Had I failed him irreversibly? I wondered. Had my devastation at Ben’s death put me into such a selfish tailspin that I hadn’t been there for my little boy’s needs upon his own father’s death? I wanted to tell myself no. I wanted to believe that my efforts to be cheerful, even when they seemed superhuman, had made a difference to Jamie, but all I could think of was the old chestnut everyone said. Kids know. And they do. They know when you’re lying, when you’re faking, when you’re not interested, when you’re drunk, when you’ve been crying. I’d committed all of those crimes at various times in my grief, and even though I’d tried to smile through every one of them, I’d failed him. Of course I had.
I needed to get him back. We needed to be the pals we used to be, back when he was the same age as this child. I needed to bring out the little boy he’d been and run with him on the beach, laugh with him, play with him. Make him know he wasn’t alone in this world no matter that his heart was broken.
Looking at this boy now brought it all back to me in the most poignant way. I wasn’t a wife anymore. I needed to be a better mother. Before it was too late.
The dog barked, bringing my attention back. The boy had stopped and was pulling the kite back in. Dolly was watching with rapt attention. So was I, come to think of it. When he was finished, he put the kite under his arm and walked toward me. I found myself straightening, as if I were about to have an important conversation, but he didn’t even look at me as he approached. In fact, he seemed to look everywhere but at me, yet there was something in his eyes that struck me. Loneliness. The definition of old soul curled up in those little blue eyes.
“Hello,” I said, as he passed.
It was the strangest thing. He slowed his gait, looked around, eyes never actually landing on me even though I was just a few feet away from him, then gave a tiny shake of his head and kept walking.
Of course he didn’t answer. That was good sense. I was just some strange woman standing on the beach watching him fly a kite, and not only should he not talk to me, but, given all the stranger-danger stuff we try to teach our kids, he probably should have hurried past me.
I watched him go, with a small ache and a measure of envy for his joy, then turned back to the sea.
“Hello, King Triton.” I whispered the greeting that Ben and I used to call out loud like crazy people.
Dolly stopped in front of me and panted her greeting. I knelt down and scuffled her shaggy head. “Hey, girl. Good girl! Did you have a good run?” I thought maybe I should get a kite too, good exercise and a little more interesting than just running along avoiding the horseshoe crabs that had washed up.
She jumped and hooked her front claws on my shirt, digging painfully into my stomach. “Down!” I ordered, and, chagrined, she got down and looked at me, probably wondering why I never wanted to hug. “Stay down.”
She obeyed and immediately set off sniffing the sand like she was onto something big. God knows what she was picking up on. Then she stopped and her hackles rose and she barked as if someone were climbing in the window in the middle of the night. She never got like this. She was such a dopey girl usually that to hear her growl and bark so low and ferociously was unfamiliar to me.
“No! Calm down, Dolly. No bark.” I glanced behind me for the boy, afraid he’d be frightened. “I’m sorry, she’s harm—” Although he had only just passed me a moment ago, he was gone.
Vanished into thin air.
Chapter Three
Jamie
Two and a half years ago
The sun was almost down and she wasn’t here yet.
Baseball practice had ended an hour ago and Jamie’s mom hadn’t been there with all the other parents waiting to pick up. The minutes had stretched on awkwardly, until finally—in the face of his coach’s obvious concern at having to wait with him—Jamie had snuck off when the man wasn’t looking, so he’d think he’d been picked up normally and had left.
Now Jamie was back by the driveway to Kingsview Ballpark, starting to feel his own apprehension about where his mom was. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to dodge his coach.
She’d been distracted lately, that was for sure. Well, ever since his dad had died she’d been distracted. A real mess, really. So it wasn’t a huge surprise for her to be scatterbrained, but usually she was so paranoid about where Jamie was at all times that she’d never miss a pickup. In fact, she’d gotten so nervous about something happening to him that she’d bought him a cell phone, despite the fact that she’d previously vowed he didn’t need one at his age.
