by Nicole Meier
But despite their different backgrounds, Sara found they had so much in common. They enjoyed all the same dramatic films, shared a love of Thai food, and even bought a pair of road bikes together. She also liked to think they shared the same worldview on most things. They both dreamed of having one or two children and a beautiful Craftsman home in a community that was small, but not too small, where they could bike with their kids to a neighborhood park but still find plenty of good restaurants and cultural events. Once Sam was born, Sara promised herself that she and Charlie would be the exact opposite of her parents. They would be good, steadfast, and whole. They’d be the kind of people who could be depended upon. And for a time they were.
Much later, when Joanne got sick with cancer, it was Charlie who stepped in and provided Sara with a foundation of strength. He cooked meals on the nights when she was too depleted from the hours spent at hospice with her mother. He looked after Sam and chaperoned school field trips. He lent a nonjudgmental ear when Sara complained about her mother’s poor choices and deteriorating condition.
Being with Charlie felt like being offered a giant umbrella in the middle of a tumultuous rainstorm. He provided a place to stand still. A quiet place of shelter.
But not anymore, Sara thought.
These days, Charlie had apparently hooked his umbrella to something—or someone—else and was leaving Sara exposed to the elements. Overcome with emotion, she got up before the others could notice her damp eyes.
“Excuse me for a minute.” Her chair scraped backward as Sara left the table. Sam and TR popped their heads up in unison, pausing their spirited conversation. “I’ll be right back.”
Sluggishness overcame her as she moved toward the solace of her bedroom. She was feeling lightheaded and needed a moment to gather her thoughts. She must have consumed more wine than she was used to having, because a gauzy haze settled over her. The sight of her unmade bed, with its inviting linen sheets, caused Sara to feel instantly drowsy. If she could just crawl under the covers for a respite, it might help.
Reaching her bedside table, she picked up her phone. She pressed the “Home” button, and the screen illuminated. No messages. Her heart darkened. Charlie hadn’t even tried.
Without hesitating, she typed out a text message asking if they might talk. Doubt crept in as to whether he’d respond. Sara knew she was low on the totem pole when Charlie was away. Apparently, this was becoming the case when he was at home too.
Her mind ran through a list of female coworkers she’d heard Charlie mention over the years. There were Christy and Geneva. Someone else whose name sounded exotic, but she couldn’t recall. Charlie had assured her he didn’t really socialize with these women, but still, Sara would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit the sharp tang of jealousy over them. Was her husband with one of them right now, having drinks and laughing around a bar with the other pilots and flight attendants? Please let the answer be no. She rubbed her forehead, trying to erase the image.
Keeping up with the men in her life was eating away at her.
Weary from anguish, she gazed longingly at her pillow. Just for a minute, she mused. The lids of her eyes slipped down.
She was wrenched back into reality with a literal crash. Slowly pulling herself from the clutches of sleep, Sara tried to shake free her funk and decipher the noise. She’d heard enough to know it had come from the main part of the house. But what was it?
A secondary crash sounded. Sara instantly recognized the shattering of glass. Bolting upright, she scampered across the sheets and in the direction of the ruckus. Adrenaline coursed through her as she thought of Sam. How long had she been asleep?
Arriving in the main living area, Sara felt her heart drumming hard against her rib cage. Where was he?
A head peeked around the corner.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Sara exhaled as Sam emerged, unscratched, from his cowering position at the nearby broom closet.
“Mom?”
“You’re not hurt?” Giving her son the once-over, she saw he looked afraid. She took a measured step forward and surveyed the scene.
“No. But he is.” Sam gripped a dustpan and pointed a shaky finger beyond the kitchen table.
Blood was the first thing she saw. Blood on the floor, blood on the side of the counter, and the tile was littered with shards of pale-green glass.
More remnants of the wine bottle, along with what used to be a glass stemware, created a pattern of knife-edged fragments around the table legs. A chair had been knocked sideways. Damp footprints outlined a puddle. At the epicenter of this disaster was TR, tipsy and rather ashen. Sara’s eyes darted to his left hand, which hung limply at his side. A scarlet gash ran from the base of TR’s thumb up to the inside of his wrist. A river of blood descended.
