“Okay.” My son smiled, feeling important as he followed his grandmother to the kitchen—and that was just further confirmation to me that this was planned. The vibes I was getting were heavy, wrought with emotion, reminding me of all the reasons why I didn’t want to live with my parents.
Taking a deep breath, I crossed the living room to the sliding door and went outside. Past the covered deck next to the shed was a brick patio complete with one of the biggest grills I’d ever seen, one of many retirement gifts my father had given himself—not that I begrudged him that. Holding a large pair of tongs, Randall Miller stood tending steaks.
Just seeing my father across the yard reminded me that he had been the first man I’d ever loved and respected. He was a strong man—strict and stern but loving. Even now, he still seemed tall to me, but not gigantic as he had when I was young. He was still strong and muscular after all these years, but what little hair he had left had faded to gray a few years ago, and he was almost bald now.
As I approached, I said, “Hi, dad.”
He turned around. “Hi, Randi.” Burying me in his arms, still holding the tongs in his right hand, I allowed myself to relax ever so slightly. “You’re staying for lunch?”
As if to answer, my stomach grumbled as the scent of steaks wafted up to my nose. “Yes.”
“Did your mother tell you what happened?”
There it was. Whatever the fuck had been hanging in the air since I’d arrived. “No. What?”
“We tried calling and texting you, but you didn’t answer.”
My teeth clenched. I’d peeked at my phone last night multiple times but hadn’t once glanced at it this morning. Stupid. Not even at one of the few red lights in town. Why the hell hadn’t I even thought to check? “When did you call?” Not that it mattered.
“A couple of hours ago.”
“So what happened?”
“Like usual, we took the kids to church this morning. Sarah was in Sunday School class, and your mother and I were in Bible study. It wasn’t long before her teacher came to get us. Apparently, she was pretty defiant.”
“Defiant?”
“Yes. Right in the middle of class, she asked why anybody believed in God.” No matter how I personally felt about religion, I tried to be neutral around my kids—so, when my dad said, that, my eyes grew wide. “Asked how—if there was a God—he could let things happen to innocent people. The teacher tried to talk calmly with her about it, but apparently Sarah started ripping up the worksheet she gave her and said some pretty bad things.”
I moved my hand to my eyes. “Dear God.”
“Exactly.” My father, turning toward the grill, began flipping steaks.
“What did she say?”
The way my dad paused made my gut clench in agony. “‘There’s no fucking God, and you people are fucking stupid to believe it’.”
For a moment, I couldn’t get any words out of my mouth. “You’ve got to be kidding. Sarah never says anything, let alone curses.”
“Where do you think she’s learned this stuff, Randi?”
I knew Sarah had heard me cuss on more than one occasion, but I’d never said anything akin to what my father alleged my daughter had said. “Not from me.”
“Are you sure?”
I fought the anger beginning to swell in my chest, battled against how I was beginning to feel defensive. “Dad, I swear. I mean, the bad words, sure. But…she’s never said anything like that at home.” We stood in silence for a bit, the only sound coming from the grill as droplets of grease sizzled while they fell from the steaks. I shifted to my other leg, drawing in a deep breath. “So what happened after that?”
“We got Devon and left. What else could we do? And I have no doubt the minister will be calling later.”
“Dad, I’m so sorry. She hasn’t said anything like this before. Ever.”
“But you don’t take your kids to church regularly. Maybe if you did, she wouldn’t have said something like that.”
“Did mom tell you what’s been going on with her?”
“She told me what you’d told her—that you’re taking her to a counselor. She set a fire at school last week?”
“Yeah, dad. Something’s going on with her. I have no idea what. And I’m obviously not equipped to handle it on my own. She won’t talk to me. So the psychologist is going to see what she can find out—she thinks something serious is going on.”
“That’s what your mother said.” My father put the lid down on the grill, adjusting the knobs. “Do you suppose that your lifestyle has anything to do with it?”
Suddenly, my back and shoulders tensed up. “What do you mean?”
“Randi, why do you make me say it?” As he sighed, I could practically feel the waves of disappointment coming off him. “I can smell old alcohol on you. You obviously went out drinking last night, and your mother said you were with a male friend. You didn’t answer your phone when we called, so I can only imagine what you were doing. Sarah has no father figure, and her mother is not setting the best example for her right now, is, in fact, continuing down the path she started when she left my house. Don’t you know you influence her? That how you behave could be part of the problem?”
“No, dad, I don’t think so.” But maybe it did. My knee-jerk reaction was due to feeling defensive, but could I have been the entire problem? “But it doesn’t matter anyway. Last night was kind of a last hurrah.”
“Hmm.” After he lifted the grill lid again, he used the tongs to poke at one of the steaks. “Hand me that platter there, would you?”
I grabbed the ceramic dish from the picnic table and handed it to my dad. Jesus Christ. Even at my age, I found my father intimidating—and why did I have such an issue dealing with him thinking badly of me? It wasn’t like this was the first time. But here I was, the black sheep, having fallen short once again. “Have you given serious thought to living with us? Your mother said she’s suggested it to you.”
