In the summer, with all of this strange free time that the globe was trying to fill, we spent more time together than I thought we would; than I wanted to sometimes. It isn’t that the time itself was ill-spent, its just that a man needs room to think. I came into the house dirty and burned from the sun, and I’d get a scolding for all of it. Mostly I was warned of the dangers of cancer and the importance of a healthy, balanced diet, and adequate rest. I shucked my shirt and threw my hat to the counter. I’m fine, I said. She just wanted something to take care of.
The news outlets and the people around us all had different stories about what was actually going on. We didn’t think much until we were made aware that the Mexican food restaurant off the highway was closed to indoor seating. The Chinese place was next, then the grocery stores and gas stations started requiring patrons to wear protective gear to buy a pack of cigarettes or a gallon of milk. We grew tired of it, and the long summer days dragged on. I planted a garden for her, and it mostly thrived. Tomatoes, broccoli, carrots, and bell peppers; we used them in meals throughout the weeks, but it was all for her. I said that sunlight and some hard work was good for a person, even though it is what will eventually kill me. She understood and was excited for the garden. She just wanted something to take care of.
Weeks passed by and the world kept on with its fear and sickness and we hardly did know the difference in our home, save that we ate less Mexican and Chinese food from the local restaurants. It might all end in our lifetime and we haven’t even made a family. Not between us anyway. So she told me on a Friday in June that she was pregnant, and I cried so hard that I started to laugh. I told her that she was going to be the best mother and that I had never been as happy as I was then. We woke up to blood in the bed several days later and she told me something was wrong. The doctor took tests and listened and said some medical things and gave words of encouragement to her. Maybe next time. She came home and found me in the orchard and hugged me hard and wept. I could feel my shirt getting wet and I could see her shoulders shaking. She just wanted something to take care of.
The second time was worse. Perhaps the first was a fluke, we thought. I suppose nothing in this life is as simple as that. Now we hold hands and we pray at night about our present and our future. It’s all so personal and I can’t feel what she feels. She knows and she understands. I think I’ll be invincible one day when I get to be a father. I don’t know why, because I fall all to pieces sometimes when I’m not expecting it. It isn’t about the sorrow, though. I settle now into a slow burning peace, and fervent hope for the plan that God has for us. I realize again that we are always taken care of.
