Page 9 of The Summer Save
Her hand warmed my cheek as her bare feet raised onto her toes to kiss me. Not a peck on the cheek, but her lips against mine. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d initiated a kiss, and I’ unsure when I’d done so for more than a quick peck in passing. My wife’s lips against mine shouldn’t feel foreign, but they did. And that was something I intended to change. “I love that idea. You’re really here the entire summer?”
I nodded. “You have my undivided attention until I leave for mandatory camp. Full disclosure, I have my laptop, but it’s in my work bag in the hall closet next to the suitcase and garment bag I’ll take to camp.”
“What about your work phone that seems to ring all day?”
The hurt I saw in her eyes told me that she believed my constant need to do more, be more, and grow not only the Caribou, but my family’s legacy had taken priority over our marriage. She didn’t need to tell me for me to know she thought I valued whatever was on my phone or computer more than her. That was a hard truth to swallow. “Turned it off. Changed my voicemail to a message to contact my office to find out which of my brothers or staff members is handling their needs. Lauren knows I’m unavailable, as do my father, brothers, and coaching staff. The only phone I have is my personal one, and that’s mostly family with a few friends. I can turn that off if you want.”
She shook her head. “Not necessary. But since we’re going back to the beginning of our relationship and reliving favorite memories, let’s travel back in time to when our lives weren’t ruled by technology. No phones on our dates or during dinner. Let’s disconnect and focus on being present.”
My eyes shifted to the small wicker basket on the railing ledge. At one time, it was Amber’s seashell basket. It had been home to a small potted flower after that. Now, it was empty, waiting for its next purpose. I took my phone from my pocket and placed it in the basket before handing it to Annie. “Remember when the kids first got handheld gaming systems, and we couldn’t get them to look at us? Then, the smartphone phase was worse. To the point you collected everyone’s phone at meals.”
“Oh, how I don’t miss the days when I only saw the tops of their heads. My ‘no work calls at dinner rule’ for you expanded to ‘no devices at the table’ and then ‘no devices during family time.’ I missed seeing my children’s eyes and hearing about their day.” She pressed her lips together and ran her finger down her chin, the way she did when she was debating something. “Mostly, I missed dinner conversations with my husband and I used the kids as a guise.”
“Annie, they were teenagers. I know the last couple of years have been hard for us, but you felt as though I’d checked out of our relationship and put my work before you even then?”
She silently nodded her response before taking the basket into the house. I stood on the porch stunned into silence, realizing things between us were worse than I thought and had been for much longer than when she first requested that we go to therapy. How had I missed it?
This morning, I woke to a handwritten note on the nightstand. Jonas and I were from a time when cell phones didn’t exist. We were older than text messages. Our summers together were magical times when we could be together daily. The rest of the year, we dated long-distance. Thankfully, I went to the conservatory in his hometown, and he played in that city’s farm system. His family owns the team now, but back then, they didn’t. It was a mix of luck and skill that got him drafted by his local team—the one he’d dreamed about playing for as a young boy. During the season, he was equal parts on the road all over the country and in his temporary home in Colorado. San Francisco to Denver wasn’t a long flight, but our schedules rarely aligned for visits between my performances and his games. Plus, I was stubborn and determined to make it on my own, so I wouldn’t allow his parents to pay for my ticket except twice a year—once as a birthday gift and the other as my Christmas gift.
During our time apart, we called each other at least two times a week and wrote letters. While we both loved our careers and not only understood but supported how hard we each worked, we longed for our summers together. I was in Seaside for at least two months, sometimes a bit longer. Jonas usually only had four weeks, maybe five. We lived for those weeks together, where we were at each other’s sides from sun up to sun down. Summers in Seaside had always been special, but the summers with Jonas were magical. Looking back, it almost seemed unbelievable that we built our relationship on twice weekly phone calls, letters, and four weeks in our favorite beach town.
Once we married and he played for the Caribou, we continued writing letters, each of us tucking them into the other’s suitcase before we traveled. And I also found one on my nightstand after he left for a road game. But over time, as we got busy shuttling our children to and from their activities and neither of us traveled as much, the letters stopped. I lifted the folded cream linen paper from where he’d rested it against the bedside lamp and ran my finger across the script. Something as simple as ‘Annie’ inside a heart shouldn’t cause my eyes to water, but it did.
Jonas was the only person who had ever shortened my name. A first name and a middle name spoken together as one name was the tradition for the women in my family. My grandmother was Mary Louise. My mother and her sister were Mary Ellen and Sarah Louise, respectively. My older sisters were Sue Ellen and Sarah Beth. Then there was me, Anne Marie. Never Anne. Never Marie. When Jonas asked me if I had a nickname, I told him I’d never had one, but always thought it would be romantic for someone to call me something no one else did. Two days later, when he kissed me for the first time, he whispered ‘Annie, my love,’ in my ear and never called me anything else.
I raised the note to my nose and inhaled. It smelled like his cologne. About three months after our first summer together, I told him other than the feel of his lips against mine, the two things I missed the most were the feel of our fingers interlocked and the smell of his cologne. Each note after that smelled like him. When I unfolded the linen paper, I expected to find a few lines telling me details about what he planned for the day or something of that nature, but instead, I found five promises.
Annie, my love
I cannot find the words to tell you how sorry I am for making you doubt that you are anything but the most important part of my life. This summer, I promise to do the following:
Kiss you goodnight and good morning, if you’ll let me. And I hope you will because I’ve missed that.
Talk about everything we should have been discussing these past years.
Be honest and open during our talks, remembering to listen before responding.
Take the therapy workbook seriously and complete each task from a place of compassion and love, with a focus on being honest to myself and you.
Once we’re ready, I will hold you in my arms while we sleep, the way I used to. The way I should have been doing each night.