With my smile firmly in place, I waved at everyone I saw. No more hysterics. No more outbursts. I was determined to stick to my plan. By the end of the first week, the design center had become my new daytime refuge, a comfortable hidey-hole. Maybe I was simply trading my studio at home for my assigned space at the company. Maybe the old nesting instinct had kicked in. Or maybe my basic survival instinct had taken over. I smiled, I made calls, I began putting together some lovely rooms. At least, that’s what Jack told me after he viewed them online, complements of the amazing software program I used.
Despite the positive feedback, however, my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t care about the designs, furniture, or home buyers. My brain was functioning on automatic pilot, and I had no idea how I was pulling off being pleasant and upbeat. But my husband was cracking jokes and whistling as he walked the halls—my reward for all the effort. I owed him that much.
But I still couldn’t control my sadness or tears. They flowed without warning while I added figures, examined fabric, or chatted with an employee. A release of tension, perhaps, or a reminder of the guilt hiding deep within me, in that place where truth resided. If anyone had suggested removing Kayla’s photo from my desktop, however, I would have shot them. The way I figured it, had I still been at home or in the studio during the day instead of at night, I would have cried too.
On the second Monday, my mom joined me on a part-time basis. I heard her intake of breath when she saw her granddaughter’s beautiful face. She said nothing, however, just squeezed my hand.
“We’re some pair,” she said, “but we’ll get through this.”
Whether she meant the workload or Kayla’s death, I didn’t know. But I had no choice about soldiering on. Living was my penance.
Chapter 8
JACK
June, nine months after accident
Proud parents crammed the high school auditorium by the time Claire and I arrived to watch Ian graduate. Some mothers dabbed their eyes, but Claire’s tears ran like Houston’s bayous after a storm.
Squeezing her hand, I said, “We raised a winner. A great kid. Good looks, good heart, good brain...he’s got it all. That science award proves it.”
“Yes. Yes, I’m proud of him...it’s just...” Fresh tears began to stream down her cheeks, and my chest tightened. I understood what she didn’t say. Kayla wasn’t here. Kayla would never graduate from high school. My wife’s mind was on her daughter, not her son, and I felt myself begin to teeter on that edge too. Claire thought I was stronger than steel, but I had to swallow hard a couple of times before I could speak.
“For God’s sake, Claire, please focus on Ian today. This graduation is a milestone for him.” I was lecturing myself as much as her.
“I know. I know. But—”
“But he should be going to college instead of to a dead-end job. Is that what’s bothering you?” I knew that was only part of it, but sometimes I had to tap dance in place trying to distract her. “A college degree is the one we’d have celebrated with gusto. He’s taking a little detour. That’s all.”
A detour. That’s what I told myself. That’s how I rationalized. First, we lost Kayla, and now we were failing Ian. Claire didn’t seem to understand or care; if she did, she was hiding it well. If Ian wanted to postpone college right now, I could live with it. But this...this...job he’d landed at a refinery? It didn’t sit right with me. I wanted my boy at home. I wanted him in the construction business, our family business.
I’d been trying to change his mind ever since he told me about this new job. A refinery! Those people in the career office should be fired. Couldn’t they see Ian was college material? I’d talked myself hoarse and gotten nowhere with my son, so I’d put his two grandfathers on the case. In the end, however, they’d both sighed deeply, offering their own insights.
“His heart’s as heavy as yours and Claire’s,” my dad said. “I guess our boy needs to do what he needs to do. At least for now.”
“But he’ll be back,” added Claire’s father. “He’s a good boy.”
I don’t know when my “good boy” became so stubborn. Ian may have won this battle, but neither of us was winning this tug-of-war.
At home after the graduation ceremony, I stood in the backyard, grilling steak and burgers for a host of relatives. Despite the downturn in business, I could have treated everyone to a restaurant celebration, but I was trying to keep Claire busy and happy doing something she liked. Home entertaining used to be on the top of the list, especially with our combined families. Everyone always clamored for her summer salads, especially the five-bean and potato salads, and Claire always came through. Today was no different.
