Painting Sage

by Rachael K Hannah

  Mom, on the other hand, had been very quiet. She was over getting calls from that office. In the past, she would look annoyed with me at best—tired at worst—but she always clearly supported me. Mom would always listen, negotiate, and then quickly smooth it over with Reardon. Everything would be okay.

  But on that afternoon, she could hardly look at Dr. Reardon in the eye, let alone me.

  Replaying in my mind everything that had happened, I stared up at the ceiling as if it could offer answers—but there would be no second chances. My whole sophomore year had been one screw-up after another.

  When I had left the Pines, I had resolved to really try. I promised everyone things would be different. I would take my work seriously, stay out of trouble. Everything seemed like it was going great, until that afternoon. It wasn’t my fault Taylor and her friends didn’t like me. I still didn’t understand how they knew about what had happened to me in the first place. Katie swore she hadn’t told anyone. Maybe it was Noah. He barely texted me anymore.

  That weekend was wasted as I hid inside my room and binge-watched TV on the new laptop Dad had bought me. I had to admit, being stuck inside that house for that long could get awfully creepy. It was an old house—a mansion, really—that had been in Abby’s family since the Civil War. Even despite all its modern, state-of-the-art renovations, there was something cold and unforgiving in its nature.

  A few times, I looked out my window, watching as Dad, Miles, and Finn sledded down their seemingly infinite snow-covered driveway—a driveway endlessly lined with pine trees, longer than some sidewalks I’d traveled down, and on property big enough to fit three or four houses in most neighborhoods. I wondered if the music that was their joyful, playful laughter was the only hint of happiness that house had ever heard. Pulling out my cell phone, still watching from my window above, I took a few photos of the scene.

  Carefully, almost obsessively, I went over the bits and pieces of conversation I had picked up that Thursday afternoon—my final few moments at Dayton Academy. At the time, all I could concentrate on were the deep mahogany walls of the headmaster’s office. I was inexplicably drawn to them, so beautifully crafted yet unwelcoming.

  The three students involved in creating the fake account have been dealt with. I want to make myself clear: This type of conduct is not tolerated at Dayton Academy, under any circumstances. The young women have been suspended for one week, and their invitations to the winter formal have been rescinded.

  Reardon had spoken with such clarity and undeniable authority. It was at that moment I had realized I didn’t stand a chance. I was no longer welcome.

  I recalled just parts of sentences. Fragments really.

  This isn’t the right environment for her…

  Taylor Henderson’s father wanted to call his lawyer…

  Other places are better-suited for her specific needs…

  After all was said and done, Mom and Dad walked me to my locker, and we emptied it together. Yes, I could barely remember the exact details. But the hurt was undeniably real. Alone with my thoughts, I felt confused, uncertain. There had to be a place just for me, where I fit and I belonged.

  I was tired of jamming myself into spaces that didn’t have room for me—of looking in, disconnected, when I had this voice with so much to share. I was tired of this feeling that my thoughts, my entire being, didn’t matter. It had to change for me. It had to. I felt it so deeply inside. It was a need that could never go away.

  My ponderings were suddenly interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

  “Sage, can I come in?” It was Abby.

  I rolled over to one side, my arms tightening against the pillow I held close to my body. It felt so soft and warm and comforting in a way that I rarely felt anymore. What could she possibly want now?

  “Whatever. Come in.”

  She opened the door hesitantly. “You sure?”

  I sighed and pulled myself up into a semi-sitting position. “Yeah, Abby, come in.” I motioned her closer. There was a sadness in her eyes lately, and it didn’t quite suit her. She quietly approached my bed holding a tin of brownies.

  “I made some for the preschool. These are left over,” she offered. “They’re gluten—”

  “They’re fine.” I took the tin from her and rested it on the bed beside me. Just as quickly, I lay back down.

  “Your mother’s here.”

  I glanced over at my alarm clock, which read 5:54 p.m. “I’m surprised she made it up here with the snow. I guess I’ll start packing my things in a bit.”

  “You might not have to. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but it’s terrible out there. Quite frankly, she shouldn’t have driven up here in the first place. We were thinking of inviting her to stay over.”

  Well, that was just suspicious. Mom and Dad hadn’t slept under the same roof since the night before he left. “Really?” I asked.

  “I’m serious. Besides, she and your father have a few things to sort out. It makes sense to do it now while she’s here.”

  I sighed. Things to sort out? Read: Where should we send Sage now? Sherwood Pines or boarding school?

  “It’s always a big discussion about me, isn’t it? Are they going to send me away?”

  Abby shook her head. “No, of course not. They’re just worried about you.” She sat down beside me and gently rested her palm on my knee. “They want you to be happy. No one wants to see you like this. And no one wants you to go away.”

  I sat back up and studied her face carefully. For some reason, Abby treated me with far more patience and compassion than she did anyone else. Not once had she ever given me a single word or glance that could be misconstrued as being mean. Maybe Abby felt sorry for me.

