Claire Knows Best

by Tracey Bateman

  “I love those babies, that’s true. But I’m just too old to keep up with them. Marie’s going to have to find a different babysitter or stay home with the kids.”

  “But where are you going to live, Mom? You sold your house, remember?”

  “Until I find a place, I’ll naturally have to live with you.”

  Oh, dear Lord. Say it isn’t so.

  Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother. She’s very cool. Well, cool might be a stretch. When I was thirteen years old, my friend Kimberly Jones loaned me a Petra record. (Remember records? My kids call them “really big CDs.”) Mom took a listen and banned the Christian rockers with a vehemence I’d seen only once before in my short life—the time Charley begged to be allowed to watch The Return of the Jedi.

  Mother’s refusal on that was a result of our church’s wishy-washy stand on the movie. Dark side/light side. All very confusing. Church opinion was split down the middle and Mom’s close-knit clique was on the “Star Wars is of the devil” side, so Charley got the short end of the stick.

  The little wimp cried about it for two days because all of his little grammar-school friends were going to see it. Finally I got so sick of his whining, I snuck him out of the house one night and walked him down to the movie theater, paid for tickets, sprang for popcorn out of my hard-earned babysitting money, and told him I’d beat the heck out of him if he ever told on us.

  Sensitive boy that he was, he had guilt nightmares for a week until he finally tiptoed into my parents’ room at midnight one night and confessed (fully aware that Mom and the angels would protect him from my wrath).

  Charley’s repentance absolved him of his sin, and that night he slept like a baby, while I lay in bed imagining scenarios whereby my little brother might go missing and never be seen again. The next morning I was sentenced to two weeks’ grounding from watching Hart to Hart.

  I’ve never gone out on a limb for Charley since. And I didn’t get to beat the heck out of him either, because Mom, foreseeing the possibility, warned me off under threat of missing not only two episodes but the entire season of the TV show. After weighing the joy of pummeling my brother against the torture of months and months without Stephanie Powers and Robert Wagner, I had to go with what would make me the happiest. It was a close call, but I chose the millionaire amateur sleuths over the instant and short-lived gratification of inflicting pain where it was deserved.

  Anyway, back to the paradox that is my mother. Christian rock was a definite no-no in our house, while twice a week she scrubbed the kitchen floor in time to Barbara Mandrell’s “You Can Eat Crackers in My Bed Anytime.” Needless to say, I have consistency issues that plague me to this day.

  “So—uh, when are you coming, Mom?”

  “Well, I won’t if you don’t want me to.” Oh, groan. Manipulation that leads to guilt and the inevitable apology—mine, of course.

  I cover the receiver with my hand and heave a great big sigh. Take my hand off the receiver. “You know I want you to.” Forgive me, Lord. “You’d have to share the master bedroom with Ari, though.”

  I pause. Smile. That’ll keep my kid from sneaking out at night. Mom’s got better radar than Big Brother. I’m warming up to the idea when she deflates my balloon. “Don’t be silly. We’ll put a bed in the basement and I will sleep down there. I refuse to uproot those children again.”

  Uproot? Is she referring to the massive oak tree that uprooted and slammed into my house? My defenses are rising and I want to ask her if she is blaming me for a tornado, but I think sometimes it’s better to let things go. So that’s what I do, because she’ll just backtrack, do the don’t-go-twisting-my-words routine—and quite frankly, I don’t think it will do any good anyway. So, like I said, I let it go and point the conversation toward her imminent homecoming—and my imminent return to my childhood.

  “When’s it going to be, Mom? I’ll need to get the basement ready.”

  “Next Friday. My plane lands at 3:30 in the morning.”

  “Mom! In the morning?”

  “It was the cheapest flight I could get.”

  “You know I would have made up the difference if I’d known about it ahead of time.” Good grief. Like I don’t lose enough sleep these days. Between missing Greg and watching Ari like a hawk, I haven’t slept more than four hours a night in ages.

