Truth of the Matter

by Beck, Jamie

  “I’m sorry. We were making french toast and didn’t notice that she’d slipped away.” When he reaches for me, I flinch.

  My breath is shallow and sharp. He doesn’t care about this because he doesn’t care about my art. French toast? I can’t remember the last time he helped Mom make breakfast. I hate him right now. I hate this house. I hate Lauren. I hate everything about all of it and wish I could close my eyes and disappear. Why can’t I just disappear?

  My chest hurts like I swallowed a chunk of bread without chewing it enough.

  Zoe and Lauren appear, and Lauren nudges Zoe forward. Her tiny face is splotchy. “Sorry, Katy.”

  Tears run down my face, but I swipe them away. Zoe didn’t mean to do anything wrong, so I mutter, “It’s fine.”

  But I turn my back to all of them and begin to clean up my things. Do I even have time to begin again and make another set of copies of all the photographs? At least the one of my mom is untouched by the glitter bomb, so I carefully tear it away from the tree.

  “Katy,” my dad says.

  With my body half-turned away from them, I don’t make eye contact. “Can you leave me alone for a minute, please. Let me deal . . .”

  I start cleaning without waiting for an answer, but hear them shuffle away. Of course he didn’t try to stay with me. Instead he went to console them. To help them get over this “little blip.” He never fights to stay with me—to help me or see me. I place all the unused pictures back in the box I brought, but the canvas is ruined. Not even my mom could come up with a way to save this. My careful, intricate work destroyed. I snap the rubber band four times.

  More tears streak down my cheeks. Blood is pulsing in my ears and little earthquakes rack my muscles. The craft knife is lying there—right within reach. My breaths come harder and faster, burning my lungs.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and picture Dr. Grant, but my collage is ruined and my dad is consoling Zoe instead of me. He only pretended to care about this project. He probably pretends to want me to visit, too, but would be happier if he could move on to his new family—the one he didn’t get by mistake.

  It’s so easy to flick the blade open. Slim and sharp . . . right here. Right now. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But the rush tempts me. That relief. Just for an instant. Just one more time . . .

  The rubber band isn’t enough release for this . . .

  In a flash I gash the middle of my forearm, but this time it is deep. Too deep. I cut with too much anger. The knife hits the table.

  “Dad!” I scream, scared and gripping my arm to stanch the blood flow. “Dad!”

  He runs in. His eyes bug out when he notes the blood dripping on the carpet.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ.” He whips off his T-shirt and ties it really tight above the cut to slow the blood flow. He’s ashen, his voice shaky, not angry. “Jesus Christ, Katy. Why are you doing this?”

  I’m crying too hard to answer. But the truth is I don’t know why my head goes to all the dark places faster than a bullet train. Lauren appears and gasps.

  “Should I call nine-one-one?” She looks at my dad.

  “No. She needs stitches, though. I’ll drive her.” He’s got his arms around my shoulders. “Let’s wrap it in gauze and then go. Lauren, call Anne.”

  She shakes her head, taking a step back. “Richard, I don’t think—”

  He gestures toward me in a jerky motion. “I’ve got my hands full. Call Anne and tell her I’m taking Katy to Virginia Hospital Center to get stitches. She can call me in the car.”

  Lauren swallows, turns, and disappears, presumably to find my dad’s phone.

  My dad ushers me into the bathroom and turns on the faucet. The cold water stings. He pats it dry, not looking at me or speaking. Just focusing on cleaning the cut as he pours soapy water over it.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry.” He works quickly, wrapping my arm in gauze and taping it. “Keep your arm up, okay. Now let’s go. I want to get it stitched up.”

  My chest hurts from crying. I hate the disappointment and fear on his face. He’s never looked so confused. Just like me. My mom’s going to freak, too.

  I’m so stupid. Why am I so stupid?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ANNE

  The sunlight might as well be a stake driving through my head. With one eye open I peer at the clock. Nine already? I throw the comforter aside and drag myself out of bed, with a quick, terrifying glance in the mirror. After tightening the sash of my robe, I try finger-combing my tangles. A splash of water and a washcloth take care of the mascara smudges but do nothing to stop the pounding in my head.

