don’t know that I’ve stopped laughing since he started telling us jokes.

“Your turn,” Crew says.

“Mine?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s your turn to tell a joke.”

Oh, God. I’m feeling pressure from a five-year-old. “Okay, let me think.” A few seconds later, I snap my fingers. “Okay, I’ve got one. What is green, fuzzy, and if it fell out of a tree, it could kill you?”

Crew leans forward with his chin in his hands. “Ummmm. I don’t know.”

“A fuzzy green piano.”

Crew doesn’t laugh at my joke. Neither does Jeremy. At first.

Then, a few seconds later, Jeremy releases a burst of laughter that makes me smile.

“I don’t get it,” Crew says.

Jeremy is still laughing, shaking his head.

Crew looks up at Jeremy. “How is that funny?”

Jeremy puts his arm around Crew. “It’s not,” he says. “It’s funny because it’s not funny.”

Crew looks at me. “That’s not how jokes are supposed to work.”

“Okay, I have another one,” I say. “What’s red and shaped like a bucket?”

Crew shrugs.

“A blue bucket painted red.”

Jeremy squeezes his jaw, trying to hold back his laughter. Seeing him laugh is probably the best thing that’s happened since I showed up here.

Crew scrunches up his nose. “You aren’t very good at telling jokes.”Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“Come on. Those were so funny.”

Crew shakes his head, disappointed. “I hope you don’t try to make jokes in your books.”

Jeremy leans back in his seat and grips his side, trying to hold back his laughter as the waitress approaches with the check. Jeremy takes it from her. “My treat,” he manages to say.

When we return to the house, Crew makes it inside before we do. “Run upstairs and let April know we’re back,” Jeremy calls after him.

Jeremy closes the door that leads into the garage, and we both pause before moving farther into the house. We’re tucked away into an unlit corner near the stairs, but a stream of light from the kitchen streaks across his face.

“Thank you for dinner. That was fun.”

Jeremy pulls off his jacket. “It was.” He’s smiling as he hangs his jacket on a coat rack next to the door. He looks different tonight, like he’s less weighed down by his life than he usually is. “I should get Crew out more often.”

I nod in agreement, slipping my hands into my back pockets. The next few seconds fill with thick silence. It almost feels like that moment at the end of real dates when you can’t decide between a kiss or a hug.

Of course, neither would be appropriate in this case because it wasn’t a date.

Why did it feel like one?

Our eye contact is broken when Crew begins to descend the stairs. Jeremy’s gaze diverts to his feet for a moment, but before he walks away, I see him release a quick breath, as if Crew interrupted something Jeremy was about to regret. Something I’m not sure I would have regretted.

I sigh heavily and then go straight to Verity’s office and close the door. I need to distract myself. I feel an emptiness—an ache in my stomach that I don’t think is going to go away. Like I need more moments with him. Moments I can’t get. Moments I shouldn’t get.

I flip through the pages of Verity’s manuscript, hoping to find an intimate scene with Jeremy.

I’m not sure what kind of person that makes me in this moment, because reading this is wrong on so many levels, but it isn’t as wrong as crossing that line with him physically would be.

I can’t have him in real life, but I can learn what he’s like in bed to aid in all my fantasies I’m probably going to have about him.