In the spring David takes the Vikings and the Athenians to fight Ka Anor in the Jaslen Mountain range. All through the summer the numbers come back worse and worse, and one day in fall a messenger shows up with David's sword. It's an early winter that year, and by first snowfall no one believes he's still alive. Jalil buries himself in parchment, Christopher drowns himself in alcohol. April's too broken to save them this time. She's too busy with herself.
Time moves on. Things happen. They always do.
Christopher and April get together. Just once, they think, and then maybe regularly because they need it and it was there, and that's okay. And somewhere along the line things might have looked a little less dark, and there might have been flowers and serious implications of monogamy, and April might have gotten knocked up and there might have been a priest. It might have happened a little fast, but this is wartime. It's how it has to be, she tells herself, grabbing on to what happiness you can get with both hands. And they might have been happy, if a big cosmic wrench hadn't been thrown into the plans.
Because it turns out that David isn't dead after all.
Its spring when David comes home – sun shining, April's belly just rounding out, her ankles all ready swelling. There have been parades down the streets for those returning home and April's been sitting in the garden crying for most of the day. It's partly the hormones, but mostly she just isn't over it yet. She can't talk about it with Christopher, or Jalil, because they don't talk about it. It's a guy thing. It feels like home here with them, but sometimes the extra X chromosome just doesn't work for April.
She hears someone clattering around in the front hall. Probably Christopher, looking for his boots, but maybe Jalil or the servant girl who helps clean the house. She goes inside, sniffling, hoping that maybe there will be fresh hummus in the kitchen.
When she sees David standing in the doorway, she has to clutch the wall for support, overcome by shock, disbelief, and incalculable joy. David's home. David's alive. David's home. She screams for Christopher, Jalil, anyone, before fainting dead away.
After dinner David tells his story, which isn't as interesting or magical as it should be considering he supposedly came back from the dead. He lost the sword in battle, was injured, and got caught in the mountains until the snow melted in the spring. Pretty simple, all things considered, and the headstone they put in the garden suddenly seems dramatic and overdone.
April breaks the news in between Christopher's tall tales of Athena's Vestal Virgins and Jalil's diatribe on building firethrowers. David's eyes have all ready skimmed over her body and seen the change, the ring on her finger. He offers forced congratulations and drinks half a bottle of wine before heading to his old room.
Later, in their bedroom, April gives Christopher a quick kiss before blowing out the lamp and settling into bed. She feels as giggly as a preteen at her first sleepover, hugging her pillow tight to her body.
"I can't believe it. Isn't it wonderful?"
"Yeah," Christopher echoes. "Wonderful."
April doesn't think much of the fact that Christopher stays up all night, considering the circumstances.
"We thought…"
"I know."
"I just, I wanted you to know – "
"Chris, don't. It doesn't change anything, it doesn't – "
"I love you."
"You're married. You're married to April. Doesn't that mean anything?"
"I wouldn't have married her if it didn't."
"Christopher. I'm not… angry about it. About anything."
"You should be."
"Why? That you found someone else to love because you thought I was dead? Yeah, really fucking selfish of you, Chris."
"Look – "
"No, Christopher. Whatever I… we… it's not an option anymore. You're married. You're going to be a father. What the hell are you thinking, even talking about this?"
"I… I don't know. I just…"
"Don't touch me."
"David."
"Don't."
April is shattered. She never really understood the feeling before. How did she ever play the scorned lover, how could she act out true desperation without knowing this feeling? But oh, she understands it. She gets it. She knows how this happened. She knows how people settle when they want something instead of nothing.
She can hear Christopher's breathing, harsh and phlegmatic, like he's just been sick. His face is contorted almost beyond recognition. She can't see David's face, but every muscle in his back is stiff, his shoulders as straight and hard as an iron bar.
All this time, April thinks. All this time. And you can't take it back, you can't pretend it didn't happen.
She clutches her stomach.
Just like you can't pretend David didn't happen.
No matter what people would think, Christopher is an honorable man. He'll stay with her. He'll be a good father. He loves kids. That's something else you wouldn't think about him, but it's true. There's something about them that strips all the sarcasm away and makes him all gooey inside, makes him hyper and happy and just Chris. He gets kids, for whatever the reason.
And Christopher is a good guy. April has always known that. She loves him. She does. She wouldn't lie to anyone about that, ever. She loves all her boys – Christopher, Jalil, even David. Going through what they all did, you either learn to love a person or hate them. It might be more romantic with Christopher, a brotherly love with Jalil, camaraderie with David -- but that doesn't mean she doesn't love them all.
That's what makes this so goddamned hard. It's almost like your husband loving your sister – well, if your sister was more like a real sister and less like Senna, and you happened to believe that you're sister was dead when she really wasn't. It's just senseless and tragic and she's not sure who's the one stuck in the middle. Who really has a choice.
She doesn't feel betrayed, exactly. David and Christopher haven't done anything. April's pretty sure they'd never do anything, if the conversation in the hall is anything to go by. But the thought is there. The want is there. Can she live with that? Knowing that she was second choice and managed to come in first only by the skin of her teeth?
It shouldn't surprise April that Jalil knows. He probably knew before David's supposed death, before there was an April-and-Christopher. Before the baby. Before things were complicated. Jalil has it worked down to the bare bones, all the facts and none of the emotions.
"He won't leave."
April stirs more honey into her tea. "I know."
"David won't let him."
"I know that too."
"Know why?" Jalil asks, carefully, like she is made of glass and all questions were hammers. Ever since he found out about the baby, he's been like this.
"Just that he won't." Christopher's the one who wants David. Not that David doesn't want Christopher. David's just content – well, not content with, exactly, but settled into – the idea of Christopher and April. David, the ubermensch, unable to go against the knightly code of honor that isn't even his.
Jalil blinks. "David's parents divorced when he was younger. His dad went off with another woman. Got a whole new family. David won't do that to you, or to your kid. Don't you get it? It doesn't matter what he wants, because he won't let Christopher be that guy. It's not in him."
Saintly, noble David. Sir David. David, the knight in cold but shining armor. Damned if he does and damned if he doesn't – and he doesn't anyway.
Yes. She gets it.
She plans her attack carefully. She moves all his stuff into the hallway, since Christopher isn't the type to pick up subtle hints, and waits for him to notice.
She doesn't wait long. He storms into the garden that afternoon, red-faced and confused and more than a little hurt. Well, now he knows what it's like. Egg on your face.
"April, what -- ?"
"David," she says quietly, relishing both the word and the look that comes over his face. He doesn't have anything to say to that.
"I never meant…"
"Your old room is still empty." Her hands are resting peacefully on her stomach, the big pink elephant.
"The baby?"
"You're the father, Chris. Nothing changes that."
His happy enough with that. Desperate enough to settle.
It's okay. She's okay, or she will be. It's better if he leaves.
At least then someone will have him.
Imbroglio im-broal'yo, n (Italian, confusion, from imbrogliare to confuse, embroil)
An intricate, confusing or disturbing situation; a confused mass or heap. Imbroglio is close to predicament in meaning, only with a remarkable sound (especially its Italian soft 'g') and the added connotation of confusion and entanglement. It is to be preferred enormously over the anglicised 'embroilment'.