The 8 Mistakes of Amy Maxwell

by Heather Balog

  I decide to leave it alone. “Why don’t you guys go out and see where Colt is?” Andrew gazes at me doubtfully.

  When I found out I was having a boy and Andrew had been born the previous year, I was delighted. I envisioned them playing together, having fun and being the best of buds growing up. They could make mud pies and build forts and terrorize the girls.

  The only problem with my fantasy was that Andrew did not desire to do any of those things. And for that, Colt hated him. And the more I tried to push them together, the harder they resisted. In fact, Colt enjoyed bullying Andrew almost as much as he loved torturing his sisters. So I can understand where Andrew’s doubt is coming from. I realize I must try a different tact.

  “Do you guys want to play in the bounce house?”

  They glance at each other skeptically and then, broad grins cross both their faces simultaneously. The kids nod their heads and spring towards the back door, still not taking their eyes off my papier-mâché disaster on the counter. I think they believe it is going to spring to life and devour them whole.

  When they are gone, I turn my attention to the split milk on the floor, just as Roger trots up the steps.

  “Oh good!” I call out to him as he brushes past me to get to the fridge. “Can you grab the mop from the pantry?”

  Roger shakes his head as he scoops up four beers from the fridge door. “Sorry, I’m busy right now.”

  I stare incredulously as he heads back down to the man cave. I can hear the jovial laugher of Derek and my father floating up the steps. Fuming inside, I give Roger the finger, but of course he can’t see it.

  Groaning with annoyance, I kneel down next to the table and messily clean up the spilt milk with a paper towel. Tears spring to my eyes as I think, I am so sick and tired of Roger not even being able to help out with anything. He watches me run around like a chicken without a head and doesn’t even care.

  I struggle to my feet, dump the wet paper towels into the garbage, and then reach for a napkin to dry my face. “No use crying over spilt milk,” I joke out loud to the empty room. Snorting, I laugh at my own pathetic joke.

  I find the mop in the pantry and march over to the sink with it. Lifting the old fashioned faucet handle that I had fallen in love with when we bought the house, I listen to the sound of pipes groaning. What I once saw as the cozy and charming appeal of an older home now irks me on a daily basis. Our house was built in the early 1900’s and had been meticulously kept by its previous owners. Not to say that things weren’t deteriorating then, but they certainly were now because Roger never seemed to have any time to fix anything that was broken. The once adorable wooden shutters on the front windows hang precariously from their screws. The floors are warped and should have been sanded years ago. The plumbing and heating systems are in dire need of an overhaul. Not to mention the missing slats of our wrap around porch and the shingles peeling off the roof. And heaven forbid he allow me call a professional to do the work. He keeps telling me that he’ll “get around to it”. Most likely that’ll be when the house is 200 years old and needs to be razed to the ground.

  Wringing out the mop, I start to step away from the sink until something in the backyard catches my eye. I peer through the spotty window that I need to find time to clean, and see Colt in his fort. With a very large child. I am instantly alarmed. This is not one of Laura’s kids, nor is it any of the other friends invited to the party who may have slipped into the backyard unannounced. This is a stranger.

  I should interrupt here to point out that the events transpiring beyond this point qualify as my Mistake #1. If I had just continued to wring out my mop and clean up my spilled milk, well, maybe things wouldn’t have gone down the path that they did. But of course, I did not.

  I storm out to the backyard, the French doors slamming behind me. I glance around to see my mother and sister poking nervously at the catering trays while Andrew and Jillian sit uncomfortably on one of the patio lounge chairs. I wonder why they aren’t in the bounce house until I see Laura is trying to pull her kids’ shoes off so they can go in the bounce house. Andrew and Jillian look petrified.

  Turning my attention to the stranger who is crashing my son’s party, I clench my fists and stomp across the backyard towards the fort.

  “Where you going, Mommy?” Lexie asks, startling me. “Damn it, Lexie!” I yelp, clutching my chest in shock. “You scared me!”

