Maybe Forever (Maybe... Book 3) (6 page)

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" The Atlantic Ocean glittered green in the morning sun. Freya, too, seemed charmed by it. Though I often took them to Amager Strand and Hellerup, they were not used to seeing a sea so vast.

Aunt Cecily pointed to a playground with a view of the beach. "Let's go there so the girls can work off a little of that jet lag."

At the playground, Liv was suddenly shy. She hovered, not wanting to approach the other children. I assured her it would be okay and walked her over to the swing set. Aunt Cecily was on the play center with Freya, taking her on the slide and having a blast. I asked Liv if she wanted to do that instead, but she shook her head no and began to cry.

I picked her up and held her tightly. My sweet Liv, so tired, so confused by hearing so much English around her when she was used to hearing more Danish...sleeping in a new house, not having her father around. It was all too much for her today.

With each sob, a piece of my will shattered. She was well and truly a daddy's girl. Even when Mads worked late he would find time for Liv. Everything we went through to bring her into the world...the nights we spent together at the hospital, learning to care for our prematurely born daughter, terrified she might not make it through her first months of life... If anyone had all of Mads's heart it was Liv. And for Liv, Mads was the sun, the moon, the stars. She might like cuddles from me, but she adored her father—broken promises and all. At home, her eyes followed him wherever he went. She trailed him, always ready to clamber into his lap, always finding pebbles or bits of paper to present to him as if they were the finest gifts. Sometimes I'd find them napping together on the sofa or their heads bent over drawings—Mads sketching new ideas for future projects, Liv scribbling family portraits or animals. And in the evenings, if Mads was home early, only he could tuck her in.

Freya and Aunt Cecily spent a few more minutes on the play center before they joined us on the bench.

"You know, it's not going to get any easier." Cecily unzipped the cooler bag we'd brought with us. She rummaged around inside it until she found Freya's sippy cup. "One of the hardest things you can do is be a single parent."

"I know... I'm not taking any of this lightly."

"I know you aren't, Laney... and I know you needed to come here. You look worn out...don't protest, I see it—there's no light in your eyes, you move like there is no fire in you anymore."

"I'll be fine—"

"Not if you don't take care of yourself."

"I don't have time to think about me."

"Of course you do. That's why you're here. Now, I think I know how to help you."

"I was hoping you'd have a solution," I admitted. My arms were numb from holding Liv for so long. I brushed her hair back from her forehead. She'd fallen asleep again, so I put her in the stroller and draped my shawl over it to keep the worst of the sun off her. She wasn't used to this strong sunlight and we'd forgotten sunscreen at my aunt's house.

"Well, I do. You need a babysitter, to start with."

"And you've got one?"

"I do. My neighbor's oldest daughter, Peyton. I'll introduce you to her. She could come by, watch Liv so you could go out, meditate..."

"Meditate...? You know I don't do that..."

"Well, maybe you should. I think some meditation and yoga would help you... and it would help this little one too." Cecily tickled Freya's belly. My youngest daughter kicked out her chubby legs and smiled up at her surrogate grandmother. "I know you love her...but you don't seem as bonded with her as you should be. I can see it. And you don't want this sweet little girl growing up thinking her mother does not love her."

"I do love her—"

"Laney, I know you do, but you've had these blues so long you don't see that your love for her pales in comparison to how you are with Liv."

There it was. My dirty little secret out in the open. I covered my mouth with my hand... all the times I'd felt like I was going through the motions with Freya when I should have been feeling overwhelmed with love for her. On rare days I held her and wondered if she was really mine, this slippery, wriggly little girl who seemed to want only me, even when I sometimes wanted nothing more than to sleep. Those days when I felt numb, when I had to fake enthusiasm for the new things she could do...I knew it was these blues eating away at me.

"I don't know what do, Auntie."

"Tomorrow, you and Freya will come to the yoga studio with me. We have a Baby & Me yoga class. I think it'll be good for you. And for Freya."

The rest of the afternoon, my aunt's words of advice were still reeling through my mind. If she could see that my devotion to my youngest daughter wasn't as strong as it should be, how many other people were observant enough to notice it? Had Mads noticed it? Was this why he often went to her and showered her with affection before he even came to me? When Freya scrambled into my lap as I unpacked our suitcases, I made sure to give her more cuddles and kisses. She reached for my cheek and patted me. I smiled down at her. She had her father's eyes—surprisingly dark, flashing green and copper...I'd thought that Liv would have Mads's eyes, but her eyes were a golden-brown like mine. Freya even had the same splash of brown freckles across her nose as her father. Somehow I'd never noticed this until now, and it shamed me. How many other things had I missed because of this awful, awful fog?

