For All She Knows

by Beck, Jamie

  “What if everyone comes at me?” His whole face looked three inches longer from the way his mouth and eyes turned downward.

  “If you get harassed, go to the guidance counselor or to your coach.”

  “Coach hates snitches.”

  I shook my head. “This isn’t like telling on someone for skipping practice or pulling a locker room prank, Rowan. He’s an adult. He’ll be upset with everyone, not only with you.”

  “Great.” Rowan rolled his eyes.

  Ooh, I wanted to grab him by the chin for acting like he drew the short stick when it was Carter who’d ended up in the hospital. Maybe grounding him hadn’t been punishment enough, because his attitude was far from what it should be. Grace would have advice about how to impose more discipline without creating a ruckus, but she had enough on her mind.

  I’d be more empathetic with Rowan if fate had simply shown up and ruined things, but this time what had happened had more to do with bad decisions than bad luck. Like when I’d fallen for that sob story Debbie Winters sold me about her husband being out of work. I believed in second chances, so I’d hired her to clean my salon even after Grace warned me that Debbie had a drug habit. At first, a missing bottle of shampoo here and a hair mask there didn’t faze me, but then cash went missing from the register and Debbie never came back to work. “When you gamble, you gotta handle the losses.”

  Rowan grabbed his backpack, snagged a second cookie, and slunk out the back door like he was being dragged to his execution.

  “Love you, but come straight home after school!” I hollered as he closed the door. After refilling the baking sheet with raw cookie dough, I swiped a fingerful for myself, then set the timer and began to clean up while the last batch baked. Normally, I hated to clean, but right now anything that kept my mind occupied was a relief.

  I usually operated under the “no news is good news” theory. But the fact that Grace still hadn’t called with any update tied my stomach in a tangle. Still, I kept my impulses in check, giving her time to wrap her arms around whatever news they got.

  After scanning the fridge and seeing that I needed some ingredients for the mac ’n’ cheese, I brushed my hair while waiting to take the last batch of cookies out of the oven. Once they were cooling, I hustled to the market.

  Last Monday I’d bumped into Grace. It wasn’t uncommon—small town, small store. I rarely came here without running into at least one person I knew. But if I had known Carrie Castle would be here today, I might’ve worn a floppy hat and dark glasses.

  “Mimi.” She practically sneered as we crossed paths on our way to the registers.

  “Hi, Carrie,” I replied evenly. Carrie had kept her distance ever since her husband had paid a little too much attention to me at one of Grace’s potluck parties six years ago. Not that Dirk had noticed or cared.

  She looked at my cart, which was piled high. “Throwing another party?”

  My cheeks got hot. Maybe I deserved that, but with the echo of the ugly Facebook comments rattling around my head, I wanted to punch back. Of course, sparring with a woman who’d never been my friend seemed ridiculous given all that had happened.

  “No.” I waved a hand to prove she couldn’t get to me. “I’m making Grace’s family dinner and picking up some extra groceries to save her a trip.”

  Carrie’s expression shifted, if reluctantly. “That’s thoughtful.”

  “The least I could do.” The very least. In fact, maybe I could mobilize other women in town to do the same. They didn’t have to like me so long as they liked Grace—and lots of people liked Grace because she treated everyone with dignity. I’d have to go back on that stupid moms’ page to organize them, which meant seeing more hatred aimed my way. I supposed it was a small price to pay. “I thought I’d ask others to help out. Are you willing to make dinner one night?”

  “Of course.” She threw her shoulders back as if I’d uttered a slur.

  “I figured you would be.” A lie. Carrie was one of those women who talked a lot about right and wrong, but my mama had taught me to look at what people do, not what they say. Anyone who gossiped and judged others like Carrie did wasn’t nearly as good-hearted as she thought she was. Today I extended her the benefit of the doubt. “I’ll post a Meal Train link on the Facebook group to keep everyone organized and let them sign up for convenient dates. Kim is allergic to peanuts, but other than that, I think anything would be welcome.”

