I didn’t bother to ask about clothes. I knew that wouldn’t be an issue for a while.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ian brought Lizzie and me home on his way to work the next morning. I muted both phones and went straight to bed, wearing sweats and a T-shirt of Ian’s. I might give the sweats back next time I saw him—they were hilariously big on me—but the shirt was comfy, soft from many washings, and it smelled like him. It was mine now.
I woke hours later, still carrying the sense of completion I’d brought home with me. With Ian’s clothes keeping me warm, I started the coffee maker and checked my phone messages.
“Casey.” It was Ben. There was a pause, then a sound of exasperation in the background. “Call me when you get this message.”
I dialed his cell first, then the house.
“Hello.” He sounded harried.
“It’s Casey.”
“Where have you been? Don’t you ever take your cell phone with you? Never mind. Look. I need you to keep the kids. I’m going out of town for a few days. I’ll be back Friday or Saturday.”
“Ben, I’ll be teaching. I can’t—”
“Lois and Herb can help. They just can’t do everything. Lois is having trouble with her blood pressure, and you know how Herb is.”
No, I didn’t know how Herb was. I had no idea how Herb was. “I guess if you bring them over—”
“Casey, can’t you keep them at our house? They could stay in their own rooms...”
I could see the sense in that. “Okay, fine. When are you leaving?”
“I’m late already. My flight leaves out of Pensacola in three hours. Lois can get the kids from school if you’ll pick them up and take them home when you’re through teaching every evening. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” Because I still don’t get the difference between something I can do, and something I should do. “I can.”
“You know where Melody always hid the house key.” A statement, not a question. “Go ahead and make yourself a copy when you go shopping. I stuck some grocery money under a magnet on the fridge. But in case that’s not enough, take Mel’s debit card. It’s in my desk drawer, all the way at the back under some papers. The PIN number is 0981.”
“Okay, Ben.” I was being a doormat, an easily manipulated doormat. I knew it, but I couldn’t stop myself from caving in. My good mood had suddenly gone flat. Its deflated husk sprawled inside me, mocking my good intentions, my inability to say no, my stupid need to be seen as a nice person.
Was there a twelve-step program for people like me? Hi, I’m Casey Alexander, and I’m an approval whore. I’ll watch your kids, wash your car, water your plants when you’re out of town. The only thing I won’t do is say no. Because apparently, I don’t know how.
*
After a full day of teaching, I slumped down the studio stairs with Lizzie leading the way. She looked back at me, grinning, trying to get me in the mood for the walk home. I knew she wanted to bark hello to the lonely Pit Bull behind the chain-link fence of the red-brick ranch-style house, then pee on the crimson Mums by Mrs. Mercer’s sidewalk, and maybe catch a cricket, or at least try to, if one happened to hop by instead of just teasing with their siren song.
I just wanted to go home, run a hot bath, and read a good book.
We stepped onto the sidewalk, and a tapping sound caught my attention. Ian stood at his office window—the one next to the front lobby—tapping his keys against the glass. When he noticed me noticing him, he motioned for me to wait.
A second later, he opened the office door.
“Lizzie.” I put my hand out. “Stay.”
“She can come in.” Ian kissed me and invited Lizzie in with a snap of his fingers. “It’s my newspaper. I can let a horse in here if I want to.”
We followed him into his office. He sat in a tall-backed leather chair on rollers, and held his arms out. “Come sit. Just for a minute. Then I have to get back to work.” His computer screen showed a document marked with red lines and comment boxes.
I sat in his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I had a good time last night.”
His arms tightened briefly around me. “Me, too. I could get used to having you around.”
Shit. That reminded me. “I won’t be home for a few days.”
“Oh?” He leaned back so we could see each other. Eyebrows lifted, he waited.
“I’ll be keeping Melody’s—I mean, Ben’s—kids while he’s away on business. I’ll be staying at their house.”
