She continued up the front steps and rang the doorbell. The lock clicked and the door swung open.
Dressed in a teal cardigan and white slacks, Mrs. Luttrell offered a stiff smile. “Alice, so glad you could make it.” She stepped aside. “Please, come in.”
She closed the door behind Alice then led her down the hall and into a formal sitting area. A porcelain tea set, a Psychology Today magazine, and a book called Reaching Troubled Teens sat on the glass coffee table.
“Mrs. Goddard, hello.” Mr. Luttrell rounded the corner carrying a legal tablet. He was a wisp of a bald-headed man with tufts of hair protruding around his ears. Three pens were tucked in his shirt pocket. After shaking Alice’s hand, he and his wife sat on a cream-colored leather couch.
Alice perched on the edge of a matching love seat.
“Tea?” Mrs. Luttrell poured a cup and handed it to Alice.
“Thank you.” She set the mug down. “And thank you for letting Tim and Danny stay here.”
Mrs. Luttrell nodded. “Of course. I know how trying the teen years can be. Which is why we’d like to help. We’ve worked with troubled families for years and have seen parents make great strides when issues are handled appropriately.”
“Things have been . . . difficult for the boys, but we’ll work through this.” Alice glanced through the arched doorway and down the marble-floored hall. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with them alone.”
The couple exchanged glances.
Mr. Luttrell cleared his throat. “Actually, they aren’t here.” He spoke slowly, much like a politician. “We sent them with our son to see a movie. So we could discuss the situation in private.”
Alice blinked and folded her hands in her lap. She looked Mr. Luttrell in the eye. “I appreciate your concern, but the boys and I need to talk. And although I am thankful you allowed them to stay, they really need to come home now.”
Mrs. Luttrell raised an eyebrow. “And just where would that be? Because our son tells us that you are no longer living at home. That in fact, you are living on someone’s couch.”
Alice’s hands clasped tighter. “Not that it’s your business, but I’m staying with friends. In their guest room.”
“Yes, well, we do not believe the boys are . . . ready to talk with you. In situations like this, a cooling off period is best for all involved.”
“A cooling off period? And just how long do you envision this period to last?”
Mrs. Luttrell shrugged. “As long as they need. We told them they are always welcome and our door is always open.” She added sugar to her tea and stirred. After taking a rather long sip, she set her drink down and cupped her hands around one knee. “During that time, we can work with you on appropriate communication methods and proper behavior modification procedures. In fact”—she grabbed her purse off the ground beside her and pulled out a pocket planner—“why don’t we start next Friday? Free of charge, of course.”
“I’m not interested in a therapy session.” So, not only were they hindering her communication with her sons, now they wanted to psychoanalyze her? “Are you saying you will not allow me to see Tim and Danny? As if you had the right. These are my boys and I decide what’s best for them.”
“Really?” Mrs. Luttrell raised an eyebrow. “Because it appears to us as if you are not addressing the matter at all. Rather, you are attempting to manage the symptoms without taking the time to determine their cause. Effective parenting—”
Alice held up her hand. “This conversation is pointless.” She pulled a slip of paper and pen from her purse and wrote out Beth’s address on it. “Here.” She slapped the paper on the table. “This is where I’m staying. Tell the boys they are to come home—to our new home—tonight.”
Mrs. Luttrell frowned. “This is exactly the type of behavior that leads to these sorts of difficulties in the first place. We can’t make the boys do anything. And you know as well as I, if we force them to go to this place”—her gaze flicked to the address—“in their current emotional state, they’ll only run away again. You must deal with the issues underlying their behavior—and yours, I might add—before things escalate.”
Alice stood, using every ounce of strength she possessed to maintain self-control. “Once again, thank you for the tea and your concern. Please.” She stressed the word, holding Mrs. Luttrell’s gaze. “Please tell them I stopped by. And have them call me.”
The couple rose, and Mrs. Luttrell smoothed her blouse. “Certainly. But remember, pushing too hard too fast will only push them further away.”