  “Hm.” For a split second, she looked like she might take credit for my idea. She made as if she were about to push her cart, then paused. “I heard Deshaun and John got taken in for questioning, but you did not. How is that possible?”

  An elderly lady passing by overheard her and gave me a double take before moving on.

  Being forced to confront this here and now was unpleasant, but at least Carrie had the balls to say it to my face instead of hiding behind Facebook.

  “I didn’t break any laws. I wasn’t at home during the party and hadn’t given permission for it, either.” It had been a relief not to be arrested last night, although the absence of legal liability hardly made me blameless. There’d been many things I could’ve done differently, and hopefully Rowan had been thinking about that, too. “If it makes you feel better, Rowan got charged with a misdemeanor for providing alcohol to minors. From what I understand, John and Deshaun were directly involved with Carter’s fall. I’m sick about what happened—for Carter and everyone else. But Rowan wasn’t in the kitchen when it happened, so he didn’t get charged for that.”

  Carrie raised her brows as if she didn’t quite believe my son.

  “If Rowan had been there, the other people interviewed would’ve said so by now.”

  “Well, it’s a shame that Carter was the victim of some spoiled boys’ gripe.”

  “I agree.” My tongue hurt from biting down on it to keep from making a snarky comment about how she’d whipped up animosity among parents.

  “Hopefully you’ve learned what can happen when you encourage teens to drink,” she added, her chin slightly tipped up.

  I’d never meant to encourage drinking, only to make the inevitable safe. I’d give anything to undo what had happened. Absolutely anything, including enduring this tongue-lashing. “Please watch for the sign-up, Carrie. I’ve got to go.” I pushed away before giving her a chance to insult me again.

  My son was probably being mocked this way at school. Please, God, help him keep his head together, and help me deal with the bear he’ll be tonight. I couldn’t turn to Dirk for help, given his attitude. My mother was long dead, and Uncle Tommy would be too busy praying for my soul to offer practical advice. The one person whose advice I’d always counted on didn’t have time for me now, leaving me lost and alone.

  I kept my head down while bagging and paying for the groceries, then hustled to put them in my trunk and retreat to the safety of my car.

  Sometimes the right music could bring on a good cry, so I went ahead and listened to my “Sad Songs” playlist on Spotify for the drive home. Within three minutes, my cheeks had turned gray from runny, half-wiped mascara streaks. My first thought upon seeing Dirk’s shiny new SUV in my driveway was that I didn’t need another lecture from that hypocritical jerk.

  I pulled in beside him while the f-bomb repeated in my head. We both got out of our cars at the same time.

  “Wish I could say this was a pleasant surprise.” I loaded my arms with grocery bags.

  “Where were you?” His inability to deduce where I’d been didn’t shock me. Nor did the fact that he didn’t offer to help carry one item.

  “What are you doing here, Dirk?” I brushed past him. “It’s not a good time.”

  “I’m waiting for Rowan to get some of his things.” He followed me toward the back door.

  I jerked to a stop. “What?”

  “He called me on his way to school, begging me to come get him. I called him out sick and brought him here to get some clothes. He’ll stay with me for a couple of nights�
�till things settle a bit around here.”

  “Like hell he will.” Newly livid, I scrambled for the door, but Dirk was practically breathing down my neck. I elbowed him in the ribs. “Back up—but first open the door for me.”

  He did, then gave me a second to step inside before barreling in behind me.

  “You can’t stop him, Mimi,” Dirk said, staring down at me. “He’s my son, too. I get a say.”

  Suddenly he was interested in parenting. Did that mean I could finally count on regular child support payments, too? A welcome silver lining.

  “I have a custody agreement that says otherwise, and we are not going to teach him to duck and cover when the heat turns up. Jesus, for such a ‘big man,’ you sure can be a wimp.” I set the groceries on the counter, certain Rowan was upstairs cowering at the sound of my voice.

  “You have no idea what it’s like to be a boy his age. Or as an underclassman on his team after having turned in teammates. He’s terrified, and I don’t blame him.”

