Center of Gravity

by Laura McNeill

  Dad sets his jaw and raises an eyebrow.

  “It gives me permission to drive the children to see their mother for her home visit Friday.”

  A surge of happiness rushes through me. Ava. At our old house. I’ll see my room and my toys. Then I dig my nails into my palm. I can’t smile. Dad might see me. Dr. Bennett hands Dad the paper. He hesitates, then frowns and scribbles his name.

  “Great. Thank you.” Dr. Bennett slides the paper back inside the chart. “Oh, and about the home visit?”

  My dad’s face goes dark, and he waves a hand in my direction. “Get your brother. We have to go.” His voice growls, the way it gets when someone really makes him mad. Then Dad’s eyes slice at Dr. Bennett. “I’ll have someone call you to reschedule.”

  CHAPTER 49

  JACK

  WEDNESDAY, APRIL 28

  The Flash thinks, moves, and reacts at superhuman speeds. Handy for answering questions, getting to class on time, and avoiding food fights. If I forgot my lunch card or a homework assignment, I could run home. With the ability to speed-read, I could go through all of my textbooks and notes twice in record time. And, using vibration, Flash can walk through walls. That could come in handy if I get in trouble at school or with my dad.

  While the rest of the class plays chase, swings from monkey bars, and generally torments the teachers, Mo and I hang out under the grove of trees near the soccer field. It’s been raining buckets until this morning, and the sky’s still clouded steel gray. A gentle wind rustles the oak branches, sending droplets of water down on our heads. I jump when a drop hits my cheek, cold and wet.

  “Wanna go over to 99 Issues later? Supposed to be getting a new shipment in.” Mo kicks at a stone near the wrought iron fence. “Dude said he might be getting in some vintage Silver Surfer.”

  “Nice!” I get a temporary lift thinking about paging through a stack of old comic books. I even love the musty garage-sale smell when the sales guys pull them out of the crates. “What time?”

  “Right after you get done with detention. My sister can take us.”

  “It’s all right. We can walk.”

  I nod then think about my almost-empty wallet in my back pocket. “I’m not sure I have any cash, Mo.”

  “Spot you a few bucks, dude.” He elbows me in the ribs. “Or you could just ask Ava.” He points to the other side of the fence.

  My breath catches. I turn and Ava waves, sticks her hand back in her pocket, and waits. Despite the dark afternoon, she’s wearing sunglasses, a ball cap, some yoga-looking clothes. Sort of incognito, though her reddish ponytail gives her away if you look closely enough.

  “Jack, hey. I’m so glad I caught you.” She grins as I get closer.

  I duck my head. “Uh, should you be here?” I glance around, watching for my dad or the principal to jump out from behind the bushes.

  “I’m on public property. And I only need a minute.” She takes off her sunglasses and looks straight at me. “I want to clear some things up. First, I love you and your brother. This situation is not at all what I want, for everyone to be split up. Cross my heart.”

  My brain nudges me. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Her mouth drops an inch or two. She takes a step closer and grips the fence. “Absolutely not. If anyone told you that, you have been seriously misinformed. Got it?”

  I nod.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now people talk and say ugly things, but that doesn’t mean you have to believe them,” Ava adds.

  A pang of guilt hits me in my rib cage. I look down and press my loafer into the dirt, make a perfect imprint of my shoe.

  “Jack, what is it?” she asks.

  My mouth is suddenly parched. “Why can’t you . . .” I stop and think. “Why don’t you get back together?” As soon as I say the words, though, I think of how my dad has acted. Moving out of the house. Calling the police on Ava. Ripping up my comic book.

  Ava presses her lips together. “I’ve tried to talk to your dad about it, honey. He won’t listen. I’ve been to his office, I’ve tried talking to him on the phone, and we’ve had a meeting.” She sighs. “But it is not your job to fix it. Okay? This is an adult thing.”

  My eyes start to sting. I fight back tears. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ava reaches into her backpack and hands me a small, rectangular box.

  I take it and my eyes get wide. It’s a brand-new cell phone.

  “This is for you. You can tell your dad you have it, if you like. That’s up to you. I’m not trying to hide anything. I just want you to be able to call me. The numbers are programmed in.”