  I can see her head poking out from behind a bush next to the deck and her brand new shoes on her feet, scraping at the ground as she struggles to fit under the dense foliage. In her hand she is holding a notebook and a pen with a fluffy pink ball on the end.

  She presses her fingers to her lips. “Shhh! I’m spying on the boys.” Normally, I would scold her for putting on the shoes I just told her not to wear, but I have bigger fish to fry right now.

  “That’s nice,” I murmur as I continue my trek across the expansive backyard. I see Colt and the kid in the window of the treehouse fort. From here, my fears are confirmed. Not only is he older, he is a lot older than my Colt. Like, he probably shaves kind of older.

  “Colt!” I scream. “You and your friend need to get down here…NOW!”

  As he sees me approach, Colt scrambles out of the tree house, his new companion hot on his heels. The kid jumps down from the fort and lands on the ground with a heavy thud. As he stands, I see that he is definitely older than Colton and taller than I am, which is actually not that difficult since I’m 5’ 3” in heels. Still…

  “Who are you?” I ask accusingly, poking at his chest with a freshly chipped fingernail.

  The kid balks at my question. Colt answers for him. “This is Sean. He’s my new friend.”

  I glare at Sean as I visually inspect him. His blonde hair is a little scraggly, but that’s the style nowadays. His clothes are baggy, but once again, that’s probably on purpose. He is at least 13 years old judging from his height and appearance. I am instantly on guard. I’ve never met this kid or seen him around before and our neighborhood is one of those small busybody ones where everyone is up everyone else’s ass.

  “That’s great,” I lie to Colt in a sickeningly sweet voice. And then I focus in on the teenager hanging out with a kid half his age in a tree house. I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously. “How old are you, Sean?”

  He sniffs as he answers, “Fourteen.” I gasp with horror. I am instantly reminded of a recent news story about a teenager who lured a kindergartener into his house with video games and then used the kid for his own depraved purposes.

  Trying to regain my composure I ask, “You do realize that Colt is six? And it’s extremely weird that you’re hanging out with a six year old?”

  Sean sniffs the air again, rubs underneath his nose like a coke addict and doesn’t answer.

  “Where do you live?” I continue my grilling.

  Sean points towards the house. “Across the street,” he replies, slowly and deliberately. By the way he speaks, I wondered if perhaps he really is stoned.

  “No you don’t. The Sanders live across the street,” I snap, becoming increasingly agitated by this young derelict’s audacity.

  Sean nods. “That’s Grammy and Grampy. They’re the Sanders. I live with them.”

  “You live with your Grammy and Grampy?” I ask incredulously. Was he 14 or 4?

  Sean snorts again and nods as I consider this statement. I’ve never laid eyes on this kid and he claims to live across the street? Our new neighbor, Mary Sanders, was outside every morning for the last few months, watering her plants. Rain, shine, blizzard. It didn’t matter. She was like clockwork. And every morning, she waved when she saw me padding out into the driveway in my robe to retrieve the paper. She always wanted to chat about her husband Walter or how great it was to be retired, while I stood there looking like a moron in my tattered robe and PJs in the middle of Hartford Ave.

  Not once did she mention a grandson living with her. Now not only am I wary, I am suspicious, too. I don’t know what game
this kid is playing, but I want him away from my impressionable 6 year old ASAP.

  “Let’s go see Grammy and Grampy then, shall we?” I remark with fake cheeriness as I grab his arm. Sean shrugs and allows me to lead him away.

  “But I want Sean to come to my party,” Colt wails as he runs alongside me.

  “Forget it, Colt,” I growl as Colt throws himself on the ground at my feet in an attempt to stop me. I step over him and proceed to drag Sean toward the gate, but not before Lexie spots me. She leaps up from her spying position to catch up with me.

  “Who’s that, Mom?”

  “Not now, Lex.”

  “But who is that?”

  “Lexie, I said, not now.”

  “But, Mom why can’t you just tell me-”

  “Go away, Lexie. Go play in the bounce house or something.” She gives me her pouty lip face and storms off.

