For All She Knows

by Beck, Jamie

  “Thank you.” No use explaining once more that a “full recovery” was impossible. This was not some insignificant boo-boo like everyone wanted to characterize it. Even if Carter eventually walked without support, he had permanent hardware in his spine, which meant years of residual pain and arthritis, and the likelihood of more surgery in the future. The harrowing reality crippled me.

  I charged out of the station, my body buzzing with restless energy. Involving myself in the criminal cases wouldn’t change what had happened or alter my son’s future, but it might make those boys think twice before hurting anyone else. Carter might not get that now, but when he became a father, he’d understand. He’d also have proof that his parents loved him enough to champion him—something mine had never done.

  Tomorrow I’d call the district attorney’s office and make sure that whoever was handling this case understood the full extent of Carter’s injuries.

  When I finally got home, Sam’s car was already in the garage. He must’ve left work early. Not yet ready to face him, I turned off the car and called Carter, who’d been alone since I’d left him at noon.

  “Hey, Mom,” he answered, his lackluster tone flattening my heart.

  “Hi, sweetheart. I met with your school team and they’re all set with your tutor. How was your afternoon?” Every day he would endure a few hours of therapy and a battery of checkups.

  “Hard.” He sounded tuckered.

  It’d been so easy to comfort my children when they were little. Even if I could reach through the phone and hold him, it wouldn’t help. I pinched my nose to stave off tears. “I’m sorry. Can I help?”

  A pointless question with him up there and me down here.

  “No. I’ve got to tough it out.” It sounded like he might’ve shifted in bed. “Rowan offered to help.”

  “Rowan?” I frowned. I hadn’t given Mimi the green light on that. Had she ignored my text, or had Rowan taken it upon himself? Hopefully the latter, because if it was only Mimi’s idea, it would die as suddenly as it was offered. That disappointment would hurt Carter, who’d always admired Rowan.

  That reminded me of the old tree house that Sam had built for the kids. Carter would bring jars of bugs up there to show Rowan, but Rowan had been more interested in climbing the branches above the tree house. He’d tried to coax Carter to join him, but Carter never did. I didn’t know why that memory made me smile. Maybe because they’d been so young and different yet played well—like Mimi and me. Now look at us all, torn in opposite directions.

  “Don’t freak, Mom.”

  I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep myself in check. “How can Rowan help?”

  After a slight hesitation, he said, “He’s an expert at training.”

  Expert? I rolled my eyes. Rowan might be great at training his healthy body, but he didn’t know anything about the serious limitations Carter’s hardware and nerve damage presented.

  Carter continued, “He said he’d talk me through the low points, like when I feel I can’t keep going or I’m not making progress as fast as I want to. You know, like he has to do.”

  For the first time since the fall, my son sounded slightly encouraged, so I could hardly raise an objection. I had to admit it was brave and kind of Rowan to reach out. Like mother, like son. I pressed my palm against my face to subdue a headache. “Well, if you think it will help . . .”

  “I do.”

  Fresh tears brought on by the memories of better days clogged my nose, but I cleared my throat so he wouldn’t hear them. “I’ll be up first thing tomorrow. Anything you want me to bring? Doughnuts, perhaps?”

  “I’ve been reading that protein helps the body heal, so maybe some pistachios and hard-boiled eggs. Hummus. You know, snacks like that.”

  I couldn’t help but smile and thank God that my son’s brain hadn’t borne the brunt of his injuries, and that he usually made good decisions. “You got it. Love you. Hope you find something good on Netflix tonight.”

  “I’ve got to read a book for Lit.”

  “Oh. Well, then I can’t wait to hear about it tomorrow. Miss you already.”

  “Good night, Mom.”

  “Good night.”

  After he hung up, I sat in my quiet car, dreading the evening. When I was surrounded by the rest of my family, Carter’s absence struck more keenly. I let the pain of our forced separation seep in and subside before going inside to face my husband and Kim.

  I wandered through the house, passing the silent piano. I’d taken the past week off from teaching, but I’d have to start back in another week. I’d always loved those hours, but now they were simply another obligation that split my focus. Like with Mimi and Sam, another comfort lost to me.