My throat constricted—oh Christ, I was going to start crying. My eyes were already burning, my head throbbing. Freya blinked at me and sang "ma-ma-la-la" at me. Her tinkling voice made me smile and then laugh again. Tears were already sliding down my cheeks but it was this moment—so sweet and clear and the sort of moment I'd longed for with Freya, seeing her, holding her and loving her. I wanted more moments like this with her.

I didn't hear my aunt when she came into the room. She stood in the doorway, watching as Freya sang to me and I tickled my little one's tummy.

"So you'll come tomorrow?" Cecily asked.

"Yes." I rocked Freya as a well of giggles erupted from her. "We'll both come."

Later, after I'd bathed the girls, after I'd read to them and tucked them in, I closed the door to my bedroom, sat on the edge of my bed and turned on my phone for the first time since we'd arrived. My message inbox was full of text messages and voicemail from Mads. I read every message..
.
Laney, where are you? Laney, please call me... Laney, I love you, please, call me, tell me you are okay. Why did you leave? Why? Laney...why...I love you... I can't stand this. Why? Where are you...please...call me... I need to know you're okay...

His voicemails too tore my heart to shreds. I heard the fear, the confusion, the pain in his voice. With each pause, each ragged breath, I pictured him tearing from room to room looking for us. "...I know I screwed up, Laney. I thought... I thought... Tell me where you are. I'll come, just tell me."

His voice crept along my spine, sparking every nerve fiber in me. It hurt to be with him...it hurt even more to be away from him. I listened to his messages again and again, unable to resist the pull. He'd sobbed as if I'd ripped his heart from his chest. "I don't know how to live without you, Laney...just, please, tell me where you are."

That evening I dared to do what my aunt said I ought to do. I called Mads, knowing that it was the middle of the night in Denmark. His phone rang twice before it went to his voicemail. Once his outgoing message finished playing, I cleared my throat and said, "Hi...it's me. The girls and I are okay. But...you can't come here. Not yet."

And then I hung up, and everything inside me fell apart.

CHAPTER SIX: Mads

The Truth Hurts

I
couldn't sleep. The apartment was too still. Without the veil of background noises compliments of Laney, Liv and Freya, our home felt more like a mausoleum or a museum of what my life used to be like. I moved through the apartment like a ghost, trying not to see the gallery wall with all of our family photos—if I stopped, if I even glimpsed one of our wedding photos or Liv's first school picture from daycare, I fell apart. When I did manage to drift off, I dreamt she lay beside me, grazing her fingertips along the nape of my neck, pressing her lips to mine and whispering, "It's okay, baby. We'll get through this." Sometimes in the dreams she'd sling her legs over mine and we'd sit like that...imagining we were the only people in the world. Other times she'd kneel between my legs, undo my zipper and take me in her mouth, pulling and sucking me so gently I knew I was dreaming... and then she'd quicken the pace, graze her teeth against my shaft and suck so hard I felt like she was drawing my soul out of me. I'd wake in a cold sweat, my hand gripping my cock and her name sliding off my tongue. It took a few minutes to recover... I'd turn on my side, ready to say, "I had the most intense dream about you..." but there'd come no reply. Of course there wouldn't. She'd left me.

Today was no different. They'd been gone three days now. And I still didn't know where she was. I'd called Eddy but she refused to break Laney's confidence and said, "If you think hard enough, you'll figure it out. But I'm not going to just spell it out for you." Henrik wouldn't tell me either. I'd thought he'd want to put me out of my misery, but he was siding with Eddy. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. Henrik's advice when it came to relationships was that you should always listen to your woman and always have her back. I used to tease him and say it sounds like the World According to Barry White, but without fail he'd shrug and say, "It works." Ingrid was no help either. Instead of telling me, she railed at me. She was so protective of Laney and I was glad she was. She proved time and again how much she cared about my wife. And now she was ready to stand between Laney and me to keep me from hurting Laney emotionally. How could I be angry when Ingrid was doing what I should have been doing from the start?

I tried to crack the password on her computer, but apparently I didn't know my wife well enough to figure it out. I sat at her desk—the desk I'd made for her—wracking my brain and trying to figure out what words would mean enough to her to be used as passwords. If I could figure it out, then maybe I'd find her itinerary and then I could go to her.

