“I don’t want you to, either.”
Everything will go wrong. Nothing can stay safe.
She would have given anything to stop the train that was speeding toward them, the train carrying everything she couldn’t name, everything she was afraid of. We don’t deserve him. Nothing can stay safe.
Everything will go wrong.
Chapter Thirty-five
Friday, May 16, 2014
11 a.m.
Pree felt like starting a fight. Anyone would do, really. She wasn’t picky.
After their escape from the cemetery, Flynn and she had gone home, where he’d wanted to talk more about the pregnancy, but she’d cut him off by taking off her clothes. The sex, however, didn’t quite work out, which was probably just what she deserved. While Flynn was going down on her, she’d felt his tongue slow as his fingers fell away. All motion ceased, and she heard a faint snore. He’d been horrified when she’d poked him in the head with her index finger, but the moment was dead for her, and she rolled over, ignoring his apologies, refusing to let him touch her belly as he wanted to.
She just kept thinking about Robin, the boy she would never meet, and the child inside her, who she didn’t really want to meet.
A green Suburban cut Pree off on her way to work, swerving without warning into her lane so that she had to stomp her not very good brakes, and she could suddenly see the attraction road rage held for some. If she’d had a water pistol, she would have brandished it, just to see the look of fear in the man’s eyes. He had a thick gray mustache, and even through the window she could see that his face was red and sweating. She didn’t think she’d ever disliked anyone as much as she disliked that stranger who didn’t even seem to notice he’d done anything wrong.
Jimmy rolled into the office at ten, smelling of aftershave and starch. Was it possible that his wife ironed his shirts? Were there women who still did that? For men who wanted to fuck their employees under their desks?
He smiled and said, “You good with the rendering Sean sent you?”
“Yep.”
Had she really expected more from him? Had she wanted more? A heated glance? A look of knowing? She’d had his cock in her mouth, for god’s sake.
Jimmy nodded once and moved on, laughing as Janice threw a stress ball at him that bounced off his head.
She managed to work for an hour before she lost it.
Slamming his office door behind her, Pree said, “So, what is all this?”
Jimmy looked startled.
“All what?”
Pree felt like screaming. “Are you kidding me? The flirting. Meeting me in the city, pretending to be interested in street art. The . . . what we did, right here.”
Jimmy rubbed his hair with his hands, making his hair stick up even more wildly than it had been. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to confuse anything.”
“But you did.”
He stood slowly. “I thought you were with me on this. Casual, right?”
“Excuse me?”
“I asked you if you and that Finn—”
“Flynn.”
“If you and Flynn were serious, and you told me no. You told me that you saw other people. Did I hear you wrong?”
Pree’s inexplicable lie hung in front of them, and she didn’t say anything.
“Did I?”
“No,” she said, hating everything about him. She hated the dark piece of hair that hung in front of his ear, hated the way the collar of his black shirt was halfway folded under. She hated the fact that he was being kind to her, and she hated how she saw a flicker of pity in his eyes.
“I love Flynn,” she said. Maybe if she said it out loud enough times it would keep being true . . .
“Good,” Jimmy said. “That’s a good thing.”
“I have no idea why I did . . . what I did with you.”
“That’s fine. We won’t do it again. I understand.”
He was being so nice. “But we—”
Jimmy shook his head. “We just messed around.” That pitying look again. “Very minor. That’s all it was. I’m sorry for my part in it because I can see that you’re hurting . . .”
“Just stop.”
“Pree, I’m sorry—”
Pree spun and left the office without another word. I should quit! Yeah, that would show him. On second thought, no. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction, ever. She sat at her desk and fumed. She slammed her desk drawer so hard a screw popped out and the handle fell off.
The worst of it was that Pree had asked Jimmy to meet her that day in Union Square. She had implied she was basically single. She’d kept her pants on, as if that meant anything, but she’d undone her fly and she’d led his hand to her pussy. And then she’d skipped work the next day, as if she’d somehow earned it. And the whole time, she realized now, she’d resented him for not being Flynn. She’d been almost as mad at Jimmy as she was at herself, and it wasn’t his fault, not at all.
With a sigh, Pree lowered her head to her desk. She inhaled the comforting smell of eraser rubber and charcoal.
She was supposed to be better than this. Flynn thought she was better than this. The thought should have eased her, but didn’t.
It would be okay. Pree hid behind her monitor and kept her head down and clutched the thought, writing it in her mind, tracing it over and over the way she did on her stickers. It would be okay. She would make it okay. Somehow.
Chapter Thirty-six
Friday, May 16, 2014
5 p.m.
On Friday, Kate did something she hadn’t done in weeks: she attempted to work. First she put on her painting sweater—the old cream Aran her mother had made for her after Pree was born. It had specks of colors inside the cabled twists from paint that had splattered, marrying the fiber over the years. Kate loved the weight of it, the way it hung from her shoulders, the clean, sheepy smell of it. She felt almost forgiven when she wore it.