  My breath quickens. I nod and think about where I can hide it. Under my pillow? Under my bed?

  “Use it if you need or want to,” Ava says. She lowers her voice. “Anytime night or day. I mean it.”

  My jaw quivers. “What’s going to happen? To me and Sam?”

  “Jack honey, that’s what we’re all trying to work out,” she says and puts a hand on her own chest. “What’s best for you and your brother. I want you and Sam with me every minute of every day, do you understand that? But I have to share you. With your dad.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I know it’s important you spend time with both of us. Your dad always talks about the good times you had at Cub Scouts and peewee soccer.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Uh . . .”

  “What is it?” Ava asks.

  “Well, I always wanted my dad there, but my mom took me to all that stuff. He was always too busy. He’d promise to come, then wouldn’t show up.”

  Ava’s face looks a little funny. Like she’s tasted something really awful like cockroach guts. She swallows hard and smiles quickly. “Okay. Well. So I’m sure he’ll want to now, right?”

  I scuff the dirt. “Yeah. Sure.”

  “So the psychologist, Dr. Bennett, explained that she is going to help the judge decide how much time you’ll get to spend with both me and your dad?”

  I kick a pebble with the toe of my tennis shoe. “Yeah. That sucks.”

  Ava smiles. “It kinda does, though I’d prefer you use another word.”

  “Stinks, smells rotten, bad, awful.”

  She laughs. “Better. Thanks, smarty pants.”

  Then the bell rings, jarring me back into reality. Behind me I can hear the shouts and laughter of my classmates as they trudge back toward the school.

  Ava reaches through the fence and squeezes my hand. I cling to her, letting the warmth of her touch wash over me. Right now I feel safe. And I don’t want to let go.

  Mo calls my name. We’re going to be late.

  I drop Ava’s hand and take a step back. It’s just a few inches farther away, but now it seems like a thousand miles.

  CHAPTER 50

  AVA

  THURSDAY, APRIL 29

  I call Frank this morning, hoping to wrangle an invitation, but I don’t get past the first word.

  “I’ve found something,” he says. It’s important. A piece of paper, one he won’t risk mailing. There’s a package for Jack, too, a birthday gift. “Karen gave it to me for safekeeping,” he tells me. “By the time I remembered I had it—months after the funeral—Mitchell and Jack were gone.”

  Less than an hour later, I’m on the road, heading for Moulton. The top’s down, letting the Alabama sun warm my shoulders. The sky, strikingly blue, bears a line of contrails, perfectly spaced, underscoring the beauty of the day. The air, fragrant with pine fronds, caresses my cheeks and blows through my hair.

  The highway’s anonymity, one single red Jeep among hundreds of tan trucks, silver trailers, and black SUVs, relieves the stress of being on display in Mobile. The constant tension. The need to always look over my shoulder.

  I rub at my neck, missing the casual fried oyster dinners at Wintzell’s, listening to live music at the Blue Gill, catching a movie at the Crescent Theater downtown. I even miss popping open a great bottle of wine at home before watching the Crimson Tide.

/>   Did I imagine all of those things? Did I dream that I had a husband who adored me? A man with whom I shared my bed and heart? I bite my lip. In my rush to love and be loved, I allowed myself to overlook everything that seems so glaringly obvious now in the daylight.

  Willing fortitude, I push the thoughts from my head. One by one I heave and send them tumbling, end over end. Boulders crashing and breaking at the water’s rocky edge. Instead, I think about Frank, replaying our conversation. He sounded fragile, worried, and told me to be careful. At least Frank, this time, won’t meet me with a .45.

  It’s progress. And seeing Jack yesterday bolstered my confidence. Some bittersweet truths to swallow and digest. Difficult ideas to accept. I ache to fix it all, which is why I’m on the road. But no matter what I find out today, it won’t repair everything. Jack’s scars will be there. As will mine. Two things I have to accept.

  I glance in the rearview mirror at the cooler sitting in the back. I’ve packed chicken salad sandwiches, crunchy raw vegetables, and a fresh-baked loaf of whole-grain wheat bread. A jug of unsweet tea with plenty of fresh lemons in a Ziploc. I wonder about the last time Frank ate a home-cooked meal.

