“What’s going on? Something else you need to talk to me about?” I walked over to Lily’s play table and motioned for her to throw her juice box in the trash. Figured I might as well stay vertical because I’d be pacing soon enough.
“This is going to be as difficult for me to ask as it will be for you to hear it. Your mother won’t be able to go to the office for months maybe, and I can’t handle it by myself. I need you to help me. To move back.”
CHAPTER 23
Lily and I were both impatient waiting for this phone call to end.
She bit the ends of her hair, and I bit my tongue. “Move back?”
“Not permanently, unless that’s what you want. Look, I know you and your mother have a lot to work out, so I’m hiring someone to help her at home while we’re at the office.”
“While ‘we’re at the office’? Dad, there’s no ‘we’ yet. Maybe not at all. I’m looking for a place to live, possibly even buy. And I haven’t had a chance to interview for jobs yet because Mia just hired a nanny.”
“I understand, but you already know the business. I don’t have time to train anyone or know anyone I can trust to handle things, especially when I’m out on calls. It would help us out. Really. I can’t do this alone, Olivia.”
I squirmed inside. I wasn’t accustomed to his voice sounding so flat, so needy. If not for his having seen the X-rays and been with her when the surgery was scheduled, I would have found the timing of her “accident,” no accident.
My mother had pulled a few dramatic stunts for attention or diversion, like when she complained of chest pains the night before my father wanted to leave for a golf weekend or the time she backed into the mailbox, but rattled off stories about people she knew—or said she knew—who were injured in car accidents. By the time she mentioned the mailbox, my father was either so grateful she hadn’t died or that the stories had ended that he hugged her and said, “Scarlett, that’s so minor compared to everyone else’s problems. Run the car by the body shop before work and get an estimate.”
In my pacing, I must have missed Lily dragging her chair to the bookcase to reach the nail polish. Fingertips on the edge of the shelf, she was about to hoist herself up when I spotted her. My brain played out the possibility of the entire bookcase crashing upon her in record speed.
“Lily, let go and get down—Dad, I have to go. I’ll get back to you. But I can’t promise anything.”
The bookcase started wobbling, and I dashed over and scooped her up. In all the time we’d spent together, I’d never used that tone with her. Her bottom lip trembled, and she wrapped her arms around her body. I’d probably looked away for less than a minute. Sixty seconds could have meant the difference between life and death for Lily. A lifetime of grief and guilt for me.
Was that it, Wyatt? One minute of distraction meant the difference between staying on the road or hitting the trees?
Lily was burbling now. Tears dripping down her face, she sat on the floor, knees up, holding her feet and rocking.
I sat on the floor next to Lily, my arms around her, and tugged her closer. She resisted, her little body stiff, her face buried in her hands. A pouty mumble reached my ears. “You are mean to me.”
“Oh, Lily Loo. Sometimes a scared voice and a mean voice sound the same. I was afraid the whole bookcase might topple over and crush your sweet self. And we would all be very, very sad.” I moved her hands away from her face. “Look at me. I love you, Lily Loo, and I don’t want anything bad to ever, ever happen to you.”
She scooted close and wiggled her way onto my lap; her head rested on my shoulder. Her breaths warmed my neck. She sniffled, then wiped the last of her tears. “I wuv you.”
I kissed the top of her head, where the scent of baby shampoo lingered.
Lily looked up at me. “Can we finish our nails now?”
August in Houston wasn’t much different than August at home. During the evenings, when the sun finally began to drop itself out of sight, the humidity still dampened everything, the air heavy, blistering, and thick as gumbo.
To relieve their kitchens from becoming ovens, people cooked outdoors during these wicked hot days. You could stroll down the sidewalk of almost any neighborhood, and from the backyards, curly tendrils of smoke from barbecue pits wove their way through the dense air. Bryce grilled steaks and vegetables, joining their neighbors in keeping the heat where it belonged. Outside.
