The moon reflected off the white column of the Cape Cod lighthouse, dancing along the solitary landmark in a turbulent painted ocean, the ship’s captain caught in a perpetual battle to reach solid ground. The pillar glowed in the dark, almost like it was meant to be a beacon for her too. Nora lay in the dark bedroom, her heart heavy, her worries a burden she could barely hold. Sarah had stayed in her room, resolute. The more Nora tried to figure out what was upsetting her daughter so much, the further she got from an answer.
Nora missed her husband. Missed the partner she used to have. The friendship. The beach house bed seemed cold and empty, a vast cotton iceberg without Ben beside her. Even though it had been two years since they had shared a bed, she’d never gotten used to the empty space.
Nora picked up her phone, swiped across the screen, and opened the photos app. She scrolled back, two, three, four years. And there, in those photos of their trip to Disney World, the weekend camping trips, the afternoons spent on Wollaston Beach, was the life she used to have. Ben, hoisting each of the kids onto his broad shoulders, a trio of wide smiles reflecting in Nora’s camera lens.
She switched to the messages app, sliding her finger down until she got to Ben’s name. Nora, talk to me, he’d written earlier today.
Her finger hovered over the Reply button. Three little dots popped up in a pale gray bubble, meaning Ben was awake now, too, and typing another message. She waited, her heart in her throat, both aching for his words and dreading them. They had lost what they once had, and like the house, she didn’t see any way to get it back.
I can’t sleep without you here.
She thought of Ben alone in that big house, empty of the voices of the children, of the dinners and squabbles over toys and TV channels. Her heart ached, and the space in the bed seemed to quadruple. Me neither, she wrote.
His response was immediate. You’re up? Can we talk?
Before she could type yes, her phone was ringing and Ben’s face was on her screen. It was one of her favorite pictures of him, from three years ago, before it all started going south. He’d been sitting across from her at dinner, and she’d raised her camera to take his picture. He’d smiled, one of those soft, intimate smiles that seemed meant only for her.
She pressed the green button and put the phone to her ear. “Hey.”
“Hey.” The word had a hint of surprise in it, as if he wasn’t sure she’d answer. “How are you and the kids?”
“We’re good. They’re having a great time.” She didn’t mention the dog. Didn’t tell him about everything going on with Sarah. Maybe because a part of her didn’t want Ben to know she couldn’t handle this on her own. That she was screwing up and was as beleaguered as the captain in the painting. Only she didn’t have a lighthouse to tell her which way to go, how to fix this deepening mess. And as much as she wished she could depend on Ben—and ever since he’d gotten out of rehab he’d been insisting that she could—Nora’s trust for her husband still hovered in the negative digits.
“I’m glad.”
She pressed the phone tighter to her ear, wanting him to say those words—I can’t sleep without you here—one more time. Because here, in the dark alone, with the world crashing down on her, she needed him. Needed them to be a team again. She didn’t care about the debts or the divorce. She would open up to him and tell him what had happened that morning, and maybe they could get back to where they used to be. She missed him. Missed them. Just for a minute, maybe they could…pretend. “Ben—”
“We need to talk about how we’re going to divide things up.” He cleared his throat, and the softness disappeared from his voice. “I think we can do this amicably, Nora. Then there’s not as much disruption for the kids.”
Divide things up. Do this amicably. She blinked away tears. “I, uh, thought you didn’t want to get divorced.”
“I’ve been thinking about it since you left, and I think you’re right. We’ve grown apart, Nora. And the best thing to do is split up what little we have and go our separate ways.”
She’d been angry when she said it, frustrated, sure that nothing could ever return to what it once had been. Across from her, the lighthouse stood against the storm, solid and immovable. She’d once thought she was like that lighthouse, the one her family, her kids, could rely on to be strong, but now she was like a swing on a frayed rope. One gust of wind away from falling apart. “But I thought…your message said you were lonely in the house without me.”
She hated the vulnerability in her voice. The fear.
“Insomnia isn’t a reason to save a marriage.” His words were cold, as harsh as the ones she had thrown at him the day she walked out the door.
“You’re right. It isn’t.” The tears brimmed and then spilled, sliding down her cheeks. She drew in a breath, forcing the sorrow out of her voice. She refused to let any more weakness show or to be the one who crumpled. “I’ll, uh, write up a list of the furniture and stuff I’d like to keep, and you do the same. If there’s anything we disagree about, I’m sure we can find an equitable solution.”
“Good.” Silence filled the space between them for a moment. Then Ben cleared his throat again. “And, Nora, one other thing—”
“Yeah?” Hope still fluttered in her chest, damn it.
“I’d like to pick the kids up on Halloween and take them trick-or-treating here. That way they can have one more Halloween in this neighborhood.”
She wanted to believe in him. Wanted to trust that he would show up, that he wouldn’t let the kids down. Again. But years of disappointment said otherwise. “That would be great,” Nora said, a part of her angry at that little flutter of hope. Why had she been stupid enough to wish for a happy ending in a story that had already finished? “If you actually do it.”
“Damn it, Nora, I’m trying here. I know I haven’t been the most involved father,” he said. “I’ve let work and my own issues get in the way of being there for you, for the kids. But I want you to know that I will be totally hands-on whenever I have custody, and if you ever need anything, I’m just a phone call away.”
I need you now, she thought, but you’re already on the other side of my world. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then she said goodbye and shut off her phone. She lay in the dark, staring at that lighthouse until her tears blurred the image.