  On this morning after my first date in forever—even if we didn’t officially label it—I stare at myself expecting to look like a different woman. But nothing has changed—not on the outside, anyway. Inside I’m a slightly giddy divorcée thanks to a pleasant date with my teen crush.

  The morning stretches out in front of me. Katy probably won’t be home until the afternoon. Yoga? No. Not today. I’m too antsy. Restless. Maybe I’ll take my coffee to the studio and paint something—something red and pink and orange. Something happy.

  Thankfully there’s enough french roast in the bag to take care of this hangover. I scoop some into the filter, turn on the coffee maker, and trudge to the charging station to check my phone.

  It’s a great surprise to find that, in my stupor last night, I remembered to plug it in. The benefit of good habits, I suppose. Please, God, don’t let me have drunk-texted my daughter last night. When I open the screen, a text from Richard pops up: WHERE ARE YOU?

  My system is still shaky from the hangover, and now my heart is off and running. There’s a voice mail notification from Richard, too. I hit speakerphone and grip the counter, but as Lauren’s voice fills the room, my knees give way.

  “Oh God. Not again!” I grab the phone and hit redial, but it goes to voice mail. “Richard, it’s Anne. I just got the messages. My phone has been charging all morning, but I’m coming up there. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  As I turn in small circles in the kitchen, my vision is blurred by tears. Unable to drive in this condition, I call Dan.

  “Hey, Anne. How are you feeling this morning?” He chuckles.

  “Dan . . .” My voice cracks. “Katy’s in the hospital. I need to get up to Arlington. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m too shaken to drive.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  “Thank you.” We hang up without more discussion.

  In less than five minutes, I’ve brushed my teeth and thrown on jeans and a pullover. I’m waiting outside when Dan shows up.

  He gets out of the car as I barrel toward the passenger door, and catches me by the shoulders. “Anne, take a breath.”

  I raise my head to look at him. “I thought she was doing better.”

  “I know.” He strokes my head before releasing me, and we get into his car.

  “Please, let’s hurry. I overslept, so I didn’t get the messages sooner.” I fasten my seat belt and wipe my cheeks.

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference,” Dan says as he starts the engine.

  “Yes it would’ve. I could be there already.”

  We’re rolling backward down the driveway. “I only mean that it wouldn’t have changed the circumstances.”

  The circumstances. Such a sterile way to describe what’s happening with my child. My daughter is falling apart while I’m lolling around hungover.

  “I don’t understand why this happened. We’ve been following Dr. Grant’s advice.” Mostly. I still hovered a bit, keeping an eye out for setbacks. Surreptitiously checking her body for marks. “How did I miss the signs again?”

  Dan reaches across the console and grabs my hand. It’s so different from last night, when I’d been like a moony teen, daydreaming about sex with someone new. Look at what happened the second I took my eye off my daughter.

  He squeezes my hand. “Pull yourself together before she sees you.” />
  I nod as we zoom toward the highway and up to the ER at Virginia Hospital Center. The repetitive “Be strong” mantra running through my head is occasionally punctuated by ridiculous questions and unfounded accusations toward Lauren and Richard and Dr. Grant. My phone rings.

  “Richard?”

  “Anne, we’re leaving the hospital and heading home. She got a few stitches. No real harm.”

  A relieved sob escapes. “I don’t have your new address. Text it to me and I’ll meet you there. I’m still twenty minutes away.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  I go rigid. “I’m nearly there and I need to see our daughter. Please.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can I speak to her?”

  “Sure.”

  “Hey, Mom.” Katy’s voice is coated in shame. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.” I hate that she feels so alone in the world. I’m always here for her. Always. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I’m holding the phone so tight my fingers ache. When she doesn’t say more, I end the conversation. “All right. Just relax. We’ll work everything out.”

  “Bye.” She hangs up.

