Something Worth Saving

by Sandi Ward

  What Aidan is saying makes sense to me. I hate to admit this, but I believe him when he says he is not the bully.

  I don’t want to believe him. In a way, I wish Aidan were the bully. Because then we could get rid of him, and the solution would be easy. But Aidan is upset, and I think he speaks from the heart. He has not been nice to Charlie, but now that I’ve heard him out, I also don’t think he’s the one who has been physically hurting him.

  What I cannot accept is what Aidan is implying. Who he is implicating.

  That is not the Dad I know.

  Maybe Aidan is not the bully, but he is dead wrong about this. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

  I stick my nose into my paw, cleaning it furiously. I must wash this entire idea away. I feel as if I’ve walked in a sticky jam, and want to get it off of me as quickly as possible.

  Chapter 20

  Mistaken

  When Dad comes on Friday night to pick up the kids, Kevin is waiting for him by the door. I watch from the balcony.

  “Hey, Kev.” Dad jingles his car keys in his hand. He stands on the doorstep, looking at his oldest son. “You’re ready, huh?”

  “Yeah. Almost. Come in.” Kevin kicks the wooden floor with the toe of his sneaker. “I can’t get out of here fast enough.”

  Dad frowns as he steps inside. “What’s the matter?”

  Kevin tips his head to one side, and stares down at his feet. “I don’t know. I just can’t stand it here anymore,” he mumbles. “I wish you’d move back already.”

  Dad’s face falls—just for a moment—before he catches himself. “It’s okay, buddy. We’ll have a fun weekend.”

  Kevin glances around. His eyes dart up the stairs toward me and then down the hall toward the kitchen. Talking fast and low, he says: “I guess you’ve heard about Mom’s new boyfriend, or whatever he is.” Kevin puts his hands on his hips, like Dad often does. “I hate that guy. He’s here all the time, and he messes everything up. He’ll probably be here this weekend. I bet he’s coming over. He’s already stayed over once. When we were all here. I mean, he slept on the couch, but it was so awkward in the morning, can you imagine?”

  Something turns in my stomach. I have never heard Kevin say anything bad about his mother before.

  I don’t feel good about this.

  Dad squints at the ground. He squeezes the keys he’s holding in his fist. “Who, that guy who made the mess in the garage? The one building the bookshelves?”

  “Yeah. Mom’s being a total freaking crazy nut.”

  Dad tips his head, as if trying to focus on a very difficult problem. “Don’t talk about your mom like that,” he insists. “Don’t—don’t do that. And don’t worry about her. That’s none of your business. Where’s your bag? I thought you were ready. Go get your stuff together. C’mon. Hurry up.”

  Kevin shrugs, and turns to walk up the stairs.

  From my point of view on the stairs, I glance up to see Charlie and Victoria scurrying around from bedroom to bathroom, packing their backpacks, searching for underwear and phones and chargers. Mom appears behind me, emerging from her bedroom, and walks down the stairs, carefully stepping over me. She says a mild hello to Dad but walks past him to absentmindedly stare at the river out the front picture window. Dad never takes his eyes off her.

  “You have any plans for this weekend?” he asks.

  She shrugs with one shoulder. “The usual. Errands. Food shopping. Paying the bills.” Mom crosses her arms, wrapping them around herself as if she is cold.

  “Nothing special, then? Just staying in all weekend?”

  Dad’s stare is intense, but Mom doesn’t meet his gaze. “Maybe I’ll have Jane over for a drink, or we’ll go out for dinner. I haven’t decided yet.”

  He frowns. “Jane might come over?”

  “I don’t know.” Mom moves quickly to the bottom of the stairs and yells: “KIDS. Come on. Your dad’s waiting.”

  The truth is, Mom often seems lost on the weekends when the house is empty. I think she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

  I have watched her spend every minute—for years—doing things for other people. She goes out and works all day. Then she comes home and cooks, and cleans, and drives the children where they need to go. She is constantly running errands, and caring for me and Gretel. So now when Dad has the kids for the weekend, I suspect she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Perhaps she doesn’t even know what it is that she likes to do. She has never had any hobbies, I assume because there was never any time for it.

