For All She Knows

by Beck, Jamie

  Dirk,

  Your newfound enthusiasm for fatherhood is heartening. Unfortunately, Rowan and I have tickets to a Capitals game on Saturday, so you can’t have him this weekend. I’m sure he’ll be happy to spend time with you next weekend as scheduled and, of course, on Wednesday for dinner. As for revisions to our custody agreement, I suggest you talk to Rowan before moving forward with court hearings or taking other steps to pull him away from his friends.

  P.S. His work schedule might require us both to be a little flexible with his time, so I’ll make sure he emails you his schedule every week.

  Mimi

  I ignored his quip about Rodri, but reread the note twice, my finger hovering over the “Send” button, my lip caught beneath my teeth. Daring Dirk to bring up custody with Rowan was a calculated risk given my son’s current mood. But I was so done being made to feel like I was something stuck to the bottom of a shoe. I hoped Rowan would choose me, but if he really preferred Dirk—if that’s what would make him happiest—then the unselfish, loving mother’s choice would be to let him go.

  And that’s the kind of mother I was . . . or at least the one I wanted to be.

  Satisfied, I sent the reply, then shut down everything and drank my latte. As the minutes passed, I reconsidered my hasty response, which had sounded tougher and more confident than I felt. Didn’t it figure that when I needed Grace the most, she was completely lost to me? Her approval had always made me feel more certain. Would she be proud of my standing up to Dirk? Of my realizing that part of being a good mother might require me to let my son go?

  Maybe Sam would tell Grace that I didn’t tell the lawyers about Carter’s confession and it would soften her. Maybe he could even convince her that the time for blame had passed and we needed to work together. Yeah, sure. I rolled my eyes. And maybe I will win the lottery.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  GRACE

  Monday, March 1

  Outside Sugar Momma’s

  “Grace, wait!” Sam called. The scuff of his footsteps raced to catch up behind me, so I stopped. The gray sky threatened rain, but thunder had already gathered in my head. I flashed back a few nights to our bedroom—those tentative first kisses that had quickly stoked passion. Coming together in love and vulnerability from all the suffering we’d endured. Waking the next morning spooned together as before—and each night since turning to instead of away from each other, I’d let my guard down bit by bit. The tension between us had been melting, and I’d even begun to believe that we were united on the lawsuit. Now this?

  Whirling around, I cried, “I thought we’ve been rebuilding our trust, yet I find you sitting with Mimi despite what the lawyers said.”

  Not only did that jeopardize Carter’s case, but it felt like a personal betrayal. That stung like hell, especially when he knew my dearest friendship was another casualty of that party. When he knew how much that loss cost me.

  His shoulders fell. “I didn’t plan to run into her. Would you have me be rude?”

  I growled with frustration that he was making this my fault . . . again. “A simple ‘good morning, Mimi’ should’ve sufficed. Sharing coffee and fiddling with her computer goes way beyond basic politeness.” Were they discussing the case, or me? My stomach grew queasy in protest.

  “She mentioned a downturn in business, so I offered to look over her budget for suggestions for stretching her finances until things returned to normal.”

  Normal. I was starting to hate that word. Why did he and Mimi and others keep talking about “going back to normal” as if it were a given? What once had been normal was an impossible goal. This catastrophe had irrevocably changed our family the way my father’s death had changed my relationship with Margot. We’d been on the same side before he died. Afterward, she’d slowly followed in his footsteps—whether from guilt or anger or both, I would never know—betraying everything she’d fought against before. She’d left me on my own long before she’d died. Now, similar to how my sister’s behavior changed everything, even if Carter could run cross-country next year, this experience had transformed all of us. Whatever the future held, it would not be like our past.

  “Carter’s barely getting back on track. Our financial security is pinned on this lawsuit. I’m not out to bankrupt Mimi, but her business isn’t our primary concern, and you’re not the only person she can turn to for help.”

