For All She Knows

by Beck, Jamie

  He gestured to the call buttons, so I nodded. “I guess I’ll go.”

  “Bye.” He didn’t seem overly nervous, but the magnetic pull to stick by his side held fast.

  “I love you.” I forced my legs to move, stopping by the nursing station to make sure they had all my phone numbers in case of an emergency.

  Leaving my injured son behind felt like an abandonment. Once outside, I cried while trotting across the parking lot. Inside my car, I hung my head until the tears stopped, then checked my phone for messages and scrolled quickly through Facebook notifications. The town moms’ group was active as ever.

  Keri Bertram wrote:

  It’s unacceptable, with everything we know about teen brain development, that anyone would condone teen drinking. When you let them drink so young, you are shortchanging their futures. Plus, they aren’t mature enough to make safe decisions or moderate themselves like an adult can. It’s stupid, and honestly, encouraging kids to break the law should be a crime.

  I couldn’t have agreed more. Not to mention the statistically significant increased risk of developing alcohol-abuse issues when kids’ first experience getting drunk was at fourteen versus twenty. A twinge of guilt about saying nothing to my mother when Margot first started slipping out of the house late at night to party with her friends made me wince. But this post proved I wasn’t wrong to respect both the law and the dangers of teen alcohol abuse. Keri’s post had garnered a lot of likes, which also heartened me.

  A woman I didn’t know posted about the arrests.

  In what world is it fair that drunk bullies get off easy while their victim is gravely injured? Reckless endangerment, my ass. I doubt Carter Phillips invited their touch. It’s assault, plain and simple. #PotomacPoliceScrewedUp

  Yes! This stranger could see the truth, so why couldn’t Sam? His reaction had made me begin to doubt my own sanity. Of course, right beneath that post, Anne Sullivan, whom I knew to be fair, surprised me with her reply.

  Our community is heartsick over the terrible accident that took place on Saturday night. No doubt the boys involved are beside themselves with regrets, so let’s not inflame an already difficult situation, or undermine our police officers. They investigated the incident, so we should trust their judgment regarding appropriate charges. Let the boys learn from those consequences. There are better ways to help the Phillipses and the community heal without ruining more lives.

  That particular sentiment shot hot oil through my veins. Please, please . . . let’s make sure those “poor” football players’ lives aren’t too inconvenienced by what they did. Never mind that my son would be living with this injury for the rest of his life. How could Anne echo the same lame argument lawyers used to get Ivy League frat boys off easy after they’d sexually assaulted coeds? “Boys will be boys”—utter horseshit, plain and simple.

  Resentment toward anyone who couldn’t see the injustice hardened around my heart as I pulled out of the parking lot and made my way home. To make myself feel better, I returned phone calls to those who’d expressed concern and offered help. Well, those except for Mimi.

  I didn’t doubt her sincerity or her love for Carter, and he’d already devoured those cookies she’d baked. But I had no idea what else to say or where we went from here. Her home—a place I’d often gone for comfort and gossip—had now become the scene of my nightmares. Her son—a boy I’d helped raise—now seemed my son’s enemy.

  The combination of my grief about our friendship and the hour-long slog of Friday-night traffic wore on me. I pulled into the garage and almost ran over Kim’s ice skates, which were lying in front of the shelves. Irked, I hit the brakes, got out of the car, and threw them onto the wire shelf, then returned to the car to pull it all the way inside.

  I sat in the front seat for a moment after turning off the ignition, letting the quiet surround me. My tightly strung body refused to unwind, even when I closed my eyes and practiced yoga breaths.

  I’d wanted to remain at the hotel, but we had medical co-pays and Kim’s well-being to consider. Sam had to return to work, which left everything else to fall to me. Every day for the coming weeks, I’d be making that round trip to Baltimore, coordinating with teachers, and trying to make up for lost time with my daughter. The anticipation of it sapped any remaining energy.

