by Anna Adams
“Damn right you will.” At his sullen look, she shut her mouth. She was the adult. Twisting fear into anger would only alienate him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You scared me, Eli. Why were you turning on the car with the door shut?”
He looked her straight in the eye. This time she saw her son starting to form inside those blank eyes. “I’ve done that a million times, Mom. You know I have.”
“You’ve turned it on with the garage door open. You’ve never worked up a cloud of carbon monoxide.”
“I never thought about the door being closed. If I had, I would have opened it. Mom, look at me. I’m not like other kids. Maybe you were never like me and you can’t understand.”
“You’re eleven years old. You know better. I want to take you to the emergency room.”
“No. I already agreed to go to that doctor tomorrow.”
“And you were doing something that could kill you, son. You’re too responsible to risk sitting in a running car in a closed garage, but if you were trying to—hurt yourself, you’d pretend this was nothing, just play—like when you were a kid.”
“You’re going to tell the doctor tomorrow. I’ll tell him. Would I do that if I was suicidal and trying to hide it?”
She looked at her son working so hard to make her believe. “You’re not a child at all anymore.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. So don’t always be touching me. Don’t try to make me feel better. I’m not sure anyone can.”
She shivered. The sun never reached inside this building. The longer she stood here, the more it felt as cold as death. “Will you talk to Brent if I can get him on the phone?”
“No, Mom.” He walked away. Taking the opportunity to dash tears out of her eyes, she didn’t back down.
“Otherwise, we go to the hospital. I want to believe you, but I won’t let you—”
“Die? You can see I don’t want to do that. It’s the last thing I—” He stopped, staring at her face as if he couldn’t stand to see her.
No doubt she wasn’t hiding anything. “I’ll call Brent.”
“All right.” With his fists clenched, he stomped toward the house. Suddenly, he stopped and went back to open the back seat of the car.
Only then, did Beth see Lucy, nothing but a pair of eyes against the black upholstery. She tumbled to the floor, her nails scratching the surface. Then she grabbed at Eli’s hand with her mouth. He brushed her away, but then patted her side.
Beth breathed again. He’d never hurt Lucy. No matter what, Eli would protect his dog with his last breath. Just the way a mom would.
Lucy peered, her soulful brown gaze asking, “What next?” Beth rubbed her shoulder. She longed to pretend nothing could happen, but it was too late. “Let’s go in and get Dr. Brent before he leaves his office.”
“Can we wait until after Mrs. Carleton leaves? She was mean at lunchtime, like she thought I let you sleep on the couch to be funny. She asked me why I didn’t wake you so you could sleep in your bed like decent folk.”
“That sounds like Mrs. Carleton, but I’m sorry. We need to catch Brent tonight.” He turned away. More mutiny. Fortunately they had a distraction who actually needed addressing. “Maybe you could give Mrs. Carleton a break? I don’t know much about her, which is unusual around here, but she moved to Honesty when she was older. She may never have had children.”
“Or she may have scared them so much they don’t come see her.”
“I meant she’s not used to our noise or the way you and I are always running here and there. Van is more easygoing.”
“And he’s not here much, getting her house junky,” Eli said.
“Mrs. Carleton has ideas about propriety. We’ll move home as soon as we can, Eli. Learning to be patient with her might be good for both of us.”
“Maybe you need a makeover. I don’t.” Sarcasm dripped from every word, but Beth smiled benignly, grateful for any emotion after a glimpse of that boy in the garage.
In the kitchen, she reached for the portable phone. Just after Eli was born, she’d memorized Brent’s number without even meaning to.
“Can I talk to him privately for a minute?” she asked her son.
Eli left the room on a jet trail of resentment. Beth held out her hand as if she could drag him back.
This time Brent’s receptionist put her through instantly. He picked up the phone and said a worry-tainted hello. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.” She explained what had happened. “He looked as if he were in shock, and he said he just wants to feel normal, but I seem to make it worse.”
“Because you force him to pay attention to what’s happening. Don’t you, somewhere deep inside, wish you could put your head in the sand and pretend this will go away on its own?”
“Absolutely, and it’s a relief to say so out loud.”
“Did you think he was trying to kill himself, Beth?”
“No.” She gripped the phone tighter. “He had Lucy in the back seat. He’d never harm her.”
Brent tapped the phone with something. “Okay, but I have to ask. Are you sure he wouldn’t think Lucy’d be better off if he sort of took her with him?”
“You don’t have to pussyfoot around. I know what you mean and I’m positive. I see what kind of father he’ll be in the way he cares for Lucy. He’s not capable of hurting her.”
“You’d bet his life on that?”
“Nearly. If you speak to him and feel satisfied that we can wait until tomorrow, I’ll be his shadow tonight.”
“Better let me talk to him. Remember though, I’m not a psychologist.”
“But you’ve known him all his life.”
She passed through every nook and corner on the way to Van’s study where Eli had turned on the TV. Mrs. Carleton was nowhere to be found.
“Here you go.” She handed him the phone. “Talk to him honestly if you can, Eli.” He snapped his mouth shut and sat up, on the verge of telling her off.
