by Beck, Jamie
“It wasn’t a plan, Dad. I was trying not to freak out on Zoe. But then you took her side—”
“How did I take her side?” He raises his hands at his sides.
Katy scowls. “You blamed me for leaving my stuff out, like I should know Lauren’s kids didn’t have the same rules that I always had. You let Zoe and Brody do whatever they want. It’s so weird how you let Lauren make all the rules, too, like you don’t care. If the rules weren’t important to you, why were you so hard on me all the time? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.” She’s crying again.
I want to swoop in and scoop her up, run from here, and never look back. But I can’t do that.
He looks to me for help and quickly realizes I’m not able to fix this for him, either.
Richard drops his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, Katy. I didn’t mean to take a side. And I’m sorry if it looks like I have a double standard.” He grabs her hand. “If I do, it’s only because you are mine. I love you. When I’m demanding and difficult, it’s because I want to see you reach your potential. Zoe and Brody aren’t my kids, so I let Lauren choose the parenting style. It’s that simple. It’s got nothing to do with my feelings about them. Does that make sense?”
She nods, but I can’t tell how much she understands versus how much she just wants this conversation to end. But I’m moved by his plea, and it makes me wonder if part of the reason he’d been less involved in raising Katy is because I jumped in and took care of everything before he had an opportunity.
Richard blinks back his own tears, and seeing that unlocks something new in my chest. We all sit in silence, although I bet their heads are buzzing like mine. I want so badly to make it all better, but the only way our family dynamic can change is if we don’t try to sweep this under the rug.
Richard coughs into his fist and looks up at me, every one of his thirty-eight years dragging at his face. “I’m sorry, Anne. I’m sorry I didn’t handle things between us better. I should’ve come to you to work on things before leaving. Maybe we could’ve found our way back to the way we were in the beginning. I don’t know . . . and I’m sorry about that. At the very least, I should’ve left before starting up with Lauren. I’m ashamed and regret how that hurt you—hurt you both.” He squeezes Katy’s thigh, his voice raw. “I wish I could change it, but I can’t. Katy, I was selfish, but it has nothing to do with how much I love you. Please believe me. And, Anne, even if my love for you has changed form, I’ll always care. We grew up together, and you’ll always matter to me.”
It’s not all the remorse I wish he felt, but it’s the most he’s shown since the day he walked out our door. I swipe my own tears but can’t speak through my tight throat, so I just nod an acknowledgment.
He turns to Katy. “If I move out of this house for a while and rent a place so you and I can spend time alone until things settle or normalize, will that help?”
My lips part, but I clamp them together and hold my breath, hoping not to influence her decision either way. It’s tragic that it took this to make him reconsider the speed of his plans, but at least he has finally put Katy first.
She rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms. “It’s not just about that, Dad. I mean, yeah, I’m really sad that we’re not still a family—”
“We are a family—” he says, but stops when her shoulders drop.
“Not like before. We don’t live together, and you have this whole new family. But that’s not everything. I just, I don’t know. It’s been building for a while. I’m like an empty shell—I don’t belong anywhere and everything is pointless. I miss my old friends, but even they replaced me already. Who can I trust? And I hate when people tell me I’m smart or pretty or talented or whatever. It’s so much to live up to all the time. I don’t know what I want . . . I don’t know why I get so upset so fast, like a tornado. I’m just broken.”
I cross the room and squeeze myself beside her, opposite Richard. “Honey, you’re not broken. You’re becoming an adult, and that’s a scary, confusing thing.”
“Please don’t try to pretend this is normal!” She points to her stitches and starts crying.
“I’m sorry.” I look to Richard, but he’s as helpless as I am. “I only wish you’d see what I see, which is someone wonderful.”
“Wonderful?” She flinches; her lip curls. “Like when I vaped? Or cut myself? Or when I’m mean to you or Dad or Lauren? Yeah, I’m so wonderful.”
