Untethered

by Julie Lawson Timmer

Char turned to see Morgan peering into the parking lot, trying to make out the shadowy figure calling to her as Allie took a step sideways and blocked Morgan’s view. The teenager squared herself off in front of the smaller girl and reached her arms back to hold her there, in place, protected. Taking one hand off Morgan, she brought it in front of her, extending her arm and aiming her palm at Sarah. Stop.

  “What do you want?” Allie hissed.

  “Please!” Sarah said, starting toward the girls. “Please just let me talk to her! Let me see her! Let me explain! Morgan, honey!” She held a hand out toward the girl, beckoning. “Mommy only wants to tell you—”

  “Sarah,” Char said, stepping sideways to block the other woman’s path to the girls. “Nothing good will come of this.”

  “But I have to talk to her!”

  “Another time,” Char said, trying to keep her voice calm. She held two hands up, urging Sarah to back away. “You can talk to her another time. Or . . . maybe . . . write her a letter. But don’t put her through this now.”

  Sarah stood her ground and turned wild eyes to Char. “You don’t understand! It’s killing me! It’s been killing me, this entire time, that she didn’t know! She didn’t know that I didn’t want to!” She craned her neck to see past Char. “I didn’t want to do it, Morgan! You have to believe me! I didn’t—”

  “Go away!” Allie screamed.

  Char turned, holding up a hand to the teenager. Allie’s face was bright red. She held her fists rigidly at her sides and her entire body was shaking. Morgan was crouched behind Allie, her head ducked down, her hands clinging to the sides of Allie’s shirt as though some violent storm were coming from the front and threatened to blow her away. Morgan’s hands were shaking more than Allie’s, and Char could see her pale white legs quivering, too.

  “Easy, Allie,” Char said.

  “Tell her to take it easy!” Allie said, jutting her chin toward Sarah. “Tell her to leave! Morgan doesn’t want to see her! She doesn’t want to hear her voice! Ever again!”

  “I know you don’t want to see me, Morgan,” Sarah said, her voice pleading, on the verge of breaking. “I don’t blame you. But if you would just let Mommy explain. Just for a minute.” She took a step forward.

  Char held out a hand, stopping Sarah, as Allie screamed, “Don’t you come any closer or I swear, I will—”

  “Allie!” Char said, not taking her eyes off Sarah.

  Sarah snapped her head to the right, toward the police station, and Char turned to see what had caught her attention. Captain Cecchini was in the doorway, another officer with him.

  “What’s the commotion out here? Ma’am?” he said, coming toward Sarah. The other officer stayed with the girls. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but—”

  “Please!” Sarah wailed, shaking her head. “Please! I just need to tell my daughter—”

  “The young one’s your daughter?” He looked from Sarah to Char for confirmation. Addressing Sarah again he said, “Well, ma’am, we received instructions from your husband that Mrs. Hawthorn here was to take both children with her. But if you can show me—”

  “I don’t want to take her!” Sarah cried. “I only want to talk to her! I need to make her understand—”

  The captain looked again at Char and she shrugged, not wanting to implicate the Crews by offering any part of the story. “I think she’s just having a hard time,” she said. “I’ve asked her to wait, and talk to Morgan another day. When everyone’s better rested. And calmer.”

  The captain held a hand out to Sarah but she refused it. “You don’t seem to me to be in any state to talk to her, ma’am,” he said. “And I can’t say she looks like she’s in any state to want to hear it. So, I think you need to get on your way, and do what Mrs. Hawthorn says—save it for another day. Here, take my hand, and let’s get you to . . .” He looked around the parking lot. “Do you have a car here?”

  “She’s going to drive the convertible,” Char said. At the look of alarm on his face, she added, “She’s going to get a hotel room for the night first. Someplace close. Right, Sarah? You’re going to get a good night’s sleep first.” To the police captain, she said, “I told her to have her husband come for her tomorrow if she’s still not up for the drive.”

