For All She Knows

by Beck, Jamie

  He glared at me, so I cocked a brow.

  “What did you do all day?” I asked.

  “Lifted at the Y.”

  Allowing him to keep up with his regular workouts was my one exception to his grounding. “Who with?”

  “No one.” He followed that up with more sulking.

  When your kids are little, you can pretty much cure anything with a hug, a kiss, and deflection. So far I hadn’t found those methods to work as well with teen boys. And letting him manipulate me with his moods was sort of what got us here in the first place. “I’m sorry your friends have made you their scapegoat.”

  His jaw clenched. “I’m over it.”

  “Are you?” I tipped my head, hopeful.

  Another defiant shrug. “They’re being jerks. I’m sick of feeling bad when I didn’t do anything wrong. Dad says if I’d tried to delete the texts and stuff, the cops could’ve found out anyway and made it all worse for me.”

  I nodded, wondering what else Dirk was feeding Rowan. I understood the instinct—the desire to ease Rowan’s guilt—but the more important lesson in all this was taking responsibility for his own role in what happened. For Rowan to think he “didn’t do anything wrong” was a stretch. “Are you heading up to Annapolis tonight?”

  “No. Miranda had some other thing they had to do.” He bit his lip.

  “Sorry, bud.” I wrinkled my nose despite being relieved. Until I knew whether Dirk was gunning for me, I’d be wary of him taking Rowan for overnights. When I shifted, I felt something poking at my tailbone.

  I turned around to fish an empty beer can from behind the pillow. Oh. My. God. I held it in front of my son and snapped, “What’s this?”

  “A beer.”

  I smacked his shin. “Don’t be a smart aleck. Why’d you drink it?”

  He shrugged one shoulder, too lazy to put more oomph into anything. “Nothin’ better to do.”

  “Didn’t you learn anything?” My body itched like I’d broken out in hives. Heck, maybe I had. I didn’t know what behavior I’d expected of him since last weekend, but this was not it. No remorse. No respect. Did any lesson I’d ever taught stick, or had he been a great puppeteer?

  “You never cared if I had a beer now and then.” He didn’t even look worried so much as annoyed.

  My mouth fell open. “Rowan, you’re grounded.”

  “I didn’t go anywhere. I’ve been here all day except for my workout.”

  I shook the empty can. “This has to stop, too.”

  “For how long?” he groaned.

  “Maybe until you’re twenty-one.” I frowned, uncertainly. I’d been around enough to recognize a pipe dream when I heard one. The frequency of teen parties was the whole reason I’d tried to create a safe space for them. But the tragedy that happened here should’ve knocked a little sense into my son, or at least caused enough contrition for the consequences to Carter that he wouldn’t push me this way.

  “If Carter hadn’t been hurt, you wouldn’t care.” He huffed.

  Was he right? I set the can on the coffee table and stared at it for a minute. “That’s not true. I’ve always cared. The only reason I’ve been relaxed is so you wouldn’t lie and sneak and get yourself into more trouble or danger. I wish that you and your friends didn’t need to drink to have fun or be cool or whatever. Believe it or not, there are more interesting ways to entertain yourselves. In any case, my big plan to keep you all safe didn’t work, so maybe it’s time to make some new rules.”

  “Great. More rules.”

  “Stop whining. It’s really unattractive, Rowan. Especially when other people are paying a much bigger price than you.”

  My son flinched, his face paling. I wasn’t a big fan of the ice-water approach, but it was effective.

  He didn’t apologize, but he cut the self-pity. “Have you heard anything about Carter?”

  “Not really. He’ll be in the rehab center for at least a month. He’s got some feeling in his legs, but he’s not walking.” It’d been days without news from either Grace or Sam. I was losing patience with the waiting game, too.

  Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured Grace wringing her hands, imagined the wrinkles on her forehead when she concentrated, visualized the incessant cleaning she undertook to assert control over something. No doubt she’d struggle with juggling everything while keeping a positive attitude. Keeping her from delving into her own pain had been my role.

  I turned my head to look outside. Was she across town missing me as much as I missed her? Needing my advice as I needed hers?