“You can be wonderful and still be misguided. They aren’t mutually exclusive,” Richard says.
“Katy, you never answered my earlier question. Did you want me to call Dr. Grant?”
She looks up at me with those deep blue eyes and nods.
I excuse myself from the office and make the call in the entry hall. Voice mail. Not a surprise on a Sunday. I leave a message, but am distracted by the photographs of Lauren and her children.
They are gorgeous images. Laughing eyes and dimples and windblown hair. How sublime that period of motherhood had been—young children are sponges, soaking up love and information and making you see the world again with wonder and awe. I miss those days. The blissful ignorance of believing that simply loving my child would ensure that she matured without troubles or setbacks.
When I return to the office, Richard has Katy cradled against his chest. With one hand he gestures for me to join in a group hug, so I sink to my knees on the floor in front of the sofa and embrace my daughter and my ex.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ANNE
I find myself running down rabbit holes every time I replay what happened Sunday morning. It’s worse here, with all the mothers on this committee gushing about their kids’ art projects. Katy hasn’t said what she’ll do now that hers is destroyed, nor has she asked for my help. It’s killing me to stand aside, but I’m biting my tongue.
Forcing myself to stay present, I turn to Jackie. “There are so many spacious, light-filled common spaces where we can display the artwork.”
We continue following Katy’s photography teacher, Ms. Pope, through the hallways, taking notes on what should go where.
“They renovated the common spaces about four years ago. Tax dollars in action.” She casts a glance around and shrugs one shoulder. “Not bad, although upgrading the science labs would’ve been smarter.”
I wasn’t around during those budget debates, so I don’t respond directly. “Maybe the money raised by the art show can be earmarked for lab upgrades.”
She chuckles. “Anne, you’re such an optimist. Sadly, I bet most people only bid on their own kid’s work, and I doubt they’ll spend too much on what they could get for free.”
A pent-up sigh tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Well, I’m looking forward to the show and will definitely bid on several items.”
Jackie nods. “Same.”
I smile, happy to have struck up this budding friendship, but it also makes me more aware of Katy’s struggle to find her place in town. Friendships take time and effort, so I know she and I need to be patient. In nine weeks, the only person I’ve gotten to know well is Dan. And just as I’m getting to know Trudy and Jackie, Katy’s backslide means she needs all my attention. Dr. Grant’s advice clearly is not enough, so it will be a while before either woman becomes a true confidante. But what of Katy? Whom can she turn to outside of her parents?
I scan the hundred-item list of artwork in my notebook, marking the ones assigned to this atrium with the number 4. On the eve of the event, beverages and snacks will be served in the main lobby. Thankfully, Tori opted to volunteer on that team rather than this one. Our run-ins are restricted to the soccer stands. She’s friendly in public, but who knows what she says behind my back.
“So that’s it, folks. If you have any questions, email me. The students are getting excited. Some have even turned work in early.” Ms. Pope’s playful emphasis elicits gentle laughter among the mothers, all of whom have ridden herd on their kids about homework and other deadlines at one time or anothe
r.
I laugh along with the rest, although it’s hard to fake it when my daughter’s starting at square one this late in the game. The mental image of Katy’s newly stitched-up forearm practically scratches my eyeballs. Even Zoe’s genuine remorse can’t make that disappear.
Since Sunday morning I’ve nursed a chronic headache. Sleep is more of a wish than a reality, too. Dr. Grant has scheduled three sessions with Katy within the coming ten days. I’m not supposed to hover, but how am I supposed to have faith in my daughter’s ability to handle herself when all evidence points to the contrary?
Our group is breaking up when Ms. Pope calls to me. “Ms. Chase, can I speak to you for a minute?”
“Sure.” Assuming she has questions about the auction pamphlet and map that I’m making for the event, I bid Jackie a good day and wander over to Katy’s teacher. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to ask about Katy. She’s been quiet in class these past two days, and this morning she withdrew from the art show.”