  “Now, there’s a good idea,” he said. He took a step toward the convertible and motioned for Sarah to follow, but she didn’t move. “Ma’am,” he said, turning back to her. “You’re upsetting the children. I’m going to give you till the count of three to start moving for the car. If you fail to cooperate, I’m going to have to take you inside. One . . . two . . . three. Okay, then.”

  He wrapped a hand around her arm and, immediately, Sarah fell to her knees. He put both hands under her armpits and lifted her. Sarah sobbed, but didn’t struggle. The second he released her, her knees buckled again. He grabbed her by the armpits again, then hoisted her into his arms as though she were a child of five.

  As he lifted her, he nodded to the other officer, still standing guard near the girls. “Let’s get her into the patrol car there,” Captain Cecchini said. “We’ll take her to the ER.” He turned to Char. “You need help with the girls? I can have someone from inside come out, if you need.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Char whispered. She stood motionless as he carried a limp, crying Sarah to a patrol car. Morgan was still hiding behind Allie, and Char was thankful that the little girl had not been forced to watch as a defeated, whimpering Sarah Crew was loaded into the back of a squad car and driven away.

  Forty-one

  What’s going to happen to me now?” Morgan asked, as Char pulled away from the police station. The two girls were in the backseat, Morgan leaning against Allie.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Char said. “But we’ll figure it all out once we get back to Mount Pleasant. For now, you’re going to spend tonight with me and Allie, in a hotel. We’ll drive back in the morning, and you’ll come to our house. After that, I’m not sure.”

  “Do I have to go back to Ohio?”

  “No. That I can promise. You don’t have to go back there.”

  “Do I have to go back home?”

  Allie sat straight and found Char’s eyes in the rearview mirror. She shook her head no.

  Char raised a shoulder: I can’t promise that.

  Allie widened her eyes: Please. You can’t make her go back to them.

  Char angled her head toward Morgan: Don’t make a scene in front of her.

  “What if they still don’t want me?” Morgan asked. “Will I have to go back to foster care?”

  Allie bent sideways and whispered something into the little girl’s ear, then straightened again and looked at Char in the mirror, her eyes still wide: We can’t let anything bad happen to her.

  Char angled her head toward Morgan again, then turned back to the road: You tend to the girl, I’ll tend to the road. We can discuss this later.

  “For now, Morgan, you’re staying with us,” Char said. “I don’t know what will happen after that, but for tonight, it’s you, me, and Allie. Okay?”

  “I want it to always be you, me, and Allie,” Morgan said. She said it more to herself than to Char, and she didn’t look up for a response.

  • • •

  In the hotel room, Char texted Lindy to let her know she had the girls with her. And that she knew now, for certain, who had called the police.

  Char: You promised you wouldn’t do that.

  Lindy: I wanted my child found.

  Char: What if they had pressed charges?

  Lindy: I’m disappointed they didn’t.

  Char, her mouth open, stared at her cell phone.

  Lindy: I suppose if the police won’t punish her, I’ll have to. I don’t imagine you’re up for the task.

  Char: I’m not sure harsh punishment is the right thing, in this situation.

&
nbsp; Lindy: Well, I am sure, and I am the parent in charge of the girl’s future. I need to make sure she knows right from wrong.

  Char set her phone on the bed and folded her hands in her lap. “Well,” she whispered to the device, “I am the technically former stepparent in charge of the girl right now. And I need to make sure she knows she’s wonderful.” She clicked the text conversation closed, set the phone on the bedside table, stretched onto her back and closed her eyes.

  Forty-two

  For an hour, Char lay in bed, listening to the sound of her slumbering roommates. Her mother used to tell her that even if she couldn’t sleep, it was beneficial to lie there, resting. Char had never bought that. Sliding out from under the covers, she lifted her cell phone and the room key from the bedside table, slipped on her pants, shoes, and a sweatshirt, and eased her way out the door and into the hallway.

