Shattered

•Two•

NOW

It's not easy trying to fall into a daily routine when you've no idea what was the norm before.  Jack's been great with me, making sure I take my meds and stay ahead of the pain.  My shoulder and ribs are healing quite well.  The incision in my stomach from internal bleeding sometimes itches and serves as a constant reminder of recent events.  You know, other than feeling like a complete stranger in another stranger's home.

Jack's already left for work, as he does by 9 am every day.  Except for on the weekends.  The past few weekends we've gone to brunch and the farmer's market, as he's said it was what I always loved doing with him.  He's trying to get me back into the swing of things.  It's strange seeing food, like pancakes with raspberries and desiring them, knowing what they taste like, but seeing this man, my husband, and feeling nothing but confusion.

Since the accident, I've been staring at the photos on the wall in the hallway.  Trying to recollect the emotions, the stories behind each captured moment.  Even now, gazing at the little gallery on the wall, I felt stuck.  The center photo is a wedding picture of Jack and I.  We look blissfully happy, staring into each other's eyes with his arm around me, holding me close.  Jack looks devilishly handsome in his tux, I observed.  I smiled at the picture, wishing I could feel something toward Jack, just knowing that he's my husband and we're in love.  I don't want to have to start over.

I had to asked Jack what I usually did throughout the day.  I apparently was a wonderful house wife, keeping our home pristine and having dinner ready by the time he came home.  I dusted and vacuumed and folded some laundry.  By noon, my head was killing me so I took a nap hoping the pain would disappear by the time I needed to cook dinner.  When my eyes finally opened again, I peered at the clock on the tall dresser and quickly sat up realizing Jack would be home in half an hour.  My head still hurt and even with the meds, I couldn't shake the pain.  So spaghetti it was again.  For the third night in a row.  He didn't complain last night and I hoped he wouldn't tonight, either.

As I strained the noodles, I heard the garage door go up.  My heart began to race and I couldn't explain why.  Perhaps because I was still getting to know Jack.  Perhaps because I found him attractive and desperately wanted to impress him and knew fixing spaghetti once again probably wasn't the best decision.

He walked in with his messenger bag across his shoulders and smiled when he saw me.  Glancing at the stove, his smile disappeared.  I swallowed hard, embarrassed.

"Sorry.  I've had a headache today and napped too long to make anything else."  It was the truth.

Jack shook his head and dropped his bag to the floor, stepping toward me, taking me in his arms.  He wrapped them around me and caressed my back.

"How about we go out tonight instead."  The words were a question, but the tone was not.  He pressed his nose to my hair, sniffing it.  I found it endearing and leaned against his firm chest.  He stilled, taken aback by my subtle affection.  Until now, he was the only one who made any attempts at romance.  But having him home, someone somewhat familiar, letting me know that I'm loved, and the way his smile makes me feel, I felt a relief.  I felt obligated to toss him a bone.

I nodded, grateful for the idea.  Grateful that I haven't disappointed him.

•••

We sat at a small table in the back of a dimly lit Mexican restaurant called Pablo's.  I had placed my hair into a ponytail and wore a cute sleeveless blouse that was hanging in the closet.

After perusing the menu several times, I settled on the carnitas.

"You'd always order them.  I could never get you to try something different," he smiled, remembering fondly.