  I know. I’m a terrible mother. You would think it would be easier to just tell her who the kid is and that would make her happy. But it won’t. Make her happy, that is. It will just lead to another never ending series of questions resulting in me screaming and punishing her. My patience for 20 Questions ended two kids ago.

  We reach the gate and I push it open with my hip, not releasing my grip on Sean for a moment. I probably should have called Roger to help me, but God knows where he was at the moment. Sean whimpers as I drag him across our front yard.

  “Oh knock it off. I am barely holding your arm,” I snap as I check both ways before crossing our nearly deserted street.

  “I don’t like it,” he whines in a nasally voice. “Let go!”

  “Oh yeah, so you can run off? I don’t think so,” I retort as we march across the road.

  We reach Mary’s front door, I ring the bell with a purposeful nod, and stand there waiting for the owner of the house to open the door for what feels like an eternity.

  Until Sean informs me, “The bell is broken.” I see a small smirk curling up in the corners of his mouth.

  Shooting him the death stare that I usually reserve for my own children, I rap loudly on the door frame. Almost instantly the heavy red door swings open and the diminutive figure of Mary Sanders graces the doorway. She is dressed in a lavender velour track suit; her short blonde hair with frosted tips closely cropped around her pretty, lightly wrinkled face. I notice she has tears in her eyes and her usual perfect makeup has run down her face.

  She sees Sean and her expression changes as she squeals, throws open the screen door, and pulls him in for an embrace. He allows himself to be hugged, but he doesn’t put his arms around her.

  “Oh, Seany! We’ve been looking all over for you! Where have you been?” She pulls back to give Sean a stern glare.

  “I was playing with my new friend,” Sean mumbles as he stares down at his feet.

  “Sean, you need to tell Grammy or Grampy where you are going at all times, ok? We were so worried about you.”

  “Sorry,” Sean mumbles again, hanging his head. He looks like an admonished 2 year old that has been put in time out for biting a friend not a rebellious teenager. Something doesn’t add up in my mind.

  Mary smiles, reaches out and tousles his shaggy blonde hair. “Go tell Grampy you’re back, ok? I want to thank Mrs. Maxwell for her help.” Sean obediently bounds off into the house. Mary smiles after him and then turns back to me. “Thank you so much for bringing him back.”

  “I didn’t even know he was living here, Mary.” I can’t help my accusatory tone. “He was in my backyard playing with Colton. Colt’s six. I thought it was a little…”

  Mary cuts me off as she steps onto the front porch and closes the door behind her. “I know, I know,” she lowers her voice to whisper. “Sean is what we called challenged. He was diagnosed as autistic when he was about 5, but he’s very high functioning. He does really well in school academically, but socially, he’s pretty backwards. He doesn’t really know better.” Mary pauses for a second as I instantly feel ashamed.

  How terrible. I judged this poor kid without knowing the circumstances. And what’s more, I yelled at him.

  As if she could read my mind, Mary says, “Most people don’t realize there’s anything wrong when they meet Sean at first. He just seems like a badly behaved 14 year old. That’s why we don’t take him out in public a lot.”

  I smile weakly. “I yelled at him, Mary. I’m sorry. I just…well he was with Colt and I…”

  Mary pats my arm sympathetically. “It’s ok, Amy. You were just being a mama bear protecting her cubs. I feel the same way. When I couldn’t find him earlier, I was beside myself. Of course, Walter and Jason told me he would be fine…”

  “Jason?” I cut her off without meaning to.

  Mary nods. “Yes. Jason is Sean’s father. Our, uh, son.” Mary fidgets with the zipper on her track suit. “Um, Sean’s mother, Stacey, died in a…” Mary pauses once more, searching for the right word, her eyes filling with pain. “Tragic situation about three years ago. It makes matters worse for Sean’s behavior at times so Walter and I asked Jason to move in with us two months ago so we could help him with Sean. Jason travels a lot for work, so mostly it’s just us and Sean.”

  I’m not sure what to say. I spoke to Mary nearly every morning for the past few months and I never even knew she and Walter had children at all. I’ve never seen “Jason” or any sign that he and Sean were living there. Maybe you don’t notice your surroundings enough, Amy. I make a mental note to start paying more attention to what’s going on around me.