That evening, after I spoke to my father and finished Lily’s nails, we fed Lily, and I volunteered to take the nighttime bath, book, and bed routine. We read The Going-to-Bed Book, then she fell asleep easily, and I sat a few minutes more on the edge of her bed to simply look at her face.
I joined Mia in the pool, and I related the story to her and Bryce of my phone call from my father. “I don’t understand why he can’t function at the office without me. Once people know the situation, someone will volunteer to help.
“And as for hiring someone, I’m sure my grandmother could spend time at their house once Mom’s home from the hospital. My doctor’s appointment is next week, which I’ll have to reschedule. I’ve just started to look at places to live. And he wants me to move back there indefinitely? I’m going to call him tomorrow and tell him I’ll be there for the surgery, and I’ll help him look for someone to work in the office, but when she comes home, I’m on my way back here.”
“Maybe you should give it more thought. I don’t want to tell you to pray about it because I know that’s not on your to-do list,” said Mia.
Bryce waved his tongs in our direction. “Everything’s almost ready. We’re eating outside or in?”
“Definitely in,” said Mia as she stepped out of the pool. “I’ll get everything ready inside.”
I offered to help, but she told me soaking in the pool was probably as relaxing for the baby as it was for me. A few minutes later, I got out of the water, wrapped a towel around my shoulders, and sat on one of the patio chairs near Bryce.
“Smells great. What is it about grilling meat that lures your senses?”
“I think it has something to do with the fat burning,” Bryce said.
“Burning fat? You’ve now made this seductive aroma totally unappealing. I meant it more as a rhetorical question.”
I was getting ready to ask him about Colin when he turned off the grill, then pulled up another chair and said, “We’ve known each other a long time. We can be honest with one another, right?”
“Of course.” I nodded, wiped my wet face, and waited.
“I wanted to talk to you while Mia wasn’t here.” He turned around to check the door as if she might have tiptoed back. “She’d never admit the stress she’s under, juggling work and Lily and the house, hiring a nanny . . . I’ll admit, she takes it on herself because she’s the problem-solver, and she won’t rest until she finds a way.”
“We’ve always known that about her,” I said. Bryce wasn’t dishing out any new information. “Where are you going with this?”
“I think your going home for a while to help out your parents is a good idea, but Mia may tell you she doesn’t think it is.”
“Well, honestly, right now I agree with her.” I wrapped my towel around my shoulders. “I take it you don’t? Agree with her, I mean.”
Bryce checked the door again, but still no sign of Mia. “She loves you like a sister, and she’d do whatever she could for you to be happy again. Mia would never admit that she has taken on too much, physically or emotionally. Sometime she doesn’t even realize it herself. And I don’t think she’d be selfish intentionally, but I know your leaving would be hard for her, even with the nanny coming. She’s missed you, and her job doesn’t leave much time for making friends. I don’t want you to stay because you’d feel like you’re abandoning Mia. Really, I think your going home would be best. For both of you.”
“Why do I feel like you’re kicking me out?”
Bryce leaned back, plowed his hands through his hair, and shook his head. “I’m sorry. That’s not at all what
I meant to suggest.” He leaned forward and said, “Your father is really being honest about his inability to juggle things at home and his office. It’s difficult for men like your dad to ask for help, so he must really need it. I don’t want you to leave him stranded because of Mia.”
The back door yawned open, and Mia stepped outside. Her hand full of silverware, she looked from Bryce to me and back again. “Is everything okay?”
Her eyes bore through Bryce as if she’d already figured out he was responsible for whatever might have happened.
“Olivia and I have been talking, and I said—”
“That he thought going home to help my father was the right thing to do, and he wanted to reassure me that you guys would be okay. Bryce was just worried I’d feel guilty leaving before the nanny actually started.” I picked up the platter of vegetables. “But we can talk more later. Bryce is ready to take the steaks off the grill, and I’m ready to eat.”