She exited, trying to give him space to breathe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FIRST NAME on Brent’s list, a man who ordered them to call him Dr. Drayton, was a dismal failure. His office was all heavy slabs of furniture. His eyes held no compassion, though he boomed like a favorite old uncle when he spoke.
He left cigar stubs all over the place. A manly man, and too much so for her. But what about Eli? She had to let him decide.
“I’m just a blunt guy.” Dr. Drayton showed them to straight-backed, cushionless chairs on the other side of his desk. “I’ll always tell you what I think, and I’ll suggest anything that makes Eli’s life better, but Mrs. Tully, you may not hear what you want.”
Beth concentrated on hiding her misgivings.
“How are the boy’s grades?” Even though Eli was at her side, the doctor interrogated Beth, Marine style. Grades, friends, curfew, diet…
She cut in after he asked about pets. “Why don’t you ask my son directly?”
“I’ll talk to Eli in a moment.”
He went on to sleeping habits, recent illnesses, the number of hours Eli spent on the phone, on video games and online.
Beside her, Eli stewed in anger, and Beth didn’t dare offer a hand to comfort him. Dr. Drayton wouldn’t approve of the soft touch and Eli might bite her head off.
At last Dr. Drill Sergeant suggested she wait outside while he and Eli spoke. She went, cursing herself for letting him think he intimidated her, but this situation demanded restraint. A trait she’d never before practiced when anyone tried to interfere with her son.
Within a few minutes, Eli came out, too, red-eyed, stern, refusing to speak at all. Dr. Drayton asked Beth to come back. She hated leaving Eli.
“Mrs. Tully, your boy will be fine. Please join me.”
She sat in the chair she’d vacated, whacking her spine against the no-frills wooden back.
“You’re smothering your son,” the man said.
She clutched the wooden seat. It was t
hat or beat him about the head with the bronze eagle grounded on his desk. “Did Eli say I smother him?”
“You answered every question I asked you correctly. Should any mother know that much about her child?”
“If she’s been worried about him, if she’s involved with his school and if she lives in the same house with him. How would I not know about his friends?” Dear God, don’t let me be driving my son to suicide.
“Don’t get me wrong. I think we made progress,” he said. “Eli’s not used to a man’s input, but we understood each other. He’s reluctant to talk, but that’s always true at a first visit when a little guy’s mother is forcing him to see someone.”
“You’re implying I shouldn’t insist?”
“No. No. But Eli’s growing into a man. He needs a little less woman time. Seeing me will be good for him.”
There it was. Another accusation of coddling. Could he be right? Was Eli simply trying to outgrow her?
“I can’t pretend this isn’t happening. I have to make sure he’s all right.”
“No, Mrs. Tully. You have to give him room. And I’m the man who can teach him to put a safe distance between you.”
She sat back. “I’m everything bad in his life?”
“No.” He laughed at her. Laughed. As if he were a sadistic clown, rather than a man charged with caring for emotionally troubled patients. She wanted to erase that smile from his he-man face. But she also needed to fall on her knees and beg for answers, in case he was right and she’d caused this trauma.
She rubbed her forehead and behind closed eyes, saw Eli again, stomping out to a chair in the waiting room.
“You’re blind. You don’t even see he’s resentful and resistant,” she said. “Not grateful you’re riding in to save the day.” Pressing her fingers to her lips, she tried to stop.
“You’ll keep seeing me with your son. I can teach you both strategies—”
“I don’t know how you keep your job, and you certainly won’t be condescending to me or teaching my son to be a misogynist. As if he needs more problems.”
Standing, she slid her purse between her elbow and side and sailed out of his office. Eli didn’t look at her. She eased the doctor’s door shut.
“I think we both need ice cream.”
They went to their favorite specialty store. The drill sergeant would have assigned her extra duty, cleaning a toilet or something, which only made the ice cream taste sweeter. Eli managed to unlock his jaws enough to choke down a mixed slab of dairy cream and bubble gum with sprinkles on top.
When they got home, Beth parked in the garage and grabbed Eli’s arm before he could get out of the car. “Want to go for a run?”
“Can Lucy come?”
“Sure.”
“Do I have to go back to that guy?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m going to redo my will tonight with strict instructions that you’re never to darken his door again.” She took a deep breath. “Just in case.”
Eli laughed. Red rimmed his eyes again. “I never thought I’d say this, but tonight I’m glad you make a big deal about the small stuff.”
They left the garage and walked out the front to take the sidewalk to the porch. Morning sunlight had disappeared behind black and blue clouds, and rain began to slap the cement in fat drops.
“There goes our basement,” Eli said.
If getting them back into their home didn’t seem like a vital part of Eli’s cure, she wouldn’t have had the energy to care. The rain wetting their faces felt all too appropriate.
AFTER THEIR MEETING with the good Dr. Devastation, Beth found little jobs for Eli to do all day. That night, once he was in bed, she couldn’t stop herself from strolling past his room. Again and again and then one more time.
Finally, she leaned her forehead against the door, praying he wouldn’t open it to find her worrying so much she had to wait, listening for him to move. How many times had she leaned over his crib when he was a newborn, taking comfort from the slight elevation of his chest?
