Sadly, I wasn’t surprised when I plodded through to the kitchen where a note reclined against the coffee maker, which was as barren as the couch. Empty coffee pots signaled turbulence in our house, the red flag denoting unrest. I flicked open the envelope and read the note, written on a thick piece of ivory stationery.
Dear Sadie.
I need time. I’m headed to the Inn since they’re close, and they have an available room. I’ll tell Lena where I’ll be. I promise to take care of myself for the next couple days, but I need space to think.
Theo
I flipped the paper over, looking for more words on the back that didn’t exist. Theo needed time and space, so he ran away; I needed time and space, too, and had performed an escape act by putting together a vacation to Walloon Lake. The kids were sure to be disappointed. Had he even thought of them before making his decision to leave?
In a move that surprised me, I slammed my fist against the countertop, pain slicing through and rippling up my arm upon contact. Mentally weary, I slumped to the ground. Taking in a deep breath through my nose, I counted to ten and sighed, letting out all the air caged inside my lungs. What to do? The sun slept on, as did the kids and Mom, which meant I had enough time to make breakfast for everyone and figure out how to tell them Dad had left. That he needed time, space. But how do you phrase those words to children? More lies would wear me out, but burdening Charlie, Delia, and Lexie with all our garbage wasn’t an option.
My life’s issues had never solved themselves before, so I rose from the floor and threw open the cabinet door. The bag of sugar Andrew had brought the day before stared me in the face. He’d lined it up in a row with the other staples, much like I would have attempted at our house. “Keep the order,” I mumbled to myself with a shaky voice. “Keep the order. You can do this.” I reached for the flour, the baking powder, the sugar, and the vanilla extract, plucked two eggs from the refrigerator, and started on a batch of pancakes. If my life was indeed a novel, then from-scratch pancakes could at least help this dilemma.
The aroma of the hot, steaming griddle must have woken my mom, because within the quarter hour, she padded down the stairs in her fleece bathrobe, looking rumpled and small, an astounding image. When had she changed from the woman I knew? Had I been so selfish and only aware of my life I hadn’t noticed anything going on in hers?
Lines feathered out from the corners of Mom’s eyes and across her forehead, and her gray hair had lost its luster. I considered how this visit would go and whether she and I would survive. But Theo was gone—who knew for how long—and I ought to be grateful she had decided to visit. As much as I didn’t want her to think I’d be using her, someone would need to watch the kids if Lena wasn’t available while I attempted to make progress on my projects. And God dammit, despite her faults, despite all the grievances I held for her and the way she raised me, she was my mother. I loved her. If nothing else, Mom deserved full honesty.
“Morning, Mom.” I reached into the cupboard above my head for two mugs. “You want coffee?”
“Do you have decaf?” She lifted her eyes to meet mine. They looked dull and vacant; with time, her light green eyes had turned muddy and gray. Another detail I hadn’t observed.
“Sure do. I drink a combination of decaf and regular these days.” I placed one of the mugs in front of Mom, who took a quick sip before adding milk into her cup.
“Why?” she asked.
“Oddly enough, I get more tired by the end of the day if I drink a cup of fully caffeinated coffee in the morning. And I don’t have time to be more tired than I already am. You know how it goes. It ain’t easy having kids.” A splash of regular coffee would round out my cup. Bringing it up to my nose, I inhaled the pungent scent of the deep brown liquid. In an instant, a placidity pushed at the despair and anger that had settled over me that morning.
“You do too much, Sadie. Why doesn’t Theo help you?” Mom lowered herself to the seat at the breakfast bar, which squeaked under her light form as I slid a plate of steaming pancakes toward her.
The light from the low-hanging pendant lights highlighted my mother’s face. It appeared she didn’t understand what Theo was going through with his PTSD.
I scooped another cupful of pancake batter into the measuring cup and practically threw it against the bubbling butter on the griddle. “Mom, I’ve told you before. It’s complicated.”
“Well, I’m not so sure—”
Chucking any manners and respect for my elders, I held my palm up to my mom, interrupting her train of thought. The last thing I needed to do was get into another argument with or about Theo. The cottage was supposed to be my sanctuary, my slice of tranquility, and so far, nothing had gone as planned. “Mom, I don’t want to talk about this right now. If you have questions, ask him. He’s trying to get better but...Theo left.” I put my hand up again and pursed my lips to signal the conversation was over. “Not sure for how long, a couple days, but again, our situation is...weird, to say the least. So, I don’t want to talk about it, but when I’m ready, I will.”
Perhaps the set of my shoulders told her I meant business or the salty tears clinging to my lashes, threatening to spill over the lower lids of my eyes because Mom looked at me and said, “Okay, what can I do to help?”
Had I heard her correctly? “First, why in the hell did you come up here?”
Mom sipped her coffee and placed the mug on the counter before answering my question. “Something was off, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. You’ve never hung up on me, and when you did that, it hurt. And it’s so unlike you to take off for vacation during the school year.”
