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He tilts his chin and then nods. “Things are a little foggy. I don’t really remember the accident. I don’t remember a lot. Maybe I blocked it out for a reason.”
I wonder what were the thoughts he had while crashing to the sea. Did he think he’d die and never see the inside of the house again? Did he think his life was over and everything flashed before his eyes? Was I in his last-minute visions? Did he see me at all?
He runs his fingers along the white marble countertop. “My brother never came to the house. He never was inside.” Though Apollo is speaking the words, it doesn’t feel as if he’s saying them to me.
“You both spent your time at Medusa or Olympus Manor,” I say, not sure why I’m even speaking. He knows this, so why I feel the need to say it is just…odd. I feel so awkward and out of place that my mouth just moves without me thinking it through. I walk to the refrigerator. “Do you want something to eat?”
He’s still glancing around the room, examining.
“I let the housekeeper have some days off since we were both in the hospital. I didn’t see the point for her to keep coming.” I’m nervous now that he’s maybe seeing dust and finding the condition of the house unsatisfactory. “I’ll have her come first thing tomorrow morning.” I open the refrigerator and see that it’s mostly empty. I now feel as if I’m a complete failure as a wife. This isn’t the homecoming I was hoping to give him.
“I’m not hungry,” he says, throwing me a lifeline.
“I’ll try to get to the store after the funeral tomorrow. If there is anything you want—”
“The funeral is tomorrow? My brother’s?”
“I thought your father told you.” Apollo’s stiffening and the widening of his eyes tell me how wrong I am in thinking that. “Troy didn’t want to have the funeral until you were out of the hospital. He wanted you to be there.”
I shift from one foot to the other, waiting for him to say something. Anything. I feel as if I just revealed some secret I wasn’t supposed to.
“Athena handled all the arrangements,” I continue. I can’t stand the silence in the room and decide to fill it with chatter. “All we have to do is arrive. And if it becomes too much for you, or you don’t want to go—”
“Of course I want to go,” he says a little too quickly and harshly. He takes a seat at the counter, pauses for several moments, and then adds, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”
“I can only imagine what you’re going through.” I want to reach out and take his hand to offer comfort, but I’m not sure how he’ll take the unfamiliar act. It’s what a wife would do, but Apollo and I aren’t exactly the normal definition of wedded bliss. “It’s late. Maybe we should get some sleep. The doctor said you need to take it easy.”
Leaning on his elbows, he locks his eyes with mine. “Do I need to carry you up the stairs too?” He smiles, letting me know his comment is in jest. “No more talk of what the doctor said. I’m fine. I need you to believe that.”
“Got it,” I say, rolling my eyes. “The mighty Apollo has spoken,” I tease. I head toward the stairs, with him following behind. “You may not need sleep, but I do. My body is stiff from all the nights in that chair beside your bed.”
When we reach the landing upstairs, I turn to head to the primary bedroom, surprised when Apollo follows me and doesn’t head to the guest room where he’s been sleeping for the past months. “Is there something you need in the room?” I ask, stopping and turning to face him.
His head flinches back slightly. “To sleep…”
My eyes dart over his shoulder toward the guest room. “Okay…but…”
He follows my stare and glances over his shoulder. He then looks back at me but says nothing.
“Do you not remember that you moved into the guest room a few months ago?” I ask, surprised that this is something he’d forget or that would be washed from his memory because of the accident.
“I…remember,” he says. “But you and I are married, and that’s not how married people act. We won’t be sleeping in different rooms.” He moves past me and enters my bedroom—our bedroom—without waiting for me to argue.
My slight hesitation to follow him into the room is just the time he needed for him to shed his clothes. He’s lifting his shirt above his head, revealing his six-pack abs I used to love so much. There’s bruising around his rib cage, and a few bandages, and regardless of how he’s claiming he’s fine, I doubt he is completely pain free.
As he unfastens his pants, he looks at the bed. “Did you change the side of the bed you sleep on while I was in the other room, or is that still the same?”
I point to the left side. “Still my side.” Feeling uncomfortable that he’s now wearing nothing but his underwear, I say, “I’ll get your pajamas from the other room.”
I quickly leave, not sure why I feel so…uncomfortable. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him without clothes on and an even longer time since feeling any kind of desire because of it. But tonight…is it desire I’m feeling?
Grabbing gray satin pajamas I once got him for Christmas, I head back to the room with my mind and emotions spinning. There’s a reason he moved to the guest room. There was a reason we no longer slept together. Nothing has changed, or has it? Did a near death experience change a failing marriage? Is it as simple as that?
When I hand him the pajamas, he looks down at them and chuckles. “Okay…”
“You told me you liked them when I bought them for you,” I say, feeling as if I’m just now being let in on a secret that he actually hated them.
His eyes lift to mine as he stops laughing immediately. “I like them. I do.” He then dresses, and for some odd reason, appears completely awkward and out of place wearing them. “I was just laughing as I remembered what they had me wear in the hospital.”