  But I know she does think about the kids when they’re gone. She and I both worry, together. Sure, we cuddle and try to rest. But I suspect Mom is never truly relaxed.

  Dad clears his throat. He sticks his hands into the pockets of his light jacket. “Kevin seemed to think you had some special plans. Maybe he was mistaken.”

  Mom picks her head up and looks at Dad for the first time. “I don’t know. I don’t know what he’s talking about.” She stops short. “Sorry—I have to check on something. I’ll be right back.”

  Dad watches her go down the hallway, toward the kitchen.

  I slink halfway down the stairs to get a closer look at Dad. He is bent over, giving Gretel a good rub down of the fur around her neck. Gretel looks at me with those big brown eyes, and she seems sad. She worries about Dad. I know she senses the changes in him, and it concerns her.

  Dad’s face is gentle and relaxed when he gives Gretel a rub down. He is not a bad person. I know that.

  I know it!

  “Hey, Lil,” he says to me, once he sees me. He walks over and gently strokes my head. He feels good and smells even better. I miss the touch of his warm hands. “Look at those big green eyes. I miss you, Lil.”

  I miss you too.

  “You’re the real boss around here, aren’t you?”

  No, Mom is the boss. But she feeds me, brushes me, cleans up after me, and takes care of me, so . . . maybe I am the boss.

  He chuckles, as if he can read my mind by looking at my face. But I have a serious question for him.

  Is it you? I want to ask Dad, looking up into his eyes. You would never hurt our Charlie, would you?

  I have to examine the facts.

  Fact 1: Dad and Charlie do not always get along.

  Fact 2: Dad does not have the potential for cruelty that I have sensed in Aidan. I just don’t see it.

  Fact 3: Dad hasn’t been himself lately. Mark and Mom agree that something is wrong with him.

  Fact 4: Just because Aidan isn’t the bully doesn’t mean he knows who is.

  Charlie and Victoria break up my chain of thought when they come hustling down the stairs with their bags, and carry them right out the front door. I must scamper to get out of the way. “Bye, Lil!” Charlie coos to me as he dashes out.

  Kevin follows, taking his time. Mom reappears from the kitchen just in time to remind Kevin he must drive.

  “Your dad is taking Valium to relax, and I don’t want him driving,” she says to Kevin. “Right?” she asks Dad directly.

  Dad looks weary. “Yup. That’s right.” He hands the keys over to Kevin. “Go start the car.”

  Kevin seems surprised that his dad has dismissed him so quickly. But he recovers and walks out the door. “Bye Mom,” he calls out over his shoulder.

  Dad stands there and waits while the children load the car. He shakes his head. “Kate.” He keeps one hand on Gretel’s head as he talks. He gently runs his fingers through her fur. “Kevin just told me that you had—” He stops and winces, unable to say it. “Sorry. I still don’t understand why you can’t let me figure this out on my own time. I don’t get what the rush is. You know that it’s not a good time at work for me to be making changes. If I need a drink once in a while, it’s not the end of the world. I want to come home. Let’s just—”

  “Jeremy.” Mom folds her arms across her chest. “It’s never a good time with you.”

  “It’s not as bad as you make it out to be. And I do so much f
or this family. Don’t you get that?”

  “Of course I get that, but—”

  “So this is how you thank me? By throwing me out, for good?” He glances up at Mom, but then drops his gaze again to look into the friendlier face of Gretel. “I thought maybe at some point I could come back.”

  Mom presses her mouth together tightly before responding. “Jeremy. I wish—Look. Please don’t do this. We can’t keep having this same conversation. You haven’t done the one thing I asked you to do: stop drinking. And I’ve asked you so many times I lost count. If you won’t do it, then . . . What do you want me to say?”

  Dad nods. “Okay, okay, okay. I’m sorry.” Mom hands him Gretel’s red leash, and he snaps it on her collar.

  He hesitates, straightening up. “But you understand why I can’t do it right now, don’t you?”