Last night, she finally called me back. I'd missed the call—it was still so humid at night and I'd given up with tossing and turning at 2AM to take a cold shower. When I came back in the bedroom, I saw her name and "
ubesvarede opkald
" on my phone display and screeched out a string of curses. I listened to her message; she was telling me to stay away...for now. She still wouldn't say where she was. I tried to call her back but my calls went straight to voicemail. She must have turned off her telephone. So now the only way I could communicate with her was by sending text messages and hoping she'd reply, waiting, and trying to figure out when she'd turn her phone on again.

Going to the workshop didn't feel like an option today. I needed to clear my head, needed to think straight, and I didn't think I'd get anything worthwhile done, not when I was so distracted. I called Jonas and told him I was taking a couple of days off. He was stoic about it. He knew everything and said, "We've got it covered, Mads. You do what you need to do, man."

I couldn't stay here in the apartment all day, and it had been a couple of weeks since I'd last visited my grandmother. Laney usually stepped in here. She visited Alma with the girls at least once a week, called her several times a week checking in and making sure the home help Henrik and I had arranged was taking good care of her. Another reason to feel guilty. Another way Laney made things easy for me, shouldering my responsibility when she had enough to do. I ended up riding my bike across Fredensbro and over to Norreport Station. I needed a break from the heat of the city, from my empty home...I needed to be near the sea again.

Taking the train to Humle
bæ
k always felt like returning to my childhood. When my mother was still alive, when we were still living with my father, we always escaped to my grandmother's house on days when my mum would say the sea was calling. She and my grandmother would lock arms and walk barefoot along the beach while I ran ahead, oblivious to the turmoil my mother was dealing with. Even when Laney and I came out here together, it was much the same. She and my grandmother would walk together while I ran ahead with the kids, whooping and hollering with them, chasing seagulls as the waves lapped the shore. I didn't stop to look back unless Freya or Liv began to panic about the distance. They needed to see Laney, wave to her and make sure she hadn't suddenly vanished. But she was always there, waving back to them and calling out how much she loved them.

I lowered my head into my hands and swore. Maybe this was a bad idea. My grandmother's house wouldn't be neutral territory, devoid of any reminders of my wife and our life together. Farmor probably had more photos of us than we had ourselves. The train rumbled along the tracks, leaving the city behind and heading through the green, flat countryside. Denmark wasn't full of dramatic terrain but there was something beautiful in its rolling hills, but this too reminded me of Laney. The hills like the curves of her hips, her breasts...  Someone once said it was a terrible sign of weakness to want your wife too much. I suppose I was weak, then. I loved every inch of her. I squandered her love but that didn't stop me from lusting for her, wanting to strip her naked and taste her.  That night...when we finally made love again, the heat of her skin,
her sweet, milky scent mingled with the soapy scent of my skin...how she gripped me, pulled me in, I was lost in her...lost in that feeling of rediscovering my wife. I thought we were forgiving one another.

When I raised my head again, the train was pulling into Humle
bæ
k Station. I joined the other passengers filing off the train. That's when I saw him—my father, Benjamin Rasmussen, at the ticket machine. We had not seen one another in several weeks. Not since Laney had invited him over for a Sankt Hans barbecue.

"
Hej
,
far
." I ducked my head at him. "Have you been to visit
farmor
?"

My father continued adding his coins to the machine methodically, counting out each coin without answering me. The same grim face he always wore except when he could see his granddaughters. At least he showed them the love and affection he never extended to me.

I waited. Once the machine printed his ticket, he peered at it, making certain it was correct. Now my father finally looked at me, giving me a once-over, as Laney called it, before he said, "It's good to see you, Mads. I was going to come by your workshop today, but now you have saved me a trip into the city."

"You look good,
far
." His skin looked healthier and he'd gained some weight. Had he stopped drinking? I wanted to ask him, but even now our relationship was not like that.

Benjamin grunted dismissively. He wasn't one for small talk. "You should know. Laney and the little ones came to see me. Before she went to the airport."

"You saw her?"

"Yes, she wanted me to know she was going away for a while. She didn't want me to worry."

The irony of it was like a swift kick to the head. She didn't want my father to worry. She didn't even see my father that often, did she?

"You know, she brings the girls to visit me. Sometimes we meet at La Glace for cake and coffee." My father checked the clock, then shook his head. "She wasn't in a good way the last few times I saw her."