“Yes, I have.”
“And?”
I fought to keep myself from squirming or sighing or showing any signs of discomfort—hell, from letting on to anything I was actually thinking. I didn’t want to give my father any more fodder. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“If you lived with us, you wouldn’t have to work, and we could watch the kids for you. Your mother could take them to and from school. You could just focus on your education and your children. Doesn’t that sound like a good plan?”
On paper? “Sure.”
My father was no dummy, though, and he sensed my hesitation. “But?”
I wasn’t going to admit that I hated the idea of being beholden to my parents, of relying on them any more than I already did—and, if I said anything like that, he wouldn’t understand. So I chose one of the lesser truths to share. “You guys would spoil the kids.”
“Is there anything wrong with that? We didn’t spoil you and your sister and look at how things have turned out for you.”
Low fucking blow. “Oh, come on, dad.” Maybe I’d have to venture into my other reasons. “I like my independence.”
As my words settled, dad finally placed a steak on the platter. “Your independence. What kind of independence do you really have, Randi? You’re always calling your mother and me for help.”
Fuck. I knew that much was true. “And freedom. I like my freedom.”
“Freedom? You work and go to school constantly, and you’ve got the kids to care for. Do you really ever have a moment to yourself? I guarantee if you moved in with us, you’d have more freedom.” As he moved another steak from the grill to the platter, he shifted his eyes to me. “Unless, of course, you’re talking about the men in your life.”
“Dad! Men? Good grief, what do you think of me? I don’t sleep around.”
“Okay. Man. Let’s say this man was still in your life if you moved here. How would living with us be then?”
“Well, he’s not…still in my life.”
Dad paused, setting
the tongs down on the side of the grill. “What do you mean? The man you had a date with last night? He’s no longer in your life?”
“Yeah. It’s…complicated.”
“And you think complicated is a good place to be in your life?” When I didn’t say anything, he picked the tongs up again as if remembering his entire purpose out here—but his focus remained on me, and I felt like a mosquito underneath the hand about to slap me. “Living here would also mean stability—for both you and the kids. Are there any other reasons for not wanting to be here that I should know about?”
His reasons were valid—but I was operating from emotion. When I’d gone to college the first time, a freshman away from home, I’d relished being out from under their watchful eyes.
Of course, I’d also gotten pregnant.
“Oh, dad, I don’t know. I just…need to think about it some more.”
Quickly, my father took the remaining steaks off the grill. “Well, think long and hard about it, Randi. We’re offering you a fresh start.” As he turned off the knobs and the flames died out, he made eye contact with me again. “We love you, Sarah, and Devon. We want things to be better for all of you.”
The meal was strained and awkward, my parents’ words echoing in my head. I was going to talk to Sarah about the incident that happened in Sunday School, but not in front of my parents. So while my mom and dad went on and on about their plans to go on a cruise in February and all that entailed, I was more immersed in wondering what the hell I was going to say to Sarah.
On the way home, as Devon continued a never-ending conversation that needed no prompting, chattering about what he did last night—playing golf with grandpa in the backyard, followed by swimming, playing video games, and staying up until ten—I drowned in my own thoughts while I sped down the highway. More than once, I caught myself going too fast, and the last time I’d slowed down just in time as a highway patrol car crouched at the bottom of the next hill.
If only my luck were always that good.
Once we got home, I didn’t have much time before I’d have to start getting ready to work my shift at Play It Again, but I needed to talk to Sarah while the memories of this morning were still fresh in her mind. Because Sarah had already meandered back to her room, I told Devon he could play a video game—and he didn’t have to keep it quiet like I usually asked. The conversation with my daughter would go better if her brother was preoccupied. Once he’d settled in, I made my way to Sarah’s room and entered without knocking. Then I sat on the edge of the bed. “Tell me what happened this morning.”
“Tell you what?” Oh, God. This was difficult enough, wondering how many of my own opinions had influenced my child, thinking of all the times when I’d questioned if there really was an all-seeing deity somewhere merely watching, allowing all manner of horrible things to transpire on the planet.
But this had to be done.
“Grandpa said you guys had to leave church because of things you said in the classroom this morning.”
“It’s stupid.”
“What’s stupid?”
“Church. If there’s really a God, why haven’t I ever seen him?”
Fuck. There it was. “Sweetheart, it’s your choice to believe or not. But it’s disrespectful to trash other people’s beliefs, no matter how you personally feel, and it’s rude to yell curses at people.”
“Well, the teacher was phony. And she wanted me to memorize a Bible verse.”
“What’s so wrong about that?”
“I didn’t want to. It was something about God loving the world. If God really loves the world, why do bad things happen?”
Just as I’d feared—all my beliefs being echoed back to me.