CHAPTER 28
Trent shoved a gallon of sour milk aside to make room for a 12-pack of beer. He pulled out a bottle and put the rest on the top shelf. So much for kicking the booze. But with Alice gone, he didn’t see the point. In anything.
Dirty dishes filled the sink, and breadcrumbs scattered across the counter—a painful reminder of her absence. He’d called her twice—once to locate her and to find out what it would take to get her home, then to invite her to a nice, candlelit dinner. No answer either time, which wasn’t like her. It wasn’t like her at all. If not for the empty closet and missing suitcases, Trent would have thought something tragic had happened.
He lumbered into the living room, fell into the recliner, and leaned back until the footrest popped up. Grabbing the remote, he began his nightly routine of flipping through mindless commercials. He guzzled one beer after another until the familiar fog of intoxication took over.
At 7:30, Danny arrived covered in sweat and with a gym bag tossed over his shoulder.
Trent jolted upright, snapping the footrest beneath him. “Hey. Where you been?”
“A friend’s.”
“Did you clear that with your mom first?” Alice probably told the boys to stay away—one of her manipulation tactics, no doubt. “Where is she, anyway?” He spoke slowly to hide the slur of his words.
Danny shrugged.
“Call me next time, OK? You seen your brother lately?”
A tendon in Danny’s jaw twitched. He dropped his gym bag and turned toward the kitchen. Cupboard doors started banging shut. The fridge opened and closed.
Trent made a mental note to hit the grocery store the next day on his way home from work. Downing the rest of his beer, he walked into the kitchen to find Danny head first in the refrigerator.
“You in the mood for pizza?” He reached around his son to grab a block of cheese covered in green mold. Tasty. Wrinkling his nose at the stench of soured dairy, he tossed it in the sink.
Danny turned around and shoved his hands in his pocket. “Yeah, sure.”
“Good deal.” He plucked a pizza coupon off the fridge and called the company advertised. “Think Tim will want some?”
“Maybe. If he comes home.”
Trent ordered two large supremes, just in case, then returned to watching television. Danny sat on the couch, rigid, and focused on the television. Neither of them spoke, minus the occasional three-word sentence.
Tim stumbled in shortly after ten smelling like booze with a curvy blonde on his arm. She appeared to be equally drunk. Trent set his beer down—his ninth—and struggled to his feet. Danny glanced up, shook his head, then slumped down the hall. The door slammed and pictures rattled on the wall, followed by the steady pounding of drums and the squeal of an electric guitar.
Trent mumbled a few swear words and faced his oldest son. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Tim’s girlfriend was dressed provocatively in a short skirt and a crop top that swooped over her shoulders.
A crooked grin spread across Tim’s face. He wrapped his arm around the girl’s neck and squeezed. “Brandi, meet my pops. Pops, say hi to Brandi.” He lifted his elbow under her chin, causing her face to tilt toward his, and planted a long kiss on her lips.
Trent’s neck heated. “Nice to meet you, Brandi.” He enunciated each syllable, trying to maintain self-control and keep from jumbling the words—nothing like a drunk father telling his drunk son t
hat he couldn’t bring a girl home. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave now.”
Brandi turned to go, but Tim held fast.
“Brandi’s not going anywhere.” His eyes flashed.
Trent stepped closer. The veins pulsed in his forehead, hot blood saturating his intoxicated brain. “Good-bye, Brandi.”
The girl squirmed under Tim’s headlock, her gaze darting between Trent and Tim. She pushed her hands against Tim’s chest. In his drunken state, Tim lost his balance and fell against the wall, allowing Brandi to break free. She backed up, stumbling over the mat.
“Call me.” She spun around and threw open the door.
Tim lunged toward her, but the door slammed in his face. He rotated, a dark shadow falling over his eyes as his gaze narrowed on Trent.
Trent stared at Tim’s balled fists then at his bulging arm muscles quivering beneath broad shoulders, and took another step backward. Tim stood nearly five inches taller with at least 50 more pounds of muscle. The rage in his eyes told Trent he was itching for a reason to pound him.
