Such Great Heights

by Sydney Logan

  From that moment, Natasha had our lives mapped out in spectacular detail.

  We headed to college, where I majored in Political Science with plans to attend law school. She majored in French for absolutely no reason at all. She dropped out after a year, which was just as well considering she was failing all her classes, anyway. Natasha didn’t see the need to earn her degree. She planned on being a trophy wife. My trophy wife.

  She loved me.

  Me and my trust fund.

  I thought I loved her, so I didn’t care.

  Then we got pregnant.

  My parents never approved of Natasha, so a baby wasn’t exactly happy news. But, from the moment he was born, I knew I’d never love anyone as much as I love my son.

  I finished law school, moved into this ridiculous penthouse with my family, and accepted a job at my dad’s law firm. The hours were long, but I wanted to make a name for myself and escape my father’s shadow.

  It worked, and within two years, Dad made me a partner.

  Professionally, my life was great, but my marriage was a mess. When I was home, Natasha and I fought constantly. In my absence, my wife established strict rules and impossible expectations for our son while doing less and less actual nurturing and parenting. I didn’t trust my wife, but I trusted Hazel, so I ignored the warning signs and buried myself in my work. The few times I mentioned that we might be happier with other people, Natasha threatened to take my son away from me. I knew the chances of that were slim considering she didn’t have a job, but it wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.

  So, when Natasha told me she wanted a divorce—and that her new boyfriend didn’t like kids—I felt nothing but relief.

  Spending years in a loveless marriage makes you wonder if you’ll ever feel anything for anyone ever again. Perhaps the feeling is so foreign that you wouldn’t recognize attraction even if it slapped you in the face.

  But that’s exactly what happened to me last week.

  Olivia Stuart walked into my house and slapped me right in the face.

  I have no idea how long I sit at the piano, but as one song drifts into another, I finally start to get sleepy. I’m just finishing the last bars of an old Billy Joel song when I hear a voice in the darkness.

  “That sounds lovely.”

  I smile as Hazel walks up behind me. She gently pats my shoulder before joining me on the bench.

  “Thanks. Where’ve you been?” I ask quietly.

  “In my room. I wasn’t doing him any good, and honestly, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I’m sorry I deserted you.”

  “Not at all. You do too much around here as it is. I’ve put a lot on you, Hazel. Relied on you in ways I shouldn’t. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Hush.”

  With a soft smile, she places her right hand on the piano. She slowly plays the melody line of Heart and Soul, and I play the bass chords—just like we used to when I was a kid.

  “Olivia’s wonderful,” she whispers over the music.

  “She is. She’s very good for him.”

  “Good for you, too.”

  I glance at the woman who’s been my confidant and best friend my entire life. She knows me so well. It’s a blessing and a curse.

  “I know that look.”

  She feigns innocence. “What look?”

  “It can’t happen, Hazel.”

  “I’m not sure that’s how it works, Jackson.”

  “It has to. My son’s happiness depends on it.”

  “You’re putting an awful lot of pressure on her. And yourself. Ryder needs more help than any of us can give him.”

  The song comes to an end, and I gently lower the lid over the keys.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “What I’ve been suggesting for weeks. It’s time, Jackson.”

  A child psychologist.

  “You know how I feel about shrinks, Hazel. He’s been doing great this week.”

  “Until today,” she reminds me gently. “Olivia was gone one afternoon, and look what happened. We don’t know if he’ll even be able to handle school without her there by his side. She’s been a miracle worker, absolutely, but she’s not an expert. Not when it comes to grief, and that’s what your son is doing. He’s grieving. Olivia can’t handle this on her own. And neither can we. Not anymore.”

  I bow my head. She’s right.

  “I’ll ask the pediatrician for some names.”

  “Good.” Hazel wraps her arm around my shoulder and hugs me tight. “Try to get some sleep.”

  “I will. Goodnight.”

  Before heading to my room, I decide to check on Ryder one more time. I carefully open his door, only to find his bed empty.

  “Ryder?”

  I check his bathroom, but it’s empty, too.

  You know where to find him.

  Taking a deep breath, I creep softly toward Olivia’s room. The door’s open, so I peek inside, and the image I find completely paralyzes me.

  Olivia’s sleeping—looking peaceful and beautiful in the soft moonlight—with my son’s head cradled against her chest. His tiny arm is wrapped around her neck as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  The vision is so perfect—so right—that it knocks me breathless.

  As I walk back to my room in total bewilderment, I tell myself I can do this. I can keep my distance. Keep my focus. Keep my hands—and my heart—to myself.

  But can I keep that promise?

  My son’s face flashes in my mind, and I know the answer’s yes.

  I have to.

  For him.

  Today is a big day.

  The first day of kindergarten.

  Please let this go well.

  I repeat the prayer over and over in my head until we reach the school. As Jackson and I walk Ryder to his classroom, I’m pleased to see that we aren’t the only nervous adults this morning. The kindergarten hallway is filled with crying kids and frazzled parents, but our little man stays strong as we approach his classroom door.

  “Good morning!” A perky redhead greets us with a bright smile. “Welcome to kindergarten! I’m Ms. Becky. What’s your name?”

