“Reilly.” Brennan’s voice was impatient and firm, as if he’d been trying to get Reilly’s attention for a while.
He blinked, his eyes fluttering to the corkboard Maria had hung on the wall next to the phone and hooks where the keys went. “What is it?”
The board had been decorated by scraps of paper in all shapes, sizes and colors. Maria’s bubbly handwriting covered most of them with reminders of press conferences, photo shoots, charity events and meetings for Dead or Kennidee’s private preschool. There were some scraps of paper with Reilly’s loopy, busy handwriting on them, too. Kennidee had even drawn some of her own pictures with her titles for them written in Maria’s hand. There was one that looked like four potatoes with an arrangement of sticks poking out of each one that Maria had labeled with names: the smallest potato had Chandler written under it in purple--Kennidee’s favorite color--crayon, followed by Kennidee, Mommy and Daddy. And another was of two blobs with black circles for eyes and empty circles for spots named Flapjack and Disco. The final drawing hadn't been tacked to the cardboard--instead, it laid on the cluttered granite countertop. It was of a kidney-shaped thing made out of straight edges labeled California with a simple drawing of a boxy house in the southern region and a drawing of a stick person. However, the label of the person had been written in her own disjointed, uncoordinated handwriting: Dad.
Holding the phone to his ear with one hand, he lifted the paper with his other to take a closer look. Had Maria told their three- almost four-year-old about his circumstance? Or had she sugarcoated it? “Daddy's gonna live somewhere else for a while.” He could see that scenario: his wife sitting down with his little girl, criss-cross on the floor in the living room and explaining in baby terms why he hadn’t been home for hours, days . . . weeks.
So she’d drawn the picture and given it to Maria, who’d set it down on top of-- A flutter of pink caught his attention and he looked past the picture to find a hot pink sticky note fluttering to the floor.
He ignored Brennan's explanation on the other line as he bent to pick up the note and turn it over. His stomach fluttered when he saw the note started with his name in Maria's handwriting.
Reilly -- It read.
I guess we all need some time to ourselves sometimes. I’m sorry. - Maria
That was all there was. There was no I love you or an address or phone number he could reach her out. Technically, there wasn’t really an explanation.
He reread the note once, twice, as many times as it took until he kind of came to the terms with the fact that he just wasn’t going to know what exactly was going on in her head until she decided to call him up and tell him.
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