Trent turned and shuffled back into the living room, grabbed his beer, and brought it to his mouth. Footsteps swished behind him.
Standing in front of the coffee table, he watched his son closely. After a very intense standoff, Tim let out a string of expletives, turned, and marched to his room.
“Yo, Danny,” Tim called out. “Pack your things. We’re outa here.”
Trent sighed and plopped back into his recliner. He turned his attention back to the television. A moment later, doors creaked open and Tim and Danny emerged, scowling and lugging duffel bags.
“Don’t wait up, Pops.” Tim laughed and flicked his brother’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Picture frames rattled on the wall when the front door slammed behind them. An engine revved and then tires squealed.
CHAPTER 29
When can you start?”
Alice raised her eyebrows. “You mean . . . ?”
Mr. Wilson smiled and nodded. “You’ve got the job, if you want it.”
Alice almost giggled. Bussing tables wasn’t exactly a step up, but after 20 applications and ten fruitless interviews, she was grateful to have a job.
“And as I mentioned earlier, we prefer to promote from within.”
Nice thought, except eventually she’d need to land a career.
Mr. Wilson walked over to a stack of boxes. “What size do you wear?” He pulled out a pale blue polyester dress with wide collars and puffy sleeves. It looked like something Dorothy wore in the 1939 version of The Wizard of Oz. Dark brown stains under the arms indicated it was far from new.
He handed her the dress. She held it against her chest. The bottom hem hit an inch below her knee. “This will be fine.”
“Great.” He showed her to the door. “Can you be here tomorrow morning, eight o’clock?”
“Absolutely.” She tucked the garment under her arm and left.
Back at the car, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Visions of pimple-faced teens, arms loaded with plates of fried food, flashed through her mind, taking her back three decades—to her high school days. The pay would be low and the work tiring. But she had to start somewhere.
When she returned to Beth’s, she found her sitting at the kitchen table with her nose stuck in her Bible—again. A bag of river rocks lay at her feet. Sharpies of every color littered the table.
Alice lingered near the arched entryway separating the kitchen from the living room. “Hey, listen, I don’t think I’ll be able to help with the ladies luncheon this year.”
“I kind of figured that.” Beth smiled. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got it covered.”
“Great.” She huffed. “So I’m the talk of the church, then?”
“No, nothing like that. I handled it quietly.” Beth grabbed a pen and scrolled something on a 3-by-5 card.
Alice eyed the clutter spread across the table. “What’s all this?”
Beth grinned. “We’re going to lay our burdens down tomorrow. Leave ’em at the foot of the cross.” She closed the Bible and folded her hands in her lap. “You coming?”
Alice sank into the seat across from her. “I wish I could but . . .” She raised the polyester dress.
Beth covered her mouth and stifled a laugh. “Oh, Alice!”
“I’ll be fighting them off in this beauty.” She lowered her eyes and pushed her lips out in a half-smooch, half-pout.
“Oh!” Beth jumped to her feet. “Ooh, I know what would be perfect with that outfit!” She ran into her bedroom and returned with a pair of chocolate-colored brown clogs. “If you wear these, you certainly will.”
Alice erupted in laughter. “Where on earth did you get those? And more importantly, why do you still have them?”
Beth slipped her feet into the shoes and pranced around the kitchen with her hand under her chin. “What do you mean, why do I still have them?” She kicked them off and returned to the table. “They were a gift from my mother-in-law. To go with a lovely olive-green jacket.”
“You think that’s bad. A few years ago, Amanda bought me a pair of Christmas light earrings and a matching necklace. You know, the ones that flash.”
“Oh, I remember that.” Beth giggled. “That was for our secret sister party, wasn’t it? She was trying to be funny.”
“Oh no she wasn’t. I saw her at a restaurant a week later, and she asked me why I wasn’t wearing them. Her matching set assured me she was serious.”
They spent the remainder of the afternoon one-upping each other until giggles filled the small kitchen. Alice laughed so hard her eyes watered.
Ed walked in an hour later. “Did you forget to write a check in the checkbook?”
