Soaring (9781311625663)

by Ashley, Kristen

  That got me Pippa’s eyes, which were slits, and Auden glared at me.

  “If it’s something special or something you don’t want to miss,” I said softy. “Obviously, I’ll want you to do it. But if it’s not, I want you to be with me.”

  Pippa hitched a hip, threw out a foot slightly and crossed her arms on her chest, looking to the sectional.

  Auden continued glaring at me.

  “On Sunday,” I kept going, “I’m going to an estate auction.” I threw an arm out toward the living room. “As I texted you and now you can see, I sold most of our old stuff to raise money for the town’s junior boxing league. Fresh town for me, fresh start in a lot of ways, including, I hope, with you two.”

  I paused, watching them closely, but neither of them gave me anything, though Pippa did aim her eyes to the sea.

  So I had no choice but to keep at it.

  “I’m going with a new friend of mine, Josie. She’s very sweet. I’d like you to meet her. I’ve never been to an auction but it might be fun. And there’s a lot to do to make this house a home and I’d be very, very happy if you’d participate in that with me.”

  Neither of them said anything.

  I drew in another breath and powered ahead.

  “I’ve unpacked your rooms. I’ve also gone through your things. This weekend, I’d like you to go through the piles I’ve made of stuff you might no longer be able to use or want. If you can’t use it or don’t want it, it can be put to good use elsewhere. But if you want it, I want you to have it. So just sort that for me, putting away what you want to keep, putting what you don’t in one of the extra rooms, and I’ll deal with it for you. And Pippa,” I called. Her eyes came to me and I smiled at my baby girl. “I have a surprise for you in your room. I hope you like it.”

  She said nothing.

  I had nothing more to say.

  My children and I stood, fifteen feet between us, thousands of miles separating us, and we did this silently.

  Finally, Auden spoke, “Are you done?”

  His words and tone cut deep and I felt the bleed.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Except to say, I made cinnamon oatmeal cookies. They’re in the tin on the counter. You can help yourself.”

  Auden ignored that, even though those were particular favorites of his, and instead told me, “We both got plans.”

  I licked my lips and pressed them together as I nodded.

  “So, if you’re done with this, can we do that?” he asked nastily.

  “As I said, honey, you can. But I want you home for dinner tomorrow night,” I told him.

  “Whatever,” he muttered, starting to turn, Pippa moving with him.

  “Not whatever,” I called and did it firmly, getting their attention again. “I mean that, kids. I want you home tomorrow night for dinner.”

  “We gotta, we’ll be here,” Auden snapped.

  It wasn’t much, but I’d take it.

  I looked to Pippa.

  “Sweets?” I asked.

  “Gotta do it, I’ll do it,” she mumbled.

  That was the same, I’d still take it.

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  Pippa looked to her brother and rolled her eyes.

  Auden looked to his sister and shook his head.

  They both then delayed no further and disappeared down the hall.

  Not long after, they reappeared.

  But only so they could leave.

  * * * * *

  The next night, I made dinner, one of their favorites, prime roast of beef with my fresh-made horseradish sauce, scalloped potatoes, haricots verts and homemade rolls. I topped all this with one of Olympia’s favorites, my decadently moist carrot cake with its thick cream cheese frosting.

  I had plenty of time to do this considering both my children left very early for a teenage Saturday and didn’t reappear until they arrived, precisely timed, thus meticulously planned, so neither of them had to be with me alone, at six o’clock.

  Since I hadn’t yet replaced the dining room table, we ate off my new dishes, sitting on the sectional.

  Conversation was stilted, mostly muttered complaints that our dining room table was gone as was an end table so they had to lean to the floor to grab their drinks.

  They still sat with me and I took that, telling myself it was progress, minor progress but at least it was something.

  After, when I’d hoped they’d lounge on the sectional with me and watch a movie on our new, huge, expensive, all-the-bells-and-whistles TV, they in unison took their plates to the sink and began to head to their rooms.

  “Kids,” I called, slowing their progress but not stopping it entirely. “I cooked,” I carried on. “I think it’s fair you clean.”

  “We’ll do it later,” Auden replied before being swallowed by the darkness of the hall.

  Pippa said nothing, just disappeared.

  I fought the urge to refill my wineglass.

  Instead, I got a book and didn’t read. I just sat on my sectional, the book held open in front of me, and waited for them to come out and again leave the house.

  They didn’t.

  This surprised me.

  Surprised me and made me hope.

  If they were going to stay, maybe I could convince them to do it with me while watching a movie. I’d take surly and I’d endure it, telling myself it wouldn’t be hard since I’d take it while all our attention was diverted with a movie.

  In order to make this attempt, I put my book aside, climbed the stairs from the sunken living room and headed down the hall.

  Their doors were open. Their lights were on.

  And I wasn’t even at the door to Pippa’s room before I heard her talking.

  At her tone, which was snide, I stopped and listened.

