by Beck, Jamie
This depressing space would be his home for a while. Granted, Grace had done her best to add homey touches with some of his personal items. Picturing her collecting these things from his room in tears, desperately doing anything she could to make this situation less lonely for her child, made my throat ache with tightness. Despite her heroic attempt, nothing hid the medical equipment or brightened the bland floors and walls.
To my surprise, Grace wasn’t in the room. That she’d left Carter alone rather than face me dashed any hope of forgiveness, which produced a lump in my throat. The nearly two weeks since she’d cut me off felt more like two years. We’d never mend fences at this rate.
“Hey.” Carter winced when shifting position and then managed a polite smile. He looked thinner. Gaunt, even. His cheekbones seemed sharper, too. Seeing the wheelchair in the corner of the room nearly made me stumble. This was not a bump I could wipe away with a hug and a treat, like I had when Rowan had accidentally clocked him in the head with a football at ten. The worst part was the inescapable truth that Carter would not be here if I had been a different parent, or if my son had been a more responsible, respectful kid.
“Hi, sweetie.” I set the tin on the table beside Carter’s bed, my guilty pulse pounding in response to seeing him wince whenever he moved. I hadn’t fallen asleep once since this happened without seeing Carter terrified on my basement floor. If it were Rowan trapped here fighting to relearn basic skills, I’d probably shriek into my pillow every single night. Poor Grace. “I made you some of my special power bars—loaded with protein. Rowan chows down on these before and after training.”
Despite the chirpy description, my gift seemed pathetically inadequate.
“Thanks.” Carter glanced at the tin, appearing uncertain about how to greet us. His gaze darted from Rowan back to me. “I’m sure they’re great.”
I twined my twitchy fingers together. “Is everyone here treating you okay?”
“I guess.” He shrugged. “They push me, but they’re nice about it.”
Seeing him frail and alone sharpened the unpleasantness of going home to the scene of the crime. An apt description. Maybe Grace wasn’t wrong to be disappointed in the charges passed out like “Get Out of Jail Free” cards.
“Are there any kids your age?” I asked, hoping he could make a friend.
“Mostly it’s older people, but some are younger than me.” He nodded matter-of-factly, loosening up a bit. “Two new people this week got really messed up because of people texting while driving.”
“That’s terrible.” I turned to see if Rowan was still with us. My son remained frozen and tongue-tied behind me.
“Something wrong?” Carter asked, his head tipped as he peered around me to Rowan.
“I . . . I feel really bad. This all”—Rowan gestured around the room, his face graying by the second—“like, really sucks. I wish it hadn’t happened.”
“Me too,” Carter said self-mockingly. “But don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault.”
“My house. My friends,” Rowan mumbled. I gobbled up that moment of self-awareness and maturity like the mother starving for a crumb of silver lining that I was.
“I could’ve left when everyone got drunk. Pretty dumb of me to stick around just so Tracy Patterson didn’t think I was lame.” Carter rolled his eyes.
His light humor broke some of the tension. But Tracy Patterson? Good grief, that one was trouble. Poor Carter. Everyone does stupid things in the name of love, but most get out with nothing worse than a temporary broken heart.
“I think I’ll hit up the cafeteria and give you boys some time alone to talk,” I said. “Your dad said we shouldn’t tucker you out, so I’ll come back in fifteen or so. Cool?”
Carter nodded, so I leaned forward and kissed the top of his head before tousling his hair. “I shoulda brought my scissors. Maybe next time?”
“Yeah.” He chuckled while Rowan took a seat in one of the two chairs in the room.
I pulled the door mostly closed behind me on my way out.
The cafeteria’s towering windows and decent selection surprised me. Caving to the siren song of caffeine and sugar, I purchased a large coffee and chocolate-covered doughnut with sprinkles, even though I suspected comfort foods wouldn’t do the trick. While running my credit card through the register, I froze.
Grace sat at a table in the far corner, staring out one of those grand windows. Her back was to the entrance, so she probably hadn’t seen me come in. I could slip out unnoticed.
