With the Father

by Jenni Moen

  I eyed her suspiciously. I was counting on her being with me this morning. It was the only reason I hadn’t completely lost my mind already. I needed her to be a buffer between Paul and I.

  “I can’t go alone,” I hissed.

  “Sure you can.” She slipped past me, heading back into her room. “You’ll be fine.” She winked at me as she shut the door and left me alone in the hall on the brink of an anxiety attack. I looked at my watch. I didn’t have time for an anxiety attack. He was probably already outside waiting. Or not outside because he wasn’t coming.

  I slipped my phone into the interior pocket of my running shorts and opened the front door. My heart fell when he wasn’t waiting on the porch. I scanned the yard and found him stretching near the big magnolia tree. My heart beat furiously in my chest, and I slipped headfirst into the panic attack that I’d talked myself out of upstairs. I turned and considered running back into the house. I wasn’t ready to face him.

  “Morning,” he said, joining me on the sidewalk. His smile was warm and his voice inviting, and just like that, I was at ease again. All nervousness melted away. “Did you stretch?”

  “Yes, I stretched inside. But I think stretching is going to be the least of my problems. I haven’t run in months. I won’t be able to keep up with you.”

  He laughed. “I’m in no hurry, Grace. We can take it as slow as you need.”

  My tangled mind wondered if he was just talking about running or if he meant something more. I had just told Kate the night before that I wasn’t going to allow this to go any further. But, now that he was standing in front of me, a part of me wanted to interpret everything coming out of his mouth as an invitation. “I guess we’re going to find out what I’m capable of.” My answer was also laced with double meaning.

  The smile he returned was genuine and easy, and a piece of my broken heart sealed back into place. Whether I was ready or not, being around him was good for me. His presence was a healing one, like a balm on my still open wounds.

  “Let’s go then,” he said. “You lead and I’ll follow. No pressure here.”

  As we jogged, we fell into an easy rapport. I was amazed that yesterday’s black widow attack hadn’t changed that.

  He asked about Aurora, and I assured him that she was a lot better today. He talked about his plans for the day. His friend was still in town, and they were going to Fredericksburg to prowl around and then they had plans to visit a few local wineries. I must have looked at him funny because he responded, ‘What? You think the only wine I have is the sacrament?’ He laughed then as if I should know better, and I realized that there were still so many things about Paul that I didn’t know.

  Hoping to learn more about him, I plodded along silently as he described the places he was taking his friend. Noting that he hadn’t mentioned whether his friend was a he or a she, a pang of jealousy blasted through me until I reminded myself that jealousy was a ridiculous and inappropriate emotion for me to be having.

  When he asked if I would be interested in tagging along, a part of me wanted to go with them – to prove to myself that what had happened yesterday had been no big deal. Another part of me worried that that was exactly what I would find. The fact that he’d occupied every bit of my headspace for the last twelve hours was a problem. I wasn’t naïve to that.

  As usual, the cautious portion of my psyche won out, and I declined the invitation as we turned back onto my dad’s street. “Thanks for the invitation, but I actually have some things that I need to take care of today.” It wasn’t a lie. I really did have a list of things I was going to accomplish today, even if I had to make myself do them.

  “I get it,” he said. “It’s kind of last minute anyway. I was going to ask Kate, too. Do you think she’d like to check out the wineries with us?”

  “She can probably give you the tour,” I said sourly. He looked at me in surprise, and I recanted. “I’m sorry. I’m sure she would enjoy it.” I was silent as we approached my dad’s yard. I was deep in thought, wondering why his mention of my sister caused such a visceral reaction in me.

  When we stopped in front of the house, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. It felt good to be moving again, to feel my heart pounding from exertion rather than anger or fear. However, now that we were finished, I doubted that I could go another step. “I’m exhausted,” I said, plopping myself down on the sidewalk. I took my phone out of my pocket, tossed it on the grass beside me, and began stretching. My underutilized body would be sore tomorrow.

  Paul reached over and grabbed my phone. He typed something into and then returned it to the ground beside me. “I saved my number in your phone just in case you change your mind. We aren’t leaving until noon.” My eyes and my mind wandered to the phone that now contained Paul’s number.

  “Listen,” he said, continuing. “Even if you can’t make it today, I have to take my friend to the airport on Monday. We are going to go into San Antonio because he’s never seen the Alamo or the Riverwalk. He really wants to meet you before he leaves. Will you think about it?”

  I nodded, hung up on the ‘he.’

  “All right. I need to get going,” he said, pointing down the street. I nodded again, and with a weak smile, he set off on what I assumed would be a longer and faster run. I let myself back into the house and leaned against the closed door, allowing myself a moment to think.

  Neither of us had mentioned the kiss. I should be relieved. If he’d brought it up, I didn’t know what I would say. Apologize profusely, I supposed. Though I probably owed him that, I was still dreading that awkward conversation.

  But, I wasn’t as relieved as I was incredibly disappointed. Our kiss had been nothing more than a blip on the radar. The fact that it hadn’t been consequential enough for him to bring it up saddened me, but at least I could say it hadn’t wrecked our friendship.