She cleaned off the back porch swing and brought out her coffee and her sketchbook. Every time her mind veered toward Pree taking off, or how Nolan had looked when he left, she pushed down with her pencil harder, leaving a darker, more permanent line. By noon, she had a solid plan—the new work was going to be huge. It would take her the whole month she had before it was due to complete the pieces. In her head she saw color for the first time in years. She saw cadmium red and almost knew where she’d use it. Her fingers ached to use cerise. Electric purple breathed within her. Bright orange sat next to deep plum. She looked up at the chartreuse edge of a new acacia leaf and the color tangled with ebony in her mind. Kate wanted all of it, now. Finally it was back—the feeling of a low motor shifted into gear inside her. Motion. She didn’t know if she’d be able to harness it at the canvas, though, and she was frightened.
The plan in place, the sketches outlined—only a shadow of the more detailed plan she’d come up with next—she made herself another cup of coffee and went into her studio at the back of the house.
What she wanted to paint was Robin’s hydrangea. Not the grayscale one that hung in the living room. The real thing—the one made of glorious purples, reds, undertones of cream and yellow against the darkest greens stems, bowing under its own weight.
But instead, she’d do more helicopter scenes, the twisted metal against the hillside. They would sell, she knew, which was what the auction needed. But this time she’d use color.
Kate ran her fingers across the oils. The metal tubes, dented by her thumbs, were cool and familiar.
She had no idea what to do next.
There was a tap at the French doors of her studio. Pree’s face, pale and wide-eyed, swam in the fading light.
Joy lit her heart, a color she’d never be able to name.
“I’m sorry,” Pree said as Kate opened the door. “I knocked at the front door, but you didn’t hear me. I saw your car . . .” Pree’s voice trailed off in doubt. “I shouldn’t have come around back. I’m sorry. I’m interrupting your work.”
“The
only thing you’re interrupting is me from doing nothing. Or, worse, starting a bad painting.”
Pree came closer and looked at the blank canvas. “Oh. I get doing nothing. It’s a lot harder than doing something, isn’t it?”
And there, in her daughter’s words, was a simple, overlooked truth. It was harder to do nothing than to do anything else, no matter how badly. How much she’d missed by not knowing this smart young woman earlier.
Pree said, “I’m sorry. I just had such a crappy day at work—”
Kate shook her head firmly. “No apologies. I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can help me.” It was a spur-of-the-moment idea, and Pree probably wouldn’t want to . . .
“Me? Help?”
Kate led Pree up the stairs and into Robin’s room. She’d already put the yellow paint cans on the plastic floor covering, and earlier in the day she’d taped off the light fixtures and ceiling to do the edging. She just hadn’t been able to start. Maybe now, with Pree, they could get it done. Make a room for her. Together.
Pree bit her bottom lip. “You want to paint over Hogwarts?”
“All of it. It’s time.”
Pree reached out a tentative finger and touched the roof of Hagrid’s cottage. Kate had been proud of the way she’d gotten the moss to look, almost as if it were growing out of the wall.
“You can’t.”
“Sure we can. Then . . .” Kate paused, gathering her courage. “You don’t want to sleep in a little boy’s room. Then, after it’s painted, it can really be your room. For when you, you know, stay over. If you want to stay over, that is . . . I just mean that you’re welcome. You’re always welcome. I can give you a key tonight.” Oh, she was screwing it up again, wasn’t she?
Pree’s eyes widened again and she stuck her hands into the deep pockets of her purple smock. “I don’t know.”
“No pressure,” Kate hurried to say. “None at all. Just know that you have a place to stay, if you ever need a break from home. A little vacation.”
“I’m pregnant.”
It was such a non sequitur that Kate at first almost didn’t recognize the words as English. They sounded familiar, and she knew if she concentrated, she could figure out what they meant. Pregnant. Pree was pregnant.
“And before you ask, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Oh, the anguish that lay under Pree’s words, a dark green miserable sound. “It’s okay,” Kate managed. Puny words. She could do better than that.
But before she could figure out what to say next, Pree said, “So I’m not sure I’m someone you should paint a whole room for. I’m not proving to be very good at managing my life, am I? Who knows where I’ll be next week? I could up and move to Nebraska. Or go to Maine and hire on with a crab boat.”
“Do you want to go to Maine?”
“Oh, you know.” Pree swiped at her forehead as if angry at the dyed blue lock that hung in front of her eyes. “I’m just saying. I’m not a good bet.”
Kate gestured to the bed. “You want to sit?”
“No.” Pree crossed her arms in front of her and looked out the window at the sycamore. “I don’t know what I want. That’s the whole problem.”
“How long have you known?”
“Two and a half weeks.”
Kate breathed slowly. “So that’s why you decided to find me.”
Pree nodded once, hard.
Did she need advice? God, Kate would be the wrong person for that, wouldn’t she? But she could try at least. “You want to talk about it while we paint?”
Pree said, “I really think you shouldn’t do it.”
Kate popped the can’s lid and stuck the stirrer in. She lifted it dripping. “But look. It’s a good yellow, right? Warm, with that red undertone. I thought you’d like it.”
“I like the color fine. Just don’t cover him up.” Tears filled Pree’s eyes. “You can’t just cover him up like that. You can’t forget him.”
