Page 60 of Merging Wright

When I find Ma in the kitchen, she tells me Jane is at the park again. “She looked determined.” Ma chuckles.

“Determined?” I grip the back of the chair, vibrating with a need to greet my wife with a proper good morning.

“Like she could tear down a house single-handedly. Your acushla has gumption,” Ma teases.

My heartbeat. Inside my chest, there’s a thump at the thought of Jane. I wanted to ask her to up our charade with sex. But is this a charade? Is this only sex? We are married. And I want to know more about my wife.

Jane told me her history with Ripley, and I want to tear him to shreds for breaking her heart. How could he not support her through the difficulty of a miscarriage, and then marry someone else? He didn’t deserve Jane’s love.

I’m certain I don’t either.

Then again, I wasn’t about to suggest everlasting love to my wife. I was going to propose we have sex together.

I scrub at my forehead. I’m such a dick.

“Ma, I need to find Jane.” I can’t keep the urgency from my voice. “The park you said?”

Ma nods.

I rush down the hill to On The Curve for a double shot of espresso in a black coffee and purchase Jane the black tea she likes with two spoons of sugar. A husband should know what his wife drinks at breakfast. I need a new approach with Jane. The idea of wooing my wife feels foreign, mainly because I don’t pursue women.

For years, I let women come to me. A pickup line I didn’t mind falling for. A suggestion I didn’t mind accommodating. Being with random women was mind-numbing. Then, I became more selective, more upfront with women in my circle. They knew what I had to offer. A date for an event . . . and sex. One night. There was no promise, no let’s do this again, no rings. God, no, never a ring.

The thought has me swallowing a lump of regret in my throat. I should have bought Jane an engagement ring. I didn’t even offer her a proper proposal. The will was read, and a wedding happened.

Way to be a schmuck, Machlan.

My self-chastising comes to a halt as I near the park where I hear voices and then a chainsaw but don’t see Jane.

The octagon decking is being restored. Tables will be added soon, and outdoor games provided. The general lot is being cleaned of dead brush, and new landscaping will happen before fall fully hits. Instead of adding play equipment, it was decided to hang a tire swing and two wooden plank swings from tall trees near the edge of the park property. A perfect view of the river and the bridge is obstructed by a dead tree, and it’s on the chopping block today.

Two people are standing on the bluff, which dips downward rather sharply. The tree trunk destined for demise shakes. The chainsaw starts up again as I reach the cliff and I stop short. Jane stands beside the swollen dead trunk while Myles works the chainsaw, cutting into the base. The angle seems backward to me as Myles is cutting in the direction of the slope instead of the river.

He stops sawing and lifts his safety goggles. “Okay, Jane. Give it a kick.” He laughs after his loud instruction.

My heart halts.

Jane gives the tree a swift kick with the flat of her construction boot.

The tree trunk quivers, but nothing else happens.

“Again,” Myles yells, his voice carrying up the incline.

Jane strikes the dead wood once more.

A sharp crack resonates upward, and for a second, I think that’s it. The tree is going over.

Jane kicks one more time. The tree topples toward the river.

And Jane loses her footing, sliding down the remainder of the slope and slipping into the water.

At this portion of the river, the first few inches of water from the shore are shallow, but then the bottom drops off drastically. The speed of the water varies depending on rainfall and wind. The middle is unforgiving.

Time stands still as I process my wife’s slide into the river.

She isn’t popping up.

I drop my coffee and her tea and race to the water.