  Rowan interrupted my thoughts, which pulled me from a dark rabbit hole. “I haven’t texted him since my apology that first night. I feel bad about it but don’t know what to say.”

  “How about ‘Thinking of you and wondering if there’s anything I can do’?” I suggested.

  He pushed himself into a more seated position, although his legs were still stretched out. “Am I a bad person?”

  I frowned. Had my one attempt at discipline sent that wrong message? “Why do you think that?”

  His gaze landed on the empty beer can. “Because, you know, other than football, what good do I do?”

  Oh. Got it. Self-reproach was a familiar negative spiral for me since last weekend, too. We teach kids that everyone makes mistakes and deserves a second chance, but not many folks hand out second chances. For every Gweneth, there were at least two Carries.

  This moment was a hard one. I didn’t want to teach him to be someone he wasn’t only to please other people, but he needed to learn to demand the best from himself. That’s what I’d always tried to do, even if I’d failed lately.

  My heart urged me to coddle him, but I let my head take the lead. “Well, Rowan, what else do you think you should be doing . . . or not doing?” I braced for learning something I might not want to know.

  Another shrug, followed by rubbing his thighs. “Dunno. But I’ve been thinking about why I stopped being friends with Carter. I mean, he never did anything mean. He just wasn’t cool, you know? Like, he didn’t play sports and he was into books. He does that volunteer stuff with Mrs. Phillips and those SLOBs. That service-league thing always seemed so stupid, but they help out at that place you go to cut old ladies’ hair, and they do stuff with some food bank.”

  My son had a conscience, unlike his father. That victory on this otherwise crappy day made my heart swell. “It’s great that you’re thinking about this. Can I ask what prompted it?”

  “’Cause it seems unfair that Carter got hurt when he’s so nice to everyone, but the rest of us are walking around perfectly fine.”

  It was unfair, thus Grace’s righteous anger. If only there were some way to balance the scales without making my son or myself suffer more. For the moment I kept quiet, letting Rowan stew in his self-examination and crash course in injustice.

  “Your guilty conscience proves that you’re not a bad person. It’s normal to choose friends based on common interests. It’s only natural to bond with your teammates when you spend so much time together. Are you always nice to others? I couldn’t say. Do you make some kids at school feel less-than by ignoring them? Maybe. But every day is a chance to be the kind of person you want to be. So maybe next week, stretch yourself. Make one new friend . . . someone you wouldn’t normally get to know.”

  “That won’t change what happened, though. Every time I think about how Carter might not walk again, I feel sick . . . like, really sick, Mom.” He held his stomach, his mouth and eyes drawn by the weight of blame.

  Blame I shared. The image of Carter in that hospital bed was stuck in my head. Same with the pain on Grace’s face, the crack in Sam’s voice, even the worry Becky had shown. And poor Kim was probably getting lost in the shuffle lately.

  My house didn’t feel the same, either, like it was coated in misery. I’d avoided the basement since last weekend. So had Rowan.

  I grabbed him into a hug, which we both needed. “I know, honey. So do I. That’s why they ca
ll these things tragic accidents. But you might begin to feel better if you text Carter. Be honest about how you feel. He might really appreciate it.”

  “He probably hates me like Mrs. Phillips hates you,” he said, easing out of my arms.

  His matter-of-fact tone sliced through me like my best cutting shears. My heart rebelled against the idea.

  “Grace doesn’t hate me.” I couldn’t accept that. We were like family. Families fight. Even when people avoided each other, it didn’t erase the bond of shared memories and adventures, of wins and losses. “She’s angry with the whole world because her baby is in pain, and that anger needs a target. I can be the bull’s-eye for now and keep being her friend. Eventually she’ll remember that I’m not her enemy.”

  Grace would let me back in someday, especially if Carter regained the ability to walk, which he had to do—not for my sake, but for his.

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t know, but I have faith.” Who knew six years of Sunday service and Bible study with Uncle Tommy would come in handy? I guessed I’d paid more attention than I’d thought I had. “Time helps people get perspective. So have faith that John, Deshaun, and the rest will come around, too, after things settle down.”