  Jackson and I both look down at Ryder, who’s watching the teacher with wide-eyed wonder.

  “I’m Ryder,” he says.

  Jackson sighs with relief. I’m so proud my eyes literally fill with tears.

  Ms. Becky checks her list. “Ryder Healey! I’m so happy to have you in my class.”

  As Jackson gets acquainted with the teacher, I gaze longingly at her colorful walls and beautiful bulletin boards.

  This could’ve been my classroom.

  Ryder suddenly gives my hand a squeeze and wraps his body around my legs like a vine, and my jealousy is instantly replaced with happiness.

  I may not have a classroom full of Ryders, but that’s okay.

  This Ryder needs me.

  I kneel on the ground and smile into his trusting eyes.

  “You’re going to have such a fun day, Ryder. Look at all those kids. And Ms. Becky is so nice.”

  He stubbornly shakes his head. “I want to go home with you.”

  Oh, no.

  “We have to try. Remember? We talked about this. You’ll spend a few hours here, playing with your new friends and doing fun stuff with Ms. Becky, and then I’ll come pick you up later. It’s gonna be awesome.”

  His blue eyes fill with tears. I hold my breath.

  Please don’t have a meltdown. Please don’t have a meltdown.

  “Did you fix the alarm?” he asks softly.

  With a smile, I point to the expensive but kid-friendly watch on his wrist. I’d been thrilled when I found a watch with app icons that were perfect for his little fingers.

  “All set. I’ll be waiting right here when the alarm goes off. Okay?”

  Seemingly satisfied, Ryder wraps his arms around my neck. Jackson gives his son a hug before the little boy follows his teacher into the classroom. We peek through the window a
nd watch as Ryder sits down at one of the oval tables. Instantly, a little boy offers him a crayon, and Jackson and I both exhale a sigh of relief when the boys start to color.

  “I need a drink,” Jackson mutters as we walk back down the hallway.

  “It’s eight in the morning. Besides, you’re due in court.”

  “I don’t care.”

  I laugh. Honestly, I could use a drink, too. Who knew the first day of school could be so stressful for the adults?

  When we reach the parking lot, Jackson opens my door for me.

  “I’ll probably be stuck in court most of the morning. I’ll try to make it home for lunch. You’ll be available if there are any problems?”

  “Of course. The teacher has my number.”

  Jackson nods and swallows nervously as he glances back at the school. He’s anxious. I am, too. But we have to try.

  I place my hand on his shoulder.

  “He’s going to be fine, Jackson.”

  “What if he’s not?”

  “Then I’ll come pick him up and we’ll figure out what to do. But for now, I’m going to choose to be optimistic. You should, too.”

  He nods. “You’re right. Don’t worry until there’s something to worry about.”

  “Exactly.”

  I give him a reassuring smile before climbing into my car.

  “Thanks, Olivia. For everything.”

  “Of course. Have a good day.”

  Jackson didn’t really give me any instructions for the rest of the morning, except to call the pediatrician and ask for a list of recommended child therapists. The receptionist gives me several names, but when Dr. Jane Richmond offers to see us this afternoon, I jump at the chance. With my one and only task accomplished, I find myself with a lot of time to fill. Out of desperation and boredom, I find Hazel in the laundry room and grab a basket.

  “No, Olivia.”

  “Why not? I can help.”

  “Laundry is not your job.”

  She takes the basket out of my hand and sorts the darks from the whites.

  “My job’s at school. I have nothing to do until I pick Ryder up at three.”

  “Not true. You’re on call in case the school needs you.”

  “I can be on call and do laundry at the same time.”

  “You should enjoy the peace and quiet. It’s rare. Read a book. Watch a movie. Twitter your friends.”

  “You mean tweet my friends?”

  “Yes. That. Go do that.”

  “I don’t tweet, Hazel.”

  She tosses a load of whites into the washer before turning to me with a heavy sigh.

  “You’re not helping me with housework. That’s my job.”

  “And you’re amazing at it. Teach me.”

  She laughs and heads toward the kitchen. I follow her like a puppy dog.

  “Hazel, for real. Give me something to do.”

  She peers inside the pantry. “Fine. Go shopping.”

  “Great! What do you need?”

  “I don’t need anything. But you do. That bedroom of yours is sad. Take that fancy credit card Jackson gave you and hit the mall. Find a pretty bedspread. Maybe some new curtains.”

  “But I like black—”

  “That room needs some color. Now go away. It’s rare that I have the chance to get anything done without a child around my ankles. You’re a grown woman. Go entertain yourself and let me work.”

  She gives me a wink, and I sigh heavily before heading to my room. Standing in the doorway, I glance around. I really do like the black and white bedspread and matching curtains. But maybe Hazel’s right. A little color would brighten up the place.

  Still, I hate the mall. I hate shopping in general, unless it’s online. So I grab my laptop and lay down on the bed. I have every intention of googling for bedroom accessories, but I must fall asleep, because I’m suddenly jerked awake by voices coming from the living room. In a panic, I squint at the clock on my phone.

  Relax, Olivia. It’s just a little past noon. And there’s no missed calls from Ryder’s school.