  Eventually I found Sam in his office, riffling through insurance paperwork. Our carrier required co-pays, and the costs of Carter’s medical care promised to be exorbitant. He looked up and shook his head. “It’s staggering. I don’t know what uninsured people do when this kind of thing happens.”

  Those poor folks were victimized twice. I tugged at my collar to cool off. We enjoyed financial comfort, so I’d hardly given much thought to this aspect of our nightmare. “Are you concerned?”

  “It’s hard to tell this early, but the coverage gaps are bigger than I expected. The hospital stay and surgery were a few hundred grand, and our share isn’t nothing. With inpatient and outpatient rehab, these figures could really balloon. Most of the cash on hand will be used to pay taxes soon, so we might need to liquidate some investments in the future.”

  My whole body slumped. The last thing we needed now was more to worry about.

  He rocked back in his leather desk chair, peering at me. “You look peaked. Is there trouble coordinating with the tutor?”

  “No.” I paused. We hadn’t been on the same page since before the accident, so I hesitated to share my earlier confrontation. “I ran into Roni at school.”

  Sam’s anxious grimace suggested he worried more about what I’d said than what she had. I missed my husband’s support, but then again, he probably missed mine. “I take it that didn’t go well.”

  I leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded. “She had the nerve to brag about how they would plead down John’s criminal charge. Everyone’s getting off easy. Then I hear the exhaustion in our son’s voice and I could smash something. It’s all so unfair.”

  Sam inhaled and held his breath before letting it out slowly. His eyes reflected pity—a new and unnerving dynamic between us. “We both know life isn’t always fair, babe, but burning things down won’t help Carter.”

  I scoffed. “You sound like Officer Martinez.”

  Sam cocked his head, looking almost alarmed. “When did you speak with him?”

  “I swung by the station on my way home.” Please support me. Please support me.

  “Grace.” He’d said it softly. Sadly. Almost like he was in mourning.

  I pushed off the doorframe. “Don’t shake your head at me. I’ve got every right to be furious. Why aren’t you angrier? That’s the real question.”

  My chest expanded as the air around me charged. Sam didn’t shrink in the face of my accusation, nor did he rise to the bait. The only outward signs of his contained fury were his whitening fingertips pressed against his desktop.

  “Just because my anger isn’t eating me alive doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. But what good does it do to run around like a deranged bull tromping on everything and everyone? You’re walling yourself off from me, from Mimi, and everyone else. What’s that getting you? Or Carter?” He pushed back from his desk, letting out a sigh as if it would carry his anger from the room.

  “Justice!” I punched the air with both hands, which hardly satisfied the urge to shake some sense into him.

  He frowned. “How so?”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it—mind blank. My body prickled with embarrassed rage because justice wouldn’t make anything better for anyone other than me. I needed the scales to be balanced b
ecause I needed proof that our actions mattered. Proof that we all weren’t merely fate’s puppets.

  Sam stood and rounded his desk to approach me but stopped short, his gaze uncertain, his hands balled into loose fists at his sides. Neither of us was used to his touch being less than welcome. Right now even I couldn’t guess how I’d react if he hugged me, which buried my heart in more pain. Like layers of soil, loss and strain piled on—Carter, Sam, Mimi, and even my relationship with Kim.

  “Gracie, babe.” A plea. “Let’s use our energy to help Carter rather than to fight with each other and everyone else.”

  I shivered, unable to match his calm in the face of the overwhelming tidal wave bearing down. Our son’s suffering. The months of therapy. The tens of thousands or more that this could cost us regardless of our insurance coverage.

  “What do you want me to say?” I asked.

  He dropped his head before choosing to return to his chair, shoulders sagging. “Never mind.”

  I stepped forward, afraid of what I was seeing. Aware that I might be pushing him to the end of his patience. Pushing him out of love with me. “I want to know.”

  He regarded me, debating with himself but ultimately shaking his head. “You’ll take it wrong, and we don’t need any more disagreements.”

