by Marly Swick
After their plane leaves, Teddy drags his feet through the airport until his uncle finally yells at him to speed it up. Teddy dreads going back home. He would almost rather go to the dentist. At least the dentist isn’t mad at him. Teddy asks his uncle if he can go back to his place and swim, but Todd says, “Sorry, buddy, I have to go to work.” Teddy heaves a big sigh and tries not to cry. In the car — his uncle has a cool Mitsubishi Eclipse, black with a sunroof — Teddy distracts himself with the fancy CD player. His mother’s old Honda doesn’t even have a cassette player.
After she said good-bye to her parents, waved to them all scrunched up with their luggage in Todd’s little sports car, she crawled back into bed. She couldn’t think what to do with herself. Before she took off, her mother had cleaned the house and bought groceries. She had even left a macaroni and cheese casserole, Teddy’s favorite, in the refrigerator for supper. And her father had bought some new videos for Teddy to watch when he got home from the airport. “To take his mind off our leaving,” her dad had said, “and give you a little break.” She could tell that they were worried about what she’d do once they were gone. They had offered to stay longer, but Giselle had declined their offer as diplomatically as possible. Although their presence was a comfort to Teddy, it was a strain on Dan. To her they were parents, but to Dan they were houseguests. She could understand not being in the mood for company.
Dan was off doing something with his brother, who was leaving soon — she’d forgotten just when. The sedatives seemed to be affecting her memory. Or maybe she just wasn’t paying attention. A paperback copy of The House on Mango Street was lying on the floor next to her bed where she’d flung it yesterday or the day before — the days and hours blurred together — after trying unsuccessfully to concentrate on the opening pages. There was no way she could return to school. She couldn’t even think straight. And already she regretted all the hours she had spent studying that she could have — should have — spent with her daughter.
When Teddy came back from the airport, she could see that his eyes were red from crying. She forced herself to get out of bed and make him a bologna and cheese sandwich even though he said he wasn’t hungry. Todd had bought him a frozen yogurt on the way home. She set the sandwich on the coffee table in the living room, where he was already watching one of the new movies. She didn’t know how they were going to get through the weekend. He was used to playing with Eric in his free time. On Monday, thank God, he would be going back to school. She sat down on the sofa next to him and watched The Great Panda Adventure. Followed by Babe, which they had both seen before. Then she heated up her mother’s casserole for an early supper. It wasn’t even six o’clock yet. Dan called and asked how they were doing, then said he was going to eat at his mother’s, if that was all right with her. She told him it was fine. In fact, she was relieved. If Dan came home, she’d have to stay up, find something useful to do. This way she could just lie in bed and skim through the magazines her mother had left behind. Teddy was in his room playing Nintendo, another gift from Uncle Todd. “I’ll be reading in bed,” she told him, “if you need me.” Teddy just nodded, eyes glued to the screen. She shut the door to muffle the sounds of bombs and sirens.
***
She couldn’t remember when she fell asleep, but when she woke up, it was dark and the house was quiet. She checked on Teddy, who had apparently passed out on top of his bed, fully clothed. He didn’t even stir when she pried off his sneakers. She had to pee. As she walked into the bathroom, she heard the murmur of voices through the open window. She peeked through the blinds and saw Dan and his brother sitting on the patio, drinking tequila. She was going to call out to them but didn’t want to interrupt, and she wasn’t in a sociable mood. Plus she looked like hell.
“I know he’s just a kid” — she could hear Dan’s voice through the open window — “and I want to forgive him, but every time I see him, I don’t know, I just can’t stand to look at him. I feel this terrible rage. I can’t help it.” The ice cubes clinked in his glass.
“Well, it’s understandable,” Greg said. “I don’t think you should beat yourself up over how you feel right now. It’s a tough situation, any way you look at it. You just need some time to sort things out.” He paused and lit a cigarette. He was one of the few doctors she knew who still smoked. He was always trying unsuccessfully to quit. “What about Giselle? How do you think she feels?”
