Less By One

By Chris Hazle-Cary

There was so much to say. They got out of the car and Molly rushed to get the door for her husband. Close by, a flock of sparrows sang an elegy to the fading light.

Honey, honey, I can open the door. I may be dead to the world, but I can still do that.

Their children greeted them inside the sky blue door. The dog’s back end twitched with manic joy.

Joester, man of the house for a whole week and you haven’t raked the leaves?

Tracy, your Mom’s picking up more shifts so Daddy’ll need you around here while he’s homebound.

No more big hospitals Moll, those quacks put cleaning fluids in the IV. I can taste disinfectant.

“Everyone’s gotta be extra nice to your father for awhile. He’s had a... rough few days.” Molly tried to smile.

You always know the right thing to say, Molly. If we had a bull horn we could announce it to the neighbors

Madeleine peered around a corner. Her right arm crushed a plastic doll to her chest. A paper cone on her head shouted "Happy Birthday" in colorful letters.

There’s my favorite little girl.

“There’s my little girl. Get over here and hug your father.” Molly said.

The child moved slowly towards them, eyes on her mother, her siblings, the amber-colored floor. Joseph and Tracy exchanged quiet looks. Their father’s smile was lopsided. He took a small brown bear from a bag by the door. Look in the green leather bag, next to the busted rocker, he had told Molly before the surgery. He had listened in disbelief to his own voice, his words like gold coins tossed carelessly into a fountain. He had barely let go of the bear on the ride back from the hospital.

Heard you turned six today. Got something for you, a little friend of mine. When I was your age, he helped me when I got lonely. Hey baby, look at me, just because your Daddy can't say happy birthday doesn't mean he's not your Daddy.

“Madeleine, what’s wrong honey?” Molly said.

Look at me. Maddy. Daughter.

Madeleine jerked her head from side to side, her eyes on the floor. She squeezed the doll and a tinny voice said "you're the best." She squeezed it again and the voice said "I love you."

The doll came unglued from her chest and it floated towards him, a small hand holding the legs. He imagined the doll speaking to her, telling her comforting things at night when her room was dark. The bear fell from his limp hands.

I don’t need the goddamn bear. I need you to look me in the eyes.

He knocked the bear out of her hand and held his arms out. Madeleine’s wide eyes fell on his face for a brief second; then she turned away and scampered up the stairs, leaving doll and bear lying face down on the floor. Molly caught his eyes, her look like razorblade cuts on his face. He wondered if the tiny cuts added up, or if they were always distractions from the biggest one. He carefully wiped at the drool threatening to leap from his bottom lip.

“I have to make dinner.” She said. She looked at the feeding tube running into his mouth. It was not a question.

Remember, a dash o’ fennel in the sauce Molly. Not too much onion either. Nobody else should have to suck on my goop sack.

Molly mishandled a pot and it fell to the floor. The sound was immense and she let out a little yelp, but he didn't stir from his perch on the stool. She wiped her forehead and made the universal sign for shoo. Molly felt embarrassed speaking when it was only the two of them, his lively eyes on her, storing up every movement. She wished to be drunk and silly, spewing token words without care like a broken slot machine. She thought about turning on the radio, but there was something sacred about their newfound silence.

Of course I’ll go away. You don’t need a blind man telling you what blue is.

Where are you, my special girl? Oly oly oxen free. What is it, the bandages? The tube? The bear with his mouth all stitched? Is it the heavy steps? The house shivering and shaking all round you would make anyone want to hide.

But baby, come back, please. Just because I brought a hurricane in with me doesn’t mean I can’t protect you against the wind. Or do we live 10 feet apart from now on? You forever sidling by like a crab round a toothless shark. Trace and Joe will figure out the head nod, head shake type questions. But you?

Gotta bone up on the sign language. What's the sign for ‘out of my head’?

Downstairs, Joseph read in the purple plush chair, the tip of his tongue poked out between his lips. Tracy played by herself in the small room adjacent to the den, hiding behind windowed French doors.

“Dinner’s ready kids.” Molly went to retrieve their other daughter. She found her hiding under their bed.

They settled quietly around the table. Joseph offered his hand to his father, who took it, nodding. Joe nodded back—he would remember his father's strong hand, the clasp they held for a few extra seconds, the strength of desperation in his fingers, the seal to their agreement. He would remember the air buzzing with invisible insects, every small sound magnified. There was a moment of silent confusion—Dad always led the prayer before dinner.

