CircleintheSandDraftFinalBarnesNoble

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  “Really?” I say over her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry. This is important.”

  “It’s the weekend. Your boss can’t give you a break?”

  “I’m under a lot of pressure,” Sage says never stopping her fingers. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Of course I wouldn’t understand the pressure since I never had a real job. “Nice,” I say and walk away.

  “Wait!” Sage turns in her chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I swear.”

  “So how did you mean it then?”

  Emily comes up behind me. “What’s going on, ladies?”

  “Sage was just about to explain to me what it means to hold down a real job.”

  Sage gets up from her chair, walks over to us, and leans against the counter. “Actually, I wasn’t.”

  Emily and I exchange confused glances and then turn our attention back to Sage. I can see now there is something more. No matter how far apart we may have grown, I can never miss the concern in my friend’s eyes. I decide it’s time to lose the attitude. “What’s going on, hon?”

  Sage folds her arms, stares down at her feet. Madonna is ironically singing about celebration, something we had for a while there. “It’s not only about the work,” she says. “I don’t really want to talk about it. We’re supposed to be having fun, remember?”

  The three of us stand in silence for a moment. We’ve never had this awkward space between us before. It feels off and frustrates the hell out of me. I hope I’m not the only one who cares. The only one who wants things to be the way they used to be. I also don’t enjoy being a hypocrite, knowing I’m keeping my own secret from them. “God, this sucks. Why can’t we talk to each other the way we used to?” My tone comes out overly exaggerated. I wonder if they can tell I’m not only talking about Sage.

  More silence. Then, finally, Sage says, “It’s about my boss, Christine.”

  Emily and I cross over to her, each standing on one side. “What do you mean?” I say.

  “At the Christmas party, Christine’s husband hit on me.”

  Emily snorts a laugh like old times but quickly stifles it. “Sorry. It’s just so typical Sage.”

  “No it’s not,” Sage says sounding offended. “And what’s that supposed to mean anyway?”

  Emily puts an arm around Sage, gives her a squeeze. “It’s just that men have always fallen at your feet. That’s all I meant.”

  “I didn’t do anything to encourage him. Honestly. He was drunk, and he followed me to a back room when I went to take a call. That asshole came up right behind and put his arm around my waist, and I could feel…”

  “Gross!” I shriek.

  “Yeah,” Sage says. “And I was talking to my dad on the phone.”

  “Ew, even grosser,” Emily says.

  We all giggle hesitantly, being careful not to make light of this situation. “So what did you do?” I ask, trying to keep things mature.

  “I elbowed him in the gut, not even knowing who was behind me. It was instinct.” Sage smiles for an instant, but it fades. “When I turned around and saw who it was, I couldn’t believe it. I sort of froze. Then I ran out of there. I seriously think Christine found out.”

  “But it’s not your fault,” Emily says.

  “And why hasn’t she said anything?” I add.

  “I don’t know,” Sage says. “She’s always expected a lot from me, but lately she’s been really…I don’t know, maybe kind of snide about things.”

  “I’m sorry, Sage,” Emily says.

  “What a dick!” I say, and we all fall out laughing. “So what are you going to do?”

  “Nothing, I guess, except keep working my ass off and hope I’ll still get my promotion. Or at least not get fired. What else can I do?” Emily and I rub our support into Sage’s back as we head to the kitchen for additional support from empty calories.

  Later, we’re sitting around the coffee table in the living room, stuffing our faces with cookies and still drinking. I figure the wine has relaxed them enough to get them to do our pledge. I don’t care how lame it is. It’s a tradition. I set my glass down on the table and reach for Sage’s hand.

  “No way.” She pulls away, an embarrassed grin appearing on her face. She shakes her head similar to a child refusing broccoli.

  “Come fucking on,” I say with pleading eyes and a slight slur in my voice. “Please.” I sigh, and just then, I feel Emily’s hand clasp into mine. Yes. My grin takes over, and now we are both looking at Sage, waiting.