My lips part. Nothing smarts like being caught on your back foot when it comes to your kid.
“She didn’t tell me that.” I cover my face with one hand, shaking my head involuntarily. “She’d been working on this amazing collage, but her young stepsister ruined it with glitter and other cutouts on Sunday morning. Katy was devastated, but I assumed she’d start again.”
“That’s a shame. Participation in the show isn’t mandatory, but I hate to see Katy losing interest in class. She has natural talent and a good eye.”
“Thank you. I’ll pass that along and encourage her to reconsider. Maybe there’s time to produce something less intricate.” The urge to sink to the ground in a defeated heap of flesh and bones is strong. “Thank you for telling me what you’re seeing. If things get worse, could you email me? There’s a lot going on at home.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll be sure to keep an eye out.” She checks her phone. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run. Thanks for volunteering to help with the show.”
“My pleasure.” Empty words said out of habit. My mind is already elsewhere.
On my way to my car, I glance across the parking lot toward the stadium, where the soccer team will soon be practicing. Katy would be beyond mortified by my arrival on the sidelines, so this conversation will have to wait until later. Experience tells me that unpleasant conversations are best cushioned by serving a favorite meal, so I swing through the grocery store on my way home to pick up salmon and salad greens.
My thoughts are still spinning as my street comes into view. Seeing Dan’s truck in my driveway causes me to slow down. With a heavy sigh, I pull past him and into the garage.
The rearview mirror gives me a chance to watch him as he gets out and closes his door. Tall and solid . . . patient. But I cannot start up a romantic or even semiromantic relationship with anyone right now. Katy’s relapse has me more worried than ever, and after Sunday it’s clear that I’m still making peace with the fact of my divorce. Opening myself up to a man now is a recipe for disaster. Still, it’s hard to walk away from a good one when, by all accounts, they’re impossible to find.
I hoist my grocery bag from the passenger seat before going out to greet him. An autumnal sun beats down, but that’s not why I’m perspiring. “Hey.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, respecting the distance I’ve left between us. With a half shrug, he says, “I thought I’d hear from you by now.”
“I’m sorry.” My grocery bag gets heavier—or maybe that’s my heart. “I’ve been preoccupied, and, honestly, a little embarrassed. Between getting drunk in front of you and then dragging you up to Richard’s . . .” I shake my head. My face is flaming even as golden leaves drift to the ground in the breeze.
He takes a hesitant step forward, eyes soft yet focused on mine. “Anne, I told you, I’ve made all kinds of mistakes in my life, so I don’t judge you or Katy.”
The gravity of him pulls at me, but I resist the urge to run in for a hug. I won’t use him for comfort when I can’t give him anything in return. “If things were different, Dan . . . but my life’s so complicated. Scary, even. Getting Katy through this is going to take all my energy, so I’ve got nothing to give anyone else.”
“What about you?” He doesn’t budge except for a sad quirk of his brow. “Who’ll get you through this?”
Tears coat my eyes. I’m afraid to let him in. Afraid to trust him not to hurt me, especially when I haven’t healed from Richard’s betrayal. “I don’t look it, but I’m strong. I’ll be okay.”
No matter how depleted I am, I’ll keep digging until I strike another seam of resilience for my daughter’s sake.
Dan drops his chin for a second, then shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have to settle for ‘okay.’ Let me help.”
My fortress walls crumble. When I let him hug me, the grocery bag hits the pavement. He smells like cocoa and a cozy fire—like safety. With my eyes closed, visions of lazy mornings with the Sunday paper, walks by the bay, and calloused hands on my skin open a pit of deep longing.
“I wish our timing were different, but jumping into something—even something casual—so soon after Richard . . . and with Katy’s issues. Bottom line—I can’t give you anything when I need everything I’ve got to save my child.” Reluctantly, I ease away. “I just found out she’s withdrawn from the art show and isn’t participating in class. It breaks my heart when she tugs at her shirtsleeve to hide her stitches. Every time she snaps that rubber band, my blood turns to ice. Her shame and pain are so raw, and that’ll all be harder for her if you’re hanging around.”