“Shit, I don’t know. How can she feel? He’s her son.” Dan stood up and started to pace, something he used to do in class when the discussion heated up. “That’s the worst part. I keep wondering if it would be different, I mean, if I’d feel different, if he were my son, too. I know it shouldn’t matter. It makes me feel so petty or something. He’s a good kid. I care about him. I thought, you know, until this, that I loved him. We were a family. But it’s just not the same.” His voice cracked. “What I felt for my daughter and what I feel for Teddy — it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t even in the same ballpark.” He threw his glass against the side of the house. It shattered onto the concrete. The Beemers’ dog went ballistic. “Fucking dog,” he muttered. “I’d like to kill that dog.”
“Take it easy,” Greg said. “Take a deep breath.”
There was a silence. Then his brother said, “Maybe you need to get away for a couple of days. Give yourself a little breathing space. We could go camping for a night or two. We haven’t done that in years.”
“I can’t.” She could hear Dan picking up the broken glass and throwing the shards into the metal trash can. “Are you crazy? What about Giselle? I can’t just take off.”
Greg heaved a sigh. “I know, I know, but I think it could be worse if you don’t go. You need to get yourself under control. You’re still in shock.”
“I can’t go,” Dan repeated, but he sounded less certain about it. “They need me.”
“You aren’t doing them any good like this. You could do more harm than good.”
“I don’t know.” Dan sank back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
“She’ll understand,” Greg said, leaning forward in his chair. “I’ll talk to her.”
“I just don’t think I’d feel right.”
“Well, it’s up to you.” Greg threw up his hands, as if to concede a lost cause, and poured himself another shot of tequila.
Giselle hesitated, her heart pounding in her ears. She didn’t want to admit she’d been eavesdropping. But she thought that maybe Greg was right. He was the doctor, after all. Dan looked so miserable sitting there. She didn’t know if she had the strength to deal with both Dan and Teddy right now. Maybe if he got away for a couple of days, sorted some feelings out, like Greg said, things would be better when he got back. They would all be a little more rested and levelheaded. She walked down the hall and slid open the screen door. They looked startled to see her standing there. And a little guilty. Dan walked over and put his arm around her. “Hi, honey,” he said, “we thought you were sleeping.”
“I hope we didn’t disturb you.” Greg glanced at his watch and stood up. “I should be getting back to Mother’s.”
“Listen,” she said, clearing the rust from her throat. “I heard what you said about getting away for a couple of days. Going camping.” She tried to sound strong and positive. “I think it’s a good idea.” She turned to Dan. “You should do it.”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head, not meeting her gaze. She could tell he was wondering what else she’d overheard.
Greg smiled at her and nodded his encouragement.
“I don’t know either,” she said, “but I think maybe Greg’s right.”
Dan shrugged helplessly and looked at his brother, who shrugged back, as if to say it was up to Dan. Greg seemed anxious to be off. He gave Giselle a quick hug and then turned back to Dan, waiting.
“Okay,” Dan mumbled, “I’ll go.”
Giselle squeezed his hand. Dan gave her a kiss on the cheek and walked his brothe
r to the door. They stood on the porch, talking for a minute, making plans, and then Dan came back inside. He looked like a lost soul, and it occurred to her that it was going to be up to her to get them through this.
***
The next morning when she woke up, he was already gone. There was a note lying on the kitchen table, a few lines scrawled on the back of a sympathy card. She skimmed it.
Dear Giselle,
I really appreciate your giving me this time to think and grieve and, hopefully, begin to heal a bit. Somewhere green and peaceful. I hope you understand and I think you do. Which is why I love you, or at least part of why. I’m struggling to rise above my small, base feelings — to take the larger view. I think you know what I mean. I feel like a heel leaving you right now, even for a couple of days, but I hope, in the long run, to be there for you. And for Teddy.
Love, D.