“Ahh.” His face was thoughtful, but the expression wasn’t very revealing. I thought he might say more, but he kept quiet. He brought his hand from its resting place on my knees, and touched my chin lightly with his index finger. He trailed that finger down my neck, over my collarbone. He lowered his lashes and dipped his head for a kiss. Soft at first, his lips on mine, then insistent, his tongue sleeking over my teeth and inside my mouth.
If this was an attempt to make me regret my decision to keep Ben’s kids, it was successful. I touched his cheek, feeling the rasp of his beard coming in now that the day was almost over. “I’ll miss you.”
“You’ll have your days free, with the kids at school? We could have lunch...” His hand roamed, caressing in a long sweep from knee to thigh before cradling my butt.
“Amy gets out of preschool at noon.”
Lizzie gave a short, sharp bark. I reached up to thread my fingers through the short soft waves of Ian’s dark hair. “Lizzie has been in the studio all day. She’s probably desperate to find a patch of grass.”
Ian gave my bottom an affectionate squeeze. “Go. Text me when you’re home safe.”
*
A quick check of Ben’s fridge and pantry confirmed my fears—I’d have to do grocery shopping tonight, rather than waiting till tomorrow. I called Lois first, to make sure they weren’t in a hurry for me to get the kids, then went shopping.
An hour later, with Lizzie waiting in the front seat and ice cream melting in the back, I ran into Lois’s house. The entry hall looked as if it had been hit by a tornado. Correction—the twister was still whirling; backpacks, coats, shoes, and accusations being tossed in all directions.
“Grandma.” Jake’s voice was the high-pitched whine of an F-5. “I told you I had to bring five different kinds of moss to school tomorrow! Now, it’s too dark.”
“You should have reminded me, Jake.” Lois’s poodle-permed hair looked as frazzled as she sounded. “You could have gone on your bike to the canal after school. Amy, where is your red sweater?”
Maryann and Amy both stood silent, holding each other up in the storm, as far away as possible without actually leaving the room. Amy stuck her thumb in her mouth. Maryann handed the sweater over to Lois.
I started picking up backpacks. “Maryann, please help Amy put on her shoes. Jake, I have some Sphagnum moss at home. We can pick it up in the morning on the way to school. And there’s Spanish moss in the trees by the Methodist church. We can get that in the morning, too.”
“That’s only two,” Jake moaned. “And it’s a test grade.”
“When did your teacher give this assignment? I can’t believe she’d only give you one day to complete something that counts as a test.”
“Two weeks ago, but Daddy didn’t have time to take me.”
Lois made a sound of frustration. “Well, why didn’t just you go to the canal by yourself?” She flung up her hands, flapping Amy’s red sweater. “There must be a hundred kinds of moss down there.”
“Melody wouldn’t have allowed it,” I told Lois.
The canal wasn’t anything like you’d expect, certainly not a slow-moving waterway filled with picturesque boats. It was a twenty-foot-deep by twenty-foot-wide runoff trench carved into the town’s limestone foundation. Sometimes it was nearly empty, a truant’s playground of algae-slick tadpole pools and assorted wildlife. Other times, it was full to the brim with a torrent of brown water hurling itself mindlessly toward the river.
Melody and I grew up exploring it, as had all the other kids our age. But these days, parents were more careful, and for good reason.
“Well,” Lois huffed, stuffing Amy’s arms into the sweater. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. You girls went there by yourselves all the time.”
“Yes, ma’am, we did.” And we were lucky we didn’t drown or get snake-bit. “I guess times have changed.”
I looked around the foyer. The storm had swept past, and the kids had most of their stuff together. “Jake.” I handed over his backpack. “We’ll figure out what to do about your assignment in the morning.”
Two hours later, with bedtime rituals observed and kids tucked into bed, I went to bed myself, feeling as if I’d been nibbled to death by ducks. Lizzie stretched out on the floor and groaned. I had invited her to sleep in the bed, but she had been more interested in prowling the house and checking that all the doors stayed locked.
“Are you here, Melody?” I whispered, my voice sounding strange in the quiet. “Are you here?”