  I lowered my voice so my son couldn’t accuse me of running his father off. “You don’t get to ignore him for weeks at a time and then come in and mess with my rules when the whim strikes. He’s going to school today. End. Of. Story. If you want him this weekend to make up for last, we can talk about that, but he’s grounded, so it can’t be all fun and games up there, either.”

  “You think you’re such a great mom, but where were you this morning when he needed you? Where were you when you should’ve protected him from the cops and gotten him a lawyer? Why’d you leave him alone with alcohol in the first place?”

  My ex knew how to hit below the belt, and those questions took me out at the knees. But while it was one thing for Carrie to insinuate that I was an unfit mother, Dirk had some nerve playing Monday-morning quarterback, especially when he’d left me to raise Rowan alone these past few years. It didn’t matter that his points were valid. He’d lost his right to criticize me when he stopped being a dependable father.

  “Get out.” I pointed at the back door. “I mean it. Get out or I’ll call the cops—got one on speed dial now, so I’m not kidding around.”

  Dirk narrowed his gaze before muttering a curse and storming past me. “Rowan!”

  “What?” came our son’s anemic reply.

  “Get down here,” Dirk said.

  Rowan appeared without his bag, which meant he’d heard our argument and conceded the fight. “What?”

  “Sorry, buddy, but your mom won’t let me take you. Call me later, though, okay?” Dirk crossed to our son and gave him a hug and kiss on the head. “Love ya.”

  Rowan kept his arms around Dirk’s waist extra long before releasing him. My already weakened heart hurt more to see how much he missed his father. Maybe I should’ve let him go, but running away from his fear felt like the wrong message. I had to hit the reset button on our dynamic now, and that meant my new rules had to stick. As his mother, I had to teach him about respect and integrity. If he couldn’t face school today, then he could help me make the meal and drive up to Baltimore to see Carter. At least that would be taking some responsibility.

  Dirk made a face at me on his way out of the house. My son did need a father—but this man? I didn’t trust him not to put bad ideas in Rowan’s head. But I also couldn’t come between those two.

  “Rowan can stay with you this weekend,” I called after him.

  “Whatever,” he said as he closed the door behind him on his way out.

  If Dirk wanted to fume in my driveway, let him. I spun around on Rowan.

  “Okay, honey, you’ve got two choices. I can drop you at school now, or you can help me make food for the Phillipses and then come with me to deliver it.”

  His eyes grew four times their size. “Mom! You can’t go over there.”

  “Says who?”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “No, I’m not.” I began unloading the pasta and cheese. “I care about them and want to show my love and support. This is what you do.”

  He shook his head. “Take me to school then, ’cause I’m not going with you.”

  “Well, that’s fine by me, although I actually think you’ll feel better once you face them.”

  “No way.” He shook his head, paling by the second.

  “Fine. Let’s go—I’ll write you a tardy note.”

  Two hours later, I drove across town to Grace’s pristine home. It reminded me a lot of the house in that old Steve Martin movie Father of the Bride. Preppy and perfect inside and out, a lot like Grace.

  I slung two grocery bags around my arms and then lifted the tray of mac ’n’ cheese out of the back seat before making my way to the front door, knocking even though I had a key.

  Grace’s mother, Becky, answered. “Oh, hello, Mimi.” An uncertain smile appeared. “Uncertain” seemed the perfect word to sum up that woman. Every time our paths had crossed—whether at one of the kids’ birthday parties or a Memorial Day picnic—she’d been pleasant yet nervous, like she wasn’t sure of herself. I assumed Becky’s self-doubt was the result of years of abuse, which always made me sad for her and for Grace. “What are you doing here?”

  I held up all the food in my hands. “I brought dinner and groceries so you don’t have to shop and cook.”

  Becky set one hand to her chest—such a Grace move. “Oh, well. That’s thoughtful. Come in.”