"She never told me you were meeting so often." I rubbed the back of my neck and stared down at the dusty station floor. "She never said..."

"She wasn't in a good way the last few times we met," my father said again. "I left messages on your phone, but you never returned my calls."

Benjamin gestured towards the opposite platform. I walked with him to the other side where the train back to Copenhagen would stop. We didn't speak as we walked down the steps and through the tunnel under the tracks to the other side. I let my father catch his breath from climbing the stairs. Years of heavy smoking had taken their toll on him. I still didn't understand how he climbed so many stairs to his apartment.

"Your wife...she's a good woman, Mads, and yet she is sad." Benjamin sniffed. "She told me once she felt like she was a bad mother...that she wasn't giving the children enough love..."

"She never told me this."

"No, well...you've been very busy."

"Did she tell you anything else?"

"She went to a doctor...some weeks ago. He told her she needed a break, perhaps a change of scenery and some help with the children. She was looking forward to your vacation. She thought it would help her find her way back to the way she used to be."

The more he said the more my skin burned with shame. Had I been so blind, so deaf to my wife? I stared off in the distance, not wanting to meet my father's calm, frank mien. Laney kept so many secrets. Or maybe I simply hadn't listened.

"How long did you know she was like this?" I finally managed to ask my father.

"Three months ago. I called you. I even stopped by your workshop but that intern of yours said you were busy with clients. I suppose she didn't tell you I was there."

I shook my head no. Or at least I didn't remember Benny mentioning it. Perhaps she had, but it was so long ago.

"At any rate, she said you were too busy..."

"I'm never too busy for my family—" but I cut myself short when the stoic expression on my father's face hardened. I glanced away. I couldn't keep lying to myself.

"You need to be careful, Mads. Your daughters, they adore you now. Just like you used to be about me. But if you don't change your ways, you'll end up as distanced from them...and your wife... as you and I have been for so long."

The train pulled into the station. My father shook my hand then boarded the train. I stood on the platform, watching as he moved through the train and found a seat. He lifted his hand in a wave, then turned away from the window. Further down the platform the signal sounded and the train departed, heading back to Copenhagen. I waited until the train disappeared from sight. My father knew my wife better than I did. My father—who'd been unable to deal with my mother and me or everyday life without numbing himself with alcohol— could keep himself sober for his granddaughters.

I wasn't sure how much time passed before I finally left the station. But as I walked to my grandmother's house, I tried to ignore the horrible irony of my situation. My father was closer to my family than I was. And Laney confided in him when she could not do so with me.

*     *     *

Farmor
was in her garden when I arrived. She had her favorite spot—near the far end of the garden, under the protective canopy of the beech tree my grandfather planted when they first bought this house. Her home helper had set two chairs out, though only Alma sat there, her eyes closed and a smile curling the corners of her lips.
Farmor
looked happy, satisfied. I almost didn't want to disturb her, but I was pretty sure she'd already heard me come through the gate.

"So you've finally come," she said and squeezed my hand. "I wondered how long it would take before my grandson would stop working long enough to visit."

"I'm sorry,
farmor
, I know I should have come sooner." I nodded at the extra chair. "Was that for
far
or
farfar
?"

"It was for your grandfather, but he won't mind if you take it." Sometimes my grandmother behaved as though my grandfather were still very much alive. She said his ghost kept her company, humming the songs they remembered from their youth and reminding her of all the special moments they'd shared. "Sit, Mads...it's been too long since I last saw you."

"I know...it won't happen again."

"Don't turn into my prodigal grandson. And don't turn into your father. I love Benjamin dearly but the years he wasted...well, at least he is trying to get himself together for the sake of Liv and Freya."

I nodded. This was the lesson she'd tried to teach me all my life—to be the man my grandfather was, rather than the man my father was. My father had filled a void of insecurity and frustration with alcohol. He'd loved it more than he loved my mother and me.

"
Farmor
, did he tell you what's happened?" There was no point in trying to hide it from her. Sooner or later someone would tell her.

"Your father? Yes, yes. He told me that Laney is gone." My grandmother sighed and shook her head. "But I knew already. Laney called me to say goodbye. I'm sure she will come back. Or you will go and you will convince her to come back."

"I don't know where she is. She won't tell me."

"She went to her family."

"She doesn't have any family,
farmor
. Just me and the girls..."