He had one now, but unfortunately he’d let it die. Cheap flip phone barely held a charge. It was hard to believe they even still made these things. But as long as she could get ahold of him when she wanted to, and as long as she felt like he could get ahold of her if there was an emergency, it seemed to bring her some peace of mind.
He wondered what she was thinking now.
The moon was a slice of crescent in the sky. He could see it in the darkening blue with that one little star that looked like it was dangling off it. Venus? His dad had told him that. It wasn’t a star at all, it just looked like one.
He’d asked, at the time, if it was bad luck to accidentally wish on a planet instead of a star.
“It’s good luck!” his dad had assured him. “Really good luck! There are billions of stars out there visible to the naked eye, but not so many planets. It takes a special eye to catch the planets.”
“What about the moon?” Jamie had asked. “That’s bigger than all of them.” That’s how his little-child mind had worked. His dad had explained to him how the moon was closer, so it looked bigger, but that it was actually really small compared to everything else.
“You can wish on it anyway,” his dad had told him. “Your crazy mom does. She loves the full moon.”
Funny how that one fact about his mother had never quite left his mind. She’d never said it to him and he’d never seen her doing anything weird about the moon, but his father had told him she loved the full moon, so every time the moon was full, he wondered if his mom was happy.
The last few full moons hadn’t been able to do much to lift her mood, unfortunately.
Or Jamie’s, but he didn’t feel like he could say anything about that. Yeah, he’d lost his dad, but his mom had lost her husband, and she was so upset about that that it didn’t feel like there was room in the house for his grief as well. That was okay, though. Maybe it kept Jamie stronger. Try not to cry for long enough, and soon you don’t even feel like doing it at all.
Dusk settled around him. It felt heavy and loud. Crickets were fine outside a window, but he’d never realized how loud they were when you were out among them. The sound ran right through his brain.
Where was she?
The sun was setting quickly now, the shadows stretching as far as they could go before disappearing completely. He began to think about walking, but it was a good five miles home, maybe more. That would take forever, and if she came to pick him up in the meantime, she’d freak out that he was nowhere to be found. He didn’t need the police out looking for him, or his frantic mom getting into some sort of car accident or something because she was beside herself.
He looked at his phone again, as if it might suddenly have gained power, but it hadn’t. He closed it and put it into his bag and sighed.
There was no telling how much longer it was—it felt like hours, but the sun had only just made its final dip below the horizon—before his mother’s white minivan came screaming around the corner and jerked to a halt in front of him.
“Why didn’t you call me?” she cried, sounding much angrier at him than the situation could possibly warrant. But even in the increasing dark he could see her face was pale, her ever-darkening blond hair pulled back in a messy bunch. Her brows were knit up into worry, though, and her eyes looked wide and scared.
Jamie made a vague motion toward his bag. “Phone’s dead.”
“Why can’t you keep it charged? It’s not t
hat hard, Jamie. Just plug it in every now and then so this doesn’t happen!” She was a dark figure in the car; not the pale-haired Barbie doll she used to resemble—in a good way—but a tired woman who had given up and gone dark in the most literal sense.
“Jamie!” she snapped.
Okay, so whatever else she was feeling, she was definitely mad at him, and it definitely wasn’t fair.
Another car rounded the corner and pulled up behind her. Coach Tom. He got out of his car, raking his hand through his hair, and walked up between Willa’s window and where Jamie was now standing up to collect his stuff.
“Willa,” he said in a calming voice. “I’m so glad you found him. I thought you’d picked him up or I never would have left.”
Jamie felt his face grow hot. This was his fault. He shouldn’t have escaped. He thought she’d be along any minute and he didn’t want Coach waiting for him, both of them twiddling their thumbs, with nothing to say.
She looked totally flustered. “Thanks, Tom. I was just telling Jamie that he needs to keep his phone charged, and…” Her voice cracked and disappeared. Jamie noticed her swipe the back of her hand across her eyes.