  There was a text from Will: Fine, I won’t call, but let me know the second you have news.

  So sorry, she texted back. Just seeing this now. Have been driving, then busy getting the girls settled. I have them. They’re fine. Relatively speaking.

  Will: No falling-apart mothers at this end who can’t be woken. Call immediately.

  Char ducked into a room marked “Ice/Vending,” pushed the door closed, and called her brother.

  “You’re awake?” she asked, when he answered. “It’s only seven and you don’t have class today. I figured you’d be asleep until noon.”

  “I have a way of not being able to sleep when I learn my niece has fled the state and my sister has driven after her with a crazy woman as her copilot.”

  “She’s not crazy, Will.”

  “We can get to that later. So, tell all.”

  She did, and when she was finished, he let out a low whistle. “Wow. So, now what are you going to do?”

  “Well, for starters, I was lying in bed for a while, listening to those two snore. And I was thinking about something Sarah said to me, actually. About being strong. And I was thinking, she’s right, I am strong. Usually. But I haven’t been, lately. Since Bradley died, I haven’t actually taken one definitive action. I’ve only been reacting. To Allie and Lindy.

  “I’ve been waiting around for them to say what they want. Hoping Allie will say she wants to stay, hoping Lindy will say she can. But I’ve never said out loud what I wanted. I didn’t want to risk being rejected by Allie. I didn’t want to risk making Lindy feel threatened and having her take Allie sooner. I’ve let this fifteen-year-old girl run all over the place with three . . . losers . . . because I haven’t wanted to risk making her feel disrespected in her own home.

  “I’ve been feeling . . . unmoored since Bradley died. I used to belong to people, Will. They used to belong to me. Now I’m just . . . floating. Adrift. Untethered.

  “And I didn’t realize this before, but it’s so obvious to me now: Allie’s been feeling the same way. I was thinking all this time that she has a choice. Me or Lindy. Which is a lot better than I have. It just hit me, though, that with all of Lindy’s vacillations and excuses about whether and when she wants Allie to move out there, and my refusal to say out loud how badly I want her to stay, she probably doesn’t feel like she has a choice at all. She probably feels like she’s waiting to be chosen.

  “It’s been four months now, and no one has chosen her. And I can’t imagine how that must make her feel. I need to come right out and tell her, ‘I want you to stay. I’d love for you to stay. For as long as you want.’ And if she wants that, I need to call Lindy up and ask her to say yes. Fly down there and beg her, if that’s what it takes.

  “And I need to let Allie know that if she doesn’t want it, or if Lindy says no, I’m not going to fall apart. She and I can text, we can e-mail, we can visit each other during school breaks. She can fly up to see me, if her mom lets her, or I can fly to LA. I’ve been walking around all this time, telling myself my life will end if I lose her too, and I’m sure she’s picked up on it. And because I’ve been too afraid to address the topic with her, I haven’t been able to assure her that she doesn’t need to worry about me.

  “So, to answer your question, that’s what I’m going to do. Take action. Speak up. Fight for the kid.”

  She waited for him to respond. When he didn’t, she said, “You think it’s a bad idea.”

  “No!” he said. “I was waiting for you to finish.”

  “I’m finished.”

  “And I’m thrilled,” he said. “I think Allie will be, too. No matter what her answer is. Or what Lindy’s is.” They were quiet for a while, and then he said, “I know it was a terrible day for you. But this isn’t a bad ending. If this is what it took for you to realize what you need to do, then I guess I’m glad it happened.”

  “That’s not exactly the ending,” she said. “There’s more.”

  “More?”

  “About eighty pounds and a thousand freckles more.”

  “Yes! I was hoping!”

  “You don’t think it’s . . . insane?” she asked.

  “Of course I think it’s insane. What does that have to do with it?”

  “I’m serious, Will. You don’t think I’d be, I don’t know, doing it for the wrong reasons?”

  “What would those be?”

