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Chapter Nine - I Hit a Nerve

"How long has she been gone?"

"Who?"

"Your wife."

"How do you know I was married?"

"Your ring finger still has a line where your band was."

I stared at my empty wine glass. The radio interruption had shaken me up. As I returned to my seat, Rosie glanced at me, but she didn't say a word. We had finished our dinner in silence, but now that the plates were clear, she had started up again.

"Two and a half years ago," I admitted.

"Was she sick?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Rosie stood up and I figured that would be the end of it. How stupid I was. She disappeared in the back and returned with the wine bottle. She filled up both of our glasses and sat back down again, setting the bottle loudly down on the tabletop.

"I didn't want to talk about it either when my mom and stepdad died," she admitted. "But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't pretend it didn't happen."

I knew she was giving me an opening to ask her what happened to her parents, but I didn't bite. She took a sip of wine and leaned back. I saw her fingers wiggle on her casted arm.

"My stepdad took my mom on a week-long vacation at sea. The boat got caught in some bad weather on their way back and they didn't have time to find port. The high winds tore the boat apart and they were pushed into a shallow, rocky area. I was in gym class when I got called to the principal's office. I remember from that day forward I never thought that he was my 'pal.'"

"That's tragic," I said softly. "How old were you again?"

"Seven."

"And you still live here," I said. She seemed confused as I took a sip of wine.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well this whole place is water and boats and--"

"It was a freak accident. I didn't understand that at the time, but Uncle Tito kept telling me in his own little ways that nature is wild and unpredictable. Besides, if you become suffocated by fear, you forget to live. Mom and dad loved this place. I feel close to them out in the water."

"But it's not fair," I argued.

"It depends. Don't you think God has a greater purpose?" she asked. She brought her wine glass to her lips.

"You sound just like one of my closest friends," I scowled. She took a sip and swallowed quickly.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, but..." I trailed off and took a deep breath. "What greater purpose could God have for taking a mother and her unborn child?" I whispered.

The words lingered in the air; I couldn't believe I had said them aloud. We both took another sip of wine.

"How far along was she?" Rosie whispered.

"Not quite four months."

"Your first?"

"Yes."

"How'd they die?"

I didn't want to answer. I felt as if talking about it would be like pouring salt in the wound that refused to heal. Unbiddingly the image from the television came to mind. I pressed my fingers to my forehead.

"Plane crash," I mumbled. "It wasn't that bad. Only five people died. No, six. Our baby. Six."

"Were you on the plane?"

I shook my head. I brushed my fingers down from my forehead to my eyes, flicking away the moisture that gathered there. "I was in London."

"She was coming to see you," Rosie guessed. I nodded.

"So you've been like this for over two years?" she asked.

I was nearing the bottom of my glass again. "What do you mean?"

"You've got bags under your eyes, you never smile, you're uncomfortable being around people...you've been acting like the living dead for more than two years?"

"What are you, a psychologist?"

She laughed. She actually laughed. "No, I didn't go to college. Me and school didn't mix. I'm just observant."

I pushed my glass away. "Well, I appreciate the meal, but I've got to go."

"I hit a nerve," she surmised.

"No," I snapped. "I just...I'm tired."

Rosie stood and reached for the plates. I ran my hand along my neck. "Thank you for dinner."

"You caught most of it," she said lightly. "The least I could do was fix it. By the way, I hope you sleep tonight. It looks like you need it."

My sneakered feet slid towards the kitchen door. "T--thanks," I sputtered. Before she followed me, I made fast tracks out through the side door and back out into the evening air. As luck would have it, the first thing I heard was a low-flying plane directly overhead. I croutched down, my hands digging into the loose earth. I clenched my teeth and spit.

The wine had loosened my tongue. I hadn't wanted that...that...girl to know anything about me. I felt vulnerable. Too vulnerable.

I slowly stood up and made my way back to the boat. A couple girls were partying a couple doors down, bedeckled in mardi gras beads. They yelled an invitation for me to join them, but I ignored it. I quickly headed below deck, not willing or even able to listen to another night of waves crashing against the sides of the boat.

It had been a long time since I had tried to lie in an actual bed. I turned on my small television and waited for the local channels to program themselves into the receiver box. After this was done, I found an old episode of Friends and watched the movement without really comprehending the plot. The only thing that kept drawing me back was the sound of the laugh track.

My body sunk deeper into the mattress and I spread out my legs. I used my right foot to kick off my left shoe and then repeated the action. I sighed.

The whole day had put me off kilter. I hadn't labored over every single minute. My body had actually gotten exercise. My stomach was full of good food and drink.

And, as much as I hated myself for thinking it, the company hadn't been half bad either.