  I contemplated San Antonio on Monday and then scolded myself for even considering it.

  COMPENSATION

  GRACE

  By the time I showered and ventured back downstairs, the house was quiet and seemingly empty.

  The coffee in the pot was lukewarm so I knew my dad had already gone to meet the old guys. I threw a skillet on the stove and pulled the carton of eggs out of the refrigerator. After my run, I was starving. Training for the triathlon, if I decided to do it, could be the cure for my lack of appetite.

  I’d just sat down at the kitchen table with a plate full of scrambled eggs and toast when the house phone rang. I stared at it. It wasn’t my house and it wasn’t my phone. Even though I’d grown up here and was living here again, it was my dad’s house.

  However, thanks to my early morning run, I still felt like I could take on the world today. “Battles residence.”

  “May I speak with Grace Northcutt?” a hopeful voice asked.

  “This is she.”

  “Hello, Ms. Northcutt, I’m so glad to finally reach you. I’ve been trying for months.”

  I knew immediately who it was and resisted the urge to hang up. It was instinctual, a protection mechanism that I’d carefully honed over these past few months. I’d become very adept at avoidance. But today was a new day, and I’d told Paul that I had things to take care of today, and this was one of them. Though I would have preferred to do it on my own schedule so I could psych myself up for it, maybe this was better. “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Of course, ma’am. My name is Blake Barnaby, and I’m with All Nation Insurance. On behalf of myself and the company, I’d like to express our sympathy for your loss. I just need to ask you a few questions. I’ll make this as quick as possible.” I agreed, and he ran through what I assumed were his standard questions about the house and the fire that had consumed it.

  The value of the house and the cause of the fire were not at issue. The fire inspector’s report had issued a few weeks after the fire. I’d never read it. My dad had tucked our copy away somewhere and delivered the news, preferring I hear it from him rather than a p
iece of paper.

  The chicken nuggets hadn’t caused the fire. The roaring fire in the fireplace also wasn’t the culprit. Rather, the investigation had determined that, in all likelihood, one of the candles near the edge of the mantle ignited the drapes hanging nearby. Investigators suspected that the fire traveled in two directions simultaneously: up the curtain to the living room ceiling and down the curtain to the floor below.

  The candles that I’d thought were so romantic that night had caused the decimation of my life.

  Shortly after we’d received the report, every candle in my dad’s house disappeared.

  The contents of the house were the only thing the insurance rep wanted to discuss with me today. “I understand there were two cars on the property. The cars were also insured through us so I have everything I need on those, but I need you to prepare a proof of loss for the contents of the house. An itemized list of everything you can think of that was destroyed will do. And go ahead and list a suggested value for each one if you can.”

  I could give him an itemized list of the most valuable things in the house that night in three words.

  Isabelle.

  Trey.

  Jonathan.

  But that wasn’t the list he had in mind. I leaned on the kitchen counter for support. He hadn’t even broached the subject of Jonathan’s life insurance policy, but I imagined that was probably the next thing on his list to check off.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said hoarsely. “I don’t want compensation for the contents of the house.”

  “Your policy provides replacement coverage for both the structure and the contents,” he said matter-of-factly, not getting the point.

  “The contents of my house, Mr. Barnaby, were precious and irreplaceable, and there is no way that you or I can put a value on them,” I lashed out. “There is no amount of money that will ever make it better. The rest are just things – things I neither need nor want to replace. Just give me the value for the structure and the cars, and let’s be done with it.”

  Blake Barnaby was silent on the other end of a line for a few long seconds. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Northcutt, I know this is hard, and I understand what you are saying, and All Nation is very sorry for your loss. However, your house was a total loss. You should really submit a proof of loss claim. You may want to rebuild someday, and this money will go a long way toward that.”

  “I don’t want it.” My statement was definitive. “Are we done then?” I asked.

  He hesitated. “We need to discuss your life insurance policies.” I could hear the reluctance in his voice. He probably wanted to end this call as much as I did. “I have two here, and it’s really just a matter of verifying that this is where I should send the settlement check since the amount is set by the policies. I’m sorry it’s not more. I know your husband was the only wage earner in your family, but maybe this will help a little.”

  I leaned over the counter laying my forehead on the cool granite, thankful that I hadn’t had the chance to eat my breakfast yet. My stomach was now as twisted as my heart. “Two policies?”

  “That’s right, ma’am. Can you verify your address for me?”

  “But why are there two? There should just be one. My husband’s.”

  He was silent and I could hear him shuffling papers on his end. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Northcutt. We don’t have a policy for your husband. I have two policies. One for Isabelle Grace Northcutt and one for Jonathan Grant Northcutt, III.”

  That couldn’t be right. “There’s been some mistake.” My voice was as breathless as my body. “We didn’t have policies on Isabelle and Trey. We had two policies, one for Jonathan and one for me.”

  “Maybe I should come see you so we can discuss this in person.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” I had no desire to see or talk to this man in person.