  “Please tell me what you’re thinking.” I clasped my hands in front of my pelvis to calm myself.

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “Whatever responsibility others bear, we bear some, too. We let him go, after all.”

  His words struck like a cattle prod, shocking me with sudden, sharp pain. I gripped the back of the chair so hard it moved. Self-loathing roughened my voice, which came out almost as a shriek. “You think I don’t know that? That it doesn’t eat at me every single day—and every time I look at you? Why do you think I’m desperate to fix this somehow? I failed Carter once, but he’ll know that I fought for him every step of the way since that lapse in judgment. Don’t you see, Sam? I can’t live with any other outcome because of my hand in this.”

  Instead of backing down, Sam held his course, as if his insistence would persuade me.

  “But, Gracie, your inability to forgive yourself or anyone else is making it harder on everyone. On our daughter, and on me. Probably on Carter, too. I’m grieving for our son’s pain, and the loss of your respect. Kim’s probably more confused and frightened than she’s letting on. And your friends—people are trying to be kind, but you’re so bitter and withdrawn. So rigid in your thoughts. It’s been nine days. Maybe if you met with Mimi and Rowan, your rage would subside.”

  I reared back on my heels. “Have you spoken with them?”

  His reddened cheeks answered before he did. “I texted Mimi an update about Carter’s progress and gave Rowan permission to reach out to Carter.”

  I got dizzy, as if I’d been boxed in the ears. “Why is Mimi still texting you?”

  “Probably because you won’t talk to her.” He cocked a disapproving brow.

  While I could take no comfort in my husband or my friend, they were finding it in each other. My world was turning inside out, knocking me around like a strong wave.

  There was no use in us talking in circles right now. I turned to leave, then stopped with my hand on the doorjamb.

  Looking over my shoulder, I said, “You know, even if you don’t always agree with me, you’re supposed to be on my side. Not Mimi’s. Not Rowan’s. Do you honestly think I don’t know that they feel bad? Or that I don’t miss my friend, Sam? Or you? I’m sorry I’m not handling this as well as you’d prefer. That I can’t yet make room in my heart for sympathy for others. But from where I stand, it seems like you care about everyone’s feelings except mine. Just like my mother, you want to silence me and my feelings instead of trying to understand them. I have never felt more alone and misunderstood in my life. You’re like a stranger to me, and that breaks my heart.”

  He dropped his chin, replying softly, “I could say the same about you, Gracie.”

  He would not hear me. He would not be on my side.

  Fine. “I’m sorry you don’t respect my point of view.”

  I walked away before he could body-slam me with another unwanted response. He wasn’t wholly wrong—I wasn’t myself lately and wouldn’t pretend otherwise. But these were exceptional times. My feelings weren’t invalid. His unwillingness to allow my anger to burn for even an instant felt like he’d snuffed out a part of my soul.

  Kim was in the kitchen when I got there, sneaking a bowl of Golden Grahams. Lacking the energy to fight, I pretended not to notice. Inside the refrigerator sat an unfamiliar casserole dish covered with tinfoil and topped with a Post-it note, so I pulled it out. The fact that Mimi had encouraged my friends to help rushed in like warm water sinking beneath all my anger, trying to loosen it.

  This dish was Susie Chin’s teriyaki chicken casserole, which I’d enjoyed at various potlucks throughout the years. It wrought a smile that she remembered that I liked it. I turned on the oven, then made a note to write a thank-you card to Susie. Mimi deserved one, too, despite what I’d said to Sam about that earlier this week. What I didn’t know was why I couldn’t allow myself to accept her apologies or her help. Worse, why her attempts enraged me. She hadn’t done anything to intentionally hurt my family, yet I felt betrayed.

  “Did you remember my Valentine’s cards and candy?” Kim asked.

  Shoot. Devoting myself to Carter had left Kim in the cold. I’d yet to strike a balance. Kim deserved better. “I’m sorry, honey. I’ll get them tomorrow.”

  “That’s what you said yesterday.” She wrapped her arm protectively around her bowl while I absorbed the accusation.