“Shit!” Sara leaped into action. If TR’s wound was as serious as the blood clotting onto the floor, he was going to need medical attention. And fast.
Acer added to the chaos by dashing haphazardly back and forth amid the confusion. He pushed his nose down to the spill, sniffing and whining nervously. His tail was tucked securely between his legs. TR swatted drunkenly in his path. Acer pinned his ears flat and growled.
“Shoo!” Sara crossed the room, the glass making a sickening crunching under the weight of her shoes. She managed to reach the middle and push the dog away impatiently.
“Sorry about the mess.” TR’s words were slurry. He didn’t seem to focus. “I don’t know what happened. Must have slipped right out my hand.” His hooded gaze frightened Sara.
What had she been thinking, letting a senior citizen freely mix alcohol with pills? And in front of her son? What must Sam have thought? Surely the mishap had frightened him. Her gut somersaulted. The effects of her earlier buzz having worn off, she scolded herself. She’d known better but let it happen anyway. Sam had been placed in potential danger because of her neglect.
“Quick, Sam! Grab Mommy’s car keys and fetch me a big towel from the laundry room!” She swiftly moved to TR’s side and yanked his elbow high over his head. She knew enough from watching medical dramas on TV. If an artery was nicked, the bleeding had to be stopped.
TR leaned hard against her, feeling frighteningly like a felled tree. Sara braced herself. Being this close to her father, she could feel the heat of his uneven breath.
“Just need to lie down . . .” he mumbled.
Sara jostled his arm to keep him awake. “I know the feeling.”
God, what if they’d both passed out and left Sam alone with this kind of disaster? Sara would never be able to forgive herself. She squeezed against the dampness filling her eyes. Keep it together.
A startled-looking Sam raced back into the room, his small feet nimbly avoiding the debris. He thrust a pristine Egyptian cotton bath towel at her, the price tag still dangling from its corner. Sara wavered and then seized it. This was no time to be picky.
“Okay, you two.” She nodded first at Sam and then her father. “Let’s get to the emergency room.”
Three excruciatingly long hours later, after going through gobs of paper towels and Band-Aids and pleading with the hospital’s overworked and ill-mannered intake nurse, TR was finally seen. Poor Sam had gone from frightened to exhausted, being a dutiful helper and making runs to the bathroom for supplies. He’d put on a brave face, but Sara was wrought with angst, wondering if the scene had been too much for him. After all, it was practically too much for her, and she was the adult.
Thankfully, TR was going to be all right. The cut was deep, and it was unfortunately (or ironically, depending how you looked at it) on his remaining good hand. But the doctor was able to stitch TR’s split skin back together and treat it for infection.
Having slipped from the exam room for fear of passing out, Sara found an empty chair out in the hallway and collapsed. Mercifully, Birdie had driven over and retrieved Sam a couple of hours earlier. Her friend had assured Sara she would stay with him as long as needed. Sara only hoped this incident with
his grandfather wouldn’t scar her son for life.
What a disaster of a week it had been. Two hospitals in only a matter of days. Reuniting with her estranged father, setting him up as a houseguest, and having a near miss with a dangerous dose of medication and booze all under her nose.
The attending doctor had given Sara a ration of shit for this last one. She’d cowered against the flimsy hospital curtain while the physician plugged TR into an IV for hydration and laid out all the reasons why patients weren’t supposed to mix anything with prescription medication. Period.
In the hallway, she dropped her head into her hands. Folding in half, she shuddered and then released a choking sob, crushed under the weight of her failure.
It was all too much.
Her head throbbed, her back ached, and her gut was wrenched in two over the conditions of her deteriorating family. Guilt hung around her shoulders like a two-ton gorilla.
Orderlies and nurses trudged by in a steady stream as Sara hugged her knees and cried. If this was what unraveling felt like, she was undeniably undone.