“Yeah, it is. Did you ever ask yourself why I might have hung up on you? Did you replay the conversation in your head and try to figure it out?” That day stood out clearly in my memory. I’d felt so empowered with the simple push of a button.
“Yes, but I didn’t understand it. I still can’t.”
“Then why did you wait until now to ask?” The bubbles in the center of the batter popped, and I flipped the pancakes over, one at a time.
“I don’t know, honey. I just didn’t.” Mom placed her chin in her hands and stared at me but had nothing else to say.
“Then you’re welcome to stay, but I don’t have time to explain it to you.” Shaking my head, I handed her plates. At the least, she’d bear a bit of my burden since I still had my own work to finish.
With Mom’s help, I finished preparing breakfast and came up with a plan I thought was best for the kids. I’d shower and get changed while she woke the kids up and got them dressed for the day. We’d all eat said breakfast—Mom had already eaten—head down to the beach for a quick morning walk, and Mom or Lena would take them in the afternoon while I worked on my project. In that plan was buried the moment I’d tell them Dad was away for a few days. Pancakes, syrup, and a dash of “your Dad’s not home, and we might be splitting up for good.”
That plan would work for everyone but Charlie. He proved it later, when I revealed the news.
“Where is he? Why did he leave?” Charlie jabbed a piece of his pancakes—his second serving—and dunked it into a puddle of syrup collecting on the side of the plate.
“He’s over at the Inn, honey. He’s had a rough time lately, and I didn’t think this vacation through...it’s been a lot for him.” Charlie’s big soulful eyes stared at me, challenging and asking without words if I was telling the truth. Children did that to you, kept you honest. What I said was the truth, but I had to be more straightforward with Charlie.
Pulling one of the chairs at the breakfast bar right up next to Charlie, I looked him right in the eyes. “We had a discussion last night that didn’t sit well with Dad. And so, he wants to be alone. Can you understand?”
&n
bsp; Charlie sat back and thought for a moment, blinking his eyes. He placed his thin hand under his chin, a tiny caricature of Rodin’s The Thinker. I thought at first he was playing around but then realized he was doing just that, thinking. And processing. And letting everything sink into that wonderful brain of his.
“Did he say anything about me?” Charlie asked.
“No, should he have?”
“Just wondering. And I get it. Sometimes I need to be alone, too, but finding alone time and space at our house is always hard.” A thoughtful smile passed across his face.
My gaze turned toward my mom, who sat with Lexie on her lap, reading an ABC board book. Finding alone time and space of my own always took so much effort; I’d tried to get some here and look who showed up.
“So,” I said. “We’re going to give him time. He’s got his phone. I’ll text him later and see if you guys can go over.”
“Will you come with us? When we go see him?” Charlie had a way of asking questions that by themselves seemed innocent, but if I read into them, I’d get mired in a load of trouble. Again, the kid was keeping me honest.
“Not this time, Charlie. Your dad told me what he wanted, and I’d like to respect his decision. But he loves you very much, and I’m certain he’ll have time to see you today.” So confident was I Theo wouldn’t make the kids suffer for the sins of their mother.
“Okay.” Charlie leapt from his chair and looped his arms around me. “What’s the plan for today then?”
Thankfully, Charlie got caught up in what the shape of the day would be. He gathered the girls together, found Delia’s and Lexie’s wind jackets and sneakers, and with as much patience as he could muster, helped Mom and me prepare snacks for the afternoon. As we hauled everything to the wagon, I looked at my little man with warmth and love and wondered if this separate family would not become the new normal for us.
Chapter 27: Theo
Space. Is that what I’d called it? Space to think. Fuck that. Space wasn’t going to help me any more than time would, and I’d used that word too. My wife wanted someone else, and I wanted to crawl under a rock and never come back out. Actually, that was too tame a description for what I wanted to do. A bullet to the heart would hurt less than this shit, wouldn’t it? And a bullet to the heart at least would be instantaneous. Not like this. Liam might beg to differ, but he wasn’t here to argue. Hadn’t been for a while. My chest threatened to cave in, and I streamlined my breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. One, two, three.
A few more seconds passed, and I heaved myself off the bed before pounding the wall of my room at the Inn. Not enough to damage the wall but enough to scrape the skin of my knuckles. Again. Shit. Sleep hadn’t been within my reach—flickering images of past and present Walloon memories featuring Sadie had kept me awake—and my reflection in the mirror told the story of a crazed man. Hair up at odd angles, shadows beneath his eyes. A man ruined by his wife’s words, strung together into news she wanted someone else. Andrew no less. Andrew fucking MacKinnon. What the hell? Had he known all this time my complicated relationship involved Sadie? Talk about a Lifetime movie. Sadie didn’t have all the details yet. What would she say when she found out?
But Andrew was here—I had seen him—and that meant finding him would be a possibility. My recon skills were second to none, and in this small village, it wouldn’t take long. He had to hear me out because I had to know: Who would stab a brother in the back the way he did?
First: a shower. Second: a trip to the general store. Third: a lambasting of Andrew MacKinnon.