  When I pull up and jump out, I run a hand through my hair and take in the neighborhood. The house looks the same. The sidewalk, the driveway. At this point in my life, the same is really good. I knock on the door, and this time it swings open wide. Frank is ready and waiting. Hungry too. I dish out our picnic lunch, and we settle in.

  Frank sighs. “It’s such a treat to have a fine meal brought to me.”

  I pour tea into two clear tumblers and squeeze the lemon slices, releasing the pulp and juice. The scent of citrus fills the air, tickling my nose. Frank raises his glass and takes a long drink.

  “Ah, delicious, Ava.”

  Seeing him so content makes me happy. Though I’m impatient to find out what he’s discovered, I wait for Frank to tell me. I want him to enjoy the meal and the attention, two things I’m certain he doesn’t get enough of.

  I grin. “Glad to do it. As long as your nurse won’t chase me down for putting the tiniest bit of mayonnaise in the chicken salad.”

  “I won’t tell.” He winks and takes another bite. After he swallows, he adjusts his wheelchair, leans over the table, and picks up an envelope. He holds it up. It’s yellowed and bent.

  “This took some doing. I searched for hours.” He turns over the envelope in his hands. “I found it in my Bible, of all places. No wonder I hadn’t seen it in a while—Big Guy’s probably trying to tell me something,” Frank jokes and points at the ceiling.

  His face gets flat and serious then. “I think this might give some solid answers. You know, about Karen and Mitchell. How their relationship was at the end.”

  “Really?” I unfold the papers inside. It’s a travel itinerary. Airline tickets, a hotel, rental car. I look up at Frank.

  “The Bahamas. I remembered about the trip a few days after you left. It was for their anniversary, but Karen had planned on bringing Jack too.” Frank puts his elbows on his knees, leans forward. “So there you have it. Luckily I don’t throw much out.”

  My pulse quickens. I look at the dates of the trip, check my calendar, and do the math. “The trip was scheduled for after the book tour ended. She had the whole thing planned.”

  She wasn’t leaving him.

  Frank replies, “She left the itinerary here because it was supposed to be a surprise. She knew Mitchell would find it at the house. There were no secrets there, as you could guess. He’d go through drawers, open all of the mail, any packages. Karen knew he’d come across it, one way or another.”

  The numbers and words blur. “Mitchell told me, and Jack—everyone—that Karen left him.” My hand shakes. “This proves . . . this means . . . he wasn’t honest with me. With us.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Frank heaves a sigh. “In his defense, Mitchell might have actually talked himself into believing it. He’s always had an overactive imagination, jumping to this conclusion or that.” He rubs the back of his neck.

  I stare at Frank, still clutching the itinerary. I smooth it out, study it again. “Do you remember how she was . . . when she dropped this off?”

  “She was always cheerful, but Karen was tired then. She had a lot on her mind.” Frank rubs his forehead. “Getting ready to start the book tour. She wasn’t happy about being away from Jack, I know that much.”

  Pain pierces my heart. “Of course,” I whisper.

  We sit in silence, both absorbed in thought.

  Finally, Frank clears his throat. “After Karen was gone, I always hoped they’d come visit. That Mitchell’d have a change of heart once he had time to heal. An epiphany about needing the only family he’s got. Or I figured Jack would call and get someone to drive him down. He’d show up on my doorstep, like you did.”

  Frank wheels over to the bureau. He picks up a small, rectangular package and clutches it to his chest with one hand. “This was Karen’s birthday gift to Jack. She brought it over before the accident, said it was a big surprise. I never opened it. Maybe I should have, but it didn’t feel right.”

  Frank stretches an arm out so that I can reach Jack’s gift.

  “I’ll make sure he gets it,” I promise, taking the package and easing it into my bag. “He’s a special, special boy. You know, I adopted him.”

  “Then you can bring Jack here.” Frank smiles broadly and slaps his thigh. “Great! I’m sure he’s so grown up.”

  “He’s taller than me. And I’d love to bring him here, Frank,” I answer and try to choose my words carefully. “But it’s complicated with Mitchell right now. And Jack.”

