by Jan Coffey
She planted her elbows on her knees and stared at a couple of younger kids kicking a ball around across the lagoon.
Heather also wanted to write a will. She’d already dumped the stuff she cared most about in the Goodwill box. But there were other things that she wanted to give to people.
The two ducks suddenly erupted in a flurry of quacks and wings and feathers. Turning, they half ran, half flew down the bank into the water. The geese, too, turned as a unit and swam out into the lagoon.
“Was it something I said?” Heather called after them. A split second later, she heard the enthusiastic breathing of the golden retriever racing down the river walk toward her. She glanced up the path and felt a knot of worry form in the pit of her stomach. Her father was coming, too, with Max’s leash dangling from his hand.
She turned her attention back to the lagoon and put a bored look on her face. Nothing like a little attitude to put off the interest of an adult.
Max wasn’t discouraged at all, and Heather braced herself. The knucklehead knocked her over all the same.
“There’s a leash law in this park, you know,” she complained loudly, pushing herself back up. Her father was taking his time catching up to the dog.
The excited animal was all over her, licking her face, tugging and pulling at one of her shoes until he had it in his mouth. She tried to reach for him, but he backed just out of her reach, waiting with his butt in the air, his tail wagging sixty miles an hour.
He looked so cute, but Heather couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. “Give that back to me,” she said crossly. “Now! Bring it here.”
“He missed you this morning.” Mick took the shoe from the dog and dropped it on the grass next to her. “And so did I.”
This was her cue to say something nice, but Heather couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not this late in the game. “Don’t kid yourself. The two of you are much better off without me.”
She kept her eyes on Max, who was swimming out into the lagoon after the geese.
“I don’t know why you say that.”
“Because it’s the truth.”
“But it’s not.” He let out an exasperated breath. “Heather, you are my daughter. I wanted you to come back and live with me. I have been waiting for the chance to get close to you again. But I’ll be honest. I’m having a hard time understanding this new you.”
“It shouldn’t be too hard to understand,” she said sharply. “It’s the fact of recognizing that you were much better off before I came back. That your life was much simpler before I got here. More manageable, easier to deal with, routine, pleasant…call it whatever you want. But that’s the fact.”
“How do you figure that?” His expression showed the hurt. But he wasn’t giving up. The blue eyes were piercing when they met hers. “What have I said or done that could possibly make you think that?”
When Heather started shaking her head, he put a firm grip on her arm and drew her attention back to him again.
“And what makes you think a simpler life is what I am after? How could I ever want to replace my daughter with simple?”
“Mom did.”
“I’m not your mother.”
“I know that,” she retorted. “And maybe simple is the wrong word. But look at you. Your life has gone downhill since I came back. You are thirty-eight. A healthy, single, good-looking man that most women drool over. How come all the sudden you don’t have a girlfriend?”
His laugh lacked conviction. “You’re upset because I am not going out with somebody right now?”
“You haven’t had a date since I came home.” She picked up a pebble and threw it into the water. “I was a fifth wheel when I was living with Natalie, and I knew it. And now, you’re ruining your social life so that I won’t feel the same here. I’m not a kid anymore. I am old enough to notice things. I’m old enough to know that I don’t belong here.”
“You miss your mother, don’t you? That’s what all of this is about—being homesick. Is that right?”
“Jeez, Dad! You are so thick sometimes.” She shook her head. “You’ve been too far away from her for too long. Natalie is only good for stuff. I ask and she buys. It’s a simple arrangement. And it’s just the way she likes it.” Heather met her father’s gaze dead on. “But I don’t need stuff anymore. I don’t need her. In fact, I don’t need either of you.”
Heather jumped to her feet and stuffed her foot into the shoe. She started up the path.
“Wait a minute, Heather. This is not the end of this conversation.” Whistling for the dog, Mick caught up to her. In a minute, Max was trotting a couple of steps ahead of them, his coat dripping. “I can see there are misunderstandings that we have to sort out between us. That we have to work out.”
He stopped talking when she took the cigarette pack out of her pocket. She shook one out and lit it.
“When did you start smoking?”
Heather intentionally smiled at the note of disapproval she heard in his voice. “Get real. This is nothing new.”
“You are fifteen, for god’s sake. Have you heard of lung cancer? Do you know the damage you are—”
“Save it, Dad.” She quickened her steps and took another drag off of the cigarette.
“It’s not even legal! Does Natalie know you smoke?”
“Of course she does,” Heather lied. “But with all the other stuff I’ve gotten myself into…you know, drugs and sex, hooking up…” She shrugged. “Heck, smoking was nothing.”
Heather was surprised when he snatched the cigarette out of her mouth. He took her by the arm and spun her around to face him. She’d never seen him this angry.
“You listen to me,” he growled. “I don’t know what it is you’re trying to sell me here, but I am not buying. Now, I know your mother is busy and has a very important career. But in spite of all that, I know she wouldn’t be sucker enough to buy this, either.”
He crushed the cigarette under his foot.