  “You have to save your money now that you’re homeless and that dirty rotten scoundrel stole your money.”

  I have tried to explain more than once to my mother that the insurance check has already cleared. I’m just waiting for Van’s bill and it’s all taken care of. But for some reason, she keeps thinking the thirty grand it’s going to cost to fix my house is coming out of my pocket. I’ve exhausted myself trying to convince her. “Fine, Mom. Three-thirty it is.”

  “Thank you, hon. Now, have you heard from Greg?”

  Oh, ow. Twist the knife, Mom. Why don’t you just drive it in deep and give it a good swift crank?

  “No, I haven’t. But I saw his mother and Sadie at church today.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. Did Helen mention whether or not she’s heard from him?”

  Should I tell her what happened?

  Sure, why not.

  “She didn’t really have a chance. Sadie stuck out her tongue at me and accused me of making her daddy cry and then leave her.” The images replay in my head and I’m living it again.

  “The poor little girl. I did question the wisdom of his leaving her.”

  The other line beeps. I’m saved! “Hey, Mom, I need to let you go. I have another call.”

  “Oh, I hate that call waiting. They never should have invented it.”

  “I know, Mom. It’s rude. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Fine. Good-bye, then.”

  I click the other line and say hello.

  “Hi, Claire. It’s me.”

  My heart nearly stops and then soars at the sound of Greg’s voice.

  “Hi. How’s Tulsa?”

  “Lonely.”

  Well, what’d ya expect, bud? Okay, that’s what I want to say. But why kick a man when he’s already down, you know? “I’m sorry. Maybe it’ll get easier.”

  “I hope so. I pray so. Classes are good.”

  “I’m glad.” Oh, man. John’s right. I am a liar. I wanted classes to be bad. Horrible. Filled with heresy and half-truths. I hoped the instructors would be crosses between Jim Jones and Reverend Moon. I wanted the bathrooms to all be caked with filth. I wanted traffic to annoy him and the Oklahoma wind to sweep down the plains to frustrate him. In short, I wanted him to realize that God couldn’t possibly be the One who sent him away, because… it’s not what I want. I want him to forget the whole idea of being a pastor and just come back to me so things can get back to normal.

  “Listen, Claire. The main reason I called is to apologize for Sadie.”

  Something inside of me just dies when he says that. Couldn’t it have been because he misses me? Or perhaps because he sees my face everywhere he goes? I have this really bad feeling Greg’s already moving on. I want to throw the phone against the wall and watch it and Greg shatter. Instead I paste a smile on my face. And yes, I know he can’t see me; it’s to psych myself up.

  “No need to apologize. Maybe she’ll feel better if she knows I was this close to sticking my tongue back out at her. But your mom looked up at just the right time.”

  He laughs. The rich, comforting sound sweeps over me like a warm summer rain. I lean back against my pillows and close my eyes. I’m savoring the sound of his voice, and relishing the fact that I can still make him laugh. “What can I say? I’m pretty much still a six-year-old at heart.”

  “I didn’t even know she stuck out her tongue.”

  “Oh. Guess I just told on us both, then.”

  He chuckles. “Actually, Mom told me what she said about you being the reason I left.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Greg.” I’m so gracious, I scare myself. “I understand kids. I have four of
them.”

  “I remember. I was hoping to be their stepdad.”

  Oh, be still my beating heart. Need I remind him that he was the one who changed direction midstream?

  The laughter dies out and silence yawns between us. I think he’s trying to find a way to gracefully say good-bye now that he’s done what he called to do. And I’m just about to let him off the hook by making up some lame excuse to go, when I hear the intake of breath that signals he’s about to speak.

  “Mom is moving here with Sadie until I graduate.”

  Okay, talk about being blindsided. I so didn’t see that coming. And with the information that his mother is moving, I feel my last emotional link to Greg slipping away.

  17

  Two weeks later, my life has suddenly gone from peaceful to crazy.