  I’d heard Connor and Mom talk behind Abby’s back on several occasions, and from their perspective, I could see why. There was always some sort of Abby-driven drama going on. The gardener needed to be fired and replaced. The housekeeper needed to start cleaning with eco-friendly products. Miles and Finn would be attending a better preschool if Dad hadn’t fouled up the application. The dry cleaner had messed up her coat. Nothing was ever what it should be.

  I always found it curious that her petite stature was possibly the only characteristic she shared in common with Mom. If my mother’s hair was the color of moonless midnight, Abby’s was that of the early morning sun. My mother’s eyes of warm brown had been replaced by Abby’s cornflower-colored blue. How could Dad love someone so different? How could the same heart that had once loved my mother turn around and open up to this complicated person?

  “I guess I’ll go downstairs,” I said. “Are you coming, too?”

  She shook her head. “No. In fact, if someone asks for me, will you tell them I went upstairs to take a nap?”

  “It’s almost dinner time, though. No one takes a nap now, on a Sunday. Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’m just not up to seeing people right now. Besides, this is between you and your family. You should go downstairs and talk with them, Sage. And have a brownie before you go.”

  I didn’t feel like eating much but decided to take one anyway. Inching down the long staircase, I could hear Mom’s voice reverberating through the kitchen. I peeked down the hall and saw the adjacent dining room door was closed. I paused. Not wanting to drop a single crumb, I carefully broke off pieces of the brownie and stood there eating, watching. When I finished, I crept down the hallway and slipped into that room.

  You could hear anything in the kitchen if you stood on the other side of the door and opened it just a crack. Continuing very cautiously across the dining room’s hardwood floors, not wanting to make even the slightest creak, I made my way past the dining room table, across the room, and pressed my ear to the door. Ever so steadily, I turned the knob slowly, as to not make a sound. Peeking through a small crevice, I saw Mom and Dad sitting at the kitchen table.

  “So, what are our next steps?” Mom asked quietly, her hands folded in front of her. “I suppose I can
take her down tomorrow and enroll her. Sage wanted to go to public school anyway. Maybe if I’d just listened, this could’ve all been avoided.”

  They were both quiet for a moment, each looking deep in thought. Then Dad spoke up. “I don’t know if I want her going to school in Bronxville while we’re working in the city. It’ll be harder to get to her school if something happens again and she needs us.”

  “I know.”

  “She has to get into a routine fast, though. She was on the laptop all weekend, hardly left her room.” Dad stood up and walked over to the refrigerator. He paused, his hand on the handle, staring as if he’d forgotten what he was looking for.

  “What are you talking about? Her computer is at home.”

  There was another pause. “I bought her a new one.”

  “Oh, Mike…”

  “Not now, Julia. Hasn’t she dealt with enough already?” As if suddenly remembering, Dad swung the door open and reached in, retrieving a bottled water. He walked back to the table.

  “I know, but two laptops? Really? I mean, she practically assaulted another girl and destroyed her personal property, but you keep rewarding her, Mike. What are you going to buy her next? A third gerbil?”

  “She didn’t assault anyone; they’re kids,” Dad said quietly.

  Mom paused for a moment as if thinking about what to say next. I could tell from the frown on her face that she wasn’t buying it. “Mike, in the real world—”

  “Sage is not living in the real world. She’s in high school, and that girl got what was coming to her. You know how these things are, Julia. Even if the account was taken down, you can assume screenshots are floating around out there. I know how this stuff works; it’s practically my life now.” Opening his water, he tossed the cap aside onto the adjacent granite countertop and drank heavily, emptying the bottle in three large gulps. “That information should have never gotten out the way it did.”

  “That Henderson girl’s father was ready to call—”

  “Julia, just stop. Please. Garrett Henderson is not the only parent in the city with a lawyer on standby. We should be going after them for what they did to Sage. Garrett will send his daughter to another surgeon, and the kid’s nose will probably look even better than before. Sage is the one who has all this out there. And it’s never going away… which is just a joke when you think about it. We all know half the kids’ parents at that school are taking some sort of mood stabilizer anyway.” Dad walked across the kitchen, right up to the recycle bin, and chucked his empty water bottle inside.

  “I understand how you feel, but we can’t reward her every time she makes a mistake. She’ll never learn that way.” Mom was clearly becoming more and more agitated, her foot audibly tapping against the porcelain tiled kitchen floor the way it always did whenever she was anxious.

  “What mistake, Julia? What was Sage supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know. Tell an adult? From what it sounds like, the adults were already headed over to the girls, and yet Sage punched Taylor anyway.”

  “What would those teachers have done? From what Sage says, they were ready to take Taylor’s side. And then Sage would have been done at the school anyway, just for destroying the phone. Would you prefer for her to come across as weak? Let other people walk all over her? They’re teenagers, Julia. They’ll do whatever they want, and you know that. No one’s going to stop them unless someone stands up. And that’s what Sage was doing—standing up for herself. That place wasn’t right for her anyway.”

  Finally. Someone saw things for what they were.

  Mom sighed. “Seriously, though, Mike. Another laptop?”

  “I’m not returning it.”

  I smiled.