“Listen, Willa,” Coach said, while Jamie silently put his equipment in the backseat and went around to get in the car beside her, “I told you before, I’m glad to give Jamie a ride home after practices. It’s really no inconvenience.”
Jamie looked down at his feet in the interior lights of the car. Shoes that he’d had for almost a year. Shoes that had outlasted his father. Meanwhile, everything else was changing, even his feet within them—the shoes had been a little loose at first and now they were feeling tight. Soon he’d have to chuck them and he wouldn’t have any more parts of the uniform he’d had when his dad was alive. Which was a stupid thought, he knew that. Who cared if his dad had seen these particular shoes or that particular jersey? They couldn’t magically bring him back. He was being sentimental about stupid things, but sometimes that was the only way he could think about it without feeling like he was going to go crazy.
Still. It was hard to let go of the thoughts now.
His father never would have forgotten to get him. In fact, his dad had come to almost all the practices and helped Coach Tom out. He’d always been there to encourage Jamie and everyone. Jamie could still hear his raspy voice now, bellowing, “Steal home! Go for it!” All the kids had loved him. Jamie often wondered if everyone else noticed the difference without his dad there half as much as he did.
“… and it would just feel good to know I’m helping you out,” Coach was saying. “Please, Willa.”
But she was already shaking her head. A strand of hair fell out of her rubber band and dropped by her neck. She swatted at it like it was a bug. “No, Tom, honestly, I’ll get on the ball. Things have just been so busy and…”
Busy? She didn’t seem to do anything but sit on the sofa and look off into space, or click through old family pictures on the computer and on Facebook.
Jamie said nothing. Just glanced at Coach, who didn’t see his pleading look, then back down at his shoes. The interior lights had gone off now, so all he could see was the outline of the bold black-and-white stripes.
“I do appreciate the offer, though,” his mom was saying.
“Okay.” Coach sounded hesitant. “You just let me know if there’s ever a pinch, okay? I’m glad to pick up, drive him home, whatever. You have my number.”
“Yes, I do.” She started to raise the electric window, a signal that the conversation was over. “Good night, Tom. Thanks again.” As soon as the window was closed, she readjusted her grip on the wheel and pressed the accelerator.
“How come you don’t just let him drive me?” Jamie asked. “He doesn’t sound like he minds.”
“Because it’s our responsibility—my responsibility—and I don’t want to put anyone else out.”
I don’t want to sit alone in the dark while you forget, he thought, but said nothing.
Jamie gave a shrug he knew she couldn’t see. “It doesn’t sound like he’s that put out by it.”
“Jamie.” She slowed the car at a stop sign and turned to look at him, hard, then her face crumpled. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you had to wait there alone and you couldn’t call me. I was cleaning and I just got lost in thought, and before I knew it … I called Tom to see if he was still here, but he’d already left, of course, so…” She shook her head and covered her face with her hands for a moment, sniffling gently. “I’m such a jerk.”
Jamie didn’t know what to say or do. He was glad none of his friends were around and able to see this. Everyone already felt sorry for them; this would just make it a million times worse. He looked around the car, hoping for maybe some interesting thing to divert the conversation, but there was nothing. So he reached out and awkwardly patted her shoulder. “You’re not a jerk.”
She wiped her eyes and gave a half laugh through her tears. “As compliments go, that shouldn’t feel nearly as flattering as it does.”
A car honked behind them and she accelerated again.
“What do you mean?” he asked her. He hadn’t meant it as a compliment that she wasn’t a jerk, he was just trying to make her feel better. He could do compliments better than that if he tried.
She shook her head. Too much. “Nothing, baby, thank you. I’m sorry. You don’t need this. I know I’m not the only one who lost Dad, you’re suffering too, and I’m being so selfish here.” She sniffed again and took a sharp inhale, as if for strength. “Tell you what, how about if we go to the grocery store and get whatever you want to eat and then watch a movie? Anything you want. As long as it’s not rated R,” she added as an afterthought. A piece of parenting she’d forget now and then lately, which Jamie was glad of.