I hesitated, torn between leaving her to her thoughts and forcing her to deal with me. The twenty yards between us might as well have been the entire Chesapeake Bay, and crossing it would be equally treacherous. Then I remembered that very first playgroup. I’d shown up late with a batch of walnut brownies—unaware of Tina Tubman’s nut allergy or the group’s general ban on sugary foods for the tots.
The other four ladies in the group had barely hidden their contempt for my mistakes (or my short shorts), but Grace had smiled at me as if I were a fresh breeze coming off the water, before moving seats to introduce herself and then asking me all kinds of questions about Rowan. A week later she’d surprised me by booking a hair appointment with me when I was still working at Divaz. From then on, we’d been fast friends.
I never had a sister, nor had an easy time keeping female friends, so I’d cherished Grace in ways she probably never fully appreciated. The idea that one admittedly awful incident could erase a decade of love and trust gutted me. With that in mind, I summoned my courage, grabbed a butter knife from the buckets of silverware, and crossed to Grace’s table.
“It’s not one of Hannah’s pistachio muffins, but it doesn’t look terrible.” I set the plate with the chocolate-glazed doughnut on the table while sweat trickled down my back. Grace snapped her head my way, her face ashen. My stomach burned while I waited to see if my gamble would pay off. “I’ll share it with you.”
Her gaze darted over my shoulder as if looking to see if anyone else had come with me or was watching us. Two, three, four beats passed in silence. Her cornered expression made me feel guiltier for forcing my way in. I was about to leave, but then she gestured toward an empty chair across the table.
A bloom of hope mushroomed so fast I almost grabbed her into a hug. Fortunately, I kept my cool, took a seat, and cut the doughnut in half. I faked a smile, pretending that we were at Sugar Momma’s for one of our regular coffee dates, telling myself that baby steps were better than no steps at all.
But Grace’s scrutiny made me sweat even more. Her blue eyes darkened with sorrow, defeat, and regret. I set my half of the doughnut on a napkin and then pushed the plate with the other half closer to her. At first, she stared at it as if it might be poisoned.
A host of options might build a bridge back to our friendship. Another apology, perhaps? An offer to do something more? In the end, I asked the one question that had most concerned me about her since this happened. “How are you holding up?”
“Not great,” she said on a deep sigh. Grace raised her doughnut half and tore off a small piece. Before she put it in her mouth, she added, “I should’ve thanked you sooner for organizing the Meal Train. It’s certainly helped Sam and me keep some semblance of normalcy at home.” A flash of distress crossed her face so quickly I almost doubted I’d seen it. Were she and Sam fighting because he’d kept in contact with me?
Regardless, that thanks had not come out easily. I understood why, too. Her baby was in pain, and she would not be okay until he was better. “It was the very least I could do, Grace.”
She met my gaze—hers tinged with bitterness—then looked away. I sipped my coffee to buy time for my thoughts to settle. The silence—so unusual for us—killed my appetite. And I’d rarely let a doughnut go uneaten.
Grace set her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm. “I don’t know how to do this, Mimi. I can’t look at you or Sam without feeling angry—at you, at him, at myself. I resent you both so much,
but hate myself most of all. And yet I don’t have time to indulge in and work through these feelings—the anger and the missing of what was. I have to be strong for Carter, but all I want to do is crawl into a hole to cry or find a way to turn back time. Why him? Why did this happen to my son?”
With a trembling hand, she swiped away the lone tear trailing down her cheek. Amazingly—or simply in Grace’s usual way—her posture remained poised and her voice steady. Meanwhile, inside, I was simultaneously dismayed that she’d admitted all that, and falling apart because of it. My mistakes hadn’t hurt only Carter; they’d hurt my friend and her entire family. No wonder she didn’t know what to say to me.