During dinner, I distracted myself by entertaining them with stories of our visit to the Butterfly Museum. How Lily would stand like a scarecrow in a field of wheat asking the butterflies to land on her. “I told Lily that when I was a little girl, I used to call them ‘flutterbys.’ She looked at me with that classic smirk she gets, you know the one where her nose wrinkles and her mouth tilts up on one side. Then she said, ‘That’s why dey didn’t go by you. Dey didn’t yike you got their name wrong.’”
“I hope that means she inherited her mother’s genes for remembering people’s names. I practically need a cheat sheet when we go places,” Bryce said.
“Not practically,” Mia said, pointing her fork at him as she talked. “I do give him a cheat sheet, and I put it in his suit pocket before we leave. I even offer to drive, so he can study it on the way.”
“I want to be sure and write about that day in her baby book. I need to send you the pictures, too. My favorite part of the day was when we were leaving. She tugged my purse strap and asked if we could sit down so I could answer a question. We sat on a bench outside the museum, and she opened one of the brochures and pointed to the picture of a cocoon. She fixed those eyes on me, the ones that say, ‘If you lie to me, I will serve you your conscience every time you look at me.’”
They both nodded.
“Then she asked me, ‘Do they cry? Does it hurt to come out?’”
Mia sat back in her chair. Her expression so reminiscent of her daughter’s as she watched the butterflies. “Wow, she may have an engineer’s brain, but I think she’ll have an artist’s heart.”
“She’s only three. We have a few years before we have to put labels on her brain and heart,” said Bryce. Taking advantage of Mia’s reaction to his answer, her staring at him openmouthed and with piercing eyes, he speared part of her steak and put it on his plate.
“You think you could let yourself melt a bit listening to your daughter’s questions? Sometimes I wonder if you dive below the surface of things . . .” she snipped. “By the way, if you want more, next time, ask.”
I sliced my asparagus in even sections to avoid eye contact with Bryce. He may be lousy at snatching food, but Mia didn’t give him enough credit for seeing the unseen. I’d learned this evening he was more astute than she realized.
“Anyway,” Bryce started, “before we demonstrate marital discord during supper, what did you tell her?”
“I told her I had no idea. But I explained the only way it could become a butterfly was to leave the cocoon, even if it hurt. I told her that when she was a baby trying to learn to walk, she fell down all the time. But she stood up and tried again and again and again. Sometimes we have to hurt to get someplace or something we really want.”
I’m teaching Lily a lesson I’m still learning myself.
CHAPTER 24
I stared at the ceiling where my mind’s eye rewound and replayed scenes from tonight.
I thought of the story I told about the butterflies and of my strained relationship with my mother and of the life I’d been cheated out of.
I closed my eyes, turned off the projector in my brain, and resolved to do something before an ultrasound showed my baby biting her fingernails because she was worried about her mother.
I called my father the next day and told him I’d help in the office but asked if he could give me some idea of how long he needed me to work.
“I appreciate this, honey. I’m sure this is tough for you not being settled with everything going on. But I promise, after the surgery we’ll all have a better idea of what her recovery will entail. And if it’s longer than you’re willing to stay, then I’ll do whatever I need to do.”
He sounded relieved.
At least one of us was.
The mixer was whirring the icing for the coffee pound cake I was making for dessert when I heard thumping by the back door. Thinking Lily had escaped from her nap, I dashed through the mudroom and found Mia instead. Her arms stuffed with fabric swatches and wallpaper samples, she was kicking the door with the toe of her Ferragamo pumps that might have cost more than the door they were bashing.
“This is what my father used to call ‘a lazy load,’” she told me as I relieved her of enough weight so she wouldn’t topple over. “Not like I couldn’t have made two trips to the car. But if I want to be in a sauna, I’ll go to the health club, not outside my house.”
We carried everything to her office, then she followed me back to the kitchen. “You’re home early today,” I said. “Did you give yourself the rest of the day off?”