“From now on, there are rules that you will follow. Basic. Got it? And you will respect these rules. And I don’t give a damn how wild you were in L.A. I don’t care what you got away with out there. You’re back here with me now, and you will change this ugly behavior. Now, do you understand?”
“Perfectly!” She shook her arm loose and took a step back. “Keep dreaming.”
As she walked away, she heard him behind her. She should have known he wouldn’t let her escape on that note.
“Heather!”
~~~~
Léa was bone tired by the time she settled down on the front porch. And disgusted. And her joints ached. The night was overcast, and there was no breeze. The long, cold shower she’d taken and the light, sleeveless sundress she’d put on did little to cool her off. She could still feel a bead of perspiration dripping slowly downward between her breasts.
The whole thought of putting this house in shape to sell was starting to overwhelm her. All day, she’d been cutting and hauling and raking in the yard. Scraping chipped paint from the outside walls. Pruning and clipping hedges. And despite working her butt off, she hadn’t even started on the inside.
But that wasn’t all that was pressing on her. Every time she’d come around from the backyard, she’d checked the mail slot in the front door, thinking that maybe there would be another letter. She’d come back here as he—or she—had told her to do.
“Stupid girl!” she mumbled under her breath as she wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of one hand.
Léa took a deep breath, knowing that she needed to stop herself from thinking about it all, if only for a few minutes. She needed to push Ted and the trial and this house and Stonybrook and all those damn letters out of her head. For just a few minutes, she had to force her mind and her body to unwind. To cool off. To recover.
She stretched her bare legs out on the old blanket and leaned back against the clapboard wall of the house. Her eyes closed, she tried to picture something striking in her mind’s eye—a sleek whi
te sailboat slicing through a sparkling blue sea. Bold. Free. Fearless.
“Asleep?”
Léa opened her eyes with a start at the sound of the low whisper. She immediately relaxed when she recognized the voice. Mick stood on the front lawn, looking at her over her porch railing.
“No! I only take power rests.”
“Oh, sorry. I’ll go away.”
“Don’t! I’m well rested already. In fact, I’m a new woman.”
His smile was so powerful that she felt the kick of it in her stomach.
“That new woman wouldn’t be hungry?”
Starved, she thought, for human company. “I had a sandwich for dinner.”
“Good. Because I didn’t bring you dinner. But I did bring something more important. Can I come up?”
“If you can manage the front steps.”
“No problem.”
Léa watched him come up onto the porch. He was carrying a plate in one hand and had something else tucked under an arm.
“Sorry, I am not really equipped to entertain.” She pushed a couple of the paint cans next to the railing as a place for him to sit if he wanted to.
“I don’t need to be entertained.”
He was barefoot and dressed in old jeans and a T-shirt. “I want you to know this is the first time in a long while that I’ve felt safe walking across that lawn barefoot.”
Léa smiled and took the two bottles of beer that he handed to her. As he started lowering himself onto the blanket, she slid over to make room for him.
“By the way, do you drink beer?”
“On occasion.”
He filled the space, and she found herself very content with it.
“Then let me ask this question. Are you sure you’re old enough to drink?”
“You should know.” She peeked under the aluminum foil covering the plate he put down between them and immediately let out a sigh of pleasure when the smell of it drifted upward. “Chocolate chip cookies! And still warm. Did you make them?”
He shrugged. “I like to bake. And, if I may say so myself, I’m a pretty decent cook.”
“Yes, you warned me about that this morning.” She stole one and took a bite. “Mmmm. Out of this world.”
She popped the rest of the cookie in her mouth.
“But you have to wash it down with this.” He opened the two bottles and handed one to her. “Beer and cookies. Nothing like it.”
She shook her head doubtfully, but took a sip. He was watching her, so she let the taste linger in her mouth, then took another sip. She reached for another cookie.
“Not bad, huh?”
“My first impression? I thought it would be foul enough to use in a Mothers Against Drinking campaign!” She took a bite and followed it with a swallow of beer. “But I’ve learned not to trust first impressions. So, to give you an honest opinion, I’ll have to taste a few more…just to make sure.” Léa finished the rest of the cookie and reached for another one.
“If this is a trick to finish the plate and not leave me any cookies, I’m on to you.”
“And here I was thinking that you brought the whole plate just for me.”
“Actually, I did. I was hoping you’d let me pick your brain about something.”
Léa saw uneasiness in his face. It was something in the set of his eyes. “This is about Heather, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“Mick, if you need a sounding board, someone to talk to, I will gladly be that. But I want you to know I am not a licensed psychologist or therapist.” She softened her tone and lightly brushed the back of his hand. “If anything, I am only good at identifying problems. And I might be able to find the names of qualified professionals in the area that you could call.”
“I think—” He paused. “No, I hope all I need is somebody to hear me out. I guess I want to make sure that it’s not only me, that all parents go through this. And I’d prefer not to talk to some stranger. I want to talk to you.”
Léa felt butterflies inside her, and they were not just stretching their wings. They were churning up a storm in there.