  My mother’s car was still out front. Although appreciative of her help, I was sure to pay for it for weeks to come. She loved to play the martyr, like when Margot and I were young and she’d painted herself as “holding the family together.” If neglecting her kids’ needs in favor of enabling her husband’s dangerous behavior was holding the family together, then she got the prize. The only good to come of her failures had been how they’d inspired me to do better, which was why I would take on the whole world to protect Carter now if I had to.

  Without Sam and Mimi, both of whom usually made me laugh and put things in a brighter perspective, it became difficult to shake off the ugly noise in my head. If I closed my eyes, I could picture Mimi’s chipper face and hear her voice cheering on Carter’s progress: he could now move his feet and bend his knees at will. If we were speaking, she would’ve marked each small step with a celebration.

  As grateful as I was for my son’s improvements, he still lacked the strength to stand, even with a walker. However, I finally allowed myself to believe that he might not be confined to life in a wheelchair.

  He would not, however, live pain-free. Dr. Acharya had explained that with the rod in his back, the vertebrae directly above and below would probably wear down because of friction with the metal’s rigidity, which meant future spinal fusions and longer rods as he aged. More risk, more pain, more scars. I’d never had to dig deeper to find the courage needed to help my son accept his new challenges and limitations. Doing so took everything I had, which left almost nothing for Kim and Sam.

  I wished they could understand my depleted reserves without blaming me for them. If it were either of them in the hospital, they’d be getting my all. I was only one woman—and not the strongest or smartest one, at that—yet everyone wanted something from me. Sam wanted me to relax and let go of anger. Kim wanted, well, anything she could get. Mimi wanted forgiveness. The community probably wanted to hear from me, too. All I wanted was to make this all go away, which wouldn’t happen, like those other things people wanted weren’t happening.

  With a sigh, I tossed my key fob on the dashboard and then entered my house through the mudroom. Immediately, the aroma of a roast or possibly a stew reached my nostrils and loosened the tension in my back. My stomach growled because I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  “Hello?” came Sam’s voice from the kitchen.

  I hung up my coat, kicked off my shoes, and set my purse on the cubby shelf. “It’s me.”

  A wave of yearning for the simple days preceding Carter’s injury arose. I’d grown accustomed to Sam’s warm smile, the hugs, the sexy promise in the gleam of his eyes. I’d always looked forward to catching up with him in the evening, especially on Friday nights when I’d feed the kids early and then have us eat later in the dining room to kick-start the weekend. Often we had then joined the kids for a family game night. And at the end of the night, we’d crawl into bed and make love.

  If I were being honest, I’d also missed Mimi this week. Each time I’d caught myself wanting to turn to her for advice or comfort, I’d felt like a traitor to my son.

  These days I had only my focus on being Carter’s pillar of strength to keep me going.

  Instead of greeting me with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the butt, Sam remained by the stove, staring at me as if I might bite him.

  “Where’s my mother?” I asked.

  “Packing her things so she can make her knitting circle meetup. I told her she could go home for the weekend. Becky helped a lot, but she’s tired, and I doubt you want to sleep under the same roof as her night after night.” He turned off the stove. His instincts about my mom and me were perfect, but I hated the way we
were now making decisions separately. “You got Carter settled?”

  I nodded before stretching my neck from side to side. “Leron is a big guy. Seems like he enjoys working with kids. I think he’ll quickly figure out how to encourage Carter.”

  Sam nodded. “That’s good. I’m impressed with the doctors and other professionals there. Carter’s in great hands.”

  Since we’d met, Sam’s optimism had been one of my favorite traits. It offset my tendency to stress out whenever things went wrong, whether that had been learning to live with Kim’s life-threatening allergy or dealing with the disaster caused when the master bathroom pipes burst and flooded that side of the house.

  When it came to Carter, though, Sam’s attitude provoked inexplicable bitterness. It was almost as if I resented him for not treating this with more gravity—like he was one of those parents on the Facebook group playing down what had happened so that no one else had to suffer. Sure, I projected optimism in front of Carter, but it didn’t come naturally.

