Morning Glory(12)

We both look up when we notice Collin, hard at work on his boat in the distance. He’s using a hand tool to hone the wood on the hull. I can almost see the boat in its finished form, with its glistening teak and mast with puffy white sails. How I’d love to sail away. To feel the wind on my face. To be free. But Dex would never leave his beloved Seattle; I know that. The city is his muse.

I watch Collin work. His muscles flex and ripple as his arms move up and down the hull with expert precision. He’s taken off his shirt now, and his tan skin glistens in the morning sun. For a moment I forget that Naomi is standing beside me, but then I feel her eyes on me.

“So I take it you’ve met our new neighbor,” she says.

“No,” I say quickly. My cheeks are flushed; I know it. “But I’ve been admiring the boat he’s working on. I’d love to own one just like that someday.”

“Wouldn’t we all,” Naomi says, her voice trailing off. “Well, I should be going. My first patient arrives in a half hour, and I need to get Jimmy to school, then somehow make it to my office downtown. That is, if I can find him.”

“Good-bye,” I say, returning my gaze to Collin. He looks up, and our eyes meet momentarily. He smiles, and I smile back.



“I’m sorry I’ve been such an absent husband these days, Penn,” Dex says over dinner that night. He came home at seven, after I’d already put away the pot roast. After being rewarmed in the oven, it’s tough, but Dex doesn’t complain, and I’m grateful. “I’ve been working on a big commission.”

I nod. “I know,” I say, weaving my fingers through his. “I just wish you’d come home more, that’s all.”

There are dark shadows under his eyes, and the lines across his forehead look deeper. The twenty-year age difference between us seems more apparent than ever.

“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” When Dex is working on a painting, he doesn’t sleep.

“Not much,” he says, rubbing his brow.

I move my chair beside his and kiss him, but he turns away.

“What is it, Dex?”

“It’s nothing,” he says. “I already told you, dear, I’m tired.”

I feel a lump in the back of my throat. “Are you unhappy? Have I made you terribly unhappy?”

He turns to face me. “No,” he says quickly. “Penny, of course not.” He looks down at the table. “It’s just that . . . listen, I asked Naomi for a referral to see a psychiatrist. The thing is . . . I’ve been suffering from depression.”

“A psychiatrist? Depression?” I shake my head. “Dex, I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” he says, before forcing a smile. “Listen, I told you only because, well—let’s not dwell on this, OK? What we both could use is a little fun.” He kisses my hand lightly. “Why don’t we invite the neighbors over, throw a cocktail party, the way we used to do?”

I nod mechanically. “If it would make you happy.”

Happy. Dexter and I used to be happy. I close my eyes, and try to think back to the last time I felt he was mine, wholly mine, without secrets, sadness, or this heavy fog of depression that I cannot understand and that I can only blame myself for. My mind sorts through disheveled memories of distant expressions and broken promises, until it stops and homes in on the night of the Seattle Charitable Foundation’s annual ball last summer. I remember how people buzzed around Dexter, especially women. And yet, he saw only me that night. I remember the way he took my hand in his and kissed my wrist lightly before we walked out to the dance floor together. He held me tight as the band played, and his eyes sparkled as bright as the crystal chandelier overhead. “You’re the most beautiful woman here,” he said proudly. “And you’re mine.”

I loved how he took pride in me. And why? I had no artistic abilities, no special skills or training. I tried my best to fit into his world, to match the intelligent remarks of his contemporaries with witty banter, but I felt as if they saw right through me.

I looked up at Dex that night on the dance floor, with his arms draped lovingly around me. I’d often wondered about the place I occupied in his heart, and that night, I asked him, “Why? Why me?” And he told me.

“Because you’re lovely,” he said. “Lovelier than any woman I’ve ever met.” He kissed my forehead, then continued. “It’s every boy’s fantasy to grow up and find a wife like you.”

I thought about Dex’s childhood, what little I knew of it. His mother was strict and rigid, so unlike mine. There was no warmth in her embrace. Dex had been raised by nannies and kept at arm’s length. I looked up at him then, and saw that he longed for the type of maternal love he’d never had, and I realized that he had found it in me. It was an honor and a challenge. Could I be the woman he needed me to be? That night I felt I could. I vowed to show Dexter so much love, enough love to fill the deep and painful void in his heart. But now? Now, I stood in the face of the stark, brutal realization that I was not enough. Dexter’s demons were bigger than me, perhaps even unsolvable by me.