“I don’t have any answers, Grace. I’ve been beating myself up for leaving those boys alone with alcohol as a temptation. In hindsight, I see how letting them drink other times sent mixed signals. Even though I wasn’t home, I bear some blame for what’s happened. I know that’s cold comfort because it doesn’t help Carter now.” I pressed my fingertips to my temples to ward off a sudden headache. “I’ve been desperate to keep Rowan happy ever since Dirk left. He misses his dad so much, which makes me feel damn guilty. But that’s not a good excuse for bad parenting.”
Her expression grew more distant—almost miffed. “Dirk called me last week.”
“He did?” My eyes practically popped out of my head. Dirk had never warmed to Grace, whom he’d labeled uptight almost from the get-go.
She nodded. “I didn’t speak with him.”
Of course not. She’d never appreciated what I’d seen in Dirk aside from his face, which I’d always thought had a Gerard Butler kind of sex appeal. “What did he want?”
“Who knows what he was really after? Probably to make sure that I didn’t have plans to ruin Rowan’s life. But he mentioned your custody arrangement and asked if I had any insight that would help him decide whether to revisit that.”
I gulped. Literally—like a full-on cartoon gulp. My words came out on a whisper. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. I told you, I didn’t speak with him. He left a message, and I never returned the call.” She took another bite of the doughnut, her gaze flicking toward the window.
She’d protected me despite everything—a sign that we could salvage our friendship. I might’ve smiled if Dirk’s agenda didn’t trouble me. I slumped back into my seat. “Lord, that man. He ignores Rowan for weeks at a time and then has the gall to think he’d be a better parent than me? Thank you for taking my side.”
With no bitterness or malice, she said, “I didn’t do it for you. Or for Rowan. I simply don’t have the interest in or patience for dealing with your ex, or any bandwidth to think about the fallout of all this on your family. Not when my own is on shaky ground.”
Each of her words landed like a sharp jab, but I couldn’t blame her for her honesty. If I were in her shoes, I might feel the same. I didn’t know. That was the thing about trying to put yourself in another’s shoes. You could never know how you’d take that walk if forced to, and I selfishly hoped I’d never have to try on this particular pair.
“I’m sorry that seeing me is painful. I’m really sorry that this situation is causing problems with Sam. And I don’t mean to make any of this about me. Honestly, that’s not my intention when I ask for updates, despite my own guilt about what happened at my house. You’re my best friend. We all spent so much time together when the boys were young I feel like I half raised Carter. It kills me to see him in that bed. I feel helpless and desperate, like you.”
“Not like me. You’ll never know how this feels unless your son’s ability to walk is compromised because some drunk jerks thought it funny to push him around. But even as infuriating as that is, I wouldn’t wish this on you or anyone.” Her mouth twitched then with a cock of one brow. “Maybe on Roni.” She stuffed the rest of the doughnut in her mouth.
That was so unexpected I laughed. “I know you don’t mean that.”
She lifted her shoulders and frowned as if questioning her own heart, then turned to stare out the window again.
While she gazed off, I digested her words. It wasn’t our normal coffee-and-doughnuts talk, but she’d opened up. She’d refused to help Dirk. All things I wouldn’t take for granted. But that damn Dirk and his meddling. He made it hard to remember what I’d ever liked about him. Life had been happier without his lies and BS, so I didn’t regret our divorce. Grace, however, should do everything she could to keep her marriage on track.
I hesitated before offering advice. “This might not be the right time, but since I don’t know when we’ll get another chance to talk, I want to say something. And, Grace, this comes from a place of love and experience, not judgment. You mentioned being resentful of Sam. Please be careful with that. Resentment kills love. None of us is perfect, but Sam’s devoted to you and your family. Please work on forgiving him before your anger tears your family in two and your life becomes a series of visitations and split holidays. Don’t build walls at a time when you need each other the most.”
Her face tightened, then she looked at her lap in silence. Silence, silence, silence. It killed me, but I reminded myself to be grateful she’d let me sit with her. She hadn’t screamed at me or told me to leave, either. Somewhere deep down she still trusted me enough to listen. I might not be able to help Carter, but I could help Grace and Sam.