  Mom is back in all her glory. So far things aren’t too bad, although I occasionally have to bite my tongue over a stray comment or two. She’s taken over the downstairs and seems fairly happy there.

  Darcy calls me eight times a day to ask my opinion as to whether or not she will ever go into labor or will this baby just stay inside of her until she explodes?

  Eight times a day I assure her the baby will, in fact, make his or her appearance in due time. And no, I don’t see a tummy explosion in her future.

  Ari is still stomping in and out of the house on Tuesday and Thursday mornings as she goes to and from the Hope House.

  I take those times to call Ina, my life coach. And this is what I’ve learned: according to Ina, life shouldn’t be filled with stress and anger. I have deep, deep resentment against my mother. Apparently, I mask this resentment in comedy and sarcasm. Not exactly rocket science. I’d already figured all that out from being an avid fan of Dr. Phil.

  One thing the good TV doctor and I never got around to working on, though, is something Ina has put her crazy, neurotic finger on: I’m so afraid my daughter will feel the same way about me as I do about my mother that I’ve closed myself off to complete vulnerability with her.

  I didn’t know that, but I do see it. And I think I might have put my finger on why Ari is sneaking out, too.

  She wants my attention.

  This is where my life coach and I have come to after today’s telephone session. I’m grateful for the breakthrough and decide to return the favor. I’m worried about Ina. I heard her light up at least ten times during the hour-and-a-half session. She’s jittery, and quite frankly, I think she’s on the edge. Physician, heal thyself.

  “Hey, Ina. If you ever want to talk, I’m here for you, too.”

  She hesitates and puffs smoke. “I’m not sure that’d be very professional. Know what I mean?”

  “In a normal situation, I’d agree, but remember I’m your project. It’s not like I’m paying for your help. Come on. Talk to me.”

  Silence looms.

  “Okay, it’s all right. But can you at least talk over what’s bothering you with your twin sister?”

  “Who?”

  “Your sister? The twin that sounds just like you? I talked to her the first day we met.”

  “Oh.” She drops into silence once more and I’m about to just let her go until I hear sniffles from her end.

  “Ina? Are you okay? Did something happen to your sister?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Okay. So you lied. What was that for?”

  “I’m so sorry. I was just having a really bad day when you first called and I sounded so desperate and crazy over the phone, I was afraid you wouldn’t want me to coach you. I’ve only gotten one other call and it was a pervert who wanted phone sex.”

  “Ew.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You know, Ina, sometimes it helps just talking out a problem.”

  “It’s just that I don’t have any family around here. They’re all in California. My boyfriend broke up with me a few weeks ago and I see him everywhere with his new boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  She heaves a sigh and I hear a fresh sob rush to her throat. “Yeah. He dated me all through our undergrad work and through the first year of grad school. One night we’re talking about how great it will be to finish our master’s degrees and get on with our careers and I say, ‘And we can start planning that wedding.’ And he just looks at me like this is something we haven’t been discussing for the past five years, and says, ‘I’m in love with Brian.’ Brian! Can you believe it?”

  Okay, I don’t even know who Brian is. And good grief, her boyfriend was gay? How could she not know after five years?

  She answers both questions as though I’ve spoken out loud.

  “Brian is a guy who works at my hair salon. It was just so obvious he was gay. But how could I have not known that Joe was into that lifestyle, too? What’s wrong with me that I didn’t see the signs?”

  “Listen, Ina. It’s like any relationship. When one person cheats, we always blame ourselves. What did I do? How could I not have seen? The truth is cheaters are masters of deception, so unless they’re incredibly stupid or just want to get caught, it’s unlikely they will be.”

  “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

  “I am. Only my husband wasn’t gay, and we had four kids together, so when he left me, he also walked out on a family.”

  “I guess it could have been worse,” she says glumly. “At least he didn’t marry me and sleep around on me with guys.”

  “Definitely could have been worse.”

