Now that his truck is pulling up, I still have no idea what to do. I just know the thought of pulling away from them feels like a loss I can’t face right now, not when I finally feel strong again. But it’s not about me, is it? Because the last thing they need is a woman who’s barely hanging on asking them to keep her from falling.
My hand trembles slightly as I turn the doorknob. He’s coming up the front steps, his hands jammed into the front pockets of his jeans.
I give him a small wave. “How is she this morning?”
Walking past me into the house, he shrugs. “She was all right until we got about a block from school. Then she had a bit of a cry.”
My stomach rolls as I close the door. “I’m sorry. It must have been so hard to drop her off there.”
He nods. “Parenting is the shits sometimes.”
We walk to the kitchen and I pour him a coffee, then top mine up. We both know we need to talk and we both know it’s going to be now.
Once we’re seated at the table, I start. “I just want to say how sorry I am, Liam. I don’t know what came over me. I was just overcome by this … this fierce protectiveness.”
I glance up at him, and his face is so serious I can’t stand it. Instead, I stare down at my hands. “I really messed up, didn’t I?”
“I appreciate what you were trying to do, Abby. I know your heart was in the right place, but good Lord, you really went after that little Mercedes and her mom.” He shakes his head, then starts laughing. “I know I shouldn’t find it funny, but the look on your face when you were yelling about being the G.D. babysitter …”
I let a chuckle escape, relief flooding my veins. “Like that’s supposed to scare anyone. Ooh, not the babysitter!”
When the moment passes, Liam says, “And that little brat had it coming.”
Good, yes, let’s focus on what Mercedes did wrong. So much easier. “She did, didn’t she?” Then the image of Olive walking out of the school, her face stained with tears pops into my mind. “Olive shouldn’t have to put up with that shit. She’s been through enough.”
He nods, running his finger over the handle of the white mug.
“Do you think they’ll be extra awful to her today?”
Shrugging, he says, “Maybe, I don’t know. That’s the worst part of being a parent. You can’t fix these things, you can’t change the world, and you can’t shield your child from it, no matter how much you wish you could.”
“There’s always homeschooling.” I say it like it’s a joke, but at this moment, I’d be willing to pull her out of school and become her full-time teacher.
Walt hops up on Liam’s lap and he scratches under his chin. “But what happens after? Keep hiding them away their entire lives?”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head. “They have to learn to fight their battles, and when they lose, how to get back up.” Anger crosses over his face, then disappears. “The truth about parenting that nobody tells you is you spend most of it just feeling helpless.”
Well, that’s that, then. I don’t do helpless, so this is going to have to be the start of a slow goodbye. I’ll find them some amazing, strong woman who can handle all of it with poise. Someone who knows how to sew and can whip up a batch of chocolate cookies in under ten minutes.
He continues on, and I’m not sure who he’s talking to at this point. “What kids really need is someone to hold them when they cry, and to help them pick themselves back up when they fall. And the whole fucking time you have to pretend it’ll be all right.” He’s using both hands to pet Walt in long strokes over his ears and chest. “You tell them to get back out there and do their best, even though you know the game is rigged.”
“That all sounds horrible to me.”
Liam makes a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a cry. “It is.” Then he laughs. “It’s fucking shitty.”
Reaching out, I take his hand and squeeze it. “And doing it alone must be so much harder.”
He looks up at me, his eyes searching mine, and I’m sure he’s wondering if that was an offer.
I pull my hand away and tuck it under my leg. “I’m sure Sarah would have known exactly what to do yesterday.”
“Sarah would’ve done a lot worse than you,” he says.
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“Christ, yeah. The temper on her when she saw something like that going down. I’m glad it was you there because I’d have been bailing her out of jail.” Liam chuckles and shakes his head. “She was half bats, that one. But I loved her for it.”
We sit in silence for a minute. He seems lost in his memory, and for my part, I don’t know what to say or even think. Liam sighs, his frown returning. “It's my fault she doesn't fit in. It's got nothing to do with her hair or her clothes—well, maybe a little bit—but the truth is, I let her be different. All that stuff she believes about her mom and the baby being mermaids … it puts people off, you know?"
"Well, that's their problem, not hers. I think it’s beautiful. It gives her hope and it makes her happy. And for a child who’s had so much sorrow, how could you take even a tiny bit of her happiness away?”
My insistent tone causes Walt to jump off Liam’s lap and trot out of the room.
I watch him, then turn to Liam. “She's got more imagination than I'll ever have, and that's a rare gift. It’s not something we should let the world take away from her."
He looks up at me. "You just said we."
"I’m sorry. I heard it as soon as it came out of my mouth. I'm overstepping my bounds.” I run both hands through my hair. “For someone who claims she never gets attached, I’ve certainly proven myself to be a liar."
Liam tilts his head, giving me an intense stare. “What are we doing here, Abby?”
“Having our morning site meeting?”
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m sorry.” And I am. “It’s just so hard to admit. I’m more me when I’m around the two of you than when I’m with anyone else in the world.” Closing my eyes for a second, I can barely get the words out. “Even more than with Isaac. And I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but I love it. I love … how I feel when I’m with you, and with Olive.”