  “All the things I just said, about the, you know—”

  “Oh,” he said, “you mean the whole untethered thing, no one to belong to anymore?”

  “Right.”

  “And what are the right reasons?” he asked.

  “For starters? She needs me. She doesn’t have anyone, either. And I would be good for her. I know all her stuff, and it doesn’t scare me. The amount of work it’ll take doesn’t scare me. The whole honeymoon-is-over, lack-of-affection thing doesn’t scare me. Been there, done that, lived to tell about it.”

  “True enough,” he said. “What else? You said that was ‘for starters.’”

  “I want to be a mother,” Char said. “Before I met Allie, I could have taken it or left it. But that’s because I didn’t know what it would be like. When I was tearing down I-75 after those girls, my heart racing, head pounding, worried sick about where they were, I realized something: I would rather worry like that about a child every day than not have a child to worry about.

  “Now that I’ve had a kid take up so many of my waking hours each day, so much of my mental and emotional energy, I don’t know how I’d live without it. I don’t want to live without it. I’m full when Allie’s with me. I’m empty when she’s not.”

  “Yeah,” Will said, “I can see how that would be true.”

  “And there’s one other thing. Yesterday, I was having lunch with Colleen. I was telling her something about Allie. And she told me that for all my talk about only being Allie’s stepmom, I talk like I’m a real mother. . . .” She felt a lump rising in her throat. “And . . .” she tried, but she couldn’t form any words.

  Will said something quietly, but Char didn’t hear it, because as he spoke, the door to the room opened and a thirty-something man walked in, carrying an ice bucket. He wore dress pants, a white undershirt, and socks. His hair was tousled and his pants were only buttoned, not zipped. His belt, unbuckled, was hanging from two loops in the back.

  “Uh . . .” he said, glancing at Char.

  Char stepped away from the ice machine. “Be my guest,” she whispered, her voice still not cooperating.

  He filled the bucket and turned to leave. “Thanks,” he said.

  Char nodded. “Sorry about that,” she said into the phone.

  “Tell me again where you are?” Will asked.

  “In the ice machine room down the hall from our room.”

  “And tell me why you’re in there?”

  “I didn’t want to wake the girls by talking in the room, but I didn’t want to go too far, in case they need me.”

  “Th
at’s what Colleen was talking about,” he said.

  “Well, she was talking more about my emotions, but—”

  “She was talking about how, even though there’s likely a couch in the little alcove where the elevators are, and some comfy chairs in the lobby, you’re standing in a fluorescent-lit ice room, so you can be close in case they need you. She’s right, you do talk like a mother. Because you think like one. Because you are one.

  “And you’re good at it. You’re good for Allie. And you’ll be good for Morgan—you’re absolutely right about that. We engineers don’t say things like ‘It’s your calling,’ so I’m not going to. But if I were some touchy-feely humanities prof, I’d totally say that to you.”

  “Thanks,” she said, laughing. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said you would say to me. If you were a person who said that kind of thing.”

  Will laughed, too.

  “So, do you still think it’s insane?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  “But . . . you also still think I should do it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Forty-three

  Char finally dozed off around eight. Morgan was awake and squirming by nine thirty, but Allie kept her occupied with cartoons and room service. A little after eleven, Char finally dragged herself out of bed and headed for the coffeemaker.

  “A huge part of me wants to stay another day,” she said to Allie. “You two could chill out and I could get more sleep. But I really think we need to get back to Mount Pleasant.”

  “I don’t think she’ll care,” Allie said, pointing. Morgan was curled on her side, knees drawn almost to her chin, arms wrapped around her legs. They regarded her for a moment, and Char was about to sit beside the little girl and ask if she needed anything, when Morgan rose and walked into the bathroom.

  “It’s a stress thing,” Allie told Char while Morgan was gone. “She gets those stomachaches, remember? She gets really tired, too, when she’s worried about stuff. I told her it’s just as well—the tiredness part. She can sleep all the way home. Not like there’s anything else to do.”