The Blessings by Elise Juska Read Free Book Online Page A

the curb, the nights are cool and sweet, but the house is always the same temperature, its own climate. A world apart.
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    Friends come—John’s friends from high school, a few of his co-workers. A guy who, at their dinner party in October, had done a loud, drunken impression of their boss. Now he refuses the beer that Lauren offers. He makes jokes—business jokes. Couldn’t you market this thing as a diet plan? he says, and John offers the obligatory laugh. Lauren almost can’t bear to look at the guy’s face, the terror in his eyes: A guy like me, reduced to this .
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    On warm afternoons, if John is feeling strong enough, the four of them sit by the pool. John dressed in layers, Lauren holding the baby, Elena carefully dunking her feet. When they had the pool dug last summer, John had imagined all the family barbecues they would be hosting. It’ll be fun for the kids , he’d said, and Lauren had cringed inwardly at the thought of their house becoming the locus of all John’s family gatherings for the rest of their lives. Now she makes a promise to herself: to keep hosting, no matter what.
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    Mrs. Blessing is there every other day, like clockwork. Fixing meals, doing laundry, washing dishes. Lauren is too exhausted to refuse. She knows John likes having her there, and there is something steadying about John’s mother: the dependability of her habits, the flowered half apron she keeps folded neatly in a kitchen drawer, the warm, simple dishes she pulls from the oven. Macaroni and cheese, potato soup, vats of rice pudding. Another promise Lauren makes to herself: She will never eat rice pudding again.
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    Lauren’s mother flies up from Florida and stays for six days. My poor little girl , she says, stepping from the cab in the driveway, as Lauren collapses in her arms. Her mother lines up her travel-size shampoos and lotions on the dresser in the guest bedroom. She coos over the baby, teaches Elena to play Go Fish and Old Maid. Sitting on the couch beside John, she is so tan that it seems an affront. John’s mother surrenders the kitchen for the week, but Lauren’s mother makes grape leaves, which are too difficult for John to eat. At night, when the rest of the house is sleeping, she quizzes Lauren about things: life insurance, health insurance, items on a list prepared by her dad. We don’t talk about that yet , Lauren snaps. She thinks she’ll be glad to see her mother go until the moment her cab pulls away.
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    When John is too weak to leave the house, Lauren takes the children to church alone. She feels like a fake martyr, folding her hands, bowing her head to pray. Say the word and I shall be healed , she recites along with everybody else. But there is nothing in her head, just words in space. On her knees, she concentrates. God, please help us. Please. Still, she feels nothing. Maybe she is just not a religious person; maybe she’s doing it wrong. Walking to the car, she notices people’s sorry smiles and realizes they must be wondering if John isn’t there because he’s dead.
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    I wish there were more we could do , the doctor says.
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    Lauren wants to pull Elena out of preschool, but John insists on keeping things as normal as possible, as long as possible. To bring her home would be conceding something. Not yet , he says.
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    When the baby is running a temperature, he is whisked away, quarantined at Ann and Dave’s house until the fever goes down.
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    Around John, Elena is careful. She can’t sit on Daddy’s lap because it hurts his bones, so she plays by his feet. She can’t kiss him because of germs. Instead, they touch heads. She does these things gently, without complaining. Whatever other emotions are building inside her are reserved for Lauren alone. One day in the Thriftway, as Lauren is shopping for things John can eat—nothing hard or chewy, nothing