I watched her smile, circulate, and visit with everyone before she went indoors, and I felt myself grin. That was my wife! The real Claire. A glimpse of her laughing face through the window gave me hope. Sooner or later, we’d get back to normal.
I left my brother-in-law, Charlie, in charge of cooking, waltzed into the air-conditioned house, and made a beeline to my wife. “Love you, sweetheart.”
She chuckled. Her eyes brightened. “I know.”
“It’s a great party.” I glanced around. “You’ve done it again. The salads are disappearing. The hors d’oeuvres too...I just wish you’d eat more of them yourself.” She’d used a safety pin in the waistband of her slacks today, and in a sleeveless blouse, her arms looked like sticks. Maybe a gym...
“I’ll attack Judy’s desserts later,” she said, “but my specialties? I can prepare them in my sleep.”
Claire’s sister had been a rock, calling Claire every day. As for her mom...well, Barbara had become invaluable to both Claire and me. “How about another specialty?” I asked.
Her cheeks became rosy. “I thought we had our evenings worked out to perfection.”
I almost blushed myself. Most folks would envy our love life; they’d think it was unbelievable. I’d thought so too—in the beginning, until doubts began to shadow me. Claire continued to be so intense, so frantic about it. I don’t remember her being this gung-ho during our first years together. Our nighttime pursuits, however, weren’t top priority at the moment.
“I wanted to thank you, Claire, not only for making Ian’s party so terrific but for coming back to work. I know it hasn’t been easy, even with your mother to help. But your presence is making me hopeful about our bottom line next quarter. So thank you very much.” And if I were sugarcoating her importance or the swift turnaround, so what?
And dang if tears didn’t well again. She put her finger over my mouth and shook her head. “You’re the brains behind the operation, so don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do for you.”
The least she could...? Like she owed me something? Good Lord, my wife was still blaming herself about Kayla. Trying to expunge her guilt. At this point, I had no answers for her. How many times could I tell her she wasn’t to blame? I supposed there was no easy fix, and I was certainly no shrink, but maybe she needed one.
Scanning the room, I saw Ian chatting with Claire’s folks, Maddy Conroy standing right next to him. Seemed my son had picked up a little sidekick. According to Claire, the child still came around to make art almost every week. The spare key now had a permanent home under the studio’s doormat. But my attention reverted to Ian.
“Look how our son hits the right notes with our folks.”
“Why are you so surprised? He’s their first grandchild, and they adore him.” But now another shadow appeared on my wife’s face. “I’m glad he’s enjoying himself. But...Jack?” Her voice became a whisper.
“Yes?”
“What’s the real reason he’s moving out? I mean, why isn’t he working with us at Barnes Construction?”
She’d touched an already frazzled nerve, but more worrisome were her bizarre questions. “Honey, you were with me when he told us about his new job. You heard me ask him about it since then. Don’t you remember?”
“I think...I really think it’s my fault he’s leav
ing. I’m a bad mother...such a bad mother.” She began walking toward the bedroom wing, away from our guests, and I grabbed her arm.
“Buck up, Claire. No running. You’ve got people here, a party going on. And by the way, you’re normally a great mother.”
A kaleidoscope of scenes ran through my mind. Claire pushing a baby carriage, Claire playing catch with Ian and then with Kayla, Claire and the kids working in her studio—a fun project we worked on together. Claire loved being a mom.
And I thought I was a pretty good dad. Always imagined Ian and I had a special relationship, that he trusted me. Now I wasn’t sure. He had a home. No one was pushing him out the door.
“I want him to be happy,” Claire said. “I told him so. You know I told him.” She paced two steps back and forth, her hands fluttering. “But his bags are packed to the brim. He’s ready to head out, maybe even tonight.”
Too many memories accosted me, too many emotions. Ian was leaving us. He was really doing it. And my wife? I couldn’t understand her strange questions and thoughts. A heavy ache lay in my heart, almost as heavy and familiar as the one from last September. I was the one who wanted to be alone now. I popped an antacid instead, left Claire, and approached my son.