  “Where’s Kim?” I asked, changing the subject to quell my stomach acid.

  “Upstairs. I was about to call her down.” He ladled stew into a bowl.

  I gripped the back of a kitchen chair. “She left her skates on the garage floor again.”

  Sam silently fixed a second bowl.

  “She really needs to learn to be more responsible,” I added in a prickly tone.

  My husband exhaled slowly while bringing the bowls to the table. “Generally I agree, but my bet is that she’s acting out because we’ve basically ignored her all week. Yelling about her skates won’t help her feel more secure. I’m sure she’s also worried about Carter but doesn’t know how to handle those feelings. She’s only ten. Her sleepover party got wrecked. Her grandma was the only one around, and you know how Becky can make things about herself at times. It’s been a rough week on everyone. Let’s not lecture or quiz her about school or anything, but just enjoy a pleasant evening. Maybe play a game?” He returned to the stove to fill his own bowl.

  “In other words, I’m the problem?” I stiffened, holding back tears.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”

  He didn’t have to. He’d been growing increasingly frustrated with me all week. I’d always known he was the more flexible of us, but unlike in prior situations, now he seemed to challenge my every thought.

  As luck would have it, my mother entered the kitchen at that moment. “You’re finally home.” Her tone wasn’t as accusatory as her word choice. Was it too much to have preferred for her to say something along the lines of “I’m glad you’re home and hope you can relax”?

  Sam crossed to the mudroom and called up the back stairs for Kim. Despite being drained, I vowed to give my daughter whatever she needed with as much love and determination as I’d been showering upon Carter.

  “Hi, Mom.” I gave her a quick kiss hello. “Thanks for taking care of Kim all week.”

  “I was happy to help. She’s a hoot. Reminds me of your sister.” She flashed a bittersweet smile.

  I said nothing because talking about Margot with my mother brought up regrets and resentment. Instead I asked, “Are you sure you don’t want dinner before you go?”

  “No. I want to catch up with my friends. But if you can’t get a sitter next week, I’ll come back.”

  “Thanks, but we’ll manage something. Escape while you can,” I joked, hoping to hide my eagerness for her departure.

  “I’d like to visit Carter tomorrow if that’s okay?”

  “Of course it is,” Sam replied upon his return to the kitchen. “He’ll welcome seeing someone other than Grace and me.”

  He slung an arm around my mother’s shoulders and gave her a little squeeze, which smarted because he’d not shown me a scrap of affection.

  She patted his hand. “You two take care of each other now.”

  Something about her tone burrowed under my skin, like she was sending a secret message to me or about me—I wasn’t sure. “Do you need help with your luggage?”

  “No, I’m not feeble.” She smiled. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I followed her to the driveway and waited for her to back out before returning to the kitchen.

  The stew smelled heavenly—a mixture of rosemary and red wine and something else I couldn’t place. I took a seat at the table. “Where’d you get the recipe?”

  He shot me a “duh” look. “Sandra Webb dropped dinner off.”

  “Oh.” I tasted a bite. “It’s delicious.”

  “There’s also leftover lasagna in the fridge that Carrie dropped off yesterday or the day before.”

  “I hope my mom kept a list so I can write out thank-you notes later tonight. Our neighbors and friends have been so thoughtful to pitch in.” The community outreach had made me feel appreciated and loved—like all the years of volunteering and befriending others had meant something.

  Sam tipped his head, looking as if he was holding his breath. “You know this is all because of Mimi,” he said. “Will you be sending her a thank-you note as well?”

  It hurt that my husband had more empathy for my friend than for me. If I weren’t so hungry, I might’ve dumped my stew in his lap. And hadn’t he just said that tonight was not for lectures?

  “Maybe you should, since you two are so chummy now.” As for Mimi, I couldn’t speak to her while I still warred between wanting to lean on her and wanting to strangle her.

  He flashed a hard look my way, but then Kim wandered into the kitchen.

  Our daughter took one look at dinner and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want that.”

