Because I Had Two Daughters, My Husband Checked Out

"Dad said he was coming," June whispered. The stage lights made the auditorium feel warmer than it was. I rubbed my thumb over the back of her hand, trying to give her something steady to hold on to. "He did," I said. "He'll be here if he can." It was a small lie. I had seen Owen's text twenty minutes earlier. Owen: Engine blew on the Gull. Can't leave yet. Tell June I'm sorry. I'd already told her he was stuck at work. I hadn't told her that the Gull belonged to a customer who had called twice to say the boat could wait until morning. I knew because I'd answered the call myself at our shop. June wore a paper crown decorated with silver stars. The other children in her class had crowns too, and each had a grown-up or two in the folding chairs behind them. When June's teacher stepped up to the microphone, she looked toward the entrance again. Then she turned back to me. "Can you record it?" she asked. I raised my phone. "Of course." Willa sat on my lap, feet kicking against my legs. She had brought a stuffed rabbit and was quietly pulling its ears. "Where's Daddy?" "He's working, honey." "Again?" The word came out without complaint. That was what made it hurt. June's class sang three songs about the ocean. She sang every word, even when the rest of the group forgot the second verse. At the end, the children waved paper fish at the audience. I clapped hard enough that my palms stung. When I lowered my phone, the chair beside me was still empty. In the parking lot, June held my hand and walked without speaking. Willa rode on my hip. The evening air smelled of salt and cold pavement. "I know why he didn't come," June said. I stopped beside the car. "Why?" "Because Willa and I aren't boats." My grip tightened on her hand. "Honey, that isn't true." "Then why does he always fix the boats?" I opened my mouth, but the explanation I wanted to give her was made of Owen's reasons. The shop was short-staffed. The customer was demanding. The work couldn't wait. None of them answered the question she had asked. "I don't know," I said. "But you didn't do anything wrong." She nodded as if she had expected that answer and climbed into the back seat. At home, I gave the girls macaroni and sliced apples. I washed the paper crowns in the kitchen sink because June wanted to keep hers, then set them on the counter to dry. At eight, Willa began to cry because she wanted me to read two stories instead of one. I read both. June brushed her teeth and went to bed without asking me to call her father. Owen came in at nine forty-five. He smelled of cold air and machine oil. He left his boots by the door and went straight to the sink. "Did she do well?" he asked. "She did." "Good." I waited for him to ask to see the recording. He didn't. The phone in his pocket buzzed. He glanced at it, then set it face down on the counter. "I had to finish the Gull," he said. "The owner's taking it up the coast tomorrow." "It could have waited." "It couldn't." "Your daughter waited." His shoulders rose, then fell. "I said I was sorry." "You texted me about an engine." "I couldn't just walk away in the middle of a repair." "You could have called her. You could have asked to come after. You could have sent something that wasn't a picture of a boat." "I'm tired, Nora." I looked at the wedding ring on his hand, worn dull along the edges. We had been married eleven years. For the first eight, he had seemed proud to build a life with me. Then June was born, and everyone congratulated him on his beautiful girl. When Willa arrived three years later, the doctor placed her in his arms and Owen smiled for the camera. Later, alone in the hospital room, he had said, "We'll try again." I had thought he was joking. He wasn't. I had told him I was done having babies. He had said nothing. The silence that followed had lasted longer than any argument. "You're their father," I said. "I know." "Do you?" He looked at me as if I had asked him to solve something that was too large to fit in the room. Then he went upstairs without answering. I put the crowns on the kitchen table and picked up my phone. The performance recording was nine minutes long. I sent it to Owen. He didn't open it before midnight.