  “I really had no idea he was even living here. You never mentioned him or your daughter in law’s death. I’m so sorry.” I reach out to hug her awkwardly.

  Not to seem insensitive, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see cars lined up in our driveway and at the curb. Colt’s birthday party is getting underway and I’m not even there. And Roger is probably parked in front of his 55” LG TV with a beer in hand, oblivious to the fact that there are people in the house. An idea occurs to me.

  “Would Sean like to come to Colt’s party? Colt wanted him to stay…”

  Mary looks shocked. “Oh no, no! That’s ok! Go ahead. It looks like your family is all there.”

  “It’s fine, really,” I insist.

  Mary shakes her head again. “No, no…it’s fine. I, um… I’m afraid of how he will act if I’m not there.”

  “Well, you’re welcome to come along.” At this point, I don’t care if the entire neighborhood is coming along. I need to get home before my family and friends imploded my house. I can just imagine Beth and my mother standing around, admonishing me by making clicking noises with their tongues as they ponder my absence.

  Once again Mary shakes her head, so I shrug as I walk away. “Well, give me a call one day next week and he can come over to play if he wants!” I shout over my shoulder, giving a little wave.

  “Will do!” I hear Mary say as I cross Hartford Ave. and start toward my backyard with the nagging feeling my neighbor isn’t telling me everything.

  ~THREE~

  “This is the FBI! Come out with your hands up!” a booming voice announces.

  Startled, I poke my head out of the window to see police cars parked all over the Sanders’ front lawn. There is a man with a megaphone standing on top of one of the police cars.

  “He really should get down”, I gasp. I always tell the kids not to stand on the top of my car.

  All of a sudden, members of a swat team swoop in from the trees and others rappel down the sides of the house from the roof, kicking in the windows. The sound of glass shattering reaches my ears and I wince as I cover them. Someone is going to get glass in their leg, I just know it.

  “Mommy, mommy!” I hear screams from the doorway. All four of my children are dashing into the room.

  “What’s that noise, Mom?” asks Allie as she slides protectively under my left arm. This is the most she’s said to me in about two years.

  “It was so scary!” cries out Lexie as she clutches my leg.
Evan grabs the other leg as Colt ducks under my right arm.

  I squeeze my children tightly. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” I attempt to reassure them as I continue to peer out the window. The swat team is leading Mary and Walter out of the house, hands cuffed behind their backs.

  Allie is also peering out the window. “Holy crap, Mom! The Sanders are getting arrested!” I stand corrected. THAT is the most she has said to me in two years.

  “Arrested?” Lexie asks, crumpling her adorable little face. “But why? What did they do?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Sanders! You are under arrest for kidnapping a fourteen year old boy and holding him for ransom!” announces the officer with the megaphone. Just then, a limo sweeps down the street stopping in front of the Sanders residence. A man and a woman in expensive attire pop out of the back seat. They wear concerned expressions on their faces.

  The officer waves them over to where he is now standing on the ground. Mary and Walter are being placed in the back of a police car. The officer gathers the man and woman around him and then points to the front door.

  Sean suddenly appears, rushing at the man and woman, his arms wide open. “Mommy! Daddy!” The man and woman are beaming as they embrace Sean tightly.

  “Oh, Sean!” cries the woman. “I will never let you out of my sight again!”

  “Yes,” chimes in the man. “I can’t believe those people! Kidnapping you right off of our front lawn!”

  I clutch my babies tighter as the car carrying Mary and Walter speeds away…

  “Amy, what on Earth are you staring at?” My mother’s melodious voice pulls me from my reverie.

  “Um, I thought I saw a police car,” I stammer as I back away from the front window.

  “Well, that wouldn’t be unusual for this neighborhood,” my sister chimes in. I shoot daggers at her with my eyes.

  My mother and Beth are perched nearby on the edge of the couch, posteriors barely touching the cushions as if they are afraid of catching the plague from it. They are holding full glasses of wine from which they daintily sip while they peer over their noses at me.