“I don’t know, honey. And I’m not saying it’s bad for you to not believe it. But I am saying it’s not good for you to disrespect what other people believe. These same people believe that bad things happen as a test and make you stronger.”
I could barely hear my child’s voice when she hissed, “That’s bullshit.”
“Young lady, you know you are not allowed to use that kind of language. Grandpa said—”
“Yeah, I said the F word.”
“Well, no more. Understand?”
“You say bad words, mom.”
What defense did I have against that particular argument? “You’re young, Sarah, and it’s my job to make sure you grow up to be a good person.”
“So cussing is good when you’re older but not when you’re a kid?”
“No, it’s not good just because I’m older.” I took a moment to let out a slow breath. “I promise to try not to curse anymore—but you’ve got to promise me the same thing.”
“Okay.”
But something gnawed at me and I was beginning to question everything. Was I sacrificing my children’s well-being in exchange for what I’d called my independence in my conversation with my father? “Sweetie, I’ve got to get ready for work now. Are you going to be all right?”
“I guess.”
Not really an answer—but I wasn’t going to demand more. Not now, anyway.
After getting in my work clothes, I walked the kids across the street to Noreen’s house. Fortunately, Sunday evenings at work were quieter than usual, and sometimes, I could even get some homework done. Tonight, I spent my time figuring out a work schedule for the craziness that was to come—and so I left a note for Kathy, hoping I could work it out with Sarah’s psychologist as well.
It had to work. Already, I felt like I was stretched tight like a guitar string, and every day the string got tighter. Much tighter and I would snap. So it had to work. That was all there was to it.
Chapter Twelve
After almost jumping out of bed early Monday morning, I made coffee and then finished my reading assignment for tomorrow night’s history class before rousting Sarah and Devon out of bed. Today was the first day Sarah would be back to school since her suspension, so, since I didn’t have to be at work until nine, I planned to stop by the counselor’s office at the middle school to let him know about Sarah’s psychologist.
“Are you ready to go back to school?” I asked Sarah as she nibbled on a piece of toast.
“I guess.”
Letting out a slow breath, I decided to be okay with that answer. At least she wasn’t actively resisting the return.
After dropping Devon off at the elementary school, I parked at the middle school. My daughter acted upset that I was walking with her in the first place, but I told her I had to stop inside. “Just promise me today will be a good day, and I’ll never have to do this again.”
“Right, mom.” I had no fucking idea what she meant, but I wasn’t about to grill her here. The last thing I wanted to do was further embarrass my daughter in a place where that sort of thing had probably already happened.
I watched as my child took a left at the end of the main entryway and disappeared out of sight. Only then did I turn to my right to rap on the counselor’s door. I didn’t have an appointment, so I hoped it was okay. After touching the door, I noticed it was open a crack, so I peeked my head in. The counselor had been looking at his computer screen but moved his eyes to me when I looked in.
“Hi.” He stood and extended his hand. “Sarah’s mother, right?”
That was promising. “Yes. Please call me Randi.”
“Only if you call me Kevin. Please have a seat.” Once I shook his hand and took his suggestion, he also sat back down. “So Sarah’s back in school today. What can I do for you?”
“I thought I’d keep you folks up to date. Sarah had her first psychology appointment on Thursday with Dr. Rebecca Hopkins.”
“She’s supposed to be good with kids.”
“I’m glad to hear that. She was highly recommended by the pediatrician. Anyway, Sarah had an, um…episode yesterday.”
“What happened?”
“She was at church with her grandparents yesterday and apparently started cursing and saying she doesn’t believe in God.
”
“What did they do?”
“They were pretty shocked. Needless to say, they left church early.”
“I can’t blame them. What did Sarah say about it afterward?”
“When I talked to her, she said she doesn’t believe in God. I told her that was fine but what she did was inappropriate. She needs to respect other people’s beliefs.”
“That sounds like a good answer.”
“I don’t know. I’m doubting myself. I just don’t know what else I can do. I was hoping maybe you’d have some suggestions since you deal with this kind of thing all the time.”
As Kevin adjusted his glasses, he gazed at me through piercing blue eyes—and, for a second, I almost forgot what I was there for. “I have to tell you, Randi, I actually don’t deal with this kind of thing very often. Usually, I’m just dealing with typical prepubescent behavior—you know, name calling, some kissing in the hallway, girls wearing too much makeup, boys writing things in the bathroom stalls, a few fights on the playground, some cursing. Once in a while, things get a little more serious—some pot, a little alcohol. But I’ve only been doing this for a few years. Most times I feel like I’m still new at this. I’m learning as I go.”
“Oh.”
“But I’m willing to learn. I want you to know I’ve taken a look at Sarah’s records from elementary school, and they indicate she’s very bright. Whatever’s going on with her isn’t just her problem—it belongs to all of us. We need to help her. I’m dedicated to that.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Then he cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. “I’d like to take you out for a cup of coffee so we can talk more about it. If, uh, you’d like.”
Love and Sorrow (Small Town Secrets Book 5) Page 11