  “Whatever,” she says and grabs my hand and one of Emily’s.

  Connected in the circle of friendship we repeat the mantra we first said fifteen years ago.

  Hand and hand we take a stand

  Here and now we pledge this vow

  Ever faithful, ever wise

  Choosing friendship over guys

  We say it loud

  Accept it proud

  If one of us should choose to pass

  The other two can kick her ass

  CHAPTER 10 - EMILY

  Just after my youngest, Ben, was born, we decided to have a small party to introduce him to the world. Small would be relative in this case because Eric’s side of the family is huge. When our other two children were born, it was a non-stop onslaught of visits from tios and tias, hermanas and hermanos. The revolving door was too much, so we thought having everyone over at once would be easier. I doubt the attendant in the waiting room of the Rady Children’s Hospital ER would agree.

  That morning, Ned and Eric’s mother and sister came over to help set up for the party. James was two and Sophie was five. From the moment Ben was born, she wanted to be a little mother and take care of him. She kept a close vigil next to his bassinet, reporting any sounds or movement. “He just spit up,” she said running over to me. I checked on him, but since he was still asleep, I left him. James had been screaming to get out of his booster seat to see what everyone was doing. Ned and Eric’s sister, Andrea, had gone to the store to get ice. Eric was out moving our cars down the street to make room for everyone. Eric’s mother, Rosa, was preparing carne asada in the kitchen. But I didn’t want James running around, so I spread some M&Ms in front of him on the table. I know, chocolate in the morning, but desperate measures. Guests would soon be arriving, and we weren’t ready.

  “He spit up again, Mommy,” Sophie reported running from the living room to the kitchen. “This one is big.”

  “Watch James for me, please, Rosa,” I said as I followed Sophie back to the living room. She was right, this one was big and his cheek had creamy white liquid all over it. “Okay, good job, sweetie. Now will you run to the linen closet and get me a new sheet? You know the ones, right?”

  “Duh, Mommy. I can change it too. You clean up, Benny.”

  I couldn’t help but smile watching her walk away so confident and determined.

  It took less than five minutes to change the sheet and lay Ben back down. Then, I heard Rosa’s frantic shouts. Later, between sobs, she would tell me about the pot on the stove that was filled up too high. And how she didn’t see or even hear James climb out of his booster seat when she raced to get towels to clean up the mess before the liquid seeped into the crack between the stove and counter.

  James had gone into the backyard, excited to see the decorations. Some tiki torches filled with citronella oil were resting across a brick flower bed. He must have tried to pick one up to check it out. By the time Rosa ran after him, he was already bawling and choking. Somehow the oil spilled onto his face and chest.

  When I entered the backyard, Rosa was holding James; his face damp and a wet spot formed a circle on the front of his shirt. My heart clenched and my gut twisted. I had no idea how bad it was, but I knew his little two-year-old body wasn’t strong enough to withstand ingesting any kind of chemicals. For a brief moment, fear paralyzed me, and I tried to will time to go in reverse like Superman flying backward around the earth. Then I whipped into crisis mode. I called 911
while Rosa stripped off James’s shirt and wiped him down. The operator told me to get him to the ER right away just to be safe, so I snatched him from Rosa’s arms, asked her to stay with Sophie and Ben, and ran out the front door, my heart beating inside my head. I felt so completely alone and frightened. I needed to find Eric and scanned the street, spotting him next door talking to our neighbor. When our eyes met, he sensed the panic in me and came running over. Our beautiful, joyous day with the perfect weather had turned into something so dark that it would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  The three of us hopped in the car—me in the back with James—and Eric drove, racing as fast as he could without putting our child in even more danger. The most incredible part of that whole nightmare was the hospital staff who was ready and waiting when we arrived. They immediately got James to a room and worked on him as if he was a mini race car. Seeing my child with wires hooked up to him and a tube up his nose is something I can never erase from my memory and something I pray I’ll never see again.

  James was put under to keep him calm and cooperative and to make sure he didn’t vomit the medicine they gave him. The main thing was getting his lungs clear, and we prayed before each chest x-ray that came back.