  “…have to wear sunglasses, this comforter is so bright and so butt ugly. I cannot imagine why she dumped my other stuff and got me this. I hate it. She’s so incredibly crazy.”

  My feet moving for me, taking me in the opposite direction to where I wanted to go, they positioned me in the frame of her door.

  My beautiful little girl, growing into a big one, noticed the movement there, her head jerked my way, and her eyes, my eyes, came right to me.

  They rounded in horror.

  They melted in dismay.

  Then they instantly hardened in ire.

  “Listen much?” she snapped.

  “Don’t forget the dishes, baby,” I whispered.

  She glared.

  I reached in, caught the handle, and closed the door.

  My innards tattered and dripping, my feet moved me to my son’s room and he, too, was talking.

  I didn’t bother to eavesdrop. I leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and watched him pace his room. His back and alternately side my way, he didn’t notice me.

  “…everything, Dad, she sold everything. Our whole house, she sold all of it. Says she did it for charity. Totally crawling up the butts of everybody in town. Probably because she wants the town not to think she’s a complete whackjob. But she did it selling our whole house for some freaking junior boxing league. Like she gives a crap about junior boxing. She doesn’t give a crap about anything, and obviously not our home because she got rid of everything.”

  He jumped when he caught my movement in his peripheral vision as I leaned forward and grabbed his door handle.

  His eyes came to me, his face paled and went slack, and I held his gaze, mine watery, as I closed his door.

  I went directly to my room and closed mine.

  Then I went right to my fabulous daybed that sat on its thick pebbled rug by my gorgeous freestanding fireplace and I sat on it, back to the side, knees to my chest, arms around my calves, eyes across the room to the sun setting on the sea.

  My children hated me.

  They hated me.

  It took everything I had, absolutely everything, but when I burst out crying, I did it silently.

  * * * * *

  The next morni
ng, I woke up to dirty dishes.

  I made coffee, cleaned them, poured a cup of java, then went back to my room, showered and got ready to face the day.

  I came out and went down the opposite hall.

  I knocked loudly on Pippa’s door, didn’t open it and called through it, “I need you up, Olympia. In the kitchen. I want a word. Now.”

  I walked down and did the same with Auden.

  I went to the kitchen, prepared a travel mug and waited.

  Sleepy, in their pajamas, looking cute and young and beautiful, my children came out and positioned themselves cautiously opposite the bar to me.

  Neither of them met my eyes.

  In their words, “whatever.”

  “As it’s doubtful you wish to go to the auction with Josie and me, and I need to leave imminently, I’ll be doing that. Since I won’t be home, and you’ve made it clear neither of you wish to be here, there’s no reason for you to remain here while I’m gone. You may go home to your dad’s.”

  Both their eyes widened and Pippa looked to Auden but Auden turned his wary gaze to me.

  “Before you go, I’d like you to tidy your rooms, make your beds and please go through those piles as I asked. If you don’t, I’ll assume you don’t want any of those things and I’ll donate them to charity.” I looked to my daughter. “And if you truly don’t like your new bedclothes, your old ones are in the first guest bedroom. Just grab them and put them in your room. I’ll switch them out and deal with the new.”

  I drew in breath, went to the counter, shoved my phone in my purse and hooked it over my shoulder.

  As I did this, neither of my kids said anything.

  I moved beyond the counter and stopped, turning back to them.

  “I made grave mistakes,” I whispered and watched both their bodies lock. “I know this. I’ve admitted it. I’ve come here not to continue to do that but to get my family back. You’re my children and I love you. I love you more than anything. I love you more than my own life. I failed you and I intend to rectify that. I understand your anger. I don’t blame you for having it. All I ask is that you give me a chance. One last chance to show you that I’m sorry, to give you back the mom you love. The mom you want to be a part of your life. Because there is nothing in mine I want more than having you in it.”

  They said nothing.

  I took that too with a nod and finished it.

  “I love you, honeys. Have a good day, take the cookies with you and I’ll see you in a month.”

  And with that, I left.

  * * * * *

  Although Josie kindly didn’t comment on the fact I arrived at the auction without my children, it was still awkward.

  But it was not the worst part of my day.

  That had already happened.

  In a different frame of mind, I would have enjoyed the auction.

  Regardless of the fact that I was barely capable of functioning, I still found and bought a fabulous set of furniture—including a high-button-backed, leather rolling chair and a baronial desk—that would be perfect for the back room.

  Not only that, I found a whimsical bedroom set that I bought for the guest bedroom. I’d need mattresses, but I envisioned a fanciful, beachy room that would give any guests I might eventually have (though few and far between, the only prospect being my brother and his family, only three of the four of them I’d actually want in my home) a tranquil, but exceedingly pretty, place to call their home away from home.

  I arrived back at Cliff Blue at just after three, a couple of hours before my kids were supposed to leave me.

  I also arrived back at an empty house.

  They’d left the cookies.

  They hadn’t gone through their piles of stuff.

  But Olympia had not put her old bed things back in her room.