He wanted to say yes. He tried to picture them doing that, watching a movie together and eating his favorite junky frozen pizza, Martino’s. It was hard to envision. She didn’t really want to do that and he knew it. They didn’t like the same sorts of movies and even if they agreed on one, halfway through she’d probably get on her computer and he’d feel like a bother and just sit there, tense, until it was over.
This wasn’t the first time they’d tried to hang out together since his dad had died.
“Nah.” He shook his head. “I’m pretty tired. It was a hard practice today.” It wasn’t. He wasn’t. But he’d have to make a show of going to bed early now.
“Oh.” Something in her posture deflated. “Sure, okay. I understand. Another time, then.”
For a moment he thought about changing his mind. She looked genuinely disappointed. But something inside of him wouldn’t let him conjure the words. So instead he just nodded, half to himself, and said, “Another time,” to the window.
Chapter Four
Willa
Now
I gave a whistle to the dog and started to head toward the house. I tried to ignore the dread in my chest, and realized that’s why I’d invested so much thought into where the kid had gone. Anything was better than thinking about going inside for the first time.
I tried even harder not to feel sad about it, but that was impossible, given how happy this trip used to make me. There was not one time Ben and I had come here together that I hadn’t felt a little thrill at remembering the first time I’d seen it, then, shortly thereafter, the first time I’d seen him. I wished I could go back in time and tell that girl, first walking up to the door, that the boy she was about to meet was the man she’d marry.
That was one of my favorite fantasies: telling Young Me, who had a tendency toward the maudlin and melancholy even then, that great things were right around the corner and she couldn’t even see them yet. That this guy was going to be her husband and together they would have a son. Young Me had spent so much time brooding over a breakup at seventeen when she should have been out living it up, preparing for the happy inevitability of Ben.
Then again, I’d have to stop the story there, wouldn’t I? If Youn
g Me knew everything that was going to happen, she might not have been able to muster the gumption to march on.
Current Me was having a lot of trouble with that too.
But there was no more room in my life for self-pity. I’d allowed myself that, at my therapist’s urging, quite some time ago. And I had been very thorough about it too, dredging up every aspect of my pain, picturing all the horrible scenarios, regardless of how inaccurate they were or how little I could do about them now anyway.
Now it was time to face it all and move on.
And that began with the huge step of walking into the house.
“Dolly!” There was no way I was doing this alone.
She glanced at me, then at the house, then scampered away, back toward the beach, before stopping and looking back at me, a creature of her own habitual need for approval.
“Come on, Dolly!” I enthused in my most chipper Dog Voice. “Come on, girl!” I whistled again. That usually did it.
She looked at me suspiciously.
“Treat?”
Her ears perked up.
“Do you want a treat?” It was embarrassing how chirpy I was being all by myself. It was like when I asked her if she needed to go “potty.” God knows why we used that stupid word instead of some less embarrassing word or phrase. She was a dog, she would have come to understand whatever we said. I had a friend who sent his dog out to poo corner. But not me, I had to stand at the back door for all the world to hear me calling, “Potty! Come on, go potty. Dolly, potty now!” Strangers would have thought I was the world’s meanest mother.
I clumped up the front steps and opened the door, feeling the inside wall for the light switch. I found it and yellow light filled the inside hall. “Come on! Let’s get a treat!” To the neighbors who weren’t used to having any activity in this house, I probably sounded like a head case.
Dolly reluctantly came up the steps, looking at me as if to ask where this supposed treat was. I dug in my purse and found a small pack of Nilla wafers I’d picked up at the gas station on the way in. I ripped it open and took one out. “Here you go!” I tossed it to her. She caught it midair and all of her misgivings about the house seemed to fade. If someone threw me a Nilla wafer, I probably would have made all efforts to catch it as well. I loved those things.
Every Time You Go Away Page 2