“Mrs. Harlow?” A gentle voice hovered just above her.
Sara glanced up, dragging the sleeve of her sweatshirt under her nose. She sniffled. “It’s actually Mrs. Young, but yes, I’m who you’re looking for. I’m Mr. Harlow’s daughter.”
It struck her then, with the force of blunt gravity, that for the first time in decades she was able to admit this out loud. So much of her life was spent trying to slough off the title, like it was a disease. There was no denying it now. Sara was TR’s daughter, for better or for worse.
But this situation of theirs wasn’t working out. If she and TR were to have a fighting chance, he was going to have to move out. She couldn’t keep up with his antics, acting as both police and caregiver, all while trying to patch their relationship. Otherwise they might both find themselves circling the drain. And she’d be damned if she was going to let that happen. Sara was determined to understand her father.
The nurse handed her a stack of dispatch forms. “Your father can go home now.”
Sara thanked her and stood. Could TR really go home? To his own place?
Just how bad was the fire damage anyway? Maybe the police had merely wanted TR to stay away so they could finish their investigation. Maybe now something could be done in terms of repairs.
The wheels of a plan began to turn, rolling over the possibilities. TR had a follow-up appointment at Pacific Memorial coming up. A chance to return to the coast. Maybe she’d even pay a visit to the property herself.
She needed an option B, because option A clearly wasn’t working out.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SARA
When Charlie returned from his trip the next afternoon, he urged Sara outside and offered her a seat in a weathered teak patio chair. His face was twisted with worry.
“I’m here. Let’s talk. I’m concerned, honey. Your texts worried me. And now that I’m here, you don’t seem yourself.”
Funny. Lately, Sara could’ve said the same thing about him.
“You look exhausted, hon.” Charlie squinted under the glare of the sun. He’d positioned their chairs just so, the corners of the arms forming a point, their knees practically touching. TR was in his room napping, and Sam was inside constructing a Lego spaceship. The way Charlie had brought her out there, she felt weirdly as if it were an intervention.
“You’re right; I am exhausted.” She stretched her legs out and took in the sight of her own dirt-caked sneakers. Acer trotted over and occupied the space between them like a referee.
Charlie readjusted, and Acer took this as a sign and wagged his tail as he dropped a soggy tennis ball near his master’s feet. Annoyed, Charlie kicked it away. Sara noticed how clean the soles of his shoes were. How perfectly ironed the pleats of his khakis looked. Her husband suddenly seemed terribly out of place in their overgrown backyard.
“What’s going on, Sara?” he said, his face soft, his eyes warm and concerned in a way she hadn’t seen in so long it tugged at her heart. “Is taking care of your dad overwhelming you?”
“Ha!” Sara slapped a hand over her mouth. That was an understatement.
Charlie’s brow dipped. “Did I say something funny?”
She brushed back wisps of loose hair and snorted. Was he serious? Sara couldn’t help it; she tipped her head back and emitted a cackle. It sounded deranged, and the volume cut through the still space. She didn’t care. A ray of afternoon sun glinted off a nearby window and warmed her cheeks. She lingered there for a moment. It felt good to loosen her grip on the world for just a minute.
Charlie regarded her as if she were crazy.
Maybe she was losing it, but his statement was absurd. Of course TR was overwhelming her. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. But the ludicrous notion was that Charlie didn’t seem to take into account his own part in her breakdown. Was he really denying all responsibility? The fact that he’d practically abandoned her? Yes, Sara wasn’t free of guilt. She wasn’t the world’s perfect wife; she knew this. Her rigid ways and unwillingness to bend, in order to be so very different from her own parents, could irk Charlie. But still. She was the one who always wound up staying, not him.
“Sara, talk to me.” His tone was pleading.
She huffed. So much had happened, she didn’t know where to start. No matter what she said, Charlie probably wouldn’t understand. One had to witness TR’s actions to fully grasp the drain they’d taken on her.