  “Jeremy . . .” Mom closes her eyes. “Don’t—”

  “Because when I stop drinking, Kate, I start to think too much, and worry too much, and it . . . It just feels like it’s going to kill me, you know? I think I’m going to die.” Dad shivers, as if a cold breeze has come down the hall. “Literally die. Do you know what that’s like? No, you don’t. It’s overwhelming.”

  Mom frowns. “People feel bad sometimes, Jeremy.” She licks her dry lips. “But they find other ways to deal with it.”

  “You knew who I was,” he blurts out. “You knew.” He finally lifts his head and makes eye contact, challenging her.

  Mom nods, and swallows. “Yes.” Finally, she adds in a quiet voice: “But you know, at one time, you were happy. You drank too much from the start, but you were fun to be with. You were optimistic. You wanted to make the world a better place. Do you remember all that? Do you ever think about that?”

  “Sure.” Dad nods, as if he understands what Mom is saying, but I don’t think he does. “Yeah, sure. I was optimistic.” He spits out the word as if it is foreign to him. “But that was a long time ago. I was young and stupid. I can’t go back now. I can’t forget what I’ve seen now.”

  What he has seen?

  What exactly has Dad seen? I wonder.

  “I’m sorry about that.” Mom straightens up. “I really am. But it doesn’t just affect you. I have the right to say enough already. I have that right.”

  I see that Dad is stuck at a point where he just can’t give Mom what she wants. He once again can’t look directly at her. He looks down at her hand instead, as if he might want to hold it, but he does not.

  Dad opens the front door and walks down the front porch steps. When he reaches the walkway, Dad spins around. “I guess if Jane is coming over, you won’t be alone. But if you want Gretel, I’ll leave her here. Are you going to be alone?” His voice suddenly sounds desperate.

  I squint against the late afternoon sun. We’re greeted by the excited call of birds, boasting about the worms and seeds they have eaten on this fine spring day. Nature is thriving. The world is new again. The outdoors is green and lush and the air smells heavy, like rain is coming.

  “No, Jeremy, you take her. I’ll be fine with Lily.” She gives him a small smile, which he returns. But they are empty smiles. I do not believe for a minute that either one really means it. They are both sad beyond words that could possibly explain it.

  Mom and I don’t step outside. We shrink back, and Mom slowly closes the door.

  Chapter 21

  Temporary Amusement

  I hear the front door open and close. Heavy feet stomping and scraping mud onto the mat. “Katie?”

  I recognize Mark’s voice.

  But it is not the afternoon. It is Saturday evening, and already dark out. I wonder what he is doing here.

  “I’m up here,” Mom calls. She opens her mouth and I think she is about to remind Mark to take off his shoes, but changes her mind. She is a mom, after all. And she is the director of a preschool. She is used to giving orders.

  A moment goes by. From the sounds of shuffling, I think Mark has remembered to take off his shoes anyway.

  I listen to Mark run up the stairs, two at a time. But then his footsteps slow down, and he hesitates at the doorway. He stands there, a dark shadow in the entrance, looking at Mom. She sits on the bed.

  “It’s raining,” he tells her.

  Mom nods. “I can hear it on the windows.”

  There is a soft, peaceful sound when the wind blows the rain against the skylight in the bedroom. I always feel like our lamps cast a more golden glow indoors when the skies are gray outside.

  Mark is wearing a T-shirt and shorts with a stripe on the side. It occurs to me that he looks like Kevin when he’s getting ready for one of his basketball games at the school. I have only ever seen Mark wearing jeans and work boots, and, staring at his white socks, I realize he probably had sneakers on.

  Seeing the way Mom and I are studying him, he explains. “I just came from the gym. Sorry.” He smiles. “When I said just tell me when and where, I didn’t realize the answer would be right now.”

  Mom laughs. She motions for him to come over.

  Mark walks in and sits next to Mom on the bed, as if it is the most natural place in the world for him to sit. It is as if he’s been here in Mom’s room before. Which, of course, he has not.

  I’m impressed that Mark only hesitated a moment before approaching her. This is Mom’s private space. I suppose sometimes in life it is better to act than to think too much. And I suspect he is eager to see Mom.

