Rediscovering You

Mommy and Daddy

November 24, 1959
Georgetown, Washington D.C.

It was a dreary autumn evening—the kind that made Jacqueline want to slip into her nylon night gown, unhook the telephone, and curl up with her well-worn copy of De Gaulle's Mémoires De Guerre.

He would have teased her for that. He never understood her fascination with France and De Gaulle, always claiming that Churchill was the real hero of the Second World War. His first gift to her had been Churchill's World Crisis. Never one for flowers or chocolate, he gave her his tattered copy on their third date instead. It was still in her dresser drawer, bookmarked with a fading picture of the two of them on his sailboat. Scrawled endearingly on the title page was a note:

Maybe this'll change your mind.
Love, Jack.

Sometimes it felt as if he never left.

The drizzling outside evoked a feeling almost as dismal as that thought. Had it been any other night, she might have taken the book out, ran her fingers over the soft, yellowing pages, and cried herself to sleep like she had so many times before. But tonight was no such night—she had to be unbothered and poised tonight. Even if it was a lie.

She brushed the thought aside and resumed her task of heaping clothes into the leather-bound suitcase propped open on her bed. She was tucked away from the world inside the third-floor bedroom of her quaint, cobblestone townhome. Her lilac, wallpapered walls sheltered her from her fears, and the soft music from her Victrola drowned out the droning of her worries. Up here, nothing could touch her—not even her past, not even him.

She relished in the seclusion while she could, knowing full well that it was an illusion—a dreamlike state to keep her from succumbing to the dimness of her reality. The aura of it was fading fast now. Soon she would have to confront her past. Soon, her past would be knocking at her door.

She clasped the suitcase shut over the heaping pile of pajamas and princess costumes inside. She took a deep breath, summoning the last of her strength. "Caroline?"

When there was no response, she stepped gingerly into the dark hallway outside, careful to avoid the creaky floor boards. She pressed herself quietly against the doorframe of the little room, finding the child still sound asleep in her cot.

She remained there a while, watching her tiny chest rise and fall in the dark. She felt like weeping at her beauty—so innocent and soft. The child filled her with a love like no other, a love she sometimes wondered how she ever went without.

How she wished she could give her what she deserved: an unbroken family. Jackie had vowed to never make the mistakes her parents made, to give her child the upbringing she never had. But alas, life is unforeseeable. She was too blinded by love to discern that simple fact before. Now she knew that vows are meaningless and perpetually broken. After all, he had vowed to be faithful and love her forever, and she was foolish enough to believe him.

She thought she could do this. She thought she was strong enough. She had promised herself that she wouldn't get this way. She couldn't get this way—not until she was alone.

She took a breathe.

"C'mon sweetie, it's time to wake up." She flipped on the light switch and watched the little girl stir under its yellowy haze.

She crouched beside her and ran a hand through her tangled blonde curls. "I've got you all packed up. Daddy's going to be here soon."

The little girl groaned softly, rubbing her eyes groggily before opening them to her mother.

"You gonna come, mommy?"

The question she'd been dreading. Jackie sighed, looking up at the paper stars plastered on the ceiling. The divorce had been a longtime coming, but it wasn't finalized until last month. Caroline still couldn't quite wrap her little mind around the fact that mommy and daddy were no longer together—let alone that they could scarcely stand to be in the same room.

"Sweetie," Jackie began carefully: "It's just going to be you and daddy for the weekend."

"But mommy—"

"Come here." She picked up the little girl and sat with her in her arms on the edge of the cot.

"It's only for the weekend." She consoled. "And you love spending time with your Daddy, don't you?"

Caroline raised her downcast gaze to sullenly look at her mother. Wide, blue eyes—just like his. Something stirred deep in Jackie.

"Why can't Daddy stay here like he used to?"

The little girl's question put a lump in her mother's throat. She as just barely three—how was Jackie to explain to her something she herself struggled to understand?

She swallowed and took a slow breath, willing away the tears that stung the corners of her eyes. "Sweetie, listen." She began shakily: "Mommy and Daddy both love you. We always will, no matter what."

Caroline nodded.

"It's just—well—Mommy and Daddy don't love each other anymore."

She cringed instantly at the crassness of her statement.

Her daughter was silent, staring blankly ahead, the tiny gears in her head.
"Oh," she finally uttered. It was the saddest, most dejected little oh Jackie had ever heard.

"I love you." She tried weakly to recover, stroking her daughter's hair. "So so much."

She nodded, still unsmiling. "You'll still be there for my birthday party at grandma and grandpa's right?"

"Of course, sweetie. I wouldn't miss it for the world." Jackie cooed pressing a kiss onto her cheek.

Just then, two white lights shone through the bleary storm and into the window. Headlights pulling into the driveway.

He was here.