When they were first married, he used to leave her notes twice that long telling her he’d gone to the 7-Eleven for a loaf of bread. She had saved them in an old heart-shaped candy box in her bureau drawer. It looked as if the “And for Teddy” had been added as an afterthought, squeezed in above the signature. She tossed the card in the trash. As if to confirm the fact of his absence, she opened the garage door and stared at the space where his car usually sat. Then she looked at the metal shelves crammed with junk and saw that the camping gear was gone. The tent and sleeping bags that he had bought last fall for the soccer team’s father-son weekend. Teddy had been so excited, he’d slept in his new orange sleeping bag for two nights before they left. At the last minute Dan had come down with a bad cold that he’d probably caught from Trina, who’d had a runny nose all week. Giselle had felt a little guilty watching him pack up when she knew that all he wanted to do was lie in bed and drink hot tea. But Dan knew how much the trip meant to Teddy. He had fortified himself with vitamin C and Contac and never complained once. They had ended up having a great time. “Nothing like a little male bonding,” Dan had joked when they returned, “right, Ted?” Teddy grunted in agreement and beat his fists against his chest. This would be the first time that Dan had used the tent since then. She hoped it would jog his memory. She shut the garage door, fished the card out of the trash, and read it over again more slowly. Then she gravitated back to bed.
***
Monday morning Giselle woke up before the alarm clock rang. She was anxious about Teddy’s going back to school. Their first step back into the old routine.
“Time to get dressed,” she said in a transparently too-cheery voice. Teddy was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, already awake. Usually he slept so deeply that she had to call his name and tickle his arm to wake him for school. Giselle knew he didn’t want to go. Or rather, he was afraid to. But he couldn’t much like being stuck at home with her either. All weekend, after Dan had left for the mountains, they had moped around the house like two invalids, watching TV and eating canned soup. She walked over and opened his blinds. Bright sunshine flooded the room. The weather seemed cruelly oblivious to personal tragedy. It was depressing to be depressed in California.
Teddy got up and started to dress without a word.
“You want cereal or frozen waffles?” she asked him.
“I don’t care.” He shrugged as he pulled on his socks.
“Well, I’ll go make your lunch,” she told him brightly. “How’s PB and J?” He shrugged again. She walked into the kitchen and opened the cupboard. Shit, they were out of grape jelly. There was a jar of marmalade in the refrigerator, but she knew Teddy wouldn’t go for it. She found an ancient jar of Marshmallow Fluff, left over from a weak moment at the Safeway when Teddy had pleaded with her to buy it. But when she took a closer look at the bread her mother had bought, she saw that it was some sort of healthy multigrain stuff that Teddy would never eat. She tossed the Fluff and the bread into the trash and sighed. She couldn’t face going to the store. She wondered if there was any place that delivered.
“You’re going to have to buy lunch today,” she told Teddy, rummaging in her purse for a couple of dollars, as he trudged into the kitchen and sat at the table. She tucked the dollar bills into the pocket of his polo shirt.
Teddy poked a spoon at his Cheerios. “I have a stomachache,” he complained.
Giselle nodded sympathetically. She took a sip of coffee and said, “There is absolutely no reason you should feel embarrassed or ashamed, honey. Kids might ask you a few questions — kids are naturally curious about things — but a week from now they’ll have forgotten all about it.”
Teddy looked skeptical. “What about when Zoe Kozak’s sister was kidnapped and killed last year? Our whole class made cards for her. And the school psychologist came to talk to us. Twice.” He looked glum. “And the principal even made an announcement on the loudspeaker.”
“That was different,” Giselle told him emphatically. “That was a terrible, violent crime. You all saw it on TV. This is completely different. There’s no comparison between an accident and a crime. And this was just an accident.” She washed an aging apple and dropped it into his lunchbox along with a couple of Oreos she found in the cookie jar. Her parents had stuffed him so full of treats, he hadn’t even bothered to raid the cookie jar. “Accidents happen every day. Unfortunately.”
He seemed to think about that for a minute and seemed reassured. “Yeah, I wasn’t on TV,” he said, as if this proved it couldn’t be all that serious. He ate a couple of spoonfuls of Cheerios and looked a little less spooked.