  “How complicated?”

  “Very. There’s no good way to say this.” I take a deep breath. “Jack thinks you’ve . . . passed away.”

  Frank’s smile collapses. “What?”

  I wince, furious at Mitchell for the hurt he’s causing his father. Heart in my throat, I reach into my bag and pull out a photo. The one of Jack and baby Sam. He examines the picture.“Jack doesn’t know a thing about you living here. I’m certain.”

  Frank tugs out a white handkerchief and wipes his forehead. “Why? What did I do to deserve being cut off from my own grandchild?” He crumples up the cloth in his wrinkled hands. “I asked a few questions. Mitchell didn’t like it.”

  “You did nothing wrong,” I say, move closer, and touch his shoulder, the flannel shirt soft under my fingertips.

  “I pressed him so hard because I wanted him to get some help after Karen died,” Frank insists. “I drove him away.”

  “No. Mitchell chose to leave and take Jack. Now he’s done the same to me.”

  Frank’s head jerks up. “What did you say?”

  “He left. He filed for divorce without me knowing. He wants full custody of the boys and is doing everything in his power to get it.”

  “Ava!” Frank rubs his temples, distraught.

  I cross my arms, clenching my elbows tight. “I’m worried, Frank,” I tell him. “If he finds out I’m here, I don’t know how he’ll react. He’s been irrational. So angry. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing.” Frank tips his head toward his gun case, tries to look offended. “I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

  We share a smile. “Good,” I say. “Maybe what you found, the itinerary, will help convince Mitchell about Karen. It’s a start. We’re working with a psychologist. She’s seeing me and the boys—”

  Frank holds up a shaking hand to stop me. “Ava . . . did you say . . . boys?”

  Heart in my throat, I reach into my bag and pull out a photo. The one of Jack and baby Sam. He examines the picture.

  “I did, Frank. This is your new grandson.”

  CHAPTER 51

  MITCHELL

  THURSDAY, APRIL 29

  Isabel dresses me down in Spanish the second I walk into the apartment. She’s made one of my favorite dishes—roasted Poblano peppers battered
with her airy egg coating—but tonight I’ve kept her waiting.

  “Chile rellenos will be cold.” She urges me toward the kitchen. “Eat!”

  Dutifully, and only for Isabel, I oblige, taking a forkful of the dish, smothered in her spicy roasted tomato salsa. The flavors burst in my mouth—lime, cracked pepper, and garlic. The fried coating is toasted to golden perfection, matched only by the smooth melted Monterey Jack cheese.

  “Mmm.” I widen my eyes as she hovers close. “Isabel, you’ve outdone yourself this time.”

  She beams with pride and clucks a few more times, pointing at the clock. Nodding and smiling, I guide her toward the front door, anxious to shoo her home.

  “Yes, sí, sí.” I promise to be home on time for tomorrow’s Bingo game, offer my best smile, and slip her an extra hundred-dollar bill. “Gracias, Isabel.”

  As I pat the small bulge in my jacket and smooth the lapel, I look around the kitchen, searching for a hiding place.

  “Dad?” Jack’s hushed voice floats from the bedroom into the hallway.

  I stiffen, my eyes darting from the shelves to the cabinets and back again. I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhale, and duck my head into the boys’ room.

  Sam is snoring on his back, arms above his head. The moonlight finds a path to his chest, rising and falling with each breath. Jack is next to him, flipping through channels, the light from the small television flashing and dancing off the walls.

  “Yes?” I ask, not stepping inside.

  “Sam had a bad day,” Jack says, almost to himself. He doesn’t look up.

  A flash of annoyance stabs at me. “What’d you do to fix it, son?” The gun pokes at my rib cage. It was my intention to hide it first thing. But Isabel, the chile rellenos, and my kids have made that impossible.

  He rolls on his back. “I tried a bunch of stuff. He didn’t want to play,” Jack mumbles and turns away, clutching a pillow.

  I grit my teeth. “Well, I guess everyone has a bad day, even babies. He seems fine now. I’m going to grab a glass of water, son. Be right back.”