I’m terrified of what I might lose if I do.

Maybe I cling too tightly to the things I can control—the routine I put in place for Eddie—the tasks around the house I like to be done just so—because deeper and broader and wider than all of that run the things in my life I can’t control. I run myself ragged trying to control the world that exists around him, because I can’t change him at all.

I can’t fix Eddie, because Eddie is not broken. He is simply different, and he is going to be like this forever because this is who he is. This is what my life is always going to look like—probably into old age, because Callie will grow up and leave home, but Eddie will never live independently.

I haven’t grieved the life I thought I’d live, and I sure as Hell haven’t grieved the son I thought I’d get. I got right on with accepting the son I did get, which is exactly the opposing coping mechanism to the one my husband has applied to the situation.

I sink a little deeper into the bath, tears filling my eyes as I’m struck by a wave of longing so intense that it’s all I can do to stay where I am. I want to run to the airport and fly home right now and take Wade and the kids into my arms and hold them all so close that they can never slip away. Even Wade—maybe especially Wade. He and I actually need each other to achieve some kind of balance.

I can’t wait to hear Wade’s voice and to resolve the lingering tension before I go to bed. It’s 10:00 p.m. in Krakow now—that means 4:00 p.m. back home, and because it’s Wednesday, he and Eddie should be in the viewing room at ballet, watching Callie’s class. I slip quickly out of the bath, pull on the hotel robe and call, but when the call connects, it’s immediately obvious to me that they are not in the viewing room at ballet.

“Wade?” I call, surprised.

“Eddie, I love you,” Eddie echoes, surprise and delight in his tone. The phone shifts a little and his face fills the screen. He stares into the phone, bringing it too close.

Eddie looks blissfully happy—his big green eyes are positively brimming with joy. Eddie looks as if he’s just been given some kind of deliriously magical gift. Eddie looks as if my call is icing on an already pretty exceptional cake. As I digest all this, I suddenly recognize the brick wall behind him.

“Hello, baby,” I say softly. “Daddy has taken you to the train station, huh?”

“Hello, Alice,” Wade says, from offscreen. “Yes, we figured there was not much point watching Pascale at ballet so we went for a walk. Once we got onto the block near the station Eddie went on autopilot and all but dragged me in here, so I’m guessing you do this too sometimes.”

I would never take Eddie for a spontaneous walk like that. I’d never risk it. What if we ran into a situation where he had a meltdown? What if he ran off? I plan my outings with Eddie like teachers plan their excursions—I schedule things, I put them onto his visual timetable, I consider the risks, I make contingency plans.

But that also means I don’t ever get to see that same, surprised joy on Eddie’s face that Wade has managed to achieve right now. There are no surprises in Eddie’s life with me. I’m utterly bewildered by the jealousy I feel.

“We go there on Friday morning if he stays at school all day on Thursday, and we park at the same place for ballet, so I guess he knows the way...” I say, my voice trailing off. I fall silent then, watching as Eddie’s gaze leaves the phone screen to focus on something in front of him. I suspect from the ever-growing excitement in his eyes that he’s looking at an approaching train. “What’s the plan tonight?” I ask Wade.

“Soup is the plan tonight,” he says. He’s still offscreen, but there’s no mistaking the edge of bitterness in his tone. “Is that why you called? To check?”

“I called because I had a really emotional and confusing day, and I just wanted to hear your voice,” I say. It’s astounding how I genuinely wanted to connect with him on this call, but less than sixty seconds into it he makes a comment like that and in an instant, I feel defensive, and the bitterness that leaps into my tone instantly matches the level in his. No wonder we’re in such a mess. I feel like we’re on either side of a very long footbridge and we’re both afraid to set out onto it. Each time one of us steps forward, the other steps back in case the bridge can’t take our weight. I can’t fight with him tonight—I just don’t have the emotional reserves. I take a deep breath, and say evenly, “But now isn’t really the time for that chat, I guess. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Eddie’s face disappears from the screen, and in his place, I see Wade. There are heavy bags beneath his eyes and for the first time in living memory, he hasn’t shaved on a workday.

“Don’t hang up, Ally,” he murmurs. “I have to say something—and brace yourself, this is going to be shocking.”

I can tell he’s about to make a joke, and I laugh a little in anticipation.

“I’m braced,” I joke in return. “Go ahead.”

“Two kids? Significantly more difficult to manage than three hundred lab rats. This is no holiday. And I’m really sorry about before—and I’m sorry about the soup,” he sighs heavily, then says wryly, “Let it be known that I’m sorry about pretty much everything at this point.”

“I’m sorry too,” I whisper, and then I touch the screen with my forefinger, feeling again that soul-deep pang of longing. I stare right into his eyes on the screen and my voice is rough with emotion as I choke, “I really miss you, Wade.”

“I miss you too.” I hear the rumbling of the coming train, and then I see the rush of wind mess with Wade’s hair. I want to ask him about the new Go-Gurt labels, and to see Eddie again—to see that Eddie really is okay. But this clearly isn’t the time to talk, because Wade has to shout into the phone as the train draws near. “Let’s talk properly tomorrow, when I’m not at a train station?”

I laugh and nod, then kiss my finger and press it to the camera.

“I love you,” I whisper. He reads my lips, and I see him echo it back to me.

CHAPTER 33

Alina

As we walked back to my family home, Saul tried hard to convince us to leave him behind, but he was too exhausted to make a convincing argument. He eventually gave up on Tomasz, and when he instead tried to convince me, I found myself in the god-awful position of taking Tomasz’s side.

“It makes sense for you to join me on the journey,” I forced myself to say. “Tomasz is needed here.”

It would take at least six hours for the plaster cast to dry, and Tomasz wanted it close to set before we boarded the truck. The original plan would have had us back to my family home with plenty of time for the cast to cure—but now we arrived back at the farmhouse just as the clock struck 3:00 a.m. I’d be boarding the truck with the cast still well and truly soft.