The steam from the shower did nothing to tamp my nervous energy, so I dried off, threw clothes on, and slugged a cup of coffee in the lobby of the Inn. Texts from Sadie would go unanswered—if she sent them. But I knew enough about her to trust she would respect my wishes. For time. For space. That word again. My fingers shook as I gulped the last of my coffee and slid the cup away from me. A bite of bagel, and my day began.
The bell above the door of the general store chimed as I walked through the entrance. Mike looked up, concern flaring on his face.
“You okay, man? You look like shit.”
Mike had never been one to mince words. A decade of summer friendship had taught me that.
“Not my best day. Do you know a guy named Andrew MacKinnon? Tall, dark hair...”
“From around your neck of the woods. Yeah. He’s the librarian’s son, Pickles Martin. Great guy. Great kids too—”
“Well that’s just great then. Any idea where I’ll find him?” Thunder roared in my ears, and it took me a minute to realize it was the blood pushing through my body and not a late fall thunderstorm outside. I pressed a hand to my ear, hoping to lessen the noise.
“When he comes up, he stays with his mom. But he’s probably out and about right now. Usually has work over in East Jordan to attend to. I don’t have his number, but I’m pretty sure he’s over on East Street. Are you sure you’re okay? Can I help you with anything?”
“No. It’s okay. You’ve done enough.” Before I pivoted, I slapped the counter. “Sorry. Too much going on right now.”
“Well let me know—”
Sticking around to hear the rest of Mike’s words wasn’t part of my plan. Instead, I pounded the pavement and made my way to the library. His mom might be there. She’d tell me where he was.
A lukewarm breeze from the vestibule met my face as I opened the door of the library. Posters advertising every event and service offered in Walloon Lake lined the walls. Once I’d made it into the lobby of the library, a general hush, a calming, settled over me. The thumping in my head waned, and the constriction in my chest eased. Looking right and left, I saw no one. Where was everyone?
“May I help you?” a voice sounded. Not a woman’s voice, but a voice that sounded a little like Liam’s, or at least my memory of his voice. It came from a man, who stood to my right. Deep-set eyes, dark with interest. “You look like help is what you need.”
“Meaning?”
“Your aura is reaching out to me. You’re lost. You’re afraid. You’re alone—”
“What gives you the right to say that to me?”
“Am I wrong?”
Having not slept much, I didn’t have the energy to argue with this man. This man who, yes, was right, even though I wasn’t sure how he was right.
“No, you’re not wrong. I’m looking for someone and I—”
“You won’t be able to speak to that person in your present state. Why don’t you join us? We’re practicing mindfulness right now. Over here, in the great room.”
A quick glance to where he pointed revealed two folks stretched out on yoga mats. I’d never practiced yoga—the need to move incessantly inhabited my body—but the looks of contentment on the people’s faces...they intrigued me.
“I’m here for a purpose—” I said.
“And so am I. Give me five minutes. It will make a difference.”
“If I do, will you answer a question for me?”
“Yes.”
“Is the librarian here? Pickles Martin?”
“Is that who you are looking for?”
“In a way, yes.”
“She won’t be in until this afternoon.”
“Okay, well, then I’ll see you this afternoon.” I turned to leave, and the man touched my forearm with his fingertips. A jolt of warmth shot up my arm. What the hell?
“Please, stay. I can help.”
An image of Doc in her chair, pen poised over her ever-present notebook, jotting a list of items that might help me: breathing techniques, meditation, yoga.
Minutes later, I was stretched out on a blue yoga mat
, eyes closed, random, fractal-like pictures blooming behind my eyelids. My mind wandered away from my thoughts of revenge or whatever I was trying to do with Pickles...how many digits of pi could I remember? Why had Sadie just walked away? What the hell am I doing here in the library? Did the Higgs Boson particle really prove the interconnectedness of the universe? Why do I feel so good right now? What would Doc say to—
“A few more minutes, and we’ll be finished here. Let go of your thoughts or don’t. Whatever is good for you. Now find the tingle in your right shoulder and concentrate on it.”
Tingle? In my shoulder? What did he mean?
“Follow the tingle to your left shoulder...”
Finding the tingle proved to be a problem, but I at least focused on my shoulder.
“Then the right bicep...and the left bicep...”
Yoga Man’s voice droned on, lulling me back again to a state of calm. A bell rang four times. “And come to seated.”
I looked at the clock. Forty-five minutes had passed, and I felt great, hadn’t felt this good in years, as if nothing mattered. Sadie and Andrew? No problem. We’d work through it, just like—
“How do you feel?” The man stood, hands on hips, bare feet against the floor, eyebrows raised, waiting for me to say something as the other folks rolled up their mats and walked away.
I stood, connecting my gaze with his. Something I rarely did these days. “Actually, great. Better than I thought I would.”
“Good.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I thought you were crazy when you asked me about helping. But I guess you did.”
“That’s wonderful. You just need to take time for yourself. To figure out what you need. To be selfish for yourself.” He tapped his chest. “It’s all in here. Everything you can control. It’s in there. Don’t allow yourself to get upset by what’s around you.”
Rewrite the Stars Page 19