“Hey, champ,” I said, putting my arm around him but facing Maddy. “Can I steal him for a minute?”
She grinned and disappeared. But Ian’s brow lifted; suspicion darkened his chip-off-the-block blue eyes. He glanced at his doting grandparents, and instantly his natural smile and accompanying dimple were in place. “No more homework lectures, Dad. School is definitely over.”
Everyone chuckled, including me. Ian had never needed lectures about schoolwork. His report cards had reflected his fine abilities...at least until this year. Other than saying “do the best you can” a few months ago, I avoided berating him on his falling grades. However, I wouldn’t avoid another attempt to change his mind about leaving.
“Take a walk with me, Ian. Let’s have a man-to-man conversation.”
He paused then continued with me down the hall, away from the crowd. “I don’t want to talk, Dad. Please, just leave me alone. You and I? We’re good. But I’ve got to be on my own now. I’ve got to get out of here.”
“That’s what I don’t understand. We’re all sad, we’re all grieving. Each of us in our own way. There are no rules about it. You’re free to cry, yell, curse.” I took a breath. “Ian, Ian...don’t you think families should stick together in a crisis?”
He stared at me but remained silent. At least he was listening.
“Work with me at the company until you’re ready to go to school again. It’ll be like the last three summers, but better. Better pay for you,” I joked, “and more responsibility. The refinery can survive without you. Barnes Construction can’t—not in the long run. It’s your future too, a future I thought you wanted.”
Tears glistened in my son’s eyes. “I-I do. Someday. But not now. I-I need my own space. I’m sorry, Dad, but I have to work this out for myself.”
I pictured him driving away in the morning, and my gut twisted in the kind of pain an antacid couldn’t touch.
Chapter 9
CLAIRE
I heard Ian stirring early Sunday morning, the day after his graduation party, anxious to be on his way. Anxious to be rid of us.
Sure enough, when I reached the kitchen, he was wheeling one of his bags through the door. I stepped outside and watched as he hoisted it into his new truck. New to him, that is. A six-year-old genuine beater with almost a hundred thousand miles and two previous owners. He hadn’t asked our advice; in fact, he drove it home after making the purchase. Jack immediately brought it to our mechanic for an in-depth engine check. Of course, it needed fixing with a new water pump, a new alternator, and God knows what else. And of course, it would have been smarter and less expensive to buy a better vehicle in the first place. Ian paid for the repairs, wouldn’t take a penny from us. I guessed he used up almost all his savings between the car and his new apartment. I let Jack handle the situation and kept mum.
My son was avoiding me, couldn’t even look at me. I’d apologized for lashing out at him, so now he was free to blame me for Kayla’s death. And he did. He never said the words, but I understood. Because of me, he had to live with the memory of watching his sister get mowed down by an SUV. He hated me. I hated me too.
None of it mattered now. Kayla was gone. Ian was leaving. He and Jack just hauled two more cartons to the truck and returned inside.
“Hey, Mom. I’m heading out. Thanks for the kitchen stuff. Oh, I also left something for Maddy in my room. Could you give it to her?”
“Sure.” Anything. I wasn’t even curious.
He leaned over, air-kissed my cheek, and I grabbed him.
Fear’s metallic flavor edged my tongue, slowly consuming me. My breaths became shallow. I squeezed Ian as tightly as I could, and he froze in place, his limbs and muscles quiet except for his heart, which pounded under my ear. My son, my son! Pain joined fear, stabbing and pulsing in my head to a salsa beat. I released Ian and pressed my temples, trying to stave it off.
“Don’t go, Ian. Don’t leave. You’re our child too. We love you.”
He turned toward his father. “I gotta get outta here.”
“Wait, wait,” I said, latching onto a different tack. “Did the landlord clean your place? Shampoo the carpets? Exterminate?” Jack had seen the apartment. He’d come home shaking his head. “It can’t be ready yet.”
“I’m doing most of the work myself and getting a month’s free rent.”