A long time later I fell asleep, still wondering.
*
In my dream, I was floating in a warm, clear pool. One of many hot-tub-sized limestone holes carved into the canal floor, slicked green with algae, full of rainwater and tadpoles. Overhanging roots tangled at the edges of the canal’s rim, high above. Tall trees leaned toward each other, arching into a lacy canopy overhead. Dappled sunlight filtered through the shifting leaves.
Ian was there, the perfect silhouette of his body outlined in light as he stepped into the pool. Our limbs entwined, arms sliding around ribs, legs tangling together. We kissed...
“Casey.” Ben stood above us, holding out his hand. “I need you.”
Reluctantly I lifted my hand to his, and suddenly I was standing beside Ben in the cold air. A cold wind raised goose bumps on my skin.
I reached for Ian, but something held me back.
“Casey!” Jake’s panicked voice penetrated the dream and woke me with a start. I ran to his room and found him hunched over, sitting on the edge of his bed.
“What’s wrong?” I turned on the bedside lamp. He looked miserable, but not frightened or sick. “Did you have a bad dream?”
He shook his head no.
“What, then?” I sat next to him.
“I don’t know.” His voice was barely audible. “I woke up, and my bed is wet.”
“Oh, baby,” I said sympathetically. I immediately regretted my choice of words when he stiffened and pulled away. “Jake, you know I didn’t mean that like it sounded.” I put an arm around him and realized that his shoulders were higher than mine. When had this child grown taller than me? Never mind. Take care of business. “Did you change clothes?”
He jerked his chin toward the tangled heap of pajamas on the floor.
“It’s not a big deal. Get clean sheets from the linen closet.” He went to the hall closet and I pulled the wet sheets off the bed. They weren’t very wet... In fact, I realized, there was only a small spot.... Not a soaked spot, but a smear of something kind of thick and shiny.
Then it hit me. Jake hadn’t wet the bed. That wet spot wasn’t urine. It was something else entirely.
I stripped the sheets, took them and Jake’s discarded clothes into the laundry, stuffed it all into the washer, got it running, washed my hands. Finished, I raised my eyes to the white ceiling. Melody, help me.
Jake waited in his room with clean sheets, and we worked together to remake the bed. When we’d finished, I still didn’t know what to say. I’d just have to wing it. I sat beside him and looked into his brown eyes that were so much like his mother’s my throat almost closed up. “Jake, you didn’t wet the bed.”
“I didn’t think so, but—” His voice cracked then trailed away.
“Has anybody ever talked to you about... about...” Get a grip, I told myself. Be blunt. Weaving around the subject will only make it worse. “Jake, have you heard about boys having wet dreams?”
Understanding flared in his eyes. “I think so.” He still seemed embarrassed but relieved he hadn’t wet the bed like a baby.
“Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to wait for your dad to get home and talk with him?”
“I’ll wait.” The faintest glimmer of a smile faded almost before I saw it.
“Just so you know, what happened to you is perfectly normal. It may happen again. But it’s no big deal. Just part of growing up.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Get under the covers and sleep fast. Morning comes earlier than usual, since we have to find a bunch of moss before school.” I’d thought of several places we could go without venturing into the canal, but it would still take a while to drive to them all and gather specimens. I turned out the bedside lamp. “See you in the morning.”
“G’night, Casey. Thanks.”
I had just begun to relax into sleep again when a small hand touched my face. “Can I sleep with you? It’s dark in my room.”
“Sure, Amy.” I pulled back the covers. “Come on. I’ll snuggle you up.”
It felt so right, holding her little body close to mine, absorbing her warmth and giving her a little of my own.
But if this was so right, why wasn’t I happier about doing it?
*
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, flew by. Not like an orderly arrow of ducks across the sky. More like a murmuration of Starlings going first one way, then the other, then in five different directions at once. Time seems to do that when you’re over-committed and three steps behind.