Eleven years later, watching made her sick.
At last she sat against the wall opposite his room and let the tears fall. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t given in where Eli could see her. But during the dark hours of night-into-morning she fell apart.
At last, the sudden familiar grunt he’d always made as he turned—more like whirled—in his bed made it through the door. Beth pushed herself up the wall, wiping her face.
He hadn’t refused to see the next doctor, and he was sleeping. She couldn’t ask for more.
A home and a father at least as mature as his own son? She wouldn’t let herself think of Aidan and the promises he’d nearly made.
For anything that extravagant, she’d still need a fairy godmother.
She stared at the telephone in her bedroom, but didn’t touch it.
THE NEXT MORNING Beth woke reluctantly. She and Eli hardly spoke through breakfast. Moving her mouth cost too much energy, and the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach refused to be ignored.
“I wish you’d calm down, Mom.”
She concentrated on relaxing every muscle from her scalp down. “I’m making a mental list. We have so many things to do today, and I’m still hoping we get our basement.”
“I’ll bet the dirt doesn’t dry out enough for Mr. Grove to go back.”
“I called him last night. He said they’d almost finished putting the forms together.”
“The forms to pour the cement in? Maybe tomorrow then.”
“How do you know about that?”
“I hang around with the other guys. Their dads do stuff like that. Adam Grove was in my Geography class.” He sounded wistful.
“If we ever have another accident like this, let’s rent a house in our old neighborhood.” She pushed her spoon and napkin and bowl together, preparatory to getting up. “We’d better dress for your appointment.”
“Here we go again.”
“We’ll find someone.”
“I don’t like the way people look at me.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“I don’t like the way you look at me.”
Her queasiness welled. “I’m sorry. I’d love to be the stoic type, and I keep thinking I’m hiding what I feel, but I don’t seem to be keeping you safe.”
“Whatever.”
He picked up his cereal bowl and set it in the sink with a rattle that made her get up and check for cracks after he walked out of the room.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mrs. Carleton.” Beth almost dropped the bowl as she faced the other woman. “Aren’t you early today?”
“No.”
She was, but talk about a pointless argument. Beth had no urge to mentally arm wrestle the formidable housekeeper. “Nice to see you. We’re going out.”
“I’ve heard.”
“Huh?”
“The boy’s in trouble. I’ve overheard folks talking in town.”
A mother’s protective rage electrified—damn near shorted Beth’s brain. “Mrs. Carleton, I’ve tried to stay out of your way and make no extra work. I’m not sure why you don’t like us or why you always hid your animosity until my brother invited us to stay, but I had better never hear you’ve said one word against Eli.”
“Calm down, Mrs. Tully.” The other woman set two net bags of shopping on the island and tried to cool Beth with one of her icy glances. “I was going to ask if I could do anything to help you or your son. You probably won’t be surprised to hear I have a little depression myself. I thought the boy was upset, and if you need any extra help with him, babysitting, whatever, I’d be glad to help.” She looked even colder when she was trying to be kind.
“I see—no, I don’t.”
“I don’t dislike you two, but I get attached to people who stay awhile. I don’t want to be attached.” She opened the strings on the first bag and pulled out a sack of sugar. “And pardon me for being blunt, but you’re not the tidiest guests who’ve
ever visited Mr. Haddon.”
Beth understood the part about not wanting to get attached. She found herself checking for Aidan’s car at all hours. “I’ve misjudged you.”
Mrs. Carleton looked disappointed. “I expected something a little sharper from you, Mrs. Tully.”
“I wish you’d call me Beth.”
“Feeling egalitarian now that I’ve confessed to having a soft heart?”
“I heard nothing about soft.” Smiling felt odd, but good. Mrs. Carleton might look like Lot’s wife after she’d turned into salt, but she was trying to reach out. Abandoned by her own husband, she’d understand Beth’s reasoning. “I hate hearing my last name.” More than ever right now.
Mrs. Carleton stopped in the middle of putting eggs in the fridge. “Why didn’t you change it back?”
“Because of Eli. I wanted us to have the same name.”
“Ahhh. I never had that problem.”
“Why didn’t you take back your maiden name?”
“Women didn’t do that when I got divorced.” She shut the refrigerator with a shove that rattled every glass object. “Do you want breakfast?”
End of conversation. Beth shook her head. “We just finished. I’ll do our dishes before—”
“Cleaning the kitchen is my job. I’m sure you have more pressing commitments.”
“I can—”
Mrs. Carleton turned with a look, clearly preferring to be alone while her confessions still wavered in the kitchen air.
Beth lifted both hands. “I meant thanks.” She hurried down the hall and up the stairs to her room to change and get ready for running the next stage of the therapist gauntlet.
She’d lived in Honesty almost all her life, but the people still surprised her. Imagine Mrs. Carleton guarding her tender center with intimidating crankiness left over from a bad divorce.
Beth didn’t want to be that way.
She wanted to believe again. She wanted to believe Aidan when he swore he’d keep promises and went out of his way to care for her and Eli.
As Beth turned from her closet, pulling a T-shirt over her head, she caught sight of the cottage roof. What was he doing?