Mick gently tapped her bottle with his. “What do you say? Can you give me a couple of minutes?”
“I’m all ears.”
“It’s kind of tough knowing where to start, considering I didn’t think Heather and I had a serious problem until this afternoon.”
Léa watched his profile. The tension was there. In his jaw. Around his eye. In the thinning of his lips.
“You met her. You saw the look, the image, or whatever it is she is trying to present.”
“You mean the defiant teenager look?”
Mick nodded. “My ex-wife, Natalie, warned me about it, so I was ready when I picked Heather up at the airport. And, to be honest, her look didn’t really worry me. I know we all go through stages.” He put the bottle aside. “But the thing that totally took me off guard was her attitude. The ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude. The laziness. The lack of interest in anything. Staying in her room all the time. Not eating, unless it’s a two-liter bottle of soda or a package of cookies. Not talking to me. Not expressing any feeling good or bad. I mean, bringing Heather back here wasn’t like throwing her into a new town or a new home. It isn’t like she doesn’t know anyone. The last time she was in Stonybrook, there were at least half a dozen kids that she hung out with. She rode her bike everywhere. She had a summer job. She was a happy kid. Certainly, a different one.”
Mick ran a hand through his short hair.
“I didn’t know how long I should let it go. I just figured that I’d go with the flow. But it’s been almost three weeks she’s been back and still there is no change in her attitude. So last night, I blew up and gave her a long lecture. Then, for whatever reason, she did come out of her room. But not for long. Pretty soon, we were right back where we’d started.”
“Then she went out early this morning.”
He nodded.
“What happened this afternoon?”
“I went to the park.” He turned to her. “You were right. She was there, by the lagoon, even feeding the ducks.”
Léa remembered how, at a much younger age than Heather, she too had discovered and used that park as a refuge.
“She was very vocal today.”
“That’s a good start.”
“Not really.” Mick shook his head. “Not in any constructive way. She just blasted me. She was mad at me, mad at her mother, mad at the world. She told me we were all better off without her. That she didn’t need any of us, either. Whatever ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude she had before, today she turned it all into anger. And then, when I tried to talk to her, to explain, she stuck a cigarette in her mouth and walked away.” He turned sharply to Léa. “How many of your teenagers smoke?”
“A few, I’m sure. But never on school property where I can see them.”
“Well, Heather told me today that with all the sex and drugs she’s been involved with, smoking should be the least of my concerns.”
“What did you say when she told you all this?”
“I lost it. I went after her and barked out a list of expectations about a mile long. Things I told her would be mandatory behavior for as long as she was living with me. I blasted her with everything. I even hit her with the guilt thing because of how she’s hurting everyone with this rejection phase, including her mother and me.”
“But she wasn’t listening.”
“No. But that didn’t stop me. I went on and on about how important family is. How she should cherish what she has, rather than throwing it away.”
“What was her response to that?”
“She didn’t say anything.” Mick looked out at his house across the lawn. “She just stepped right into the street. And she would have been killed if that woman had been speeding or hadn’t been able to slam on the brakes fast enough.”
Léa’s attention was sharply focused on him, on everything Mick had just said. “Was she trying to kill herself?”
“No! She just wanted to scare the hell out of me. She wanted to shut me up. To leave her alone.” Mick closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And she succeeded.”
“Where is she now?”
He nodded toward his house. “Upstairs in her room, probably with music blasting through her earphones.”
“Has Heather been taking a lot of risks lately? Giving things away? Talking about death?”
“What are you getting at?” He suddenly looked angry.
“I’m talking about warning signs, tell-tale things we look for when a kid might be in trouble.”
Mick looked more upset than before. Léa pushed the plate of cookies and her beer aside and moved to sit cross-legged on the blanket, facing him.
“Look, I’m just a social worker. I’m not qualified to advise you. But hearing you talk, I think it’s possible Heather might be struggling with a case of teenage depression.”
“But she has so much going for her. People who love her. Things that every teenager dreams of. She is smart. Beautiful, in spite of doing her best to hide her looks. Why should she be depressed?”
“I hardly know her, so I can’t really say. But I can tell you from what I’ve seen in my work that many adolescents end up fighting depression just because they feel unable to articulate their feelings. And their feelings are often anger—or sorrow—over some loss or shame or dashed hope. Depression is a world of numbness…of no feeling.”
“I don’t know.”
“But look at what you just told me. Heather got angry today. She blasted you. That is a very good thing, because it means—for a while anyway—she found the voice to express her feelings.”
“But we didn’t get anywhere. When we were done I walked away more frustrated than before. And I don’t think she was any better off, either.”
“I didn’t say you solved all your problems today. All I am suggesting is that communication, in any form, gives you a place to start.” Léa knew Mick would fight her next suggestion, so she gentled her tone, tried to present it in a practical sense. “It looks like Heather has resisted having any structure to her life. Unlike many kids her age, she is not contacting friends. I’m guessing she wasn’t involved in any activities or sports in California, either. Nothing that provides any sense of routine in her life.”
