When we got to Toronto, Drew dropped us off at the rehabilitation center and went to check into the hotel. We would call him when we were ready to leave. Before we went in, I kneeled down in front of the girls. What I was about to say made me uneasy, but I didn’t know what else to do.
“Listen, girls, don’t say anything to Daddy about Drew, okay?” They nodded, but I could tell from Hannah’s expression that she didn’t like it. Leah was agreeable; her age made her more compliant and trusting. “Daddy doesn’t remember very much. His memory got hurt when he was sick, so we’re going to spend today talking about all the things we did before he was gone and all the fun we had, okay?”
“Why do we have to lie?” Hannah asked.
I shook my head. “Don’t lie, Hannah. If Daddy has a question, always tell the truth. But this is going to be hard for Daddy because he’s missed us so much. I wanted to tell Daddy about Drew on my own. It’s a grown-up thing.”
Hannah finally agreed, but the mistrust in her eyes remained. I led them inside, through the hallways, and to the same room where I had spoken with Greg the last visit. I had a Disney movie tucked into my purse. If nothing else, that might help occupy Leah for the duration of our visit. I paused outside the door, holding Hannah’s hand tightly.
Leah gripped Hannah’s other hand, her smile brilliant and her feet tapping. “I’m so excited,” she stage whispered, giggling. Little Leah saw nothing but joy in the situation, a stark contrast to Hannah, who patiently waited for the other shoe to drop. But even Hannah grinned broadly.
I opened the door and was struck by déjà vu. Greg stood at the window, then turned to face us with the same expression. But tears streamed down his cheeks. I was taken aback. I had never seen Greg cry. He approached and, with the abandonment of a child, wrapped the girls in a hug. He sobbed then, raw and guttural. I felt a lump in my throat as I knelt with them, one hand on each of the girls’ backs. Hannah was crying, too.
“Why is everyone so sad, Mommy?” Leah asked.
I laughed through my own tears. “Oh, baby, everyone is so happy.”
I turned to watch Greg. Realization dawned on his face, his joy replaced by regret and then anger, a spectrum of emotions I’d never seen him have.
“Claire,” he said, “they’re so big. Hannah is so big. I’ve missed everything. Why?” He sank to the floor, letting go of them, his delight turning to sorrow.
The girls scurried back to me. He put his head on the floor and cried. My heart felt ripped apart for him. For us. I reached out, and for the first time since I discovered he was alive, held Greg in earnest. Hannah stood at the door, protectively embracing Leah.
I waved her back to us. “It’s okay, honey. Daddy is sad because he’s missed you so much.”
She reached out in a gesture beyond her years and patted Greg on the back, shushing him the way I did Leah whenever she fell or got hurt. Greg cried heaving sobs, and we waited patiently for them to subside. When he finally straightened, he didn’t apologize for his outburst or try to make excuses.
It’s the brain injury. He has no idea how to restrain his grief.
We all sat silently on the floor for a few moments, holding each other.
Then, Leah announced, “Daddy, I’m so glad to see you, finally!”
And we laughed.
Chapter 36
We stayed with Greg until four o’clock in the afternoon. By then, the girls were hungry, and we were all mentally exhausted. For three hours, we sat in the small room in the rehab facility and told the stories of our lives, randomly, all talking at once in a jumble of words, which confused Greg most of the time. We told the story of the time we went looking for a Christmas tree, and Greg wanted the biggest tree he found, which wouldn’t have fit in our house. We had gotten in a fight, then, because I tried to be agreeable. We settled on a slightly smaller behemoth of a tree that still didn’t fit in our house. Greg had to carve out the back of the tree to fit into the corner of the living room. On the upside, I had enough greens to make a live wreath. Hannah remembered that well, as it had happened the Christmas before Greg disappeared.
We let Hannah guide the conversation, bringing up memories at random. Some would spark Greg’s memory, and some wouldn’t.
She would turn to Greg, hope shining on her face, and ask, “Do you remember, Daddy?”
He would sadly shake his head and say, “Tell me what you remember, Hannah.”
And she would. But I could tell she was disappointed. Leah didn’t have memories to contribute, but she delighted in telling Greg all about preschool, day camp, and all the new things she could do. Hannah showed me how to tie my own shoes! I can color a whole picture and not go outside the lines at all!