  I texted them both to make certain they were good with me donating their things and added on Pippa’s that she wanted to keep her new linens.

  Neither replied.

  Chapter Seven

  Picking up the Pieces

  The next evening, I sat in my car and stared at the cineplex.

  I did this concentrating.

  And what I was concentrating on was not on the disastrous visit I’d had with my children that weekend.

  No, I was concentrating on the fact that the auction furniture I bought would be delivered the next day and thus I could turn my mind to creating a tranquil, beachy, fanciful room that would delight the dearth of guests I would probably not be having.

  I was also concentrating on my triumph that day at Dove House when I did not freak way the heck out during mealtime when Mrs. McMurphy clamped my wrist in her clawed hand, yanked me to her and looked at me with clear, light blue eyes, hissing, “I know you’re a spy.” Then she’d let me go only to drag a finger across her neck threateningly and declare, “I’m telling General Patton.”

  Further, I was concentrating on the fact that right then, instead of going out and buying a teal Thunderbird with white upholstery and driving it to the nearest cliff where I would then drive right off it—considering I’d made such a mess of my own life, that was the only option open to me—I was going to a movie.

  By myself.

  I’d never done anything by myself, except shopping. I’d not gone to a meal by myself. I’d never even gone to a spa for a facial by myself.

  When I lost Conrad and all my other friends, Robin had come with me.

  On this thought, my phone rang.

  I shouldn’t have pulled it out of my purse. I knew who was calling.

  Though, it could be Josie and Alyssa. It seemed they actually liked me and they definitely liked decorating.

  But when I looked at the display, I saw I was right.

  It said “Dad.”

  I stared at it for a long time. Long enough for it to quit ringing. Long enough for it to bing in order to tell me I had a missed call.

  Then, to my surprise, it binged again to tell me I had a voicemail.

  New.

  He hadn’t yet left a voicemail.

  Shit.

  That was when I did something else I shouldn’t do.

  I activated my phone, went to voicemail and listened to it.

  “Amelia, call me,” Dad bit out icily.

  “Shit,” I whispered, dropping the phone but moving my finger over the screen, going to my text messages.

  Not that I was going to text my father. I knew he was already losing his mind, frosting over, hatching plans to eviscerate me. He did not text. If I tried to text, he’d likely pay millions of dollars to some scientific genius to build snow bombs, have them directed at my house and bury me under an avalanche of chill.

  No, I went to Robin’s text string and opened it.

  I’d texted her last and I’d done it two weeks ago.

  But my text reply had been two days after she’d sent hers.

  She was giving up on me.

  I told myself this was what I wanted. I needed relationships that were healthy. If nothing else, my recent visit with my kids told me I could not veer from that path.

  But I missed my friend.

  I rested my hand with the phone against my thigh and dropped my forehead to the steering wheel.

  Josie and Alyssa were sweet. Josie and Alyssa both made it clear they liked me. Josie and Alyssa also had made it clear that they were there to listen should I need to share.

  But I couldn’t share, not that, not the ugliness that I’d perpetrated against my family. I wanted them to keep liking me, not think I was the whackjob my son called me.

  No, right then I needed someone who knew me. Who got me. Who understood where I’d been and where I was going.

  Robin understood the first part.

  The last, I wasn’t sure she had that in her.

  But right then, I was no longer sure I shouldn’t give her the chance to try.

  And right then what I was worried about was that the longer I didn’t offer her that opportunity, the less likelihood I
’d learn she had it in her to give it to me.

  More, I had it in me to give what I could back.

  “One day at a time,” I whispered to the steering wheel. “One challenge at a time. One thing at a time. Keep moving, Amy.”

  I blinked at the steering wheel and abruptly sat straight.

  I’d never called myself Amy because no one had ever called me Amy.

  Until now.

  “Oh God, now I’m torturing myself with absurdities,” I snapped at the windshield.

  What lay beyond came into focus and I remembered I was challenging myself to go see a movie. To keep building a life. To learn to be comfortable with me.

  Sitting in my car, doubting myself while talking to myself meant I was failing.

  Resolutely, I turned the ringer off on my phone, threw it into my purse, grabbed my bag and got out of my car.

  I was in my seat in the theater when I realized none of that was hard.

  In fact, it was not only easy, it was great.

  Sure, asking for one ticket was a little tough.

  But then I got to buy whatever concessions I wanted, knowing I didn’t have to share. So I got myself a vat of popcorn, a box of Milk Duds and a Diet Coke so big it could quench the thirst of an army.

  And when I hit the theater, I found that I didn’t have to take anyone’s preferences but my own into account when selecting a seat.

  I didn’t have to sit in the middle of the row in the middle of the theater because Auden liked close but Olympia liked far. I also didn’t have to sit way at the back, where Robin demanded we sit because she enjoyed people watching more than movie watching.

  I got to sit where I wanted to sit, behind the handicapped railings, knowing no one would sit in front of me and I could rest my feet on the railing without bothering anyone.