  It is so curious! Mark has a confidence that I don’t recognize. It makes me realize how uncomfortable Charlie and Kevin are in many situations. Dad too.

  I am nestled into a nice spot on Dad’s pillow, as comfortable as can be, but I still get up and walk over to ram my head into Mark’s elbow. He is my friend, and I want to ask: Why are you here? But I know Mom can get messages to people through her phone. She must have told Mark this was a good time for a visit.

  I can sense how alert he is and how interested he is in Mom. He strokes my back, but barely glances at me. He’s not really here to see me.

  I bat at his arm with my paw and meow! until he makes eye contact with me. “Okay, sweetheart,” he says to me. “Take it easy. Go easy now. You know you’re my baby.” He runs his fingers through the fur on my head, and I feel better.

  When Mark looks back up at Mom, she lights up. It strikes me that Mom feels something from his gaze alone. I think he must sense it too, because he is the type of human who seems to be in tune with other humans. Mark takes her hand in his.

  “If we do this,” Mom suddenly says, “it has to be just for us. I don’t want Vincent to know about it. He’s been my friend a long time, and he wouldn’t understand.”

  Mark shakes his head. “I won’t say anything to Vincent.”

  “Jeremy and the kids can’t know anything about it either,” she implores. “Things aren’t sorted out yet. With the family. Everything is up in the air.”

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t want you to tell your friends either. Or confess this to your priest. Or write about it online. I mean, you’re an adult. I can’t stop you if you do. But I would appreciate it if you didn’t.”

  I tip my head. Mom is perplexing me. She is now just talking and talking and talking, much too quickly.

  The way Mark is watching her so intently, holding her hand in his, I am quite sure he has no intention of dishonoring her wishes. He waits patiently for her to look up at him.

  “All right.”

  Mom swallows. She looks as nervous as a bird who has landed on the deck and senses the presence of a cat in the shadows. But Mark has no intention of hurting Mom. He is not going to attack. I can tell by the still way he holds his body, the way his mouth hangs open just a bit, as if he wants to speak but isn’t sure if he should.

  Mom moves closer to him and puts her hand on his upper arm, as I’ve seen her do before. “I’m glad you came right over.” She takes in a deep breath and lets it out, and I think she is willing herself to relax. Her hand glides o
ver his skin, just at the edge of his sleeve. Her voice sounds detached, but dreamy. “I like all the freckles.”

  Mark smiles again. And then he grabs the hem of his T-shirt and pulls it off, over his head.

  Mom startles, and I can see she wasn’t expecting him to do that. She takes him in for a moment as he shakes his head so his messy black hair settles a bit. Mom’s hand flutters up to touch his face, and gently run her fingers over his cheek. She then moves her hand very slowly to his chest, but she barely touches it, as if she’s afraid it will be hot like the stove. I watch her skim her hand up to his shoulder. “More freckles.” She sighs.

  The freckles on his skin remind me of the heat of the summer. For a moment I imagine Mark and Mom are not sitting on the bed. In my mind, they are sitting on the dock across the street at the boat club, like two teenagers soaking up the sun and dipping their feet in the water. Nervously fidgeting. Full of anticipation. Dreaming about what might be.

  Mark shrugs. “These freckles are just crazy. My skin isn’t perfect, like yours.”

  Mom’s face creases with confusion, and she laughs. “What? I’m as pale as a ghost.”

  “Nah, you look perfect, like marble. And that hair. It’s not really fair you have hair like that.”

  I’m not exactly sure what he means by that. How is her hair unfair to him?

  Mark leans forward and kisses Mom. As before, he is very tender with her.

  I have made up my mind about this human: He wants someone to love. He has a lot of love to give, and he has been searching for the right person. And Mom wants desperately to be loved. So it is a good fit.

  There are so many nights I have watched Mom and known she was in pain. The way she grips her lower back while working at the stove. The way she rubs her forehead too hard while sitting in front of her computer. The way she kneads a shoulder while lying in bed. It is about time for another human to make Mom feel better.

  I think this just might work.

  “I’m sweaty from the gym. I should take a shower,” Mark blurts out. “I mean, we both should. Together.”