“Do you know,” she began as she gazed out across the yard, “that human skin cannot survive without oxygen? For a successful skin graft to heal, it must grow and activate new blood vessels. Did you know that?”
“Uh, no.”
“And did you know that if you don’t reapply the bandages and topical ointments just so, it inhibits this process and you have to start all over again?”
“Sara, what exactly is your point?” His voice was laced with fresh concern.
Sara leaned in. Her eyes narrowed. “My point is, Charlie, that I’ve had to learn these things on the fly. A trapeze act without a net, so to speak. No backup, no support. Just me.”
“Sara—”
She cut him off, anger bubbling its way to the surface. “Do you know I’ve been to the hospital more than once since you’ve been gone? That I’ve paced the halls of the ER in the wee hours of the morning and been lectured by doctors? That your son witnessed a near-fatal accident in our kitchen, a pair of detectives was snooping around at our front door, and my good friend Birdie was nearly run off by my father’s vulgarity? Did you also know Sam had a geology project that he needed help with, but his parents were too preoccupied to give him a hand? That our dog hasn’t been walked in days, and I’m pretty sure that milk in your coffee has gone bad?”
Charlie’s eyes widened. He waved the mug of reheated coffee under his nose and made a face. Sara watched him deposit the mug on the ground and then purposefully suck in a couple of audible breaths.
Good old Charlie, always calm. Sara swallowed back her sarcasm.
“That’s a lot to throw at a guy,” Charlie said.
“This isn’t working. I can’t go on like this.”
“Like what, exactly?”
“Like this, Charlie.” Sara exhaled and rubbed at a knot in her neck. The quality of her sleep had been poor lately. She could use a massage. “Both of us are existing in two entirely separate worlds. I’m desperately trying to hold things together while you obliviously flit around the globe!”
He threw his hands up, his complexion coloring.
“Really, Sara? That’s a bit unfair, don’t you think? You can’t possibly refer to my job as ‘flitting around the globe.’ Do you even know how hard I’ve worked? How many hours I’ve clocked in shitty hotels and overrun airports? It isn’t all one big vacation, you know.”
“Well, you could’ve fooled me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She spun in her
chair to face him. “It means that every time I turn around, you’re running out the door. It seems to me you’d rather be anywhere but here. Flying is just an excuse to get away.”
“Oh brother, here we go. I’m here right now, aren’t I?” The calming breaths hadn’t helped. He was seething now.
The whir of a lawnmower started up somewhere on the other side of the fence. Sara could almost taste the cloud of diesel gas that followed. The machine’s motor bumped along, muting out their surroundings.
Terrific. At least one of her many neighbors had overheard them arguing. It was blatantly clear there was no longer any privacy to be had inside nor outside of the house. There wasn’t any peace.
She thrust her chair backward.
“Where are you going?” Charlie half stood, his mouth agape.
“I don’t know.” She spat the words at his feet. His concern was too late. Her anger bubbled over. Charlie was finally paying attention now that he decided to show up. But where had he been when she’d really needed him? He’d chosen to be away.
The lawn mower was deafening, ratcheting up her anger by the minute. Adrenaline coursed. It wasn’t possible to sit there a minute more and listen to Charlie’s excuses. She had to get out of there.
“Well, you can’t just run away. What about—”
“Actually, I can run away. You do it all the time. Why shouldn’t I?” She stood over him, jamming a finger into the air. “Why don’t you stay home and take care of Sam for a change? It’s the weekend. Spend time with your kid. I’m going out.”
“Wait, what if your dad needs something? What am I supposed to do?”
Sara slipped through the sliding glass door and called over her shoulder. “Figure it out. That’s what I’ve had to do.”
The quiet solace of her car felt like a gift. Locking herself inside, Sara started up the engine and then idled in the driveway. The sun had drifted behind a patch of clouds, darkening the sky to slate gray. A smattering of light raindrops fell outside. Sara noticed her ragged breaths begin to fog the windshield. The Indian summer was on its way out, the chill of October moving swiftly into its place.