“What if I take Kim on Friday night? I’ll do a whole fun blowout thing with her hair at the salon—do manicures, too. Kim likes Dante’s, so we can do pizza and maybe see a movie. That’ll give you and Sam some privacy to talk or do whatever you need to do to close the gap.” I leaned forward, reaching across the table but then withdrawing my hands when her gaze dropped disapprovingly on them. “I’d love to do this, and I bet you and Sam could use a break.”
“No, thank you.” She shook her head, chin slightly wobbly.
“Why not?” I asked, wishing she would change her mind.
“I don’t want your help, Mimi.” She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, but her hands trembled as she dabbed her misty eyes.
“Why not?” I repeated. She was obviously conflicted. If I pushed a little more, we could hash everything out and clear the path back to our friendship.
She glanced at me, drawing herself up as if raising a shield. “Because there’s too much unknown . . . issues unsettled.”
“What issues?”
Her gaze grew distant—as if she’d had to detach herself in order to answer me. “Legal ones.”
My eyes began to sting. Did she mean to hurt my son now to balance the scales? “Are you coming to Rowan’s hearing next week?”
“No.”
Her stiff demeanor lessened my relief. I was unaccustomed to parrying with Grace, and frankly, I didn’t enjoy it. “Then what are you talking about?”
She set her elbows on the table and touched her forehead to her clasped hands before looking directly at me. “There’s a lot of uncertainty about Carter’s recovery. His future . . . things he’ll need . . . and the costs . . .”
A dull headache began beating at the base of my skull. She meant a civil suit. My salon was already taking it on the chin. A lawsuit could be potentially devastating if my umbrella policy didn’t cover it. Then the thought of Carter, the expenses of his care, and the pain he was in hit me like an unexpected wave. “You want to sue me and the others?”
Her shoulders curled forward, and she rubbed her arms, almost rocking in her seat. Her facial expression pinched as if I’d offended her. “This isn’t about what I want. I don’t want any of this to be real. What I want is for Carter to be happy and healthy, but that isn’t happening anytime soon, so I have to settle for what I can do to protect his future. Health insurance doesn’t cover all these costs, and we shouldn’t have to bear that ourselves. John and Deshaun caused Carter’s fall. And even you admitted that you were negligent to leave the boys alone with alcohol in the house.”
I had, hadn’t I? Dammit, Dirk was right. I did have a knack for mak
ing things worse for myself. The throbbing headache now consumed my whole skull. I should’ve expected this—people sue for everything, as if a check will make them feel better. I just hadn’t considered that Grace would ever sue me. Grace! “I don’t know what to say . . .”
“Neither do I, which is why it’s better that we don’t say much for now.” Her voice cracked and tears quivered in the bottoms of her eyes. Her obvious conflict should have made me feel better, but fear blunted all other emotions.
“Grace, let’s not throw ten years of friendship out the window. There’s got to be a solution that doesn’t involve lawyers.”
Her melancholy expression pinned me to my seat. “I wish you and Sam would quit treating me like I’m making this personal when all I’m doing is looking out for Carter. These co-pays will pile up for months—maybe years. His pain and suffering are real—bigger than the pain and suffering a lawsuit will cause any of you—and we still don’t know if he’ll walk again. Should I ignore all that because it’s inconvenient for you and Roni and Jordan?”
Another jab, this time to the jaw. Being lumped in with those two made me lose my patience. “I’m not talking about Roni and Jordan, or even about a damn lawsuit. But lawsuits can take years. How’s it so easy for you to cut me out of your life?”
“Easy?” She turned on me, eyes wide with pain. “None of this is easy. My heart hardly beats most days. I’m alone in my grief because everyone I ever counted on refuses to see my side of any of it. But this is life. We’ve made our choices and have to deal with the consequences. Whether it was my father’s death, my sister’s, or this . . . loss hurts, but it happens. And when it does, we press on.”
“But this doesn’t have to be a loss.” I gestured wildly between us. “I’m on your side. You’re the sister I never had. Why won’t you let me help you?”
“Can you make Carter walk again—on his own? Can you guarantee that he won’t live with pain for years to come?”