  “Well, what I have in my file – and it’s reflective of what’s in our computer system – is three active policies. There are two for ten thousand dollars. One for each of your children. Then there’s a third for five hundred thousand for you. It looks like the policy for Jonathan Grant Northcutt, Jr. lapsed about – ” The line went silent for a second while he either counted the months in his head or looked it up somewhere. “ – nine months ago. The premium wasn’t paid.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, sliding down the cabinet until I was sitting on the floor. The phone was still pressed to my ear. “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Northcutt. There’s nothing in my notes about that, and I don’t have any recollection of handling that transaction. He may have done it through a different agent. I can try to track it down if you’d like.” He paused, and I could hear papers shuffling again. “You know what? Let me do that. Let me see what I can find out, and I’ll call you back. Would that be okay?”

  “Yes,” I breathed out. “Call me back.” The phone clattered to the floor beside me.

  Jonathan had cancelled his policy but left mine in place. It didn’t make any sense. I couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d do that. The insurance policies had been his idea in the first place. Isabelle had been two and Trey had been one when we’d snuck away on our first parents getaway. Before the trip, Jonathan had insisted that we make sure all of our affairs were in order in case something happened to us while we were gone.

  We’d gone to war with each other over the guardianship papers he brought home. Without discussing it first, he had the papers drawn up so that my parents would get custody of the kids if, God forbid, something happened to us. I argued vehemently that they were approaching retirement age and shouldn’t be expected to raise young children again. I wanted my sister to get them instead. She was young, successful, and full of life. He countered that she was irresponsible, unreliable, and too full of life. On this one thing, I had dug my heels in and, in an unprecedented victory, won. Begrudgingly, he had the papers changed, replacing my parents’ names with Kate’s. I’d been happy, knowing I could count on her to take care of them if it ever came to that.

  Unlike the guardianship papers, Jonathan and I had agreed on the issue of insurance. Though I couldn’t imagine putting a dollar figure on either of our lives, I hadn’t argued with the amounts he’d selected. He’d explained his reasoning to me. One million would be sufficient to take care of the kids if something happened to both of us. Half of that would be sufficient if they still had a living parent. It had seemed reasonable, and I’d agreed with him. I couldn’t believe he would change anything without discussing it with me first.

  But the policies on the kids? We’d never discussed that. I wondered how it was even possible for one parent to take out a policy unilaterally without the other parent’s knowledge. Was it even legal?

  We always made these types of decisions together. I had believed that we were a team, an unstoppable force, an impenetrable union. Clearly, I’d been wrong. He’d been making decisions – decisions that affected our family – behind my back. We weren’t an unstoppable force, and we certainly weren’t an impenetrable union. His affair had proven that.

  All I had left were my memories. Everything else was gone. I gathered up those of my children and tucked them into a corner of my battered heart. I wouldn’t let anything or anyone touch those, but I couldn’t say the same for the ones of my husband. With every day that passed, they were becoming more tarnished, twisting into something unrecognizable and tainted. Jonathan had been my best friend, my lover, and my only confidant. Apparently, however, he’d confided little in me, and I was learning that he’d had a lot of secrets.

  I picked up the phone and dialed. “Kate,” I said when she answered. “Are you still at the office?” When she confirmed that she was, I made my request. Then I hung up the phone for the second time and went up to my room. My bed beckoned me. Sensing my intention or my need or both, Aurora sauntered over and barked for a boost. I curled up next to the dog and thought of the little girl who’d named her.

  “These babies are a re
al handful, mom,” Isabella said, spreading her five dolls onto the kitchen floor near where I was working. I stopped cleaning the countertops for long enough to laugh at her. Isabelle had a real flair for the dramatic. She was a lot like her Aunt Kate in that way.

  “I’ll bet they are, love. That’s a lot of babies to take care of. I don’t know if I could do it.”

  “And my husband is no help either,” she said, placing one hand on her hip and waggling a finger at me. “He’s a dentist. Work, work, work. That’s all he does. And he must not be a very good dentist because he hasn’t even taught these babies how to brush their teeth.” She sat down Indian-style in front of the line of dolls as if she were about teach them a lesson on teeth brushing herself.

  “Sometimes daddies have to work a lot,” I said, knowing that Jonathan’s recent schedule was probably to blame for the conversation we were having. “It doesn’t mean that they don’t love their babies. Some daddies work a lot because they love their babies and want to give them the whole world. That’s your daddy. Now, run upstairs and change your clothes, Isabelle. We are going out to dinner with Arden and the kids.”

  Isabelle’s face lit up.

  “Is Daddy coming?” she asked.

  “No, baby. He has to work late.”

  Her face fell again. “Well, my husband finally just got home so he’s going to stay here with the babies,” she said, standing up. “He’s also a terrible eater. Always eats with his hands.” She shook her head and tsk’d her naughty husband.

  “Tell your brother to get ready, too,” I said, as the phone rang. I made a shooing motion with my hands as I reached for it. But she stood rooted in place, looking at the phone expectantly.

  “Well, looky here, Izzy. It’s Daddy,” I said, as I picked it up.

  “Hey,” I answered. “Perfect timing. I have someone here who’d sure like to talk to you.”

  “Well, by all means, put her on,” he said, guessing correctly that it was Isabelle that needed him.