Molly’s voice balanced on a mountaintop. “God bless this food and this house, and, and help us through these trying times. Help us taste," she paused. "Taste the glory of your promise. Amen.”

Nice one. Tastes like goop and ammonia. Hospital air conditioning. Amen.

“How was your day, Joe?” She asked. He shrugged—the question seemed insignificant. They rearranged the food on their plates, stole unsecret glances toward the head of the table. Madeleine dipped the doll's face in the stew then turned her away. The doll had no appetite.

Sorry kids, not this time—Daddy’s got no stories to tell tonight. Just this bag of goop for his dinner.

Joe pointed to his father, and then to himself. He mimed something, his fists moving together. His Dad signed nonsense back to him, throwing a baseball, eating a hamburger, a tiny smile escaping from his lips.

Joe colored and held his hands in his lap. “Can you help me with the leaves tomorrow, Dad?” He said in a miniscule voice.

“Joseph—“

No Molly, its okay. Head nod, thumbs up. Sure I can Joe, thanks for asking.

“Daddy Daddy.”

What is it girl? No Maddy, I don’t have any more jokes today. Eat your dinner.

"Happy birfday Daddy. Sing Daddy." She grabbed at his worn hand, pressing and clapping it between her tiny fingers. “Daddy Daddy sing happy birfday Daddy. Hey hey hello Daddy.”

No, Daddy can't sing happy birthday. Cool it, darling, you know more than you let on.

“Daddy Daddy hey hey Daddy Daddy.” Molly struggled for words of authority and discipline, but none came. Madeleine picked up her plate and banged it against the table, again and again.

Stop it. Put the fucking plate down. Sit your narrow ass back in that chair.

He opened his mouth and a hoarse grunt filled his ears.

Like a frightened animal.

Silence invaded the room, wisping over the table, clinging to the walls. He wanted to catch some of it and lock it away. Madeleine dropped the plate and it shattered on the floor, splattering red sauce, chunks of meat and carrots. She ran from the room. She left the doll on her seat, grinning blankly at them, the face covered in red sauce.

Maddy—I can’t. Come back.

Yeah, what’s the use, you bastard? She’s gone away now. You’re locked out and there’s no open sesame even if you could say it. Moll, I’ll grab the broom, you talk to her. No, no, staring at my hands and sucking on my goop pacifier won’t help. We both know how much is gonna be on you now. Is this the romance you imagined, marrying an older man?

After returning the broom to its place, he lumbered out to the backyard. He sat on the lawn chair under the beech tree and one flimsy leg folded, toppling him on to his back.

Where are you Maddy? I’m sorry baby. If I could I would take you off, set you down and say it. You got so many birthdays left, so many people going to sing to you. Don’t want you confused by your Daddy dropping parts like the old wagon in the driveway. There’s so much I need to warn you about, so many good things I need to promise you. And how to say that Daddy got this way cause he could never kick a habit?

He caught sight of her between the leaves, hugging the smooth tree bark overhead, talking quietly to her bear. Come down here baby, I know what’s bugging you. You know this empty hole in my mouth? No pot lid covers that. It boils and boils until it all bubbles over, frothing and hissing. I never meant to show you like that—but you have no idea what it’s like to feel all alone. I’m sorry, baby—big brave Daddy got claustrophic back there. And I think I may have scared you too, with my dead grunt and my dead-dumb hole, scared you and hurt you maybe more than any words.

There’s so much to say, Maddy. Come a little closer. Don’t be scared. Happy birthday honey. Big girls like you can't be scared.

She offered him the bear, and this time he took it, rubbing the soft down of its head. One eye was coming loose from its stitching. I promise I'll sew that up for you darling.

Madeleine, sit with me next to this tree. Old timer’s been here longer than even your Daddy. Be here after he’s gone too. Crumple the leaves and dig your nose in there. Savor those orange leaves. I hope you always remember that spicy earth smell. There were so many things I was afraid of telling you, before. Now I only hope you never smell death in those leaves.

You know what I always do, girl? When I feel that dark pit down there in my tummy? She laid her head on his chest, and he felt it welling up inside of him. He started to hum, and it came out broken, his chest spasming lightly. She tightened her grip around him, buried her face in his shirt. He kept going and eventually he recognized the first notes. Happy birthday to you...

I’m sorry, because... I’ll never be able to sing to my little girl ever again. But don’t worry baby, you’ll never have to hear your Daddy yelling again either. I just hope you understand that when I grunt at you it means hello darling, and when I laugh with you it means I love you.