“Oh.” Kate’s knees felt wobbly, and she sat cross-legged on the carpet. “Oh. Honey. No.” She rubbed her eyes briefly as if it would ease the pain. “I can’t forget. I can’t cover anything up. Robin was everything to me.”
Wrong words.
Pree’s face crumpled. “Yeah. He was everything.”
“No—” Kate started.
“It’s just something to adjust to, that’s all. To this family, I was nothing, right? Your husband didn’t know you’d had a child before Robin, and Robin never knew he had a half sister. You knew about me, but how often did you even think of me?”
As little as possible. All the time. “I always let myself have your birthday to think about you.”
“Oh, good. A whole day.”
There was no way to justify it, but Kate said, “It hurt so much—”
“And now I’m pregnant, too. Fertility runs in the family, right? Shit, I was on the pill. I forgot one. Just one. I’m supposed to be smart and make my family proud of me, but that tiny slip is all the stupidity it took on my part to end up here. With no fucking clue what I’m going to do next.”
Kate reached a hand up toward her, but Pree pulled herself farther away. She leaned on the windowsill.
“There are so many options . . .” Kate said.
“Like what? I could keep the kid? No way. I’m not ready for that. I don’t want that. I could have an abortion. I always thought that would be the way I’d go if this ever happened to me, you know? I’m pro-choice. Every woman should have the right to control her own body. But now . . .”
Kate remembered. She’d felt the same way.
Pree continued. “Now I can’t think about that. I can’t do it.”
“That leaves . . .”
“Adoption. And that’s a bullshit solution.”
Kate felt as if Pree had struck her. “But you—”
“Yeah. I was one of the lucky ones. I got good parents, blah blah blah. And still, do you know how hard it was?”
Kate shook her head.
“Every day? To wonder if I’d passed you on the street? Or if you were dead? I’d make up whole stories about my family. Sometimes I’d pass a junkie on the street picking at her skin and wonder if it was you. Maybe your dad or your uncle molested you and I was the by-product. Maybe you were raped.”
Kate blinked, wishing she could stop the assault of words, knowing she shouldn’t.
Pree continued, “I’d wonder if I’d end up on the streets, some biological imperative pushing me toward addiction. Then I wondered if it could have been a mistake, if my birth mother wanted me desperately and regretted her decision with every breath.”
“Oh, Pree.”
“But you didn’t. And that’s fine. That’s good. You had a life. I just wasn’t part of it. And I don’t want to do that to another child.”
Kate felt a kick from somewhere deep inside her. A thought, a completely unacceptable thought grew inside her. A forbidden thought.
But she spoke anyway. “What if . . . oh. What if I . . . ?” Kate’s courage failed as her arms crept around her belly. Good god, it would be her grandchild. She was thirty-seven, and as of yesterday she hadn’t completely ruled out ever trying to get pregnant again herself.
But to raise Pree’s baby . . .
“What if . . . ?”
Pree’s glare slammed into her. “No. Are you insane?”
The dream, thin and insubstantial as it was, dissipated as quickly as it had come. Covered with embarrassment, Kate stammered, “I’m sorry. Of course. So sorry.”
“I’m just confused,” continued Pree. “That’s all. I’m not trying to give you a baby. Shit.” She covered her mouth with her hands for a second. Then her shoulders dropped. “I didn’t mean to dump it all on you. I guess I thought you might have . . .”
“Some advice.” The girl had two mothers. Kate couldn’t hope to compete.
“Yeah.” Pree moved her gaze out the window.
“I don’t have much. Not really. But I’m here for you in every way. If
that helps at all.”
“What Robin died of . . . Could this baby . . . ?”
“Oh! No, lymphoma has no hereditary cause, not that they’ve been able to find.”
Pree turned and met her eyes. “Please don’t paint over Hogwarts. It means a lot to me and I’ve only seen it this week. I can’t imagine what it means to you.”
And suddenly, it did. It meant everything, this painted world that her son had lived and believed in. His best nights were the ones he dreamed about Harry Potter, waking to tell her excitedly about the spells he’d cast and the people he’d seen—he’d flown on a broomstick over the ocean with Neville Longbottom, and Mrs. Weasley once knitted him a sweater out of licorice.
“You’re right. I just wanted to paint with color, I think. I can’t seem to get it on my canvas downstairs.”
Pree brushed her hair back again. “Have you tried just doing it?”
“What?”
“Just throw out some color. Let it land. Who cares what happens?”
Kate picked up Robin’s favorite wand, one of the few items she’d left on his bookcases, and moved it like a paintbrush. “I’m not ready,” she said.
“How do you know until you try?”
Kate stared at her daughter.
Pree said, “Just try. Okay?”
“How’d you get to be so smart?”
Pree ducked her head. “I won’t talk to Flynn about the pregnancy even though I told him about it. He’s probably going to break up with me, and I can’t even say I care that much, even though I know I should. I haven’t told my moms, which feels like a huge lie, and I picked a fight this afternoon with my boss, who I almost slept with two days ago.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not that smart.” Pree bit her bottom lip again, the way Nolan always did. “At least I finally told you the truth. I’m sick of lying. I’m sick of pushing people away. And anyway, the truth is usually better than the alternative, right?”
Pack Up the Moon Page 24