  “Please cooperate, Kim,” Sam said.

  “Stew meat is stringy.” She scowled at the bowl as if it had insulted her.

  I opened my arms for a hug, glad for the chance to make up for my neglect. “Hey, sweetheart. Come here. I’ve missed you and can’t wait to hear all about your week.”

  She complied but seemed more concerned about being forced to eat stew than she was happy about my arrival. “Mom, can I eat something else? Pleeease.”

  It would take a few days to reestablish our rules. I wasn’t upset with my mother, though. She’d done us a huge favor, and Kim was not easy to dissuade.

  “What’s the rule?” I kissed the top of her head and released her.

  She rolled her eyes. “You get what you get and you don’t get upset.”

  I nodded and pointed to her seat. “If you eat the stew, maybe we’ll go for ice cream. But let’s enjoy a nice dinner together.”

  She plopped her butt down but then sat with a frown and her chin on her fists. “Can’t I make a grilled cheese sandwich instead? Grammy let me use the stove all by myself.”

  Great. Something else to worry about.

  “Honey, people have gone out of their way to make us these wonderful meals.” I took another bite and made a mental note to ask Sandra for the recipe.

  Kim chose that moment to scoop stew into her spoon, raise it, and then let the food plunk back into the bowl.

  “Don’t play with your food,” Sam said gently.

  “It looks like barf.” Kim pushed the bowl away from her and then sat back with her arms crossed. I kept eating, honoring Sam’s request not to lecture or otherwise escalate our daughter’s tantrums.

  “Did anything fun happen today at school?” I tried.

  “No.” She scuffed her feet against the floor.

  I let the table manners slide. “Did you finish that clay project in art class yet?”

  “No.”

  “Hm. Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” I asked.

  “Can I have another birthday party since mine got ruined?” She set her elbows on the table and held her chin in her palms.

  Sam and I exchanged a glance. “I’m sorry, honey, but we can’t manage a party with everything going on with your brother. Daddy and I don’t have free time, and we’re very tired.”

  “When is Carter coming home?” she asked, looking sudde
nly anxious. She must miss having him around, too. My heart stuttered.

  “We don’t know.” I laid my hand on hers. “Hopefully in a month or six weeks. Now, how about you eat dinner so we can have dessert and figure out something fun to do tonight?”

  She sat back and crossed her arms. “I hate stew.”

  “If you don’t want to eat, fine. But there won’t be any snacks tonight, so be sure.” Sam rarely lost his patience, but his snapping proved for the first time that this week had tested him, too. “You’re excused from the table. After we clean up, we’ll call you to play a game or pick a movie.”

  Kim slid off her chair and slunk away. So much for our peaceful evening as a family.

  We continued eating in silence. I didn’t know what to say. It’d be hypocritical to criticize him for snapping when I’d been waspish all week. On the other hand, we’d now alienated our daughter even further. I was beginning to lose faith that we’d recover our parenting mojo.

  “Sorry.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, which forced me to notice his fatigue.

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine, but while she’s gone, let’s finish our conversation.” He sighed. “Mimi isn’t responsible for what happened, no matter how much you want to make her the scapegoat.”

  Now it was my turn to push my food away, even though I’d been enjoying it. “Just because she wasn’t there when it happened doesn’t make her innocent. We all know she rarely punishes Rowan for anything. Who couldn’t foresee the perfect storm for something to go wrong?”

  “Here we go.” Sam stood. “Your childhood makes you the expert, while the rest of us ignorant fools’ bad decisions led to Carter’s injuries. Never mind things like accidents and fate. Forget that we actually can’t control the future, or that one of our kids could get hurt some other way at any point.”

  “Stop calling it an accident,” I barked.

  “Even the police believe that’s what it was.” He raised his arms.

  “I don’t care what the police believe. Those boys wanted to hurt Carter. Maybe not as badly as they did—maybe only emotionally—but their intentions were cruel.” I shook my hands to release the fists that I’d formed.