  “She didn’t turn to me. I offered after she mentioned that she didn’t tell her lawyer what Carter confessed to Rowan.” His expression hardened as he crossed his arms. Relief should’ve sunk in, but “didn’t tell” didn’t mean “would never tell.” “Given that, the least I could do was help her shift some things around to buy a little time to recover.”

  “So you were talking about the lawsuit?” My brows rose.

  “No.” He shook his head, then grimaced. “I mean, yes, she mentioned that one thing, so I said that I hoped we could settle things quickly, move forward, and heal.”

  How did he not hear how that statement did, in fact, give her lawyers helpful information?

  I pressed my fingertips to my temples while beginning to pace in a circle, my mind racing through all possible scenarios. “What if she brought up Carter’s confession to persuade you to settle for a low figure? Or maybe her lawyers are coaching her to trip us up or admit something that could help them? Maybe you fell for it, suggesting we’d settle quickly.”

  “Jesus, Grace,” he spat out, making me flinch. He raised his hands from his sides, the bag of goodies hanging in midair, his brow pinched together in disillusionment. “Do you really think your friend is so devious?”

  I felt ashamed. Not usually. Never, really. But everyone, including someone like Mimi, defaults to self-preservation when backed against a wall—everyone but Sam, apparently. “The point is that I thought we were aligned. That we agreed to support each other through this and follow our lawyer’s advice.”

  “Fine, but then you can’t cherry-pick which advice to heed and which to ignore.” His face was turning red.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Our lawyers are telling us to adjust our expectations and aim for a reasonable settlement, yet you continue to clamor for a trial.” He tipped his head, looking at me as if we’d only just met. “Honestly, I thought that you’d turned a real corner. That you were coming around to forgiving us all, but now it feels like a pretense. Did you think you could fake your way into being your old self? Hell, I wish that would work, because I don’t recognize this version of you. And I’m tired of kowtowing and being made to feel bad because I’m not as angry and bitter with myself and the world as you are. Stop criticizing me for keeping my focus on repairing our family instead of seeking vengeance on some kids for their mistakes. And I really don’t appreciate being dressed down in the middle of town.” He turned away for a moment, rubbing his forehead, before facing me again.

  My entire body smarted, as if each of his statements had been a lashing. Me criticizing him? Talk about the pot and the kettle. All he’d done since this happened was dismiss my feelings and refuse to validate a single one of my concerns. The hypocrisy balled up in my throat, ready to explode.

  He covered his mouth with one hand, staring at me, before letting his arm fall and saying, “Maybe we need some space from each other, before we say or do things we can’t take back.”

  “Space?” My heart thumped wildly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  His expression shifted to something defeated and serious. “I can’t live with someone who jumps to the worst conclusions about me and everyone else. I hate to upset Kim and Carter, but I’m afraid we’re on the brink of permanent damage to our marriage if we don’t take some time apart.” His voice cracked a bit and his eyes got watery.

  My body heat drained away, leaving me shivering. I’d not only lost control of this conversation, I was losing the family I’d invested everything into building. I could barely speak, so my words came out as a whisper. “Where would you go?” />
  “I don’t know.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “We need to protect Carter’s emotional state. Maybe if you stay with your mom for a week, we could tell the kids you wanted to be closer to Carter so they don’t get alarmed. It’d let us hit pause and catch our breath.”

  Panic prickled, hot and razor-sharp, as it rushed up my body. He was serious. “Wow. You’ve got it all planned out—almost like you’ve been thinking about it for a while.” I took that possibility in.

  There on the sidewalk, in the middle of town, I was the most alone I had ever felt in my entire marriage. Not only alone, but maligned and misunderstood. Blamed for all of it as if nothing I’d said or felt were valid. In that second, indignation grabbed hold. “I feel foolish for believing that you were trying to meet me in the middle. I know I’m far from perfect, and slow to forgive everyone who hurt our child, but I didn’t realize I was on a deadline. If this is what you want, I’ll pack a bag today.”

  I turned toward my car so he couldn’t see my tears.