I risk a glance at those eyes of his, and feel my heart break, like I knew it would. “I also know it doesn’t matter what I love because you need someone strong who always knows what to do. Someone who can keep her shit together, and that’s not me. I just don’t have it in me.”
“What if you do but you don’t know it yet?”
I start to shake my head, but the sound of his cell phone interrupts me. He glances at it, his eyebrows knitting together. “That’s the school.”
He stands and answers his phone, turning to the window. “She did what?”
There’s a long pause, then he says, “No, of course I understand. I’ll be right down.”
When he hangs up, he looks at me. “I have to go pick up Olive. She’s been suspended for punching Mercedes Tanner in the face.”
“What?” I stand and follow him to the door, trying not to smile.
“She must have a hell of a right cross because she gave her a bloody nose.” He opens the door, then looks at me, fighting a grin.
“You want me to come with—?” I start, then shake my head. “No, probably best if I wait here.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
* * *
Liam’s demeanor has changed when he returns with Olive. He’s in disappointed, don’t-ever-do-it-again dad mode. Olive’s face is red from crying and I can tell by his face he’s had to give her a lecture he doesn’t believe and he hates himself for it. I watch her pull off her backpack, her breath catching every few seconds, and I want to wrap my arms around her and hold her until it stops. Instead, I unzip her coat for her and put it on the bench by the front door, unsure if a hug would be the equivalent of saying it’s okay to hit someone.
“You probably heard,” she says. Her chest heaves as she chokes out, “I’m a big
bully now.”
I cover my mouth with one hand, trying not to laugh while at the same time, trying not to cry. “Oh, Olive. You’re not a bully.”
“I had to go to the principal’s office and watch a video about violence and bullies.” She burst into tears again. “Seth says my next stop will be juvie hall.” Snot rolls out of her nose, but she takes no notice of it.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re a long way from juvie hall.” I take her hand and walk her to the bathroom where I get some tissues and hold them up to her nose. “Blow.”
She does as I said while the hiccups continue. Liam stands at the door to the bathroom and looks down at her with slumped shoulders.
“I have to go pee,” she says, walking over to the toilet and starting to pull down her leggings.
“Whoop. I’ll give you your privacy,” I say, walking out and closing the door behind me.
Liam and I stand in the hall, wincing at each other. I put my hand on his arm and speak in a quiet voice. “This is awful. Don’t you just want to tell her not to worry about it?”
He nods. “So badly it hurts. I’d take her out and buy her a pony if it wouldn’t send the wrong message.”
The toilet flushes and a second later the door opens.
Liam raises one eyebrow. “Did you wash your hands?”
She turns back and sobs out the words, “Sorry, Dad.”
Clearing his throat, he says, “The principal said Olive may return to school tomorrow so long as she writes an apology to Mercedes and one for her teacher. Maybe she can get started on that now.”
“Sure,” I nod, holding my hand out to her and starting toward the kitchen. “Why don’t I sit with you while you write it?”
She nods and sniffles. “Yes, please.”
“I’ll be down in the basement,” he says, sighing while he watches her walk.
“Okay,” I say.
Olive slides onto a chair while I go in search of the supplies she needs. When I come back, she has her arms crossed on the table and her head resting on them. I put down a pen and a few white sheets of paper, then rub her back. “Can I get you some water?”
“That would be nice.”
I walk over to the cupboard. “You know, Olive, I got suspended once.”
“You did?” she asks, perking up.
“Mmm-hmm. I was in seventh grade,” I say, turning on the tap and filling the glass. “I had an extremely strict English teacher named Mrs. Butterfield.”
Olive gives me a skeptical look while I walk back to the table.
“For real, that was her name.” I put the glass in Olive’s hand. “Drink up. She never did like me, but I have no idea why. One day, I was talking in class while she was trying to teach, and she’d had enough and kicked me out of class.”
“You got suspended for talking?”
“No, it’s what happened after,” I say, holding up one finger. “And I want you to know I’m not proud of it. When I was walking out the door, she said, ‘And before you come back, you need to drop the attitude.’
“So I said, ‘Before I come back, you need to drop forty pounds of butt fat.’”
Olive slaps both hands over her mouth, her eyes as round as Walt’s Fancy Feast plate.
“Yeah,” I nod. “I said that. Horrible, right?”
“Why?”
“I honestly don’t know why I said that. I didn’t think she’d hear me, but I wasn’t talking quietly enough. In fact, all the kids in the class heard it too,” I add. “Actually, I was kind of shouting, now that I think about it. And suddenly it’s pretty obvious why she never liked me.”
I stare at Olive’s shocked face for a second, a testament to the fact that I have no business being a role model of any sort. “I’m not sure I should have told you any of that. I’m definitely not condoning backtalk or umm … fat shaming. The first one is cheeky and the second one is cruel. I guess what I’m trying to say is that everybody makes mistakes, and yours today feels like a big one, but someday, it won’t feel as big. Does that make sense?”
She nods and sniffs again, then picks up the pencil.
“I’ll shut up now so you can get your work done.”