Between my teaching schedule and taking care of the kids, getting them where they needed to be when they needed to be there, struggling through math homework Jake didn’t understand and I didn’t remember how to do, I woke up exhausted on Friday. Exhausted, but humming the Hallelujah Chorus because I knew Ben would be home the next day, and I’d be able to pass the torch back to him.
One day from freedom, I sat at Melody’s kitchen table, sipping coffee and petting Lizzie with my slippered foot. The kids still dreamed in their beds, but in another fifteen minutes, I’d wake them up and help them get ready for school. Soon, I’d be free again, free to get back to my quiet life with a new appreciation of what it was like to be a parent.
Never again would I judge any of my ballet moms for being late, for forgetting to pay their kid’s tuition, for not coming to meetings, or not reading the notes I sent.
Being a parent was hard, when it wasn’t fucking impossible. Now, I knew first-hand about the day-in-day-out chores. The morning rush of getting everyone ready for school. The pride of watching the kids you loved and resented and felt inadequate to help as they shouldered backpacks and walked into school without a backward glance.
They’re growing up so fast, Mel. In just these few weeks, they’ve grown so much. I wish you could see them.
I thought again of Melody’s last request. This was exactly what she wanted me to do. Be here in her place. She couldn’t be part of her children’s lives anymore, but I could.
Did I owe it to her to experience the things she could never know again?
The sweet warm weight of Amy climbing into my lap in the morning.
The emerging beauty and grace and wisdom of Maryann.
The strength and resilience and stubborn hardheadedness of Jake.
They were all growing up so fast, extra-fast because Melody wasn’t there. Did I owe it to them to soften the effect of her absence by being there myself? I didn’t have time to wonder, because Jake stomped into the kitchen. “My phone is dead! It’s been plugged in all night, but my charger isn’t working. I told Dad to get me a new one, but he—”
Maryann was right behind him, drowning out Jake’s complaints with her own. “The dryer cut off before my jeans got dry. Now what am I going to do? I’ll be late, and—”
I was still trying to figure out whether my semi-clean jeans would fit Maryann when Amy screamed from her room. “Casey, I wet the bed!”
I slugg
ed back my coffee, bundled peed-on sheets into the washer, handed out pop-tarts and herded everybody into the car. My jeans did fit Maryann, though not to her liking. I was still wearing pajamas and flip-flops, but at this point, I’d have considered going out naked.
Lizzie, wisely, declined to partake in the proceedings. She crept into the living room, leapt onto the couch and burrowed under the 1970s multicolored afghan Mel’s mom had knitted a hundred years ago. Needing a cocktail before my morning caffeine had kicked in, I dropped Ben’s kids off at school.
Then I did a happy dance, because Ben would be home tomorrow.
At three o’clock that afternoon, sitting in the pickup lane of the junior-high school with Amy dozing in her car seat and Lizzie waiting at Ben’s house, I realized I’d started happy-dancing too soon when Jake stalked toward my car with a furious scowl. “Where were you?”
Maryann got into the back seat and tried to calm Jake with a hand on his shoulder. “Casey’s not late.”
He sent a daggered glare my way.
Here we go again. I entered the slow crawl of traffic heading away from the school. I didn’t want to ask, but I did anyway. “What’s the matter?”
“Everything you told me on the math homework was wrong. I had to sit out recess and do it over again. Me and all the dummies.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” I’d never been a whiz at math.
“Mom would have been able to figure it out.”
“Jake, hush.” Maryann put her hand on his shoulder again. “Casey, he didn’t mean it.”
Jake slapped her hand away. “Yes, I did.”
Amy started crying, roused from a light doze by Jake’s loud voice. “Stop yelling, you’re waking me up.”
“Shut up, Jake!” Maryann started howling, too.
“Come up here and make me,” Jake yelled. “Or sit back there and cry like the baby you are.”
“Jake,” I threatened, “Do I need to pull over and deal with you?”
“Do what you want,” he replied in a voice full of loathing, as if I’d deliberately sabotaged his entire school career. “I don’t care. You’re not my mother.”
Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1) Page 14