  “I don’t care if they do.” Again he mirrored his father’s tough-guy bluster.

  “Come on. It’s okay to feel hurt, but don’t close yourself off. Your friends are scared about being arrested, like you are. Lashing out at you is easier than facing what they’ve done. Even though they didn’t intend for things to go this far, they caused Carter’s fall. Imagine knowing that you hurt someone that much.”

  Rowan stared into space. “Maybe I could help Carter with rehab. You know, give him tips about how to get pumped up and push through pain when you think you can’t do one more rep.”

  I smiled and squeezed his knee. This was the kind of man I was trying to raise. “I love that idea, but we should check with his parents first. There are probably restrictions on visitors. Plus, the therapists might have a strict routine for him to stick to. Start with sending a simple note—maybe some of those inspirational quotes or something.”

  “That’s weird.” He made the face he always made when I served spinach.

  “Well, then ask how he is and tell him you know he can do this.”

  Rowan shrugged, glancing at his phone.

  “Okay, now get up and do those chores while I fix dinner.”

  I entered the school’s south lobby at seven o’clock on the nose, my stomach tightening. When I’d first signed up to work the booster table at tonight’s basketball game with Jordan and Jane, I’d looked forward to it. Jordan and I had been friendly for a while because of our boys, but I’d recently gotten closer to Jane, leading up to the hearing. Now, as I approached the tables where they were setting out sweatshirts and water bottles, it shocked me that I couldn’t see my breath, given the chilly vibes coming off Jordan.

  Normally, I smiled at everyone, but tonight I settled on politeness. “Looks like you guys got a head start. How can I help?”

  Jordan spared me a glance. “You’ve helped enough.”

  My face got hot, but I ignored the bait to avoid a scene in front of Jane, even though her opinion of me was probably already in the sewer. I’d expected Grace’s friends to hate me, but I wouldn’t have pegged Jordan for a turncoat. I set my purse and jacket beneath the table and began to unpack one of the boxes, neatly folding the T-shirts and layering them on the table.

  “Honestly, Mimi, Jane and I have this covered,” Jordan said, one hand gripping a water bottle. “We don’t need three of us here, so feel free to go.”

  She bared her fangs, but I wasn’t trashy, so I wanted to avoid a public fight. Much as I would’ve loved to have stayed at home to watch a movie with Rowan, I wouldn’t let her see me crumbling inside. I turned with a smile. “That’s okay. I’m happy to do my part, like always.”

  Jordan set her hands on the table. “Take the hint, Mimi.”

  Jane winced but busied herself by recounting the money in the cashbox.

  Thinking about Rowan sitting alone tonight, and about the damn Facebook posts, and about the only person who had a right to be upset—Grace—snapped something inside. I spoke through gritted teeth, loud enough that only Jordan and Jane could hear me. “Screw you, Jordan. If you and Roni want to pretend that your boys are victims rather than bad actors in this mess, then go ahead and stick your head in the sand. But you don’t scare me. And don’t think for one hot second that your new attitude erases the time last summer when we sat in your yard while the boys grilled hot dogs, drank Bud, and horsed around. You’re no different or better than me—you just haven’t been caught. Meanwhile, I wasn’t at home last Saturday night—and I sure as hell didn’t encourage your son and the others to give Carter Phillips a hard time, so you can stick your judgment where the sun don’t shine.”

  I refrained from covering my mouth with my hand so she wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing any regret about my mini breakdown. Jordan went still except for the subtle movement of her eyes, as if checking for Jane’s read on the situation.

  “Sorry, Jane,” I added. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but I’ve hit my limit of how much shit I can swallow.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I understand. For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s fair that everyone is blaming you.”

  Jordan whipped her head around as if stunned to have lost someone she considered an ally. Meanwhile, I nearly dropped to my knees in thanks. Praise God that not all folks saw this situation as black-and-white. That affirmation would get me through another night.

  “Thank you.” I opened a second box of gear to keep busy. We had to be ready by seven fifteen, when the crowds would start arriving.