Beth’s brow pinched. “Hmm. I don’t think so, but I guess I could’ve. Why?”
“Just trying to balance the checkbook.”
“Don’t envy you there.” She laughed.
Shaking his head, he disappeared into the living room. Or maybe his office. Beth followed shortly after with a glass of tea, leaving Alice alone in kitchen.
The rest of the evening dragged by while they waited for Luke to get home from soccer practice. When Beth served dinner, things got awkward. Alice felt like a third wheel with a squeaky bearing. More like a fourth wheel, counting Luke.
“So,” Ed popped a forkful of corn into his mouth, “you talk to Trent lately?”
She pushed a piece of chicken across her plate. “No.” She could feel everyone’s eyes on her.
“Have you tried?”
“No.”
She glanced up to catch Beth jabbing Ed in the gut with her elbow.
He ignored her. “Maybe you should give him a call.”
Beth elbowed him again, harder. “Ed!”
Corn fragments showered the table as he choked on his food. He covered his mouth with his fist. “What? I’m just saying.”
Alice swallowed and stared at her plate. Had she worn out her welcome?
Luke cleared his throat. “May I be excused? Homework.”
Ed shooed him off with a wave.
Beth changed the subject. “So, remember when I told you about that river rock idea I had? About having all the ladies write their problems on a stone so they could lay them at the foot of the cross?”
“Uh-huh.” Ed took a gulp of tea.
“That’s tomorrow.” She turned to Alice and squeezed her hand. “Sure wish you could come.”
“Maybe next time.”
Long moments of silence and strained conversation dominated the rest of the meal. Despite Alice’s missing appetite, she forced down a few more bites. To be polite more than anything. Beth made small talk about clothes, gardening, anything but Trent and the boys while Alice humored her with polite nods and smiles.
“Great dinner.” Ed pushed himself up from the table.
Beth stood and reached for his plate.
Alice stopped her. “No, you go. I’ll get the dishes.” She welcomed the distraction
.
“You sure?”
“It’ll give me something to do. You go enjoy your husband. Put action to all those romance tips you give us in Bible study.”
Beth laughed and gave Alice a sideways hug. “Thanks.” She disappeared into the living room.
Alice cleaned the kitchen then went to her room. She sat on the bed and scooted back until her spine pressed against the headboard. Hugging her knees to her chest, she tried to ignore Beth and Ed’s laughter seeping through the wall. Which only made her feel more alone than ever. If only Trent hadn’t started drinking. If only he’d agreed to counseling. Maybe their marriage wouldn’t have failed.
No matter how hard she tried to hate Trent, or to pretend she didn’t care, she ached for the love they once shared. Even after all the lonely nights, she longed for his strong embrace.
But those days were gone. It was time to move on.
Trent flicked on the light. Walking into the kitchen, he stepped over a mound of soccer shoes, shin guards, and schoolbooks. His empty stomach cramped, arguing with his empty wallet. No more pizzas or burgers. He opened the fridge and gagged. Time to find whatever was fermenting inside.
Red juice dripped from a decomposing tomato, pooling in partially dried globs on the bottom shelf. This was surrounded by plastic containers filled with food in various stages of decomposition. Removing the moldy containers one by one, he tossed them into the trash. Looked like he’d have to settle for a bottle of beer and a handful of stale crackers.
His phone rang. He glanced at the screen and held his breath. Great. His bank. Letting his voice mail answer, he waited for the message alert to pop up then hit play.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Goddard. This is Leah Northrup from First American Savings. I’m contacting you to discuss your current home loan. Please return my call as soon as possible.” She left a phone number and extension.
Mrs. Northrup could wait until tomorrow. Right now, he needed to scrounge up some spare change. He was almost out of beer.
Rummaging through a kitchen drawer crammed with appliance warranties and recipe cards, he uncovered a faded picture. It was of him and Alice at a Valentine’s dinner ten years ago. She wore her hair long back then, and it draped across her delicate shoulders in loosely curled ringlets. Her eyes sparkled with life, the laughter they had shared evident in the flush of her cheeks.
Breaking Free Page 15