  “Grace, slow down,” he called. I could hear him catching up to me. “This isn’t the end of everything. Just a little break—breathing room for us both. Maybe we should go to counseling.”

  After unlocking my car, I stared at him over its roof. Everything inside was dead. Beaten down by failure and fear. Vaguely, it occurred to me that this emptiness must’ve been what my sister had felt—what had driven her to drinking and drugs. To giving up on life. Those weren’t options for me, but in this moment I couldn’t shoulder any more sadness, blame, or disappointment. “Sure, we’ll squeeze that in between your work, Carter’s visits, Kim’s homework, and my students. I’ll research therapists as soon as I finish packing. We can add that cost to our growing stack of medical bills.”

  Before he could reply, I slid onto my seat, slammed my door, and screeched out of the parking spot, leaving my husband standing on the sidewalk while onlookers strolled past.

  Hot tears washed down my cheeks. In less than two months, my carefully constructed life had fallen apart. The years I’d spent ensuring that my children’s lives didn’t mirror my childhood destroyed in mere weeks. In the silence of my car, I couldn’t even channel Mimi’s advice without conjuring more pain.

  My heart lay lifeless inside my chest, kicked around too many times to bother beating again. When I got home, I sat in the garage, crying inside my car. For a fleeting second, I flirted with the idea of leaving the car running with the garage door closed. It sounded easier than the daunting task of reassembling my family, and given how far I’d pushed everyone, they might not miss me much.

  Ten seconds, maybe fifteen, passed before I turned off the ignition. I couldn’t leave my kids motherless, or hurt Sam or my mother, or even Mimi, all of whom might assume some responsibility for my deteriorated mental state.

  I needed help, clearly. My support system no longer trusted me.

  But first I had to pack my suitcase.

  Sam might be right. A little distance from him and our home might help me sort myself out.

  Any other time I could’ve gone to Mimi’s. We’d often joked about how much fun we would’ve had as roommates. There’d been evenings in her backyard with wine and country music when we’d talk about the future—side-by-side rooms at Sandy Shores—and she’d laugh. If she weren’t at the root of my current mess, she would’ve made up her guest room, baked up a storm, and handed me a pinot grigio with a hug upon my arrival. Even in the midst of this crisis, she’d tried to warn me about pushing Sam too far. I should’ve listened. She’d always had good instincts about people’s emotions. Much better than mine.

  Having to turn to my mother, who no doubt had opinions about how I’ve mishandled everything, made me break out in hives. For most of my life I’d been critical of her, yet I had not handled my family crisis any better than she had. Maybe worse, which broke me to acknowledge.

  Once inside, I popped a Benadryl pill before calling her.

  “Hello,” she answered.

  “Hey, Mom, it’s me.” My voice was raw from crying.

  “How’s Carter?”

  “The same. That’s not why I called, though. I have a favor to ask.”

  “What, honey?”

  I closed my eyes, hot with shame because of the lie I was about to tell my own mother. I could pretend I was lying to ensure that my children never got a mixed message, but the truth was that I couldn’t stand to let her know she’d been right. “The daily commute is really wearing on me, so I wondered if I could bunk with you for a few days, maybe a week. It would make it easier to put in time helping Carter over the hump.”

  “Of course you can stay. How can I help with Carter? Would my apple turnovers help cheer him up?”

  “Probably.” A month ago I would’ve viewed her using baked goods as a salve for big emotional problems. A reminder of the batches of walnut brownies she’d always made after another round with Dad had left Margot and me upset. But maybe that was the only way she knew how to show love and offer comfort. I could hardly get upset at her for doing the best she could. “I’ll be up in a little while to drop my bag before I go to the rehab center.”

  “I’d better get cracking on the turnovers. See you soon.” She hung up.

  I went to my bedroom and laid an unzipped suitcase on the bed. Tears formed as I folded a few things and grabbed my toothbrush. I hadn’t made real progress this week. I’d let the agony and fear Carter’s injury inspired affect every relationship that mattered to me. No wonder Sam didn’t recognize me. I didn’t, either.