  Silence settled around us thickly until Jordan finally grabbed her things. “You two have this covered, so I’ll take off.”

  Jane shot me a wide-eyed look, but I didn’t make a peep. If Jordan couldn’t admit that she’d mistreated me, so be it. But I would not beg her to stay or give in to her tantrum. It wasn’t about my ego. It was simply about demanding a minimum level of respect.

  When neither of us acknowledged her hissy fit, Jordan stormed off, phone in hand, probably typing another post for the Facebook moms’ group. Once she burst through the doors and disappeared into the darkness, I sighed. “I really am sorry, Jane. I know you didn’t come here tonight to referee a catfight.”

  “It’s okay. You should defend yourself. Let’s be honest, what happened at your house could’ve happened anywhere. I bet there are parties going on tonight. And Deshaun and John shouldn’t have been pushing that poor kid around. It’s crazy how these kids got so worked up over a budget debate. We all bear some blame for fighting over that field money. Some of the opinions in the paper leading up to the hearing were downright rabid.”

  I couldn’t stop trembling as my eyes spilled over. “Thank you so much. You have no idea—I had no idea—how much I needed another mom to say all that to me. It’s been a terrible week, but I feel awful for whining about it when no one has had a worse week than Carter.”

  “I dropped off dinner tonight and saw Grace. Kim had a Girl Scout thing that Grace had to attend this morning, so Sam was with Carter today.”

  Ah, Girl Scouts. I’d been envious when Grace and Kim started with Brownies—something I’d done with my own mother. I would’ve loved raising a little girl. Grace sometimes invited me over to “help” her when she hosted troop meetings. One time I did a whole lesson on different kinds of braids, and all the girls left the house with new dos. Being so disconnected from the Phillips family now physically hurt. “I don’t mean to pry—but how’s Grace doing?”

  Jane shrugged. “She’s jittery. Looks like she’s lost some weight and isn’t getting much sleep, either.”

  Made sense. Grace had never multitasked well, especially under stress, preferring to focus on one thing at a time. She’d probably been living on tea a
nd crackers. I was willing to bet she gave up on makeup by Tuesday, and barely ran a brush through her hair by the weekend.

  Two teen girls approached the table, cutting our conversation short. I welcomed the break from bleak thoughts, and studied the redhead’s overgrown style.

  The blonde asked, “How much are the pajama shorts?”

  “Twenty bucks,” I answered, smiling. “They’d look sweet on you.”

  “Will you guys be here after the game?” she asked.

  “We’ll stay open through halftime but then will start to box things up.”

  She wrinkled her nose and muttered something to her friend. “I’ll think about it. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. And by the way, I’m running a student special next week on cuts and highlights at A Cut Above, so tell your friends to stop in with their student IDs.” That came out of nowhere, but maybe I could raid the teen set for new clients.

  “Cool!” they said in unison as they strutted toward the gymnasium. I hoped they meant that.

  I turned back to Jane, so desperate for information I couldn’t stop myself from pressing for details. It was lowering, though. “Did Grace mention anything about Carter’s prognosis?”

  She picked at her nails, nervously. “I was too afraid to ask, assuming that if they’d gotten good news, we’d have heard it by now. I can’t imagine how she’s keeping it together. I’d be a wreck.”

  I nodded blankly, my thoughts drifting to the time when Kim had gashed her calf while we were all hiking Broad Creek Trail four years ago. Grace had flown into a panic at the sight of the blood, but Carter had the first-aid kit in his fanny pack. He’d given Kim some gum to distract her, sprayed her leg with antiseptic spray, applied butterfly bandages to close the gap, and wrapped it with gauze to keep it clean until we got her to the ER for stitches.

  “Is Rowan coming to the game tonight?” Jane asked.

  “He’s grounded for a while.” I grimaced, wondering if Jane considered that too light a punishment.

  “That makes sense.” Jane took a seat in one of the chairs the maintenance crew had left out for us. I envied her relaxed attitude. Her daughter, Alexis, hadn’t been at the party, so she had no shame or guilt about the events that took place last weekend. Lucky duck. It’d be months or longer before my day passed without those dual feelings.