  “Don’t worry, babe,” Eric said pulling me into his arms. “He’s a tough kid. He’s got this.”

  I didn’t say anything. The words were stuck so far below the lump in my throat I didn’t even try. But I was sure Eric knew everything I was thinking.

  “It was just one of those things. One of those fucking things that happens.” He was squeezing me so tightly then I didn’t know if he was trying to convince me or himself. He took my face in his hands, my tears running over his fingers. “He’s going to be fine.” His eyes locked on mine. “I can feel it.”

  I trusted Eric, but it didn’t lesson the pain of watching my boy fighting for his life.

  The seconds and minutes turned to hours before I knew it. Night was stealing time and light, and I had a newborn at home. I was torn between being there for James and tending to our new baby. I had no idea how long it would go on, and I needed to get some milk pumped out for Ben. Somehow I convinced Eric I was calm enough to drive. I took the car back to the house, but before I got there, I pulled to the side of the road in a nearby neighborhood. I stared entranced through the windshield, hoping this was all a terrible nightmare. Then I screamed in frustration and banged on the steering wheel. It had nothing to do with fear; this was about anger. I had one job: protect my children at all costs. And I had failed. They’re my whole world. Possibly when I’m in my forties and the kids have grown, I’ll complain that I’ve lost my identity, but for now, I don’t care because yes, my children define me. They make me who I am and I failed them.

  When I finally returned home, I sat down and wrote the first of many lists. I would never fail my children again. I was determined to be diligent. I sat in the bathroom and pumped milk for Ben as I cried, tears rolling down my cheeks. Then I cleaned myself up, put on a brave face and sat to talk with Sophie. She told me not to worry, that she would take care of Ben. In that brief moment, I smiled. I will always be grateful to her for that.

  I returned to the hospital late that night. James was still unconscious. His most recent chest x-ray had shown improvement, but the doctors warned us that in cases such as this, it could take a turn for the worse.

  It would be another sixteen hours before we were told that James was going to be okay. Again the tears came down, but this time I welcomed them. Then I thanked God for giving me a second chance with my son.

  I lie on my side facing the window, wetness from the pillow pressing against my cheek, as I try to push that horrible memory away. I stare at the phone in my hand and debate whether to call or text Eric. Everything is fine. It’s totally fine. Maybe if I say it a few more times, I can make it true. I feel terrible for not having more faith in Eric. He’s a wonderful father and a capable man. But he’s also a little insane, believing we can handle more children.

  I can’t take this wallowing any longer, so I throw off the covers and get out of bed. I slip on an oversized sweatshirt and shorts and make my way to the living room. I see Sage and Jax through the window, sitting on the patio sofa, sharing a blanket. Relief hits me when I wander in the kitchen and see that someone has made coffee. I grab a cup and a banana and head out to join them. On the way out the door, I think about last night and how for a short while I smiled and had fun with my friends. I try to hold back the guilt for forgetting about the kids so I can relax.

  I perform a deep inhale through my nose, hold it for one second, then exhale before stepping outside the door. I read somewhere that cleansing breaths help keep stress at bay. There is little activity on the water, leaving it smooth and clear. It’s so calm and quiet, I can hear the flapping of a bird’s wings flying overhead.

  “Good morning, Princess,” Jax says. She runs a hand across her wild hair. Through the gap in the back of her shirt, I notice the top of a new tattoo behind her right shoulder blade, but I don’t ask about it now. I recall the first one she got, a tiny butterfly on the side of her left ankle. We were seventeen and at the beach when Sage and I spotted it for the first time and went crazy.

  They both scoot over to make room for me. I set down my coffee and join them under the blanket. The blue sky is peppered with little chubby clouds spaced apart, but I can see gray in the distance. The air is crisp, but unseasonably warmer than late January should be here. “How long have you guys been up?” I ask.

  “I’ve been up since about six thirty,” Sage says. She has no make-up on, and is more beautiful than she was last night if that’s even possible.