  “My mind tells me I’m better off without him. That I never really even knew him in the first place. But my heart just drops every time I see him with someone else.”

  “I understand.”

  “You know what’s even worse?”

  “What?”

  “Are you a Christian?”

  How can she have been coaching me through several sessions and not know this?

  “Yes, I’m a Christian. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’ve been going to church again, and I’ve been thinking about things I’ve just let slide lately. My convictions had become muddy and I didn’t even have a straight theology like I did when I was growing up. But I know his lifestyle is wrong. I just… I’m afraid for him. Eternally, know what I mean?”

  “I’m sorry, Ina. I do know what you mean.”

  “So it’s just everything. Life is hectic. I go to school full time and teacher assist for two freshman psychology classes—which means I do all the work while the professor just does the actual lecturing. He even asked me to get his coffee the other day. I was like, ‘Honey, if you want coffee, you can get it yourself. I’m not a maid.’”

  “You go, girl.” Yowser. I never realized until this minute that Ina must be African American. I pictured a Swedish or German girl. I mean… Ina.

  “Hey, you remind me of someone.”

  “I do?”

  “Claire? Is that you?”

  I draw a sharp breath. I haven’t shared my name with Ina. And hadn’t planned to until the end of the project, just in case she happens to read my books. I just thought it might be less awkward to wait. “My name is Claire, yes. Do… do I know you?”

  “Oh, man. Claire, I’m really sorry. I just didn’t put two and two together until just this second.”

  “Okay, the suspense is killing me. How do we know each other?”

  Hesitation on the other line is making me nervous. My mind plays a slide show of everyone I know who is in grad school. Only one person comes to mind . . .

  “It’s me. Penny.”

  “Penny?”

  Funny crazy Penny?

  Okay, somehow it all fits together. But that doesn’t make me feel any better knowing I’ve been spilling my guts to a twenty-four-year-old. “How come you said your name was Ina?”

  “Same reason you didn’t want your name published. Anonymity.”

  “Oh, my goodness.” The whole situation strikes me as funny, and I start to laugh. And laugh. I should have known it was Penny. Now
that I see it all in hindsight, I honestly don’t know how I missed it. I guess I was just so absorbed in my own troubles that I didn’t really think about “Ina” as a person but more of a faceless “safe place.” Now my safe place is on the other end of the line chain-smoking Marlboro Lights, stressing over school, and heartbroken over an ended relationship.

  Penny and Ina are one and the same. How weird is that?

  We have a good laugh about it and resolve to continue our talks, only as friends. Penny has enough issues in her life and is definitely not qualified to coach me.

  In the meantime, the door slams, the advent of Ari’s return from her quality time with Dad.

  “I have to go, Penny. I’ll call you Thursday.”

  After I hang up with Penny, I start thinking about Ari. Despite the fact that we had some breakthroughs during the winter, I feel like we’ve regressed lately. I’ve been so preoccupied with getting our living situation ironed out that I’ve pretty much let motherhood go. Slipped back into some old ways. But all isn’t lost. Tommy really is doing well with his sponsor. He will be competing at a local competition for the chance to go regional. If that happens, well… I’m not sure what happens if that happens, but according to Tommy it’s pretty exciting. And, unless I miss my guess, it will be time-consuming.

  Shawn is thriving under John’s tutelage and so far I’ve noticed nary a sign of atheistic tendencies, so John must be keeping his word.

  My Jakey is having a hard time with Sadie’s absence. They’re so cute sending daily e-mails to each other. Words are misspelled and there’s barely any punctuation or capital letters, but Jake seems to understand exactly what Sadie is saying. He’s in a period where I’ve limited the Nintendo again. I’m going to have to get better about limits there. I start with good intentions, but always end up letting him spend too much time, then I have to pull him off altogether in order to break the addiction. After three such cycles in less than a year, I’m thinking it might possibly be time for another plan. What that plan will be remains to be seen.