Jack said, “By the time he’s finished, the place will be in better shape than when it was new. He’s replacing windowsills.”
Which probably meant termite damage. Roaches. A wave of nausea had me running to the sink. “Please, Ian....”
“Sorry, Mom. Feel better. I have to go. Talk to you soon.”
The door closed behind him. Silence filled the kitchen, and my husband popped another antacid. I wanted to crawl into bed and hide under the covers, but Jack looked so sad, so lost, I needed to do something nice for him, something he’d appreciate. Inhaling deeply a few times, I got the nausea under control then said, “Come on. Let’s go to bed. A little hands-on therapy should help.”
But he didn’t answer. No laugh. No happy face.
“Jack, did you hear me?”
“I just lost my son!” he shouted, and I lost my breath. “I don’t care about bedroom antics right now!” His fists hit the table; his face took on a purple hue. “How the hell did this happen? How the hell did we go from a noisy, kid-filled house to a tomb? How did we go from two children to zero? I talked myself hoarse with Ian, don’t know what else I could have said or offered. What else could I have done?”
I stroked his shoulder. “You did everything right. His leaving home is not about you. It’s about me...and Kayla.”
“Oh, please. That’s such bull. You weren’t even home at the time.”
And that was the crux of the matter between us. My husband didn’t give credence to the horrible jokes life could play. It was Sarah Levine, not Claire Barnes, who drove the car that hit Kayla. End of story. He totally ignored my lateness getting home.
“Do you think Ian might be happier if we moved?” The words formed slowly as the idea came to me. “Maybe he relives the accident every time he turns down our street.”
Jack rolled back on his heels, his complexion returning to normal, his forehead creased in thought. “What has that got to do with him ‘having to earn his own way?’ But...do you think that’s a possibility?”
I shrugged. “You can ask him.” But dear God, what if it were true? Or even partly true? What if our home really did haunt Ian? My off-the-cuff distraction for Jack might boomerang on me. I didn’t want to uproot. I didn’t want to leave my memories of Kayla in this house, helping me in the kitchen, running through the halls, bent over her desk doing homework.
In her bedroom, I could still inhale her fragrance
as I placed her stuffed teddy bear on the pillow. Grandma Pearl had crocheted the doll, and Kayla had cuddled with it every night even at the great age of twelve-and-a-half. In my mind’s eye, I could see her applying nail polish to her toes and fingers in the bathroom. Part jock with her soccer team, part woman-in-training. Discovering the differences between girls and boys. Trusting me! Trusting me to share the secrets, a woman’s secrets.
Jack stood close now, but his shoulders slumped, and his mouth was bracketed with familiar lines of pain. “I think we’re driving ourselves crazy with guessing games. We’ve got to stop it. We’ve got to put it behind us.”
Like forget we had a daughter? I thought about my recent visits to the cemetery where I chatted with Kayla. Oh, no. I’d never forget. My head started its salsa dance again, and I rummaged for some aspirin as Jack continued to speak.
“Folks who know about these things say the first year is the toughest. I think they’re right.”
“Maybe.” But in my heart, I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t imagine our lives any other way—first year, second year, third year. Would I love Kayla any less as time passed? God forbid. I could put up a good front with other people for awhile. I’d already done that a few times. Heck, I’d been doing it every day at work in between crying jags. But genuine laughter was for others. As for me, I wanted my daughter...I yearned for my daughter and always would. I felt tears form but managed to thwart them. I had to try—for Jack’s sake.
“Hmm... Are you finished lecturing and yelling?” Forcing a smile wasn’t easy, but he needed to see one.
“I guess...for now.” His brow rose and he grinned. “Scared ya, huh?”
“I’m shaking.” At that moment, our glances locked, and I started to laugh. Almost giggled. The sound shocked me.
Jack stared, eyes wide open. Seemed I’d shocked him too. “Wow! What was that strange music?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” I looked aside.
“Sure you do.” He caressed my cheek and added, “I’d call it the sound of...of hope.”
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