  Sighing with relief, I climb out of bed and walk quietly down the hallway.

  “I don’t even want to go, Hazel. But if I do, I’m quite capable of going alone.”

  I stop in my tracks. Jackson must’ve made it home for lunch.

  “But you have two tickets,” she says. “And it’s for a good cause.”

  “I’ve already paid for the tickets, Hazel. The charity won’t suffer if I show up without a date. Unless you’d like to go with me?”

  She laughs. “Right. Like I can squeeze my body into one of those fancy ball gowns. But there is someone who would look gorgeous all dressed up. Someone who lives right here in this house.”

  My ears perk up. She’s talking about me?

  “No, Hazel.”

  “Oh, why not, Jackson? You have an extra ticket. Call it a thank you for everything she’s done around here. Olivia has worked wonders with your son in a very short amount of time. Ryder’s happy. You’re happy. I’m happy—”

  “You don’t sound very happy,” he mutters.

  “Everybody’s happy! For the first time in a long time, everybody’s happy, and that’s because of her. I don’t know what you’re paying her, but it’s not nearly enough.”

  Honestly, the pay is indecent. I’m making double what a first-year teacher makes, and all I’ve done today is drive his kid to school and take a nap.

  “Hazel, you don’t understand.”

  “So make me understand.”

  The house goes quiet. I hold my breath. For just a second, I feel guilty for eavesdropping.

  Maybe I should fake a cough? Let my presence be known?

  “It’s simple, Hazel. I’m her boss.”

  “For this one night, you wouldn’t have to be her boss. You could just be friends. Two friends getting dressed up and attending a charity function together. One kid-free night where you can drink, dance, and have a little fun. And, for the first time, you wouldn’t have to worry about your date flirting with all the other men at the party.”

  Had his wife done that?

  I didn’t think it was possible, but I hate Natasha just a little bit more now.

  “It’s a bad idea, Hazel.”

  “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

  “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

  “Good. Now come help me with lunch.”

  Oh, but she’ll let Jackson help in the kitchen!

  Their voices fade as they walk out of the living room. I creep back to my bedroom and quietly close the door behind me before collapsing on my bed.

  What charity event? Will he ask me to go? Do I want to go?

  Before I can get too excited about a party to which I might not even be invited, I power up my laptop and spend the rest of the afternoon browsing bedspreads and curtains.

  At three o’clock on the dot, Jackson and I, along with a bunch of other anxious parents, wait for Ryder outside his classroom door. The bell rings, and the door flies open.

  “We had a great first day!” Ms. Becky says. “See you tomorrow!”

  Jackson and I both breathe a sigh of relief when a smiling Ryder walks out of the room with his little backpack strapped to his shoulder. He immediately takes both our hands.

  “How was your day?” Jackson asks.

  “It was fun!” Ryder says as we walk to the parking lot. “We played games and colored and had lunch and played outside and singed songs!”

  Singed songs. Jackson and I exchange grins.

  Once he’s strapped into his booster seat, Jackson tells him about the doctor’s appointment. Ryder’s smile immediately fades.

  “I don’t wanna shot.”

  “No shots. No nasty-tasting medicine,” I promise him. “She just wants to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  Jackson glances my way. I shrug. What are we supposed to say? Dr. Jane wants to talk to you about the mother who abandoned you?

  Nop
e, can’t say that.

  “I bet she wants to talk to you about your first day of school,” Jackson says.

  I nod. “I bet she does, too. She’ll probably ask about your dad. Hazel. Me. If you’re happy or sad. Whatever’s on your heart.”

  He frowns. “On my heart?”

  I smile. That’s what my mom used to say whenever something was on her mind. But how to explain that to a five year old?

  “Right. Like, if something makes you happy or sad or mad. And you think about it all the time. That means it’s on your heart.”

  Ryder grows quiet and gazes out the window. Maybe this conversation’s too deep for a little boy. Or maybe I really do suck at this.

  “Livia?”

  “Yeah, buddy?”

  “I have a lot on my heart.”

  I hear Jackson exhale a shaky breath. I blink back my tears.

  “I know you do. You should tell Dr. Jane all about it.”

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes, son?”

  “Is something on your heart?”

  Jackson takes a deep breath.

  “You’re on my heart, Ryder. All the time.”

  “Because I make you happy or because I make you sad?”

  Jackson clears his throat. It’s all I can do not to cry.

  “You make me happy, son. Very happy.”

  I glance back and see Ryder’s megawatt smile. Quickly, I turn back around and fix my gaze on the highway so the little boy won’t see my tears.

  Dr. Jane Richmond is a psychologist and a play therapist. I have no idea what this means, but Olivia does, and she explains that the doctor uses toys and games to encourage kids to talk about whatever’s on their minds. I’m skeptical and honestly a little concerned about my five-year-old sharing his innermost thoughts with a complete stranger. It’s selfish, I know, but it just reminds me how horribly I’ve failed my child.

  Dr. Jane, as she wants us to call her, is a petite brunette who doesn’t look old enough to buy alcohol, but she’s professional and polite as she welcomes us into her office. Ryder’s hands remain clutched in ours as I make the introductions.