Chương 2
That landed exactly where she meant it to.
I started the car.
Theo spoke from behind me.
“Can we get ice cream?”
Marlo turned toward him.
“You have ketchup on your shirt.”
“That’s not ice cream.”
“No, I’m just saying you’re already dressed for disaster.”
He considered this.
“Can I get chocolate?”
Marlo looked at me.
For the first time since the patio, I smiled.
“Chocolate sounds right.”
We drove to a little place beside a gas station where the tables were bolted to the floor and the menu had not changed since approximately 1994.
Theo ordered chocolate with rainbow sprinkles.
Marlo ordered vanilla and then stole half his sprinkles.
I ordered coffee because my stomach felt too tight for anything else.
Nobody discussed Easter.
Theo became absorbed in flattening a paper straw wrapper with his spoon.
Marlo checked her phone.
I watched cars pulling into the gas station and tried not to calculate how much money I had given my family over the years.
The calculation happened anyway.
There had been Dad’s transmission.
Denise’s furnace.
Rob’s dental bill.
Lydia’s security deposit after her divorce.
Mom’s refrigerator.
Mom’s second refrigerator, technically, because the first replacement had been declared too small and I had paid the difference on the one she actually wanted.
There were smaller things too.
Utility bills.
Groceries.
School fundraiser checks.
A plane ticket for a funeral.
Four hundred dollars when Eric’s dog needed surgery.
Eight hundred when Denise’s basement flooded.
Three thousand when Dad’s insurance deductible swallowed most of his savings after the accident.
I had never kept a ledger.
That had been part of the point.
Family was not a ledger.
At least, that was what I had told myself.
My phone buzzed.
MOM appeared on the screen.
For one stupid second, relief rushed through me.
I opened the message.
You owe your aunt an apology for making a scene in her home.
I read it twice.
Then I turned the phone facedown.
Marlo watched me.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing useful.”
“Can I see?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re thirteen.”
“I was thirteen when Grandma kicked Theo out of Easter.”
“She didn’t kick him out.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
Marlo stared at me.
I stared back.
There it was.
The old reflex.
Minimize.
Translate.
Make the ugly thing small enough to carry.
I picked up my phone and handed it to her.
She read the message.
Her eyebrows rose.
“Wow.”
“Yep.”
“She’s kind of incredible.”
“Marlo.”
“I don’t mean in a good way.”
“I know what you mean.”
She handed the phone back.
Theo looked between us.
“Is Grandma mad?”
“No,” I said.
Marlo said, “Yes.”
We looked at each other.
Theo frowned.
“Which one?”
I rubbed my forehead.
“She’s upset with me.”
“Because we left?”
“Yes.”
“Are we in trouble?”
“No.”
That answer came easily.
“No, buddy.”
He returned to his straw wrapper.
I blocked my mother’s number before I could talk myself out of it.
Then I blocked Denise.
Then Rob.
Then I stopped.
Marlo noticed.
“What?”
“I don’t know if I should block everybody.”
“Why not?”
“Because life is usually more complicated than that.”
She leaned back in the booth.
“Grandma seems pretty simple.”
I almost laughed.
Instead I looked at my daughter and wondered when she had learned to recognize things I had spent decades learning not to see.
The next morning, Dad called from his cell.
I let it ring out.
He called again while I was making toast.
On the third call, I answered.
“Claire.”
His voice sounded tired.
“Dad.”
“Your mother’s upset.”
I looked across the kitchen at Theo, who was arranging banana slices into a face on his oatmeal.
“Is Theo upset?”
Dad went quiet.
“That’s not what I called about.”
“I know.”
“Your mother didn’t handle it well.”
I waited.
He sighed.
“She has concerns.”
“About what?”
“You know Theo can be a handful.”
My free hand tightened around the edge of the counter.
Theo was humming to himself.
“He talks a lot,” Dad continued.
“He gets up from the table.”
“He knocked over a lamp at Christmas.”
“He was five.”
“I know how old he was.”
“Then why are you listing evidence like he’s awaiting sentencing?”
“Claire, come on.”
“No.”
The word surprised both of us.
Dad lowered his voice.
“I’m trying to keep this family together.”
“You sat there yesterday.”
“I was trying not to make things worse.”
“For who?”
He had no answer.
I watched Theo give his oatmeal face one raisin eyebrow.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Did you agree with her before we got there?”
The silence changed.
It became an answer before he gave one.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
I closed my eyes.
“So there really was a conversation.”
“Your mother talked to some people.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were there.”
“Claire.”
“How many?”
He exhaled.
“Most of us.”
Theo looked up because my voice had changed.
I turned toward the sink.
“Why?”
Dad said something quietly.
I did not catch it.
“What?”
“He isn’t like the other kids.”
For a few seconds, I heard nothing except the refrigerator motor.
Then Theo called from the table.
“Mom, my oatmeal guy looks like Uncle Rob.”
I looked over.
The banana face did, unfortunately, resemble Rob.
“Needs less hair,” I said.
Theo giggled.
Dad was still on the phone.
“Claire?”
“I have to go.”
“Don’t do anything permanent because everybody’s emotional.”
I looked at the calendar on my refrigerator.
Three weeks earlier, I had written MOM—PROPERTY TAX in red ink on Friday.
She had asked me to cover the second installment until Dad’s pension deposit cleared.
Two thousand four hundred and sixteen dollars.
I had already moved the money into checking.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Tell Mom she needs to make other arrangements for the property tax.”
He stopped breathing for a beat.
“Claire, that’s not related.”
“It is now.”
“You promised.”
“I promised my mother.”
May you like
“She is your mother.”
“Then maybe she should have remembered Theo is my son.”