  “Caught her working in the kitchen when I got up,” Jax says. Then she eyes the banana and says, “And what do you plan to do with that?”

  We all giggle, remembering the times in Jax’s room when we passed around the long yellow fruit curiously examining its size and shape, making jokes, and simulating too many embarrassing situations.

  “I just lost my appetite,” I say.

  They both give me tight smiles and Jax says, “How are you feeling about things this morning? You call home yet?”

  “No,” I say proudly. After a moment of staring at an old sail boat floating by, I add, “But I wanted to.” And just like that my mood slips. “I’m sorry I almost ruined last night with my pouting. I’m so weak.” I reach for my coffee and drink it hoping it will give me the strength I need.

  “Shut up,” Jax says. “You’re not weak. You’re a mom who cares about her kids more than anything and wants to keep them safe.”

  “Yeah, but my level of complete psychosis is exponentially higher than other mothers’.” I smile a bit at my attempt to sound as if I hadn’t dropped out of college.

  “I think it’s understandable,” Sage says. “Remember how I lost it when my mom was sick? I know it’s not the same thing, but when you hear the word cancer. it sounds like a death sentence.”

  Sage had been a wreck back in college when her mother was first diagnosed. But once Barbara had a hysterectomy, the doctors were sure she’d be in the clear. “Yes, but when your mom was better, you went back to your same normal self.”

  “I wouldn’t use the word normal,” Jax says.

  Sage nudges Jax with her shoulder, who naturally nudges her back harder and right into me, almost spilling my coffee. “Hey,” I say.

  “Just because I’m career-minded and a focused person doesn’t mean my mother’s illness didn’t have long-term effects on me,” Sage says. She pulls the blanket up higher and tucks it under her chin. “You guys don’t even know how much.”

  This last statement is not typical Sage, who was usually calm and quiet. We had to drag every little thing out of her, and she would never drop a hint this way. So since she obviously wants to talk about it, I say, “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

  She is quiet and keeps her gaze toward the water. She’s deciding what to say, how much to say. I know that much
hasn’t changed. “It’s nothing…it’s just…sometimes I worry.”

  “About getting it?” Jax asks.

  “The genetic predisposition for Ovarian Cancer is low, but it’s there. And my aunt had it too.” Sage’s voice is dry, clinical.

  “But you can take precautions, right,” I say trying to sound hopeful.

  “Of course, but it’s not only my health I’m worried about at this point. I’m not getting any younger.”

  I understand exactly what she’s talking about and my mind goes back to yesterday when Sage and Jax came to the house. That look of desperation, her arms around Ben, her eyes rimmed with tears. “Oh, Sage, honey. You’re worried about having a baby.”

  As if completely in sync, Jax and I turn our bodies to face Sage. Jax wipes at the corner of her eye with her sleeve.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve had a long-term relationship,” Sage says. “I’m not even dating anyone now. I need to think of this logically.”

  “Having babies is not about logic,” Jax says.

  I was thinking the same thing, but wonder why Jax said it first. A group of pigeons collect on the grass near a tree and peck around on the ground. Jax turns, grabs a scrap of English muffin from her plate on the coffee table and throws little pieces their way.

  Sage gets up from the sofa sending most of the birds in flight. “Hey, I don’t want to bring this weekend down. I was only trying to say that I need to think about the future in a different way now. We better get moving if we’re going to have time to shop before this barbeque.”

  Jax gets up too. “Change is inevitable for all of us, but I’m gonna fight that bitch all the way,” she says sending us all into laughter.

  As I get up and follow them to the door, I add my own pearls of wisdom inspired by one of our favorite eighties movies. “Why do we have to change? Why can we just accept ourselves the way we are like they did at the end of The Breakfast Club?”

  Jax and Sage know exactly what I’m referring to since we once spent a weekend watching that eighties classic in an endless repeating loop. They turn, each giving me knowing glances, then all three of us pump our fists in the air as if the final song of the movie is playing.