  I picture her huddled in the corner of her dad’s car, depressed and staring at what will be another scar on her arm. I might scream and flail my arms and kick the dashboard if it wouldn’t make Dan think I’ve lost my mind. He wouldn’t be wrong.

  “I’m sorry, but we have to go to Richard’s.” I rub my eyes. “They’ve left the hospital.”

  “That’s fine. Just tell me where to go.”

  I update his navigation with the new address. “Thank you for doing this today. God, I’ll have to face Lauren in their new home. My life is so far from what I thought it would be. I don’t understand how everything got so bad.”

  He taps his fingers on the steering wheel while chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I’m sorry this is happening again and that nothing’s bringing you any joy.”

  “I didn’t mean that how it sounds—I didn’t mean you. I just—I’m terrified.”

  “I know.” Dan turns on the radio, recognizing my need to retreat into my own head for the duration of the drive.

  When we finally pull into Richard’s driveway, I scowl. “I can’t believe this is where he’s living.”

  Dan shrugs. “You don’t like it?”

  “There’s no way he likes this.” I shake my head. “It burns me that he lets Lauren rule the roost.”

  “Not sure comparison is healthy or relevant,” Dan says.

  I drink too much wine, eat sugar, and have slacked off on my yoga practice. It’s pretty clear I think healthy is overrated. Still, he has a point.

  Dan asks, “Would you like me to wait out here for you?”

  “Thank you, but I have no idea what will happen once I’m inside. I could be hours.” My emotions churn like a hurricane-ravaged sea, but I let go of this life raft. “And it might embarrass Katy to know you’re sitting out here.”

  “I don’t want that. Call me later and let me know you two are back home safe, okay?” he asks.

  I squeeze his hand, new tears brimming. “I will. Thank you. Thank you so much, Dan. I’m sorry I’m such a hot mess.”

  “It’s fine, really. Go take care of your daughter.”

  I practically jump out of the car and run to the front door.

  Lauren answers, her face drained of color. “Anne. Katy and Richard are in his office.”

  I nod, waiting to be led to my child. The monochromatic house almost makes me worry for Richard. He’s trying to please Lauren, but I know my husband. He prefers color and warmth and classic architecture. This cannot feel like home to him, no matter how much he lusts after his fiancée.

  When I first glimpse Katy, she is curled on the love seat, chewing her thumbnail. Our gazes lock and I’m awash in all her pain and fear and shame. She springs from her seat, and we catch each other in a fierce embrace. I’m kissing her head and murmuring to her, forgetting all about Richard and Lauren.

  In my mind is a warring set of dialogue. Half of it condemning Dr. Grant and her advice, for we are in no better position than before. The other half telling myself to calm down and recognize that real change takes more than a few weeks.

  Vaguely, I hear Richard clear his throat.

  I whisper in Katy’s ear. “What do you want to do? Stay and talk? Go home?”

  “Go home.” She’s holding me tight, and I’m glad to be needed. To make her feel safe.

  “I’ll drive your car.” I ease away and look at Richard. “I’ll take her home.”

  He shakes his head. “Hold on. We should talk first.”

  “I’m taking Zoe and Brody to my mother’s for a while.” Lauren’s neither warm nor cold when she speaks. I’m grateful she isn’t inserting herself into our discussion, and I am sorry that her kids were exposed to something this adult. They must be cowering upstairs.

  “Thank you, Lauren,” I manage. My face is hot. I don’t like having to make apologies to my husband’s lover, but right is right. “I’m sorry your kids were frightened.”

  “It’s been a rough morning for everyone.” Lauren tries to catch Katy’s eye. “I’m sorry about your project, Katy. I hope you feel better soon.”

  Her project? I never thought to ask what caused this breakdown, but I wait until Lauren has left the office. “What happened?”

  “Zoe ruined my project,” Katy says.

  I grab my chest. She’d been so proud of how it was coming along.

  Richard holds up a hand. “If it’s all the same, let’s take a breath first. Maybe get some water.”

  “Actually, I need to use the restroom.” That coffee I drank an hour ago has filled my bladder.