It takes her nearly an hour and almost all my blank paper to come up with the perfect apology letters. She’s so sincere about it that she gives me hope for the future of humanity. And when she’s done, Olive seems more like herself again while I make us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and slice up an apple. I task her with pouring herself a milk and carrying my coffee over to the table for me, then we sit down together to eat.
“We only have three more sleeps on the boat.” She hasn’t finished chewing the bite of sandwich in her mouth when she comes out with this news, and I can see bits of food clinging to her teeth. Thankfully, she takes a sip of milk before she continues. “Dad’s going to take the boat out of the water this weekend, so we have to spend the winter in our house.”
“Do you like it there?”
She shrugs. “Sort of. I like having a yard and a bigger room and stuff. But my dad’s happier on the boat, so it’s better.”
I don’t say anything, but instead, pick up the napkin next to her plate and wipe a little lump of peanut butter off her cheek.
“It makes him sad because we’re not on the water where my mom and baby Malcolm can see us.”
“Oh, I see.”
“They’re sad too. So this year, I’m going to write a note for them to tell them where we’re going so they won’t worry. I think that’ll make my dad feel better.” She takes another bite of her sandwich. “Do you have a bottle I could use?”
“I’m sure I can find something.”
After lunch, Olive gets straight to work on her note. I slip into the bathroom and splash my face with some cold water, trying not to let my sadness show. I must be in there a while because she comes to find me. “Abby, are you in there? I’m all done.”
“Be right out.” I take a deep breath, then another to convince myself that I can do this. When I open the door, she is standing with her coat zipped up, and a rolled-up paper in her hand. “Is your tummy feeling okay? You were in there for a long time.”
My cheeks flush at her pointed question. “I’m fine.”
I find a wine bottle with a screw top that had been rinsed out in preparation for recycling.
“I already told my dad we’re going for a walk, so we can just go.” She carefully slides the note into the bottle and then screws the lid on tight.
The world seems desolate today as we walk along the shore. It’s dark and gray, and as a gust of wind whips my hair into my face, I feel the first hints of winter. Only the seagulls are out fighting against the wind today, searching for supper. There are no sailboats out, no seals, no other people strolling along while their dogs scamper down the beach seeking the perfect piece of driftwood for a game of fetch.
As we head out toward the open sea, the sandy beach gives way to rocky terrain. The water below drops off and soon, you can’t see the spot where the water meets the cliff unless you’re right on the edge. Olive scampers ahead, certain the mermaids come up to sun themselves on those rocks. She saw one there once. Her grandmother tried to tell her it was just a seal’s tail disappearing below the surface, but she knows what she saw.
“This is the spot,” she shouts. Clutching the bottle in one hand, she scrambles along to get closer to the edge of the cliff. It’s steep, and she loses her footing, but then quickly recovers.
“Be careful!” I shout the useless piece of advice, and it disappears into the air behind me. Fear takes over my legs now, and I pick up my pace to a jog, even though I’m sure I’m overreacting. The tide has come in, slamming against the cliff, and my heart slams against my ribcage in response. “Olive, wait for me! It’s not safe!”
But she doesn’t hear me and keeps making her way down, tucking the bottle close to her while she uses her free hand to steady herself. A wave rolls toward her, and I see what happens two seconds before it takes place. The w
ater rises above the rock, crushing down on her while I scream. It pulls her feet out from under her, taking her with it as it disappears under the edge of the cliff.
I scramble down the rocks, too terrified to breathe. My foot slips on the wet rock but I recover and force myself to move with a swiftness I forgot I had. My hair is whipped in front of my eyes just as her head bobs up. I scream her name and leap down to the rock just above her, then lie down and reach out my arms, trying to grab for her as the water rises again. I clutch at her hood, only managing to grasp it with the tips of my fingers. Another icy wave slams down on us, and I lose her. I try to call for her as water fills my lungs. Please don’t die. Please don’t die.
Without thinking, I push myself to a crouch, then launch my body into the next wave, reaching wildly around me as I go under. The air is squeezed out of my lungs and the cold shock on my skin feels like thousands of knives. I try to look around me, but the saltwater stings and my eyes shut automatically. Where the hell are you, Olive?
I bob up above the surface and take a deep breath, just before another wave envelops my body, lifting me and crashing me into the cliff. Pain tears through my back and legs, but when the wave pulls back, she is there. Just under the surface. I manage to get a hold of her hair with one hand, and my fingers grip hard. Don’t let her go. Don’t let her die.
She is spun by the next wave, and I see her eyes through her dark hair, wild with terror. She reaches for me, and as the wave moves us, it brings her tight to my body. My back slams against the rocks again, but the incredible relief of finding her outweighs the pain. I hold onto her with everything in me, using my legs to push us away from the cliff and toward the beach. But the tide is too strong, and it bashes me against the stone again, this time slamming my cheek and the side of my head. My ears pop from the impact and my eyes go dim, but I hold tight to Olive’s little body, tucking her in as close to me as I can.
Our heads surface now, and I gulp the air and try to propel us to the left where it’s safe. Violent sobs from Olive’s chest shake us both as I try to swim toward a sandy break in the cliff. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another wave above us.
The After Wife Page 24