  I stepped inside and headed back for the kitchen. For years Grace and I had taken turns cooking and sharing dinners with our kids. It’d been fun company for all of us, and a nice break from cooking on our respective “off” days. All those dinners together meant that I knew her kitchen as well as my own, so I started putting things away. “How are you holding up? And how is Kim?”

  “We’re managing. I’m here for the week while Grace and Sam stay at a hotel near the hospital for a couple of nights.” She touched her hair and hovered anxiously while I sorted things.

  Grace had unfinished mental work when it came to her mom, that was for sure. So many of Grace’s parenting decisions came from trying to be the opposite of her own, like me with Uncle Tommy. Given how much she hated having to rely on her mother for help, her turning down my offer to take Kim surprised me.

  “I’m glad Grace can stick close to Carter this week. She must appreciate that you’ve stepped in to care for Kim.” The old cuckoo clock Grace had inherited from her grandmother started to sing. My breath caught in my chest as it struck me anew why I was in Grace’s house without her. I stopped and set my hands on the counter, eyes brimming. “Becky, I’m so sad about everything. Please, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me. And so you know, I’ve asked others in town to volunteer to cook meals, too, so that should lighten the burden on you all for the next few weeks.”

  Becky scratched her head, her hesitant smile suggesting discomfort about accepting the help. She wasn’t easy to read, but I was getting the funny feeling she wanted me out of the house. “Thank you, Mimi.”

  She folded her arms and glanced at the clock again.

  All night I’d thought about what Sam told me—how he’d convinced Grace to let Carter come to the party because he thought it would help end the bullying. Grace regularly shouldered more guilt than the entire congregation at Saint Anne’s, so I guessed the fallout from her speaking up at that hearing was probably exactly why she caved. It made me heartsick that her big step forward had backfired this way.

  “So, any word?” I pressed.

  “Carter’s through the surgery and has some sensation in his feet.” Her rheumy eyes held a dewy sheen.

  Relief crashed over me, practically throwing me at Becky, whom I grabbed into a hug. “Oh, that’s great news.”

  She patted my back while worming away and wringing her hands. “We don’t know exactly what that means, and no matter what happens, he has a long, hard road ahead.” She sighed. “We’re praying that he’ll walk again.”

  “I’m praying every minute for that, too.” Every second. Every millisecond, e
ven.

  “I guess we all are.” Becky had survived a lot of pain and disappointment in her life. Loss, too, with her husband and daughter. Grace had also suffered those losses, as had I with my parents. Not that loss was the kind of connection you liked to brag about.

  The air in the room was stiff, so I let Becky off the hook. “I should let you rest. Once the calendar of meals is set, I’ll drop it off so you know which days you can relax.”

  “All right. Thank you.” She politely hustled me out of the house and closed the door.

  I stood on Grace’s walkway for a moment, sun beating down as if it were a summer day, then confirmed the ballsy decision to take my own advice and face Grace and Sam.

  Rowan hadn’t been wrong about the risk of showing up uninvited. Today might not be the best day to visit, but my friend needed to know that Rowan and I were sorry. I was one of two people she turned to in tough times. Having Sam at her side didn’t mean she couldn’t also use my help during this family crisis. There might have been a lot of things that other people didn’t respect or understand about me, but I knew how to face pain head-on. Grace could borrow my strength again whenever she was ready to ask for it.

  It wasn’t often that I left Potomac Point. The drive along Route 2 wasn’t all bad, but I bristled when passing the exit for Annapolis, where Dirk now lived. Normally his custody threat would have made me laugh, but something in his tone had hardened today. If he squawked about my letting Rowan drink beer, Child Protective Services might get involved.

  I almost swerved off the road on that thought, like my life had become a terrible Lifetime movie. Could my history of supervised parties be deemed child endangerment? My hands began to sweat from my tight grip on the steering wheel. No pencil-pushing bureaucrat would be persuaded by my argument that my son would be in more danger drinking in the woods than when having a couple of beers at home. Carter’s injuries proved that my theory wasn’t exactly true, too.