He couldn’t hurt her all over again.
Restless, Gary tossed and turned. The couch springs squeaked. Eventually, he needed to pee. Rather than using the upstairs bathroom and risk waking Susan, he went outside, into the backyard. He pushed his robe aside, fumbled with the fly on his pajamas, and unleashed a stream.
And then he froze.
In the darkness, a pair of shiny little eyes stared back at him. Although he couldn’t see the animal itself, Gary knew what it was—the mother rabbit, looking for her dead children.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
The eyes vanished in the darkness.
He went back inside and lay down on the couch again. Sleep would not come, nor would relief from the pain. It hadn’t been this bad in a while, not since the months immediately following Jack’s death.
Gary stared at the television without seeing.
It was a long time before he slept.
***
That December, when Gary got home from a particularly harrowing day at the office, Susan was in the bedroom, holding the stick from a home pregnancy test. It was the second of the day. She’d taken the first that morning, after he left for work. Both showed positive; a little blue plus sign, simple in its symbolism, yet powerful as well. That tiny plus sign led to joy and happiness—or sometimes—fear and heartbreak.
Susan was ecstatic, and that night, after they’d eaten a romantic, candlelight dinner, and curled up together to watch a movie, and made love, Gary decided that he’d never tell her about Leila. Not now. He couldn’t.
After all, he’d lived with the guilt this long.
He could do it for the rest of his life.
***
According to the obstetrician, (an asthmatic, paunchy man named Doctor Brice) Susan was due in August, within ten days of the anniversary of Jack’s death.
On the way home from Doctor Brice’s office, Susan turned to Gary.
“It’s a sign.”
“What is?”
“My due date. It’s like a sign from God.”
Gary kept silent. He thought it might be the exact opposite.
***
Two years later.
On the second anniversary of their son’s death, with Susan’s due date a little more than a week away, they woke up, dressed solemnly, and prepared to visit Jack’s grave. Susan had picked a floral arrangement the night before, and both of them had taken the day off work.
Once again, the August heat and humidity was insufferable. Gary waded through the thick miasma on his way to start the car (so that the air conditioner would have time to cool the interior before Susan came out). He slipped behind the wheel, put the key in the ignition, and turned it. The car sputtered and then something exploded. There was a horrible screech, followed by a wet thump. The engine hissed, and a brief gust of steam or smoke billowed from beneath the hood.
Cursing, Gary yanked on the hood release and jumped out of the car. He ran around to the front, popped the hood, and raised it. The stench was awful. He stumbled backward. Something wet and red had splattered all over the engine. Tufts of brown and white fur stuck to the metal. A disembodied foot lay on top of the battery.
A rabbit’s foot.
Guess he wasn’t so lucky, Gary thought, biting back a giggle. He was horrified, but at the same time, overwhelmed with the bizarre desire to laugh.
The rabbit must have crawled up into the engine block overnight, perhaps seeking warmth or just looking for a place to nest. When Gary had started the car, the animal most likely panicked and scurried for cover, taking a fatal misstep into the whirring fan blades.
He glanced back down at the severed rabbit’s foot again.
A bunny. Same day. Just like last year. With the lawnmower. He’d run over the nest, and then he’d… with the rock…
Susan tapped him on the shoulder and he nearly screamed. When she saw the mess beneath the hood, she almost did the same.
“What happened?”
“A rabbit. It must have crawled inside last night.”
She recoiled, one hand covering her mouth. “Oh, that’s terrible. The poor thing.”
“Yeah. Let me get this cleaned up and then we’ll go.”
Susan began to sob. Gary went to her, and she sagged against him.
“I’m sorry. It’s just…”
“I know,” Gary consoled her. “I know.”
She pushed away. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Susan—”
Turning, she waddled as quickly as she could back to the house. Gary followed her, heard her retching in the bathroom, and after a moment’s hesitation, knocked gently on the door.
“You okay?”
“No,” she choked. “I don’t think I can go. You’ll go without me?”
“But Susan, I…”
She retched again. Gary closed his eyes.
“Please, Gary? I can’t go. Not like this. One of us has to.”
“You’re right, of course.”
Susan heard the reluctance in his voice.
“Please?”
Gary sighed. “Will you be okay?”
The toilet flushed. “Yes. I just need to rest. Remember to take the flowers.”
“I will. Susan?”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
He heard her running water in the sink.
“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”
***
The graveyard was empty, except for an elderly couple on their way out as Gary arrived. Despite the heat, he’d decided to walk to the cemetery rather than dealing with the mess beneath the hood of his car. By the time he reached Jack’s grave he was drenched in sweat, his clothing soaked.
Panting, he knelt in front of the grave. Droplets of perspiration ran into his eyes, stinging them. His vision blurred, and then the tears began. They were false tears, crocodile tears, tears of sweat and exertion, rather than grief. Oh, the grief was there. Gary was overwhelmed with grief. Grief was a big lump that sat in his throat. But still, the real tears would not come.
But the memories did.
When he glanced up at the water tower, the memories came full force.
Grief turned to guilt.
“I mean it, Gary. I’m telling Susan.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
Leila’s smile was tight-lipped, almost a grimace. “I’ve got her email address.”
Gary paused. Felt fear. “You’re lying.”
“Try me.” Now her smile was genuine again, if cruel. “I looked it up on the internet. From her company’s website.”
Gary sighed. “Why? Why do this to me?”
“Because I’m sick of your bullshit. You said you loved me. You said you’d leave her—”
“I’ve told you, it’s not that simple. I’ve got to think about Jack.”
“She can’t take Jack from you. You’re his father. You’ve got rights.”
“I can’t take that chance. Damn it, Leila, we’ve been through this a million times. I love you, but I—”
“You’re a fucking liar, Gary! Just stop it. If you loved me, you’d tell her.”
“I do love you.”
“Then do it. Tell her. If you don’t have the balls to, I will.”
“Are you threatening me? You gonna blackmail me into continuing this? Is that it?”
“If I have to.”
Gary wasn’t sure what happened next. They’d been naked, sitting side by side on the blanket, their fluids drying on each other’s body, the water tower’s shadow protecting them from the warm afternoon sun, hiding their illicit tryst. He wasn’t aware that he was straddling Leila until his hands curled around her throat.
Choking, she lashed out at him. Her long, red fingernails raked across his naked chest. Flailing blindly, his hand closed around the rock. He raised it over his head and Leila’s eyes grew large.
“Gary…”