  “Hey, honey. Look what I brought, still warm from the oven!” I set down the paper plate on Carter’s bedside table and peeled back the tinfoil, revealing four perfectly browned apple turnovers. Notes of butter and cinnamon floated up with the steam, which should distract him from noticing my unusual mood. “Gram sends her love.”

  Carter’s heartbreakingly blank expression morphed into a genuine smile as he reached over to take one. I’d have to give my mother credit—baked goods were good comfort. “They smell great.”

  “She dropped everything to make these today.” I poured some water and set the glass near him, remembering the care with which she’d slid them onto the plate and covered them with foil. “Maybe give her a call later to thank her.”

  “Okay.” He took a bite, then licked his greasy lips, nodding. “Mm.”

  His teen appetite bubbling back to life hinted that his sadness might be lifting. One hopeful sign in an otherwise terrible day. I hung my purse over the back of my chair and took a seat, scooting close to the bed. “Did you have a good session with Leron this morning?”

  Carter shrugged, concentrating on the turnover. “He wants me to try the multipoint cane tomorrow.”

  My lungs ballooned with much-needed hope. “That’s good, right? You must’ve increased your leg strength this week to move off the walker to a cane.”

  “I guess.” He nodded, eyeing a second treat. His lack of enthusiasm diminished mine.

  “I’m happy. It’s a great step forward, and toward your coming home.” I bit my lip, aware that “home” might not be what he expected, and how that might cause another setback. My lungs felt leaden. After a mental shake, I added, “I’m glad you’re working hard again. Has Dr. Spotts’s advice been helping?”

  “Not really. I’m sick of this place, so I decided to do whatever I could to get out of here.” His gaze caught mine; he looked much younger than fifteen. “I miss home.”

  Warm tears collected in my eyes. “We miss you more. Dad and I even talked about throwing a little party or something when you get released, if you’d like that.” I forced a smile, although now those plans might die off. Mimi’s warnings about broken families filtered through my conscience. For weeks I had blamed Sam and then myself, but today blame seemed pointless. Confusion and defeat broke me down until every cell in my body hummed with remorse.

  “Is Dad coming later?”

  I glanced at my lap to hide our marital discord. “I
’m not sure. We’re balancing a lot with Kim and his work and you.”

  “I miss family dinners. Could we all do a pizza night this weekend?”

  My lungs deflated like empty bellows.

  “I’ll talk to Dad.” I didn’t want to promise when I wasn’t sure Sam wanted to spend time with me. Carter was too smart not to notice something, so I came a little clean. “I’m actually staying at Gram’s for a few nights.”

  He stopped eating and stared at me. “Why?”

  My cheeks trembled from holding a false smile in place, but I had to sell this so he didn’t spend one second worrying about our family. “The daily commute’s exhausting. This way it’ll be easier to spend extra time with you while you’re making a final push.”

  He made a disbelieving face. “That’s weird . . .”

  “Is it?” I pretended to laugh at myself, hoping my perspiration wasn’t noticeable. “Well, considering your progress, maybe it will be very short-lived. You must be eager to get back to school, too.”

  Rather than agree, he looked at his lap, brow knitted. “Mom, can we talk about something?”

  “Anything.” Relieved for the change of topic, I leaned forward.

  With solemnity, he said, “I swear I haven’t texted Rowan, but other kids still text me. First it was the budget stuff. Now some kids are mad about the lawsuit. They’re saying stuff about our family, and about me.”

  The anger I’d been trying to tamp down reignited. Since when was it okay to berate the victim? “Like what?”

  “That we’re being uncool and greedy.”

  Greedy? My body turned hot with indignation. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that. People always have opinions, but we’re merely protecting your future.”

  He twisted the sheets around his finger. “How long will the lawsuit last?”

  “I don’t know.” Was this feeding his recent despondency? “If it goes to trial, it could be a year or two.”