He nods. “I don’t want to make anything harder. But promise you’ll call if you need anything. Or when things get better.”
“Sure . . .” There’s no way of knowing how long it will be before Katy and I are ready to open our home and hearts to anyone.
His shoulders droop, and his voice drops. “Promise.”
“Yes, but don’t wait around.” We stare at each other, stock still, as if movement will destroy the thin thread that binds us. Eventually, I gesture toward the garage, turning my body away. “Well, I need to start dinner.”
He doesn’t move at first, as if he’s going to stand there and watch me while I go inside and close the garage door. Then he inhales so deep I feel a breeze brush against my skin. With a wave goodbye, he says, “I’ll see you.”
My heart squeezes so hard I almost bend at the waist. After he backs out of the driveway, I go inside and close the garage door. Sniffling helps stave off tears, but I need a tissue by the time I reach the kitchen.
Dan has been a fixture in this house since we moved in. His absence significantly lowers the temperature. But Katy will be home soon, so I push down my sorrow and clean the salmon before smearing it with teriyaki sauce and sesame seeds, and firing up a pot of jasmine rice.
While that’s cooking, I set the dining table, as if pretty napkins will make the conversation easier. Gram’s photo albums remain on the buffet. I keep forgetting to return them when I visit, but I’ll remember tomorrow. If Gram’s lucid, that’ll give me the boost I need. Maybe she’ll finally fill in the missing pieces about what happened after Billy’s death, and if she did, in fact, spend time in Allcot.
I hear my daughter enter the house before I see her. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
“I need a quick shower.” She’s got her cleats kicked off and is jogging through the living room, ponytail bouncing behind her, looking nothing like a girl with demons tearing her apart.
Her impulse to give up on the art show is understandable, but also disappointing. Yet I don’t want to heap guilt on her when she’s vulnerable, which leaves me squished neatly between that rock and hard place people always talk about.
Suddenly Katy materializes behind me in the kitchen. “Did you make salmon?”
I turn in time to catch a glimpse of pleasure in her expression. A tiny win for us both. “I did. And sticky rice, and salad with carrot
ginger dressing.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Her hair is wet but combed, and she’s dressed in lightweight sweats, a T-shirt, and socks. Without makeup and earrings, she looks younger and defenseless. She opens the fridge to grab a seltzer. “Want one?”
“Sure.” I set the broiler pan on the stove. “If you bring the plates in, we can serve right from here.”
She disappears and reappears in seconds. Once we’ve filled our dishes, we return to the dining table. Katy doesn’t remark on my restraint, but she must notice. Tension builds inside until I can’t hold in my concern any longer.
“I saw Ms. Pope today at the volunteer meeting.” I chew a bite of salmon, watching for her reaction.
She pauses, knife and fork in hand, but doesn’t look up. “Please don’t make a big thing or lecture me.”
My stomach sours, so I set down my fork. “It’s not a lecture, but can you at least tell me why you’ve pulled out of the show?”
She shoots me a “duh” look. “Because there isn’t time to redo my collage and keep up with homework and tests and soccer. Photography won’t help me get into college, so I’m focusing on what matters most.”
I hear Richard’s voice behind those words, but keep that to myself. “Schoolwork always comes first, honey. But hobbies are great outlets . . . and your teacher says you have natural talent.”
Katy rolls her eyes. “She’s being nice. Teachers always exaggerate when they talk to parents. Trust me, no one will miss my artwork.”
“I will.” I press my lips together after that rookie mistake.
Katy snorts, and mutters, “That’s pretty funny considering how you blew off your talent for ten years.”
My jaw hangs open. “I had a baby to raise.”
“I haven’t been a baby for a long time.” She shovels rice into her mouth.