“I’m still working on that design job for the couple building a house in River Oaks.” She settled into a kitchen chair, leaned over, slid off her shoes, and placed them side by side against the wall. She propped her head on her hands to watch me. “You’d think people building a house in one of the toniest areas in Houston would be a bit less stringent about their decorating budget. They were in the shop this morning arguing over a two-dollars-per-yard difference on the fabric choices for a chair covering.” Mia grabbed clumps of her hair and pretended to pull. “That kinda day.”
“This might help.” I turned the mixer off, folded in the sliced almonds, then handed her the paddle, coated with cream cheese and brown sugar icing.
She became as googly-eyed and shiny-faced as Lily when I gave her a treat not listed as acceptable in her binder. Maybe Mia had a binder somewhere, too, and this was not on her list, either.
“Goodness, girl, that’s a lot of excitement over icing. Not like I just gave you a handful of diamonds.”
“No, but it’s just as decadent,” she said, running her finger along the paddle, making sure she scooped up as much as she could. “Well . . . maybe not, because it’s over much too quickly.” She handed me the paddle she’d swiped clean without one drip on her silk dress. Which, now that I looked more closely, was about the same shade as what I was mixing.
“Stop ogling the icing. You’re making it feel uncomfortable,” I teased and continued turning the cake as I spread the frosting. “If you’re good, I’ll let you lick the bowl.”
She smiled. “That’s what my grandmother used to tell me when I visited her. She loved to bake, and I loved to eat the icing.” Mia looked away for a moment. “I miss her,” she said with a longing that comes from remembering those slices of time with someone we loved.
“I never knew my dad’s mother. She died before I was born. And I’m certain my fondest memories with Ruthie will revolve around a restaurant, shopping, or both.” I handed her the bowl.
“It won’t be long before you’ll have a reason to make memories of your own,” Mia said accompanied by the background scraping of her spoon against the metal bowl as she scooped up the icing.
I carried the cake to safety, placing it in the corner of the countertop. “Oh, absolutely. My child’s going to have fond memories of Mom zapping food in the microwave, having meals delivered . . .” I closed my eyes for dramatic effect, my hands crossed over my chest. “So touching.”
She waved her hand dismissively
. “You are so silly.”
We started clearing the table and loading the dishwasher.
“I called my father this morning,” I said as I carried the mixer to the pantry. “I told him I’d be there for my mother’s surgery, and I’d help him in his office.”
“Are you sure you want to do that? You’ve just started to get acclimated here, and we were looking for a place for you to live and . . .” She stopped rinsing off the bowls I’d used and nailed me with her eyes. “You’re planning to come back, aren’t you? Please say you will. I’m going to miss you so much if you don’t. And just because Lily has a nanny, you know how much she loves you . . . That’s not it, is it? Our finally finding a nanny? I mean, we were honest about that from the beginning. Or is it you really don’t feel comfortable here in Houston—”
“Mia, breathe.” I couldn’t help but smile. We always knew when Mia was wound up because her thoughts flew out of her mouth faster than scarves from a magician’s sleeve. And hearing her did help me understand the backyard discussion Bryce and I had yesterday.
“I need to stay for my father. If for no other reason than he’s been playing mediator/referee between my mother and me for decades. You and Bryce opened your home and your hearts. You’ve been generous and kind, and I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. But I need to figure some things out on my own, and the time back home might help me put matters in perspective.” It was all true.
That weekend, I packed only what I thought I’d need while I was home. Everything else was boxed and stored in the garage. If I returned, the boxes would be waiting for me. If I didn’t, I’d ask Mia to ship them.
It all took longer than I expected because once I packed a box, Lily would take everything out of it. On every trip from my apartment to the garage, she followed me, stomping her feet, her voice fussy and loud. “No. No. No. You stay here.” She tried to push the boxes out again, gave up, and decided to protest by sitting on the ones still upstairs, figuring I couldn’t move them.
Since You've Been Gone Page 12