  “Fine, she can keep it. You obviously have your mindset.” Mom rolled her eyes, exasperated, as if she were dealing with an impetuous child. “So, as I was saying, I’ll enroll her tomorrow—”

  “Maybe not. Look, Julia, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, way before the incident on Thursday. There’s a school on the Upper West Side, around 82nd or 83rd. It’s an alternative private school. I have some contacts and heard there’s an opening.”

  I pressed my hand harder against the door.

  “Which one?”

  “The Tillman School.”

  “Alternative… for kids who can’t cut it?”

  “No, Julia. It’s an actual good school. It’s progressive. And I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. Shouldn’t we tap into her potential and cultivate who she is? Not try to jam her in somewhere like a square peg into a round hole?”

  Mom looked thoughtfully at him and nodded her head slowly. “That sounds great, Mike, but will they even accept her after all this?”

  “I don’t know. We’re already working on her 504, right? So that might help her cause somewhat. Anyway, as I said, the school’s very progressive. I mean you ought to see this place. The kids design their own curriculums, meeting state requirements of course. No dress code. They offer all sort of after-school clubs, too: STEM, computer science… photography.”

  “Sage does love photography.”

  “A friend of mine works there and owes me a favor. If I put in a call tomorrow morning, maybe we can all visit it together. I just thought, because it’s so close to where we work, it’ll be safer for her. It’s just a taxi away.”

  Mom folded her arms across her chest. “You take taxis. I take the subway.”

  Dad smiled. “I can look out for her. I haven’t been there for her.” There was another long pause. They sat there in silence, looking at one another from across the table. Finally, Dad stood up, walked over to the chair closest to her, and sat beside her. Reaching for her hands, he took them into his own. “Julia, there’s something I need to tell you, and it’s really important.”

  Silence.

  After what seemed like forever, Mom whispered, “I heard.”

  More silence.

  “Connor?”

  “Yes.”

  What was going on?

  “I really wanted to tell you about this myself, but with everything happening with Sage, I didn’t know how. How long have you—”

  “About a month. I didn’t want to say anything. It’s not really any of my business, and you don’t owe me details.” Mom pulled her hands away from his. “My only question is how will this affect Sage?”

  “How much did Connor tell you?”

  “Pretty much everything there is to tell.”

  “Of course he did.” Dad sighed. “Well, I’m moving into her place. We have some plans; it’ll be a three bedroom when the contractors are done. Sage can stay in the guest room when she comes over, and the boys will have their own room for whenever they visit. That part still needs to get sorted out with Abby.”

  Her place? We? What was going on, and why hadn’t anyone told me?

  “Where’s this place?”

  “Williamsburg.”

  “When will you move out? Or have you already?”

  “Soon. Probably within the next week.”

  It was hard to read what Mom was thinking. She didn’t seem angry or even disappointed. It was strange. There was a quiet acceptance about her.

  “I don’t know this person, Mike. Have you thought about that? All I know is ‘Sheila.’ I don’t even have a last name, and that concerns me because this woman is going to be around our daughter—”

  “Van Nest—”

  “—who’s already in a fragile enough state. Does Sage really need another stepmother with everything that’s been going on lately?”

  For a moment, I felt frozen to the door, paralyzed by what I was hearing. Wasn’t Williamsburg in Brooklyn? Was I going to half-live in Brooklyn? What would happen to my room here? Another stepmother? What if this person didn’t want me in their home, and it got weird?

  “Stepmother? Not this time. It’s going to be a while before I even think of getting married, if ever. I’m not exactly having the best track record with—”

&
nbsp; “Okay. Regardless, Mike, it’s still another woman, and it’s another home to adjust to, just when she got used to coming here every other weekend. She’s all set up with a room and everything here.”

  “I know that. I realize this isn’t going to be easy for anyone who’s involved. I’ve been thinking about it for some time.”

  “For some time? How long has this been going on, Mike?”

  “I thought you said it was none of your business.”

  “It’s not, but this has the potential to be very disruptive. You can’t do it all over again. You have to think this through—”

  “You’d rather me stay with Abby? Don’t you get it? I have thought it—”

  “Fine. I’m sorry. It’s just… It’s just that if you did this to be by yourself and learn more about yourself, then maybe I could support it. But you have jumped from relationship to relationship, with no breaks in between, since as long as I’ve known you. I mean, Westport? Brooklyn? You’re literally all over the place.” Mom took a deep breath and tenderly placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’ve known you my whole life, so I feel that I can say this. Mike, if you don’t learn how to stand on your own two feet, Sheila is going to end up becoming the next Abigail, the next me. You cannot keep doing this to women. Really think before you get deeply involved with her.”

  My eyes widened in disbelief over my mother’s honest words. I’d never heard her speak so candidly about any relationship before, let alone theirs. I watched them intently, taken aback by the gentleness and love that clearly existed between them even still. It was so strange, really. For years, I had just thought they couldn’t stand the sight of one another. Yet clearly some sort of connection between them was still there. No, Mom wasn’t angry. She was worried. Not just about me but about him, too.

  “And what about you?” Dad asked. “Are you going to keep shutting out every single person who tries to know the real you?”