  “Right around the corner from the base of the stairs.” Richard points toward the entry.

  I squeeze Katy’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”

  My footsteps echo throughout the space. When I finish using the powder room and open the door, I come face-to-face with Lauren’s children. They are cute despite solemn, wary gazes and ashen faces. I envy Lauren that her children are still young and she hasn’t screwed them up yet.

  All this time I’ve let that envy eat me up, as if she stole all my happiness and will end up with some picture-perfect future. The truth is, she’ll have to deal with Richard’s shortcomings just as I did. And her kids will tax her in ways she can’t yet imagine. There’s nothing perfect about any of our lives, even if she looks more put together than I do on any given day. Lord knows what her kids think of me right now or how they feel about Katy.

  “Hello.” I offer my hand and smile. “I’m Katy’s mom, Miss Anne. You must be Zoe and Brody.”

  They nod, while Lauren stands behind them, one hand on each child’s shoulder.

  “Hi,” Zoe says. Tears fill her eyes. “I’m sorry I ruined Katy’s picture.”

  None of us needs more pain this morning, so I crouch to her level. “I’m sure you are. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay, Zoe.”

  She tucks her chin and turns toward her mom, burying her head.

  Lauren and I trade a silent glance—an acknowledgment of the struggle we both face to help our children get through the transition. This isn’t only about me or Katy, and I need to remember that the next time I seethe with hatred toward this woman. Katy will never accept this new family if I keep resisting it, too. And I don’t want to inadvertently cause these two children pain.

  “Have fun at your grandma’s house.” I move away because nothing better comes to mind. My heart aches, though. Katy put so much effort into that collage.

  I find her and Richard in his office. For a change, he’s on the love seat with her instead of sitting behind his desk. My body is like a struck bell, reverberating with too many emotions. My daughter’s distress, the strangeness of seeing Richard and his new family in their home, trying to find common ground with Lauren . . . />
  “Sorry,” I say because nothing better comes to mind.

  Richard clears his throat and looks at me like I’m a beloved old friend he forgot he missed. “Did you drive up here?”

  “No. Dan brought me, so I can drive Katy’s car home.”

  “That’s good.” Richard hesitates. “Is Dan someone I should make an effort to know?”

  How civil we are. How utterly, depressingly off it all is.

  “Dan was my contractor. He’s a friend.” I don’t want to talk about him now, and certainly not with Richard.

  Richard’s gaze narrows, as if reading between the lines. I feel struck again by something palpable between us. A vestige of emotions from our many years together. He clears his throat. “As Katy mentioned, Zoe accidentally ruined her project.”

  “How?”

  “Katy left it out last night, and Zoe added to it, thinking it was another collage like the ones they did earlier in the day.” Richard runs a hand over his face.

  Again, I’m assaulted with conflicting tugs at my heart. I adore that Katy tried to find a way to connect with Zoe, yet at the same time it hurts that her new family doesn’t include me.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know how much time you put in on that. But we can start again. I’ll help if you want it . . .” I trail off when it occurs to me I might be overstepping. Right. Wait for her to ask for help. Waiting seems so unnatural, as if I don’t care or can’t be bothered.

  “Katy,” Richard says. He’s uncharacteristically jittery. “You scared me today. For the first time in forever, I feel completely powerless. I thought things were getting better. Even this morning, you acted like you were able to handle Zoe’s mess.”

  Katy’s eyes don’t leave her lap. She simply shrugs. Of course she doesn’t have answers. We’re the grown-ups. We’re supposed to have the solutions, but we don’t.

  “Honey, would you like to talk to Dr. Grant? Maybe she can see you or us today . . . an emergency visit?” I ask. We all underestimated the depth of Katy’s situation. We were kidding ourselves to think it could be resolved so quickly.

  Before Katy gives us an answer, Richard interrupts. “First I need to understand what happened this morning. You seemed in control. You asked me to leave you alone. I figured you wanted a minute to gather yourself. I wouldn’t have left if I’d had any inkling you planned this.” His face is drawn with guilt.