Giselle let out a small sigh of relief. She set the lunchbox on the table next to him. “For a snack,” she said. “Since you didn’t eat much breakfast.” Yesterday she had moved the high chair out to the garage, but in the merciless sunlight she could still see a spattered halo of dried food on the beige linoleum surrounding the spot where the chair used to sit. She plucked her car keys out of a basket of miscellaneous junk — stamps, coupons, spare change —and clenched them in her fist so hard that it hurt. “Come on. You don’t want to be tardy, do you?” She wanted to get him off to school while he seemed to be feeling more confident, before some new worry hit him and his mood took a nosedive. Usually he took the school bus that picked them up right at the corner. But today she was driving him herself. At least he wouldn’t have to endure the neighbor kids’ blatant stares or third degree. He stood up obediently and even wiped off his milk mustache without her having to remind him.
“Hey, you forgot your snack.” She picked up the lunchbox and handed it to him.
“What about your book bag?” He pointed to the leather shoulder bag Dan had given her for their first anniversary. “Aren’t you going to class?”
“Not today,” she said. She was surprised by his question; she’d thought it was obvious. She was still wearing the sweatpants and T-shirt she’d slept in.
“Why not?”
She was about to say that she wasn’t in the mood for school when it occurred to her that Teddy would probably shoot back something to the effect that he wasn’t in the mood either. “It’s dead week,” she said, blurting out the lie before she realized how it would sound. When she saw the stricken look on his face, she hurried to explain. “Dead week’s the week before final exams. You’re supposed to stay home and study.”
“Oh.” He looked skeptical but turned toward the garage without further comment.
She noticed that his hair was sticking up funny in the back. He obviously hadn’t bothered to brush it. “Wait,” she said, fishing through her purse for a brush. As she bent over him with the hairbrush, he smacked her cheek with his lips. She was so stunned, she burst into tears. He pushed her away and ran out to the car, slamming the door behind him. She called after him, but he ignored her. Shit, she thought. She climbed into the driver’s seat and leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. He whipped his head away. She couldn’t remember the last time he had spontaneously kissed her, and now she had gone and ruined it. “Thank you anyway,” she said, backing out of the garage.
; They didn’t say much during the short ride to the elementary school. Teddy fiddled with the radio knob, something that normally drove her crazy, but today she refrained from slapping his hand away from the tuner. When they pulled up to the curb, her eyes blurred with tears as she watched him walking toward his classroom. He looked so small and defenseless with his red backpack strapped to his bony shoulders, like a tiny Sherpa trekking up a huge snowcapped mountain. She fought off an urge to call him back to the car. At the doorway to his classroom he turned back and waved at her, a limp halfhearted wave, and she had to clutch the steering wheel with both hands to keep from beckoning him back.
She looked at her watch. 8:25. As she watched Teddy disappear inside his classroom, she felt a sudden pang. A week ago at this time she would have been rushing to drop off Trina at the campus day care center in order to make it to her American lit class on time. If you came in late, Dr. Diller would stop mid-sentence, frown, and glare at you. He was one of the few professors, an Ivy League antique approaching retirement, who resisted the new student-centered teaching methods — the meandering class discussions, the small groups, the soul-baring journals — in favor of old-fashioned imparting of knowledge. Giselle was one of the few students who seemed to appreciate his style. Walking out of class one day, she had overheard two students, frat guys with baseball caps turned backward, referring to him as Dr. Duller. She didn’t feel much in common with the younger students, who acted as if going to class were a giant imposition; she had loved all her classes.
But instead of Dr. Diller, she had an appointment with Dr. Cole, the family therapist, this morning. Or rather, she and Dan had an appointment. Giselle had debated whether to call and cancel since Dan was gone — what was the point? — but then she’d decided to go alone. She needed to talk to someone. Although she would have preferred someone older, dowdier, and grayer. A cross between Aunt Bea and the Dalai Lama. But this was southern California, where the doctors looked like actors playing doctors.