  “I know. I’ve had a lot on my plate. But there are still a few weeks until Valentine’s Day. I promise you’ll have them in time to send to your classmates and friends.”

  Kim stared at me, her chin tucked. “I heard you and Dad fighting.”

  Her comment nearly made me stumble as I crossed to the table. “What?”

  “You guys were just fighting.” Her worried gaze pierced me. “Lilah’s parents used to fight a lot, and then they got divorced.”

  Weeks ago, I would’ve laughed at the idea that my marriage would falter. Until this all happened, my kids had never—or very rarely—heard Sam and me quarrel. A new low point: shattering my child’s sense of stability. Another thing to regret.

  “Oh, honey. Dad and I aren’t getting divorced.” A tiny prick of doubt popped my conscience when recalling Sam’s demeanor from minutes earlier, which proved we weren’t impervious. I hid my alarm. “When grown-ups get exhausted, they can be crabby. Dad and I haven’t been sleeping well because we’re very worried about your brother. I’m sorry if we’ve upset you. I’ll try harder to be more careful with my words, okay? I don’t want you to worry.”

  “Okay. Maybe you’d be happier if we did something fun . . . like having my sleepover party next weekend?” She shot me a cute, if manipulative, grin.

  Her tenacity prompted a slight smile that pulled me back from the abyss. I envied her ability to bounce from one extreme to another. Unfortunately, the last thing Sam and I could do right now was host a sleepover party.

  “Honey, now isn’t a good time, but I promise we’ll do something once things settle.” I reached for her forearm, stroking her soft skin. “I’m sorry if my running around so much has made you feel bad. It’s got nothing to do with how much I love you. But Carter is all by himself up in Baltimore, so I try to keep him company as much as possible. Do you understand?”

  “It’s okay.” She drank the sweetened milk straight from the bowl, which proved she knew that she had me over a barrel. If I weren’t bruised from the inside out, I might’ve laughed. But breathing hurt enough right now. When she finished, she slid off her chair and took her bowl to the dishwasher. Before leaving, she said, “I forgive you.”

  Her simple words produced equal amounts of relief and shame.

  Alone, I folded my arms on the table, set my
head down, and wept. I could see myself from a distance—a madwoman kicking her life apart like some sandcastle on the beach and watching it disintegrate with each new wave of frustration. Trapped in an unending battle to figure out the right thing to do, unable to pry my heart open to forgiveness or move forward with confidence. Without Sam to talk to, who could help me?

  Not my mother.

  Mimi’s sunny smile sprang to mind, which made me cry even harder.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MIMI

  Thursday, January 21

  Rehab facility

  “I’m nervous,” Rowan mumbled as the thick glass doors to the rehabilitation center opened automatically.

  One benefit of my having fewer salon appointments lately was being able to bring him to see Carter this afternoon.

  “About what?” I asked, dwarfed by the institution that would be Carter’s home for weeks or longer, the reality of which intensified my sense of gloom.

  “Seeing Mrs. Phillips.” His solemn gaze landed like a gut punch.

  Grace had never before been unkind to Rowan, but Carter’s injury had changed my friend, so anything could happen. I loosened my white-knuckled grip on the tin of homemade nut-and-granola bars. “Don’t worry, honey. She won’t say anything to you.”

  A literal truth, I feared.

  So darn sad. She’d rejected my every attempt and offer to lift her up, and meanwhile, without her grounding presence, my life, my business, and even my relationship with Rowan were off-kilter. Still, determined to heed my own advice, I tipped my chin up. Grace was expecting us. Maybe she missed me and would finally accept our apology.

  Sam had given me Carter’s room number, so we signed in and then walked down a corridor of patient rooms. Carter’s door was partway open, so I rapped on it twice. “Carter, honey, it’s Mrs. Gillette and Rowan. Are you up for company?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  A thin sheen of perspiration covered Rowan’s face when confronted with a room filled with monitors and equipment needed to assist Carter’s mobility. Every contraption might as well have been a condemnation of my parenting and my son’s behavior, making my stomach sour.