I’m Keeping You. Jane Lark

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      Many things had gone wrong in our marriage in the last few months, but the one thing we’d recently managed to fix was the sex. We’d been to a party a week ago, for Halloween, and gone outside in the dark. But then she’d told me about this threat from Mr. Rees.

      I broke away from her. “Come on, let’s go to the park.”

      I got the first proper smile I’d had out of her all day. Those smiles were way too rare.

      We walked through Brooklyn holding hands. Then headed into the park and looked up at the massive bridge, with Manhattan Bridge as its shadow. I let go of her hand and slung my arm around her shoulders.

      The Brooklyn Bridge was a giant. It dwarfed us. I’d forgotten how dominating the New York skyline was. It put you in your place, made you realize how much of a nothing you were in the world. That’s how I’d always felt in New York.

      We walked along the path by the river.

      This park was so familiar and yet we’d been different people when we’d been here last. She’d poured out her sordid past to me here, the night I’d found out about Saint. But that had been in the dark. We’d generally come here in the dark after I’d picked her up from work, when all the lights were reflected on the water, swaying with the rock of the waves. It was a different place in the daylight and there were more people here, tourists as well as locals.

      When we were far enough away from the main tourist area, I stopped and held the railing, looking down at the water as it washed up against the bank.

      Rach gripped the rail too.

      I looked at her.

      Her gaze stretched to the far bank. “When will we go and see Declan?”

      “Monday, so we can have tomorrow to do normal stuff before we face him.”

      She turned around and looked at me. “What will you say?”

      “I have no idea. It depends on what he says… and what he’s like.”

      “An asshole.” A smile parted her lips as she quoted back what I’d called him for the year he was my boss.

      I chucked her under the chin. “That I can guarantee. He’s always that. Shall we walk up to Manhattan Bridge?” Where I’d found her, alone, destitute, and desperate. “Then I thought we could go and eat at Joe’s, where you used to work.”

      She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “Thanks, I’d like that.”

      It was nearly a year since I’d found her in a tee and jeans, she’d had nothing else on but her sneakers, on a freezing night in New York.

      A subway train passed as we reached the DUMBO end of the Manhattan Bridge’s path. It rattled along on the rails, making a racket. I’d used to deaden the sound with the music in my earphones when I’d jogged along here. We didn’t walk out very far on to the bridge, but we walked along the path until we saw where she’d been the night I met her. She caught hold my fingers and turned away from it. “Can we walk back past where you used to live? Some of those days were my happiest.”

      Her words cut, but she hadn’t meant them to cut—it’s just—I wished she was happy now. She should be happy now. I needed to make her happy again.

      Joe, the restaurant owner, her old boss, made a fuss of her when we went in there. Rach was really pretty and one of those girls that when you met her you didn’t forget her; so even though she’d only worked there for a few weeks, Joe and the others remembered her. But the thing was, that when we’d lived here, what had made her memorable had been the light of joy and mischief that had shone out of her. That light had gotten snuffed out by her meds.

      Sitting in the restaurant, remembering how she used to be, made me miss that girl more than ever. But then, maybe this was who she was really—the person who wasn’t sick—and I had to just suck it up and get used to it.

      She’d have to get used to it too, though, and she wasn’t coping so well with it either. She was scared I’d stop loving her now that she was different.

      I’d spent the last seven days proving to her just how much in love with her I still was. I still was… But it was painful loving her now, not an exciting rush. My heart hurt and my head was a mess—and I hoped when everything was fixed with Mr. Rees it would all calm down, and she and I, we could just be us again.

      When we got back to the room, Rach dropped her purse on the bed, then bent over and took out her cell. “I’m gonna call Mom and speak to Saint.”

      “It’s too late.”

      She looked at the clock by the bed. It showed eleven-thirty in red digits.

      Her expression crumbled in distress.

      Ah shit. Now she’d kick herself that she hadn’t called earlier. She’d be telling herself she was a bad mom.

      Tears flooded her eyes, making the unusual soft mossy green sharpen and sparkle in the electric light. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

      Because I’d thought about it and decided it was best to let her settle in here and do normal stuff for an afternoon and we hadn’t eaten dinner alone since Saint had been born.

      I caught hold of her hands before they could lift and clasp her hair. I hated that pose. She’d been in that pose for all the days she’d been in the hospital, when they’d put her on the shitty meds she was taking now. “Hey. It’s okay not to speak to him for a day. We’ll call first thing in the morning.”

      “But why didn’t I think to call earlier?”

      “Because you’ve got a ton of stuff going on in your head. You were thinking about facing Declan and coming back to New York.”

      “But I should think of Saint first. Why don’t I think of him first?”

      “Because you’re on a load of meds…” and your bipolar brain just doesn’t work like that, sweetheart.

      Rach had always been scared she’d turn out like her mom, who’d been so crap at motherhood Rach had run away at fifteen, and since Rach had walked into the river she didn’t trust herself at all. She challenged everything she thought, and why she thought it, or more frequently didn’t think it. She was trying to make her brain work like normal. But Rach wasn’t normal, and that was one of the reasons I’d fallen for her.

      She hadn’t tried to drown Saint anyway, she’d been thinking of him and trying to teach him to swim. She’d walked into the water with him to swim with him. Fully clothed, yeah. But she’d just lost her hold on reality in a moment of distorted euphoria. That happened with bipolar. It wasn’t because she was a bad mom.

      Rach started to cry. I pulled her into a hug and stroked a hand over her hair. “He’s okay.”

      “Why didn’t you remind me? You aren’t on meds!” She pushed me away and smacked my shoulder.

      “Because he’s with Mom and Dad. He’s fine.”

      Her eyes accused me of not loving Saint enough.

      She challenged СКАЧАТЬ